Another flight from hell. This time the one to Indonesia – sandwiched between my gum chewing teenage niece and a Frenchman with chronic halitosis. ........ and I have a nose to rival pinnochio.
Fortunately a benevolent air steward rescued me with an extra eye mask to use over my mouth. The Frenchman fell asleep – mouth open – as fate would have it perfectly in line and only just centimetres from my super sensitive snout – breathing foul fumes as he snored.
And so I sat for four solid interminable hours alternatively trying to hold my breath or to synchronise my breath in with his in order to avoid the overwhelming stench of old Coquille St Jacques a la Provencal coming from his fundamental orifice.
Next stop India ..... and the ideal trip to India surely has to be via helicopter – ferrying one in a becoming queenly manner between oases of civilisation and conveniently avoiding the mayhem and squalor in between the jewels .
On the upside, India is truly Incredible as the advert states – exotic and magical . The remnants of a glorious colonial imperial past, the grandeur of the Maharajas make it all so bearable and beguiling.
But to get to each pot of gold, one has to endure filth beyond measure, persistent aggressive beggars, hooting crazed drivers, overcrowded trucks and trains, intense people pollution coupled with chaos and pandemonium.
Just when you start sinking into despair, a colourful sight of a group of labouring women in irresdescent saris in a field of rice, lifts your spirits and you can carry on. India is not a place for the faint hearted, impatient or overly hygiene conscious.
So, how does this queen cope ?
Armed with a pot of the strongest brand of Tiger Balm , a bottle of hand sanitiser and an inhaler of potent pungent essential oils – I can persuade my nose to endure. Sunglasses help to screen out demanding beggars, and a strong relationship with my God and Father helps me survive the onslaught of mad mad crazed drivers.
I hate it and I love it, and everytime I cope – only only just.
