India

Progress

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The chicken’s been hatched and so as the egg, because on Monday I should pick up a freshly printed Chinese visa. Add to that the Kyrgyzstan stamp I collect on Tuesday and its fair to say the ball is well and truly rolling.

I’ve appointed the agency to get me into China and while that might cost a fortune I’ll happily admit I’m not a brave enough man just to chance it. I just reasoned if I failed I would have to come back down to India, get more visas, go the official route and wait til Christmas to get the green light. And by then the road will be closed becasue of the snow. So while an epic chapter in this tale a illegal smuggle over the border would make, I’m settling for the soft route… the legal way.

Dot’s all alone up in Rishikesh so I’m heading back there tonight to say hello, before flying like a boomerang back to Delhi for the visa collection on Monday.

She sent a group email the other day. Here it is;

Hello possums,

How are we all today? Sad news about Michael Jackson. I was sat outside an internet cafe when beardy came out crying. ‘The King of Pop is dead’, he declared before falling flat on his face on the kerbside and balling for an hour. Pull yourself together man. You’re a disgrace.

Anyhow, I’m all alone at the minute up the hills of Rishikesh. I’m staying at a lovely guesthouse being pampered by a sweet old dear called Mama Gee. She’s the owner and night watchman as I spend a glorious week without beardy as he saunters around Delhi asking strangers if they’ve seen his visa for Iran.

He won’t find it, that’s why the latest I heard he’d been to the Chinese embassy having decided to take me up and over the highest mountain road in the world. Not to be confused with the masked fellas from the deep south, it’s called the KKH and towers almost 5000 metres tall. Who knows if I’ll make it with my angina and arthritic knees but in a few weeks we’re going to give it a go.

I’ve even instructed him to take off the silly backbox and big orange side sacks to make me dainty enough to skip over the pass. I believe he’s going to post them over to Turkey where we’ll finally arrive after sauntering happy through China, Krygyzstan, Kazakstan, the other Stans, then Azerbijan and Georgia. We should drop back down into Turkey just in time for tea. It’s a long way around but there’s no other way.

We could have cheated and flown over the Iranian coup, even caught a ferry from Pakistan to Egypt, but we figured that’s too much land missed and don’t want to accused of being cheats, not when a man called Scott Mills is mentioning is on the wireless.

About the route Beardy’s getting nervous already. There was a french fella kidnapped the other week in Pakistan. No sign of him yet but the main thing is his bike was alright. It might then just be me riding into Dover for a pint of Castrol and a salad cream sandwich to celebrate. OOOooo, that’d be nice. Me in the limelight while old Beardy will be on the internet with his head in a basket.

I’ve even had a bath in anticipation. Six hours I sat and let a man wash my bottom with soap and a sponge. It was quite inappropriate but enjoyable all the same. I now look divine and have been successfully chasing scooters up and down the mountain with great sexual success. It’s never too late to make old girl sing.

As for Beardy I think he’s back on Wednesday once Borat’s issued him a visa.

Until then goodbye and god bless.

Dorothy.
x x x x x

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