Serendipitous Christmas

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.