So, what did I do after I told Nicolas that I would never go fishing with him again? I booked not one, but two - TWO!!! - fishing trips for both of us. Well, for him really. I'll be bored-and-freezing-my-ass-off is what I will be doing.
Not only will we be fishing, we will be outdoors. CAMPING. Geezoos. While I enjoy the great outdoors, I would rather be admiring it from behind the safety of a large picture window, within the confines of an air-conditioned room, with some cheese and a bottle of wine.
For the first trip, we will be floating down a river - somewhere in Uttarkhand - while he fishes, then setting up camp, although supposedly of quite luxurious standards, wherever we stop for the evening. FOR A WEEK.
For the second trip, we will be hiking with a guide and some sort of beast of burden, which will be lugging all our camping essentials, somewhere in the valleys of Kashmir. For three days.
Flog me now, please.
We won't even be eating the damned fish. At least, for the first trip. For the second one, I think it is mandatory that Nicolas catches something, otherwise, there goes our dinner. Or our beast of burden.
But it's always been Nicolas' dream to fish for the golden mahseer (a carp) in India, once the sporting favorite of British anglers in the former colony.
So who am I to deny his dreams?
It will be Nicolas' first time in India so I've carefully crafted our itinerary to include, not only fishing, but some sightseeing in Agra and Delhi, with the option for golf at the end of the trip. It's India Lite, with a bit of the grittiness thrown in for good measure. (Hello, Chandni Chowk!)
He arrives tomorrow morning, while Alan leaves in the evening. Then we head for the Himalayas. I will be lugging cookies, and a few books. I have promised myself to try not to be grumpy.