The train to Ajmer leaves from Delhi every day at 6.10am, it is called the Shitabde Express. Indians are very proud of this train, and not without cause, it pulled away from the station exactly on time, the air conditioning was so good I needed my fleece, and the chairs are reasonable comfy, despite facing backwards (all of them). But the most impressive thing is the catering service. As soon as the train leaves the station the guys bring every passenger a litre of cold water and a paper cup. Then they come round with newspapers. Then it's a tea run – they bring a tray with 2 "tea kits"; a teabag, sugar and dairy creamer (like coffeemate); a couple of biscuits, a couple of sweeties. Then everybody gets a little thermos pot of boiling water. I found it all a bit much, especially as I was woken every 20 mins so somebody could hand me something to eat, drink, read or pour. Then they woke me up to take it back again. I am not at my sparkling best at 6am. After the 3rd tea run I decided to try it out, having carefully watched what everybody else did. Until then I had just stashed the sweeties. As long as you don't think of it as tea you're okay; it's nice enough but it's not exactly Tetley. I had just snuggled down to sleep again when breakfast arrived – a vegetable pakora (I think).
I woke up with my head on the tray in front of me as we pulled out of a station. The newspaper was stuck to my face. I looked at my watch and realised it was 10 mins after I was supposed to get off. Panicked I asked the man behind me where we were, which was stupid as when he told me I was still none the wiser. Fortunately the train was just a little late, and we soon pulled into Ajmer.
Stepping off the train was like being slapped in the face by a hot oven door. After sitting in the fridge like carriage for seven hours it was a shock to step out into the desert heat. I had been warned about Ajmer, there's not too many tourists or white people and the locals will stare. They do. It can be quite disconcerting, it's really odd being in a country where the values and etiquettes are totally different. It is quite valid for somebody to ask you how much you earn, openly stare at you or approach you for money, and if you refuse instead of going away, say "Why?" rather indignantly. I was expecting to be met at the station, so I walked into the lobby where I was immediately bombarded by taxi drivers shouting 100 Rupees! Only 80 Rupees! 50 rupees madam! and jostling for my attention. I was plucked out of the throng by a tourist policeman who plonked me down in his office (please, be comfortable) and helped me get in touch with the hospital. They sent a car from the hotel at Pushkar to pick me up, and I was off to Pushkar.
The road to Pushkar winds its way up and over Snake Mountain, it is known as the snake road due to its terrifying hairpin bends. It's like the Devils Elbow, but 20 times in a row, and instead of crawling around the bend, scooters and buses fly round on the wrong side of the road. It's made harder by the monkeys that sit on the road eating food that people throw out of cars for them. The road signs are painted directly onto the cliff face! And right at the bealach is the home of a family who live under a sheet of corrugated tin. The lady of the house uses the cactus plants to hang out the washing, it makes a beautiful picture, the red and yellow saris on the green cacti at the top of the mountain.
Immediately I got into the hotel I was mobbed by elaborately dressed young women who were exceptionally friendly, and desperate to hold my hands. A couple of minutes later and I felt something damp on my palm – the henna had come out and I was becoming a painted lady. I was quite pleased, I've long envied the beautiful pictures of Indian womens hands on their wedding day, and had been looking forward to maybe coming across something like this. By this time both hands were covered, and they were away to start on my arms when I diplomatically extricated myself. It all started to go pear-shaped when it was time to wash it off. I was cornered in the hotel kitchen whilst my hands were washed for me and negotiations were opened for payment (a bit of a surprise, paying for something you didn't ask for) and of course they were "very money poor" and would give me "good price, my sister" and I was getting very uncomfy. Most of you will know me pretty we and understand that I don't like having my hands stroked by other women, and when they've got me up against the wall and are demanding money, it gets a little hairy. I basically paid them to go away, then found out I'd been totally fleeced and that the women were gypsies. I felt like a total idiot.
So freshly decorated I headed off to see the sacred lake I have heard so much about. Sunset over Pushkar is one of those things everyone should see once. It's not just a visual thing, there are tabla drummers on the lakeside playing the day out. People sometimes dance, others pray, some practice juggling. I sat on the steps and watched the sun go down behind the Savriti temple which sits on a hilltop overlooking the town. Many of the local townspeople have an evening wash and blessing in the sacred water whilst bats the size of crows fly over the lake. It is magical.
Wednesday 10 October 2007
Friday 28 September 2007
Agra
I wasn't really fussed about seeing the Taj Mahal. In the past I have built myself up before seeing famous things, imagining great beauty or power, something really awe inspiring only to be let down. The Taj Mahal was just a big white marble building famous for a dead princess having sat in front of it.
I was wrong
It was worth sitting on a bus for 6 hrs for. I have never been so captivated by a building, it is incredible. Sometimes no matter how many pictures you see of a thing you can't grasp the proportions and beauty until you are there, seeing it for real. This is one of those.
It is not a lump of solid white marble, it is inlaid with with Lotus flowers in coral stone, (Hindu symbolism), green leaves of malachite, beautiful patterns in bright greens and blues, amethyst, jade and opal, and columns of Muslim scripture in black onyx. The tomb chamber itself has filigree sheets each carved out of a single marble block, like Chinese ivory carving but 5 feet tall. The building took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It is flawless, a true wonder of the world. Shah Jehan had it built to house his wife's body, he planned to build a matching building in black marble on the opposite side of the Yumuna river (Jumna), he had got as far as laying the foundations. But his younger son Araungzeb imprisoned him in his own fort during a war with the heir and favourite, Dara, over the inheritance of power. Araungzeb won and Shah Jehan lived out his days in the Agra Fort, his project abandoned..
The most amazing thing is that this masterpiece was build in the 17th Century - no machines, everything was done by hand. We went to a marble factory to see how it is done, the direct descendants of the men who built the Taj are still doing the same work, but for table tops. Their work is amazingly beautiful - if I were a squillionaire I would have one for my dining table. Until then I'll just have to dream. By the way, they are guaranteed to be the direct descendants by the caste system. Trades are passed from father to son, you can't just pick a job and do it; here roles are very clearly defined.
The hawkers in Agra are very aggressive salesmen, you can't shake them off and they won't take no for an answer. In the space of 20 yards a wooden backgammon set (which was lovely) started at Rs800 ($20) and by the time I was climbing on the bus having been bodyguarded by the guys from the bus who tried to rescue me it was Rs 120. I think I should have bought it actually, it was really nice. Instead I bought a jointed wooden cobra (but of course!) which is a very brotherish present.
Along the road to Delhi it is obvious where all the buses have to stop for road taxes etc; the road is lined with beggars, snake charmers, men with monkeys that get thrown at the bus and cling to the window, then sit on top of a stick held by the man. Then he yanks at the rope round its neck and it does a backflip. A miserable thing to see.
The Agra Fort is an imposing red sandstone building. If you must be held in a prison, this is a pretty good one to pick! The bedchambers are marble inlaid with flowers like the Taj Mahal, which is visible through the arched windows. There's also a large courtyard with flower garden surrounded by bedrooms where the hareem lived. Nuff said!
I was wrong
It was worth sitting on a bus for 6 hrs for. I have never been so captivated by a building, it is incredible. Sometimes no matter how many pictures you see of a thing you can't grasp the proportions and beauty until you are there, seeing it for real. This is one of those.
It is not a lump of solid white marble, it is inlaid with with Lotus flowers in coral stone, (Hindu symbolism), green leaves of malachite, beautiful patterns in bright greens and blues, amethyst, jade and opal, and columns of Muslim scripture in black onyx. The tomb chamber itself has filigree sheets each carved out of a single marble block, like Chinese ivory carving but 5 feet tall. The building took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It is flawless, a true wonder of the world. Shah Jehan had it built to house his wife's body, he planned to build a matching building in black marble on the opposite side of the Yumuna river (Jumna), he had got as far as laying the foundations. But his younger son Araungzeb imprisoned him in his own fort during a war with the heir and favourite, Dara, over the inheritance of power. Araungzeb won and Shah Jehan lived out his days in the Agra Fort, his project abandoned..
The most amazing thing is that this masterpiece was build in the 17th Century - no machines, everything was done by hand. We went to a marble factory to see how it is done, the direct descendants of the men who built the Taj are still doing the same work, but for table tops. Their work is amazingly beautiful - if I were a squillionaire I would have one for my dining table. Until then I'll just have to dream. By the way, they are guaranteed to be the direct descendants by the caste system. Trades are passed from father to son, you can't just pick a job and do it; here roles are very clearly defined.
The hawkers in Agra are very aggressive salesmen, you can't shake them off and they won't take no for an answer. In the space of 20 yards a wooden backgammon set (which was lovely) started at Rs800 ($20) and by the time I was climbing on the bus having been bodyguarded by the guys from the bus who tried to rescue me it was Rs 120. I think I should have bought it actually, it was really nice. Instead I bought a jointed wooden cobra (but of course!) which is a very brotherish present.
Along the road to Delhi it is obvious where all the buses have to stop for road taxes etc; the road is lined with beggars, snake charmers, men with monkeys that get thrown at the bus and cling to the window, then sit on top of a stick held by the man. Then he yanks at the rope round its neck and it does a backflip. A miserable thing to see.
The Agra Fort is an imposing red sandstone building. If you must be held in a prison, this is a pretty good one to pick! The bedchambers are marble inlaid with flowers like the Taj Mahal, which is visible through the arched windows. There's also a large courtyard with flower garden surrounded by bedrooms where the hareem lived. Nuff said!
Saturday 15 September 2007
Delhi!
The start of a new adventure - I am in Delhi for a few days before going down to Pushkar to the vet hospital. The flight over was very quiet so I managed to get a row of 4 seats and bunk down properly thank goodness, and arrived bright and early at Indira Gadhi airport New Delhi (looks a bit like a big shed built on a minefield.) Two drivers had been sent by accident, so they had a squabble about who should take me! Eventually it was all straightened out and it was off to the town. The driver seemed to know a short cut - down the wrong side of the road into the oncoming traffic. I don't know why they paint lanes on the road here, correct road positioning is "where my car fits". We were overtaken on the inside by a family of 5 on a wee moped.
Honking the horn serves as a measure of courtesy (you toot to let people in), to let people know you are there, and for 100 other mystifying reasons. Indicators don't work or arent used, you just stick your arm out the window. This is also used to protect you from other vehicles. I have no idea how they manage not to kill anybody, but it seems to work , in an odd way, no wing mirrors to confuse things and give way to cows. There was even a cow walking down the motorway on the wrong side.
As soon as we set foot in the hotel I was whisked away to the tourism office where I had to sign lots of official looking books, have my passport inspected and detail my plans. It was easier getting through customs! Then the guy told me I was doing it all wrong and drew up an itinerary of his own, which was nearly the same but entailed me paying him a vast sum and sitting in a car lots (which makes me very travel sick). I had to sit and listen to his schpeil for ages before he paused for breath and looked at me expectantly. I then pointed out I was doing everything on his listr but in a way that fitted in with my schedule, didn't make me sick, made maximum use of my time, was much cheaper and was already fully booked and payed for. He got very huffy, sat picking his fingers and said "I'm only doing my duty"!
The hotel is bright and clean, the air con works and there's a fan and a good shower. So a quick shower, clean clothes and it was off to Old Delhi!I got as far as the lobby and the monsoon burst. So it was lunch in the hotel instead, Lamb biryani. Mutton actually, and it was wonderful. I also asked for a lemon soda, which turned out to be a mistake as it was a bottle of soda and a lemon squeezed into a glass, no sugar, just a heartburn carry out. By the time I'd eaten and paid the extortionate 1.50 (!) it was drying up, so again I set off for Old Delhi.
Old Delhi is the best argument for colonialism I've ever seen! People literally live on the pavement - they set up a little kitchen in an alleyway or in the gutter, they sleep on their pedal rickshaw, the pavement or bedframes over which have been woven old rope to make a sort of sling hammock effort. Many of these people have no shoes, some no legs. Cows and dogs curl up to sleep wherever they can be it the middle of the road, the central reservation or the rubbish dump. The cows wander freely and graze off the peelings from fruit vendors stalls. Most seem healthy but thin.We took a rickshaw up through the second hand market to Chandni Chowk. I was really looking forward to seeing this historic street which was designed by the favourite daughter of the great 17th century emperor Shah Jehan with a canal running up the middle of the broad tree lined avenue approaching the Red Fort. The street is named after the moonlight it reflected......
Not any more. Old Delhi is falling down and nobody is doing anything about it. Every now and then there is scaffolding of tied together sticks propping up the front, but many buildings are partly collapsed, whilst throught the holes in the brickwork you can see families living in what's left standing (for now)
It is difficult to explain what it is like to be here for the first time. The smell changes every few feet; popcorn, incense, sweat, spices, faeces, chicken tikka, the myriad sweets frying at the roadside. The colour is brown over all punctuated with splashed of lurid colour from a womans sari, piles of green fruits and red apples on handcarts and the green and yellow auto-rickshaws. Chandni Chowk is a bustling bazaar, difficult to negotiate. It is crammed with stalls selling bright shirts, saris and lengths of cloth. Each of the side streets is a specialised market - spices, the gold and silver market, the elecrical market, textiles, wedding clothes. And at the head of it all the Red Fort, stronghold of Shah Jehan after he moved the court from Agra to Delhi when his wife died (and he built her tomb -the Taj Mahal). I wouldn't like to try and storm the walls, it's pretty impressive. There is a 10m deep moat which was filled by the river but is now a shallow swamp fed by the monsoon rains. As with all old building the nooks and crannies have been filled by birds nesting, but here it's not just pigeons- luiminous green parakeets run up the red sandtone walls, squawking to each other.
I fell prey to a real charmer at the gate, just past the man selling fake beards. He had great plans for me - take me here, take me there, see this, very good very good. All on his "Indian helicopter" a muddy rickshaw. I talked him down into taking me back to the hotel. He certainly had the patter well rehearsed and was proud of Old Delhi - "very cheap good quality" as opposed to New Delhi - "Cost much not good". After drop off and complaints about the price paid "Oh Madam - this is very less!" it was back to the hotel restaurant for a fabulous dinner of various potato combinations. Then a quick wander before bed down the thin streets lit by neon hotel signs with names like "Yes Please Hotel". Didn't do much sleeping, still awake at 4.30 am and waiting to go for the bus to Agra. This could be interesting........
Honking the horn serves as a measure of courtesy (you toot to let people in), to let people know you are there, and for 100 other mystifying reasons. Indicators don't work or arent used, you just stick your arm out the window. This is also used to protect you from other vehicles. I have no idea how they manage not to kill anybody, but it seems to work , in an odd way, no wing mirrors to confuse things and give way to cows. There was even a cow walking down the motorway on the wrong side.
As soon as we set foot in the hotel I was whisked away to the tourism office where I had to sign lots of official looking books, have my passport inspected and detail my plans. It was easier getting through customs! Then the guy told me I was doing it all wrong and drew up an itinerary of his own, which was nearly the same but entailed me paying him a vast sum and sitting in a car lots (which makes me very travel sick). I had to sit and listen to his schpeil for ages before he paused for breath and looked at me expectantly. I then pointed out I was doing everything on his listr but in a way that fitted in with my schedule, didn't make me sick, made maximum use of my time, was much cheaper and was already fully booked and payed for. He got very huffy, sat picking his fingers and said "I'm only doing my duty"!
The hotel is bright and clean, the air con works and there's a fan and a good shower. So a quick shower, clean clothes and it was off to Old Delhi!I got as far as the lobby and the monsoon burst. So it was lunch in the hotel instead, Lamb biryani. Mutton actually, and it was wonderful. I also asked for a lemon soda, which turned out to be a mistake as it was a bottle of soda and a lemon squeezed into a glass, no sugar, just a heartburn carry out. By the time I'd eaten and paid the extortionate 1.50 (!) it was drying up, so again I set off for Old Delhi.
Old Delhi is the best argument for colonialism I've ever seen! People literally live on the pavement - they set up a little kitchen in an alleyway or in the gutter, they sleep on their pedal rickshaw, the pavement or bedframes over which have been woven old rope to make a sort of sling hammock effort. Many of these people have no shoes, some no legs. Cows and dogs curl up to sleep wherever they can be it the middle of the road, the central reservation or the rubbish dump. The cows wander freely and graze off the peelings from fruit vendors stalls. Most seem healthy but thin.We took a rickshaw up through the second hand market to Chandni Chowk. I was really looking forward to seeing this historic street which was designed by the favourite daughter of the great 17th century emperor Shah Jehan with a canal running up the middle of the broad tree lined avenue approaching the Red Fort. The street is named after the moonlight it reflected......
Not any more. Old Delhi is falling down and nobody is doing anything about it. Every now and then there is scaffolding of tied together sticks propping up the front, but many buildings are partly collapsed, whilst throught the holes in the brickwork you can see families living in what's left standing (for now)
It is difficult to explain what it is like to be here for the first time. The smell changes every few feet; popcorn, incense, sweat, spices, faeces, chicken tikka, the myriad sweets frying at the roadside. The colour is brown over all punctuated with splashed of lurid colour from a womans sari, piles of green fruits and red apples on handcarts and the green and yellow auto-rickshaws. Chandni Chowk is a bustling bazaar, difficult to negotiate. It is crammed with stalls selling bright shirts, saris and lengths of cloth. Each of the side streets is a specialised market - spices, the gold and silver market, the elecrical market, textiles, wedding clothes. And at the head of it all the Red Fort, stronghold of Shah Jehan after he moved the court from Agra to Delhi when his wife died (and he built her tomb -the Taj Mahal). I wouldn't like to try and storm the walls, it's pretty impressive. There is a 10m deep moat which was filled by the river but is now a shallow swamp fed by the monsoon rains. As with all old building the nooks and crannies have been filled by birds nesting, but here it's not just pigeons- luiminous green parakeets run up the red sandtone walls, squawking to each other.
I fell prey to a real charmer at the gate, just past the man selling fake beards. He had great plans for me - take me here, take me there, see this, very good very good. All on his "Indian helicopter" a muddy rickshaw. I talked him down into taking me back to the hotel. He certainly had the patter well rehearsed and was proud of Old Delhi - "very cheap good quality" as opposed to New Delhi - "Cost much not good". After drop off and complaints about the price paid "Oh Madam - this is very less!" it was back to the hotel restaurant for a fabulous dinner of various potato combinations. Then a quick wander before bed down the thin streets lit by neon hotel signs with names like "Yes Please Hotel". Didn't do much sleeping, still awake at 4.30 am and waiting to go for the bus to Agra. This could be interesting........
Wednesday 29 August 2007
Rabid Heather!
A week and two days to go and I've got ants in my pants! I'm pacing about the house all the time, partly because of exam thoughts but largely due to excitement and impatience. It's not been an easy few days though; just in time for the really big serious life deciding exams I got my final rabies vaccination (it is a course of three jabs). I reacted very badly, not just the arm pain which was bad enough, but I was sick too. For days. So much so that I had to go to the hospital on Sunday to get anti-emetics. It's amazing how I forget everything I've ever known when I'm ill. Not only did I forget I needed to take electrolyes in an isotonic solution, I also forgot that I had some sitting in my rucksack in case of Delhi Belly. In fact I have an entire travelling pharmacy for such an event. But could I get my brain to string together a decent thought and get them out and drink them? Erm, no. I'm very grateful to friends who saw an internet moan I posted who phoned me and nagged me to not die, get sorted and pass my exams. The first two I have managed. The jury is still out on the third.
Loking forward to Monday when I am going to get my visa. Its all coming together now!
Loking forward to Monday when I am going to get my visa. Its all coming together now!
Friday 24 August 2007
How many sleeps?
It's beginning to feel very close! It's just a couple of weeks until I go now, and I'm trying not to get too excited. Not least because I have exams in the meantime and all my energy should be diverted towards them. It's definitely brown undies week, these are very important and I'm very scared. I'm doing my best to give it 100% whilst wanting to disappear into the hills with a tent, my fishing rod and the dog. You know when it all just feels a bit much? Well that's this week. My Auntie died on Tuesday of cancer, I saw her on Sunday when she was very ill, but still able to hear us. I am lucky, I got the chance to tell her I loved her. So it's been a turbulent week, but I'm back focused on my goal.
I've collected so much stuff for the hospital in India that I can't carry it, so I've sent some things on ahead, and some to one of the staff who is currently in England but going back out in a week or two. Apparently the compounders have been getting jealous of all us Glasgow students wearing surgical scrubs - they don't have any. So I was delighted to recieve a donation of ex NHS scrubs that were getting binned. The salvageable ones are coming out with me for the guys. I've even got a couple of scrub dresses! So thankyou to the anonymous donor, and also to Lindsay McFadyen for donating out of date medical equipment, especially sutures. Donkeys don't seem to mind if things are out of date.
I suppose todays message is one I learned from an undertaker. He says to tell people that you love them whilst you can, because he's seen too many people crying "I should have told them when I had the chance". He's right - don't be one of those heartbroken people.
I've collected so much stuff for the hospital in India that I can't carry it, so I've sent some things on ahead, and some to one of the staff who is currently in England but going back out in a week or two. Apparently the compounders have been getting jealous of all us Glasgow students wearing surgical scrubs - they don't have any. So I was delighted to recieve a donation of ex NHS scrubs that were getting binned. The salvageable ones are coming out with me for the guys. I've even got a couple of scrub dresses! So thankyou to the anonymous donor, and also to Lindsay McFadyen for donating out of date medical equipment, especially sutures. Donkeys don't seem to mind if things are out of date.
I suppose todays message is one I learned from an undertaker. He says to tell people that you love them whilst you can, because he's seen too many people crying "I should have told them when I had the chance". He's right - don't be one of those heartbroken people.
Wednesday 15 August 2007
Acknowledgments
Things are picking up in the planning department, I've confirmed the flights, car transfers, which hotel I want, all my train tickets and various other little bits. Tomorrow it will all be finalised and paid for (hopefully by the fairies).
I wanted to post a brief acknowledgment to some of those who are supporting this project.
I've been getting all my bits of kit together (makes me feel intrepid) and sticking them in a bag to stop me playing with them too much. I am now the proud owner of a silk sleeping bag liner, made by a Dundee company. They are called Scottish Silkworm and a third of the price of any of the equivalents in outdoor shops, free next day delivery. And in pretty colours too! I've also got (not quite so proud) rehydration salts, mozzy repellant, ration packs of all day breakfast (in case I can't handle any more chillies) and a brand new toy which my Mum would love - a Buff / Buffera. It's a sort of balaclava/scarf effort, a tube of material with no seams anywhere so you shouldn't get itchy. It's dead versatile, UV repellant and makes me look like a funky pirate. What more could a girl ask for? I'll get back to you on that one.
I wanted to post a brief acknowledgment to some of those who are supporting this project.
- Intervet for a donation of £150
- Hills for a donation of £50
- Schering-Plough for a donation of £50 and some rabies vaccines
- Royal Canin for a donation of pens for the surgery and an offer of raffle prizes
- Fort Dodge for a donation of antibiotic tablets
- Glasgow Royal Infirmary for collecting out of date sutures for me to take
I've been getting all my bits of kit together (makes me feel intrepid) and sticking them in a bag to stop me playing with them too much. I am now the proud owner of a silk sleeping bag liner, made by a Dundee company. They are called Scottish Silkworm and a third of the price of any of the equivalents in outdoor shops, free next day delivery. And in pretty colours too! I've also got (not quite so proud) rehydration salts, mozzy repellant, ration packs of all day breakfast (in case I can't handle any more chillies) and a brand new toy which my Mum would love - a Buff / Buffera. It's a sort of balaclava/scarf effort, a tube of material with no seams anywhere so you shouldn't get itchy. It's dead versatile, UV repellant and makes me look like a funky pirate. What more could a girl ask for? I'll get back to you on that one.
Friday 10 August 2007
Intro
I have never really thought seriously about blogging, and have thoroughly mocked those who do - who's going to read it? Why don't you talk to the cat, or just find something better to do with your time - but I have been persuaded into starting one to keep in touch with friends over the course of my stay in India, and for life in general. I'm one of those people who means to do things. I do honestly mean to phone you/write/email/meet up I just never quite get there. So to salve my aching conscience I'll just stick it all here and then it's up to you to check, and I am sneakily absolved of any blame (good, eh?).
Credit for the title goes to my friend Anne who has been doing a counselling course, her new favourite question is "What are you going to do with your wild and precious life?". Hopefully this will be a space where I can show her.
Now I feel I should say something profound, so I'm going to go and sit down until the feeling passes.
(Don't you have anythig better to do with your time than read about me? I'm really not very exciting, it's just an illusion created because I flap my arms about a lot.)
Credit for the title goes to my friend Anne who has been doing a counselling course, her new favourite question is "What are you going to do with your wild and precious life?". Hopefully this will be a space where I can show her.
Now I feel I should say something profound, so I'm going to go and sit down until the feeling passes.
(Don't you have anythig better to do with your time than read about me? I'm really not very exciting, it's just an illusion created because I flap my arms about a lot.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
