Taste, like all of our senses has the power of transporting us through time and space. Whether it’s a cup of milk and ‘cow biscuits’ before bed in Nanny’s living room or a spicy papaya salad on a hot sandy beach.
Food is one of the things I love about travel. Trying local specialities, sharing tea with new friends, learning to order dinner in a foreign tongue. It’s all part of the adventure of travel and I love it!
When I think of the places I’ve been, I recall the flavours. The meals in fancy restaurants, the food gobbled at the side of the street, the coffee drunk in someone’s living room, the soup shared in a storm.
In India we feasted on endless masala, dahl, naan and roti. And if, by the end of the six weeks, we were ready to eat anything but curry, that’s only proof that you really can have too much of a good thing! But if I had to choose a defining taste it would be the endless chai we drank everywhere we went; in restaurants, on trains, in the streets and up mountains.
Our taste of Malaysia was the curries that we ate off banana leaves with our hands.
In Nepal it was the Tibetan bread that we dipped into our morning chai.
And with Vietnam it has to be the coffee. The hundreds of cafe dam daa that we must have consumed over our six week adventure. We often struggled to find somewhere suitable to eat but we were never without coffee!
