In The End India Won.

Nine.  Bloody.  Years.

Very little has happened since my last post over a week ago.  The pace has been slow as we've spent the last nine or so days chilling out on the beach.  It's been ideal, just what we needed to end our trip in India. Before we got to the beach we spent a few days in Fort Kochi which was amazing, for the most part.  It's a really scenic little place brimming with cool restaurants, cafe's and one bar.  The main tourist attraction here is the Kathakali dancing.  I wasn't really sure what it was and wasn't really fussed but Laura was keen so I went along.  After a quick explanation of what to expect I decided I wasn't interested, sulked a little and acted like a restless child in the back seat of a car on a long journey.  Obviously we had to go 2 hours early so that we could watch the performers putting on their make-up.  Why? I get bored watching Laura put on her make up.  I'd rather see the finished product so that I can fool myself into thinking that she doesn't actually look like the Cracken from "Clash of the Titans".  So, after watching paint dry (pretty much literally) the show started.  Thank god.  I perked up a little, stopped kicking the chair in front of me and decided to be attentive.  The chap on stage explained that these dancers / actors had to study the art of Kathakali theatre for nine years to get to this level.  Nine years, they must be good.  Wrong.  The premise is simple, each word within the language is linked with a movement of the body and face.  It's like a more elaborate and slower version of sign language.  Luckily we were given a script so that when the show started we could follow what was happening.  I thought it was going to be short because the script was only one page of A4. Wrong again.  Each word took about two minutes to "communicate".  In the three days that it took to get to the end of the show I wondered who they were actually performing for.  No one in the audience had a clue what was going on.  Remember, you have to study for nine years to understand it.  Essentially, it was just a group of men in make-up and dresses performing interpretive dance for each other.  Sounds like the party scene in Brighton.  Anyway, I had fulfilled my duty as a boyfriend and had a reasonably good time but I think Laura wished she'd gone on her own so she could have relaxed and enjoyed the show.

Putting some graft in to catch lunch.

We're now into our final day in India and I can proudly say that we survived.  It's pretty hard to believe that we fell in love with a country that is such a fucking pain in the arse.  I don't think I'll ever visit another country that will have the same effect on me.  It's a paradox.  India is beautiful and disgusting, enlightening and infuriating, difficult and simple, dirty and.....no just dirty.  The people here have some of the biggest smiles and the most piercing frowns.  They are the most kind, helpful and pleasant people but have the tendency to be the most annoying, lying, lazy little fuckers I have ever come across.  The same man who elbows you in the fight for a seat on the bus will send an apologetic head waggle for accidently standing on your toes once the dust has settled.  Although I've been trying for weeks to give insights into how India works and what it's like to be here, I still don't understand it myself.  We've had two months to travel, learn and soak it up and we've barely scratched the surface of this deep and interesting land.

Since arriving we've visited over seven states, 19 cities and towns, travelled over 9000km using buses, trains, auto-rickshaws, pedal rickshaws, camels, bicycles, jeeps, planes and bamboo rafts.  We've learned to cook, practice yoga, surf (kind of), speak a little Hindi, barter like professionals, humour stupid fucking hippies who want to talk about the path to enlightenment without showing a trace of anger, and, most importantly, we've learned that you have to give in to India because if you try to fight it, it will destroy you.

Laura ready to leave the beach.  I had
her other 14 bags.

God only know's how many temples we've visited, how much curry we have consumed, how much excrement in litres that Laura has passed and how much money we have lost due to being fleeced on a daily basis.  One thing is for sure though.  For all it's annoyances, backward ways and difficulties, India is a fascinating place.  If you had asked me a month ago whether I'd visit India again I'd of told you that I'd rather learn the art of Kathakali theatre.  Now though, I'm already thinking about what we should do when we return.  It's quite a turn around.

With all of that said, I hereby officially end the first chapter of both our journey and this blog.  India.....Done.  Providing we can obtain our visa's for the communist nation that is China, I will have lots more to share with you over the coming weeks.  No scrap that,  it seems as though Blogger may be banned in China.  No joke.   I won't know until I get there, but if you don't hear from me for a while it's because my right to freedom of speech has been taken away.




Lessons learned this week:

1. Indian Airplanes are like buses.  They seem to stop in every town to let people on and off.
2. Don't mess with the sea.  The sea will always win.
3. It's easy to lose a week of your life vegetating on a beach.
4. It's easy to learn nothing whilst vegetating on a beach.

x

Uber Travellers

After last weeks slightly melancholy look at how I've become a miserable old man, this week has been just what I needed to pull myself together.  It's been a busy few days.  We left Hampi, headed for Munnar where some of Southern India's biggest tea plantations are found, spent a couple of days in a nature reserve and we're now in Fort Cochi.  Oh, and I turned 24.

Not happy with the money situation.

Let me start with the first little annoyance of the week.  In Munnar we went to the ATM to get out another wad of monopoly money but this time instead of getting a bunch of 100 or 500 rupee notes, we were presented with eight 1000 rupee notes.  This was a major inconvenience.  Let me try to put it into perspective.  Breakfast at a food stall will cost 10 rupees. A rickshaw might be 50.  Dinner in a cafe is maybe 200.  If you present a chai walla who wants 10 rupees with a 1000 note he will look at you like you've just pissed on his kids and set fire to his house.  They are impossible to spend.  The ATM may as well of given us soiled toilet paper.  It's more difficult to spend a 1000 rupee note in India then it is to spend a Scottish 5 pound note in England.  Luckily we managed to pay for one of our hotel rooms with one of the notes but it wasn't easy.  You know in England when someone at the bar hands over a 50 quid note and there are a multitude of scientific checks that have to be carried out to confirm the authenticity of the note because only drug dealers and bank robbers have them?  It was like that.

Laura enjoying the chicken bus.

This last week we've moved away from private air conditioned buses and tried our luck on the chicken buses with the locals.  I used to think getting down the West Road on the X82 was a nightmare, it isn't. Although there are more Indians on that bus.  These buses are a little uncomfortable and getting on is an experience in itself.  You have to push, pull, elbow and pretty much fight your way on. Not easy to do with a rucksack, day sack and overflow bag. Then there's finding a seat: repeat process.  Coming from Munnar on the public bus meant speeding through winding cliff side roads at a pace that means just staying on your seat (if you were strong enough to get one) is a workout.  You literally have to hold on for dear life.  Then, when the mid morning heat kicks in, it gets a little worse.  You'd think that the Indian's would be used to this type of transport but for some reason they can't handle it.  I always wondered why the road sides are covered curry.  Now I know.  It's not curry, it's chunder.  There are Indians all through the bus with their heads out of windows chucking up last nights masala.  It's weird.  For whatever reason, neither myself or Laura threw up our dinner, it made a nice change.

Getting in the mix with the Gerodie pill heads local tribe.

Taking the local bus was an experience I will never forget.  It was worth doing to get to the wildlife sanctuary where we spent my birthday.  The place was total paradise.  It's not every year you get chance to spend your birthday somewhere so cool.  We took bamboo rafts down the river and spent some time swimming, went on a bird watching trek (which is much more fun than it sounds), and had the pleasure of eating with a local tribe in the jungle.  I'm not sure how it was arranged but it seemed that offering a bottle of rum and some food was enough for them to agree.  When we arrived on their rock, they were already hammered or high on whatever it is they smoke, eat or drink.  Before eating they wanted to show off their traditional dancing and singing.  It was good to watch but I couldn't help comparing it to the singing and dancing outside of a takeaway on the Bigg Market at 3am on a Saturday morning.  They just seemed to shuffle around to the sound of their own out of time clapping and mumbled singing.  Just like pill heads in The Toon.  When they had finished it was our turn to reciprocate.  Shit.  What do we do?  This tribe's opinion of the English nation was resting solely in our hands.  Panic. Panic. Panic.  My mind was blank.  I couldn't think of a single song.  What would personify the English nation?  How could we let them know what we are all about in just a couple of melodic lines?  Then it came, it was obvious.  Cumbawumba: Tubthumping.  We belted it out like no ones business and nailed it.  For whatever reason they seemed to like it or were at least polite enough to pretend.  Job done.  Luckily I had brought along my Uke so I was later able to rebuild what was left of our nations broken pride by singing a few more reasonable tunes.
Seeing the tribe and spending time with them was a fantastic experience.  They are a million miles away from what we class as a "normal" life.  Happy, stressless and content with their lot.  They didn't need anything.  They take from the jungle and live happily in natures back garden,  at peace.  I guess having this experience and newly freed mind makes us "Uber Travellers".  Shit.

Dinner for ten for two.

The home stay that we stayed at in the nature reserve was amazing.  The family looking after us made us feel as though we were right at home.  Vinod, the owner, organised our activities and his wife was responsible for making the best food we've come across.  It's a funny thing eating in an Indian's home.  As we sat tucking into whatever delights had been prepared, she would stand on the other side of the table watching carefully as we spooned the food into our mouths.  In the time it took for my fork to get from my mouth back to the plate, she would have spooned on another helping of curry.  There are a few rules that are unspoken but that are learnt very quickly when you are eating an Indian's food in their house;

1. Eat or offend.
2. Don't stop for breath.
3. Don't get full.
4. Don't leave the table until the food (which is enough to feed 10) is all gone.
5. Expect to repeat the process in two hours time.

Needless to say a few pounds were gained over those days but there is nothing wrong with a bit of birthday indulgence.

Lessons learned this week;

1. Public transport in India is not for the faint hearted.
2. 1000 rupee notes are worthless.
3. Chumbawumba is never the right answer.  In any situation.
4. Eat or offend.

Ticking Boxes

I have memories of being a fresh faced 19 year old lad setting off on an adventure to Thailand and feeling nothing but excitement.  When I arrived, everything amused and interested me, I wanted to throw myself straight into it all without asking any questions.  Tuk-tuk sir? Yes.  You want to see my shop? Yes.  You want to go somewhere you have never heard of and pay me lots of money to take you there? Yes. You want to eat a snake? Yes.  There were no bad people in the world and I was confident in the knowledge that I was invincible.  I truly believed that nothing could harm me.  If it did, I'd laugh it off.  I took all parts of that trip, the good, the bad and the ugly and made memories that will be with me forever.  In fact, I don't think that a day goes by where I don't remember something or someone from that trip and laugh to myself.

Getting absolutely hammered at Carrom

This time around things are a little different.  I feel as though I've lost my naivety, I don't want to dive in head first, it's safer to dip your toe isn't it? The invincibility that I had back then has faded and I feel more vulnerable.  My mind works differently now, I know what I like, what kind of people I like to spend time with and I've got no patience when it comes to being in a situation that bores or annoys me.  Rickshaw Sir? No. You want see my shop? No. You want to see temple? Fuck no, please, no more temples.  If I never see another temple til the day I die I couldn't care less.
I can't put my finger on what it is that has changed inside of me and it scares me that I'm not so excitable any more.  Is it a "getting older" thing? If it is I fear that I might turn into that grumpy old man that bursts footballs when they come over the fence.  Maybe 50 years ago, that guy at the bottom of your street with a pile of deflated footballs was snorting cocaine off a Thai prostitutes tits and grabbing life (and possibly her) by the balls, taking opportunities without thinking long enough to contemplate the downside.  I need to get that mind set back.  I'm not into grabbing lady boys by the goolies, but I wish I was still stupid enough not to think of the drawbacks of decisions that I might make.  Maybe it will come back with time, or maybe I'm just different now.  The Indians (and in fact most of Asia) have a saying for this;  "Same same, but different", that's the only way I can describe it.  I feel the same, but I know I'm different.

The view from the top of Monkey Temple

Now that all the light hearted stuff is out of the way I can get down to telling you what's been going on since my last post.  We spent most of our time on the beaches in Goa.  We drank, we ate, we sunbathed and then drank a little more.  I'm afriad that doesn't make for a very interesting read but thats about the top and bottom of it.  What might tickle you though is a story of something that occured as a result of this booze filled diet.  The Aussie lads who we had been travelling with for a few weeks were real big drinkers.  Where your average Joe would cure a hangover by drinking some fruit juice, these lads were drinking fruit flavoured alcopops just to get them ready for beers at brunch. I've never seen anything like it.  However, drinking loads of beer is not the same as handling your drink.  One lad, Blair (a nice chap with a sound head on him) decided when pissed that it was a good idea to clothes line a cow from a moped travelling at 30kmh.  Any guesses who might of won?  Our guy Blair ended up with 27 stitches and a nasty infection in his arm.  As it stands he's in hospital in the UK on a drip waiting for an operation.  I suspect the drip bag is filled with watermelon flavored Bacardi Breezer so he'l be fine.

Too much time on the beach can turn your brain to mush.  I think that's why I'm struggling to pen my thoughts here.  We left the sandy shores of Goa and headed to Hampi. This place is like nothing I have ever seen.  The entire landscape is made up of huge boulders.  See the picture for an idea of it, it's difficult to describe.  We hired a rickshaw for the day to take us on the Temple tour which was a mistake.  I can't take anything away from these temples and ruin's, they are incredible but once you have seen a few you've pretty much seen them all.  We knew before we got in the rickshaw that we were a bit bored of seeing temples.  We called it a day early and chilled out in a few bars.  For me this was more interesting as we met a load of really cool people.  Intelligent people with things to say and opinions that I genuilnly cared about.  And I have a feeling that most of them weren't just regurgitating things that they had read that day in the news or NME.  You can't pay a rickshaw driver 500 rupees to help you meet interesting people, it has to happen by chance.  That said, if you made that offer I'm sure they'd take on the challenge.

It was only after uploading this pic that I remembered
I was only wearing my under-crackers.  Enjoy ladies.

Today we found a lake which was a perfect spot for a bit of cliff (rock) diving (jumping).  While I was suspended in the air between the rock I wish I'd never jumped off, and the water I was dreading entering, I had a thought;  Travelling is about experiences, not just ticking boxes.  There are a number of manuals but they don't know what I like to do or how I like to do it.  Visiting a temple is nice, but it isn't an experience.  Visiting a lake is nice, but its not an experience.  Sitting for an hour playing Carrom with the locals who sell water at the temple gate is an experience.Visiting a lake and jumping off rocks with a group of strangers is an experience.  That's why I'm here.  Not just to tick boxes.  I'll remember that from now on.

Lessons Learned this week;

1. Don't just tick boxes.  Ticking boxes makes for a dull trip.
2. As you grow older, you grow wiser (mostly).  It makes it difficult to make naive decisions.
3. You can't plan everything, that's part of the fun.
4. There is nothing like an air conditioned mall with multiplex cinema when you are missing home.