Current QB goings on/going ons.

Right, here's some real juicy Quilliam Brothers goss, as it has been a while. It has been a while for a valid reason though. It would've been a bit pointless to have a blog containing 'errrrr, we dont know what's going on' with a pic of us shrugging. We have been riddled with uncertainty. Numerous factors have caused this reticence, but to summarise, it is all down to the question of premises. We have been putting most of our energy (4.75 joules) into a particular property. Blinded by how ideal the building looked and generally WAS internally, we refused to consider the factor of its location. For those who don't know where it is, just imagine the place you would LEAST like to be at 2 am on a friday night/saturday morning in Newcastle City Centre. I am not saying this would make the tea house fail, as its success has always depended on loyalty, and the small detail of location shouldn't be that huge an issue when your customers are loyal. But, in the end, it was too large an issue to completely ignore. So we have decided to leave it be for the time being, and hunt down some more locations, this time with extra knowledge and a secret weapon in the form of Mr X (N.B - He's not really called that, though i very much reckon he's considering a change as it sounds so mysteriously cool. And signatures would be a doddle.). Mr X is helping us no end. He's one of those Chartered Surveyor chaps which we kind of knew from day one, but never asked for his assistance as we, like most normal people, hadn't a clue what the flip a chartered surveyor's function was. We still don't really. Despite numerous explanations. But we DO know that he knows stuff about buildings that mere mortals can only dream of knowing, and is a lovely man to boot. So we are appreciating the assistance no end.

There is a lot of intense discussion* happahappening at QB HQ these days. The buzz words being RISK, COMPROMISE, EVOLUTION, STAGNANT and TEA. Referring back to the previous observation of our Boots Meal Deal choices, i can tell you that our intense discussions are productive, provide food for thought and allow for grievances to be aired in a healthy way. We are very different people despite the whole similar genes thing. And that is GOOD. It is much more preferable to have ideas flying left right and centre (and occasionally colliding and exploding) even if you have to spend time and energy sifting through them, than to have a festering pool of one opinioned bleurgh.

So, what CAN we tell you about the project? The tea side of things is going very well. Part of the hypothetical success of the Quilliam Brothers project has always been about the tea. Our palates are refining (ha!), our knowledge is increasing, we are learning what the tea trends are, how to market the tea, how to make a perfect brew and how to make it all look and sound pretty. We will be stocking a few reputable shops in town and other places, giving away some free samples outside of unis, getting a permanent place at a market or two, and generally making the name recognisable. The web shop is probably nearly finished, though we have been saying that for a while. I have given up on estimation, as I'm always very wrong. So let's just say with great uncertainty that it is possibly slightly ready. With the tea house, our goals haven't changed, only the realisation that things take bloody ages, and impatience is not a virtue. We have the same amount of enthusiasm as before, and WILL succeed in providing a well run, adaptable, personable place to art in, music in, eat in, study in, drink in, film in, cosy in, read in, etc.. or something, but it WILL take a lot longer to finally get there. But when we get there, boy will it be froody.

*Arguing

That is all for know. Here's the first cuppla days from the mega trip.

Day 1. We had the afternoon to kill in Lovable London. Tiddled around at the National History Museum, which was great even though the Blue Whale was cordoned off. Also spent some time at the 'not as great as we imagined it to be' science museum. Plane, departing late PM from Heathrow. Fanny around with Oyster cards before jumping on one of them tubes. The Piccadilly one to be precise.



Checked in after unloading knives and !DANGEROUS LIQUIDS! into hold luggage. Jolly on through to departure lounge. Do customary airporty things. Buy 2 cups of tea. PG tips - tasted of plasticy fish, or fishy plastic. Expensive. Milk in tubey thing. Great development in the milk storage arena there. Lots of people buying lots of things. Are they mental? Probably.

'Richard. Richard? RICH? RICHARD!'
'Yes Darling'
'There's a cashmere scarf over there for only 55 pounds! And a bottle of perfume i dont need that's usually 35 pounds! But here it's 34 pounds! I think i'm going to buy them with my pounds! I want to spend my pounds!'
'But, we are going on holiday to the Caribbean darling, Cashmere scarfs will probably not be needed. Not to mention the fact that you brought 3 other fragrances with you for 2 weeks of what will essentially be sitting on a beach.'
'But we are in an airport. An AIRPORT! I cant not buy anything. Something in the air makes me want to own EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. Could i have your wallet?'
'Ok Darling, as long as you get me something gadgety.'

Board, three in a row, in the middle aisle. 8 Hours to Muscat in Oman.



Aeroplane food is weird. It all tastes/feels the same, whether chicken breast, pasta or omelette. All got menus. 'A La Carte' dinner offering - Veg Penne Gloop, A wedge of rubbery Cheddar, 2 crackers, and some delicious chocolate mousse-y cake thing. Then tea. Tasted similar to our QB Indonesian offering, IMHO. Breakfast was very strange oily pancakes, chicken omelette, muffin and a croissant (except they forgot to give me one). Great movie selection. Me - Twilight New Moon (secret fetish), Law Abiding Citizen. Chubs - 500 days of Summer, 50% of District 9. Sam - Law Abiding Citizen, 50% of District 9. All of the movies were horribly censored, hence only watching 50% of District 9, as the last 50% consists of mostly the f word. Wonderfully so. Instead of 'fucking crazy', which was clearly mouthed in 500 days of summer, she went 'absolutely berserk'. There was some snoozing. But only some. And some chess. But only some.

Day 2. Landed in Muscat at something-confusing-o clock. Very air conditioned. Very shiny floors. VERY shiny floors.



Lucky enough to witness legman - he's 80% leg, but 100% man. A rough sketch to illustrate his wonderful anatomic arrangement.



Me and the hijab-ed shop assistant shared a giggle. Nice, moments like that. Dont know her from adam, and never will, but for a brief moment we shared something. Albeit suppressed hilarity at a man with ridiculous legs.
By what we saw, Muscat doesn't really come close to getting the juices flowing. I have since looked at images on the World Wide Web, and it looks ok, though somewhat manmade. From the aeroplane, however, and as far as the eye could see from the airport, there appeared to be little else but dust/sand/the occasional watered, manicured lawn until the flat arid landscape hit some equally dusty/sandy/arid mountains. And looking at the postcards on offer in the airport, Muscat contained nothing but camels, bendy daggers, and snake charmers. A Costa coffee house was there, as was a Subway sandwich establishment. YAY! Bring on the western chains! Caught our first glimpse of the wonderful Indian Flare Craze. Which is just hitting them, 40 years after they appeared in Engeeland - More on that later. I got scared with the foot washing in the bathroom, so failed to go about my business. Sam snoozed on the highly polished floor having failed to squeeze under the armrests of the chairs.



He also wanted to own a kaftany thing. A la Dizzy Gillespie (that's actually a boubous i think, not a kaftan. But same sort of thing) We held him back as he strained to enter the airport 'look like a local' shop. Efficiently boarded the next plane, and jetted off in a Mumbai-y direction. Pan pipes caused a lot of mental stress, as they wistfully tooted in and out of ear shot throughout the entire 2 hour journey. I think the idea is that they are there to make you relax. But nothing, NOTHING, in this world makes me more likely to cause damage to something than monotonous panpipes. I would consider bringing something explosive onto that plane, not to damage the people (though that would probably be an unfortunate bi-product) but to destroy the panpipey music. Oman Air's color is a sort of metallic blue. It's very nice, though it's branding to the MAX. Now, a bit of branding is healthy and effective. But boy do they push the Oman Air Blue. They are a brand new company, and generally did a good job of getting us to our destination. Everyone was very pleasant, and the ride was groovy. Got us discussing what it would cost to start your own airline. Seeing all the tankers, drivable stairs, buses and other airport vehicles with the Oman Air stamp on. Lots of bats was our conclusion. But if they went bust, they could sell it all to Isle of Man Air, as they would only need to paint an 'I' at the beginning of Oman.

This brings us to landing in Mumbai. Shantaram is, in a lot of ways, a great book. Emilee Emilee Emilee agrees not. His description of landing in Mumbai is pretty spot on. This is the second time landing at Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, and the feeling was the same. I dont know if it's the calm before the storm, the nervousness caused by the impending whatever, or just because it's the first taste of india, but the moment you step off the plane into the fatigue inducing blanket of intense whoomphy heat, a tingle of unparalleled excitement whistles through you. The smell of Mumbai is the most incredible thing, and hits you immediately, and will stay with you forever. Unless you have anosmia. If you do, don't worry, baby's heads are over rated. From there we hastily changed a small amount of pounds into Rupees, and were guided to a taxi which we could easily have found on our lonesome. And so began the 3 week constant offering of assistance/services that we in no way would ever need, and were expected to pay for. The taxi ride was a fantastic introduction to India.



Chubs was instantly spell bound with the smiley men on mopeds, beepy horns, smells smellier than the smelliest smells you've ever smelt, sugar cane juicers, big pans of mysterious frying things, over fly-overs, under fly-overs, in between elaborately decorated trucks, past men selling dangly metallic packets of unknown from nearly ruined houses adorned with polished pepsico signs, arguments, camaraderie, folks carrying hessian wrapped packages 4 times their size on their bonces, beautiful beggar girls wearing their dirty best dress, bicycles, mopeds, scooters, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, posh cars, shit cars, taxis, buses, trucks, pedestrians, buffalo drawn carts, all competing for every cm of road space that becomes available, slums, super delux tower blocks, abandoned concrete blocks, fish markets, meat markets, veg markets, street markets. There's a lot to take in. It's wonderful.

Arrive at hotel. Walk into the A/C-ed reception. Once the door closes there's a bizarre separation from the chaos just outside. Quoted outrageously over priced room, despite knowing the staff from last time. Got a cheaper room by agreeing to shove a mattress on the floor in a double chambre. Mumbai is expensive, comparatively. Showered, then changed from not so suitable travel garments to a light linen trou and airy t shirt combo. Ordered first chais (delish) and lots of water. Then out to the mayhem again. Walked to the Gate of India.



Nice chat with photo man, with whom we had our first cricket craic. Saw the blowed-up hotel.



Went for first curry. mmmmm.



Mumbai always delivers on the culinary side of things.

Walked to the ocean, sat on the wall by the sea, Marine Drive. Contemplated our bizarre where-abouts in silence.

Taxi to hotel.

Chai.

Shower.

Bed.

Returning is as pleasurable as leaving.

Three weeks have passed. More than, in fact. And, oh, what a more-than-three-weeks they have been. We have done our fair share of sweating, bus riding, tea tasting, toilet sitting, photo taking, tout ignoring, curry consuming and rhino spotting. But admittedly less than our fair share of sleeping, washing, shaving and blog updating.

The love/hate relationship with India has deepened. Never was there a moment that we just sat down and concluded that what we were spectating was 'O.K'. Spectacular and rancid. Stunning and feral. Magical and repulsive. Wow and bleurgh. If anybody claims to have left India with only sunny memories of their experience, then they are UNTRUSTWORTHY, and probably insane. You can have your heart blindly set on finding your spiritual epicentral whotsit all you want, but even with your third eye closed, you can't help but see filthy things, be repulsed at hearing a fully grown man ram sticks down his throat to clear his stomach of a morning, or feel helpless after witnessing the scale of the heart wrenching poverty, or get livid when rammed 3 to a seat for 18 hours in 45 degrees driving past mountains of raaancid rubbish at 10 mph on dusty, carbon engulfed roads that are as flat as our lovable Jordans chest. Yes, yes, it is all part of the experience, and it couldn't be any other way. It is addictive. It is traveling at its best. But it's still, sometimes, bloody horrible.

And i really mean addictive. In the way gambling is addictive. You love it for the highs. And you can only have a huge high after a massive low. The lower the low, the higher the following high. It is worth the massive bumpy bus ride, and the sweaty back breaking hike just to find yourself on the back of an elephant as the sun rises, staring at one of the few wild rhinos left in the world. If you can call protected in a national park, wild. Which i dont think you can. But let's, just so we can feel a little better about ourselves. As it's scary how much space we humanoids are taking up. There's alot of people in India, to be sure. 1.2+ Billionish. 30 million in Mumbai alone, with some people saying an extra 20 million havent been counted as they are address-less. Every day nearly 19 million people travel on trains (thankyou India Rail for that stat). That appears to be a sickening amount of people. And it is shocking how over populated it feels. But it's 20ish times the population of England, and 25ish times the area of England. Meaning density per km sq in England is higher than that of India. Unbelievably enough. I have a theorem or 3 as to why this appears so though -

Theorem 1. Maybe it is the fact that here life is neat. Trim little gardens, neatly parked cars, buildings efficiently housing many a considerate person, quiet polite activities, well behaved queues, strict rubbish collecting, silent unassuming logistics, all encompassing super markets, all working hard to hide human acitivity. In india, there it is. In your face. Big piles of rubbish, beds and settlements on the street, hundreds of people waiting on the train stations for hours and hours to board a train you have to squeeeeeze on to, big fuel guzzling noisy horn beeping traffic, ear piercing distorted music, weddings by the side of the road, people buying stuff from the shops upon shops upon shops upon shops. -You see human life everywhere you look. Even riding through miles of paddy fields, there'll be a man taking a shit nonchalantly next to the busy train track as if there's no other place on the planet to go, or a happy fella selling whotnots by the side of the dirt track as if he has discovered a new business hot spot, or a group of guys joyfully washing their buffalo herd in one of the last remaining water holes of the summer. I guess there's no difference between that and happening across an intrepid rambler in the Yorkshire dales, or passing a lonesome Tractor being piloted by a beardy farmer in the depths of the West Country. But, in India, it just seems more real, more human.

Theorem 2. Roads, and rail tracks attract people in India. In England, when selecting a route, one generally chooses the big, zippy motor ways, which are hidden away as much as possible. This allows us to go fast and make lots of engine noises and smells without pissing anyone off. No body wants to live next to a main road. So when on a journey, you will pass fields and little else 'til you hit the city. But traveling through India, there are no choices in which roads to take. You take the road to somewhere. And that road brings possible business opportunities, cheap, easy deliveries from other towns and cheap, easy links to other towns. So all along that bumpy road there will be shops and eateries and houses and people and animals and biff baff bosh

Theorem 3. Perhaps the last Indian census missed out a fair few people.


Now 3 weeks isn't a long time to be away. But boy, by the end, did we miss the home comforts. This can be waved off by the more hard core travelers as just plain pathetic. But 'Mega Bus Syndrome' is REAL. It is the concept of how ever long the journey, the last chunk of it will be fraught with impatience and the desire to be where you are going, NOW. 18 hour train journeys. The first 15 hours are fine, but the last three seem to take longer than the previous 15. The 7 hour Newcastle London MegaBus Slog. First 5-6 hours, not a problem, but the last hour - aarrrrgghhhhh. The same with long trips. 5 month super trips. The first 4 months + go by in a mostly joyful blissful whistle, but the last couple of weeks are just painnnful. The first 2 and a half weeks of this trip was simply fantastic. Nothing really pissed us off, made us miss home. But the final days, i could not wait to be in my big fluffy bed, eating warburtons toast and marmalade whilst watching Bargain Hunt with a big jumper on in relative silence.

Feeling uncomfortable in an unfamiliar environment is an essential, wonderful part of anyones life education. It changes you, and the way you look at everybody and indeed everything. But to appreciate the effect it has on you, you have to come home. And that feeling of coming home, is unbeatable. Just make sure you dont forget what you felt whilst away. 'Who never knew the price of happiness will not be happy.' Wiffle Wiffle.

Night Night Chaps. Tomorrow will follow tea house and general Quilliam Brothers news, and the beginning of the long task of blogging the trip. With a focus on Tea. After all, Tea is why we are here, why we were there, and was only mentioned once in this installment.

P.S. Try saying 'blog' as if you're Harold Bishop in a tiz, it makes the use of the disgusting word a little less repulsive.