Signed Sealed Delivered

My last morning in India starts with my obligatory masala chai and toast.

I remain really worried about fitting everything in my backpack so decide to send some summer clothes back via the mail (I figure I that I won't need them for a good while once I'm back home!).

I pack a large shopping bag and take a leisurely stroll down to the post office. It turns out, similar to buying a train ticket here, sending a parcel is an interesting experience in India. The young girl behind the counter explains that I must have the bag wrapped by an authorised tailor. "Tailor?" I repeat. "Yes madam" she confirms wobbling her head. I ask politely where I can locate an appropriate tailor and for the first time whilst in India I am given the correct directions. (I'm not sure if people give wrong directions deliberately or if the correct ones are somehow, ironically, lost in translation).
I arrive at the tailors and the package is stuffed into blue plastic casing and then cello taped to within an inch of it's life. Next, a muslin cloth bag is made to fit using an old fashioned sewing machine at the front of the shop. The blue plastic bundle is then purposely stuffed into the cloth bag. It is hand sewn shut at the top and then wax is used to seal the stitching. I am asked to write my address on the cloth and state that it's from myself. The tailor is satisfied with his handiwork so I stroll back, armed with my neat little parcel to the post office. Here I complete two forms and wait for various processes to be completed which takes about 20 minutes. Handing over the money is the final stage and I wonder if my package will successfully make the journey to Marlow and if it does - how long it will take.

I hire a bike and this time she's bright pink and called The Ladybird. We cycle down to Bristow's Old Lighthouse Hotel where there is a quiet pool and I can catch some final rays and Vitamin D. (If ever visiting Fort Cochin I wouldn't recommend staying or eating here, the steep prices unfortunately don't match the food, service or quality of the other upmarket hotels in town however the pool is one of the few in Fort Cochin that is open to non residents so it's a great place to laze for 250 rupees as a day guest before sneaking back to my budget backpacker accommodation!).

I relax and enjoy the sun a little too much, and despite using factor 30, get quite badly sunburnt (big slap on the wrist). The skin on my face is so tight I have to stop off for some cucumber cream which removes the sting. I skip dinner due to the nausea, drop the bike back and head home to the challenging job of packing my backpack. The task is made just about bearable by watching India's Junior Pop Idol - a very special treat for me and my ears on my final night. I was particularly impressed with the young lad wearing a safari outfit who performed a Hindi song alongside his crew of backing 'dancers' dressed in silver tin foil trousers and stunningly unrhythmical.

So that's it - India is officially signed, sealed and it's delivered every step of the way. It's a country of contrasts. The sweet smell of spices, oils and incense and the acrid smell of cities bursting with sewage, rubbish, industry and millions of people struggling for survival. It's the kaleidoscopic colours of women's saris, haunting ragas and heavenly food. It's the rolling green hills of Ranakpur, the holy lake of Pushkar, the Venetian style streets and water palaces of Udaipur, the red sandstone forts of Jaipur and the cool white imposing marble of The Taj. It's the home of the well groomed moustache, five people on a moped, frequent power cuts, cows on beaches, a contagious head wobble, lethal rum and going bare foot indoors. It's the belief and hope in something greater than all of us, a thousand friendly hellos and one very sad goodbye.

India - you have been truly Incredible.

Thank you for having me.