Guwahati started off for us, like many of our trips in Myanmar, at 4 o'clock in the morning. We jump on a rickshaw, after deliberating over a cuppa with some locals where this hostel was, we rode off into the night assuming we were in capable hands...and feet I guess. 2 hours later, a few lost items, and a multitude of wrong turns, we at last arrive at Sunderban guesthouse.
Nicely bathed in the lukewarm bucket water and a healthy amount of sleep we set about our day. We visit peacock island and walk around the city talking about love, loss and loathing.

That night we plan on going for a meal at one of the recommended restaurants, great for thali's apparently. With our pragmatic thinking and built in gps....we get lost, cut our losses and go to the next restaurant that displays the word 'thali's' out the front. We try for the first time to eat, as Indians do, with our right hand. It is suppose to connect you to all five senses through your hand to mouth. Like everything else in India there is a method to their madness. The next step is to find a bar called 'blues', with drinks and live music it sounds like our kind of place. We get lost again, cut our losses and go in to the next place that has 'bar' written out the front.
In this dark, smoke filled room we meet Bahi and Nitu, later joined by Johnny. Approaching closing time, with drinks and conversation flowing, we head back to Bahi's house with a booze run on the way. She lives in a gated complex just outside the city, in a small but quaint room. We carry on drinking with another addition the group Nobu, listening to Bhangra beats, Hindi and a little j Sean thrown in for good measure. As Johnny, Charlie and I slept the others were still talking amongst themselves. Although unable to understand, we hear the tone and the mood change in the room. We sit up just as things are taking a turn for the worst. Nobu is looking malevolently at Bahi, barely able to contain his rage being held back by Nitu. We shake to wake Johnny to help control the situation. Bahi needs to be held back and restrained from picking up a glass bottle to smash and use as a weapon. Charlie and I receiving a crash course in how things are dealt with here and being swiftly reminded that this was NOT England but India. As we stood ambivalent, stay or go, things began to settle. Reluctantly, we stayed but made a hasty exit after dawn.
After nursing our hangovers the whole of the next morning and with the novelty of having a television and room service, we stayed put until we made tracks for Shillong early afternoon. After haggling the price of a taxi for almost an hour we were out of the city only intended for an unadventurous stopover with a story to tell.

We were greeted in Shillong with the familiarity of an upset stomach. The room was writhe with the smell of a concoction of sick and eucalyptus. Unfortunately this meant we were out for the count for our time in Shillong. We did however on the last day get to go to Shillong peak, a look out point over the whole town that is affectionately known by locals and foreigners alike as the Scotland of India. We also managed to squeeze in a visit to Umami lake, that sits in valley of the rolling hills surrounding it. All this before we caught a share taxi to Cherapunjee.