The most unthinkable and exciting thing happened.

I went back to India. 

Now, I don’t know if you’re aware but the Two Small Mancunians have been to India a few times already. In fact our (self proclaimed) best blogs have come from India. We’ve lost countless toenails, severed achilles tendons, fallen down toilets (trust me, you’ll want to read that one) and been given dead bodies in this diversely fabulous country. Naturally, you can see why it’s our fave.

However, this time I was going to my bucket list destination of Ladakh. It’s in the Himalayas and is very high (Google it). Since our first trip to India, 10 years ago we (I) have really wanted to go, however, you can only really go there for 4 months of the year (unless you’re an avid ski tourer),during the summer season from June – September. Outside of these times the roads are often closed due to snowfall and limited things are open. Whilst it’s summer in Ladakh it’s monsoon season in many other places in India, hence we’ve avoided the country during these times and so just hadn’t made it there. Until now.

August 2025 and I decided it was time, so I texted Lyvette to see if she wanted to join, but she was busy back in Manchester heading to Oasis gigs and other exciting things. So I ditched her for a boy (not really he just wanted to be part of the blog and he can ride a motorbike so he has useful skills relevant to motorbike activities in Ladakh). So Neil came with me (not my friend Doctor Neil from previous blogs – although I’d love to see him ride a motorbike!). And off we went on a whirlwind trip to Ladakh. 

BUT the exciting news (for our two followers that have been with us since the beginning) is that we have some familiar faces in this blog…

The first thing to note is that this trip was for 2 weeks. Which is NOT a long time when you’re flying from Queenstown which is lightyears away from everywhere. The journey to Delhi was 24 hours where we were to have a 6 hour layover before a short domestic flight to Leh (the largest town in Ladakh). 

The domestic flight was delayed. Obviously. 

Which meant 11 hours of torture in Delhi airport. Lyvette was glad she didn’t come. Whilst waiting for our Spice Jet domestic flight we stumbled across some sun loungers, casually arranged in the departure lounge. So we embarked upon an ELD (Emergency Lie Down) which was great until a cockroach ran across my leg. Why? Why Delhi, Why? I don’t expect a cockroach near my airport sun lounger.

One thing I will say, however, about Delhi airport is that, having hung out for 11 hours I witnessed excessive cleaning of the toilets. And there are a lot of them. Every time I passed the numerous loo facilities there was someone in there, cleaning, which I hadn’t noticed on any of my previous visits. Probably because I’ve never hung out at Delhi airport for so long before. I’d also never noticed the large vending machines for sanitary towels stationed in the terminal, on the outside of the toilets, for everyone to see whilst casually sipping their chai. Because why would anyone ever want to place sanitary towels inside the bathrooms like every other country?

Welcome to India. 

Leh
36 hours later we landed in Leh, where the sun was shining and the altitude was rife (3,300m to be precise). This is where we met up with my old friend and Two Small Mancunians biggest fan, Chirag (he’ll be well happy he’s made the blog!) And what a legend he is. We met him 8 years ago in a hostel in Jaipur and spent New Years Eve dancing, drinking Kingfisher Strongs and prancing around in his motorbike helmet. Since then we can always count on Chirag to compliment the blog and send us Mancunian memes. Over summer he leads  motorbike tours through the Himalayas and bases himself in Leh, so we stayed with him at his home away from home Tsetan Guesthouse where we were welcomed by Tsetan, Aunty and Uncle (mum and dad). 

Tsetan, Chirag, myself and Aunty

The plan was to acclimatise for a few days to the altitude and then hire a motorbike and head up into the mountains (this is where Neil comes in handy).

India. It was good to be back. 

Until it started raining. 

Heavily.

On day two.

The heaviest rain since 2010.

Oh look. Rain.

It was so heavy and unsunny that the temperature dropped from 25 to 8 degrees, the solar panels were useless, the showers were cold and water poured into the lounge – cue everyone running around with buckets and Neil roaming around the roof brushing off the rain and tarping up the ceiling. Aunty was busy attacking water with a dustpan and brush, wearing some very wet material slide on shoes so she was squelching and sliding all over the place. This was just impractical so I bought her some crocs which she was very happy about. 

It was a lot, considering it was only the second day of the holiday. 

Naturally we needed a beer and since they don’t have Kingfisher Strong in Ladakh we had to settle for a Godfather (which is self proclaimed legendary – but I can vouch for it)

We then had to buy Neil some warm clothes because, well, it was fu**ing cold. A pair of joggers would do just fine. Sounds easy. However when you’re over 6ft good luck finding trousers that fit in India. It’s hard work. So Chirag took us into his favourite outdoor shop. Apparently he’d been coming in for the past three years deciding whether or not to buy a particular waterproof jacket. The woman in the shop was clearly over him. Can’t blame her really. As we stood debating the Helly Hansen rip off waterproof that had thus far taken him 1095 days to decide on, we heard the woman pissing herself in the corner. We turned to find Neil coming out of the changing room (a curtain which barely came down to his knees) wearing some very jazzy ¾ length joggers.
Was he wearing children’s clothing? It was an interesting look. 
Neil; “Erm, I don’t think they fit..”
Woman: Laughs.
Neil: “They’re a bit short.”
Woman: Laughs and clutches her stomach.
Neil: “Do you have a bigger size?”
Woman: Still howling. “No they are an XL” then she looks at me, wiping tears from her eyes, “Ma’am – your husband is too big to wear Indian clothes!!!”

So we left. And Chirag decided he needed another twelve months to decide on his waterproof jacket.

Next up, we went to the shoe shop for Neil to find some appropriate shoes to motorbike in, if the rain ever stopped.
Neil: “Do you have a UK size 11 shoes?”
Shopkeeper: Pisses himself and shakes his head.

Turns out Neil really is too big to be Indian.

It was stressful and we were soggy and lacking in warm pants and waterproofs so we went for a cheese dosa and then walked home debating which cow pat covered alley we should take. FYI you can’t go anywhere in India without finding an alley riddled with cow shit, it just doesn’t happen. I didn’t appreciate the amount of cow pat. Mainly because I was wearing crocs.

Even the sun looks cool in Ladakh

Due to the weather a lot of flights were cancelled for people trying to leave Leh. This meant we’d say goodbye to our guesthouse comrades only for them to return a couple hours later, with Tsetan and Aunty trying to find a bed for them. It was because of this that one of the returnees failed to make it back to her family for a huge Hindi festival (don’t ask me which one as I have no idea), so she decided to celebrate with us at the guesthouse instead.

“Wear something festive, if you like,” she said, whilst strategically arranging some flowers, curry powder and other spices on a plate (I’m not sure why).

So Richard, a 60 something year old English gentleman turned up in a tablecloth. Now, in his defence it was a very jazzy tablecloth – all blue and spotty and he sported it over his shoulders like a cape. He was very proud of himself as he pranced around;
“It’s a tablecloth,” he announced casually touching up the curry powder to get into the spirit of things.
Is it normal for people to celebrate at Hindi festivals looking like wizards in tablecloths? Not sure but Richard nailed it.

The celebration went well until Chirag sat on a table and Aunty saw red. She was so angry she nearly threw her croc at his head. It was a good job they were in sport mode so flinging them wasn’t that easy…That will be the last time Chirag sits on a table I can tell you.

And then the rain stopped

Halle(f**king)lujah. 

At last. 

So myself, Neil and Chirag donned our leathers and off we went. Up to the top of Khardunglah – the second highest motorable pass in the world*. Standing at an impressive 18,380 ft/5620metres. Now, I’ve never been higher than Leh (3,300metres) so the Khardungla was something else. There was snow from halfway and it got so cold Neil’s hands froze (a slight issue as he was driving the bike). Chirag was wooping away, frothing that after all this time he was going up this pass in the snow and I was amazed at how many dogs there were. Everywhere. Scattered up the pass in the snow. What were they doing there? And why? Where there was no refuge for miles…were they lost? Were they stupid?

It was epic. We stayed at the top for about 10 minutes as they don’t recommend too long due to the lack of oxygen. Naturally after all that excitement of sunshine and regaining the ability to breathe again we required a (legendary) Godfather.

At the top of the Mighty Khardungla

This was the start of many adventures:

• Khardungla pass, 5620metres (great, limited oxygen)
• Chirag nearly got killed by a monk. (Legit). This guy just pulled out on him and didn’t give two hoots. I, however, was clenching every part of my body on the back of the bike hoping that Chirag would live to drink another Godfather. He survived (we celebrated with another Godfather).
• Confluence of Zanscar and Indus rivers (had to google what a confluence was).
• Alchi – the oldest monastery in Ladakh (and fantastic food). Some people may also have found it quite concerning that the sign going into the monastery said “dress modestly” and told us we were not allowed to have knees or shoulders out, shortly before the ticket booth which housed a monk playing on his mobile whilst wearing a tank top. His shoulders were definitely on show and not even just a little bit. They were out out (great deltoids btw).
• Pangong Lake, 4225m via the Zingral and Changla pass, 5,350m (about the world’s 10th highest pass I believe). Now one thing to note is that there is a huge military presence in Ladakh, due to the ongoing tensions with Pakistan and China. We witnessed this first hand when we very nearly got squished between two army trucks on a main road. All I could do was breathe in and will our bike to go faster. Obviously it did the opposite and cut out. 
  Like full on cut out.
  Stopped. 
  At that moment I’d have preferred a head on with a monk. Luckily the trucks passed on either side casually grazing our knees and myself and Neil had only a petite heart attack. After the near squish experience the ride was beautiful and Pangong lake was something else, with ⅓ of it in India and ⅔ in China. When we finally got to our accommodation I found the manager asleep behind reception. I located him through his snoring. Waking people up for a service is something I’ve become accustomed to in India so this didn’t phase me. Neither did his vibrating palate. This very sleepy but pleasant man informed us that there was no internet and the hot water would be turned on later (not that we’d experienced any hot water thus far in Ladakh as it turns out solar isn’t efficient with zero sunlight). Two hours later, whilst I was practicing the art of breathing with an obvious lack of oxygen at 4225m, whilst sipping a Godfather, there was banging at the door. In sheer fright I jumped up, nearly tripping over the rug to find a little Indian boy at the door:
  “Ma’am, MA’AM” he screamed in my face. I genuinely thought someone nearby had been hit by a monk or squished by military trucks.
  “MA’AMMMMMMMMMMM. The wifi is here!!!!” and he handed me the wifi password and sauntered off. Leaving me with yet another heart attack at the door.
• Thikse Monastery – we went to the 5am Buddhist morning prayer. This was a great experience, however I’m not sure why we went to watch them eat their breakfast and drink chai. And let me tell you that Buddhist monks do not eat quietly. The slurping and chewing was so excessive it took all my will power not to ask them to eat quietly (Neil reminded me that would be inappropriate). This was followed by a LOT of chanting and I would have fallen asleep had it not been for the two naughty monks giggling at the back. They looked like a hoot. I wanted to sit with them.

Pangong Lake. What a beaut.

We had an epic few days of riding through the highest passes in the world and experiencing the Himalayas by bike. I would highly recommend this. During this time I learnt that Ladakh likes to lay claim to the World’s Highest “everything”. Thus far I’ve been to the 2nd and 10th highest motorable passes in the world, the highest and second highest gas station, the highest enduro park, the highest research station and the highest saltwater lake. I’m not sure how recent all the signage was, but we’ll roll with it. It’s also full of motorbikes, military and dogs with limps (every second dog has a limp). I also learnt that it’s common to leave milk in front of the Buddha in the temples. And coke and chocolate. We saw all sorts of gifts. I still don’t know what he’s going to do with the milk to be fair, that went over my head..

The Himalayas

We returned to Leh and a miracle happened. Chirag bought the Helly Hansen rip off waterproof. The shop keeper was clearly ecstatic to be rid of the pest that had been trying on and touching up the same jacket for the past 3 years. It’s a good thing too because it started raining again. The few days of summer were over and back came the “rain that never happens at this time of year”. The sun left and with it, it took the warm showers.

Candid Chirag at a place I’ve already forgotten the name of

And then it was time to say goodbye – to Chirag, to our fellow guesthouse dwellers and to Tsetan and Aunty and Uncle. Next stop: Jaipur to see my Indian family, Nitin and Deepti, and their school in the slums.

And then our flight was cancelled. And the baggage handlers dropped Neil’s bag in a puddle.

So we came back. To Chirag, to our fellow guesthouse dwellers and to Tsetan and Aunty and Uncle. They welcomed us back with open arms. Until Neil opened his bag and all of his clothes were damp from the puddle dropping incident and smelled like wet dog.

The next day we said our goodbyes. Again. And off I went to the airport. Again. With my wet dog in tow. 

And then our flight was cancelled. And we were put on another flight.

And then that flight was cancelled. And we were put on another flight.

And Neil smelled like wet dog.

And finally, three cancelled flights later we actually boarded a plane and left Leh. It was fairly uneventful. Neil spent the hour watching monk memes with the monk sat next to him and I sat and wondered why our Spice Jet plane had ‘Spring Fit Premium Mattress’ advertised on every available space, it seemed bizarre to me.

I then contemplated how bad the monsoon in Jaipur would be and wondered if we’d ever be rain free again.

Yes, it’s true. I love Ladakh.

Jaipur
We touched down in Delhi 24hrs late and had missed our connecting flight to Jaipur so Nitin organised us a taxi as we only now had a couple of days to see them in Jaipur before leaving India. So the taxi drove us the 280km, across two lanes, because the driver was asleep (yes asleep).
The journey took 7 hours. Leaving Delhi was, naturally, carnage. I swear I counted 16 LANES on the motorway at one point. 16 LANES. IN ONE DIRECTION. Since when has that been a thing?!! But after we left Delhi we entered a 4 lane toll and it was the complete opposite. Quiet, boring, straight. Perfect conditions for the driver to have a snooze. Apart from talking to him to keep him from veering off the road the trip was relatively uneventful (trains are way better). There was the occasional car going the wrong way up the motorway, a few groups herding goats and some people casually hanging out on the central reservation drinking chai but that was that.

And we finally reached Jaipur, after multiple cancelled flights, missed flights, lack of trains and a 7hr taxi later. 

And it felt like home. 

Jaipur. The place I’ve been back to every time I’ve been to India. To the place where we met Chirag in the hostel eight years ago. To our Indian family, to the school in the slums, to one of my favourite cities. And Nitin and Deepti who always welcome us as their own.

Back with our Indian family

Nitin doesn’t believe in rest and Neil doesn’t sleep so they decided we should get up at 4am and go to the Hindi temple where I ate some basil and someone shoved some cotton wool in my ears (there are reasons, but obviously I’ve forgotten). I was ready for this though, as I’ve been to this temple before and I had vague memories of chanting and sniffing things (in a religious way). To be fair the aromas took away the smell of Neil’s musty pants. I nearly fell over a rat, we clapped some more, had a lovely morning and then had chai and samosa barms on the side of the road. Then we had to push Nitin’s car to get it going as it had decided to pack up on us, feed some cows and visit the school.

If you’ve read any of our previous India blogs you’ll know all about Saksham – Nitin and Deepti set up this school in the slums for the children and the first time Lyvette and I met Nitin he was just starting the school up, so we went around the slums with him, recruiting the kids to come and get an education, food and vaccinations. It’s incredible, so we took Neil so he could experience it for himself.

Saksham school in the slums of Jaipur

In the afternoon Nitin took us for a tour around the Pink City and stopped abruptly, looking at me;
“Do you want to try something weird?” other people may have asked what context this was meant in. I, however, nodded. I’m always keen for weird stuff. That was, until I tried Kanji Vada, which I now know to be a ‘popular Rajasthani dish made of lentil fritters soaked in a tangy, fermented mustard-flavored water’. It was not nice. I do not recommend it and yes, yes it is weird. 

Eww (note to self – don’t put Nitin’s ‘weird’ things in your mouth).

It was a long day so we went home for some chill time where we learnt that in India an 8 point reverse is part of the driving test! Wild! That was new to me too. I also held Nitin’s son to his promise that he’d show me how to make chai. 

That was until he got distracted by Neil’s arms; “oooooo can I feel your biceps?” Then, as he was touching up Neil’s biceps he roped us into helping with his maths homework. I took one look at the text book and left the room.

Neil washed his musty clothes, however it appears that monsoon season isn’t conducive to drying clothes so in fact they remained damp and musty. That was unfortunate for everyone within the vicinity of Rajasthan.

And then our time in Jaipur was up. It was a flying visit cut even shorter by cancelled and delayed flights. But I couldn’t go to India and miss my Indian home. So we went for a late lunch of tahli before Nitin and Deepti drove us to the airport. This was where another of the Two Small Mancunians friends’ arrived. Dhruv (who managed the hostel we stayed at – see blog here for reminders) rocked up to say hello and show us some love. Another reminder of why I love this country so much. The people we’ve met have gone above and beyond time and time again, after years. They welcome, love and host with sheer delight, always making it harder and harder to leave. But of course, all good things must come to an end. So we said some more goodbyes and went to the airport to catch our flight to Delhi. 

It was delayed. Obviously.

A few hours later we landed in Delhi, had a quick sleep and then were up bright and early for our international flight. But first things first, we had to eliminate the musty smell of wet dog following us around and Neil went to Levi’s. It was a relief. To everyone residing on the continent of Asia.

And he boarded the Air Indigo flight to Singapore smelling fresh and ready. It’s just a shame that flight was hotter than the sun and it was impossible not to sweat like a pig. I’d like to say the rest of the journey home was uneventful, but that would be a lie. 

I unknowingly pressed the ‘call for help’ button in the bathroom, mid flight, and had an entourage of people banging on the door mid pee which sent me into a mild panic as I assumed there was an emergency (apparently it was me). 

We then boarded our flight from Singapore to Melbourne only to unboard it a short while later. Eventually it was cancelled so we were rerouted to Sydney with a six hour layover (which meant we got to see Lyvette, yeyyyyy).

Finally, after a two week trip consisting of 1 flight reroute, 4 cancellations and 2 delays we were finally back in Queenstown. I can honestly say I’ve never had so many cancellations and delays in one trip, especially such a short one. Being such a travel extraordinaire I owned it. Neil, however, nearly had a meltdown in Singapore when we had to disembark our flight to Melbourne. Tbf it’s not his fault, he’s not a Small Mancunian (he’s tall and from Essex and they’re pansies) so he can’t handle this shit like us;
“Nothing has gone smoothly on this trip. Nothing.” I nodded in agreement.
“Not one flight has left on time and we’ve spent sooooo much time in airports, waiting.” He continued. “And. I’ve spent the last 4 days smelling like a wet dog.” This was very true. 
I wasn’t sure if this was the right time to tell him that although he’d bought new jeans his t-shirt didn’t smell great either…
“And my top smells, I think that was dropped in the puddle as well” Ahhhh, there we go.
I kept my mouth shut. 

It was a complete whirlwind, ticking off the bucket list with turmeric stained fingers and a belly full of samosas and chai.

How did this compare to my previous India experiences?

The heart of India. It’s people.

Different. Very different. Because that’s the thing with India it’s like hundreds of countries rolled into one. The Himalayas, Ladakh, was different from everywhere else I’ve been so far. You didn’t get scammed. There were no homeless people. There was less street food. It was slightly more expensive. It had more of a Tibetan influence. It wasn’t as manic and chaotic as other cities. It was easier to feel at ease there and I loved it. I love the mountains, I love the people, I love everything I saw and did. 

Do I love it more than other places? No. Less? No. 

Because (not so secretly) I love the assault on my senses as I head through Delhi old town. I enjoy the chaos and the way other areas in India are unapologetically overwhelming. I just love the diversity of the country. The way it blind sides you each time. I love the way you just can’t expect anything when you go someplace new, because it’s always wrong.

Did I love Ladakh and the Himalayas? Yes.

Do I feel like I’ve finally had my fill of India?

Not even close.

India’s best samosa butties and chai!

*Note that since I started this blog (it’s taken me a while) there is now ANOTHER highest pass in India the Mig La Pass. So we’ve now been up the third highest pass in the world, not the second.