My last morning in India starts with my obligatory masala chai and toast.
I remain really worried about fitting everything in my backpack so decide to send some summer clothes back via the mail (I figure I that I won't need them for a good while once I'm back home!).
I pack a large shopping bag and take a leisurely stroll down to the post office. It turns out, similar to buying a train ticket here, sending a parcel is an interesting experience in India. The young girl behind the counter explains that I must have the bag wrapped by an authorised tailor. "Tailor?" I repeat. "Yes madam" she confirms wobbling her head. I ask politely where I can locate an appropriate tailor and for the first time whilst in India I am given the correct directions. (I'm not sure if people give wrong directions deliberately or if the correct ones are somehow, ironically, lost in translation).
I arrive at the tailors and the package is stuffed into blue plastic casing and then cello taped to within an inch of it's life. Next, a muslin cloth bag is made to fit using an old fashioned sewing machine at the front of the shop. The blue plastic bundle is then purposely stuffed into the cloth bag. It is hand sewn shut at the top and then wax is used to seal the stitching. I am asked to write my address on the cloth and state that it's from myself. The tailor is satisfied with his handiwork so I stroll back, armed with my neat little parcel to the post office. Here I complete two forms and wait for various processes to be completed which takes about 20 minutes. Handing over the money is the final stage and I wonder if my package will successfully make the journey to Marlow and if it does - how long it will take.
I hire a bike and this time she's bright pink and called The Ladybird. We cycle down to Bristow's Old Lighthouse Hotel where there is a quiet pool and I can catch some final rays and Vitamin D. (If ever visiting Fort Cochin I wouldn't recommend staying or eating here, the steep prices unfortunately don't match the food, service or quality of the other upmarket hotels in town however the pool is one of the few in Fort Cochin that is open to non residents so it's a great place to laze for 250 rupees as a day guest before sneaking back to my budget backpacker accommodation!).
I relax and enjoy the sun a little too much, and despite using factor 30, get quite badly sunburnt (big slap on the wrist). The skin on my face is so tight I have to stop off for some cucumber cream which removes the sting. I skip dinner due to the nausea, drop the bike back and head home to the challenging job of packing my backpack. The task is made just about bearable by watching India's Junior Pop Idol - a very special treat for me and my ears on my final night. I was particularly impressed with the young lad wearing a safari outfit who performed a Hindi song alongside his crew of backing 'dancers' dressed in silver tin foil trousers and stunningly unrhythmical.
So that's it - India is officially signed, sealed and it's delivered every step of the way. It's a country of contrasts. The sweet smell of spices, oils and incense and the acrid smell of cities bursting with sewage, rubbish, industry and millions of people struggling for survival. It's the kaleidoscopic colours of women's saris, haunting ragas and heavenly food. It's the rolling green hills of Ranakpur, the holy lake of Pushkar, the Venetian style streets and water palaces of Udaipur, the red sandstone forts of Jaipur and the cool white imposing marble of The Taj. It's the home of the well groomed moustache, five people on a moped, frequent power cuts, cows on beaches, a contagious head wobble, lethal rum and going bare foot indoors. It's the belief and hope in something greater than all of us, a thousand friendly hellos and one very sad goodbye.
India - you have been truly Incredible.
Thank you for having me.
Friday, 9 November 2012
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Om Shanti, Miss India & Frisky Roger
I have breakfast on the circular table outside my room and am joined by a mother with her eight year old daughter who are travelling around India together. I'm up at 7:30am voluntarily (yes I know this is strange behaviour!) to head to the Kathakali Centre. I saw a poster yesterday advertising a morning meditation session and have booked myself in to see what it's like. When in Rome and all of that jazz.
I arrive at the centre, snaking my way through the alley ways to reach the colourful community venue and walk up to the hall where a small group is gathered. There is a girl having Reiki on the stage and there is complete silence. I sneeze.
It is a mixed group, a girl with long greasy hair wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, a couple of young guys and a middle aged woman in a floaty green skirt. The reiki finishes, some men arrive with musical instruments and we're invited up on to the stage where we sit on cushioned mats. The meditation leader explains that a Raga will be performed (a special Indian melody chosen specifically for this morning's practise) and we are asked to get comfortable, sit still, close our eyes and open our hearts. We sit in darkness, except for some candles burning. The meditation leader opens the hour by reciting 'Om Shanti' in a way that the sound vibrates fervently from his stomach. Om is one of Hinduism's most revered symbols and words. It is a sacred mantra that symbolises creation, maintenance and destruction of the universe. Buddhists believe that if you say this word enough it leads you into a blissful trance. The music begins, a hypnotising blend of sitar and drum that provide a rhythm and focal point. I take a deep breath and sit upright with my legs crossed. I shuffle around to get comfortable and wrestle with unwelcome and benign thoughts that flood uninvited into my mind. I sweep them away yet soon enough more hustle their way in. I fight the urge to sneeze again, move my feet which have gone dead beneath me and generally struggle to let go.
Eventually I give in and lie down. The internal battle with my mind continues for a while but after a while the thoughts vacate and all I remember is stillness. I'm not sure if I fall asleep or if I was in some other place but I come around quickly and feel totally peaceful when the hour is done. I go back to my room for another hour of sleep.
Ready to start my day officially I head straight to a shop where I can hire a bicycle. My trusty steed is aubergine in colour and has 'Miss India' emblazoned down the side of it. I navigate my way through the streets of Fort Cochin stopping at spice shops, the St Francis Church (where the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried), the Dutch Cemetery, Santa Cruz Basilica and the Chinese Fishing nets. I'm wobbly on my two wheels at first but then I quickly get used to riding 'Miss India' around this quaint and homely town, ringing my bell and skilfully avoiding pedestrians, goats and tuk tuks.
This is an industrial port town where the spice trade still draws many visitors and associated export commerce. There is a large Jewish community still here today and the signs of Christianity are the strongest I have seen in India with many churches and shrines depicting Jesus and Mother Teresa. The town has a cosmopolitan vibe yet retains the slow pace of all things Keralan - described by locals (and India Tourism) as God's Own Country.
After some shopping (I'm slightly concerned how I'm going to fit everything into my backpack!!) I diligently return Miss India to her owner and head back for a much needed shower.
I shower, turn the TV on and can work out from the visuals on the news that Barack Obama has retained the US presidency. I breathe a small sigh of relief and head straight out again.
This time I stop a tuk tuk and get him to take me to an ATM, followed by a pharmacy. As part of our Ayurvedic treatment at Keraleeyam, a face ointment was applied and I'm convinced this stuff has miracle ingredients. I'm told I can only buy the goods from a pharmacy so manage to locate one and purchase ten tubes to bring home. (If anyone wants to buy some please let me know!) I'm seriously considering importing the stuff to the UK (inspired by Erin's entrepreneurial influence).
With my precious cargo in tow I head to The Malabar Hotel and their Junction restaurant (part of The Relaix & Chateux group). It's some much needed R&R after the backpacker lifestyle for the past three weeks and I sit quaffing some White Indian Chenin Blanc by the infinity pool surrounded by beautiful lanterns hanging in the trees.
I meet some friendly young/oldies looking like they may be on a Saga holiday for solos including Roger the Canadian who I notice is flirting outrageously with each of the individual women on the tour, out of earshot of one another of course. He's quite the charmer! I hear him comment to one of the ladies getting out of the pool after a dip "Hey Miss McHotty" and she giggles like a 12 year old school girl super grateful for this lovely flattery. From this point on she has a glint in her eye pointed in lucky Roger's direction. When she towels off and disappears he turns his attentions to one of the other, maturer ladies who flutters her eyelashes and bends to one side teasingly. Roger is definitely hedging his bets and this looks like a dead cert strategy by the looks of things.
It's dinner for one for me but it's heavenly. Lamb Kofta in Rogan Josh sauce and my first beef in three weeks - a gourmet burger with tomato sorbet and chilli relish. I feel super guilty for eating it however reassure myself that I'm in a predominantly Christian town so hopefully I'm not offending toooooooo many Hindu friends - besides it's on the menu...(OK OK.....I still feel like I'm being blasphemous / disrespectful). But it was delicious!...
It's chocolate samosas with mango coulis to finish and I roll home. The Head Chef has invited me back as his personal guest tomorrow...promising that I can use the pool (despite not being a resident at the hotel).
No doubt he is turning his charm to the next solo female as soon as I've left i.e. I think I've just been Rogered - and not in a good way.
I arrive at the centre, snaking my way through the alley ways to reach the colourful community venue and walk up to the hall where a small group is gathered. There is a girl having Reiki on the stage and there is complete silence. I sneeze.
It is a mixed group, a girl with long greasy hair wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, a couple of young guys and a middle aged woman in a floaty green skirt. The reiki finishes, some men arrive with musical instruments and we're invited up on to the stage where we sit on cushioned mats. The meditation leader explains that a Raga will be performed (a special Indian melody chosen specifically for this morning's practise) and we are asked to get comfortable, sit still, close our eyes and open our hearts. We sit in darkness, except for some candles burning. The meditation leader opens the hour by reciting 'Om Shanti' in a way that the sound vibrates fervently from his stomach. Om is one of Hinduism's most revered symbols and words. It is a sacred mantra that symbolises creation, maintenance and destruction of the universe. Buddhists believe that if you say this word enough it leads you into a blissful trance. The music begins, a hypnotising blend of sitar and drum that provide a rhythm and focal point. I take a deep breath and sit upright with my legs crossed. I shuffle around to get comfortable and wrestle with unwelcome and benign thoughts that flood uninvited into my mind. I sweep them away yet soon enough more hustle their way in. I fight the urge to sneeze again, move my feet which have gone dead beneath me and generally struggle to let go.
Eventually I give in and lie down. The internal battle with my mind continues for a while but after a while the thoughts vacate and all I remember is stillness. I'm not sure if I fall asleep or if I was in some other place but I come around quickly and feel totally peaceful when the hour is done. I go back to my room for another hour of sleep.
Ready to start my day officially I head straight to a shop where I can hire a bicycle. My trusty steed is aubergine in colour and has 'Miss India' emblazoned down the side of it. I navigate my way through the streets of Fort Cochin stopping at spice shops, the St Francis Church (where the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama was originally buried), the Dutch Cemetery, Santa Cruz Basilica and the Chinese Fishing nets. I'm wobbly on my two wheels at first but then I quickly get used to riding 'Miss India' around this quaint and homely town, ringing my bell and skilfully avoiding pedestrians, goats and tuk tuks.
This is an industrial port town where the spice trade still draws many visitors and associated export commerce. There is a large Jewish community still here today and the signs of Christianity are the strongest I have seen in India with many churches and shrines depicting Jesus and Mother Teresa. The town has a cosmopolitan vibe yet retains the slow pace of all things Keralan - described by locals (and India Tourism) as God's Own Country.
After some shopping (I'm slightly concerned how I'm going to fit everything into my backpack!!) I diligently return Miss India to her owner and head back for a much needed shower.
I shower, turn the TV on and can work out from the visuals on the news that Barack Obama has retained the US presidency. I breathe a small sigh of relief and head straight out again.
This time I stop a tuk tuk and get him to take me to an ATM, followed by a pharmacy. As part of our Ayurvedic treatment at Keraleeyam, a face ointment was applied and I'm convinced this stuff has miracle ingredients. I'm told I can only buy the goods from a pharmacy so manage to locate one and purchase ten tubes to bring home. (If anyone wants to buy some please let me know!) I'm seriously considering importing the stuff to the UK (inspired by Erin's entrepreneurial influence).
With my precious cargo in tow I head to The Malabar Hotel and their Junction restaurant (part of The Relaix & Chateux group). It's some much needed R&R after the backpacker lifestyle for the past three weeks and I sit quaffing some White Indian Chenin Blanc by the infinity pool surrounded by beautiful lanterns hanging in the trees.
I meet some friendly young/oldies looking like they may be on a Saga holiday for solos including Roger the Canadian who I notice is flirting outrageously with each of the individual women on the tour, out of earshot of one another of course. He's quite the charmer! I hear him comment to one of the ladies getting out of the pool after a dip "Hey Miss McHotty" and she giggles like a 12 year old school girl super grateful for this lovely flattery. From this point on she has a glint in her eye pointed in lucky Roger's direction. When she towels off and disappears he turns his attentions to one of the other, maturer ladies who flutters her eyelashes and bends to one side teasingly. Roger is definitely hedging his bets and this looks like a dead cert strategy by the looks of things.
It's dinner for one for me but it's heavenly. Lamb Kofta in Rogan Josh sauce and my first beef in three weeks - a gourmet burger with tomato sorbet and chilli relish. I feel super guilty for eating it however reassure myself that I'm in a predominantly Christian town so hopefully I'm not offending toooooooo many Hindu friends - besides it's on the menu...(OK OK.....I still feel like I'm being blasphemous / disrespectful). But it was delicious!...
It's chocolate samosas with mango coulis to finish and I roll home. The Head Chef has invited me back as his personal guest tomorrow...promising that I can use the pool (despite not being a resident at the hotel).
No doubt he is turning his charm to the next solo female as soon as I've left i.e. I think I've just been Rogered - and not in a good way.
All oiled up...
I wake up after an amazing night's sleep on the train. I have only woken up once, super cold, to get my fleece and socks. Whilst I'm down from the dizzying heights of my bed, I also brave the train toilet - which is the scariest thing I've encountered in India thus far!
The man who helped us find our way to our carriage last night has come back to see us this morning. He has also bought his wife who comes in and sits opposite us, smiling but not speaking. She is quickly followed by five young men, who could have been his sons, who also all shake our hands and sit on the lower tier benches of our carriage, not talking. They sit for 30 seconds smiling and looking at us before saying Goodbye and disembarking. I genuinely don't think they wanted anything from us - just the experience of sitting in our company. It's a hard notion to get our heads around.
I finish my book and shortly afterwards we arrive at our destination. After some bad directions (ironically from the tourist office) we find a rickshaw to take us to the station where we board a bus to Alleppey, a key backwater hub. It's a 1hr40 journey down, the weather is hot, sky is blue and landscape is super green. Our bus is jam packed and a man sleeps next to me, his head occasionally crashing into my shoulder with no apology. I have learned to have a different opinion of what should be considered personal space from my time in India!
We arrive in Alleppey and as promised by Lonely Planet we are quickly pounced on by someone trying to get us to his guesthouse. Having spent the night on the train, we are jaded, hungry and in need of a shower so agree to check it out. We arrive at 'Smiley Cat' guesthouse and it's not very smiley - at all. Despite the appeal of it being only 400 rupees for the night we decide to continue our search, trying another budget place (that has had to shut due to a family bereavement) before finding the gorgeous Keraleeyam. Set down a pretty walkway the accommodation is a series of thatched bungalows right beside the water with a mosquito net draped teak bed and lovely outdoor bathroom & shower (I've never had one before and I'm super excited about this little al fresco treat). All for £13.50 each for the night.
After the best shower in the world (only coming second to post Glastonbury), we enjoy a cheese toastie on our veranda watching the boats linger past and head for an Ayervedic massage which turns out to be quite some experience!!
Ayerveda is an Indian form of medicine treating the inside and outside of the body and the herbs used are traditionally grown in Kerala. We are taken to a bungalow where Erin heads left and I go right. There are two ladies in the room and they ask me to strip so I'm entirely naked. I oblige and obediently sit on a stool where oil is applied to my hair and I am given a brisk head massage to increase circulation. I am eventually upgraded to the hard wooden and ornately carved table in the room where the next 45 minutes are spent being contorted into a variety of positions with lashings of warm oil being poured over my entire body. I start to become worried about slipping off the table. I am literally soaked in the stuff and no piece of skin is left unmassaged!! The ritual is finished with a lovely facial oil being applied, the excess oil on my body is soaked up using white sheets and I am taken to a shower where I meet Erin again and we wash away the remaining oil. When I ask her if she went totally naked she tells me she was supplied with special knickers. Perhaps they only had one pair...
The rest of the afternoon is spent snoozing, reading, watching the view over the water, enjoying a Keralan dinner and avoiding the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes & insects who seem to live here and like the smell of the Ayurvedic oil.
We fall asleep under the mosquito net, listening to the cicadas and other sounds of the Indian wildlife outside, through our thinly thatched little hut.
The man who helped us find our way to our carriage last night has come back to see us this morning. He has also bought his wife who comes in and sits opposite us, smiling but not speaking. She is quickly followed by five young men, who could have been his sons, who also all shake our hands and sit on the lower tier benches of our carriage, not talking. They sit for 30 seconds smiling and looking at us before saying Goodbye and disembarking. I genuinely don't think they wanted anything from us - just the experience of sitting in our company. It's a hard notion to get our heads around.
I finish my book and shortly afterwards we arrive at our destination. After some bad directions (ironically from the tourist office) we find a rickshaw to take us to the station where we board a bus to Alleppey, a key backwater hub. It's a 1hr40 journey down, the weather is hot, sky is blue and landscape is super green. Our bus is jam packed and a man sleeps next to me, his head occasionally crashing into my shoulder with no apology. I have learned to have a different opinion of what should be considered personal space from my time in India!
We arrive in Alleppey and as promised by Lonely Planet we are quickly pounced on by someone trying to get us to his guesthouse. Having spent the night on the train, we are jaded, hungry and in need of a shower so agree to check it out. We arrive at 'Smiley Cat' guesthouse and it's not very smiley - at all. Despite the appeal of it being only 400 rupees for the night we decide to continue our search, trying another budget place (that has had to shut due to a family bereavement) before finding the gorgeous Keraleeyam. Set down a pretty walkway the accommodation is a series of thatched bungalows right beside the water with a mosquito net draped teak bed and lovely outdoor bathroom & shower (I've never had one before and I'm super excited about this little al fresco treat). All for £13.50 each for the night.
After the best shower in the world (only coming second to post Glastonbury), we enjoy a cheese toastie on our veranda watching the boats linger past and head for an Ayervedic massage which turns out to be quite some experience!!
Ayerveda is an Indian form of medicine treating the inside and outside of the body and the herbs used are traditionally grown in Kerala. We are taken to a bungalow where Erin heads left and I go right. There are two ladies in the room and they ask me to strip so I'm entirely naked. I oblige and obediently sit on a stool where oil is applied to my hair and I am given a brisk head massage to increase circulation. I am eventually upgraded to the hard wooden and ornately carved table in the room where the next 45 minutes are spent being contorted into a variety of positions with lashings of warm oil being poured over my entire body. I start to become worried about slipping off the table. I am literally soaked in the stuff and no piece of skin is left unmassaged!! The ritual is finished with a lovely facial oil being applied, the excess oil on my body is soaked up using white sheets and I am taken to a shower where I meet Erin again and we wash away the remaining oil. When I ask her if she went totally naked she tells me she was supplied with special knickers. Perhaps they only had one pair...
The rest of the afternoon is spent snoozing, reading, watching the view over the water, enjoying a Keralan dinner and avoiding the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes & insects who seem to live here and like the smell of the Ayurvedic oil.
We fall asleep under the mosquito net, listening to the cicadas and other sounds of the Indian wildlife outside, through our thinly thatched little hut.
Funerals and cockroaches
We rise to enjoy another fresh outdoor shower followed by masala tea, toast and apricot jam on our veranda.
I sit admiring the beautiful view but also my fingernails. It seems coming to India may have been the ultimate cure for breaking my horrible habit! (You don't want to bite your nails here - you may as well lick your flip flops).
Today is the day we will hire a houseboat to take us on a cruise along the beautiful and famed Keralan backwaters where will stay on board our vessel overnight.
We checkout and grab a Rickshaw to take us to 'Finishing Point' where we know the houseboats sit floating, waiting patiently to welcome their next guests.
We are willing to pay 5000 rupees for a boat for one night however 7000 seems to be the going rate. We are taken aboard one boat, and then another and another. All have varying levels of comfort however all seem to be converted rice barges and share a similar layout comprising of lounge area at the front complete with seating area and dining table, bedrooms on the lower tier with kitchen and staff quarters at the back. On the upper deck there is a sunbathing area and the boat is all hung together with a thatched roof, woven sides and a wooden shell. Some are immaculate and the ones in our price bracket need some TLC yet are still shabbily chic.
We meet a couple of French Canadian girls, also travelling around, and looking for an overnight cruise. Together we find a two bedroomed boat and negotiate that we will pay 9500 rupees (2500 each). We have a captain, chef and general helper on board as a dedicated crew and before long we set sail with our new friends Sofie and Vicky.
The glassy green waterways are wide and meandering with palm trees, banana trees and mango trees generously lining the waters edge. There are many other boats on the water and their inhabitants wave to us. We enjoy a freshly prepared lunch of marinated and fried whole fish drizzled with fresh lime juice (the best fish I've ever tasted) and various other delicious accompaniments including poppadums, curd, curried cabbage and salad. Our afternoon is spent reading, napping and lounging. People bathe, launder their clothes and bash them dry against stones on the banks - the beating sound travels loudly over the water. 100,000 people live here and most are employed by the boating or agricultural trade.
Sofie and Vicky have been on a different route around India and tell us about their experiences in Calcutta (Kolkata) and Varanasi. Having been recommended to also visit Varanasi by an old college friend (Helen) and visit the burning ghats and the Ganges - I'm thinking another trip to India in the future will have to happen as I haven't been able to see it all! The stories of watching the funeral ceremonies in Varanasi, cremations, everything visible, the smell of sandalwood burning and solemness seems to have got under the skin of our boat mates. In the western world, death is our unspoken destiny and a truth we choose to avoid or ignore. In India it is part of your everyday life. How you conduct yourself in this life will affect your next one and the end is purely the beginning of your next adventure therefore people have a much less affected way of viewing this right of passage.
After some wine, beer and another delicious freshly cooked meal (Sofie and Vicky had bought some fresh tiger prawns and crabs from a side market earlier and the chef had lovingly served these with dinner) we retire to bed.
The walls on the boat are paper thin and before long we can hear a blood curdling scream from the other room. A cockroach, a decent size and much bigger than my friend on the train, is in their loo. One of the staff come heroically armed with spray and the cockroach has an unfortunate funeral firstly being sprayed and then thrown overboard. Erin quickly discovers another cockroach - this time in our bathroom. Again the man comes with the spray, this time the cockroach in question decides to make a run for it to the warm high ground under the man's Dhoti. (Men in Southern India wear this loin cloth type piece of material on their lower halves I assume to keep cool!). The man promptly jumps up and down, let's out a squeal. and we next next hear the spray of the aerosol and he comes out holding the dead insect triumphantly. The cockroach joins his friend swimming with the fishes. I like the idea that they must have been horrible people in their previous life...
I sit admiring the beautiful view but also my fingernails. It seems coming to India may have been the ultimate cure for breaking my horrible habit! (You don't want to bite your nails here - you may as well lick your flip flops).
Today is the day we will hire a houseboat to take us on a cruise along the beautiful and famed Keralan backwaters where will stay on board our vessel overnight.
We checkout and grab a Rickshaw to take us to 'Finishing Point' where we know the houseboats sit floating, waiting patiently to welcome their next guests.
We are willing to pay 5000 rupees for a boat for one night however 7000 seems to be the going rate. We are taken aboard one boat, and then another and another. All have varying levels of comfort however all seem to be converted rice barges and share a similar layout comprising of lounge area at the front complete with seating area and dining table, bedrooms on the lower tier with kitchen and staff quarters at the back. On the upper deck there is a sunbathing area and the boat is all hung together with a thatched roof, woven sides and a wooden shell. Some are immaculate and the ones in our price bracket need some TLC yet are still shabbily chic.
We meet a couple of French Canadian girls, also travelling around, and looking for an overnight cruise. Together we find a two bedroomed boat and negotiate that we will pay 9500 rupees (2500 each). We have a captain, chef and general helper on board as a dedicated crew and before long we set sail with our new friends Sofie and Vicky.
The glassy green waterways are wide and meandering with palm trees, banana trees and mango trees generously lining the waters edge. There are many other boats on the water and their inhabitants wave to us. We enjoy a freshly prepared lunch of marinated and fried whole fish drizzled with fresh lime juice (the best fish I've ever tasted) and various other delicious accompaniments including poppadums, curd, curried cabbage and salad. Our afternoon is spent reading, napping and lounging. People bathe, launder their clothes and bash them dry against stones on the banks - the beating sound travels loudly over the water. 100,000 people live here and most are employed by the boating or agricultural trade.
Sofie and Vicky have been on a different route around India and tell us about their experiences in Calcutta (Kolkata) and Varanasi. Having been recommended to also visit Varanasi by an old college friend (Helen) and visit the burning ghats and the Ganges - I'm thinking another trip to India in the future will have to happen as I haven't been able to see it all! The stories of watching the funeral ceremonies in Varanasi, cremations, everything visible, the smell of sandalwood burning and solemness seems to have got under the skin of our boat mates. In the western world, death is our unspoken destiny and a truth we choose to avoid or ignore. In India it is part of your everyday life. How you conduct yourself in this life will affect your next one and the end is purely the beginning of your next adventure therefore people have a much less affected way of viewing this right of passage.
After some wine, beer and another delicious freshly cooked meal (Sofie and Vicky had bought some fresh tiger prawns and crabs from a side market earlier and the chef had lovingly served these with dinner) we retire to bed.
The walls on the boat are paper thin and before long we can hear a blood curdling scream from the other room. A cockroach, a decent size and much bigger than my friend on the train, is in their loo. One of the staff come heroically armed with spray and the cockroach has an unfortunate funeral firstly being sprayed and then thrown overboard. Erin quickly discovers another cockroach - this time in our bathroom. Again the man comes with the spray, this time the cockroach in question decides to make a run for it to the warm high ground under the man's Dhoti. (Men in Southern India wear this loin cloth type piece of material on their lower halves I assume to keep cool!). The man promptly jumps up and down, let's out a squeal. and we next next hear the spray of the aerosol and he comes out holding the dead insect triumphantly. The cockroach joins his friend swimming with the fishes. I like the idea that they must have been horrible people in their previous life...
An unwelcome bed guest...
This morning's sad goodbye is to Laura (Michael is in the shower). I am super sad to say goodbye to these guys as they've been awesome company the entire trip (despite being hit hard with sickness). I am hoping they will come over to London for a weekend otherwise I will head over to Frankfurt - in the meantime there's always good old Facebook!
Keen to move onwards and southwards, Erin and I commandeer a dedicated driver for the day for the princely sum of £28. Our plan is to get an overnight bus or train down to Kerala later this evening / tomorrow via Palolem, a recommended Southern beach in Goa.
Driving out of North Goa we go past a number of schools where the names make me chuckle. My favourites include Little Flower High School & Chubby Cheeks High School. Clearly I would have done my studies at the latter and be very proud to have that on my CV. No doubt it is a fine academic institution.
Having realised it's a Sunday and the central ticket office in Panjim is closed we head to Madgaon to enquire and book tickets for our journey south skipping the state of Karnataka and heading straight to Kerala.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever tried to a) find the correct train in India or b) successfully bought a ticket? If you have - I bow to your greatness!
We queue for 30 minutes in the foreigners queue which is also for military and senior citizens. It doesn't move and neither do any of the other long lines in the crowded ticket hall. We eventually work out (with the help of some Ukranian tourists) that a form needs to be completed in order to buy a ticket detailing names, addresses, ages, journey details, train numbers, class required and inside leg measurements (OK not the latter I'm exaggerating). After the queue proves to not be moving Erin tries a number of strategies to get the info and tickets faster. I keep our spot in the queue in the hope that the issuing ticket officer decides to light a fire up his bottom whilst Erin scouts another solution. Eventually the station supervisor tells Erin to head straight to the front of the queue. We both feel a touch guilty about this however the young soldiers at the front are very kind and let us make our enquiries. We are told which train we need, it's number and fill in the form. Submitting the piece of paper we are told by the rather unhelpful and unfriendly man at the counter (his bottom still perfectly comfortable) that we have filled the form in incorrectly with no further advice. A local man (who appears to be with the soldiers) helps us to complete the form correctly and we resubmit. We have chosen 2AC (second class with Air Con) but are informed there are no seats left so we must please change our forms to read 3AC. The form is handed back to us through the grates and past the official's pen (which sits next to him on the desk) where we are asked to change the number 2 to 3 which we do and resubmit to him again. He reinspects the form, asks for our passports and eventually issues us with a ticket. We begin to appreciate just how much Ricky (and the back office) has done for us and how seamless things have been to date!! We are super happy we've managed to do it ourselves, high fiving each other in the knowledge we will be leaving from Madgaon at 21:30 on the 18hr sleeper train to Ernakulam and are now free to enjoy a day on the beach.
Sunny, our driver, takes us on the 1hr drive to Palolem beach and we are led down a narrow track road with market stalls, shops and restaurants. Despite some concerning similarities the vibe here is a lot more relaxed than the North and there is no honking! We head onto the beach and it's a beautiful sweeping crescent shape. Palm trees drunkenly lean over the miles of sand and there is a bond style island in the distance. It's LOVELY and I finally understand what the fuss is about. I'm gutted that the others only got to experience North Goa and am really surprised that our tour didn't bring us here instead. (A big thanks to Angela W for the recommendation!).
We settle ourselves in a pristine bar/restaurant/beach hut village called Ciaran's and enjoy some masala chai and a mouth watering fresh hummus and salad wrap. I leave Erin with Shantaram and head to catch some rays. It's an afternoon of reading, snoozing and relaxing with minimal distractions (there are still some local happy snappers but luckily Erin picks up most of the slack for both of us). The water is like a bath and we share the beach with a few cows - seems like these creatures have a good old life in India (albeit steak is starting to appear on menus the more south we travel).
We find a shower where we rinse off our day and grab dinner at another lovely beachside place called Cuba Goa. We sit on soft style seating at a candlelit table on the floor looking out onto the Arabian Sea. Chill out music plays, clandestine groups gather on the beach and beach bbqs, cooked on half cut oil drums, sizzle fresh seafood.
South Goa has redeemed the rest of her state admirably.
Before long it's the one hour journey back to the station and, with the help of another kind local (who gives us his number in case we need anything) we're safely on the train with our backpacks. Conditions are pretty much the same as our previous sleeper train - this time I take the top bunk and Erin takes the middle bed. The beds are tight for space, with a modest amount of head room but it's cosy. We are sat stationary on the platform for an hour and just as I start to get comfy in my little den, I notice a cockroach climbing out of a crack in the carriage ceiling 30cms above my face. I chase it back into the crack with a pen. A few seconds later it reappears so I chase it back in again. This game continues for a while until the train starts moving, AC starts and it disappears. My eye is trained on the crack for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure I blinked.
Blocking the thought of the cockroach crawling over me in the night, or worse still, me eating it, I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lullaby motion of the train ready to enjoy my final week in India.
Keen to move onwards and southwards, Erin and I commandeer a dedicated driver for the day for the princely sum of £28. Our plan is to get an overnight bus or train down to Kerala later this evening / tomorrow via Palolem, a recommended Southern beach in Goa.
Driving out of North Goa we go past a number of schools where the names make me chuckle. My favourites include Little Flower High School & Chubby Cheeks High School. Clearly I would have done my studies at the latter and be very proud to have that on my CV. No doubt it is a fine academic institution.
Having realised it's a Sunday and the central ticket office in Panjim is closed we head to Madgaon to enquire and book tickets for our journey south skipping the state of Karnataka and heading straight to Kerala.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever tried to a) find the correct train in India or b) successfully bought a ticket? If you have - I bow to your greatness!
We queue for 30 minutes in the foreigners queue which is also for military and senior citizens. It doesn't move and neither do any of the other long lines in the crowded ticket hall. We eventually work out (with the help of some Ukranian tourists) that a form needs to be completed in order to buy a ticket detailing names, addresses, ages, journey details, train numbers, class required and inside leg measurements (OK not the latter I'm exaggerating). After the queue proves to not be moving Erin tries a number of strategies to get the info and tickets faster. I keep our spot in the queue in the hope that the issuing ticket officer decides to light a fire up his bottom whilst Erin scouts another solution. Eventually the station supervisor tells Erin to head straight to the front of the queue. We both feel a touch guilty about this however the young soldiers at the front are very kind and let us make our enquiries. We are told which train we need, it's number and fill in the form. Submitting the piece of paper we are told by the rather unhelpful and unfriendly man at the counter (his bottom still perfectly comfortable) that we have filled the form in incorrectly with no further advice. A local man (who appears to be with the soldiers) helps us to complete the form correctly and we resubmit. We have chosen 2AC (second class with Air Con) but are informed there are no seats left so we must please change our forms to read 3AC. The form is handed back to us through the grates and past the official's pen (which sits next to him on the desk) where we are asked to change the number 2 to 3 which we do and resubmit to him again. He reinspects the form, asks for our passports and eventually issues us with a ticket. We begin to appreciate just how much Ricky (and the back office) has done for us and how seamless things have been to date!! We are super happy we've managed to do it ourselves, high fiving each other in the knowledge we will be leaving from Madgaon at 21:30 on the 18hr sleeper train to Ernakulam and are now free to enjoy a day on the beach.
Sunny, our driver, takes us on the 1hr drive to Palolem beach and we are led down a narrow track road with market stalls, shops and restaurants. Despite some concerning similarities the vibe here is a lot more relaxed than the North and there is no honking! We head onto the beach and it's a beautiful sweeping crescent shape. Palm trees drunkenly lean over the miles of sand and there is a bond style island in the distance. It's LOVELY and I finally understand what the fuss is about. I'm gutted that the others only got to experience North Goa and am really surprised that our tour didn't bring us here instead. (A big thanks to Angela W for the recommendation!).
We settle ourselves in a pristine bar/restaurant/beach hut village called Ciaran's and enjoy some masala chai and a mouth watering fresh hummus and salad wrap. I leave Erin with Shantaram and head to catch some rays. It's an afternoon of reading, snoozing and relaxing with minimal distractions (there are still some local happy snappers but luckily Erin picks up most of the slack for both of us). The water is like a bath and we share the beach with a few cows - seems like these creatures have a good old life in India (albeit steak is starting to appear on menus the more south we travel).
We find a shower where we rinse off our day and grab dinner at another lovely beachside place called Cuba Goa. We sit on soft style seating at a candlelit table on the floor looking out onto the Arabian Sea. Chill out music plays, clandestine groups gather on the beach and beach bbqs, cooked on half cut oil drums, sizzle fresh seafood.
South Goa has redeemed the rest of her state admirably.
Before long it's the one hour journey back to the station and, with the help of another kind local (who gives us his number in case we need anything) we're safely on the train with our backpacks. Conditions are pretty much the same as our previous sleeper train - this time I take the top bunk and Erin takes the middle bed. The beds are tight for space, with a modest amount of head room but it's cosy. We are sat stationary on the platform for an hour and just as I start to get comfy in my little den, I notice a cockroach climbing out of a crack in the carriage ceiling 30cms above my face. I chase it back into the crack with a pen. A few seconds later it reappears so I chase it back in again. This game continues for a while until the train starts moving, AC starts and it disappears. My eye is trained on the crack for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure I blinked.
Blocking the thought of the cockroach crawling over me in the night, or worse still, me eating it, I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lullaby motion of the train ready to enjoy my final week in India.
Saturday, 3 November 2012
In need of a Burkini...
We have a hungover goodbye breakfast with Geoff & Ricky at the hotel this morning. Ricky, our guide, has been a huge part of making my India experience utterly incredible. I've felt totally safe in his care and I'm very sad, plus a tad nervous, to say goodbye to him and fly solo. That being said he's prepared us well in terms of how to gets things done in India. Geoff is continuing his travels to China today so it's just Michael, Laura, Erin and I left. We are slowly but surely becoming disbanded brothers.
I head to Baga beach solo and set myself down on the sand. The beach is an eclectic mix of nationalities, cows, bathing costumes, string bikinis and touts selling their various wares. I am approached by a few men asking where I am from and if I am enjoying India. Some ask for photos with them (to which I quickly say no!) - some blatantly snap away from a safe distance on their mobile phones performing the infamous Indian head wobble as they do so (apparently this means something is agreeable). I've never felt so appreciated but at the same time I am feeling super self conscious. Perhaps I should have ignored the guidebook and opted for a Nigella style Burkini given they seem to appreciate my well cultivated (mostly curry & naan), bikini clad curves here a little too much. Add to this the constant "Hello Madam. Pineapple Juice?", "Hello Darling - Anklet?, "Hello hello - henna tattoo / water / bookmark / bag / manicure / pedicure" and my relaxing afternoon on the beach turns into a new & unfound lesson in how to totally ignore people.
Later that evening Erin and I head out to the advertised night market but are told that the license is not yet through. Instead we fight our way through the "non high season" crowds of locals, Russians and Brits in Calangute and Baga. The streets of North Goa are narrow, mopeds and taxis brush past you, the horns are back, shop owners hound you to come into their shop, English breakfasts are on sale and I feel a bit like we're in India's Benidorm. It's not my cup of tea (a British expression taught to the rest of the group).
We make the most of things - grab some beer & dinner, check out some great little shops and hunt for a bloody black and silver (or grey) throw for my Mum. (She has managed to pick the only unpopular colour combo in India it would seem).
Can the South redeem Goa and show us why thousands of tourists visit here for a relaxing beach holiday every year?!
Tomorrow will tell...
I head to Baga beach solo and set myself down on the sand. The beach is an eclectic mix of nationalities, cows, bathing costumes, string bikinis and touts selling their various wares. I am approached by a few men asking where I am from and if I am enjoying India. Some ask for photos with them (to which I quickly say no!) - some blatantly snap away from a safe distance on their mobile phones performing the infamous Indian head wobble as they do so (apparently this means something is agreeable). I've never felt so appreciated but at the same time I am feeling super self conscious. Perhaps I should have ignored the guidebook and opted for a Nigella style Burkini given they seem to appreciate my well cultivated (mostly curry & naan), bikini clad curves here a little too much. Add to this the constant "Hello Madam. Pineapple Juice?", "Hello Darling - Anklet?, "Hello hello - henna tattoo / water / bookmark / bag / manicure / pedicure" and my relaxing afternoon on the beach turns into a new & unfound lesson in how to totally ignore people.
Later that evening Erin and I head out to the advertised night market but are told that the license is not yet through. Instead we fight our way through the "non high season" crowds of locals, Russians and Brits in Calangute and Baga. The streets of North Goa are narrow, mopeds and taxis brush past you, the horns are back, shop owners hound you to come into their shop, English breakfasts are on sale and I feel a bit like we're in India's Benidorm. It's not my cup of tea (a British expression taught to the rest of the group).
We make the most of things - grab some beer & dinner, check out some great little shops and hunt for a bloody black and silver (or grey) throw for my Mum. (She has managed to pick the only unpopular colour combo in India it would seem).
Can the South redeem Goa and show us why thousands of tourists visit here for a relaxing beach holiday every year?!
Tomorrow will tell...
Lessons in Kama Sutra
After a heavy night's partying, we have a leisurely start to the day. I meet Johannes and Claus for breakfast in the hotel and given it's the penultimate day of the tour I start thinking about how I'm going to make it down to Kerala independently. There are no direct flights until Saturday (which is too late). Erin has decided to join me so we agree to train/bus it. We will stay another night in Calangute, North Goa and then head south tomorrow to a beach, that my friend Angela has recommended (Palolem). The plan is to then get to Mangalore.
As a group we head to Anjuna beach and find some sun loungers where we crash for the afternoon. The beaches in North Goa are wide and sweeping, fringed with palm trees with wooden beach huts. They are disappointingly dirty in places and the water is a dark but an achingly warm, green. I have to confess that if I'd booked a two week holiday to Goa expecting Thai or Australian quality beaches I would have been very disappointed. Nevertheless sitting watching the waves crash in, looking out on the miles of rolling beach and ocean at The Sunset Bar, sipping ice cold Diet Coke, reading my book and watching people enjoying the surf, it could be a lot worse.
There are lots of Russians in Goa, they even have their own mafia base here. As encountered in Egypt - as a nation they seem to be incredibly fond of posing for photos (in as minimal clothing as possible) so part of our afternoon's entertainment is spent watching a couple take turns performing various playboy type poses in a string bikini and speedos.
Some other entertainment, slightly more worthy of being noted, is a family with a young daughter able to walk a tightrope with her feet following the curves of a hoola hoop against the rope six feet off the floor. They carry the wooden poles and rope able to construct their stage in less than a minute, hammering stakes into the sand to keep the platform tight. The girl works the tourists in front of her with many handing over notes for her efforts.
Despite using sun cream and it being very cloudy, when we get back to the hotel I realise I'm super burnt making a mental note to slather more on tomorrow. We crash out for a few hours and then meet for our farewell dinner.
We arrive at Brittos, a stunning restaurant, lit with candles, soft lighting and spilling gently onto Baga beach. I share some red wine with Johannes & Claus and decide to try some of the local speciality fish which comes bathed in garlic. It's a gorgeous place to savour our last night together and we spend the evening recounting our favourite places and stories from the trip. I'm sad to say goodbye as have made some lifelong friends.
After dinner we head for drinks at a nearby club where we have a few last dances and Ricky demonstrates that Bhangra style dancing can indeed be used to dance to any genre of music to (including the song Tudthumping by Chumbawumba. We say our first sad goodbyes to Johannes & Claus, who are flying home tomorrow at 4am, and the rest of the group leave me, Erin, Ricky and his cousin, Arj, partying.
We have an insightful chat with Arj discussing how western women are viewed in India and why he thinks arranged marriages are so successful. He tells us that the most important part of selecting a bride for their son is the woman's horoscope. If a woman has a bad horoscope she is almost destined to be a spinster (cats optional). Otherwise provided the horoscope predicts a good life and family AND that they belong to the same caste (if marrying outside of their caste and into a 'love marriage' the majority of Indian families disown their kids) they are good to go. Further selection criteria would be that she comes from a reputable family with good values and there is no dishonour. Looks, education and other traits valued in the west are not even mentioned.
I ask him what would happen if his family selected someone that he bore no physical attraction to and he simply says that he trusts his parents to choose someone suitable and he is looking for a life partner, a good wife and someone to love him. The attraction grows from here. He also goes into quite some detail about the importance of sex in marriage. If an Indian man is unable to satisfy his wife this brings great shame on him. Suddenly the Kama Sutra all makes sense!
We talk about Hinduism, souls, energy, karma, Islam and Buddhism. It's an intellectual and spiritual feast (especially after the rum!).
Ricky and Erin are succumbing to lack of sleep and the kamikaze shots being administered by Arj. Despite this they remain keen to party. After a few more dances I make our excuses and we say goodbye to Arj to head back to the hotel.
Something tells me we've left a very disappointed Arj behind at the club keen to demonstrate his tantric prowess on someone...
As a group we head to Anjuna beach and find some sun loungers where we crash for the afternoon. The beaches in North Goa are wide and sweeping, fringed with palm trees with wooden beach huts. They are disappointingly dirty in places and the water is a dark but an achingly warm, green. I have to confess that if I'd booked a two week holiday to Goa expecting Thai or Australian quality beaches I would have been very disappointed. Nevertheless sitting watching the waves crash in, looking out on the miles of rolling beach and ocean at The Sunset Bar, sipping ice cold Diet Coke, reading my book and watching people enjoying the surf, it could be a lot worse.
There are lots of Russians in Goa, they even have their own mafia base here. As encountered in Egypt - as a nation they seem to be incredibly fond of posing for photos (in as minimal clothing as possible) so part of our afternoon's entertainment is spent watching a couple take turns performing various playboy type poses in a string bikini and speedos.
Some other entertainment, slightly more worthy of being noted, is a family with a young daughter able to walk a tightrope with her feet following the curves of a hoola hoop against the rope six feet off the floor. They carry the wooden poles and rope able to construct their stage in less than a minute, hammering stakes into the sand to keep the platform tight. The girl works the tourists in front of her with many handing over notes for her efforts.
Despite using sun cream and it being very cloudy, when we get back to the hotel I realise I'm super burnt making a mental note to slather more on tomorrow. We crash out for a few hours and then meet for our farewell dinner.
We arrive at Brittos, a stunning restaurant, lit with candles, soft lighting and spilling gently onto Baga beach. I share some red wine with Johannes & Claus and decide to try some of the local speciality fish which comes bathed in garlic. It's a gorgeous place to savour our last night together and we spend the evening recounting our favourite places and stories from the trip. I'm sad to say goodbye as have made some lifelong friends.
After dinner we head for drinks at a nearby club where we have a few last dances and Ricky demonstrates that Bhangra style dancing can indeed be used to dance to any genre of music to (including the song Tudthumping by Chumbawumba. We say our first sad goodbyes to Johannes & Claus, who are flying home tomorrow at 4am, and the rest of the group leave me, Erin, Ricky and his cousin, Arj, partying.
We have an insightful chat with Arj discussing how western women are viewed in India and why he thinks arranged marriages are so successful. He tells us that the most important part of selecting a bride for their son is the woman's horoscope. If a woman has a bad horoscope she is almost destined to be a spinster (cats optional). Otherwise provided the horoscope predicts a good life and family AND that they belong to the same caste (if marrying outside of their caste and into a 'love marriage' the majority of Indian families disown their kids) they are good to go. Further selection criteria would be that she comes from a reputable family with good values and there is no dishonour. Looks, education and other traits valued in the west are not even mentioned.
I ask him what would happen if his family selected someone that he bore no physical attraction to and he simply says that he trusts his parents to choose someone suitable and he is looking for a life partner, a good wife and someone to love him. The attraction grows from here. He also goes into quite some detail about the importance of sex in marriage. If an Indian man is unable to satisfy his wife this brings great shame on him. Suddenly the Kama Sutra all makes sense!
We talk about Hinduism, souls, energy, karma, Islam and Buddhism. It's an intellectual and spiritual feast (especially after the rum!).
Ricky and Erin are succumbing to lack of sleep and the kamikaze shots being administered by Arj. Despite this they remain keen to party. After a few more dances I make our excuses and we say goodbye to Arj to head back to the hotel.
Something tells me we've left a very disappointed Arj behind at the club keen to demonstrate his tantric prowess on someone...
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