I ventured forth into Nepal for some culture emersion. I felt I had reached that point in my life where I needed to appreciate the world around me.
Error.
By day 2, I had been informed by a (bitter) buddhist guide that I had 'nice' and jiggled his chest. For some bizarre reason, I thought he said 'eyes' and thanked him before it suddenly dawned on me that he was in fact referring to my mammary glands, my bust...basically, my knockers. Bastard. But, compared to actually having one of my 'knockers' GRABBED by an Indian as I waited in Delhi traffic only two weeks later, that buddha situation has faded into great insignificance.
The pilgrim city of Varanasi was a honey pot, a HONEY POT I tell you, of randy pilgrims all semi naked with only an orange loin cloth 'protecting' their manhoods. Whilst having a deep chat about pilgrims and religion with a skinny, loin-clothed (i'm going to say naked) pilgrim, I couldn't help but feel he was staring at my breasts the ENTIRE time. Talks about Gandhi whilst anticipating a pilgrim erection: slightly uncomfortable.
Ah. The joys of life.
Yours, Penny Lane. xxx
No comments:
Post a Comment