The scream should have woken everyone within a 5 mile radius. It was 2.30am. The room was dark.
Lyvette nearly toppled out of her top bunk, clutching her beloved mouthwash that she cuddles at night.
It was my scream.
And it was loud. I know this because I strained my dearly beloved and frequently used vocal cords.
The light was so bright it burned a hole into the back of my eye socket and the face was practically touching mine, whispering my name (in a very pervy manner). I jumped so high I almost shattered my skull on the bunk above me. It was only when Adam started shushing me in a dramatic stage whisper that only a highly intoxicated person can manage that I realised he was the mystery attacker of the night. As I thrashed around my bed like a fish out of water, screaming, Lyvette tried to regain her balance without spilling her mouthwash, Adam tried to steady himself (my scream had knocked him off balance even though he was on all fours) as he crawled around the floor, scrabbling at my pillow and Ben waltzed in parading a (dirty)bathmat. Weirdo.

And that was how we bonded with the Aussies and their shit jokes, Adam and Ben, and my bottom bunk bed became the new social hub of the hostel. Then along came Chris from Wales and Beau who provided a running commentary for everything;
“And we have just passed the airport”. Yes Beau, we know. “And there’s the Marriott hotel”. Yup we can see it also. And here we had the Mumbai Massive and a lot of hostel complaints about noise. We ventured out and hit the equivalent of a Mumbai Labour Club where myself and Chris became dance partners and really shone with our dancing skills. And thus was born ‘The Routine’. The Routine involved moves that India has never seen before and we really were a cut above the rest. We were the Torville and Dean of India, without the ice skates. Until I kicked an Indian couple in the face (cue Beau “and Heather has just kicked an Indian couple in the face”). It was around this point that Ben decided to overeat. We’ve all been there, we all know the feeling. I had to carry him out like a cripple as he bent over clutching his stomach. I decided there was only one course of action to improve Ben’s current situation. Fingers down his throat were well and truly required so I rolled up my sleeves, sanitised my hands and went in there. Well, I attempted to. He gracefully declined (wimp) and refused to open his mouth other than to utter words about how full he was.

We took a lovely trip to the mall where myself and Lyvette got our eyebrows threaded for 50p and a bird shit on Beau, (“a bird has just shit on Beau”. Beau grows concerned for his freshly pressed t shirt that has no chance of remaining white in India).
And the boys drunkenly discussed their (pretty crappy) pulling antics:
Adam: “I can’t even pull at ladies night in India”. (White people tend to attract a lot of attention in India).
Chris: “So you can’t pull Asian girls. And you can’t pull white girls”.
Ben: “Next stop Africa!” (There was much debate over who actually pulled this line out of the bag but I’m giving it to Ben, simply because he’s ‘slightly’ funnier than Adam).

Now one thing you need to understand about India is that it’s going through a rough time at the moment. They have decided to change the 500 and 1000 rupee notes but haven’t actually made enough new notes to replace these, therefore people are only allowed to take 2000 rupees from the cash machine each day. That’s roughly £23. Hence mahoosive queues at ATM’s and a severe lack of change being circulated, making life difficult for the people of India. It’s also difficult for tourists, especially when a lot of smaller places don’t have ATM’s at all and if they do there’s no cash left in them. Due to this situation venturing to a place that accepts cards proves very handy, especially for Chris, “guys, guys…if you pay by card it’s free!” Pretty sure that’s not how it works Chris…you should know…you’re a lawyer…

But through times of chaos, as always, life goes on. So I danced at an Indian stag do. In the middle of the main road. With the groom watching down from his white stallion. And security eyeballing me. And the stag do guests cheering me on. I was an honorary celebrity. Obvs. Luckily security didn’t remove me, probably because they never anticipated a white person with moves like mine. I almost called Chris and asked him to come and perform The Routine…

The other exciting thing that happened in Mumbai was that I finally pooed. I was so excited that I ran around the hostel high fiving people. Everyone was totes pleased for me. I must say I thoroughly appreciated their support during these dark times of constipation. Now, one of the main reasons we like to visit Mumbai is because of the Taj Mahal Hotel. It’s proper posh and Lyvette has developed a habit of going there to poo. And rightly so because everyone needs a luxury poo every once in a while, so why not spend  90 minutes travelling to the poshest hotel in Mumbai and venturing through their security just to take a dump. Post poo I was highly excited that I could now join Lyvette on her luxury poo quests and make the most of the Taj’s toilet. We actually arranged a group date their but it never happened, probably because no one else could physically hold their poo’s in for the time it took to get there and they were too busy parading round Mumbai with dirty bathmats and crawling into sleeping people’s beds. As you do.

And that was our second visit to Mumbai.

Hampi
We got our first Indian sleeper bus, and it was amazing. It could potentially rival the Indian trains that we love so much. We had a double bed, AC, a pillow, duvet and even a curtain. We also had a snack box which contained water that tasted like phlegm. And the horn sounded like an ice cream van. I felt like we were in a moving 5*hotel, it was great.

So we tucked ourselves in and settled down for the night with our TV tuned into channel Shamaroo so we could watch some great Bollywood film that we couldn’t understand. It was highly engaging, but obvs we got the TV that kept losing signal so we kept missing crucial moments in the film. At these points we took to googling ‘hot Indian men’. The only problem with the sleeper bus (except for our TV) was that I kept touching people by accident, for example I accidently used some Indian man’s head as a ladder as I climbed out of our 5* cabin. And then I used a sleeping man’s toe as a lever as I was standing up. Apart from that it was a great journey and I’m thinking about acquiring channel Shamaroo when I get home.

Hampi

So Hampi is a very cool place, we liked it a lot. It is also the place to go if you’re a hippie. It appears that everyone who ventures to Hampi leaves sporting dreadlocks. I’m not sure how. It’s the sort of place you just have to roll with life. We were sat there happily eating breakfast when a white guy (tourist) came into the restaurant, looked at our food and asked if he could try some. Then off he strolled munching on my Indian bread. We’d never met him before in our lives. Anywhere else in the world this would have been very uncouth, but not in Hampi.

One afternoon I went for a cheeky stroll on the other side of the river just to scout it out. The next thing I know I’m on the back of an Indian’s scooter with a mattress strapped to my back with him telling me I could wear his shoes. According to the Lonely Planet Hampi is ‘the bouldering capital of India’, and this was apparently what I was now doing. It wasn’t an actual lesson I was just being taken along to watch. Until he made me put his shoes on and start scaling a rock, with no ropes or safety equipment and just a mat (I originally thought it was a mattress) to catch me. Some of the boulders were pretty high to be fair and I swear the shoes were meant for Thumbelina. I mean, I understand they’re supposed to be small for grip but when you have to have them surgically removed it’s a bit extreme. I like bouldering, it’s fun. What is not fun however is when you make your way home on the back of the scooter, with the mattress on your back and the bike has no headlights. And the night is black. But it’s ok, because my new Indian bouldering instructor who’d just stolen me from the street had it covered. I simply had to sit behind him shining his phone at the road as a torch. Perfect. I arrived back at the river with my nerves shot and my toenails deformed due to tiny Thumbelina shoes. Because it was late the boats across the river had stopped running so I had to get a wicker basket back across. It was a great afternoon stroll in Hampi.

Now, we liked Hampi but our guesthouse was very bizarre. We swear there were animals in the walls. They made the weirdest noises. We have never been surrounded by so many creatures in our lives. There was a family of caterpillars in the bathroom that moved at snail pace until we wanted to catch them, when they developed the ability to move at lightning speed and we literally had to sprint after them. Then there was the dog that slept on the doormat.

At first we thought someone was trying to get in the room to join the caterpillar hunt until we realised it was actually just the dog. And the cows, oh the cows. I just couldn’t fathom how much my stomach was grumbling at 4am in the morning until I realised it was the cows mooing outside the door. Don’t even get me started on the monkeys, the cheeky little rascals. They ran across the tin roof constantly mocking us. I think they were egging the caterpillar family on, and they were definitely having sex just to create more noise. One morning we opened the door to see a monkey sat on the table smiling at us, and I swear to god it casually picked up a box of matches, pissed in the ashtray and sauntered off, stealing a tomato on its way.

Combine all of the above with the noises in the walls (this was a concoction of scurrying, scampering and wimpering) and it’s fair to say we lived in Hampi’s very own animal sanctuary. Meanwhile the guesthouse owners’ mother was busy washing our clothes in the river. The same river the cows used as a toilet. And the same river the locals bathed the temple elephant.

Hampi was also the first time in over a year we hired a scooter. Begrudgingly I sat on the back and held my breath as Lyvette drove;
She started yelling, “TRAFFIC, WE’VE HIT TRAFFIC. AAAAAARRGGGGHHHHHHHH!”
There was one other car on the road.

Thankfully we lived to tell the tale and as always in India there are lots of tales to tell. A day without witnessing something amazing, extraordinary or just downright heart breaking here is about as likely as Lyvette going a day without fly fitting. On that note, we’re now leaving Hampi. I’m just waiting for Lyvette who has broken into someone’s room to use the toilet. Little does she know the room belongs to an Indian couple who are stood outside fuming. We’re just observing this situation from afar. And when I say ‘we’ I mean myself and the family of caterpillars from the bathroom. And the dog. And my monkey friend who’s taken to peeing in the ashtray…