Admittedly there haven’t been many moments in my life where I’ve shared a confined space with football fans, but flight KL 205 from Amsterdam-Rio blessed me with 12 hours of such an experience. I would estimate the ratio of men to women on the flight was around 8:2.
I recently discovered I am incredibly prone to travel sickness; a message, which I feel, my body has delivered quite late in life. It was on the beautiful and scenic drive up the winding mountain roads that led to the sublime and sacred land of Uttarkashi, that I learnt this lesson.
When I think of the small and simple pleasures of visiting India, drinking a piping hot, milky tea with excess sugar definitely stands among them. From street corners to train stations – it is the tasty cup of chai that hits the spot every time. Yet on a recent visit to one of Delhi airport’s domestic terminals I was disgruntled to discover there was none on offer.
Amina was one of nearly twenty urban sex workers I met in Tanzania’s capital a while ago on a film, photography and storygathering assignment.
It’s my mum’s birthday this week, and she’s already told me what she wants for her gift, “You can prepare a traditional Gujarati dinner and invite me to your home – you have to cook the entire meal.”