When we finally lunched, I was so hungry I could've eaten in horse - I may well have, in fact, as the "chicken" curry certainly didn't cluck when it was alive... Other delicacies included "ladies finger" which is in fact recommended by Lonely Planet, and anyone who says they don't abide by LP is either lying, not telling the truth, or they're fricking ugly.
I appreciate that this blog is named Marco Yolo, but what we did next was simply bat-shit crazy: we visited the tea museum. Call me a renegade. I'd say it was interesting, but that'd be lying: it was mind-blowing. Not only did we see the tea-making machinery, as well as countless photos stirring awkward colonialist history (plantation chief Eric sat next to numerous slain tigers being the most painful), but we also listened to an address given by a man who styles himself as the MLK of tea-related oration. Informative and compelling. Jokes aside, it was cool to see how this drink we take for granted is made - and also quite gutting to realise that western "tea" mostly consists of the butt-ends of the process.
In the hope of avoiding another Oreos-based dinner, we scouted some of the restaurants next to our homestay: no sooner had I entered was I swelled by a suicidal urge to hurl myself out of the window into the plantations below, rather than remain in this dementor-esque setting. The large, communal tables were deserted, save a lone diner who sat in the corner ogling us, frequently belching. Our table was strewn with what looked like clipped fingernails, and even the tray on which our lime juice (we didn't have the heart to leave without ordering anything, so dire was the business) had "good luck" scratched onto it.
Oreos round two it was.
With love
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