So, come Tuesday 22nd December, rested and mended, despite having achieved little else in Varkala (I didn't even make it to the reputed temple at the end of my road), I donned the heavy load and boarded another series of Indian West Coast buses, this time destination Alleppey. Alleppey is one of a few towns on the Kerala coastline which acts as a departure point for boat trips along the famous Kerala backwaters, and from what I could gather it sounded like a less congested and more mellow starting point than the various other options. And so began a whirlwind series of what can only be described as Divine coicidences that were to see me through a completely unique and blissful Christmas.
Randomly I had actually bothered to call ahead to an Alleppey guest house, Johnson's 'The Nest,' where I was lucky enough to secure a room at about 5 hours notice, despite it being the middle of the festive season (their busiest period) and, as I later discovered, also the middle of their town temple festival. On the phone I discovered that there was no way for me to get from the bus stand to the guest house - there was me thinking that I had left behind unreliable public transport in rainy old London, only to discover that all of the Alleppian tuk-tuk (rickshaw) and taxi drivers were striking because of pay cuts! This was serious business - all up in arms because the government reduced their minimum fare from 15 to 10 rupees (from about 20p to about 15p). Even better, though, and in true Indian style, most of the tuk-tuk drivers were only pretending to strike, and actually continued working, driving around the back streets at night with their lights off, trying to avoid the beady eye of the chief strikers. Indian driving is more hairy than a mountain gorilla at the best of times, so this was pretty special.
Anyway, on arrival at the bus station I called my man Johnson, and within ten minutes found myself and my oversized backpack-and-then-some straddled across the back of his motorbike-scooter type affair, utilising all my core strength whilst practising my best balancing poses in a desperate attempt not to end up under anything with four wheels or legs. Having always been positively aversed to motorised vehicles with two wheels (and particularly the additional ego and noise factors), I admit that, at the ripe old age of 30, this was, I think, my first motorbike experience. But I have to say that in the whirlwind arrival and with absolutely no consultation or choice in the matter, I actually found it a wierd mix of elating, invigorating, completely surreal and absolutely run-of-the-mill. Particularly impressive, even if I do say so myself, was my prizewinning descent, where I just about managed to dismount the machine without coming a complete cropper as the weight of my cargo had its own way.
Anyway after quickly settling in to my gorgeous pink ballroom complete with hot water for the first time in India and even a mosquito net (joy oh joy and such a rarity!), sampling a welcome snack of chai and banana fritters, and making friends with the family of confectinary dogs (Fudge, Ice-Cream and 4-week-old Jelly Boy),
it was back on the bike and let loose in town for a taster of the temple festival. I got positively dumped at the edge of the throng of people making their way up and down te main street which had been coverted into a funfair deluxe with enough coloured lights to power a city and sweets and snacks stalls as far as the eye could see. Having been prewarned of the likelihood of 'bottom-pinching' (say with Indian accent and multidirectional head wobble for full effect) and pickpockets in amongst the crowds, I thought I was keeping my wits about me, only to get lured into a trap of a different, although altogether much more fun, kind. I must have had my eyes on stilts trying to take in all the people and noise and colour, and I soon got absorbed in a young man sitting with a table of what looked like ink and stamps. Before I knew it, without having had the slightest bit of choice in the matter, my right hand was covered in garish brown henna, slowly making it's way up to my elbow. In my surprise, I wasn't totally enthusiastic about this situation, partly because I have always thought henna designs were literally painted on stroke-by-stroke and not stamped on in pre-made patterns, but also because I was envisaging the enthusiastic stamping making its unrelenting way over every inch of my body. So before I knew it I let out a yelp and whisked my hand away, much to the amusement of the crowd of local onlookers which had been growing by the second (everybody, laugh and point at the confused tourist), but I think also to the offence of my enthusiastic young artist (I'm sincerely sorry). I quickly paid him, way over the odds I'm sure, and disappeared into the mayhem with my one colourful left hand and a totally boxed brain. Once I'd had time to digest the ordeal I realised I actually rather liked my pretty festival-filled left hand - and the only wierdness was really why my right hand didn't match, which turned out to be the only thing that subsequently provoked any comment. Another unique lesson in how to really keep your cool amidst India's fun-filled mayhem.
Anyway I soon found myself hurled into the temple responsible for all this mayhem, which was surprisingly and welcomly tranquil inside. I made my way around the various shrines, trying not to do anything inappropriate and be as inconspicuous as possible (with limited success). This was really a people's temple, everything about it was local, sweet and a touch home made, including the signature temple elephant. As I was trying to figure out one falic lingam statue from another, I got accosted by a keen local who offered his services to give me the guided tour. Although I understand only about 50% of it, I was nonetheless grateful to be shown what to do and not do, and he seemed glad to make a little money. Before long I had to make my excuses realising that time had flown by amidst the henna and temple chaos, as I had a party date with Johnson oooh ahhh mrs. As I was heading back along the dusty road one of those rickshaw drivers who wasn't working offered to take me back, and even though of course it wasn't a proper fare, I could give him 10 rupees for the pleasure. In the dark. Classic.
Yes, I had a date with Johnson, apparently a 7.30pm dinner date but, silly me, we're talking Indian time so come 9.30pm we headed out the door (well, I am Palin stock, I should be used to it). Johnson's friend who runs another guest house was opening a restaurant there that night, so the plan was to go and join in the celebrations and have some food. So I had anticipated something quite quiet , civilised and low-key, wrongly having assumed that 5am and not-much-booze culture meant early to bed and sobriety. This is not the case. As another not-really-working-honest rickshaw pulled us up outside the joint, the ground was literally vibrating with the sounds of serious Indian techno beats coming from inside. And as we made our way through the lovely whitewashed courtyard it intensified beyond belief to reveal an enormous sound system set up in the middle of a luscious garden full of tropical plants. Squinting hard I could make out one empty table in the corner, but other than that there was very little eating going on but rather a respectable amount of head banging - a crazed bunch on Indian men and Western women bouncing like this might well be the last night on earth and looking like they were literally on another planet. Well, strike me Sir Percy, what a suprise. An Indian rave in a respectable guest house, at 9.30pm. Yet another totally random, unexpected wierdness to shake up my misplaced anticipations and judgements. When it comes to this, I really think that nobody does it better than the people of India.
I have to say that, being something of a killjoy, my heart didn't leap at the idea of bouncing around all night long. Somehow or other, after the buses, motorbikes and temples of the day, the energy just wasn't oozing out of me. Nonetheless we did actually get fed (some of the best food I'd tasted yet, in fact), although that didn't really seem the 'in thing' to do here(?), and I spent some quality time observing the ping pong balls bouncing from wall to wall, their trajectories occasionally re-routed by one hopeful Indian man emerging from his personal dance frenzy to merge into that of an equally crazed Western lady. I have to say it more than once crossed my mind where the Indian wives were, not least because I wondered if they might have fancied a dance too, and suffice to say I stayed happily observing from the sidelines. Thanks to Johnson I was introduced to a merry band of people who had hired a boat to take an overnight trip along the Kerala backwaters, and with all the ease in the world I got absorbed into their group, all set to leave the following day. Absolutely serendipitous, I had wanted to do such a trip, but hadn't done anything in terms of research, let alone figuring out how I was going to afford such a luxury. But, luck-be-my-lady, it turned out that my fellow crew were actually a group of 6 originally individual travellers ("it's ok, we're all orphans too"!) and one lovely couple, who were all happy for another straggler to join in the fun and bring the cost down to a bargain 1500 rupees each (about 20 pounds - for the 24 hour trip of a lifetime). We hadn't quite figured out how 7 nearly perfect strangers were going to sleep on a one-bedroom boat but nobody seemed bothered and neither was I. So with my journey into Christmas Eve sorted, I continued to witness the mayhem which, just as I was starting to pray to be teletransported home, came to a completely unprepared halt. Mr DJ, who only 5 minuted before had been yelling "we're just getting started!", suddenly turned off the decks, announced he was exhausted, and promptly left the building. At a perfectly respectable 11pm. Tidy. But perhaps a little less so for the still totally wasted-looking revellers who had a rather long wait ahead if they were to enjoy the return to earth accompanied by an Indian sunrise.
The following morning, after glorious sunrise yoga on the amazing balcony, I met up with my new boat and bedfellows and made a trip to the local orphanage to see how the proceeds from the boat trips are spent. Then we made our merry way to our beautiful floating nest and each got settled in one of the fabulous swinging bamboo chairs looking out over the glistening Keralan backwaters.
For some reason I had anticipated them to be narrow and overgrown, winding their way through overgrown jungle-type landscapes. Not the case. At their smallest, the backwaters are pretty wide, very very calm rivers. But these then open out onto vast tranquil lakes filled with beautiful floating algae plants that I'm sure are the same as the 'very rare and expensive' chinese (or so I thought) variety that we tried to grow on our London pond when I was oh-so-much-smaller-than-I-am-now. From the moment we all climbed aboard each one of us seemed to step into the mindzone - no unnecessary words, or thoughts for that matter; a time of pure, easy, unadultereated meditation on the waters.
I found myself a secluded little balcony above the rest of the gang where I planted myself to watch life on the backwaters passing me by - uncut waters as far as the eye can see disturbed only occasionally by the odd home-made rowing boat or a flock of birds passing the time of day. Best of all was the glipmse into local life seen from aboard our floating home, watching people go about their daily water rituals - bathing, drinking, worshipping, washing anything and everything. A serious lesson in how to make the best of your circumstances and, I couldn't help but think, what a fabulous way to live one's life, these people seemingly nourished on every levels by their beautiful surrounding waters.
How utterly serendipitous to be floating around without a care in the world in one of the most beautiful, tranquil places on earth on this, my 30th Christmas, with 6 of the loveliest people I have ever met?
As the hours passed by and we waded our way through fresh lemon juices, chai and amazing Indian food prepared by our wonderful hosts, we gradually discovered that we had more in common than a shared mellow energy - and so as day turned to night things only got better as we shared thoughts and experiences on the meaning of life, yoga, travelling the world and then some.
Having spent the whole afternoon seemingly worlds away from the typical Indian soundscape of car horns, temple chanting, street traders and blaring televisions and radios, somehow or other we managed to park up for the night right next to a local village temple with it's rather crude local rendition (but who am I to judge?). I have to say, after the bliss of the whole afternoon, it seemed rather ironic and did make me smile. "Ahhhh........India........!" We hopped onto land and took our legs for a stroll into the little hamlet, on our way making friends with some local Indian children trying their luck for a rupee or two.
There was me thinking that carol singers were more of a western thing, but wrongly so - here we had a merry band complete with prizewinning costumes, not least because the Angel Gabriel was an 8-year old transvestite complete with tutu, wings, white make-up and awe-inspiring confidence, and Santa had a belly comparable with 10 years of a British ale and pie diet (stuffed not real, needless to say, but very impressive nonetheless).
Quite simply the best nativity scene I have ever witnessed, although the songs were, um....novel. Classic.
After too much chai we all tumbled into our one bedroom and managed to find enough foam to give us all a comfortable spot on the floor. Rising early on Christmas Eve morning the general consensus was that we definitely weren't ready for reality just yet. Sadly our boat had new cargo already booked, so the minute we docked at Allepey we began a search for another boat able to accommodate our newly-formed family. Sadly we had really been in the lap of luzury and couldn't quite find another to match Johnson's Paradise, but we settled for a close second with a totally different vibe and got installed for another 24 hours of unadulterated bliss. Despite a more Indian standard of cleanliness, the bonus on boat number two was a stop for some local Coconut Rum (palm feni) - absolutely revolting but at least now I know. Even better my Christmas Eve dinner was eaten off a banana leaf (for my first time in India). As our second floating evening dawned we again took ourselves off for a stroll, and this time found a little spot amongst some trees to do what Brownies (or yogis) do best. Well, we didn't quite make a campfire, but by the glow of a tealight and the sweet smell of incense (courtesy of one very inspired and well-organised scout) our unique little septuplet shared a moonlight meditation and chanting satsang. As we sat there getting mauled by the local mozzies who surely thought their ship had truly come in, I think every one of us felt blessed to be spending Christmas Eve with such wonderful newfound friends. Myself, I was quietly surprised to find myself totally happy, rather than perhaps a little homesick as I had wrongly anticipated, to be on the other side of the planet from my lovely family at Christmas. Back on the boat we lay in a heap and amused ourselves watching the fireflies and shooting stars, sharing more wonderful stories, and eating a fruit (aka 'Christmas'!) cake which someone had amazingly remembered to buy. Perhaps the best thing about boat number 2 was that there was enough room for MORNING YOGA - WAHEY! (always a priority!) - quite frankly there couldn't have been a better Christmas present for yours truly. So when we were finally thrown back into the throngs of the Christmas Day Alleppey tuk-tuk drivers (now enjoying being 'back at work') I was ready for the adventures of another travelling day in Mother India.
Friday 22 January 2010
Saturday 16 January 2010
Anchored Down in Varkala
After a long and heavy heavy sleep I dragged myself out of bed, bypassing the yoga mat (rare but true), and headed for the beach. Ugh. Swollen glands and big headache. Nonetheless, from somewhere in the recesses behind my self-pity I managed to appreciate the gorgeousness of the big laterite cliffs, the white sandy beach and the rolling (although quite vicious-looking) waves. However first and foremost I couldn't help but notice the bizarre segregation of people - Indians up one end of the beach, fully clothed, dipping their toes in the water, keeping their distance from the Westeners up the other end, clad in skimpy bikinis and speedos. Of everything I've read in (ongoing) preparation for my India travels, most emphatic and repetitive is the instruction to 'please respect the local custom and dress modestly.' Ok. So which part of this do people not understand? Seems to me that the Westeners here simply don't care. Not that I think it necessary to go to the other extreme and start windsurfing in a sari, but I think a modest attempt to cover up is respectful when one is a guest in this country. Or maybe it is that some Westeners don't get enough attention at home and simply love having their bare flesh oggled at? Baffling, and certainly not my choice of self-representation. Still, diversity is the spice of life (?).
I took a long walk up the coast, past the mushrooming tourist stalls and restaurants selling endless amounts of Tibetan and Kashmiri wares, Ayurvedic pamperings and endless menus selling everyting from Thalis to beans on toast and cappucinos. However, despite this growing tourism here the vibe is MELLOW, MAN and this is a place where you can really kick back and relax without a car or rickshaw horn in earshot (more likely is an Asutralian accent or a Titanic soundtrack). And before long the stalls fizzle out and merge into a coastline thick with palm trees and sand dunes, interrupted by the occasional fishing village, complete with handmade wooden boats, shacks and perhaps a token temple or mosque.
There's little to report from the next few days - they were spent lying in my bed with the lights off staring at the ceiling, waiting for my head to stop throbbing quite so intensely. Although I brought enough medicines to sink a small ship, average painkillers didn't quite make it into the first aid kit (!), as I'm not normaly a fan of dosing myself up on Iboprufen or whatever. So I slowly sampled all of the recommended homeopathic remedies for headaches from my newly-acquired homeopathic remedies suitcase, but with little success. So I succombed to sitting it out. After having not emerged from my room for 36 hours my wonderful host came to enquire as to my state, and promptly took himself off to the local coconut lady, returning with a coconut for me to drink. "Pure glucose, madam, this is what you need!" Ok, if you say so! It did indeed help a lot, and I found myself on the way to recovery. The following day I managed to make it out of bed and out for an ayurvedic massage, which followed up where the coconut had left off. I knew that ayurvedic massages involved a good deal of oil, but this really exists in another dimension. Added to that is the extremely UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL nature of the experience - not one for those who don't like their foot massages to go above the ankle, let alone anywhere near the knee. Absolutely not - no room for underwear here, disposable or otherwise. This was just me, the table, and a lorra lorra oil. I don't think there was a single inch of me that my dear friend (whose name I have forgotten) didn't get to know quite intimately. I'm normally a fan of deep tissue massage - no pain, no gain and all of that - but I have now come to appreciate the holistic rebalancing effects of ayurvedic massage - inordinate quantities of oil applied in large wave-like motions all over the body. In my delicate state it was exactly what I needed - I felt the energetic pathways of my subtle body being cleared and balanced, leaving me feeling calmer, clearer-headed and gently energised. Furthermore, your mind gets absorbed into the wave-like rhythm and the whole thing turns into a rhythmic meditation - truly hypnotic. As we came close to the end I found myself lying there wondering how on earth I was going to get clean of all of the excess oil, but before long was whisked into the bath and literally scrubbed from head to foot by my new-found friend. Not since I was a wee nipper have I been so thoroughly soaped and lathered and scrubbed and rinsed by somebody else, which was evident in the fact that I kept getting all the wrong limbs in the wrong places at the wrong times. Still, with no possible means of linguistic communication between us, we did what girls do best and had a good old giggle (at least I think we were laughing at the same thing!), before she rubbed and shook me dry, dressed me almost as well as my mum can, and sent me on my way feeling like a new person. So good in fact that after I bounced out of there, still quite stunned from the experience, I took myself out for some of the best food I had tasted yet in India, and then went back to my room and fell into a deep baby sleep. Better still, when I finally made it onto my yoga mat the following morning, I was revitalised and new, nothing like someone who's been clogged up to the eyeballs for the past few days - good old ayurvedic massage, the perfect remedy and highly recommended :)
I took a long walk up the coast, past the mushrooming tourist stalls and restaurants selling endless amounts of Tibetan and Kashmiri wares, Ayurvedic pamperings and endless menus selling everyting from Thalis to beans on toast and cappucinos. However, despite this growing tourism here the vibe is MELLOW, MAN and this is a place where you can really kick back and relax without a car or rickshaw horn in earshot (more likely is an Asutralian accent or a Titanic soundtrack). And before long the stalls fizzle out and merge into a coastline thick with palm trees and sand dunes, interrupted by the occasional fishing village, complete with handmade wooden boats, shacks and perhaps a token temple or mosque.
There's little to report from the next few days - they were spent lying in my bed with the lights off staring at the ceiling, waiting for my head to stop throbbing quite so intensely. Although I brought enough medicines to sink a small ship, average painkillers didn't quite make it into the first aid kit (!), as I'm not normaly a fan of dosing myself up on Iboprufen or whatever. So I slowly sampled all of the recommended homeopathic remedies for headaches from my newly-acquired homeopathic remedies suitcase, but with little success. So I succombed to sitting it out. After having not emerged from my room for 36 hours my wonderful host came to enquire as to my state, and promptly took himself off to the local coconut lady, returning with a coconut for me to drink. "Pure glucose, madam, this is what you need!" Ok, if you say so! It did indeed help a lot, and I found myself on the way to recovery. The following day I managed to make it out of bed and out for an ayurvedic massage, which followed up where the coconut had left off. I knew that ayurvedic massages involved a good deal of oil, but this really exists in another dimension. Added to that is the extremely UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL nature of the experience - not one for those who don't like their foot massages to go above the ankle, let alone anywhere near the knee. Absolutely not - no room for underwear here, disposable or otherwise. This was just me, the table, and a lorra lorra oil. I don't think there was a single inch of me that my dear friend (whose name I have forgotten) didn't get to know quite intimately. I'm normally a fan of deep tissue massage - no pain, no gain and all of that - but I have now come to appreciate the holistic rebalancing effects of ayurvedic massage - inordinate quantities of oil applied in large wave-like motions all over the body. In my delicate state it was exactly what I needed - I felt the energetic pathways of my subtle body being cleared and balanced, leaving me feeling calmer, clearer-headed and gently energised. Furthermore, your mind gets absorbed into the wave-like rhythm and the whole thing turns into a rhythmic meditation - truly hypnotic. As we came close to the end I found myself lying there wondering how on earth I was going to get clean of all of the excess oil, but before long was whisked into the bath and literally scrubbed from head to foot by my new-found friend. Not since I was a wee nipper have I been so thoroughly soaped and lathered and scrubbed and rinsed by somebody else, which was evident in the fact that I kept getting all the wrong limbs in the wrong places at the wrong times. Still, with no possible means of linguistic communication between us, we did what girls do best and had a good old giggle (at least I think we were laughing at the same thing!), before she rubbed and shook me dry, dressed me almost as well as my mum can, and sent me on my way feeling like a new person. So good in fact that after I bounced out of there, still quite stunned from the experience, I took myself out for some of the best food I had tasted yet in India, and then went back to my room and fell into a deep baby sleep. Better still, when I finally made it onto my yoga mat the following morning, I was revitalised and new, nothing like someone who's been clogged up to the eyeballs for the past few days - good old ayurvedic massage, the perfect remedy and highly recommended :)
India's Southernmost tip
The journey down South was relatively painless - in fact I remember loving every minute of my first Indian bus ride, watching the sights, sounds and smells of India pass by as we got windswept along in the windowless bus, bumping and bouncing all over the place (who said the roads were better maintained in Kerala?). Add to that the highlight of any journey on any Indian bus (or Indian vehicle for that matter) - the need for the driver to beep his horn AT LEAST once every five seconds....."Just in case you had forgotten, I'M HERE! WAHEY, LOOK AT ME! Toot toot, honk honk, let's have a party (even at 3am!)". In a rickshaw, it's tolerable and even amusing, as they tend to have two different horns with distinct tones - one more conventional car horn and the other a properly old-fashioned squeezy rubber ball honk-honk affair. The interplay between the two horns - and the sense of pride and identity that they evidently create in the rickshaw driver, for whom they are an eternal source of inspiration and entertainment - are priceless. However, bus horns are EXTREMELY LOUD and the drivers have a tendency to LEAN ON THEM SLIGHTLY LONGER THAN ONE WOULD LIKE, even on long, nightime bus journeys...and after several hours one does find one's eardrums starting to throb and retract even further into ones head. On the upside, very good for developing patience and tolerance (as is having various elbows, arses, and feet bisecting you from all angles).....
Kanyakumari is the Southernmost tip of India where the Arabian Sea, The Indian Ocean and The Bay of Bengal meet, and it is actually over the border from Kerala in Tamil Nadu. Apart from being a major pilgramage centre, it's famous for it's spectacular sunsets and sunrises, so I had quite high hopes. There's no question tha it is a place of great natural beauty, but I did find it somewhat marred by the inordinate amount of rubbish everywhere. I am getting used to this in India, but nonetheless many of the major sights/places I have since visited are fairly well maintained. I found it quite lamentable that this beautiful coastline, especially one that is apparently so highly revered, is literally strewn with rubbish of all kinds. Nonetheless, I made my way through the seemingly endless stalls of Indian tourist tat down to the water's edge where the men were enjoying a bath and the women enjoying dipping their toes in, fully clothed in their saris. I wandered up the coast for some peace and quiet and a chance to contemplate this place away from the hubbub, and I sat down on top of a wall built around a small sheltered cove, dangling my legs over the side. I heard a scuttle and looked down to see a man who I had unwittingly interrupted on the beach beneath me quickly stand up, pull his trousers up and scamper off, pretending he hadn't been using this holy beach as a toilet. That somehow broke the magic and I made my way back to the crowds to enjoy some hassle and banter. Something I find particularly baffling is the Indian obsesson (particularly male) with wanting to have photos taken with me, a perfect stranger. In my naivety, the first time someone walked up to me and said "Photo please" I thought they were asking me to take a photo of them with their mates. My gesture to take the camera was met with some amusement and before I knew it I was standing there saying "Cheese" feeling like a circus freak. Not particularly my idea of fun but I'm trying to be gracious (on good days).
I had a look around the Ghandi Mandapan, a peaceful memorial building built on the spot where his ashes were kept before they were immersed in the sea. It's constructed so that every year on his birthday the sun's rays fall on the place where his ashes were kept. Then I settled down to watch the famous sunset with the many other Indian tourists and pilgrims, enjoying having the time to contemplate the history of this place. Particularly significant for me was the fact that Kanyakumari - like much of the Tamil Nadu coastline - was badly hit during the 2004 tsunami. Being previously a stranger to these parts of the globe, I appreciated this chance to sit, contemplate and try to get my head around the reality of what happened here, especially with the anniversary looming, and to think about old, lost friends. I don't think I will ever be able to get my head around it, unless maybe I have the misfortune of experiencing something similar first hand. Nonetheless it feels more real now, and I am left in renewed awe at the fundamental, raw power of nature and the elements.
After some restorative sleep and yoga in my decidedly unfriendly hotel (with some quite friendly creatures in my very questionable bathroom) - never mind, it was very cheap :) - I got myself up and out and onto the boat over to the Swami Vivekanada Rock Memorial. Apparently on Christmas Day 1882 the famous yogi came and sat on this rock in deep meditation, following which he decided to dedicate himself to the motherland and spread the message of Vedanta. So this wonderful memorial was built to commemorate the occasion, and it really is quite a haven of peace, space and CLEANLINESS (.....mmmmmmm!) - thankfully worth the long wait in the very very long queues for the boat! So the story goes, at the time of the tsunami, whilst those on the mainland were badly hit, anyone who was on this rock was apparently saved..... I enjoyed visiting the two madapams, but the highlight of the trip was the meditation room, a really peaceful, dedicated space. I wish I had been allowed longer in there, but we were ushered through after about 5 minutes to make room for the constant stream of incoming people. So after replacing my shoes I joined the mile-long queue for the boat back to the mainland and got to witness more Indian (dis)organisation as the queue manager demonstrated the antithesis of diplomacy in his queue managing skills, for some reason favouring the packs of pushy young Indian men (not one of my favourite aspects of Indian society) over the calmer, more patient and restrained average visitor. Ommmm.
Back on the mainland, my bad timing meant I didn't make it into the temple that morning, and after a quick feed decided to make my way back up North again, this time destination Varkala, a mellow beach haven a bit further north of Trivandrum, back in Kerala. So I got myself back on the bus and retraced my steps back to the joy that is Trivandrum bus station. Having been unable to find anything resembling an information desk or ticket counter, in order to find the 'correct' bus I continued following the example of one of the few other western tourists I had so far encountered - a young Australian woman confidently yelling up to the bus drivers of all the departing buses, shouting the name of her destination and hoping to get some kind of intelligible response. Thus far the method had also proved successful for me, but at Trivandrum station at 6pm on a friday I didn't have the same luck. Evidently none of the conductors or drivers felt any desire to understand me, let alone help me, and after countless attempts, and with my backpack feeling increasingly unbearable, I found myself propped up on a pillar gazing into space, contemplating again how to go about taking the easy (taxi) route out - tut tut tut! That's when my guardian angel appeared. I must really have looked quite a sorry lost soul, as this angel of a young man, with almost Egyptian eyes so big and deep they seemed to go on for eternity, came up to me and in his best English accent asked me where I was going and promptly put me and my bag on the correct bus, told me where I needed to change, and helped me communicate with the conductor. Sometimes blessings do come when you really need them.
It was a long, windy, bumpy and very very tiring journey - else it certainly seemed that way, because although I didn't realise it I was coming down sick sick sick. Anyhow somehow I managed to get to Varkala beach and with the help of a lovely Scottish hippie found my cheap and extremely cheerful hotel, where I couldn't have been made to feel more welcome. At 11pm I was given a full tour of my quarters, including detailed introductions into the challenging technology of the light switches, mosquito nets, plumbing and windows (!!!!!). The plan was only to stay a day or two, just long enough to chill a bit on the beach and make a few travel plans, but I ended up staying for 5 days, thanks to the onset of a yummy and very full-on cold. Thank the Lord for good hosts and coconut water!
Kanyakumari is the Southernmost tip of India where the Arabian Sea, The Indian Ocean and The Bay of Bengal meet, and it is actually over the border from Kerala in Tamil Nadu. Apart from being a major pilgramage centre, it's famous for it's spectacular sunsets and sunrises, so I had quite high hopes. There's no question tha it is a place of great natural beauty, but I did find it somewhat marred by the inordinate amount of rubbish everywhere. I am getting used to this in India, but nonetheless many of the major sights/places I have since visited are fairly well maintained. I found it quite lamentable that this beautiful coastline, especially one that is apparently so highly revered, is literally strewn with rubbish of all kinds. Nonetheless, I made my way through the seemingly endless stalls of Indian tourist tat down to the water's edge where the men were enjoying a bath and the women enjoying dipping their toes in, fully clothed in their saris. I wandered up the coast for some peace and quiet and a chance to contemplate this place away from the hubbub, and I sat down on top of a wall built around a small sheltered cove, dangling my legs over the side. I heard a scuttle and looked down to see a man who I had unwittingly interrupted on the beach beneath me quickly stand up, pull his trousers up and scamper off, pretending he hadn't been using this holy beach as a toilet. That somehow broke the magic and I made my way back to the crowds to enjoy some hassle and banter. Something I find particularly baffling is the Indian obsesson (particularly male) with wanting to have photos taken with me, a perfect stranger. In my naivety, the first time someone walked up to me and said "Photo please" I thought they were asking me to take a photo of them with their mates. My gesture to take the camera was met with some amusement and before I knew it I was standing there saying "Cheese" feeling like a circus freak. Not particularly my idea of fun but I'm trying to be gracious (on good days).
I had a look around the Ghandi Mandapan, a peaceful memorial building built on the spot where his ashes were kept before they were immersed in the sea. It's constructed so that every year on his birthday the sun's rays fall on the place where his ashes were kept. Then I settled down to watch the famous sunset with the many other Indian tourists and pilgrims, enjoying having the time to contemplate the history of this place. Particularly significant for me was the fact that Kanyakumari - like much of the Tamil Nadu coastline - was badly hit during the 2004 tsunami. Being previously a stranger to these parts of the globe, I appreciated this chance to sit, contemplate and try to get my head around the reality of what happened here, especially with the anniversary looming, and to think about old, lost friends. I don't think I will ever be able to get my head around it, unless maybe I have the misfortune of experiencing something similar first hand. Nonetheless it feels more real now, and I am left in renewed awe at the fundamental, raw power of nature and the elements.
After some restorative sleep and yoga in my decidedly unfriendly hotel (with some quite friendly creatures in my very questionable bathroom) - never mind, it was very cheap :) - I got myself up and out and onto the boat over to the Swami Vivekanada Rock Memorial. Apparently on Christmas Day 1882 the famous yogi came and sat on this rock in deep meditation, following which he decided to dedicate himself to the motherland and spread the message of Vedanta. So this wonderful memorial was built to commemorate the occasion, and it really is quite a haven of peace, space and CLEANLINESS (.....mmmmmmm!) - thankfully worth the long wait in the very very long queues for the boat! So the story goes, at the time of the tsunami, whilst those on the mainland were badly hit, anyone who was on this rock was apparently saved..... I enjoyed visiting the two madapams, but the highlight of the trip was the meditation room, a really peaceful, dedicated space. I wish I had been allowed longer in there, but we were ushered through after about 5 minutes to make room for the constant stream of incoming people. So after replacing my shoes I joined the mile-long queue for the boat back to the mainland and got to witness more Indian (dis)organisation as the queue manager demonstrated the antithesis of diplomacy in his queue managing skills, for some reason favouring the packs of pushy young Indian men (not one of my favourite aspects of Indian society) over the calmer, more patient and restrained average visitor. Ommmm.
Back on the mainland, my bad timing meant I didn't make it into the temple that morning, and after a quick feed decided to make my way back up North again, this time destination Varkala, a mellow beach haven a bit further north of Trivandrum, back in Kerala. So I got myself back on the bus and retraced my steps back to the joy that is Trivandrum bus station. Having been unable to find anything resembling an information desk or ticket counter, in order to find the 'correct' bus I continued following the example of one of the few other western tourists I had so far encountered - a young Australian woman confidently yelling up to the bus drivers of all the departing buses, shouting the name of her destination and hoping to get some kind of intelligible response. Thus far the method had also proved successful for me, but at Trivandrum station at 6pm on a friday I didn't have the same luck. Evidently none of the conductors or drivers felt any desire to understand me, let alone help me, and after countless attempts, and with my backpack feeling increasingly unbearable, I found myself propped up on a pillar gazing into space, contemplating again how to go about taking the easy (taxi) route out - tut tut tut! That's when my guardian angel appeared. I must really have looked quite a sorry lost soul, as this angel of a young man, with almost Egyptian eyes so big and deep they seemed to go on for eternity, came up to me and in his best English accent asked me where I was going and promptly put me and my bag on the correct bus, told me where I needed to change, and helped me communicate with the conductor. Sometimes blessings do come when you really need them.
It was a long, windy, bumpy and very very tiring journey - else it certainly seemed that way, because although I didn't realise it I was coming down sick sick sick. Anyhow somehow I managed to get to Varkala beach and with the help of a lovely Scottish hippie found my cheap and extremely cheerful hotel, where I couldn't have been made to feel more welcome. At 11pm I was given a full tour of my quarters, including detailed introductions into the challenging technology of the light switches, mosquito nets, plumbing and windows (!!!!!). The plan was only to stay a day or two, just long enough to chill a bit on the beach and make a few travel plans, but I ended up staying for 5 days, thanks to the onset of a yummy and very full-on cold. Thank the Lord for good hosts and coconut water!
Thursday 14 January 2010
Getting started in Kerala
So I spent the next few days basically acclimatising to 'the Indian way' as it certainly was a bit of a culture shock, and recovering from the hectic week before my departure from the UK. When, on day one, I finally emerged from my hotel bed and summoned up the courage to face the street, which was sounding increasingly more daunting through the window, I think I must have stood there with the most gourmless expression on my face. In my jaded stunned state I just wanted more than anything to blend in to the background, and because everything was so unfamiliar I felt like I did exactly the opposite (and no doubt I did). Anyway I gradually found my feet, largely thanks to making a total fool out of myself in a variety of situations - like boldly thinking veg biryani was a vegetable curry and ordering it accompanied by 2 Kerala Paratha breads, only to be confronted wth more carbohydrate than I normally eat in a week (as is pretty common knowledge apparently, biryani is a rice dish!). As well as confusing the waiter by leaving the majority of the meal untouched, it just felt wrong to waste good food - it simply is, when everywhere you look here there are emaciated people in dire need of a simple meal. Another of my many memorable restaurant blunders was when I innocently went into a restaurant and sat down at an empty table alone, much to the amusement of the couple sat at the neighbouring four-person table, who were clearly expecting me to sit with them. The concept of personal space here is basically non-existent and, as with many things, space isn't wasted - why sit on your own at a new table when you can fill up an incomplete one? Rightly so. So I quickly learnt to nestle up with my fellow diners, even if it does mean that they can stare at you even more intently as you make a total horlicks of trying to eat your dinner with your fingers (one guy who I later sat opposite in Trichy was clearly so offended by my technique that he tried - incomprehensibly - to communicate to me the error of my ways - but soon gave up as I think he thought me a lost cause. He seemed visably irritated by my incompetance). Anyway, thankfully the couple seemed to find it more amusing than offensive - bloody stupid foreigners.
That's one thing that I really love about Indians. If you do something wrong, they let you know about it and put you right. If you don't know how to go about some incomprehensable ritual or custom, they will simply show you the way. There's no big deal, no making you feel like an idiot - well, not for longer than is absoltely necessary - just a simple telling you how it should be so that you can have the benefit of the knowledge and then it's over and done with, relatively quick and painless. I find this honesty and frankness so refreshing. I realise I have grown up in a culture that often tells me that I should know this-that-or-the-other, and if I don't it's something to be ashamed of and I probably shouldn't publicise it, best to just paper of the cracks and try to fit in. In a similar vein, how common is the person in Britain who will get up and tell that person to please turn off their irritating loud stereo in the quiet coach, compared to the rest who sit there silently condemning the offender, getting totally worked up in their own internal anger, but doing bugger all about it? I know its the infamous British stiff upper lip but I'm just realising how unnecessary and how poisenous it is. Finding myself in this culture where it's ok to make mistakes as people genuinely treat it as a learning curve, I'm gaining the confidence to continually embrace ever new and initially intimidating situations and experiences - because 9 times out of 10 someone will be looking to help me out and show me the ropes (even is they also want to make 10 rupees out of me at the same time). Most endearingly, this frankness, basically a simpler, more honest approach to life and learning, seems to create a people who are less complex and paranoid and more open and accepting. This attitude - helped I think by the heat - seems to extend too to the animals - cows, goats, dogs, cats, all living on a bizarre level of harmonious acceptance. Of course I'm generalising, but it's definitely a common trend.
Not that it's all sunshine and roses. Far from it, the laid back aspect of Indian culture can sometimes be a little frustrating in its indulgence. On day two in Trivandrum, I had my first bureucratic exravaganza trying to change 200 pounds into Indian rupees. Having been forewarned that this can be bit of a saga, I deliberatly chose a large and official-looking bank, the main branch of The State Bank of Kerala. Perhaps this was my error. When I finally managed to find the 'correct' department, which was a mission in itself, it then took me no less than an hour and a half to change my money. And there was no queue, in fact no other visible customers. After waking up the lady behind the counter who was enjoying an afternoon nap on her desk, I then had to fill out countless forms, including one noting down the serial number of every single one of the British notes I was changing. Once I had completed this part of the performance, she then re-entered all of the info into one of an enormous pile of large, dusty, torn, ancient-looking leather-bound data books (these were piled high on every desk in the room). This then got passed back to the more senior clerk sat at the desk behind her, who was slowly making his way through an enormous pile of similar-looking books, every now and then consulting the queen of operations who sat at the back appearing to do absolutely nothing. No urgency, mind, because I was sat there waiting to change some money - my matter would be dealt with once he had waded his way through his obviously very pressing pile. After a good 45 minutes, he got to my pile and, without even casting his eye over all the hard work myself and the junior clerk had done, took me back downstairs to the cashier and instructed him to give me my money, leaving me to wonder why we had bothered going through all of this preamble. And let it suffice to say that this next process took another age, as the cashier scrupulously counted and recounted every rupee before allowing them into my dangerous hands. At the end of the mission, after I was finally awarded my prize, I asked for a receipt. Apparently this is unheard of, 'not normal procedure madam.' All I could think to myself was: 'how very bizarre. I sit there and watch this long-winded, unnecessary bureucratic performance unfold and at the end of it I am not entitled to any record to tell me what I got in exchange for my money, but they have books full of data, noting every last serial number, that clearly noone is ever going to cast an eye over.' ASTOUNDING!
Anyway as a city I wasn't overly taken with Trivandrum but that might have been because I was still finding my feet and wasn't really feeling top dog due to general London exhaustion combined with hay fever and the onset of a horrid cold, toppled by intense heat in a big noisy city. Rumours had told me that it is a mellow city but that wasn't really my experience. So after a few days of noise and smog and a visit to the Zoo (not my normal kind of passtime but apparently one of the city highlights......?) and a few local temples, I finally plucked up the energy and courage to brave the bus down South. Still feeling a little intimidated by the prospect of public transport, I have to say I was tempted to take the easy taxi option, as they are relatively pretty cheap, especially for a relatively short (4-hour) hop. But thankfully I managed to find the courage to start as I intended to go on, and without too much difficulty (save being nearly run over several times in the chaos that it Trivandrum Bus Station) found myself in the luxury of a seat on a bus down to India's most Southern tip. I have since used the buses almost daily in my route through Kerala and Tamil Nadu, and can safely say I now finally feel fairly comfortable with the system; that is, after countless blunders, like putting my luggage in the 'incorrect' place, stealing the conductor's seat (both have specific locations which appear to be particular to each Indian state), parking myself next to men when apparently I should sit next to women if at all possible (at least in some areas), a couple of times falling on my face trying to ascend or desend the steps with my overloaded cargo, and last but not least getting off for a pee-stop somewhere in the hills of Tamil at about 2am and returning to find my bus (with my luggage aboard) pulling out of the bus station. I don't think screaming, flailing Western women are a common sight in those parts and I was certainly made to feel that my kind of hysteria was a little unnecessary. Really, madam, no need to get excited. Ahem.
That's one thing that I really love about Indians. If you do something wrong, they let you know about it and put you right. If you don't know how to go about some incomprehensable ritual or custom, they will simply show you the way. There's no big deal, no making you feel like an idiot - well, not for longer than is absoltely necessary - just a simple telling you how it should be so that you can have the benefit of the knowledge and then it's over and done with, relatively quick and painless. I find this honesty and frankness so refreshing. I realise I have grown up in a culture that often tells me that I should know this-that-or-the-other, and if I don't it's something to be ashamed of and I probably shouldn't publicise it, best to just paper of the cracks and try to fit in. In a similar vein, how common is the person in Britain who will get up and tell that person to please turn off their irritating loud stereo in the quiet coach, compared to the rest who sit there silently condemning the offender, getting totally worked up in their own internal anger, but doing bugger all about it? I know its the infamous British stiff upper lip but I'm just realising how unnecessary and how poisenous it is. Finding myself in this culture where it's ok to make mistakes as people genuinely treat it as a learning curve, I'm gaining the confidence to continually embrace ever new and initially intimidating situations and experiences - because 9 times out of 10 someone will be looking to help me out and show me the ropes (even is they also want to make 10 rupees out of me at the same time). Most endearingly, this frankness, basically a simpler, more honest approach to life and learning, seems to create a people who are less complex and paranoid and more open and accepting. This attitude - helped I think by the heat - seems to extend too to the animals - cows, goats, dogs, cats, all living on a bizarre level of harmonious acceptance. Of course I'm generalising, but it's definitely a common trend.
Not that it's all sunshine and roses. Far from it, the laid back aspect of Indian culture can sometimes be a little frustrating in its indulgence. On day two in Trivandrum, I had my first bureucratic exravaganza trying to change 200 pounds into Indian rupees. Having been forewarned that this can be bit of a saga, I deliberatly chose a large and official-looking bank, the main branch of The State Bank of Kerala. Perhaps this was my error. When I finally managed to find the 'correct' department, which was a mission in itself, it then took me no less than an hour and a half to change my money. And there was no queue, in fact no other visible customers. After waking up the lady behind the counter who was enjoying an afternoon nap on her desk, I then had to fill out countless forms, including one noting down the serial number of every single one of the British notes I was changing. Once I had completed this part of the performance, she then re-entered all of the info into one of an enormous pile of large, dusty, torn, ancient-looking leather-bound data books (these were piled high on every desk in the room). This then got passed back to the more senior clerk sat at the desk behind her, who was slowly making his way through an enormous pile of similar-looking books, every now and then consulting the queen of operations who sat at the back appearing to do absolutely nothing. No urgency, mind, because I was sat there waiting to change some money - my matter would be dealt with once he had waded his way through his obviously very pressing pile. After a good 45 minutes, he got to my pile and, without even casting his eye over all the hard work myself and the junior clerk had done, took me back downstairs to the cashier and instructed him to give me my money, leaving me to wonder why we had bothered going through all of this preamble. And let it suffice to say that this next process took another age, as the cashier scrupulously counted and recounted every rupee before allowing them into my dangerous hands. At the end of the mission, after I was finally awarded my prize, I asked for a receipt. Apparently this is unheard of, 'not normal procedure madam.' All I could think to myself was: 'how very bizarre. I sit there and watch this long-winded, unnecessary bureucratic performance unfold and at the end of it I am not entitled to any record to tell me what I got in exchange for my money, but they have books full of data, noting every last serial number, that clearly noone is ever going to cast an eye over.' ASTOUNDING!
Anyway as a city I wasn't overly taken with Trivandrum but that might have been because I was still finding my feet and wasn't really feeling top dog due to general London exhaustion combined with hay fever and the onset of a horrid cold, toppled by intense heat in a big noisy city. Rumours had told me that it is a mellow city but that wasn't really my experience. So after a few days of noise and smog and a visit to the Zoo (not my normal kind of passtime but apparently one of the city highlights......?) and a few local temples, I finally plucked up the energy and courage to brave the bus down South. Still feeling a little intimidated by the prospect of public transport, I have to say I was tempted to take the easy taxi option, as they are relatively pretty cheap, especially for a relatively short (4-hour) hop. But thankfully I managed to find the courage to start as I intended to go on, and without too much difficulty (save being nearly run over several times in the chaos that it Trivandrum Bus Station) found myself in the luxury of a seat on a bus down to India's most Southern tip. I have since used the buses almost daily in my route through Kerala and Tamil Nadu, and can safely say I now finally feel fairly comfortable with the system; that is, after countless blunders, like putting my luggage in the 'incorrect' place, stealing the conductor's seat (both have specific locations which appear to be particular to each Indian state), parking myself next to men when apparently I should sit next to women if at all possible (at least in some areas), a couple of times falling on my face trying to ascend or desend the steps with my overloaded cargo, and last but not least getting off for a pee-stop somewhere in the hills of Tamil at about 2am and returning to find my bus (with my luggage aboard) pulling out of the bus station. I don't think screaming, flailing Western women are a common sight in those parts and I was certainly made to feel that my kind of hysteria was a little unnecessary. Really, madam, no need to get excited. Ahem.
Saturday 2 January 2010
Better Late Than Never
And so, in true Palin style, the blog finally gets up and running two....well, nearly three......weeks into the trip. What can I say, it's been (nearly) three weeks of extremeties of all kinds, pretty jam-packed with all manner of different experiences, meetings, emotions. And every time I have consciously decided to set aside some time to get onto the darn computer, something or other has gotten in the way and it simply hasn't happened. But today on my bus ride down from the high up in the hills of Tamil I was thinking about Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, and perhaps that's why Ihave now finally found my way onto a computer and onto the blog. Hoorah.
So, where to begin? I arrived in India on the 15th December at 4.30am and the Indian experience began IMMEDIATELY. The flight had been really pretty painless. Despite my intentions to watch the entire journey out of the plane window, that didn't quite go according to plan as I got sat above the wing so had a view of sweet nothing. Not to worry though, it's been so long since I have been on a long haul flight, I had forgotten the good bits, and I proceeded to get very excited about having my own personal entertainment system (yes, even in economy class). So I managed to entertain myself all the way to Doha with a combination of movies and reading and every now and then and exploding with whoops and wails of hysteria (to the bewliderment of my fellow passangers) as I contemplated the four months ahead of me. Far from wanting the journey to end, I do believe I need every bit of that time to actually go through all the emotions of excitement and fear and panic and impatience and relief and WAHOOOOOOO! that bubbled up inside me, all the more extreme for the fact that I had had a total of 3 hours sleep the night before the journey began. So after changing planes at Doha, we landed at Trivandrum at about 3am in temperatures hotter than anything I've felt in London all summer long. And then we waited. And we waited. And we waited. And after about an hour our luggage very slowly started to appear on the luggage belt. And so began my first witnessing of a completely baffling Indian organisational (or lack of....) system. Keep some area around the luggage rack clear so that people can get in and out? Why on earth would you want to do that? No, in India what everyone must do is get the biggest trolley he can find and ram it as close up to the luggage rack as he can and refuse to move until he has loaded up all of his endless bags and boxes glued together with unbelievable quantities of brown tape. The entire baggage hall must become a gridlock of trolleys so that noone can move either closer to the luggage belt, or away from it. I tried to find a spot around the far side, but it was very badly chosen. This is where the airport luggage patrol decide to pull off any items that are not claimed in their first round, and simply pile them up, filling up any space that might have been left in the world's most congested hall. No matter how much I tried to inch away from them, they seemed determined (through my exhausted travel goggles) to swing each load into me, and needless to say I emerged with more than a few scrapes and bruises. What the purpose of this was, I really don't know, as in a hall that gridlocked, noone could get to the ever growing mountain of luggage anyway. Baffling.
Anyway finally my bag appeared and I managed to claim it before the luggage patrol had their way, and made my way out to meet the welcome party. I had heard that the airports in the bigger cities tend to be pretty crazy and overcrowded, but somehow I wasn't quite expecting it at Trivandrum at 5am. In my dazed state I was truly stunned by the hoards of people hanging over the railings - how can that many people just fancy turning out to the airport in the early hours of the morning? Of course, what I have since come to realise, is that in India, anything is basically an excuse for a party. Collecting from the airport? Heck, let's all go, let's have a party while we're at it! Bring the entire extended family, wear your best frocks, might as well bring all your really noisy toys while you're at it so we can make a really good din! Unfortunately, however, the pick-up that I had arranged didn't appear to be anywhere amongst the Where's Wally sea of faces I was confronted with, so I had no choice but to leap into an airport taxi and get totally conned in my tiredness and naivety. Well I wouldn't want to let the tourist side down. And then when I finally got to my hotel they had clearly forgotten all about me and it was all of my remaining energy to wake up the reception guy and convince him that I had indeed made a booking. Anyway, success at last, and I hit the pillow as the sun came up.
So, where to begin? I arrived in India on the 15th December at 4.30am and the Indian experience began IMMEDIATELY. The flight had been really pretty painless. Despite my intentions to watch the entire journey out of the plane window, that didn't quite go according to plan as I got sat above the wing so had a view of sweet nothing. Not to worry though, it's been so long since I have been on a long haul flight, I had forgotten the good bits, and I proceeded to get very excited about having my own personal entertainment system (yes, even in economy class). So I managed to entertain myself all the way to Doha with a combination of movies and reading and every now and then and exploding with whoops and wails of hysteria (to the bewliderment of my fellow passangers) as I contemplated the four months ahead of me. Far from wanting the journey to end, I do believe I need every bit of that time to actually go through all the emotions of excitement and fear and panic and impatience and relief and WAHOOOOOOO! that bubbled up inside me, all the more extreme for the fact that I had had a total of 3 hours sleep the night before the journey began. So after changing planes at Doha, we landed at Trivandrum at about 3am in temperatures hotter than anything I've felt in London all summer long. And then we waited. And we waited. And we waited. And after about an hour our luggage very slowly started to appear on the luggage belt. And so began my first witnessing of a completely baffling Indian organisational (or lack of....) system. Keep some area around the luggage rack clear so that people can get in and out? Why on earth would you want to do that? No, in India what everyone must do is get the biggest trolley he can find and ram it as close up to the luggage rack as he can and refuse to move until he has loaded up all of his endless bags and boxes glued together with unbelievable quantities of brown tape. The entire baggage hall must become a gridlock of trolleys so that noone can move either closer to the luggage belt, or away from it. I tried to find a spot around the far side, but it was very badly chosen. This is where the airport luggage patrol decide to pull off any items that are not claimed in their first round, and simply pile them up, filling up any space that might have been left in the world's most congested hall. No matter how much I tried to inch away from them, they seemed determined (through my exhausted travel goggles) to swing each load into me, and needless to say I emerged with more than a few scrapes and bruises. What the purpose of this was, I really don't know, as in a hall that gridlocked, noone could get to the ever growing mountain of luggage anyway. Baffling.
Anyway finally my bag appeared and I managed to claim it before the luggage patrol had their way, and made my way out to meet the welcome party. I had heard that the airports in the bigger cities tend to be pretty crazy and overcrowded, but somehow I wasn't quite expecting it at Trivandrum at 5am. In my dazed state I was truly stunned by the hoards of people hanging over the railings - how can that many people just fancy turning out to the airport in the early hours of the morning? Of course, what I have since come to realise, is that in India, anything is basically an excuse for a party. Collecting from the airport? Heck, let's all go, let's have a party while we're at it! Bring the entire extended family, wear your best frocks, might as well bring all your really noisy toys while you're at it so we can make a really good din! Unfortunately, however, the pick-up that I had arranged didn't appear to be anywhere amongst the Where's Wally sea of faces I was confronted with, so I had no choice but to leap into an airport taxi and get totally conned in my tiredness and naivety. Well I wouldn't want to let the tourist side down. And then when I finally got to my hotel they had clearly forgotten all about me and it was all of my remaining energy to wake up the reception guy and convince him that I had indeed made a booking. Anyway, success at last, and I hit the pillow as the sun came up.
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