I had to make my way home from American Samoa to London. A journey that included 4 flights, one broken prop plane, one grumpy crab, 6 lost suitcases, a pit stop in New Zealand and a stunning hotel in Apia.

We arrived in Pago Pago, American Samoa, early in the morning and travelled straight to airport to catch our early plane to Apia. As if things ran so smoothly!

The tiny plane to take us across the pacific to the island of Samoa sat broken on the runway. There was someone who could fix it… but they were in Apia… our destination. Without a plane. After 8 hours sitting on the tarmac, the crowd of people waiting board the 12 seat plane grew to over 50 including the Samoan rugby team and their families! We decided to hop on the bus (a bus strangely named Titanic for some reason!) to the local MacDonalds and grab some food as the time stretched on. As we dozed on piles of bags… dodging the odd stowaway red crab or two… a plane landed… and took off again…. Well at least the mechanic was there at last.

Local ‘titanic’ bus!

Our plane!

A very angry stowaway!

We suddenly realised that the crowds were all jostling to be on the first plane out! We needed to be on that plane! Brilliantly, the classical flautist travelling with us, Anne, had an entrepreneurial idea… She grabbed myself and the wonderful ‘Two on Tap’, taking us to the security office where one security guard sat eating a burger (Anne had popped to MacDonalds earlier to get in their good-books! What a gal!).

“We’re all acts” she cheekily said to the guard. “ We just got off a ship. She sings, [Pointing at me!], they dance [pointing at Two on Tap] and I play the flute. If we do a little show for you now, can we please get on the first plane out of here?”

He laughed. “Go on then!”

Right there in that tiny room, tired and desperate, I sang Gershwin songs whilst Ron and Melissa tapped and Anne played the middle eights!! It was the most bizarre part of the day so far. So far….!

Pleased with our efforts, we went back to waiting. And waiting. We killed time sharing dirty jokes with one of the island chiefs (also waiting for our plane) and getting to know each other. I have to say, if I was going to be stranded, I was glad it was with these guys. We laughed and talked until our flight was called.

Chief showing off his tattoos!

After another wait with the chief in the lounge, we walked out into the hot evening to the seemingly fixed plane. As we started to board the five of us were told o stay by the door… the ceiling of the plane had fallen into the cabin and they were appearing to be gaffer taping it and hitting it very hard back into place.

Just then… the heavens opened.

And so, sheltering under the wing of a tiny prop plane we passed the last few moments in American Samoa and watched the ship we had all left at early that morning sailing away into the pacific mist.

When the plane roof was taped back together, and pilot was convinced that the earlier broken propeller was starting to turn again, we set off for Apia!

Manically terrified before take off!!

Storm rolling in… before take off!

My seat was pretty much in the cockpit. Huge levers and buttons close enough to touch had me sitting on my hands. As we taxied the lady next to me gripped my hand. Our whitening knuckles locked together we laughed all the way across the international dateline to Samoa. An hour later… we arrived. 25 hours after we had taken off. As we taxied to the teeny tiny terminal, the pilot and co-pilot turned around to face us, their thumbs up. We’d made it. Our bags…? They didn’t.

                                  Me and the Pilot                                            … my seat….!

Good luck!

Video taken of us mid air!!!

Mostly bagless, but with whatever we could find, we headed to the hotel. We needed food… and I needed a cocktail! Our waiter for the evening heard we were dancers, singers and musicians and came over to sing us a fantastic local song! Just brilliant! The rum was flowing and the journey was on a break… I started to relax.

A fire show, a great meal and a couple of cocktails later, exhausted, I slept the sleep of the dead.

The Tanoa Tusitala hotel in Apia is beautiful, if you ever have reason to travel to Apia, its a fabulous place to stay, http://www.tanoatusitala.com/ . After a great breakfast and a morning in the pool, the errant suitcases arrived at the hotel, and we took a breath set off for our next stop… New Zealand!

Tanoa Tusitala Hotel

Next stop New Zealand!

 

 

I was eating an omlette and stirring a cup of English breakfast tea by the window as we glided towards Maui. I was up earlier than I thought, jet leg from a few days earlier had left my body clock somewhere over the mid-west US, meaning I was raring to go as the rest of the ship rattled slowly to life around me. A small splash about 20 metres from the window caught my attention. I kept my eyes focused on the spot a few moments, trying to see if it was anything interesting… A whale! A huge humpback whale broke the surface, rearing out of the water and crashing onto its back.

I dropped my spoon.

No one around me seemed to react… hadn’t they seen it? Why were they not dropping their spoons too? Another whale joined the first… then another… and another. I stopped counting at 16 whales! As more people noticed, more forgotten cutlery dropped, this was breakfast entertainment at its best. As we dropped anchor, the pod surrounded the ship, leaping in turns as I, and countless others, poured onto deck with our iPads and cameras trying to get a good shot.

Although these are pictures of humpacks in Maui… I didn’t take them. I’m not that good!

After an hour, and an inordinate amount of snapshots and shaky video (far to blurry to be displayed here!), I made my way to shore. I had 9 hours in Maui and I wasn’t going to waste it!

I have found one of the best things to do when in a beautiful place for a very short time, is to ask a taxi driver where their favourite place is, and go there! That is exactly the choice I made that morning. I had befriended a young woman from LA a few days earlier, she was travelling alone like me and desperately wanted a day of relaxation and fun on the island. With our other halves across the other side of the world and valentines day only hours away, we decided mimosas and brunch were in order.

The taxi driver set off on our 30 minute drive to Napili bay, just north of Lahaina, Maui, and his recommendation of the best brunch on the island. Vibrant green mountains erupted into view, haloed by the morning mist. The mist leant a pastel quality to the colourful flowers, that I knew, in a few hours time would be blindingly bright.

Handing us a complimentary bottle of water and wishing us a nice day (along with pointers for how to get the local wifi!… what a gentleman!) our driver dropped us by some stone steps leading to white sand. Still only 8:30 am, families were starting their descent down the rocks to the sheltered cove, ready for a lazy day of sun. The sand was virgin. The ocean was quiet and clear. Tall palm trees cast mosaic shadows on the beach. It was a little bit of heaven. The sand was so inviting I decided to write a valentines message to my hubby-to-be instead of the valentines card I had forgotten to post!

Spying a rental hut, I traded $15 for some snorkelling equipment then settled on my towel to watch the sun creep higher. Maybe an hour passed, maybe two. I’m not sure, but I was only interrupted from my reverie by my acute awareness that my 5am omlette had worn off and the earlier talk of mimosas was calling to me!

Just above the rocks lies The Sea House. (http://seahousemaui.com/) The Sea House is a fabulous establishment set on the edge of Napili bay with wide glass windows staring out to the turquoise ocean and shaded by giant palm trees. Espressos and bagels ordered, we sipped mimosas and chatted about all sorts. I enjoyed getting to know my new friend. I still find it strange how circumstance can bring two complete strangers from different continents together so far from their homes so effortlessly. I truly don’t know what we talked of. Most likely college, men, favourite cocktails… whatever. I do know it was easy and relaxed.

Morning stretched to afternoon as we swam, snorkelled, dozed, ate and drank. I should probably say we achieved something worthwhile, but we didn’t. We just had a lovely time. If you get chance to visit maui, do visit Napili bay. Do have a bite to eat at The Sea House and watch the surfers paddle through the cove.

Napili Bay

The taxi ride back to Lahaina flew by. With an hour to spare we pottered around stores, picking up the obligatory fridge magnet, before bobbing back to the ship, amidst the whales we’d left at dawn. We sailed away as the sun started to set and the island turned gold. I cannot describe the simple beauty of that day. Suffice to say, I can’t wait to go back!

                      

This may annoy those of you who think travelling alone is easy, but, my advice as a woman travelling alone in Mumbai is always find someone to accompany you when venturing into the city. I don’t mean to be anti-feminist or come across as weak, but it is always best to be safe. When faced with the prospect of travelling into the city alone in April I approached two couples I’d recently met on the ship. I didn’t have a fixed idea of where I wanted to visit in the city so I was happy to join them and see what they wanted to see. So, ludicrously early one morning as the temperature topped 80 degrees, the 5 of us, holding our bright yellow immigration cards, traipsed across the tarmac to the port gates. Train services carrying men to work rolled past us, creaking on their rusty tracks. Every now and  then men jumped down and sauntered to their place of work. Stripping off, they showered together by the street chatting together as they readied themselves for work.  As we exited the port, hoards of taxi drivers jostled for business, teenage girls holding tiny babies begged for change whilst police blew whistles to control the surge.

 

Suddenly I was gripped by the arm and saw Keith (one of the men from the ship I had ventured ashore with) and his wife, dragging me toward the taxis. Men started to shout at me then suddenly stopped as Keith shouted… “This is my daughter”. Apparently that’s all I needed to be for a free pass! So as Keiths daughter, with his lovely wife, (and the on-board art teachers, George and Mearle) we started our journey into the centre of Mumbai.

The taxi took us past the buildings I remembered from a few months earlier. The colonial buildings wrapped in vines and spiralling cracks, the train station standing huge and imposing over the busy streets. Cows roamed free and buses grumbled into spaces that seemed far too small!! Our taxi driver and George chatted about cricket as we wound our way to the Taj Mahal hotel.

Shops were only just beginning to open and street vendors were setting out their wares for the days trade. The ladies began to shop… Keith and George accustomed to this, took up residence outside shops befriending local kids whilst their wives picked up silks and hair-clips and I stocked up on Indian cloting for my sister and neice.

Now my husband has always said you can recognise people who have ‘been travelling’ as opposed to people who happen to travel, as the former always have a pair of travelling trousers. What are travelling trousers? I hear you ask. Well, travelling trousers are generally a pair of trousers that are baggy and are only acceptable wear if you are on a desert island or in the far east. If you wear them in the UK or anywhere else they can be seen as a sign you’ve ‘been travelling’ or on a gap year. It’s not a great look! Now, in the centre of Mumbai… I found some travelling trousers. Taken over by a fit of idiocy… I bought them… I still have them. I have no idea when I will wear them again… but their scratchy sequinned patchwork still lights up my closet!

Our happy rabble in the Taj Mahal Hotel

Armed with travelling trousers, saris and bags of impulse purchased beads we set off for the Taj Mahal Hotel bar… it was time for a drink.

The friendly Mr Mistry was our barman in the hotel. We sat in the booth he excitedly told us had been frequented in days gone by by John Lennon, as he talked to us about the 30 years he has worked in this one tiny bar in the most famous hotel in India. I ordered a Bombay sapphire…. (it had to be done!) whilst the others snacked on incredible vegetarian delights and listened to his stories.

From the window we could see the towering Gateway to India, surrounded by crowds of tourists. What a moment to remember forever… The opulence of that hotel is in so much contrast to the city buildings around it. You cant escape the juxtaposition of poor and insanely rich in Mumbai.

Changing into the travelling trousers (to save my skirt getting any more ripped) we made our way from the hotel to the huge monument by the bay. The gateway to India.

There are some very enterprising people working the crowds by the gateway. Men carrying printers and digital cameras take perspective pictures of tourists, selling them for a dollar. As I stood next to the monument a crowd of people gathered. I thought they were all waiting to take a photo from the angle I had chosen… then when I moved… so did they. The man with the printer it became apparent was charging people $1 to have photo taken with the blonde girl! Before I knew it I was posing next to the Gateway being handed babies and children whilst the enterprising young gentleman made his daily wage from the pictures!

Making my excuses, we headed back to the taxi. With 5 people and 4 seats… I fit snugly into the boot! Laughing with the driver as we rattled around the city, packages balanced all around me, I decided I need to see more of India.

Sitting in the boot!                                                                     Crazy vine covered streets!

My first foray into India was brief and stressful. A 6 am immigration… followed by a frantic transfer to Mumbai international airport staring through the bus window at places I wished to explore but had no time. Numerous baggage scans and personal searches, (I stopped counting at 11!), followed by an obligatory curry for breakfast and a 9 hour flight back to London didn’t make for a true first impression of this huge diverse country.

My second experience in India was a world apart. I have fallen in love with this crazy beautiful and vibrant place. Arriving in Chennai (formally Madras) the capital of the Tamil Nadu state, in April, the heat was palpable. Huge birds circled the ship as we drew closer into land. (one such pterodactyl stole my sandwich! A full size sandwich!!) The water was filled with small boats dashing in and out of our way. I could see the 19^th century vine covered buildings jostling with each other as far as the eye could see.

The obligatory immigration completed I was free to travel into the local area. A short ride to the port gates were a string of tuk tuks. With 2 of my fellow acts, crammed into the back of the canary yellow rickshaw we set off to explore the city before dusk fell.

What can I say about the journey!!??? Families of 4 on one motorbike squealed past us, we turned right… (now that is terrifying!) and negotiated our day with the driver. The itinerary agreed on, our new friend dropped us at the main fabric marketplace, agreeing to pick us up later. Chennai is very different to Mumbai as there are so few people in western dress. The women were all in a sari or a salwar and my Forever 21 maxi dress stood out like a sore thumb! A blonde woman in India is hard to ignore and the stares followed me down the street. I wanted a Sari.

Chennai Silks called out to me! It was like going back to the 1970’s! If you ever watched ‘Are you being served?’ then you would recognise the Chennai silks outlet! Hardwood tables lined the cavernous shop while men brought water and snacks to those who browsed. The first floor was filled with gold filigree jewellery and precious stones. Saris for every occasion filled the fourth floor… all eyes were on me. I obviously looked lost. By this time I was a woman alone in a country where I spoke no local language and had no idea how the shop worked. I took a deep breath:

“I’d like a sari” I managed to a young man who stared quizzically at me.

“fancy sari?” he said

I gave him a number of roupees I was willing to spend… immediately I was whisked away into a corner with 5 men and 2 women. Lost in a rainbow of silks I started to shop. 1 hour later… several carbon paper copies of credit card receipts and multiple papers stating ownership (stamped by 3 desks before I could carry the good outside!) later… I had a beautiful new sari!

The best was yet to come. The afternoon continued with a journey to the universal temple. The layers of dirt that filled the residential streets on the way to the temple stopped abruptly at the gates. Inner city highway suddenly became silent terracotta framed with palm trees and white marble. People drifted up the steps towards the huge doors… I followed. Taking off my shoes I washed my feet and climbed the stairs. The first thing that hit was the silence. Utter peace in a high ceilinged space. I sat cross legged on the womens side, unsure of what I should be doing. Then I realised, I was doing exactly what I should be doing. Just being there. Enjoying it.

The universal temple is actually called Sri Ramakrishna math. Ramakrishna Math is a monastic organisation for men brought into existence by Ramakrishna (1836–1886), a 19th-century saint of Bengal. The motto of the Ramakrishna math and Ramakrishna  Mission is: “For one’s own salvation, and for the welfare of the world”. Sri Ramakrishna Math, Chennai is the first branch center of the Ramakrishna Order in Southern India. It was started in the year 1897 by Swami Ramakrishnananda, one of the direct disciples of Ramakrishna. (for more see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sri_Ramakrishna_Math,_Chennai )

As the sun began to set we left the temple and ventured through to the monastery part of the complex. As I rounded to corner to the meditation garden I passed two young women who smiled and waved over to me. Taking the opportunity I went over to them.

“Are you American?” one of the girls asked.

“No, English” I said

She perked up excitedly! “Oh where from!!!?? I trained as a doctor in Manchester. I lived in west Didsbury when I was a student!”

What a small world! Here I was half way around the world in a tranquil temple garden with a girl who lived 10 miles from where I grew up! We chatted, took pictures and kept each other company on the walk to the gates. She had just returned to Chennai, after studying, to start her career caring for the people of her home city. She filled me in on the history of the temple of the kinds of Buddhism that are available in the local area and of many many more things I can’t begin to remember!

As the sun set, we meandered through the trees, dipping in bookstores, watching people come and go, sweep and pray. Our trusty Tuk Tuk returned on time and we bumped our way back to the port, through crazy traffic and the odd bewildered looking cow.

Dusty and hungry, I collapsed on my bed for a well earned nap… the night wasn’t over… but more on that another time!

Open, honest… Oman

Surrounded by redish-grey razor sharp mountains my first view of Oman was striking. The sun scorched, the sky was brittle blue and the water left white waves beating the desert like shore. Bordering Yemen, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emarites, Oman could be seen as a place unwise to venture as a blonde woman alone. In January I found myself just outside of Muscat with a day to kill. Dressed in a long skirt and a scarf covering my shoulders I began the 20 minute walk into the town centre with two other young women from europe. I have to take this moment to say, I didn’t know what to expect, yet, Oman gripped me as one of the most friendly places I have ever traveled to. As the three of us rounded the corner of the port and began the trail towards the marketplace a man began to follow us. My awareness piqued, we began to walk faster. He also walked faster… finally he caught up with us.

“Where are you going?” he asked in perfect English

“The marketplace” I replied

“I’ll show you”

I began to check to see if I had change to pay him for his kindness. A naïve mistake I now know: He looked genuinely hurt.

“I will walk with you,” he said again “just to make sure you are safe. Enjoy your time here in Muscat!” As we walked he chatted about his brothers business how long he had lived here and how the weather was a little chilly right now.

Opposite the market he left us with a smile and went on his way, satisfied the women he had spied were safe.

I straight away began to drop my preconceptions. Oman is an educated and beautiful country. Its opera house is a huge pull of tourism and culture as this country’s appreciation of art is unrivalled. Even the bus stops along the seafront were so intricately designed they almost become art themselves.

After a wander through the stalls, picking out fabrics for my upcoming wedding and to generally add interest to outfits (and finding the obligatory fridge magnet to take home!) I found myself wandering through the backstreets of Muscat. It struck me as similar to many greek islands The white of the houses, the dust of the dry landscape mixed with the intricate music of local radio yammering from shaded windows. Shop keepers eyed us with interest… three young women alone in western dress! Surely we must be lost!  Needing a drink we came across a sea front café looking out the clear water towards the old battlements on the mountains. A family, one father, many wives and their children joined the hubub. The monochrome covering of the women shifting now and again to reveal bright glimpses of colour and jewels. They laughed together, wives of the same man, happy in their afternoon activities. Children clattered by on BMX’s chasing one another loudly through the traffic.

At that moment it struck me, regardless of society structure, this was as any other place in the world. I have sat in cafés in the USA and UK and seen a similar sight just with slightly different social constructs. Everywhere in the world, whether under a Sultan or a President, kids chase each other, brothers torment their sisters and families spend an afternoon sipping iced tea by the sea.

If you ever get the chance to go to Oman, I encourage you to do so. Don’t expect a travellers playground like Dubai, but do expect a conservative, proud and educated country. Eager to please and help you experience their own culture. The dusty desert hides a gem here.