Santa in the Sand (24 - 30 December 2008)

We spent Christmas having a holiday from our holiday! After the travails of India we took the short hop from Trivandrum to Sri Lanka. We then took the long hop by road from Colombo airport to the South Coast – a journey of 120 kms, taking an agonising five hours. This included negotiating the Christmas Eve traffic chaos of Colombo and the roadside stalls selling large branches of evergreen trees and blow up Santa’s. Fortunately, such signs of Christmas disappeared gradually as we moved South.
We selected our hotel in Hikkaduwa from an article in the Hong Kong Times. We read this just before we left Hong Kong at the very end of last year’s travels. The article raved about the Asian Jewel - a “hidden gem” in Sri Lanka. It was cheap, No 1 on Tripadvisor, had a lovely pool and we were intrigued. We discovered it was certainly “hidden” – 3kms up an unlit dirt road, past a very smelly tip, through the rice paddies and in the back of beyond. It was run by a British couple, Tanya and Dale and all that that implies…. To be fair, they made us feel very welcome, breakfasts were great and they helped us with our onward travel. Ant’s string hopper and curry dahl breakfast will live in his memory for a long time. And the pristine bathroom will live in Gill’s memory for about the same length of time! It was the first clean bathroom for a month. Tanya’s boob job was as perfect as the rest of the house. It must be the first “boutique” hotel in Asia to be designed and kitted out from the British High Street – we could have been anywhere. Music by Elvis and Celine Dion, Shepherd’s Pie on the menu, and for those in need a full English it even included specially imported HP Sauce. Tanya – or “Madam” as she like to be known ran her staff of seven boys with a rod of iron, no detail went unnoticed and she was inordinately proud of her home made soaps. Whilst she ran her boys, “Mr” Dale, (ex army and full of tattoos) ran to the beach every evening to get pissed with his ex pat mates while she drowned her loneliness with bottles of beer, and mugging her guests with tales of their domestic differences. This is so far removed from what we expected it was funny – but we have decided to move on for New Year.
Our stay at Hikkaduwa was dominated by the daily trip to the beach, where we would happily ensconce ourselves on a rustic four poster beds each line the beach, each beach bar competing with the next. We lounged there for up to ten hours for the price of drinks and lunch – heaven! The beach is glorious, a long stretch of sand shared by the fishermen and beach bars, big rolling waves attracting a cool surfer and post backpacker crowd. Each day blurred into the next punctuated only by banana pancakes, Sri Lankan prawn curry and rice and jaffles – the ubiquitous Sri Lankan toasted sandwich delivered to our beds (see Xmas lunch pics). We did however avoid the burgers from the “Burger Shag” – see pic.
Our hotel was about 3kms inland so whilst being peaceful, it meant that transport was obligatory (we walked it on Christmas Day, but the heat made it impossible to repeat). As a result we seem to have adopted a personal tuk tuk driver, Vimal. We summoned him when needed by asking whichever bar we were in to give him a call on his mobile. He always turned up almost immediately – which is some indication of the very quiet credit crunch season they are having. We managed to avoid all offers to meet his family, keeping the relationship on a purely business level, despite his gifts of fresh aloe vera and a bottle opener which he thought was a corkscrew. Our need for a corkscrew was due to our many alcohol emergencies in India. As a result of these and just to be sure, we shipped in a litre of Gordon’s and four bottles of wine – no way were we spending Christmas in a treasure hunt for the local “beverage corporation”. But as is our wont, with alcohol it is never straightforward. We discover Sri Lanka is awash with booze – indeed we are meeting them on home turf – Sri Lanka has the highest alcohol consumption per capita in the world – we may lose to them in cricket, but this barmy army wasn’t going to let the side down! So here we were in a land awash with alcohol, dragging bottles around – but now with no corkscrew! It was an inquiry to Vimal that produced the “antique” beer bottle opener – one of you may well be receiving this for next Xmas… One thing we are kicking ourselves about was that we forget to take up Vimal’s offer of a tuk tuk driving lesson, first offered late one evening after a couple of glasses of wine (us not him!) on a pitch black road with more potholes than the A1 in Baghdad.
We allowed long sunny days, curling our toes into the white sandy beach to be disrupted only rarely. Once to visit a turtle sanctuary and once to visit the UNESCO World Heritage site of Galle. Galle is a 17th century Dutch walled city which protected it from the Tsunami. Architecturally it is pretty complete, but a bit like the Glyngarth Villa, hasn’t seen a paintbrush since Day One. With the Foreign Office advice for Sri Lanka to “avoid large gatherings and any military installations” ringing in our ears (all due to the Tamil Tiger issue and their bombing campaign, reminiscent of IRA London), we arrived regally into Galle after the hour’s journey in our tuk tuk with Vimal sitting proudly at the helm only to find we were in the middle of a military/agricultural show! The place was heaving with people and military, with more weapons per square metre than either of us have ever seen before. We ignored Foreign Office advice and ploughed on to the rather gorgeous terrace of the Galle Fort hotel and chi chi boutiques, concluding with a dusk walk of the Fort ramparts greeting locals as we promenaded in the fading light.

The magic of massage (December 2008)

Hi, this is Ant – I was stripped naked, thrown onto a mat with a guy hanging on a rope massaging me with his feet for an hour. This may not be new to all of you, but it was for me. I am always up for a local massage and so was happy to be in Kerala, the home of Ayurvedic medicinal massages. Knowing that Ayurveda can be a little bizarre, I had opted for a ‘foot massage’ – expecting my feet to be massaged, when the above happened - once I had overcome my surprise it was actually a really good massage and I had a few more as we moved south along the coast. Always interested in novelties, the hour long pouring of hot oil onto forehead was the next to grab my attention. It promised to be a cure for insomnia and anxiety, and as I suffer from neither, it wasn’t an obvious choice but being the most bizarre on that particular menu, I did spend one afternoon In Kovalam enjoying the weird but strangely calming effect.

Gill is really bemused by the fact that at the start of each treatment the masseur dresses me in thong of toilet paper, which lasts all of two minutes (together with my modesty), as the massage shreds it to bits, You will all be glad that there are no photos accompanying this blog.

A Beach of two halves (21 - 23 December 2008)

A rest at last on the beach. At Kovalam – neither of us were looking forward to this as we expected it to be full of Europeans and we found it is actually it is a beach of two halves. Lighthouse Beach, touristy and horrible, Hawahi Beach, Indians, fishermen and something of old Kerala and this is where we stayed. We arrived a day early with nowhere to stay (Gill panicking again), but thanks to the credit crunch and Mumbai, we got perfect little rooms in the first place we stopped. Overlooking the beach we were lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves. Every morning, we awoke to the chants of fishermen as they manhandled their enormous nets ashore. We felt really comfortable here for three days. We did drag ourselves away on an expedition down the coast to the most Southerly point in India, stopping en route at a temple which was not even in the Lonely Planet and was a typical Tamil Nadu Hindu temple, heaving with devotees in their black temple lunghis. It was the first temple we had been to where men had to go topless, much to both our delight!
Just as an aside, the guy who runs the place where we are staying reminds us of an Indian John Cleese in Fawlty Towers, barking orders at his army of Manuel Patel’s. Still no “bar”, but on a twist to the beer in a teapot story, we have moved to beer and wine wrapped in newspaper on the sand! Gill is still carrying her “Sprite” in case of alcohol emergency….

Amma, the divine hugger (19 - 21 Decemer 2008)

“May the tree of our life be firmly rooted in the soil of love.
Let good deeds be the leaves on that tree.
May words of kindness form as flowers
And may peace be its roots.”

Despite all our mocking of Amma’s organisation, at its heart lies a caring and genuine woman. It has been recognised by the UN for making a massive contribution to many disaster relief efforts and tens of millions of dollars are raised annually but more importantly does this more quickly than any government or NGO. For example 46 million dollars was given to Tsunami victims in India, building 100,000 new homes for slum dwellers in India, earthquake disaster relief, projects to end farmer suicide in India, training women, care homes for the elderly, orphanages, hospices, schools, universities, food for the homeless, medicines, pensions, medical research, schools of dentistry, pharmacy, engineering and bio-technology. We genuinely believe that her heart is in the right place but there is definitely a cult element to the way that she is worshipped by others especially the SSC’s. But the good she does outweighs the (in our view) spiritual nonsense that is peddled. She probably is a cause for good and brings comfort to many millions. The unbelievable thing about this is that is it all achieved by hugging and this is what we came for….
Amma (meaning the universal mother) has a global organisation, and has addressed the UN. She has hugged everyone from Clinton to Richard Gere to Mother Theresa and Gill and Ant. She spends a lot of time travelling overseas fundraising so we were really lucky to be at her home ashram when she was there. Whilst at her home ashram, Amritapuri, (amritapuri.org) she holds Darshan or blessing /hugging four days a week. This involves
“tenderly caressing everyone who comes to her, holding them close to her heart in a loving embrace, Amma shares her boundless love with all – regardless of their beliefs, who they are or why they have come to her. In this simple yet powerful way, Amma is transforming the lives of countless people, helping their hearts to blossom one embrace at a time.”
The sessions can last up to 22 hours. On our Darshan day she hugged non stop for 11 hours and we calculate she hugged her way through 3500 individuals – apparently she has hugged over 27 million people. Amma’s teachings are universal. Whenever she is asked about her religion, she replies that her religion is love. She does not ask anyone to believe in God or change their faith, but only to enquire into their own real nature, and to believe in themselves. The whole support infrastructure of the hugging process is fascinating. She turned up at the Darshan hall at 11 am and the hugging commenced. As it was to be our first meeting with Amma we had been given early numbered tickets to receive our divine hug but had been warned we may have to wait many hours. Full of curiosity we sat in the hall, fully robed in white, awaiting our turn when we were approached by an SSC asking simperingly if we gave “good Prassad”. We had no idea what this meant but we said yes anyway. We then spent 15 minutes in intense training as it turned out we had been selected to kneel at Amma’s left side and place prassads (Holy gifts) into her left hand whenever she displayed it in a certain way – these gifts were then passed on to each huggee! We were both a little nervous at being chosen, and suddenly catapulted from obscurity to the centre of a huge stage in the temple on our knees all in white as personal handmaidens to the universal mother. We managed (just) not to laugh! We were handed from SSC to SSC who instructed us in the very precise form that the prassad was to be place in Amma’s left hand whenever she opened it. It was serious stuff – the prassads consisted of a very small brown envelope full of holy ash wrapped around a pink boiled sweet that were being furiously wrapped by other SSC’s who were also on their knees, to be handed to us to be placed in Amma’s divine hand. This sounds very simple but the intensity and seriousness of our training meant we became terrified to hand a series of boiled sweet to this divine figure in front of 3500 people – it could have gone horribly wrong. Gill went first and was very successful as Amma picked up speed as her confidence in Gill’s prassad giving increased. Every time Amma’s left claw-like hand appeared Gill was urgently prodded by anther SSC in case she was out by a millisecond. Five passads in two minutes must be a world record by any standards. In complete contrast and despite all his training, Amma, during Ant’s two minutes, was in deep conversation with a huggee and the claw never appeared, so Ant was never able to demonstrate his prassad delivering technique. But we have both knelt at the feet of Amma as she was busy hugging, talking and laughing with person after person in her Divine hugging conveyor belt. We reckon it was our ashram chic that got us chosen. And for us this wasn’t even the main event - we still were due our hug.
After this prassad excitement, we returned to the floor to await our turn, and then our number was called (bit like Sainsbury’s really) so we joined the back of the queue and were handed through yet another stream of SSC’s for two hours in order to receive our Darshan. There were shopping opportunities in the queue where gifts for Amma could be purchased – bowls of fruit or plastic flower garlands. These, once presented to Amma were swiftly recycled by yet another team off SSC’s, back to the stall in a never ending loop of divine recycling. Watching the joy in other people’s faces after they received their hug was amazing – and she has a lovely face and looks a comforting person. As we got closer we were asked to wipe our faces of sweat, remove glasses and jewels and leave our bags behind. We were asked what language we spoke before yet again having to go on our knees to crawl across the stage towards Amma who was still resplendent in her big white armchair. She is a well built, 55 year old woman, of ample bosom. This time Ant went first and greeted her with hello and a big smile – she clutched his head to her bosom laughing loudly and rocking back and fore as she whispered “my son, my son, my son”. Being a politely brought boy, he said thank you which brought about even more laugher and yet another round of hugging. She smelt of a sweet rose oil which is now divinely impregnated on our ashram chic outfits. Not looking at Ant in case of fits of giggles, Gill crawled forward on her knees for her turn at a hug – this time Amma whispered “my daughter, my daughter, my daughter” but Gill didn’t get quite the laughter Ant did.
This was full circle for us – we were each given a prassad by the mother. We probably each spent 20 seconds with Amma but it felt genuine – given she had been doing this for eight hours by the time we were hugged it felt like we were the first, and she looked fresh as a daisy. She is certainly a pro, but on balance it was probably the most bizarre day we have had in our lives. We are sure she does great work, ashram life is not for us, spirituality is not our bag but we both in hindsight are really chuffed that we spent 48 hours in an Indian ashram, got hugged by the Mother and bought some fab white clothes – but are unlikely to repeat it!

Ohm................ (19 - 21 December 2008)

Ohm…………………… (19 – 21 December 2008)
“Everyone in the world should be able to sleep without fear, at least for one night. Everyone should be able to eat his fill, at least for one day. There should be at least one day when hospitals see no one admitted due to violence.
By doing selfless service for at least one day, everyone should help the poor and needy. It is Amma’s prayer that at least this small dream be realised”
Sri Mata Amritanandamayi Devi – Known as Amma (Mother)

Our spiritual journey commenced with a punt across a backwater and falling out with the ferryman over two rupees. It was an inauspicious start… It was with some trepidation that we entered the ashram compound and another world. The temple and the red floored yard looked like a scene from “one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” with the inmates wandering around the inner courtyard of a lunatic asylum, as white garbed devotees floated around with beatific smiles on their faces. Another of Ant’s ideas – what have we done. We were required to give our spiritual names at check in – from here on in let it be known that we now wish to be addressed as “Shanti” and “Shilli”. Gill had been dreading this for months and had visions of it being like H block of the Maze prison – she wasn’t far wrong and she burst in to tears as we removed the padlock from the door to the room! Two plastic chairs were padlocked to a bedframe. There was a plastic mattress on the floor, a metal wardrobe stuffed to the gills with someone else’s belongings and a “bathroom” that will haunt Gill for many a year! And this was an upgrade – we were faking it as a couple so at least we could have a room – the alternative was single sex dorms. The walls were dirty – the windows had bars and there was no bedding, towels, pillows – not even those lovely little soap things one has come to expect. We never did get bedding – it could be hired for the day from central stores but we forgot – so we slept for two nights with no bedding, pillows or towels – Ant squelching and sticking to his plastic mattress on the floor (he was a gent and offered Gill the material one – lovely!) There was no pleasure to be had spending much time in this room so went for an explore. Things went downhill. The ashram compound was made up of several tower blocks in a dirty shade of pink and accommodated up to 2000 people. The main temple, surrounded by little shops and offices and then the Darshan Hall, open to the elements on three sides and dominated at the front by a huge stage featuring big images of Amma and which could seat 3000. There were kitchens, eating areas, laundries, ecology offices, printing press, ayurvedic clinics, and joy of joys a shop selling the music, pictures and icons of Amma in all her glory. There were far more Indians than Westerners but it was the Westerners we noticed. They all looked a “certain type” – had they been British (but they weren’t, they were American, German and French) they would have been Guardian readers. 80% female, all clad in white (actually grey white – the laundry can’t be that good) saris and togas, with this self satisfied smug expression on their faces. We christened them the “Self Satisfied Clingons” (SSC’s). The way we were dressed was totally unsuitable so it didn’t take long to nip into the Ashram shop and kit ourselves out in modest white cotton outfits as required (see pics ). We were the only two that accessorised with sunglasses, baseball hat, beads and bangles – we needed to boost the Ashram chic quotient – even though we may have stood out over the two days. This Ashram shop “for all your Ashram needs” was also available to supply us with loo paper and soap and a metal mug (see later).
Feeling more at home we went to Banjans (devotional singing) session – it shows how desperate we were, but we enjoyed it! But we were multi tasking, reading and Ant sending e mails on his blackberry during them. At the end of the Banjans we queued to inhale the smoke and throw petals at Amma’s altar on the stage.
An important element of an Ashram visits is Seva – selfless service – this is how the ashram runs and anyone staying is expected to contribute. Gill has been dreading this too imagining she will be given toilet duties (she had even packed rubber gloves just in case). However, our seva was to set up and run some stalls in the flea market on Sunday morning – we didn’t actually bother doing it as we’d lost interest by then.
Food was a trial for the three days – basically the £2 accommodation charge includes three free meals a day and two “chai” breaks. This food is slopped to the masses out of huge stainless steel vats into stainless steel bowls – it reminded Gill of Biafra! No such gruel passed our lips. We feasted on vegan biscuits, coconuts, and crisps and Kits Kats from a local shop. We did however have to buy our own stainless steel mug as we really didn’t fancy the others after our first experience. We’d had a hot drink, and feeling charitable Ant decided not to leave the cups on the table so we asked one of the SSC’s where to put them. With a smile he was informed to go to the trough (water piped in directly from the backwaters, and fittingly, the Ashram version of fairy liquid was a tub of ash to use if any scouring were needed!) and wash it for himself and then to go the racks to dry it with some grubby, homespun cotton organic teatowels – it was never like this in Starbucks. Our only escape was in a filthy little café down a lane, just outside the ashram which sold drinking coconuts and cokes. We were frequent visitors for a fix. We were impressed however with the speed the Ashram managed to feed the 2000 inmates – the line moved quickly as people stood clutching their metal plates and tins like something from Auschwitz.
Determined to experience everything we tried to slot it all in. A typical day: (4.50am – 6am) the chanting of the 1000 names of the Divine Mother in the chanting hall – Ant did this. Followed by Ashtanga yoga class (7.30am – 9am) – Ant did this. Breakfast 9am – even Gill got to this but only for a vegan biscuit! The majority of the day was taken up with the Darshan or blessing of which more later. But there was meditation on the beach 5pm – 6pm – Ant did this. 6.30 pm more Banjans – Ant and Gill did this. Dinner was at 9pm – but this didn’t happen for either of us and we were physically locked in our rooms by 11pm. Did we mention the bar? No, as there wasn’t one! We are proud to say that despite smuggling gin in a Sprite bottle neither of us touched it for two days.
By day two we needed a break, so wearing full Ashram garb we escaped by crossing the river over the Ashram bridge – had we still had our passports (these were taken on arrival) we may not have gone back! But to be fair to Amma and the Ashram, at no point did anyone ever try to persuade us to give money – in fact we still don’t know how to donate even if we wanted to – we were always there of our own free will and no one tried to sign us up for anything –perhaps we were giving out less than “potential devotee” vibes!!
We are glad we visited and we valued the experience but it was with a huge sigh of relief that we left – taking all the pics and video we could as we had been denied this for two days.
We are unlikely to bless Amma again with our presence, and you can now all be witness to Ant’s promise never to come up with such a stupid idea ever again……

Barefoot in the Backwaters (17 - 18 December 2008)

Kerala’s backwater’s have been on both our lists for some time and we planned to make the 127km North (Thanmirmukkam) to South (Kollam) by rice barge to move us further South on our journey. It got off to dodgy start as we waited on a remote, decaying and dusty concrete pier where “we saw no ships”. Finally on the distant horizon our home for the next two days appeared – a coir covered converted rice barge, the blue tarpaulin covering part of the roof, proved that this was going to be as authentic and rustic an experience as we had hoped. Our rice barge has two bedrooms and two attached bathrooms, much to Gill’s delight. There are three crew - a driver, an engineer and a cook (Jose, Mannur and Rajeevan). It was so exciting to set off across Lake Verbandum and its floating islands of water hyacinths. The backwaters are a patchwork of fresh water inland lagoons and large freshwater lakes running parallel to the sea, coconut palms everywhere, rice paddies, small villages on the sand strips, children waving and asking for “one pen please”, it felt like yet another Royal progress. To move on, we often had to pause for the fishermen to pull up their nets and duck farmers to gather their huge flocks of ducks back off the water and into their pens for the night. As we moved south to the salt water channels, we sailed through miles of Chinese shrimp fishing nets on which we spotted cranes, cormorants and fabulous white headed fish eagles. Despite this being peak season and the horror stories you hear of boat jams, we saw hardly any other boats during the two days – this we understand is because we chose a north south journey, rather than the more traditional Alleppey – Alleppey one day round trip. We had the backwaters to ourselves. But as usual nothing is ever straightforward – there is point on the journey which is shallow and salt water meets fresh. This is only passable at certain times due to tides – one ship with a deeper draft had been waiting six months to go through whilst dredging slowly took its course – this is India don’t forget. But luckily for us and for some unknown reason, we only had to over-night at this spot for 15 hours – and it’s amazing how relaxed we have both become. We have both cast off our watches and our shoes. Dinner at this stopover necessitated a trip with the chef to the local village to buy four huge prawns – each the size of a small lobster. Having seen the source (a shack containing an antique chest fridge), Gill was amazed at what she was about to eat. We have spent the days taking in the tropical splendour, no reading or listening to music – just lazing languidly on the front deck watching as we passed the world by. All of the local men wear lunghis which they are deft at arranging – Anthony took lessons from Jose the driver and has consequently spent an inelegant 2 days in boats, villages and canoes displaying his wares to the world. Whilst an amusing sight to the locals, it was not a pretty one. It has spent more time dragging in the mud and water than covering his modesty! The food has been amazing, Gill has eaten all sorts despite it being produced from a kitchen at the back of the boat that perhaps we really don’t want to see. The feasts at each mealtime arrive with great pomp and pride and include eight or nine Keralan dishes, snake beans, lake fish, lots of coconut, popadoms and puras, fat Keralan rice, dahl, banana in curd and a variety of other vegetables, and of course that famous Keralan delicacy the shrimp. Today’s lunch was served on a enormous banana leaf, and we are both proud to say we managed to eat it all in the traditional way with our fingers – or in Ant’s case up to his elbow – right hand only of course! Today’s shrimp were bought from fisherman who came alongside – four men and a baby with a bag of shrimp! We couldn’t communicate with them but we both ended up crawling down the side of our boat for what we thought was a short five minute canoe ride. There was much fear on Gill’s face which had abated somewhat after an hour on said canoe – they had to keep us occupied whilst lunch was cooked perhaps. It soon became apparent that the small canoe, as well as fishing was used to transport coal or charcoal as evidenced by the black marks all over our clothes. At one point we had to crouch down low in the boat to get under a low concrete bridge, the boatman thought this so funny he made us go through it again… We both had a go at paddling and in summary provided yet again another hour’s entertainment for the local villagers. Finally getting back to the boat, predictably Ant decided to go for a swim, so removing his lunghi with some panache jumped into the lake a swam around for 20 minutes, almost being carried off by the strong current. Crawling back on to the boat was not elegant! Lots of coir rope making villages line these backwaters. We pulled over at one which was so un-commercial – and we are sure they were not expecting two “trannies off a boat” – let me explain. Ant was clad in his lunghi which looked almost sari like – Gill was in shorts, to the naked eye we looked like a couple of cross dressers. Left to our own devices, we wandered off further into the village. We stumbled into a family compound as they were preparing a meal over the open wood fire. We were forced to sit on elegantly carved brown plastic chairs as yet again we were a source of amusement. But we were made so welcome being offered chai and freshly cut fruit – again, we hope no offence was taken at our refusal! We were then dragged into the front room of a “house” by a sadhu looking character where we were proudly shown the village altar, complete with marigolds, jasmine and incense sticks. Frankly they would have been better off spending their money on Mr Muscle but I suppose we all worship at different temples!
You will remember the Fort Cochin alcohol expedition and all the effort we put in to finding wine – you can imagine our dismay when we got on board and casually asked for a corkscrew only to find that there wasn’t one! However this was soon solved by an emergency errand by Head Office – one was delivered to a quayside where one was collected four or five hours later, and we are pleased to report that the wine was actually drinkable.
We are writing this on our final evening in the dark moored up along the bank, the cicada’s chirping away, the stars twinkling above and we have no idea where we are and haven’t had for two days. Earlier as we ate, the local Christian, Hindu and Muslim temples were competing to attract attention by playing temple music at full volume. Thankfully this has now receded and we are peace with the world, except for a barking dog that sounds for all the world like an indignant Dylan who has been left behind. The Ashram awaits…….

Chillin' out in Fort Cochin (15 - 16 December 2008)

The Lonely Planet says that you can hear travellers’ sigh’s of relief on arrival at Fort Cochin – how right they are. It’s pretty, charming, laid back, hassle free, chi-chi, and in a beautiful natural harbour setting. What more could we want. The journey here started off with a 24 km autorickshaw ride as we headed south on Vypeen Island towards the ferry – our auto rickshaw laden with us inside and our baggage on the roof. It was slow at times as we wended between coconut groves, small hamlets and backwaters with the occasional view of a beach. We boarded the ferry in roll on roll off style with our wheelie bags together with the ice cream vans, motorbikes, autorickshaw’s and pedestrians to make the short crossing to Fort Cochin. Gill had already anticipated the international headlines – “overladen ferry sinks in Cochin harbour – all lives lost”. Actually the 300 metre trip was uneventful, Ganesh was looking after us. We saw a beacon in the distance next to the roll off ramp – a posh hotel with canvas umbrellas in the gardens sheltering people drinking wine – hooray we will love it here!

From the moment we disembarked Fort Cochin’s laid back hassle free vibe had an effect, yet another different Indian experience. Here we were to sleep in a homestay the Mother Tree Inn a short autorickshaw ride from the fort. Run by two brothers, cute little rooms (Gill hated the very blue bathroom….) in a quiet sidestreet by the Basilica for $10 a night. In the time we were here, we even got to know the neighbours who were painting their bright blue house for Xmas – this is really a Christian town, with churches everywhere. There a number of large 16th century Portuguese and Dutch basilicas dotted around, as well a proliferation of smaller churches which are an interesting mix of Hinduism and Christianity, and again we lit a candle for Kev. A town made for wending which we do very well. Cute little shops, narrow lanes, goats everywhere, neat schoolchildren, but still no “bars” that actually sell alcohol. However to beat the licensing laws, special tea is everywhere. It took us a while to realise that people were not tea junkies, the teapots were filled with beer – are the police really that stupid? But Ant did enjoy many a cuppa! Fort Cochin is also famous for its large cantilevered fishing nets and it is fun to watch the effort going in to catching so little. But the background to these ancient nets is a deep channel out to the Arabian Sea with almost constant container, fishing and oil tankers gliding by less than 100 metres offshore. Promenading along the sea shore we were yet again a source of bemusement as we had to stop every few yards to pose and shake hands with Indian tourists… We still haven’t worked out why us. Perhaps it’s the Brangelina effect – but don’t worry there are no plans to adopt loads of children yet – the only kids we are interested in are the baby goats which are everywhere and are very cute. The only time we weren’t photographed (but really wanted to be…) was when we walked by a Bollywood film in the making. Ant did his best Bangra dance to get the attention of the Director, but to no avail.

The only problem with Fort Cochin is the niceness of the shops and it didn’t take long – Gill indulged in an ayurvedic detoxing blouse (the King’s new clothes comes to mind) and given the small amount of alcohol available, it’s not needed just at the moment. But shopping still necessitated an emergency parcel home. Sounds easy but it isn’t. Parcels are not accepted at the post office unless they have been wrapped and sewn with white cotton and sealed with wax. That job duly completed, and multiple carbon copied forms filled in, the parcel was despatched. It may be gone some time….
Our days were spent wandering with frequent dips into the two boutique hotels, the Malabar House and the Bruton Boatyard. They became home from home very quickly, even though the Indian Sauvignon Blanc was £5 a pop, but it is nice to see a white linen tablecloth after ten days on the road. Talking of alcohol, keen observers of this blog would have been aware that our travels had been saved up to this point by a one litre bottle of Duty Free Gordon’s. This had frequently sustained us in times of need, but we still had 1/3 of the bottle left. Such need occurred one afternoon on the terrace of our overwater bungalows in Cherai Beach. BUT ANTHONY LEFT IT OUT ON THE TERRACE OVERNIGHT. When we got up the next morning the bottle was completely empty. Anthony has a lot to make up for for being so careless with our most valuable asset! This necessitated a desperate hunt in Fort Cochin for supplies for our forthcoming two day backwater houseboat trip. We finally were successful – we queued up at the Kerala Government Beverage Corporation shack along with the town’s wino’s – it felt like queuing for methadone at Superdrug – it came wrapped in newspaper from behind a strong metal cage. But we’re not proud and we’ll let you know what it tastes like in a couple of days. In typical Ant & Gill fashion we headed off in the opposite direction to the other tourists and found ourselves in the old alleys by the waterfront dripping with atmosphere, beautiful but falling down houses, every kind of rice and spice (including courtyards of ginger drying in the sun). Fragrant India came to the fore, star anise battling at times with sewers – only in India. This brought is to Jewtown which is the antique quarter and we visited an Aladdin’s Cave of Indian antiques. Let’s hope that Ant’s purchase of a pair of life size temple bull heads, which are being shipped as we speak, make it home before we do…….

Blogging on the beach (14 December 2008)

After a gruelling tortuous seven hour, 200 mile journey in a small car with the bags strapped to the top, we made it down the Eastern slopes of the Western Ghats and into the God’s Own Country, Kerala from Tamil Nadu. We had no accommodation booked, but we have landed on our sunbeds on palm lined Cherai Beach, north of Cochin where we are “kicking back” on a peaceful Sunday. Watch the video and weep! You can just catch a glimpse of Anthony at the end – this veggie diet is certainly building his muscles…..

So long, farewell (13 December 2008)

We thought we would leave our staff to bid farewell to us from Ooty in their own special way. Click on the vid to see.

Trekking for Toda's, Tea and Tipples (10 - 13 December 2008)

We came to Ooty to trek in the Western Ghats – and we did, three times.
Talk about keeping it in the family, our first trek was guided by the chef, the second by the driver, but the third and most important we did alone and in secret…
Our shorter 10km trek took us past lakes and through evergreen forests to visit the unbelievably isolated Christian church of the local Toda (indigenous) people. We crossed rivers and vegetable fields (carrots are big here in more ways than one) to get there. Of course we were offered tea, of course we declined – it would have been a sip to far but they were really welcoming. On the way back we came across a group of guys fishing in the bend of a river – the river was generally clean apart from this bit where all of the detritus from upstream had gathered – why they were fishing here we have no idea, but it reinforced our decision to remain veggie. A really good trek, but a bit tame.
We had come for something a bit more rugged and the driver guide delivered it in spades the next day with a spectacular 20km hike through the hilly tea plantations around Coonor. The immaculately plucked tea gardens, often alive with women tea pluckers, as they tended their perfectly topiaried bushes. We were high above the clouds with spectacular settings, waterfalls, more nitms and monkeys everywhere. We called in at a tea processing plant and like the sandalwood factory in Mysore, this too was not working – is India closed? But Ant did get a cup of proper tea, not the chai so often offered on station platforms and the like. We were really lucky (?) on this hike to see a lone, enormous jungle bison bull. Our guide got nervous as they are renowned for being really tetchy. We survived the encounter. This was the furthest Gill has ever walked and is great training for Adam’s Peak. For those of you who are interested, we hiked past Lamb’s Rock to Dolphin’s Nose and saw Catherine’s Falls in the Nilgiri Hills above Coonor.
Before we tell you about trek three, we just want to point out that although this blog has innumerable references to alcohol, we can never get any! Every restaurant we have gone to in Ooty including at our hotel is dry. Although Joshua did manage to find us a dusty bottle of red one night which was well received, although it would have tasted better with some salt on chips! Our real issue is yet again, wine – Indian or any wine. One afternoon we act like a couple of crack whores as we scour Ooty town’s nooks and crannies entering the most unsavoury looking dens in search of a bottle – despite the few we found being called “wine shops”, no wine was to be had. Resigned and dejected we gave up when lo and behold across a busy road we saw a shop with bottles of red wine on display. Dodging buses, trucks and cattle, we raced across with expressions of joy on our faces and were even more delighted to discover that they were only £3 each. “We’ll take them all” we declared to the bemused Islamic shopkeeper. It was only then that we saw what must be the worst words in the English language on the label – “non-alcoholic wine” – our despair was complete. And thereby ended the third trek. It was at this point we decided to make an early exit from Ooty and descend to the warmer plains tomorrow.

Ooty 'aint so snooty any more (10 - 13 December 2008)

Just below the summit of the Western Ghats on the western side, lies Ooty. Hilly, red soils, lush and sprawling over rolling hills, the Raj era bungalows, churches and clubs co-exist with modern day India. Apart from its altitude, it doesn’t have much going for it these days. The major sights are St Stephen’s Cathedral, done, tick, next. The racecourse, done, tick, next. The boating lake (see later) and la piece de resistance, the Thread Garden.
The (self proclaimed) world wonder, the Thread Garden is a rather tired tent full of a garden and its plants made entirely of embroidery thread – dull, dusty and in need of a damn good clean. This really was as interesting as it sounds. We didn’t stay long.
The boating lake is straight from 1950’s England with pedallos and Mickey Mouse rowing boats and is obviously a big pull. We were reluctant visitors, but in a temporary lapse of good taste, we went anyway. The crowds were all sporting warm beanies (see photo) with their saris and kurta pyjamas. This sunny, but winter afternoon was merely fresh for us but freezing for them. We were mobbed (we felt like Posh and Becks but in reality are more like Charles and Camilla). This has happened several times on this trip and may be explained by the total lack of any other Westerners. We just never see them. This time we attracted a bunch of students from Kerala in exuberant mood (obviously stone cold sober – see many comments about this alcohol free zone) and after all the usual interogatory questions (where are you from, what do you do, do you like cricket) we were serenaded by the song you can see in the attached video. They were insistent that we return the favour. Inspired by the boating lake and the Scottishness of the environment the only song that we could come up with was a painful duet of “My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean”. Luckily this was not captured on video, but yet another of those really memorable moments.
We experienced some of the Raj era hotels with drinks on the lawn and dinner at the Savoy, and dinner at the Kings Cliffe.

The Hills are alive with a Sahib and Memsahib (10 - 13 December 2008)

The Glyngarth Villa, a Scottish style, turreted, hunting Lodge, built in 1850 by one of the Snooty Ooty crowd, is now a heritage home with five enormous bedrooms, a reading room, dining room and a sitting room. A sweeping staircase, stuffed animal heads on the walls, four- poster beds, wooden floors. A Westminster chimes clock in the hall. Log fires everywhere, manicured lawns with marigolds, cornflowers and roses, spectacular views out over the valley. A round glass summerhouse, picket fences, a swing in the garden and table on the lawn. All this for £35 a night, sounds idyllic doesn’t it?
There had to be a catch and there was! All of the above is true, but we would just like to add that nothing had been touched in 100 years. The yellow wall plaster was peeling, there were damp patches everywhere, the well stocked bar held only empty bottles, the summerhouse had no glass. Gill had no hot water or a flushing loo, the vintage car on the porch hadn’t moved since the 50’s and damp logs don’t make for good fires! And the lawns were ruined by the rotting hulk of a Swiss cottage built as a set for a long forgotten Bollywood movie. A noisy gaggle of geese told us that this was going to be a hoot.

We were the only guests and we had the overwhelming attention of a huge staff – Joshua the manager, Rajesh the butler, Hari the chef, Annan the driver, three fireboys and two room cleaners.
On the staff front things started to get even more ridiculous when our personal musician arrived, just as we were tucking into pre dinner pakoras and a pre prandial gin and Limca (large) in front of a struggling log fire. It was suddenly just too silly – and we had one of those eyes can’t meet moments as we just knew we would lose it in hysteria. This wasn’t helped when said personal musician revealed his Yamaha organ and gave a jaunty rendition of Che Sera Sera. You had to be there, but it will be one of the more abiding memories. After dinner we also discovered the 1930’s wind up gramophone, and took a turn about the floor with Joshua in that very 30’s way.
Things got a lot worse a little later after a few more post prandial G&T’s. As the staff lined up in the hall to wish us goodnight, Gill stumbled (staggered.. ) over the step that she was sure hadn’t been there earlier….
At night it was bloody freezing, even Rajesh the butler was sporting a beanie hat after dark – this complemented by his elaborate bindi and bow tie. House rules dictated that the sitting room fire could only be lit after 6pm. Bedroom fires ten minutes before bed. These fires were never really a success in generating any heat at all in these enormous rooms, despite the continuous efforts of the three young fireboys. The upside though is that you don’t need to unpack, take many showers or undress as it’s too cold! Gill slept fully clothed with a scarf on for three nights… The dining room was even colder, no fire was lit in there at all. Our candlelit dinner was the fastest on record as the candles and the curry were providing the only heat. Breakfast was better as some sunshine got through – and coffee was brought to us on the lawn whilst we stood in the sun defrosting as hot dosas and banana pancakes were prepared for us. Diet, what diet?

Off to the Queen of Hill Stations - Ooty (10 December 2008)

We found a man in the street in Mysore whom we paid to take us the 87 miles to Ooty. Formerly known as Snooty Ooty, it is a left over from the days of the Raj, where the Brits used to escape the heat of the searing summer on the plains. But we are going ahead of ourselves. The 87 miles took an agonising 3.5 hours, and for India the roads weren’t bad. We dodged trucks, rickshaws buses, potholes and cows crossing through a couple of National Parks. We started to climb into the Western Ghats. The mountains towered ahead of us and to get to the top at 6,000 feet we needed to negotiate 36 hairpin bends. This may sound easy but this was almost vertical, done in 1st gear in an Indian car with a severe overheating problem, weighed down by us and our luggage. This necessitated several stops to give a chance for the steam to subside. The views back over the plains were amazing until we entered the clouds. There were Nitms everywhere. Through the mist, locals appeared carrying piles of log faggots on their heads. And they needed them, the higher we went, the colder it got. It was not a peaceful drive, as well as precipitous edges, the very narrow escapes from hitting other vehicles, the cacophany of car, bus and lorry horns followed us for the entire journey.
It was with some relief that we arrived at Ooty and our home for the next few days, the Glyngarth Villa.

Footsore in Mysore (8 - 9 December 2008)

Do you know when you arrive somewhere on a train and get a good vibe you like immediately, this for us was Mysore. To get here we had taken the Shadbadti Express from Bangalore - 2nd class aircon chair class – this included lunch and a beautifully upholstered ripped, blue vinyl seat. The Sahdbadti express expressed at an average speed of at least 15mph – the bus may be quicker but this was more fun. Mysore station is a Raj pink confection teeming with Indian life – we have now definitely arrived in the real India – and to celebrate we took an Ambassador car to the hotel – which was bigger and flashier than we expected with a smart, uniformed doorman. However, the interior design taste was questionable – the restaurant is a dark polystyrene cave and the coffee shop is a very realistic plastic jungle complete with plastic birds, snakes and trees – I’m a Celeb meets It ain’t half hot mum meets the Flintstones just about sums it up! This is a pleasant city of wide Raj era boulevards peppered with circuses (roundabouts) all topped with regal statues surmounted with gold in that typical Clapham Common bandstand way.
We feel as if we have really settled in – please look at the pics of us in our new costumes – well, they say travel ages the soul…..
Our overriding memory of Mysore will be buying fragrant oils in the market, climbing up and down a 1200 step hill, and chasing around town desperate for decent coffee and wine like Patsy and Edina on a mission – there is a dearth of both, even the restaurants, despite proffering their wine lists, have no wine (maybe in one week Sir…..). We don’t need French, Indian would be fine, but they don’t have that either. Our other important mission was to pay ahead for our Kerala backwater boat – we had to take a car to the local ICICI Bank and negotiate their paying in procedure, let’s hope we filled in the right bits of paper…
So let’s start with the market – we’ve seen enough markets not to be impressed, but this is billed as something special in India so even we “seen it all types” were impressed. We loved it! It was full of the smell of jasmine, rose and lily, Harrods fragrance hall eat your heart out! All the stalls were making temple offering’s, the fragrance was so powerful we really wanted smelly vision! Of course we wound up buying some fragrant oil after all after being charmed by some stall holders, but that’s part of the fun! Colour was added by the conical mounds of bindi paint in all the colours of the rainbow. Loved it! We were also impressed with ourselves by climbing Chamundi Hill – we are in training for Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka – which is five times bigger than this one so we now realise the size of the challenge… Basically it’s a hill South of Mysore with a big temple on the top with 1200 irregular, rough hewn steep steps. Gill’s quads screamed….. But we did it. We were also a source of amusement for the locals who shared our journey as it was a public holiday. Everyone wanted to know where we from and where we worked. We have invented a game whereby we have to invent a new job every time we are asked. We have been convincing so far…. The steps had bindi marks in dry paint powder and we stumbled across the occasional Sadhu – some holy, some charlatans. The one we met was on the cusp – we traded a photo for a chewing gum, his hair was as tall as he was. At the top we expected to arrive at just a flagpole but no, there was a teeming village, tat market, cows and temples and loads of people (there is a back road for coaches – if only we’d known…) Today’s public holiday meant there were lots of devotees and we loved just chilling out amongst the chaos, wandering aimlessly like the cattle that meandered the temple grounds.
So folks we’re struggling – we both like our food, both like to drink and Mysore remains v. iffy on this front. Ant has some standards, Gill has high standards. Ant has braved some veg thalis in questionable joints for lunch, Gill made do with antiseptic handwash (the only non alcoholic calories Gill gets are through her skin absorbing this….). Alcohol is an even bigger problem - all the bars must have moved to Bangalore, wine has disappeared completely, ice is obviously off the agenda and beer too fattening. You wouldn’t believe the auto rickshaw miles we’ve logged on the hunt for warm gin and tonics – any bottle in a monsoon. We scraped the barrel last night at a rooftop “bar” – we found Shilpa Shettys roof terrace and bar (she of BB fame) - it was actually Shilpa something else but we couldn’t pronounce that – the only wine on offer was Golconda red at 30p a glass – the fact that we left it may tell you how bad it was.
Mysore is famous for Sandalwood and Gill, as an ex Professeurse de Parfums knew all about it. We visited the Sandalwood oil factory and where shown round a dilapidated silent factory by a factory manager. Mysore has run out of Sandalwood – they are awaiting fresh supplies from South Africa…. In the meantime the staff were packing incense sticks, which we definitely were not going to buy – but we both have some in our suitcase together with soap and an expensive teaspoonful of first distillation Sandalwood oil…. Once a shopper always a shopper.
Oh yes – almost forgot the Maharaja’s Mysore Palace – grand, over the top, lit up like Harrod’s at Xmas, frou frou, old things, us with bare feet, lemon coloured. Done. Tick. Next?

Beginning the Blog in Bangalore 6/7 December 2008

We are sitting in a British pub in Bangalore reflecting on how one year ago we were doing the same thing in a bar in Patagonia – there, we were being force fed meat, here we are veggie. Bangalore has more bars that any city in Asia which is an indication of the change that India has gone through – it’s a place very different to the one we would recognise from previous visits. We have been here for two days and so far no lepers or begging children, and joy of joys, no BO! Are we really in India? Of course we are, we are at the heart of India’s new economy – if you have ever pressed 1 for BT, 2 for BA or 3 for Sky you will know exactly where we are – outsourcing and call centre central. We are about to apply for jobs – there are ads everywhere for call centre training – we feel a new business coming on…. You can see the difference in India through the generations – the older ladies resplendent in their colourful saris, the younger girls in crop tops and jeans with their charm bedecked phones glued to their ears giggling about their boyfriends. You can also tell times are a changing and this is a city with leisure time, very few children, commercial dog walkers, interior design shops and gym equipment for sale everywhere. But some traditions still remain, we still find that our Sahib and Memsahib act still works and we are old hands at jumping in to the three wheel auto rickshaws, travelling all over the large cricket mad city for around 50p, along with millions of other rickshaws, buses, cars bikes and pedestrians – of the legacy the Brits left behind, driving in an orderly fashion was clearly not one of them. But given all that, it’s still a city for “wending” - lots of green parks, municipal flowers and grand 1930’s buildings.
We are staying at an example of not the 30’s Raj era but at the Dr Rajkumar International Hotel, cheap, clean and very noisy, in a side street off the Racecourse Road. We have discovered the shopping malls of Banaglore (or indeed Bengalaru as we should be calling it) with Stella McCartney, Louis Vuitton, Paul Smith et all – all real and not a fake in sight.
We came to see the new India so decided to take advantage of Bangalore’s night life and headed to a rooftop cocktail bar (no change there then!) sipping champagne and beer as the city glittered beneath our feet. We got chatting to a couple who were the epitome of new India – he, Abilash worked for Infosys on the BT account – their campus is known worldwide . She , name unpronounceable, worked for BA but was training to become a commercial pilot. They were fun to talk with and gave us a great insight into the new India. Our new best friends invited us on a private tour of the Infosys campus which is out of bounds to the public. Bear in mind Infosys was only started 20 years ago and now employs 66,000 people, all answering the phone rather badly from a campus outside Bangalore. It has 63 buildings including a glass pyramid and glass ship and people travel round the manicured campus in golf carts like something out of the Truman Show. We were chuffed to get offered the private tour so next day we fought the traffic 30kms into the suburbs to meet Abildash at Gate 6. Things started to go wrong when he was 30mins late…. But we were being protected by guards with pistols, double barrelled shotguns and body armour with badges identifying them as belonging to Doberman Security. This really is another world we thought. The manicured lawns and golfcarts were tantalisingly close as Abildash went to sign us in. But we were defeated by terrorism. Infosys is now on red alert post Mumbai - the highest you can get. We were obviously considered potential terrorists – what a reputation we Brits have abroad. So despite the build up and anticipation on the tortuous journey to get there we never did penetrate the mystical Infosys borders – their gilded towers remain out of reach. Neither of us are known for our patience with call centres –after this personal affront, things will get worse…
In our two days here we have seen all the great sights, The Bull temple (here we did our metaphorical “candle for Kev” - this time it was receiving jasmine and red dots, but giving back over the odds rupees to the temple priest ), the Senate House etc, but our fave was Bangalore Palace. That’s where we ask our autorickshaw to take us. But we arrive at the 57th Indian conference of Orthopaedic Surgeons – luckily we didn’t trip on the acres of old coir matting thus needing their services – in the middle of which we found the old palace. This appears to be a large folly built in the style of Windsor castle. We were given a private tour by an old retainer – elephant heads and feet everywhere , peeling genuine 30’s furniture scattered everywhere, piles of old carpets in cobwebbed alcoves and faded pictures of previous grandeur. He took great delight in flicking his fingers on every exhibit to prove to us it was metal, wood or glass… The maharaja’s exist from the 14th century and the current maharaja still lives here part of the year. The official oil portrait of said maharaja in a stylish red robe and rose coloured Prada sunglasses perched jauntily on his forehead together with pics of him on a plate from Thailand made us suspect he may be the end of the line. He remains childless. We elicited from the old retainer that his maj was very “happy” with this “arrangement”. For the last 10mins of the tour we couldn’t make eye contact with each other and dropped the “happy” word into every sentence!
The food is good – apparently! Even Ant’s not eaten much (a stone in 6 weeks is the goal – but maybe the Kingfisher will get in the way of that ). Gill is doing a Pasty and hasn’t eaten since London – apart from white wine and vitamin pills!
Our auto rickshaw skills were put to the test with our last Bangalore negotiation. In return for a fee of 150rps we hired Michael Schumaker (it must have been him, it was embroidered on his jacket and he drove at the same speed…), we careened across the city hanging on for dear life, missing cars and buses by fractions of an inch, both laughing wildly, too drunk to care.
Shopping opportunities high, forecast poor – too early in the trip to carry that fantastic marble model of the Taj Mahal or Zegna boots……

Click on the vid below to get a hort clip of a musical auto rickshaw ride......