A month later...

So much I wanted to write at the end, but couldn't. Tears would have ruined the pages of my beautiful book. Soggy hand made paper wouldn't have worked, however gorgeous the pink silk cover that binds my precious memories together.

The wave of emotion that flooded my being absolutely, was so huge, it was hard to handle. Same same as the first time I had to say my goodbyes to my special place.

It was Anthony Fernandez who really tipped me over my emotional edge. He was my first Indian friend, the first local I learnt to love all those years ago, having stepped off the plane an India virgin, with a head full of cautionary tales about the dangers for a woman travelling alone in this mighty subcontinent.

But Anthony Fernandez slipped seamlessly through those warnings with his warmth and honesty and simple joy. And on all my subsequent visits, I only learned to love him more.

So ten years since our last meeting, I had to wait until the very last day of our trip. Anthony had been away since we'd arrived, having taken some tourists to Hampi.

Then in last few hours, he finally appeared. Seeing him standing in the shade of a palm tree, more portly than before, hair shorter, but with the same gap between his two front teeth revealed by his gorgeous grin, the same twinkle in his beautiful black eyes, utterly overwhelmed me. My heart swelled instantaneously, forcing a lump in my throat and a river of tears to sting my eyes.

I couldn't contain it, running into his arms and sobbing into his neck.

"I'm sorry. Anna, I'm sorry," he hugged me tight, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here,"

We hugged and we talked. And we galloped through life's biggest events of the decade. We talked of weddings and children and changes to our lives.

He still wears his "Hamish side cuts" with pride. (All that time, we thought Hamish had modelled his sides on Anthony!) he told me news of the possee from 2000. He knew more about our friends from Nottingham than I did.

And what I realised was this: for all the years that I've held the memory of him so dear, and the other local friends we have made on our travels, we too have been a precious memory. I guess I assumed they made friends with so many visitors, so many hundreds or thousands of people who walk through their welcoming doors, that we were just one of the masses.

But we weren't. We aren't. For each encounter where a glimpse of friendship changes the dynamic, making us more than a customer, we have remained a memory. We are part of the stuff that has shaped their lives.

When I said to Abel, Anthony's big brother, on that first night, "I can't believe you remember us,"
His simple reply, "Why wouldn't I?" explains it all.

We have been so very blessed over the years, along the long roads of our travelling, that we have had the privilege to meet so many awesome folk, both locals and foreigners living the dream with us. And of course for them the feeling's mutual.

As we confirmed, reading, by strange and crazy coincidence, in the 12th edition of the Lonely Planet Guide to India, left in our mountain abode by some long ago explorer, "Thanks to the travellers, Hamish and Anna,"

Well I thank you all, each and everyone one of amazing people with whom I have shared the joy...

Is this really it?

This is finally it. This is our last day. Our last day in Paradise and the final few hours of our monumental adventure.

It has exceeded my expectations on every level. My children have been so amazing at every moment and my soul has been rejuvenated.

Two months in India is my perfect tonic, and being here in Palolem, my most special place on the planet, is the cherry on top.

Every waking moment that we have spent here has been a dream come true. And every sleeping moment has been filled with the same blissed our dreams. Each night I have resisted the urge to go to bed, hungry to fill every second with the sheer wonder of being here. My eyes and ears have not missed a second of the beauty, greedily devouring every detail. And when sleep overcomes me, even that is filled with the pleasure of lieing in my huge comfy bed, under my frothy mosquito net, in my gorgeous hut.

I have loved running on the beach in the early morning quiet, waves lapping at my bare feet. I have loved coming back to my oh-so-gentle yoga classes with Ruban, under the shade of the palms, the view of the river and the jungle my focus.

I have loved playing in the sea, in the warm turquoise waters, with my family, watching dolphins cruising slowly on by.

I have loved lieing with Freya reading books on the beach. I have loved hearing Gus squealing with laughter as he plays with his friends. I have loved watching Martha clutching a ten rupee note and running, naked, as fast as her chubby brown legs could carry her, over the hot sand, around the fishing boats and into the little beach shack to buy Mentoes all by herself.

I have loved hanging out with Hamish, doing what we do best, being in beautiful places.

And best of all, I love that my kids love India. And India has loved them too.

Is this really it?

This is finally it. This is our last day. Our last day in Paradise and the final few hours of our monumental adventure.

It has exceeded my expectations on every level. My children have been so amazing at every moment and my soul has been rejuvenated.

Two months in India is my perfect tonic, and being here in Palolem, my most special place on the planet, is the cherry on top.

Every waking moment that we have spent here has been a dream come true. And every sleeping moment has been filled with the same blissed our dreams. Each night I have resisted the urge to go to bed, hungry to fill every second with the sheer wonder of being here. My eyes and ears have not missed a second of the beauty, greedily devouring every detail. And when sleep overcomes me, even that is filled with the pleasure of lieing in my huge comfy bed, under my frothy mosquito net, in my gorgeous hut.

I have loved running on the beach in the early morning quiet, waves lapping at my bare feet. I have loved coming back to my oh-so-gentle yoga classes with Ruban, under the shade of the palms, the view of the river and the jungle my focus.

I have loved playing in the sea, in the warm turquoise waters, with my family, watching dolphins cruising slowly on by.

I have loved lieing with Freya reading books on the beach. I have loved hearing Gus squealing with laughter as he plays with his friends. I have loved watching Martha clutching a ten rupee note and running, naked, as fast as her chubby brown legs could carry her, over the hot sand, around the fishing boats and into the little beach shack to buy Mentoes all by herself.

I have loved hanging out with Hamish, doing what we do best, being in beautiful places.

And best of all, I love that my kids love India. And India has loved them too.

The sun is setting...

The clock is ticking. The sun will soon be setting on our time here. Now is a moment of reflection for me - Freya and Gus are out kayaking; Hamish swims by their side and Martha, my princess, sleeps and dreams, like a starfish, under her frothy net of protection.

I sit alone on my beautiful balcony, the sounds of the gentle waves completing their journey and the sweet smell of incense accompany my thoughts.

India, my India, has not failed me. It has presented the best of itself to my gorgeous children and won them too. Our love and loyalty are its reward, our thank you to this amazing country that has granted us such a safe and easy passage.

A backpack, three kids and a mountain to climb? The only mountains we've encountered are the snow capped Himalayas. There's been no other mountain, no struggle, no great effort for us (other than the rain in McLeod). No, we've had a bunch of bags (we've never found it is easy to travel light), three happy kids and plain sailing all the way to Paradise.

I knew that Indians loved kids, but I could never have anticipated how instantly my kids would melt into the safe, secure warmth that is offered to them. I thought Martha would have been the greatest challenge. I was wrong. She's been our way in,our fast track to people's hearts. She has been loved and adored everywhere we go. The soundtrack to our trip is the cry of, "Martha, Martha!"

She has made herself at home on arrival at each new place, at ease in every kitchen, at ease and most welcome. Not one person has ushered her out when she has wondered in. It has been a joy for us to delight in the pleasure everyone gains from her.

And Fergus, he has arms and affection draped all around him. He has no chance to feel alone, to miss his buddies.

(Brief interlude: Hamish and the kids have just returned from kayaking. They went to Sunset Island and as they arrived the barman was on the phone. He held it out to Freya and said, "It's for you,"

And it was! It was Dillup, our lovely friend from Cozy Nook, phoning to tell the guys the to give them a drink and to remind them not to go round the island!)

Back to Gus - he talks to anyone and everyone who'll listen. We lost him the other night; it was dark and he'd been gone a long time. Both Hamish and I assumed wrongly that he was with the other. I had two heart stopping minutes, panic rising from my being, when I spotted him at the bar. He was perched on a stool, chatting happily with an older couple, watching football on the TV behind the bar.

And as for Freya, they show her the perfect respect, acknowledging her age, neither a child or a woman, and they play it just right. No touching, just a little joking and plenty of smiles.

The nature of our travel, not doing it on a budget, has meant we've encountered little of the crap, infuriating bureaucracy you quickly learn to hate. Today, I sat in the police station in Chawdi (I went to report that I'd lost my phone) and I witnessed such nonsense - nonsense that ironically fits so seamlessly with the ease and beauty of India. 

Some guy had made a written complaint about a policeman. The Deputy Officer who sat so importantly at the front desk, under a sign that said 'Report Room' was not accepting it. He sat shouting at the man, who looked smart, respectable and intelligent. The officer continued to express his intense displeasure at reading this complaint, until the man bowed his head. It reminded me of an angry headmistress reprimanding a small boy.

His technique, which basically involved a lot of indignant yelling, worked, and it wasn't long before he had broken the man's resolve.

"Now," he pointed crossly at the paper, "You will write down what I tell you. You cannot write this. You cannot write the truth. Are you showing awareness to understanding what I am saying?"

The tall man nodded, somewhat reluctantly.

"You write as I tell you. Quickly. I was mistaken," he indicated where on the report this should be written, and the man meekly obliged, " but now I have awareness. I have awareness of the situation,"

The officer sat back in his chair, fat hands linked behind his head, as he thought of the next line of the forced prose.

"I am feeling sorry for the wasting of time my actions are causing,"

The tall man, clearly sad at his defeat, wrote down these words. Then they looked at one another briefly, exchanged the customary head wiggle that means everything and nothing. And then he was gone. The cross and oh-so-important officer, sat back once more, sighed and took a rest.

He finally summoned me forward. I explained, as I had on my arrival, that I had lost my phone, it had fallen from my bag, probably lay buried somewhere in the sand, assuring him it had not been stolen, that I merely needed to make a report so I could claim for it on my insurance.

"You will need to write down what you are saying. My officer will show you how," He was too important to be bothered further with me. 

He left me with his second in command who told me what to write. I tried to say it as it was, but he didn't like that. He made me cross phrases out -he particularly didn't like it when I mentioned it had been in my bag- and he he made me change several words.

When I had finished, he waggled his head and signalled that I should go. I asked when I could have the 'certificate' but instead of answering me in English, he spoke to my rickshaw driver in Hindi. He, Sam that is, had loved every second of his time in the police station, eyes darting from one fellow to the other during the previous altercation.

I could almost see him rubbing his hands together with glee as he raced home to tell everyone the story.

As we left the station, I asked, "When do we come back?" He replied with a conspiratorial shake of his head, loving that he was in on the action. It wasn't until we'd crossed the road and were safely back in his rickshaw that he said in hushed tones, "If you are giving that man some money, he will do quickly for you,"

I raised my eyebrows. "How much?"

"I think 500 rupees should be doing it," About £7.

My initial reaction was to say "No," Not out of some sense that it was morally wrong. Baksheesh is such an integral part of the Indian system. But I hate being forced into a dealing, without willingly entering into in the first place. Like the time we arrived at Delhi station at rush hour with three kids and a stupid amount of bags. I get involved in an argument with a porter who had scooped up much of our luggage and in return demanded 200 rupees. My stubbornness, defiance and sense of fairness kicked in and we ended up struggling with it all ourselves for the sake £1.50. Similarly, this idiot policeman had annoyed me.

"Oh for goodness sake," I muttered. I was getting hot and bothered and wanted to be back on the beach. "If he does it quickly, when will it be ready?"

"Today, Madame. Otherwise it is taking several days,"

"Alright," I conceded. "Do you need to go back to tell him?"               

"I will phone him. He is my friend," Everyone is always everyone else's friend.

And so it was sorted. 500 Rs bought me a bit less hassle, a bit more time on the beach and a ridiculous report that looks like a five year has written it.

I loved that whole thing had given Sam so much pleasure and once I was back on my sun bed, having relaxed in the bath like sea, I could see the humour in it too. Stuff like that doesn't make me love India any less. It just good when it's over.

I am starting to feel the weight of my sadness as I can see this dream coming to an end. I don't want to go back to work, to tidying the house, to emptying the washing machine, to trips to the supermarket. I don't want to exchange this simplicity for the complications of home.

I recognise this feeling. I know it well. I have never been able to leave India without this sense of sorrow. I know the only answer is to promise myself that I will be back. 

And I won't be waiting a decade, that's for sure.

Gorgeous Goa

I've come to Goa lots of times. My first visit to Palolem, right down in the south of Goa, was fifteen years ago (don't you always hate it when people say, "I came here in 1974 and they'd never seen a white face..." or "We lived on this beach with just cows for company...") - well that's me right now, because way back then, there were just a few beach huts, a handful of restaurants and a smattering of westerners laying around on a mile of glorious white sand, fringed by a dense layer of palm trees.

We all felt very smug. We had found Paradise while everyone headed north to the beaches around Anjuna. A fishing village nestled in the shade of the palms, the locals were delighted to welcome us and we formed many friendships with them. During long, happy sun-drenched days we also had the privilege of hanging out with some of our best friends from home as well as meeting some legendary beach buddies from around the globe. 

We came back to Palolem, arguably one of the most gorgeous places on the planet, several times and on our last trip, in 2000 we had the intense good fortune of conceiving Freya. 

We had a party one night with a bunch of mates from back home. We went in the sea as the full moon was in total eclipse and swam with phospherescents. As we swished around illuminated by the bright lights of these magical plankton, someone wadded out to us with a tray of cocktails. I knew then that life would be hard pushed to top that moment. 

So you get the idea: this is a very special place for us.

Children came along, and we limited ourselves to European travel for almost a decade. Palolem remained a huge part of our memories and the subject of a few framed photos that hang proudly on my walls. When Hamish and I eventually tied the knot in 2004, we named the tables after our most special places. Our table of course was Palolem.

I knew there had been much change. When we first came here it wasn't even in the Lonely Planet; now you read articles about it in the Sunday papers. So as we planned our trip to India we knew that our final destination may prove to be a shock, a disappointment even.

When we first arrived in Goa, we headed north, to visit an old friend of Hamish's who now lives here with his girlfriend and their two young kids. They live just outside Arambol, on a beach called Ashwem. 

We spent a week there which was lovely. We hung out in Arambol, a place we'd never visited before. It was the first port of call for the hippies who travelled overland in the sixties. And some of them are clearly still there! 

Sunset there is brilliant. It's like being at Glastonbury, as the drummers beat a steady upbeat rhythm to accompany the setting sun on its journey. People whoop and whistle and girls do crazy dancing as the music, the crowd and the charged atmosphere take them to another place.

The energy is hot, vivid and wild and I love it! The kids found the whole thing utterly mesmerising.

But as our magical adventure draws to a close, the time came to make our final move. We took a taxi to bring us three hours south. I had butterflies in my tummy as we got closer. It was all so familiar. 

We had booked to stay in the place at the far end of the beach - the island end for those who are lucky enough to know it, near where the Slow People live. We arrived yesterday afternoon. You can't deny the development here has been immense. There's barely an inch of palm shaded beach that doesn't have huts or a restaurant. At night it's light up like a Christmas tree.

But you know what, it's still one of the most beautiful places in the entire world. Hurray! We have chosen brilliantly to stay at the end of the beach. It's really quiet here and our huts seem like the lap of luxury after Ashwem. We have vast balconies with day beds to lie around in the shade and beautifully painted furniture. We have flowers garlands hanging on our doors and there's a yoga class each morning just behind us. This morning Fergus lay in his hammock watching me stretch out with Rubens, my instructor.

There are majestic palm trees gently moving in the breeze all around us and we lie on bean bags and swinging seats to eat fresh mangoes.

The kids think I'm like a stuck record as ever since we arrived here, my mantra has been, "I'm so happy,"

Before sunset last night we walked down the beach to see if some of old haunts were still here. At each one, I was blown away by the fact that 10 years on, thousands of visitors later, our Indian friends ran out to greet us with arms wide. I cried every time.

Living the dream...

Another gorgeous day in paradise. This one got off to a really special start for all of us. I went to a lovely yoga class in a beautiful White and gold space shaded by the palm trees. After a very relaxing couple of hours, I returned to the others just in time to watch Freya, Fergus and Hamish swimming about ten metres away from a pair of dolphins. It was absolutely amazing. I've seen dolphins in Goa lots of times but always from a distance. To have them come so close to the shore is really unusual. It was truly awesome. And for Martha, the experience was equally brilliant. My eyes never left the sea for over fifteen minutes, giving her the perfect opportunity to plough through half a packet of Hide and Seeks (her favourite Indian biscuits).

I feel as though we've entered yet another phase. No one asks for the iPad, the DS or any other gadget. We are all just content to watch the ocean and our fellow beach dwellers. 

This morning I lay in bed with Gus for ages after we had woken up. We lay cuddling, talking and listening to the mighty sound of the waves crashing on the beach. If we'd been at home, he'd have gone straight downstairs to watch tv or play on the wii.

Everything about our lives here is so simple. We over complicate things back home, always too busy, doing too many things. Life here is so free and easy. The only thing we have to do each day is put on suncream.

Hanging out with the rich and famous!

Today has been very exciting! The Beckhams of India have been to our beach. Two brothers, the Kahns, are big stars in Bollywood. Their families are some of the most famous celebs in the country. They came and sat just behind us and when one of the brothers starting to kick a football around with their sons, Gus was quick to join them. He played with them for ages.

They invited him to have lunch with them at La Plage (the best restaurant in Goa, which happens to be next door to us), but he politely declined saying, "I've just had a nutella pancake,"

How brilliant!

Life tastes good

Mmmm. 
Breakfast on the beach. 
Like breakfast in bed. 
Only better."

The ant theory

A long time ago, I lay in a hammock with Hamish, our great mate Caspar hanging next to us and we watched an army of ants march through our hut, over our belongings and out the other side. A few minutes later, we heard the people in the hut next door screaming and leaping around. The ants had continued their journey into their backpacks and instead of waiting for them to come out and carry on with their mission, they had disturbed them by frantically emptying the contents of their bags. The ants, under threat, had attacked mercilessly and our German neighbours were covered in angry red bites. 

Leaving them to go about their business, they brought us no harm. 

I met a lady the other day who lives here. For six long lovely months over winter, she exchanges her little cottage in Hampshire for a positively palatial pad in Goa, complete with large grounds, swimming pool and staff. They are often visited by snakes. Her gardener or nightwatchman alerts her, letting her know if it is harmful (more often than not this means deadly!). If it is a particularly venomous type, they call in the Snake Man, otherwise they just keep an eye on it so they know where it goes and wait for it to leave.

Same same as they say in India.

I've applied this concept to my rat issue and it works. We make sure there's no food, and now they come and go then leave us in peace. So even with their scratching presence, I can sleep. And, as if in answer to my acceptance of them, the squeaking seems to have stopped.

Rats in paradise

Urgh. Last night was awful. Freya was feeling fragile yesterday for the first time in this whole trip. She'd burnt herself on her face and shoulders from being in the sea so much. And then she had an unpleasant run in with a flying fish that had caught, in a horribly flappy panic, in her bikini top, when they'd collided in a big wave. 

Funny that my hardcore little traveller should have her wobble at the beach. Absolutely nothing has phased her till now, but she's struggling with the whole mozzy thing. The thought of a bug landing on her when she's asleep and sucking her blood, has really got to her. And it's not like she's never seen them before.

As a consequence of her fragility she slept with Martha and me, leaving Hamish to sleep with Gus. Fine. Until sometime in the darkness when I was woken by the sound of a creature in the hut, rustling through our stuff. I willed it to be on of the skinny cats from the restaurant next door, but I knew in my heart it was far more sinister.

The squeaking gave it away, confirming my worst suspicions.

Rats! In my hut, right next to me, knocking things onto the floor, stealing our sweets (what were we thinking having food in here?!) and frightening me half to death. Spiders I can handle, even snakes aren't so bad, but rats... My mind was racing, full of all the rat horror stories I'd ever heard (James Herbert has a big part in this phobia). Then I remembered the night one fell through the roof of our Mexican hut, candying on me as I slept in a hammock. I thought about my friend Peter getting bitten by one on the nose as he slept on a boat last summer.

Hideous. And no Hamish to protect me. Instead, I was the protector of my two girls, especially my eldest who'd had such a tricky day. Somehow I had to find the courage, with a thudding heart, to get out of bed, turn o the lights and shoo them away.

I had visions of the night my friend Fay and I returned to our hut in Ko Samui. We had turned on the light and a crowd of cockroaches, who'd been hanging out on our bed, scattered in all directions.

Would it be like that? How many rats had gatecrashed my party? Had the squeaking been a mother saying,"Hey kids, I've got some snacks," as she'd scrambled down the rush matting.

Or was it a more terrifying call, "Oi! Over here everyone! Come and check out this place!"

Thankfully my footsteps were enough and how ever many there were (I think really it was just one, she says optimistically) had disappeared before I hit the light switch.

It didn't end there. It went on all night. I could clearly hear when the squeaking went down below (our hut is on stilts) and when, horribly, it returned. I left the bathroom light on, casting patterns through the woven rush, so at least I could see if they came close.

For ammunition, I had some face cream, deodorant and a bottle of moisturiser to lob at them if they came into sight. 

Just before Dawn I heard the sounds of a neighbour sweeping the sand with a reed brush, signalling the imminent tart of the day. I breathed a sigh of relief that my nightmare in Paradise was almost over. Until tonight at least!

The Beach

I am so completely peaceful and happy and utterly blissed out just being here. 

It's all I dreamed of. My whole body is relaxed. My mind is still and my heart is smiling.

The Train to Delhi

We're back in India! I feel like we've been somewhere else for a month!

As the pink ball of sun broke through the dawn sky, we lay in bed on our sleeper train watching the world go by. We've seen buffalo for the first time in weeks, bullock carts and peacocks, piles of poo drying in the sun and women carrying water on their heads in metals matkas.

We've just done another overnight train ride. Everyone was gorgeous and mellow after waking up. Now the kids are monkeying around, making us SO glad we didn't get on that 30 hour train to Goa! Fergus is like a caged animal.

I was sad to say goodbye to McLeod, but of course, I was ready to go. In hindsight, I'd have left a week earlier, but then we wouldn't have achieved so much at school. If I'd been there without the kids, I could have done in it in a much shorter time. It was a fascinating experience for all of us and I did feel quite emotional saying farewell to them all, but for me, it put the adventure of travelling on hold. I'm so much happier now we're on the move again.

One thing is certain, there's no way we can wait another decade to do this again.

The kids keep talking about their gap year. For them, it's as expected a part of life as losing your milk teeth. Before we set off, I worried that they'd react against this experience and only ever want to go on a package holiday. But no. It's had the opposite effect. We have successfully introduced them to the joys of living in another culture.

Staying in McLeod for so long gave them the opportunity to form relationships with people; although on a very basic level, it gave them a very powerful insight. Both Freya and Fergus had a strong desire to go off, independently, and explore or buy things. They felt incredibly safe and secure there. Rightly so. It's probably one of the safest places on Earth.

We're passing through a village as I write. Children are playing on their way to school. Herons are picking their way through the litter in a waterlogged patch of ground. Buffalo and cows are tethered outside almost every square, concrete block that is home to two or three generations of family. Huge fat pigs are snuffling through the garbage piled on the edge of the settlement. Always there's rubbish. India must have looked so different before plastic raised its convenient, ugly head.

Between them, the cows, monkeys, dogs and pigs can dispose of all paper, card and other degradable waste. But the plastic, and the foil wrappers of crisps and snack packets, well they defeat even the hungriest scavenger. And then there's the water bottles. In any place where tourists pass through, we leave this indelible curse.

McLeod was brilliant for having all the water filters, but even so there were the usual piles of discarded bottles. The Clean Up Dharamsala Project is making great efforts to educate people about recycling and disposing of waste properly, but it's tough. They don't have refuse collections like we do. There's no council workers coming to sort the recycling, just volunteers and the odd skip funded by donations. Crazy really. Yet another thing we take for granted at home.

The end's in sight...

The end is so close I can almost reach out and touch it. When I close my eyes, I can feel the sand between my toes and hear the the waves lapping the shore.

Yesterday was lovely. We didn't have to go to school in the morning because it was a holiday, so I dashed into town with Freya and Fergus. It was brilliant to be out and about without Martha slowing us down! We bought lots of lovely stuff, making sure we chose each thing from a a different seller to spread our rewards around.

We came back home to collect Hamish and Martha then we jumped in a taxi and went to school. Even though it was a holiday, the year 8 and 10 classes were there doing revision classes. They have their board exams coming up next month so they are working really hard. We arrived just as their classes were finishing. Hamish set up cricket matches for the boys and Freya and I painted with some of the girls. 

As our time comes to a close, I am pleased with the progress I have made. I've got an Eco project well under way. Monika, the science teacher has spent a lot of time with me and I think she understands the importance of environmental education.  She will be a good leader and has taken it all on board. Teachers here aren't snowed under with loads of paperwork. They have been following the same curriculum for years, teaching the same lessons year after year. They don't know what it is to plan, assess and evaluate. During their free periods, they sit in the staff room and read the newspaper! 

We have painted a fantastic mural on one of the outside walls that was really grotty when we arrived. This means we've left a big visual impact on the place. I've done some great teaching - the kids are like sponges, so keen to learn, though all so spoon fed they have very little creativity. I've shared lots of ideas for good practice with the staff that I have worked with and Sister Jancy. How far she can change this antiquated system is down to her.

Later in the afternoon, she came to collect us and take us to the convent, where we met the Mother Superior and several other nuns. It was pretty crazy. I felt like we were in the 'Sound of Music' except nobody was singing. Martha charmed them all and gave us respite in what was quite a strange, intense yet lovely experience. We all sat very still and very upright as Mother Superior asked us many questions about our lives.

They gave us a very warm welcome and though it felt somewhat awkward to be in such an old fashioned institution, there was an abundance of encouraging smiles from the sisters who all sat listening to us. They explained how their numbers are dwindling as no young blood is joining the sisterhood. 

"Perhaps Freya will!" laughed Mother Superior, "That would be very good!" 

Freya later told me how weird that moment had been and said, "It's no wonder no young girls want to be nuns. We live in a modern world and they don't,"

They are good people, with good hearts and I'm sure throughout the world they do wonderful, selfless work. But Freya's right in that thought. Their lives are so radically different to anything she has ever known. It's not part of our society. I guess the closest my kids get to this kind of charity is the concept of volunteering.

Freya has completely got the idea that we are lucky and we've come here to make the lives of these children a bit better. Gus can tell you that, but I'm not sure how much he really understands it. To him, the kids are just kids. Same as him.

We had tea at the convent which was delicious! We sat at a long refectory table, with me at the head. We were served by Sister Jancy, which felt a little strange. We had the most scrumptious coconut and lemon pancakes, followed by pakora and sweet coffee.

After we had eaten and the kids had broken the quiet, calm atmosphere with their laughter as they ran through the corridors and played Hide n Seek, we were taken to see the new auditorium they're building at the Sacred Heart School. It's immense, just like you would expect to see in a large secondary school in the UK, but the way it's being built is totally different.

The entire thing has been built by hand. Everything has been carried in on the shoulders of men, or, more likely, on the head of women. It has taken years, but is now near completion.

There is sound proofing on the walls and ceiling, huge arched windows, jagged scaffold poles dotted around precariously and a team of builders - whole families complete with kids - is living in a room under the stage! Their washing was strung on a line that stretched the length of the stage and they pee in the far corner of the hall - that was quite apparent.

A health and safety officer in the UK would have a heart attack. We entered via a concrete staircase with no sides, leading us up to the second floor. There were rocks, holes and rusty scaffold pipes strewn everywhere. The sisters just stepped gracefully over in their floor length robes. You had to see it to believe it.

As we finally shook hands and hugged Mother Superior and Sister Jancy farewell, I was struck by the brilliant opportunities we face almost daily. So much we all now take for granted, like letting the monks in the Internet cafe entertain / be entertained by Martha, as we get on with things.

We came home tired and happy. Hamish went down to town and brought us pizzas which we ate on the bed! We spend so much time talking, eating together, playing games, and watching films together.

Today we're taking a rickshaw to Dharamcot, our neighbouring village, to go to Rajesh's house. We're going to meet the cow whose provided our milk all these weeks.

Whilst I can't wait to get to the beach, I don't want to be so close to the end. We could have easily done this for six months...

The kids' blog

For those of you with kids, you might find it interesting to show them the blog that Freya and Fergus are writing. Here's the link:

Http://freyaandfergus.blogspot.com/

Another rainy Sunday

It's raining. Again.just like last Sunday. It's cold, wet and windy. Amazingly, I don't  feel as depressed by it as you might expect. I've been out shopping with Martha, carried her and the provisions up 142 steps in the driving rain, then done the washing on the blustery balcony. Martha, who never has accidents, wet the bed last night. Brilliant timing.

We're cooped up in this tiny apartment, with three kids and a mattress propped up in front of our little radiator. Oh and Martha's just posted something into one of the ventilation slots on said heater, so part of me is waiting for the smoke and flames. 

Poor old Freya is now full of cold and feeling grotty. Throughout everything, she is the one whose always stayed upbeat and cheerful, consistently skipping her way to school when Gus has been positively dragging his heels.

But in spite of all that, it's OK. Yesterday was not a great day. Hamish and I had simultaneously lost our joy and enthusiasm for the whole thing. We'd had a disaster with booking our trains for the next leg of our journey. Last Sunday, we'd checked the times and had decided which routes to take. Hamish was going to book it on Monday, but the storm left us with no electricity. The modem played up for the rest of the week and we didn't feel the urgency to book online in an Internet cafe - we didn't want to put our credit card details into a computer there.

When we finally got back on line on Thursday, it was too late. All the trains were full. This sent us both into a spin, but for very different reasons. Hamish decided that if he couldn't look after his own family, then he shouldn't be working in the travel business anymore. Dramatic, I know, but things can get a bit intense when you're travelling. I meanwhile felt, irrationally I admit, that I was trapped, never to leave these cold, harsh mountains, never to sink my toes into the warm sands of a Goan beach.

All sounds a bit silly now, but at the time, it made us both miserable. This compounded my gloom - we hadn't come all this way to waste a single second feeling rubbish. We were meant to be savouring every moment. I didn't want to be willing the days to pass, but that's exactly what I was doing. At least for 24 hours.

I also found myself questioning my own part in all of this. I came here to try and make life a bit better for the kids at St Mary's, especially those who live in the hostel run by a mean minded Buddhist monk, and who only get to see their far away families in the summer holidays. And all I could think about was how I was going to get to the beach.

McLeod is full of well intentioned westerners doing volunteer work. I was comparing myself to them, resenting their earnest selflessness as they willingly gave up their time for the benefit of others. I was wishing I was surrounded by the colourful wasters with their sparkly bindis who line the streets of Pushkar, instead of these sincere, drably dressed do-gooders, with better hearts than mine.

In addition to all this negative thinking, I was also sad to be missing a close friend's 40th birthday. I should have been dancing the night away with some of my oldest and most treasured mates, instead of being stuck here in the cold.

I'm happy to say that, a day later, and despite the dreary weather, a poorly Freya and a soggy mattress, our spirits are restored. The kids, picking up on our darkness, were brilliant. I am so filled with respect for them, for their responses to every situation we have exposed them to. They have their moments of bickering and getting frustrated with each other, but that's it. Nothing else has phased them. Not going to school where the kids speak a different language and the teachers pull your hair, nor the long journeys, nothing has been a problem for them.

So much so that we actually planned to do a 30 hour train journey. I'd never in a million years have thought we'd have considered it. This was the train that we couldn't book and we were all disappointed to miss out on the adventure.

The alternative is to take a flight to cover such a huge distance. Before we set off, this was always our plan. But since we've been away, our perspectives have changed. We were all excited at the prospect of cosying up in our carriage, reading books, playing chess and Pooface (our child's version of a favourite adult card game!), watching films on the iPad and seeing the world go by as we passed through a large part of India.

Ah well. We'll know for next time. It's still pouring down with rain. We can't go out and explore our surroundings. Instead we have to continue the exploration into our relationships, working out how to be that 'Happy family', even in the rain.

21st century India

Things have changed here so much since my first trip to India. My initial impressions of Delhi were dominated by the young women who wore western clothes with attitudes to match. Even those who still wear traditional clothes are carrying around babies dressed in jeans. Change, of course is inevitable, but in a country whose culture is so very strong, I wasn't expecting it to be so rapid. 

Life has changed at a fast moving pace the world over. As a teacher, I am educating kids for jobs that   might not yet exist. So why is it so surprising here? It's because technology has made such advances and in spite of that, so many of the old ways remain. In Britain, society moves on, developments ripple through all aspects of our lives. For us, technology reaches all of the populous.

Martha is not yet three, and she has already received and sent her first emails (with help, obviously -she's not quite that bright!) For us, mobile phones, games consoles and the Internet are available and used by every generation. I saw the other day that Facebook's oldest member is 103 and uses the site to communicate with her 13 grandchildren.

And similarly here in India, I see mobile phones everywhere. So is the Internet. When I first travelled, the only means of communication was handwritten, on airmail paper (my kids wouldn't even know what that was) and a visit to the local Poste Restante. Then came the fax machine, but you had to know someone back home who had one. It wasn't until I went to Brazil in 1997 that I received my first proper email communication.

But now, every cafe in town has free wi-fi. Travellers are tapping away at their laptops, notepads, Blackberrys and iPhones. And so are the locals. There is one Internet cafe which I pass every day. It's got a funky interior and a wall of windows. It would be at home in any city in the world, except sitting at the row of computers, or relaxing on the multicoloured chairs, there is always a handful of Tibetan monks, fully robed and highly IT literate.

Gets me every time - a monk with a laptop! But the really crazy thing about it all, is that right next door is a building site, where Indian women are hard at work, mixing sand and lime with heavy spades, loading it into large bowls which they carry on their heads to where the men are laying bricks. It's always the women who have the worst jobs. They look so thin and delicate, but their petit frames belie their great strength. Some of them have babies strapped to their backs. No amount of technology is ever going to change their lives.

Nor will it reach the life of the ancient man who crouches opposite, wrapped in a blanket that hides all but his face, as he waits for someone to buy his small collection of vegetables.

We sit outside the cafe, the epitomy of 21st century life, run by uber cool Tibetans, total dudes, sipping machiatos and eating chocolate brownies, as a cow wonders by and stops to munch a piece of newspaper from the side of the road. It's soon followed by a small herd of goats on their way to somewhere, clearly known to them.

Smart Toyotas drive through the dusty streets, frustrated by the speed of a man pushing a hand cart that is his mobile sticker shop. Iconic Royal Enfields roar past wrinkled Tibetan ladies as they spin the prayer wheels outside the temple in the high street.

It's such a cliche to talk about the contrasts in India. We've heard them all a million times before: the difference between rich and poor; the colours and the darkness. But I wonder if anything is as crazy as seeing past and present moving so comfortably into the future. Everyone accepts everything as normal. Nothing is remarkable enough to turn heads. Like the camel carts walking the wrong way up the fast lane on our drive back to Delhi. And the fact that in our apartment we have a squat toilet and a modem. For the people who live here, it's just not extraordinary. Which I guess, just adds to the fascination of the visitors. And maybe it's a big part of the reason that India is so magic.

Feeling the fear

At what point does optimism give way to sadness or fear? I am ever the optimist, and when I lose that sense of hope, I am far from comfortable.

Last night I lay in bed listening to a raging storm. The wind battered the buildings so relentlessly that the night was one very long series of clatters, bangs and crashes.

Unable to sleep, my initial thoughts that, "This is alright, I'm sure it's perfectly normal for this time of year, Kunsang (our host) hadn't seemed unduly worried as he bade us goodnight," eventually gave way to more panicked imaginings: the door is going to burst open; the windows might shatter; the roof might fly off.

Which is when, in that long, dark night, with no electricity or heat, I found myself wondering, when does optimism get up and leave you? When do you discover you've gone from bad weather to a news report?

For the earthquake victims of Haiti, there was no warning, no time to panic. But there must have been people in Australia earlier this year and Pakistan last year, who watched the rain fall and fall, people who felt the optimism ("This rain will stop soon,") give way to fear, to blind panic, as their homes were washed away in torrent of muddy water.

So, as I lay in bed, fearing for the safety of my children, unsettled that Freya and Fergus were locked in another room, not under my protective wing, memories of a previous fear revisited me. The adrenalin shot through my veins, pounding into my heart, as I remembered 1993, Hurricane Gert, whose ferocious winds had ripped down the coast of Central America. At the time, Hamish and were residing in Tulum, in the shabbiest beach hut in all of Mexico. The storm had frightened us half to death as we had taken shelter in the corner of our hut, the corner where they crabs scuttled in every day. We had huddled together for warmth, not a dry piece of clothing between us as the horizontal wind and rain burst through the inadequate walls. That night we had wondered at point do we run, and where exactly do we run to? 

In the end, for us, the hurricane caused minimal damage, though it gathered speed as it raged down the coast, killing people in Honduras. And similarly the storm that battered McLeod Ganj brought no lasting harm to us other than a sleepless night, though it did rip the roof off the local hash dealer's house! But it did make me think, how lucky I am that I've never quite reached that point of flight or fight because my life depends upon it. And my heart goes out to those who have.

When I went into the kids in the morning, I asked them gently, "Were you frightened last night?"

"No!" they both replied, "It was so exciting! It was really dark and we thought we'd gone blind, and then we realised there was no electricity. It was wicked!"

Oh.

Life in McLeod

We've been in McLeod for a week and I can say without hesitation that we are loving it. I still can't quite believe this is India. A few kilometres down the hill, and you in Dharamsala. There's no question that that's India. It strikes me as a fairly uninteresting town that I have no desire to explore. We have stopped there to pick up some shopping, assuming that it's cheaper than McLeod due to the lack of tourists, but it's not. The few people I have encountered there did nothing to endear themselves to me.

Then you drive ten minutes back up the hill and you are surrounded by Tibetans and a very real sense of peace. You can't help but feel completely chilled out here. No one hassles you to buy anything, or even look at stuff. They seem content to earn nothing more than a greeting and a smile, as you walk on buy.

Martha charms everyone, even today when she had her first public tantrum (-I wouldn't buy her a Kitkat because she didn't eat her breakfast.) People were coming out of their shops to smile and say,"Arh! Baby, don't cry," as she stamped her way up the road. In the end, two gorgeous Tibetan grandmothers sat down with her on the steps of a cafe and talked in such soothing tones, that even though she couldn't understand what they were saying, she grasped their intention, and stopped crying. Throughout the encounter, the older of the two women never stopped spinning her prayer wheel.

We have now sussed out our favourite eateries and know the best dishes in each. We're all feeling very at home here. The kids can now come and go on their own. Freya walked home today alone and I am quite happy to let them go to the shops by themselves (obviously without Martha in tow!)

We've all settled into our roles at school. For me, teaching at St Mary's is an absolute dream, no planning, no paperwork, no assessment, no targets, just the simple pleasure of imparting knowledge. I've also established with Sister Jancy how I can introduce the concept of environmental education and set out a programme of training with the staff. They have absolutely no idea about Climate Change and its implications. I tried to talk to the children about the melting ice caps but they have no knowledge of the Arctic. No one knew what a polar bear was. So often I want to reach for the computer to show them something on the internet, but of course, there isn't one.

None of the pupils have ever seen the sea. Such a lot of ground to cover! I have also noticed that they are not the independent learners I am so used to working with. They are completely reliant on the teacher directing all that they do. When you write something on the board they all say it out loud then they copy down exactly what they see. I was teaching a class to use connectives. I wrote some sentences on the board that the children had to finish. Out of a class of 45, I think three were confident enough to do what I asked. The rest of them simply wrote out a page of half finished sentences! There's no risk taking going on here. 

But then when I hear about Fergus' first Hindi lesson, I can understand why. Apparently, the teacher walked around the room checking what they were doing. If a boy made a mistake, she would pull their ear and slap their face. The girls got off more lightly with a sharp yank of their plaits. Unbelievable!

The kids have settled in amazingly well. Fergus is so keen to improve his handwriting, to be like the kids here, that he has been practising at home...UNHEARD OF! They are surrounded by friends at playtime and are both really happy to go school each day.

Last night, as we walked home after dinner, two men were squatting on the side of the road, watching the world go by, laughing and joking. "Hey, Happy Family!" they shouted, "Good night. Sweet dreams!"

And you know what, you do have sweet dreams. Several times I am woken in the night by one of the kids, and I never have one of those desperately annoying thoughts about something I need to do, or some stress at work, that so often keeps me awake. I am utterly peaceful. How lucky I am. But how long can this last?

Photos and thoughts...

Check out my facebook page to see some pics.

I can categorically confirm that some of the loveliest human beings in the world live in McLeod Ganj. Even the dogs here are fat and chilled out. When did you ever see overweight dogs in India?!

Two weeks in and this is where we're at.

We're back at Bhagsu waterfall, the now favourite haunt of our kids. For Gus and Freya it's about climbing over the mighty rocks that litter the river bed, looking for the perfect stone to skim. For Martha, it's "the place where the crisps live," (in the tiny No Name Cafe perched on the path above).

I'm sitting on a large rock, undisturbed by busy kids, considering how far we have come. And I'm not thinking geographically.

We are all so at home here. This morning, Martha came out onto the balcony, clutching her bowl of cornflakes and said, "Where are the monkeys? Monkeys! Monkeys! Where are you?" 

It is totally normal for her to expect to watch monkeys playing as she eats her breakfast.

Freya continues to take everything in her stride and is now beginning to define her role within our little unit. Each night she puts a pan of milk on the stove and makes them all hot chocolate. She also has a total handle on where to find the restaurants recommended by her big cousin Milly and what foods should be eaten there. I struggle to find the man who makes the best samosas in town but Freya knows exactly which is his stall.

Fergus speaks to everyone and anyone. Out on the street if someone speaks to him and he doesn't understand, he holds out his hand and says, "Fergus," assuming, probably quite rightly, that they have asked him his name.

No one looks twice at the remarkable things we see. On our way here today we passed a goat standing in wheelbarrow on the steps of a temple. Totally normal.

Before we set off, I worried about how they would feel seeing beggars. But you know what, they see it through kids' eyes, which doesn't provoke deep thought as to how some of these desperate souls survive, they simply see someone they want to help. We give money or food to some of them (if he has money in his pocket, Gus is the first one to reach for it), but we can't stop for everyone. And whilst it feels to us a very temporary and unsatisfactory solution to their plight, for the kids, that's enough. We move on, the beggar doesn't leave a lasting impression on them. They feel sad for them, when they stand before them, but out of sight and the encounter is over. That's not to say it's forgotten. The kids just accept their existence without question.

Our apartment where we're staying is really quite grotty. But strangely, none of us mind. Not even me. The beds are hard, the walls need a lick of paint, there is no hot water in the kitchen, the shower is an embarrassment to itself as it dribbles down on us. It's really cold at night and we have no fluffy duvets. And if we take the short cut home from town, we have to climb 142 steps.

But when we wake up, warm sunshine floods our balcony. We can sit on our little wooden bench and watch the monkeys, we can look up and see the start of the mighty mountains standing over us. No one phones or knocks on our door to take our attention away. We are absolutely living in the moment, and we are living it together.

Crazy coincidence

Sitting out on our balcony flicking through an old edition of the Lonely Planet guide to India. We spotted one of the writers, Anthony Ham, who we met years ago in Jaipur. In his little note from the author at the beginning of the book, he writes a special thank you to the travellers, Hamish and Anna! What a mad one! We're in the Lonely Planet!

The reason we're here

I'm watching the setting sun turn the snow capped mountains rosy pink. Below me the town is quiet, but for the odd high pitched honk from a car or rickshaw navigating the bends and the sound of dogs barking. Lots of people here have them as pets.

We went to St Mary's School today for the first time. It is about a half an hour drive down the hill in a small village called Sidhpur. As we pulled up outside the school gates, I think we all felt a little nervous. Except Martha that is. She couldn't get there quick enough, skipping down the school path singing.

We were greeted by the principal Sister Jancy Joseph. She is from the nearby convent where they run another school The Sacred Heart High School. This one is private and it gives the convent the means to fund St Mary's. The children there do not pay to come to school, unless, in a few cases, they can afford to. In India, no schooling is free. They have both private and public schools, though I am not certain of the difference between the two. My understanding is that public is the more expensive. Either way, if you can't afford to pay the fees, your kids don't get an education here. There is no state funding. It makes you appreciate how very lucky we are.

Anyway, St Mary's was set up about fifteen years ago, by Sister Celia (who sadly I will not meet as she has been seconded to somewhere in Goa) and a group of locals who believed that everyone had the right to an education, regardless of their finical situation.

Sister Jancy gave us a tour of the school. It's unbelievably Victorian, children sitting silently in rows, even four year olds are behind a desk all morning. They all stand to attention when a visitor enters the room, with their arms by their sides, bowing their heads slightly as they say "Good Morning," in perfect unison. They are smartly dressed in a uniform of maroon jumpers, White shirts and ties, with white trousers for the boys and skirts for the girls. Some girls wear tartan skirts and they all have their long hair tied in very neat plaits with red ribbons.

As we walked from class to class I couldn't help feeling some sense of nostalgia as the books they used reminded me of my own days at primary school. (I went to a very old fashioned school!) There were lots of similarities to the subjects they were covering. In class three they were learning about the life cycle of a plant, not unlike their counterparts in England. In class two, however, they were doing moral studies which was teaching them how to be a good person. Our equivalent is PSHE (personal, social, health education) but this seemed a lot less sophisticated. They were learning about three magical words to use at home, "please, thank you and sorry"! It will be really interesting to find out more. These kids are uber polite. Maybe kids at home should have lessons in using these magic words!

Some of the classrooms were very overcrowded, with maybe 50 pupils or more. The teachers all stand in front of blackboards and I heard chanting going on as they learnt by rote. Working in an education system that is so very different, it will be really interesting to make comparisons.

At lunchtime we went out onto the yard and got completely mobbed. How DO the Beckhams cope? We were surrounded by so many kids that at one point, I saw Martha crying and I just couldn't get to her! I made the mistake of getting my camera out and that sent them all into a spin as they pushed and shoved to get in front of the lens.

After a little while some of the older girls starting playing the drums, signalling the start of assembly. The classes lined up in regimental order and the PE teacher stood up on the stage and shouted for everyone to stand "At ease!". They all stood identically with their hands neatly behind their backs. We we then invited onto the stage by Sister Jancy and we stood there with the 580 pupils of St Mary's clapping to welcome us to their school, full of hope for the great things we will do with them. Let's hope we don't disappoint them!

After assembly, we left the school, all feeling excited about coming back. We walked up the hill to the Norbulingka Institute. This is a centre of Tibetan culture, where they hope to preserve the Tibetan way of life. The temple is the place where the Dalai Lama does his writings. There is a cafe where we lunched, a guest house, museum and arts centre, and the whole thing is set in Japanese style gardens, with streams, waterfalls, bridges and shady paths. It was all very mellow, a stark contrast to being mobbed.

We chilled out here for a while before returning back McLeod. It feels good to be back here. When we first set off this morning, I had mixed feelings. I knew that going to St Mary's was one of the key features of this adventure, that was the reason I was released from my job, and the kids were so freely granted permission to leave school for two months. After the freedom of the last two weeks though, I didn't want to go back into a classroom. But it is so very very different. I can't compare it to being at work. I remind myself of some the words of His Holiness the XIVth Dalai Lama....

The True Meaning of Life:

"We are visitors on this planet. We are here for ninety or one hundred years at the very most. During that period, we must try to do something good, something useful, with our lives.
If you contribute to other people's happiness, you will find the true goal, the true meaning of life."

There are monks and monkeys everywhere!

We've had the loveliest day. This place is soo mellow. No one hassles you to buy stuff. When you look at things, there are no cries of "I give you good price! What price you pay?" Instead these gorgeous Tibetans simply smile and say "Thank you," They thank us for looking at their wares. Such a far cry from the rest of India.

We strolled down incredibly steep streets, stopping for fresh juice and popcorn. The views are stunning. The vibe is shanti. We're loving it! Kunsang was right with his theory - we weren't cold at all! In fact we were all completely overdressed and as we climbed back up the hill we were dripping with sweat! Seriously good exercise, walking round McLeod. You can feel calf burn in your legs!

We came home and had lunch on our terrace. It's really liberating to be able to cook for ourselves - I won't be saying that when I get back home, I'm sure!

Freya and I went and did yoga with this hilarious guy called Om. She did so brilliantly to keep a straight face. We began with some intense yoga breathing techniques with Om telling us to, "Focus your mind. Yoga class time is tension completely gone time. It is happy feel, relax feel, enjoy feel,"

I couldn't look at Freya for fear of giggling, but she took it all seriously. The class was fairly gentle, with a little too much lying down for me, but man, could Om do some crazy things with his body!

We met up with the others for another gorgeous meal, before heading over via the sweet stall on the corner of our road. The kids finally got some chocolate and Hamish continued with our unsuccessful pursuit of fresh milk for Martha. We've had a wild goose chase with people telling us we can buy it here, there and somewhere else. Great result tonight though! Hamish got chatting to the owner of the stall, Ragesh, who has agreed to bring us a litre of milk tomorrow morning from his own cow. "Now that's what I call fresh!" yelled Gus.

Freya has just made her first cup of tea for me, Martha is sleeping peacefully, Hamish has done a brilliant job of insulating our room and Fergus has just summed up McLeod saying, "This place is wicked. There are monks and monkeys everywhere!"

It's really very cold.

Not so sure about this place yet. I haven't been this cold at bedtime since we were trekking (oh, and perhaps when our boiler broke down last winter in a foot of snow). I lay in bed bursting for a wee but not wanting to brave the icy bathroom. There was a howling gale in the middle of the night that left poor Hamish up and down like a yoyo as he made regular checks on the kids (they hadn't wanted to lock themselves in, so despite wedging their door shut with a thin inflight magazine, we were worried that the wind would force its way in.) He also climbed up onto the roof at some unearthly hour to rescue the washing that I had hung there yesterday. I had visions of spotting clothes on distant roof tops: Martha's gorgeous cotton shirt, a prized Monsoon hand-me-down, that she's been living in, Gus' favourite (and more vitally ONLY) pair of shorts, my lovely comfy yoga pants, to name but a few.

I am now sitting in the cold light of day. I'm as close as can be to the oil fired radiator that has tried valiantly to warm our icebox through the night. Gus and Martha are sitting in bed under a mountain of blankets, watching Pink Panther and eating biscuits. This trip might have been very different without the iPad. It has bought us so much time and saved us from many difficult situations. It has been the ultimate distraction on long journeys.

Is it the essential bit of kit for a young family travelling? Of course we could have done it without it, but things mightn't have been so harmonious. They only have a couple of films on it, but it's the classic episodes of our iconic childhood cartoon that amuses them time and time again.

Hamish is now hammering thick blankets at our window in an attempt to keep in the heat. Kunsang, our gentle Buddhist host, tells me that it is all about how we think. If our brain tells us it's cold, our body's 'warming cell' shuts down and we feel even colder. If we tell ourselves we're warm, the reverse happens.

He is so very Zen. He and his wife both exude a deeply mellow and contented vibe. And boy is she strong (they both are). She's about my height and build, but she looks as though she is solid muscle - in a very soft and beautiful way, not with the harshness of a body builder. She made light work of carrying Hamish's really heavy bag up three flights of stairs.

Last night it snowed. Perhaps there is more to come. As we step outside in our kagools, can we test out the mind over matter theory?

We're in the mountains!

We're sitting on our balcony looking out over a remarkable view. McLeod Ganj spreads out before us, eagles circle on thermals at eye level, monkeys scuttle along the railings of our neighbours houses and the start of the mighty Himalaya rise up beyond it all, the ultimate snow-capped backdrop.

Our journey here was great. We dealt with New Delhi Station admirably. Freya had asked on several occasions, "Why have we got backpacks? Suitcases would've been fine," her questions were answered as, loaded to the hilt, we made our way through the madness of the station like seasoned travellers. The kids absolutely loved the overnight train. You'd have thought they were on the Orient Express! Very early this morning I opened a sleepy eye to see Gus awake, lying on his bunk looking out of the window. As dawn brought with it the most gorgeous pink sun to hang low in a misty rural landscape, he repeatedly muttered quietly to himself, "This is the most awesome thing ever,"

Getting off the train in Pathankot was such a contrast to the scene we had left behind in Delhi. It felt so chilled. We were met by Sanju, in another comfortable car and he drove us up winding mountain roads to our new home. We are staying with a lovely Tibetan family in what can only be described as a highly basic apartment. Hamish keeps saying, "It's got potential!"

It's absolutely freezing! The temperature is much like I imagine it is at home, only we have no luxuries like central heating and Hungarian goose down duvets. But hey, we've got thermals and really cool kids who just seem to notice the hardship. You know, time and time again, they amaze me with their oblivion to the grot.

It's lovely to see Tibetans again. They bring with them a beautiful peaceful vibe that is almost tangible. Infact this doesn't feel like India, well not as I know it. It is much more reminiscent of Nepal. How lucky our kids are to know this. Freya and I are going to find a yoga class and I have an urgent pull to the 'Dream Massage' I saw advertised in Nick's Italian cafe where we ate a gorgeous lunch.

Moving on...

So, our last day in Rajasthan. As I write, we are cruising along a fairly smooth road, the sun is hot and we are glad of the air con. Mo Shanti is the soundtrack to our journey. The girls are asleep in the back and Gus, poor thing is concentrating on not being ill. After a night in or near Jaipur, we arrive back in Delhi tomorrow and say goodbye to Gansham and his lovely car. He will take us to the train station where will experience our first taste of public transport with the kids. Already we have acquired extra bags from all that shopping!

We will take the overnight train up to the mountains. I'm not sure how that will be. I try not to think about my friend Laura's experience of a sleeper train when her son fell from the top bunk. In her case she was lucky enough to catch him. It would be very boring to arrive in Pathankot with broken bones.
               ------------------
We've arrived in our most expensive and possibly grottiest hotel. It's on the road from Jaipur to Delhi. To be honest it's such a relief to get out of the car. We've sat in terrible traffic for what seems like hours. Trucks are not allowed into Delhi before 9pm which means that early evening on a major tributary into the city, is one long truckfest. The kids have amazed me once more. There hasn't been a single complaint or vague grumble today. On past experience though, does this mean we're in for a shocker tomorrow? There's a 3 hour drive followed by the overnight train up to the mountains. Sounds pretty grim, huh?

A late night thought from Pushkar

There have been moments on this trip where I have questioned our motivation. For us, it's not just about 'seeing' India. It's about our relationship with the place. I have wondered at times if we can actually share that with our kids. They live so much in the moment and seem oblivious to much of the stuff that sends my mind reeling. When we took them to places in Parhaganj, places that we had described to them with such passion, I realised that we had seen that through the eyes of backpackers. Now, seeing them through the eyes of a mother, it's a whole new picture. I've worried that walking along the streets of Pushkar (one of my most favourite past times in the world) is actually really full on for them. That restaurants that were cool hippy hangouts for us, might seem grotty to them. But it's not. They are charmed by it too, but for completely different reasons! Gus has bought himself a Rajput turban which he wears around the place. Freya gives the air of someone who has travelled for years, and Martha, well, she's as at home here as anywhere in the world. She skips and hops and sings her way through the madness!

Sisterhood in India

I've finally tapped into it. Always before I've struggled to find a sense of camaraderie  between me and the Indian women. There have been times in previous trips were something rubbish has happened and I felt let down by the women around me.  I was greeted with dismissal or without recognition. As a Westerner with the freedom and the financial means to travel, I was unfathomable. But now, as a mother, I am the same. Women everywhere make eye contact with me and exchange knowing looks. As I left the Rat Temple the other day with Martha crying in my arms, every woman I passed looked and smiled in sympathy or simply nodded with understanding that I was dealing with a difficult moment. It's lovely. I realise now how much it has bothered me previously.

In the past all my friendships I have made with the locals have been with men. On this trip, I hope I will learn to understand more what it is to be born a woman in India.

Hurray for Pushkar!

Today has been FANTASTIC! Our best day yet. We began with breakfast on the roof - we didn't like the restaurant, the sun was shining and the view s beautiful, so we asked to go out there. They couldn't have been happier to move out a table for us. I felt as though we were in an advert for Alpen or something. The kids ran up down the roof terrace with this incredible back drop, and the we all sat and watched the boy who helped bring our bags in galloping the horse around the field next to us. He's training him to rear up. It looks like a lot of fun.

We then wondered into town. We went down to the ghats along the lake and Hamish and I did puja, a strange ritual that involves chanting, placing petals into the lake and blessing your family. The kids watched, fascinated. Even Martha.

Freya used the holy water, thought to heal and purify the soul, to wash some cow poo off her foot, and then we walked along the main bizarre. It's still as much a shopper's paradise as it was a decade ago. So much gorgeous stuff, I didn't know where to look.

We found ourselves some treasures and then bought food supplies for our camel trek into the desert.

It was so brilliant. To think, yesterday we arrived here feeling tired, fed up and disappointed. Less than 24 hours later we were returning to our hotel on camels (or in Martha's case, asleep like a medieval princess aboad a sumptuous cart underneath her own decorated canopy) having ridden out to watch the sun set on Rajasthan, as we practised our latest sport, dune running.

I couldn't quite believe it. To be riding a camel next to Hamish in the desert felt so familiar, having spent two long days doing the same on our last visit. But to look around and see my three amazing kids by our side, well, it was something else. They were all equally enchanted by the experience.

It was the stuff of dreams...

I am now officially loving being back here in Pushkar. We all are.

Things have gone pear shaped.

Leaving Bikaner was truly awful. We are all feeling utterly deflated. The magic of India has evaded us today. Well, at least since we left our beloved Bhairon Vilas. After saying how brilliantly the kids had travelled, it all feel apart. Gus moaned for the entire length of the five hour journey and even freya had lost her patience. Pushkar greeted us with chaos at sunset. The hotel that we had planned to stay in, which had been lovely 10 years ago, doesn't look like it's been cleaned since we left.

We have ended up in a place recommended by Gansham. The hotel is new and the rooms are completely fine, but it's not what we've so quickly grown used to.

Everyone is protesting in their own way. Martha is behaving horribly; Freya and Fergus have bickered so much that we're separating them tonight. We're having and girls' room with the boys next door.

It was all going so swimmingly. Freya has decided today that she doesn't like travelling. Please don't say she's destined for a lifetime of package holidays! Hamish is grumpy because he's cross with himself. He had such grand plans for our tour of Rajasthan. Any mother I know could've told him it was never going to work. But he had to find that out for himself. He has such a love of history and culture and architecture. Just not hot topics for kids! Although having said that freya did have an awesome history lesson as she lay in bed last night and he explained all about Gandhi.

We're getting there!

Day 5

Boy have we come a long way! And I'm not talking about the 473km we covered yesterday on our epic 11 hour journey that took us out of the insanity that is India's capital city through rural villages, ramshackle towns and miles of desert. 

I have been absolutely blown away by my kids. They've been utterly amazing. Not one of them complained yesterday, even though the drive was long, at times boring, and seemingly never ending. When I think about the journey up to my parents from our house, I think of it as a three and a half hour grueller. Not any more!

Looking back on what I have written, I realise how quickly the kids have adapted. No one mentions the dirt any more, they've stopped talking about home, except Martha who still asks,"Can I go to Nell's for tea?"
"Yes," I reply, "when we get home,"
"Yippee!" she says. And that's it.

None of them ask for food from home. They are just living in the moment. It's brilliant. 

We arrived last night in Bikaner a fortress town in the north of Rajasthan. We have lucked out big time with our hotel. We are staying in a former royal residence, owned by the very funky cousin of the maharaja. Our room is to die for. It's enormous, at least half the size of our entire house. We have three sets of double doors dressed in rich green silk curtains, that match our positively sumptuous sofa and chairs. The huge brass bed is draped in a sparkly fabrics and silk cushions, and the bedhead is adorned with antique saris. The walls are a deep pink, and hanging proudly above the marble fire place is a life size painting of some royal dude. There are mirrors in laid in plaster work all around this splendid room with the most beautiful windows intricately carved out of stone set high above the doors.

And then there's the bathroom! You step through more heavy silk curtains, open the doors and you find yourself in this gorgeous white space with a sunken bath that all the kids can fit into. It's big enough to host a party in it! (As I'm writing this, Freya has the Black Eyed Peas blasting out of the iPod - don't suppose these walls have heard the likes before!)

We have acres of space outside. Gorgeous gardens surround us with the mighty fort of Bikaner casting it's shadow over us in the afternoon. We had a really mellow morning hanging out in the warm sunshine (feels like early May in England), Gus kicking his football around, Freya reading a book on the swing seat on the verandah and Martha bathing her dolls in a bucket of water. Only slight cause for concern I had was looking up to see her polishing off a jugful of said water and licking her lips. We've obviously relaxed with the whole germ, illness thing, and so far she seems fine!

We've had a fantastic afternoon visiting the fort which is truly awesome. The kids were great and even Martha is now getting quite used to having her photo taken. She's stopped hiding behind her rabbit and is now posing comfortably with the other two. From there we went to visit the state camel farm, watched a herd coming from the desert for their evening feed, had a ride in a camel cart and then the kids ate camel milk ice cream and Hamish drank tea made with it. Yuk. I did not partake! But they all enjoyed it. We then finished the afternoon off with a trip to a nearby rat temple. The rodents are thought to be reincarnated souls saved from the wrath of Yama, the god of death. Pretty bizarre I've got to say. Rats scurrying around at high speed. All quite Indiana Jones. There are big clusters of them drinking from bowls of milk given to them by e devotees. Apparently it's good luck if one runs over your foot. It didn't seem like it was going to be lucky to me, so I was delighted to have the excuse of Martha not liking the rats to leave early and go and sit in the car with Gamsham. Whilst we were waiting for the others, we saw a very impressive wedding party leaving the temple where they had been for their blessing. The groom was in an elaborate cream suit with a Rajput turban, the bride and all her female family were dressed in red saris covered in much golden embroidery. Both bride and groom had detailed henna on both their hands and feet.

We're now bathing, chilling and generally loving hanging out in our spectacular home before stepping outside to have dinner in the garden next to out very own fire.

This place trounces the Lake Palace Hotel in Udaipur.

It's going to be really tough to say goodbye to the Bhairon Villa. It's worth coming all this way just to stay here.

This is all a bit tricky...

The challenge of being a family in India!

By choosing to put ourselves in this situation, we have placed several obstacles in our way. The most pressing hurdle we face right now is keeping the peace whilst being confined to a hotel room for too long. We're also struggling to sleep as we' still working on different time scale. We have no milk for Martha who is a total milk fiend, as she doesn't like the taste of it here. She's very limited with what she'll eat - she is at home too at the best of times, so we'll how that pans out. Gus is missing his friends."I wish now I was at Luke's," he muttered quietly as he builti)£.o,oj'"£,oj some Lego this morning.

There are frustrations for us too. I've been in Delhi for two days and done NO SHOPPING! Hamish and I can't go out for dinner or even a drink on our own.

When I watched the Channel 4 programme 'My Family's Crazy Gap Year' I was particularly struck by the story of the family who sailed to Australia with two kids under five. At first I thought they just insane. But as their journey unfurled, I watched them change. The kids were super hectic at first. Tumbling around like tiger cubs. Then they started to chill out, becoming more mellow. As I watched my kids doing the tiger cub thing, I wonder when, or if, we'll reach the mellow stage.

This journey is as much about sharing the delights of India with our kids as it is about us learning to live together as a unit, without the external distractions of friends, school, work and hobbies.

Martha (as I'm sure I keep saying!) is of course the biggest challenge. This whole experience would be completely different without her. Freya and Fergus are now old enough to occupy themselves for long periods of time, reading books, playing on the dreaded DS, watching a film or playing cards. But martha's attention span is so much shorter. She was brilliant yesterday, they all were, but then she fell asleep in the restaurant and it all went horribly wrong. She was up until nearly midnight whilst the rest of us were desperate to sleep. And now, trying to plan out final day in Delhi, it's all about keeping her awake.

Tomorrow we embark on a big trip into Rajasthan, covering many miles, taking us into the desert, to visit palaces and forts, and to ride on camels. Yesterday the kids were lucky enough to ride on an elephant around Gandhi's Memorial Park. Martha, understandably (it was enormous!) refused but said, "I'm going on a camel," Let's hope so!

Anyway Freya and I are off to buy provisions for our trip, whilst Hamish takes the other two to a sports shop in Connaught Place to buy cricket gear and a football.  We've decided to knock the train on the head, plumbing for the more expensive option of hiring a car and a driver. They'll be plenty of opportunities later on to revel in the joys of public transport! Freya also wants to go and buy some Indian clothes so "she doesn't look like a tourist". What she means, I think, is that she wants to look like Milly (her uber cool cousin who came here last year on her gap year) did when she came back from travelling.

Let's shop! At last! Parhaganj awaits! Bindis, bracelets, bags and sparkly stuff galore!

This is all a bit tricky...

The challenge of being a family in India!

By choosing to put ourselves in this situation, we have placed several obstacles in our way. The most pressing hurdle we face right now is keeping the peace whilst being confined to a hotel room for too long. We're also struggling to sleep as we' still working on different time scale. We have no milk for Martha who is a total milk fiend, as she doesn't like the taste of it here. She's very limited with what she'll eat - she is at home too at the best of times, so we'll how that pans out. Gus is missing his friends."I wish now I was at Luke's," he muttered quietly as he builti)£.o,oj'"£,oj some Lego this morning.

There are frustrations for us too. I've been in Delhi for two days and done NO SHOPPING! Hamish and I can't go out for dinner or even a drink on our own.

When I watched the Channel 4 programme 'My Family's Crazy Gap Year' I was particularly struck by the story of the family who sailed to Australia with two kids under five. At first I thought they just insane. But as their journey unfurled, I watched them change. The kids were super hectic at first. Tumbling around like tiger cubs. Then they started to chill out, becoming more mellow. As I watched my kids doing the tiger cub thing, I wonder when, or if, we'll reach the mellow stage.

This journey is as much about sharing the delights of India with our kids as it is about us learning to live together as a unit, without the external distractions of friends, school, work and hobbies.

Martha (as I'm sure I keep saying!) is of course the biggest challenge. This whole experience would be completely different without her. Freya and Fergus are now old enough to occupy themselves for long periods of time, reading books, playing on the dreaded DS, watching a film or playing cards. But martha's attention span is so much shorter. She was brilliant yesterday, they all were, but then she fell asleep in the restaurant and it all went horribly wrong. She was up until nearly midnight whilst the rest of us were desperate to sleep. And now, trying to plan out final day in Delhi, it's all about keeping her awake.

Tomorrow we embark on a big trip into Rajasthan, covering many miles, taking us into the desert, to visit palaces and forts, and to ride on camels. Yesterday the kids were lucky enough to ride on an elephant around Gandhi's Memorial Park. Martha, understandably (it was enormous!) refused but said, "I'm going on a camel," Let's hope so!

Anyway Freya and I are off to buy provisions for our trip, whilst Hamish takes the other two to a sports shop in Connaught Place to buy cricket gear and a football.  We've decided to knock the train on the head, plumbing for the more expensive option of hiring a car and a driver. They'll be plenty of opportunities later on to revel in the joys of public transport! Freya also wants to go and buy some Indian clothes so "she doesn't look like a tourist". What she means, I think, is that she wants to look like Milly (her uber cool cousin who came here last year on her gap year) did when she came back from travelling.

Let's shop! At last! Parhaganj awaits! Bindis, bracelets, bags and sparkly stuff galore!

Day 2

This is so amazing. It's crazy enough that we're her with Freya and Fergus, but it's having Martha here that really makes the whole thing mind blowing. 

It's not without it's nightmares. It's learning how to manage them that we need to do. Its been 10 years since I last travelled properly and things are staring to come back to me. Like the fact that you have to put up with really crap, boring bits in between the gorgeous bits. We need to get out of Delhi. We need somewhere with a garden, the kids need more space. Martha, as we knew she would be, is the big challenge.

Everywhere we go, people want to touch her, cuddle her and take her photo. She doesn't like it! She asks to go to Nell's house about 20 times a day.

Freya on the other hand is becoming a brilliant traveller. She sleeps really well and can read anywhere. She's beginning to realise about the hygiene situation. 

Gus is pretty cool too. He's struggled to sleep at night because of all the noises, but he hasn't complained once. He just says, "Delhi is one crazy place!" and shakes his head with a smile.

We had our first brush with illness over dinner this evening. We were sitting in the smartest restaurant in Parhgange when Gus suddenly announced,"I don't feel that great. I think I'm going to be sick!"

Much drama followed as I heaved the heavy wooden table out of the way to free Gus from his corner seat. The loud scraping of furniture on the marble floor brought four waiters rushing over. Hamish leapt over Freya and together they made a swift exit in the direction of the loo. This did nothing to allay Freya's fear of germs. A few minutes later, the boys emerged looking relieved and smiling. "Turns out he just needed to burp!" explained Hamish. Phew!

Day 1

We're struggling a bit with the dirt thing. Freya's finding it all rather worrying. She doesn't trust that the glasses, cups or plates have been properly cleaned. She's really anxious about Fergus who is constantly grubbing about in mucky corners and saying, "It's OK, I washed my hands an hour ago!"

Martha is utterly filthy. She's been barefoot since the minute we got here. Delhi is really dusty. You can't help but see filth everywhere. Hamish is hassling Gus to stay clean. We're all very tired. I just hope to goodness nobody's sick tonight.

We need to get this into perspective. It's hard when your kids are involved. I've even found myself inspecting the inside of the straws that went in their lassis. How is that going to help? Martha has now fallen asleep as dirty as she's ver been.

What has this night of our first Indian full moon got in store for us?

The journey!

I spent the day furiously packing and cleaning the house. I couldn't have done it without Sarah's help and the children out all day. My friends have been brilliant, having the kids to play. I've barely seen them. But I know that's all about to change...

We arrived at the airport in one piece, travelling fairly light. There wasn't much time for lottering. That pleasurable past time of hanging out in the departure lounge, browsing the shops, is long gone since parenthood. Instead that part of the journey is really quite stressful as you do your damnedest not to lose an excited child or any of their belongings.

Actually, if I'm honest, Hamish and I have never had that many "casually window shopping and drinking Bloody Mary's experiences". We' usually too late.

As we ran to the gate, arriving sweating, Freya was getting increasingly concerned that we'd miss the flight. "Don't worry, Honey," I reassured her, "the plane won't go without us, it's got our bags on board. This always happens to Daddy and I. It's always alright,"

We boarded the plane with me hobbling and clutching a handful of ice. I'd had the most embarrassing slapstick style wipeout as dashing to grab a sandwich from Cafe Italia, I collided at speed with the edge of a fixed metal chair. I properly face planted. I picked myself up, wondered how many fellow passengers had witnessed my clutsy performance and waited to hear laughter. Nothing. No one even gave me a second glance. If I'd seen that I'd have been in stitches.

It was as we staggered up the aisle of the plane that I first sensed that feeling of disappointment (or was it panic?) from the other passengers. "Oh no, children. Night flight to Delhi. Please don't sit by me!"

But someone had to have us next to them! As it turned out, it wasn't so bad. Martha, whom I was most apprehensive about, had a wail of a time bobbing up and down on her seat, playing peepo with the people behind us. Not sure they had such ball, but hey, it made her laugh. Till past midnight. Gus was delighted by the TV in front of him and both he and Freya were positively ecstatic when dinner was served.

We had a spare seat between us so of course our smallest traveller ended up with the most space. The Big M happily shored away, comfortably stretched out across two seats, legs akimbo, making herself thoroughly at home.

Freya did her best to sleep, like a true traveller, in horribly cramped conditions whilst Gus, having snatched a quick kip, was happy to have free rein with the screens in front of him - he alternated between the TV and his DS for far longer than he'd ever be allowed to at home.

So already I'm understanding some differences of doing this with children. The plane journey for me, previously, has been about reflecting on the drama of getting to that point and contemplating the self discovery that lay ahead. This time, with kids, it's a lot more about the survival. Not losing anyone. Keeping them safe and well and happy. Hamish and I both spent the flight in awkward positions in an attempt to make them more comfortable.

Will this whole trip be one long series of compromises?

Is India ready for this?

Food for thought

Everyone needs time to be alone,
                  to think,   
                     to dream,
                        to wonder...

That's why travelling can be so life-changing. But how does that work when you travel with three kids?! 

Cold feet!

A week to go and I've got to be honest: my feet are feeling ever so slightly cold. Actually that's not entirely true. I'm experiences rushes of excitement, alternated with the grip of sheer panic. I've travelled in India several times (though I haven't been since 2001 and I'm expecting lots of changes) so I know how amazing it is. I know I love being there more than almost anywhere in the world. I've unquestionably had some of the best times of my whole life in India. It's so hard to explain without sounding like a cliche. But for me, it's a place where something happens to you. It's a dream come true. During my time there, I've felt so many different emotions. I have felt fear, discomfort, weirdness, joy, laughter, independence, love, hatred, stress, pain, grief, deep sadness, deep, deep happiness, relief, wonderment, enchantment...

I have seen Mother Nature at her ugliest and her most beautiful.

That's all brilliant for me. But for my kids? How will  Freya and Fergus feel the first time they see a beggar? Or a child their age wandering the streets with some hideous deformity?

And then there's Martha. Of my three children, she's the one who worries the most when I think about travelling. As if in confirmation of this fear, she pulled out all the stops of defiance the day we had our photos taken for the visas. The Indian Embassy require passport photos of all travellers before they issue a visa (interesting point to note  - they're not regular passport photos; no, in true Indian style they had to make it difficult - photos need to be 2"x2", hence a £60 re-sizing bill!)

Anyway, back to the trauma of Martha. She didn't want to sit and have picture taken. Following on from the school photo episode a month or so earlier where the poor guy was virtually singing and dancing to amuse her, but to no avail, we might have guessed how things would pan out. And sure enough, she dug her stubborn little two and a half year old heels in good and proper. The photo was awful, with me holding her at arms length in an attempt not to be seen and her screaming. Full blast.

Amazingly the Embassy accepted it. Disappointingly, it's a still as hideous as the memory and it's now scanned into her passport where it will remain till it's renewed in three years time!

I wonder how often she'll decide not to play ball whilst we're travelling. On the overnight train out of Delhi perhaps? Whilst trying to mount a camel in the desert? Or just being faced with yet another meal she doesn't trust?

Whatever happens, she mustn't spoil it for the others. Don't get me wrong. I feel like I'm giving her a really bad press. For 95% of the time, Martha is utterly gorgeous. A delight to be around. A bringer of laughter to all of us. She is quite simply my cherry on top.

It's just those tricky times tend to stick in your mind...!!

(As I'm stealing a few moments to write this blog, Martha is busy baking. She's mixing a baked beans, plain flour, garlic and play dough. She's making a cake.)

Two weeks to go!

In just a little over 2 weeks I'll be stepping off the plane and into the deep end. Sometimes I need to remind myself that this is a good idea. When you tell people you're taking your kids to India, they all say how brilliant it will be, how envious they are, what an amazing experience we'll all have.

Thing is, that's easy for people to say. Quite another matter to actually be the ones doing it. I don't see anyone else phoning up Trailfinders! We're the ones taking our children well and truly out of their comfort zone. They're living this blessed life in this idyllic pocket of the world -Little Gaddesden, home to a thousand acres of National Trust woodland, a huge herd of deer and some of the wealthiest people you could wish to meet. It is the epitome of a privileged place to live. The village green is punctuated with pretty cottages, enormous manor houses and other highly des res. The paths that crisscross our landscape are a haven for walkers, runners, cyclists and horse riders.

This brilliant community provides a different club for every day in the month, just adding to the amazing opportunities our children have living here. Martha goes to ballet classes in the scout hut - hardly Ballet Rambert but she loves it, Gus plays football for the village team every Saturday and Sunday, whilst Freya rides her pony in the neighbouring field, popping him over the jumps Hamish has made for her Or going out on hacks in the woods with some of her best friends. There's tennis for us all in the summer-even Martha goes to toddler tennis! And let's not forget the cricket team (was that a yawn you heard me surpressing?) which provides Hamish with a dream come true.

Think it sounds gorgeous - well it is.

All three kids (and us for that matter) are surrounded by friends. I often come downstairs on weekend mornings to find Fergus gone - off visiting one of the neighbours without even bothering to get dressed. Or they might be here in my house before I've even had a cup of tea. Luke from next door often mutters, 'Morning!' as he wonders into Gus' room. And there's someone and something for everyone. Martha loves playing with Nell here or there or best of all on the trampoline at the bottom of the garden. The kids have worn paths through the hedges that border our gardens like badgers do in the woods. At Fergus Five's (aptly named after the number of his house and to avoid confusion with ours) the kids get lost in a world of Lego - we've never had to make the trip to Legoland!

I value this sense of freedom my kids have immensely. Not only do they have great friendships with loads of kids, they also have a very comfortable relationship with a whole range of adults outside of our family unit.

We live in one of a cluster of cottages that back on to a park. Beyond that is the woods with Golden Valley in the midst of it. It's so gorgeous they use it for film sets: Stardust, Harry Potter and Robin Hood. We use it as our own. In summer there's picnics to be had, hill rolling, games of football, cantering on ponies knee deep in flowers. In winter, it gives us some of the best sledging this side of the Alps. We've built fires the snow to toast marshmallows, and spent the last two Christmas holidays somehow avoiding a ip to A&E as the village kids (and lots of their parents) speed down the slopes hurtling over jumps they've made by banking up the snow.

Then there's the Browns who live just along the village green. For me having a sister living a mile away has proved to be more amazing than I could have ever imagined. We never really got on as kids but being neighbours as adults is just brilliant. My gorgeous neices, Milly and Flora are adored by all the village kids, but none more so than my own kids. When Milly left to go to university last year, Martha cried for her to come back and paint her nails!