is there poodle in my noodle

A common question would-be travellers pose in online chatrooms is: ‘Is Jaipur or Udaipur nicer to visit?”, with each destination typically getting half of the favourable votes. Jem and I are in despair at the comparison. Whilst Jaipur is much like being ensnared in Lucifer’s raging infernos having led an extremely sinful life, Udaipur is more like getting lost in St. Ives in July after a rather hectic but amiable acid trip.

Udaipur is a world away from its busier neighbour; rather quaint, colourful, local, and friendly, with jaw-dropping views over the artificial lakes.

We arrived at 6am this morning after a 9-hour night bus, just before Jem left his rucksack in a taxi; a skill he is honing nicely having left his favourite running cap and Rab fleece on trains somewhere in China. This time, though, we were lucky, and the nice taxi guy came back with it an hour later 😀

Udaipur, founded in 1559 and known as ‘Venice of the East’, is set around a series of artificial lakes and is known for its lavish royal residences. With a population very similar to Sheffield’s urban area; 650,000, it is an accessible destination with everything in walking distance.

Cleaner and more personable it may be, but the city is not without its own struggles. Stray dogs and beggars are still endemic, and the waterways notable for their smell and rancid iridescent film – the very same water in which we saw locals bathing and washing their clothes.

It was a surprise to me that the world GDP ranking of 2025 reveals India to be the world’s 4th largest economy in the world, on a par with Japan. India’s GDP has doubled in a decade, with the IMF predicting it will overtake Germany in 3rd place by 2028.

Similar growth in China saw huge investment in transport, rural development, and farming, bringing the standard of living up for almost all marginalised groups.

However, in India, the wealth has not been spread far and wide due to its massive population, and wealth remaining in the top percentile. India, for individual wealth, or GDP per capita, ranks around 140th out of 193 countries. While the GDP per capita (wealth per person) in Germany is almost $56,000, and in China $14,000, in India it is just below $3,000.

Parachuting into a filthy and chaotic Indian capital city with 4.5 million inhabitants sounded like a good idea at the time. Jaipur’s famed pink walls looked quite romantic, with its picturesque forts and palaces, as well as the novelty of visiting my favourite beer’s namesake.

The city was painted its terracotta-pink shade in 1876 to welcome Prince Albert Edward (later King Edward VII), as the colour symbolises hospitality and honour in Rajasthan. A law was passed in 1877 to keep the buildings painted in this colour, and since it has been known as the Pink City.  

It’s sad to report that the city is neither romantic nor picturesque. In fact, the last couple of days have been quite a shock for both of us. The city has more than 3 million registered motor vehicles; three-quarters of them two wheelers, and 90 per cent of those were on every street we chose to visit, leaving us in a permanent state of anxiety.

The few pavements that do exist are random blobs of cracked weeping concrete; an insanitary obstacle course shared with a menagerie of uncompromising bovine creatures, dogs, and piles of rubbish.

It is the rule that all vehicles must incessantly and inexplicably honk their horns. They mustn’t use their brakes at any time godforbid, especially when in proximity to bi-peds, and they must regularly collide at speed to keep you on your toes.

Our first stop today was the famous stepwell in nearby town Amer, a subterranean structure for harvesting and storing rainwater. Found mainly in western India, stepwells are deep excavations with broad openings to collect rain during the monsoon season. Stone blocks arranged into stairs lining the walls allow people to descend into the stepwells and gather water during the long dry season in these arid regions.

Just down the road near Amer also sits the region’s number one tourist attraction, the Amber Fort. Construction began in the 10th century, and the site was then significantly expanded in the 16th century. It served as the royal residence until 1727, when the capital moved to Jaipur (a few miles away). 

The Jal Mahal (meaning Water Palace) is another 17th-century royal building located just down the road from Amber Fort. The palace, built with local sandstone, is a three-storied building, with only one story showing when the reservoir is full. It was once used as a summer house for the king and his wives, though sadly, it is not open to the public. Our tuktuk driver told us that the water provided some cool air in the hot summer months when temperatures can reach up to 50 degrees.

Back in town, we headed to the Jantar Mantar, a collection of 19 astronomical instruments built by one of the kings, who also founded Jaipur. The monument was completed in 1734 and features the world’s largest stone sundial.

Our final stop for the day was the hilltop  Nahargarh Fort, which was built in 1734 and helped defend the city. This was not on the tourist trail and was by far our favourite one of the day.

Granted, these photos do give the impression of a beautiful city and historic pink buildings. But don’t be fooled. Jairpur is a war of attrition; an exhausting battle against an army of persistent hawkers, motor vehicles, and pollution. Despite this, we have had many awesome interactions with locals, who have shown kindness and respect, and just want to know what we are doing here. In addition, we are reassured that Jaipur is nowhere near as busy as Agra or Delhi, which form the other two corners of the famous Golden Triangle.

Rich and poor operate side by side in this crazy maelstrom – the rich just disappear up to their roof cocktail terraces and ponsy bars for some respite at the end of the day.

Here is a dosa masala. It was tasty. The end.

It was not until we were queuing for our flight to Kalkuta that I realised how much I missed the carefree and banterous exchanges familiar in the UK.

The Indians are a gregarious and expressive bunch who love a laugh. The vibe of the Indian territories is the Ying to the Chinese Yang; where there was order and efficiency, now chaos and anarchy reigns. Modesty and reservation have been replaced by bravado and swagger. Serenity and sanitation, now petrol fumes and random piles of discarded items, leaking weird juices.

On our triple-leg redeye flights to Jaipur via Bangkok and Kalkuta, the female flight attendants were downright fierce just to keep the passengers in check.

The Indian customs were no joke. At one point, I feared Jem would be deported when the officer, at the end of a long night shift, shouted, “What is this e-visa you’re talking about?”, when they have been using the system since 2014. He then proceeded to stamp Jems passport with the wrong date, and when we got to the hostel, Jem was declared an illegal alien by the owner.

We are planning a merry journey down through India, ending up in Goa for Christmas. All safe and well here, and full of curry.

Just a quick update to let you guys know that we have cancelled our trip to the Philippines. We have been keeping a close eye on the natural disasters unfolding, with the 6.9 earthquake on October 10 which hit the east coast of central Filipino island Cebu, killing 74, and then Typhoon Kalmaegi, which killed 114 last week on the same island.

By chance, as we were headed to the airport yesterday, Jem checked out the local Filipino surf report, and the 30-foot waves forecast next Monday caught his eye. Further investigation revealed new reports of a possible ‘super typhoon’ headed straight to the northern island of Luzon.

It is devastating for the Filipinos – about 10pc of their income is from tourism, and about 10pc from agriculture. The above link provides an overview of the physical impact to date created by the barrage of natural disasters.

The British Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office have not advised against travel to the Philippines, and we can’t claim any money back on insurance until they do so. But staying safe is priority number one.

After contacting the poor accommodation owners to cancel what bookings we could, we made a shortlist of new destinations. Jem voted for hiring a yellow Mustang in LA and cruising up the west coast – I had to put a stop to that immediately 😂

As most of Southeast Asia is wetter than an otter’s pocket at the moment, ruling out Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam, the only affordable and dry option was India.

Last night saw the most intense 6-hour visa application session ever. Anyone who has dealt with the Indian Visa Application Service website will know that it is like entering a glitchy inpenetrable Fort Knox labyrinth in the Matrix. Couple that with a shocking Internet connection, trying to access their website from their arch enemy’s country without a VPN (which don’t work for some inexplicable reason), trying to make documents the correct size and format, and all of this while using a mobile phone rather than a laptop. It was enough to drive a sane man or woman around the bend. At about 1am this morning and several therapeutic beers later, we had both submitted our applications.

A very vague plan is to head to Goa in a few days, where there is some decent sport climbing nearby. Possibly a trip down to Hampi; a world-class bouldering destination. For now, we are getting out of the city to Hangzhou to enjoy some rural life until our visas arrive.

Shanghai is a cosmopolitan whirlwind of extravagant high-end shopping malls, neon lights, raging counter-culture, and incessant hustle and bustle. The global finance and innovation hub could not be any further, culturally, from the repressive Orwellian regime of Beijing or the relatively unsurveilled lawless backwaters of Yangshuo.

Shanghai is the third most populous city on the planet (after Tokyo and Delhi), with the city proper hosting about 26 million people, plus tens of thousands of extra tourists downtown.

Originally a traditional fishing village and market town, Shanghai grew to global prominence in the 19th century due to domestic and foreign trade and its port location. The city thrives at the crossroads of transformation and tradition, with buildings dating back to the 1640s nestled between towering skyscrapers.

The famous waterfront skyline started taking shape from the 1990s onwards. The Bund, a historical district featuring both classical buildings and views of the skyline, is the main tourism draw here, along with the Vegas-style shopping area Nanjing Road East.

The street features gargantuan 3D advertising billboards, the size of the buildings they adorn, and is fringed by dozens of architecturally unique skyscrapers, each with its own light display.

Shopping here is insane; ostentatious malls on every corner and highly-coiffured women carrying couture shopping bags like a scene out of 1980s film Pretty Woman. So far, we have been able to afford a 2-inch solar-powered gold lucky cat and a fridge magnet. While we have been paying about £10 a night throughout China for some fairly spacious rooms, in Shanghai, we are paying more than £50 a night for a shoebox in a youth hostel.

Walking through the city is reminscent of a scene from Dawn of the Dead; almost everyone’s face is buried in a mobile phone, their bodies aimlessly meandering, unaware of their surroundings or the imminent environmental perils. Similarly, mobile phone volume control is non-existent, especially on public transport, with passengers oblivious to the fact they are playing videos at volume 11 in a packed carriage. If this brain drain is a symptom of an overpopulated metropolis, it conjures genuine concern for the future of our great planet. Beijing to Shanghai; from one dystopian existence to another, it could be argued.

Due to the ramped up cost of living here, we found some cheap activities to do, like jogging around the city and taking the train to some suburban tourist spots.

Shanghai is surrounded by several water towns; ancient, historic towns built on and around canals, known for their arched bridges and narrow stone lanes. Zhujiajiao, an hour away from the city centre, was established about 1,700 years ago. It provided a great value for money option with the train costing 80p each way per person.

Meanwhile, we have been keeping an eye on the weather in the Philippines, where a typhoon has just swept through, killing dozens on the central island of Cebu. This follows a 6.9 earthquake that struck the same island one month ago. There has been much debate about cancelling the trip, but hostel owners reassure us that it is safe to travel on other islands on the archipelago. We fly tonight 🤪

We arose to find some limp half-gnawed bananas on the table; our family suite is also hosting a mischief of mice who scurry around in the ceiling cavity in the twilight hours. Sharing our fruit with rodents is preferable to the hum the air-source heater on the roof, which, every 2 minutes and 38 seconds, rattles the room. During the day, it is unnoticeable, but by night, it is akin to a jumbo jet landing on our duvet. Penthouse living, it appears, is not all it is cracked up to be.

Today’s excursion to XingPing, a circular route north including a mountain climb and river crossing, initially didn’t sound like too much of a drama. Some may say that four hours on a scooter in sideways driving rain would be sub-optimal, and after our trip, I am inclined to agree.

It was market day, and so the roads were pandemonium, with traders porting around huge baskets of osmanthus flowers; a highly fragrant blossom collected for teas, pastries, honey and wine. Guihua is known as ‘wooden rhinoceros’ in Chinese, owing to the resemblance between the tree’s texture and rhinoceros horns. The plant is prominent in southern China and in provinces along or south of the Yangtze River.

The next obstacle, a 150-metre ferry crossing, was a head-scratcher. We puzzled at how we would manoeuvre the bikes down the steep steps onto the tiny wet sloping ramp, complete with adverse camber, angled to eject us both into the dark brown swirling river. Jem reassured me with some golden nuggets like: “If the bike lurches into the water, then remember to let go of the handles.”

The captain shouted angry-sounding Chinese exclamations at us for the entire crossing while the other passengers stared on mercilessly. We looked back nervously and practised our best awkward smiles.

On the return journey, Jem’s scooter battery drained to red, several miles from home. Never have I seen a more sorry sight than Jem limping along at 5km/hour in torrential rain, knees by his ears, and wearing his wonky climbing helmet, as lorries rumbled past honking their horns ejecting sprays of water sideways. I had somehow missed Jem gesticulating furiously in my wingmirror as I pootled happily off into the distance, carrying both charging cables under my seat.

It was a glorious homecoming; two drowned rats cheering as we pulled up outside our hostel. A great day out indeed.

Yesterday, we binned off climbing and instead adventured around the local aspirational stalegtite-laden climbing venue; Square Mountain. If we had trained for this trip, this is where we would have set up camp for the last week.

We looked on in wonder at how some of these near-horizontal lines through flowstone and dripping tufas could be unlocked. A return visit would surely be in order to test our mettle.

The hammer and sickle are just one example of Chinese iconography and symbolism that have got us googling. Colour and etymology, and even what specific words sound like, can lead to PR armgeddon in China. For example, the Mandarin word for shoes – ‘xié’ – is a homophone for ‘xié’, or evil, so giving someone a pair of shoes is thought to be bad luck. Similarly, the Mandarin phrase for sharing a pear – ‘fēn lí’ – is a homophone of ‘fēnlí’; to separate or part ways. In the same vein, it’s bad form to give someone a fan (shàn) or an umbrella (sǎn), as the Mandarin and Cantonese words for these objects sound like the word ‘sǎn/sàn’; to scatter, to part ways.

In some cases, choosing the right quantity is almost as important as choosing the right gift itself. Because the words for ‘four’ (sì) and ‘death’ (sǐ) sound similar in Mandarin, it’s a serious faux pas to give gifts in fours. Gifts given in pairs or eights are thought to be luckier. 

In Chinese culture, the colour red traditionally symbolizes good luck and happiness. But you should never write a Chinese person’s name in red ink, since some people believe it will bring that person bad luck.

White is traditionally associated with death and mourning, so presenting a bouquet of white flowers will send strong funereal vibes. The phrase ‘dài lǜ mào’, which literally translates to ‘to wear a green hat’, means a man’s wife is cheating on him, so you should never give a Chinese man a green hat unless you’re prepared to answer some serious questions.

With that in mind, when we left, we gave everyone a stiff hug rather than risking a diplomatic bombshell. Our last night was really special; Lilly took us out to an awesome restaurant, and we said bye to some guys who we will certainly be staying in touch with.

So long, Yangshuo. We will miss you and your exquisite beverages. Off to Shanghai we go…. on the BULLET TRAIN.

Leaving the house in an exhausted grump wasn’t the best precursor to questing up a five-pitch climb at the top of our limit. To the unititiated, this means climbing five separate routes in sequence to the top of the mountain. I kept Jem up till 2 am doing a full starfish, and I arose at 3 to the dulcet tones of a pig having a fit in a bowl of jelly. 

Nevertheless, we romped up the first two pitches without incident before all hell broke loose. Pitch 3 felt rather hard for a 5C (even here) and involved a face-to-face encounter with a large serpent who was residing in one of my hand holds. I’m not sure who was more surprised, but I climbed with my motor at full blast until reaching the next belay.

Jem joined me, whilst fighting off a huge angry wasp, which took delight in repeatedly nosediving his red sweating bonce. I shan’t repeat the profanities that occurred.

Climbing past me, he entered territory unfamiliar to us since 2010. Sitting in my hanging belay for about 1.5 hours while my kidneys throbbed, I couldn’t understand why Jem was aiding up bolts using his ConnectAdjust and hauling on quickdraws until we looked down to see the other team (on the same intended route as us) disappearing off around to the right, giving us perplexed sideways glances. The route we were on, it turned out, was six grades above our limit.

Having abseiled down off two random bolts back to the top of pitch 2, leaving a load of gear for some lucky souls, we sat on the ledge and had a good laugh about our predicament. Do we go up, or do we call it and abseil to safety? There’s only one choice – continue and crush this beast.

We pulled the rope, and to our horror, it jammed in a crack about 5 metres above us.

It’s lucky our rope skills surpass our route finding skills, and we spent some time working out how we were going to safely get to the top of pitch 3 and also resolve the ‘rope incident’.

Off I went, up the next pitch, to try and free the wedged line, which was stuck in a crack about 4 metres off-route on holds resembling crispy cornflakes, which cracked and splintered under my weight. It took a while to free the stubborn beast, by which time I was pumped out of my fucking mind but continued up to the next hanging belay.

At which point, my body much protesteth to hanging in mid-air, and I summoned Jem to climb with haste to relieve me of my aching spine. Sadly, as Jem took the lead, he was gifted the most horrendous bulging and thin bitch of a pitch and was shut down on the Chimney of Doom.

“You’re right next to the bolt. Just see if you can get your feet higher,” I airily suggested, attempting to install as much confidence as humanly possible as my vertebrae crushed. However, this was not the right communique. Jem looked around, his face eminating a look that would slay an angry polar bear from 100 paces.

“I understand I am on the bloody bolt, I just dont know how I can get any higher,” was the strained response from above. I quickly looked down to avoid eye contact.

It was heroic and awesome to see Jem overcome the grunting slithering bastard, and up he went to the belay of the final pitch. After much exasperated heavy breathing, I joined him. We looked up at the last yomp. A gaping grinding overhanging off-width, with more sludge than an ultra marathon running trainer.

It was at this point that we realised the route had taken everything from us. Seven hours in, we had to descend for our mental, physical, and spiritual health – and get straight to the pub. 

Now, back at the barracks, we are delighted to reflect on recent fun, including yesterday’s rainy run around the north of Yangshuo.

And also trying the fruit we have discovered. One particular variety, the Dorian, apparently smells of farts but tastes like heaven. We agree on the first count but not on the second.

It seems apt that last week’s multipitch was called Penhouse Platforms. Due to our extended stay in Yangshou and desire to stay at this fabulous hostel, The Climbers’ Inn, we chose to upgrade to the last room available; the family suite on top of the building, complete with balcony and childrens’ room. A snip at £15 a night.

Most residents here are solo climbers and spend their time shuttling between Hong Kong/Laos/Thailand/Taiwan when their visas run out. We have a two-year visa that allows one three-month stay at a time – you need only to cross the border and return for the allowance to renew.

Despite the monthly rent of an apartment in Yanshou costing a paltry £80 a month, climbers choose to stay here due to the scene and location. We have joined a team of young guns all in their 20s, who talk to us like we grew up with the dinosaurs and say hilarious things like: “What was it like growing up without colour TV?”, and “Did quickdraws exist last century?”

Here are three photos from recent adventures (that aren’t gratuitous ass shots):

Recent excitement has included discovering a veritable menagerie at the crag; centipedes, mice, rats, hornets, and this beastie sitting on the very hold I wanted to use.

Driving has presented its own set of challenges, for example, crossing an intersection diagonally, where 18 separate lanes of traffic meet, with no traffic lights or right of way. Similarly, the ‘bike lane’ seems to exist for people travelling in both directions, including cars, plus animals, scooters, vendors, and lost tourists. We think of it as survival of the fittest. Still alive, for now.

The climbing in Yangshou has been a real treat. There is something for everyone here; overhanging roof thuggery, delicate crimpy wall climbing, huge multipitch adventures, and friendly single pitch scenes. The rock varies wildly from polished and highly-trafficked orange limestone to sharper and esoteric grey limestone – and everything in between.

October and November are when the action really happens due to the stable sunny climate. All crags are accessible by scooter, which you can park anywhere you fancy – no one is judging. In fact, no one really cares.

The climbing community is the friendliest we have ever experienced (including the impossibly huge flying insects and hornet population); everyone is happy to share knowledge and help out, which reflects our experience of the Chinese in general. Minor scooter collisions are met with chuckles and friendly concern, and there is no preoccupation with rules or trespassing or which way locals decide to drive up and down the dual carriageway. Simitaneously hair-raising and carefree.

Yesterday we erroneously ended up on a building site and while trying to reverse my bike off a large mud bank, I twisted the GO FASTER handle and my bike shot forward and got some air like a stunt in the A-Team. The foreman shrugged his shoulders and helped us retrieve it from the ditch with a smile on his face. All in a day’s work.

Shopping for groceries is an adventure in itself. The fruit and vegetable section is like entering an alien planet.

Similarly, finding tasty and eco-friendly crag treats is quite a task, and we have introduced the concept of a ‘supermarket decision tree’ to whittle down decent edible options. Sweet or savoury? Offal or meat? Processed or natural? Will it detain us in the toilet all night?

As you may decipher from the below selection, most portable snackage would survive a nuclear holocaust.

Supermarkets are a real contradiction; on one hand, there are mountains of rices, nuts, grains, pulses and dried mushrooms which consumers weigh themselves with very little plastic wastage.

On the other hand, the aisles are packed with instant noodles, which contain at least 5 smaller plastic sachets to add to the mix, and prepacked snacks are the least eco-friendly commodity going.

To comprehend how China achieves a carbon emmissions output per capita measuring a third less than that of the EU, despite apparently burning the globe with its single-use synthetic clothing and tsunami of plastic toys and gifts, it took some research. More on that another day.

For now, we are off to enjoy being amongst  the locals, who, young and old, dance and sing in the street like no one is watching.

We woke up with serious climbing-related aches and pains, which were definitely nothing to do with middle age or rice wine. So, instead of cragging, we went on an adventure on our scooters to find out more about the geography of the area.

Yangshuo’s extraordinary hills were made in much the same way as the Peak District was created. The land was once covered by a sea, and the skeletons of dead sea creatures created a calcium-rich deposit on the seabed, which built up over millions of years and became limestone.

The uplift of a seabed and the lowering of the water table exposed the limestone. Over time, rainwater and rivers, slightly acidic, dissolved the rock, creating the area’s signature topography.

Our scooters were fantastic steeds, with a top speed of a whopping 15mph. Yesterday proved almost too much excitement, so I opted for a helmet today, and my kevlar La Sportiva trousers. It turns out that we are pretty nifty on our bikes except when going forwards instead of backwards and very nearly toppling over an entire line of bikes like a set of dominoes.

Last night, we sampled some local vintage rice wine. It tasted fairly innucuous but was like rocket fuel, and very quickly, we were almost fluent in Chinese. It seemed timely then that today we witnessed the birthplace of the wine; Yangshuo’s paddy fields.

China is the largest rice producer in the world, with an output of an estimated 200 million metric tonnes of rice per year, much of it from this region. Rice in Yangshuo is grown in irrigated paddy fields, where tracts of land are flooded with water and carefully managed to keep the plants submerged for most of the growing season. The area is also known for agricultural products like maize, wheat, soy bean, and sweet potatoes.  

The day was filled with such highs and lows. The high: presenting the snack crown to the fried jiaozi, which blows the competition out of the water.

Other highs:

Such highs must be balanced with deep sorrowful lows, and today was surely the saddest when Jem backgammoned me. Those who play the game will know that I must hang my head in shame until my next victory.