One more song

The past two and half weeks have occurred outside the realms of time. There have been no days of the week or even hours of the day to define life and the results of these intriguing final two weeks in India have been breathtaking.

It all began in Hampi, the small tourist destination in the state of Karnataka. Hampi is home to the desert like plains of Central South India scattered with towering boulders seemingly dropped sporadically across the whole landscape, but in fact naturally carved out by the wind and rain over the course of millions of years. The backdrop to Schaffner's original  "Planet of the Apes" would be an accurate comparison. Alongside a collection of impressive temples, intricately carved from the rock face over 500 years ago, the were also a plethora of lakes and rivers to chill out in and launching yourself completely naked of 10m cliffs was pretty liberating if not slightly painful!

However my story of Hampi is a slightly different one to the well trodden tourist experience. I was lucky enough to stumble upon the Tipi, a guesthouse relatively hidden away from the main tourist strip and home to a variety of long-term travellers in all their different shapes and forms. Some who had been in India for at least a year; skipping over the border to Nepal and arranging a small bribe to facilitate another six-month extension. Others who had been on the road for four years straight, living each day as it came, getting by on good humour, an unwavering faith in the world and a touch of frugality. And even self-proclaimed "Jesus Hippies". To say the group here was diverse would not do justice to each individual's intriguing story, their energy and intelligence with which each articulated their own opinions and outlook of life.

I was easily caught up in the wave of enthusiasm everyone had for travelling and soon found myself vacating my old guesthouse to move into a giant Tipi, home to 15 of us and more at times. This "family" as we came to identify ourselves as had its origins scattered across the vast India subcontinent, a small group had travelled together in Rishikesh, others had crossed paths at the Indian rainbow gathering, but the group had a remarkable ability to seamlessly grow, welcoming newcomers as if they were old friends.

Music was the focal point of the entourage and the source of free, easy, endless entertainment. With so many extremely talented musicians amongst us, we jammed with guitars, accordions, djembe, the didj and several willing voices. We climbed up into Hampi's rocky terrain, sleeping in caves and making music late into the night while drinking cheap rum. And there were stories, teams that had spent two years making their way overland to India from the UK, some cycling the length of the country, tales of life at home in Tuscan eco-communities, former lodgers at Bilston the Edinburgh tree camp with plenty to reminisce about.

So ten days were spent in the best of company before someone decided it was time to move on from Hampi. Goa only 7hrs away was mooted as a popular choice to spend many peoples' (including my own) final weekend. So, a band of twenty-ish travellers made their way in an incongruous fashion to the beaches. Some rode the bus, others caught the train and those strapped for cash hitched or busked for a ticket, but we all made it and I was amongst the crowd entertaining passengers in song on the railway platform at 6am, whilst a half-naked Italian counterpart roamed the station asking respectable tourists for papers.

By coincidence our destination in Goa was once again Arambol. Just two months on from my previous stop on my way to the South the place had transformed itself. The main street awash with stalls catering to every variety of tourists' whims. The Russian's were out in force, flaunting short cropped hair and excessive gold and I made the mistake of walking into a (crass) flamboyant bar dominated by Russians fixated on a giant plasma, living out fantasies of being James Bond villains. Very un-Goa, but I suppose like everything else Goa is evolving, it is no longer the original mecca of hippie lore, similarly gone are the hedonistic partying days of the 80s and 90s and Goa has simply grown with the times, evolving to best suit the needs of the local population, who live extremely well by Indian standards.

16m and he jumped it for a beer..

We nevertheless found our niché amongst such oppulence, 3 to a room and 40 ruppee (50 pence) meals, and were left more than content with the company of such a large group. The infamous sunset jam sessions on Arambol beach were hijacked by this band of troubadours and we played late into the night at restaurants and bars. Whereever we went, the music drew a few bystanders then even crowds and the vibe created by providing free entertainment for all to share was unique. There was talk of further adventures in Europe in the Summer, more rainbows and invitations to stay all over the world. And the enthusiasm never died, the energy which bonded the group was incomparable and will no doubt continue long after I'm gone. I felt no sadness with my departure only a deep appreciation for that which I'd been part of.

So India has been some adventure, I'll be the first to admit that it has come with its highs and lows, the intensity of this country can grind you down reaching your limits of tolerance, only to find yourself quickly rejuvenated by a twist of fate. You are constantly learning, whether it's small daily lessons, ideas I am only understanding now as I write this on the train back to Mumbai, or maybe even concepts I am still yet to fully realize, either way India is forever teaching you.

5 am with a 50 hour journey home still to come...

A close friend of mine remarked before I left, making recourse to the old cliché that I was going to India to "find myself". I recall resolutely denying any such notion defending my trip as innocent travel. I have come to realize however, whether you go looking for it or not, that India's didactic nature is inescapable and you inevitably leave having at least been provoked into looking beyond the reality which we accept for ourselves.

From Yoga to Eunuchs

The Basilica at Fort Cochin

All good things indeed must come to an end, and so my stay in Kollam rounded up pretty quickly. As so often happens, I began to fully appreciate the past two months just as I was about to leave. The final few days were spent consistently losing to Sachu at chess, my leaving gift to him. And as a token of his appreciation I was even taken on a culinary adventure by "the boss" .

Whilst I had become more than accustomed to eating curry three times a day, my favourite; a fiery hot "uli" onion curry for breakfast with a handful of parotas all for about 30p on the roadside. On my final evening I was guest at the local five star, where they had put on a international food festival. What must have consisted of over 100 dishes from 30 different countries, buffet style, real all-you-can-eat indulgence.

Mr Matthew - Hero

I admit after two months here I had little appetite for such abnormal quantities of meat, however once again as the only noticeable foreigner I was duly confronted and force fed by the head chef, keen to win my approval. Naturally he did, this local man had perfected his craft across the world for the last 30 years working on cruise ships, hotel chains and finally returning to Kerala. I was impressed by the passion with which he worked and he told me of mass wedding meals where he had catered for congregations of 25,000. However in this country of paradoxes, it was hard not to be mindful of the fact that this was pure indulgence where you see scenes of others going without on a daily basis.

Bishop's Residence - Any aspiring clergymen; the Catholic church is certainly in the money in these parts of the world

Pepper - Known locally as Black Gold

I remained In Kochi for a few more days finding myself part of a small yoga group led by Saji, a very committed and welcoming teacher who taught in his own home accepting only small donations, and inviting the group to share meals after classes. Alas, whilst others had committed considerable time top their perfection of yoga, I could only manage a few days before my worn hamstrings demanded I move on. Nevertheless a fascinating insight with a few lessons to take on with me. So I find myself writing a draft for this blog on the train travelling North to Karnataka where I am heading to Hampi. I have already been accosted on three separate occasions by different heavily built "ladies", looking for charity. I struggled to understand why they were begging, not displaying the typical signs of poverty. My neighbour quickly pointed out that they were "No F, No M" All very well, until the last one gave me a cheeky caress of my beard... needlesstosay I slept with one eye open that night.

And then there were two

I have admittedly been postponing writing this blog because I wanted to continue as I began...painting an idyllic scene of life on the road. However it was not to be. Firstly I am ill, nothing tropical or exotic...malaria or dysentery would give me a good story to tell...just a bloody chest infection. I am managing though, aided by the liberal dispensary practices of the Indian pharmaceutical profession. The more grave news is the fact that I indeed had a small kitten named Nyla who unfortunately did not manage to last the week.

Nyla was left at my door wrapped in a plastic bag one morning last week and I was awoken by the sound of the small kitten crying. Not usually moved by the idea of small furry animals I wasn't necessarily keen about having to look after somethingl not much older than a week and fundamentally in need of her mother. However, as everyone else flatly refused to take her and as it became clear that she was already being eyed up by a flock of predatory crows, it fell to me to adopt an orphaned kitten.


So I have consequently spent most of the week, doing what I least expected to do during my time in India....attempting to raise a kitten. Completely ignorant of what to do, I will even admit to googling "How to raise an orphaned kitten" and could be found scouring the local pharmacy for syringes to feed this tiny cat. Unfortunately these efforts were in vain...and it didn't necessarily come as a surprise, the reality of life here is somewhat brutal. Nyla who had just gained enough confidence to walk about the garden herself was attacked by a rat and killed. Somewhat saddened by it, but consoled by the fact that I actually did enjoy the company of this baby kitten for a week.

Moving on, it is now time for me to move on from Kerala. Kollam has been an adventure and I appreciate the fact that I have been able to come down to a part of rural Kerala and witness Indian life firsthand. It is a chaotic mixture of things that for a non-Indian would take a lifetime to make sense of. I am now at the point where I have learnt  as much as I can without having the traverse the language barrier. But I am prevented from fully understanding the daily intricacies of people's lives since I lack that crucial insight into their daily conversations.

What I have found so far though is an incredible generosity of spirit. I was pleased to have Eamonn McCafferty staying with us for a few nights, and we were spontaneously invited to another local wedding, this time Catholic, so a non-veg wedding reception and I was found indulging in at least my 3rd of 4th portion of chicken curry.. Similarly my neighbours have been keen to invite me to lunch on numerous occasions where you get to sample real Keralan food, home-cooked by Keralan wives.

Mr Sebastian and his band of merry (hardened) drinkers

But the height of the week was the spontaeneous invitation on a booze cruise (so to speak) with Mr Sebatiasn and friends. Sunday still termed a "Holyday" by Catholics, seems an effective excuse for a day at the local bar. The one thing the British did not leave behind was any replica of our pub culture. Drinking is not as socially acceptable here and instead the men congregate in one or two small, dark bars scattered around town. Neither exists the concept of social drinking...these were men on a mission. Two bottles of brandy between five of us, continuous rounds for 45mins then straight out the door again as everyone retired to their individual homes to indulge in their drunken stupor. Insightful....but I prefer the pub.

Right, with a month left in India I am hitting the road again to chase the sun further North. The second monsoon has arrived from the Bay of Bengla and am not to keen on the torrential downpours that begins circa 3pm each day. Back in London on 1st Dec for a brief stop, looking forward to seeing those about. All the Best.

One of the boys

The moustache lasted 5 minutes...

Once you have been in one place long enough, it begins to feel somewhat like home. You overcome the initial feelings of slight alienation and a familiar routine emerges...suddenly everything feels a lot more comfortable.

Life in Kollam is certainly very comfortbale, my routine is pretty well established, early mornings with a swim in the lake, chai and dosa for breakfast, expertly prepared by Mr Babu, my new best friend (he feeds me and I let him sleep in one of the spare rooms on the sly). Speaking no English at all and with my limited Malayalam, our mornings generally consists of expletives shouted at each other over breakfast as we try to convey the simplest of things.

Sent down to clean...but probably more for the entertainment value of watching a Saip down a well 

With clear skies and 30 degree weather most days are perfect for reading, writing and general exploring until the real fun begins circa 6pm. I usually hitch a lift into town...the novelty of picking up a foreigner has never failed me down so I enjoy free rides to most places. But I am simultaneously beginning to make the transition away from a simple tourist. Whilst I am by no means a local...my disappointing ability to tan betrays me here, I seem to now inhabit the void between the two. The touts now know my face and have quickly tired of offering me "cheap" house boat tours or "excellent" guesthouses. I am instead trying to beat them at thier own game

 The evening ferry arrives from Alleppey at 6pm, laden with "tourists". Whilst a hoard of Indian touts are there ready to greet them offering hotels, rickshwas and restaurants, I stand in the midst of the chaos, leaflets in hand equally plying my trade So far it has worked to my advantage, the initial shock of having a Westerner trying to sell you something is replaced by intrigue, and subsequently a sale!

"Come to India and meet young boys"!!! Mr Jackson...my inquisitive neighbour 

So after a few weeks bringing the place up to scratch with last minute decor etc, Ashtamudi Villas welcomed its first guests last week. SInce then we have seen a steady trickle of visitors and I have been amply entertained by a variety of Spanish, Dutch, Danish and even an old-school English couple seeking a return to India's wild golden days.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to an Indian wedding this week. Although I was unable to properly ascertain exactly whose wedding it was - so many people are loosely termed each other's "brothers" here. I deduced that it might have been a cousin of Sachu's. Naturally , in a society as traditional as Kerala's, marriage is not a trivial affair. I walked into an auditorium filled with 500 people, there to witness the marriage as the ceremonial proceedings continued on stage. As a Hindu ceremony it consisted of a series of rituals in which about 40 people from both families participated. I was interested to learn that a dowry is still presented to the groom, equal to the value of 1,000,000 Rs (12,500 GBP). Whilst typical of a conservative society such a Kerala, it struck me that in an area where people lead a very simple life, the middle classes are certainly not poor.

True to form, as the token foreigner I was invited on stage for photographs with the groom, happy to stand smiling, shaking the hand of someone I had known for the last 5 minutes. Subsequently, as if weddings regardless of their geographical location produce gaggles of excited children. I became the guy left to entertain the youthful masses...luckily my camera came to the resuce providing hours of entertainment.

Wedding lunch, the best Kerelan food I have tasted to date -served on a banna leaf...ingenious!

 For the moment, I shall be getting back to work, standing eagerly on the boat jetty scouting for naive young travellers to prey on!! Plans for the near future include continuing on my travels to Kanyakumari the Southern most tip of India and hopefully Auroville, the New-age mecca outside Pondicherry, where I very well may just find myself!!

James the Saip

The journey continues South to the tip of India, Kerala. Anyone who has had the prvilege of serving time on an Indian train will understand that the 26 hour journey direct from Goa was testing. With only 4hours to go and with the end in sight I was about to slap a neighbouring Indian, intent of converting me to Christianity. It was none of this nice tea and biscuit Christians you get in Bristo Square on a Sat night, I was explicitly told that I would burn in hell for eternity...after having survived the journey in 3rd class hell didn't seem all that bad.

Needless to say I was glad to arrive into Kollam; essentially the remains of one of the oldest port cities on the Arabian Sea, spices have been traded here for 2 millenia, but little of historical value now remains. I stay just outside the city on Ashtamudi lake, fed by waterways linking backwater villages 50 miles up and down the coast. It is some view to wake up to every morning, and just so I can fulfill every cliche possible, yes I do have fresh coconut for breakfast.

Home

So the MA (Hons) is finally paying off, as I have bagged myself a job in the real world. I run Ashtamudi Villas, a small collection of villas overlooking the lake, extremely comfortable by some of India's notorious tourist standards. And I pretty much have the run of the place to myself...assisted by my trusty Indian sidekick Sachu, who is force feeding me Malayalam - the local Keralan - dialect and has demanded that I attain fluency by the time I leave in six weeks.

Sachu - My partner in crime

Work isn't necessarily work in any real sense of the word, I seem to haved fill a pretty versatile role in the last 10 days including photographer, graphic designer and marketing strategist. I insist I have no experience in any of this, but as I am quickly learning...in India you merely need to talk the talk! So whilst I have various things on the go, I am generally left to my own devices for much of the day, such is the pace of life here. It is somewhat paradoxical as whilst most of India at first glance seems completely chaotic without any sense of order, underneath this maniac appearance is a calm approach to life with little sense of urgency; I was physically forced to take a siesta on my first day...no one has needed to remind me since!

I have in turn become a 'saip' which in Malayalam means white man, it's not uncomming to hear children screaming saip at me from across the road or people excalim 'saip' when I walk into a local dhaba. I have been assured that it's all friendly, but either way I'm stuck with it

Kollam is a great start to it all...there are further plans in the pipeline already which will be revealed in due course. In the meantime, all the best to everybody back home.

Somewhere to Go(a)

This is the beggining of a few insights into my life on the road. Sadly it seems that the world is coping perfectly well wothout me, Pete has surely already claimed the FNR as a creation of his own and it seems that the party has even re-migrated to Edinburgh in my absence. Nontheless, I hope these small extractswill satitate everyone's appetite for somethign exotic - I refer here to my newly tanned self- as well as providing some peace of mind that I haven't yet go myself into too much trouble.

I have recently left Goa...trance Mecca of the world, though I only caught the beginning of what looks like will be a promising season. A welcome change from Mumbai - far to hectic- I was quick to forget my last experience in an Indian city and will be the first to admit that I still came out short-changed, these boys are proffessional scammers, as sly as benefits cheats, yet they're out on the street looing for an easy buck rather than sitting on a three piece settee Carlsberg Export in hand. I'll give it to them...they work hard, but they are tricky bastards. So leaving Mumbai, ego slightly bruised I headed on down to Goa with intent to chill.



Completely easy going life up on the Northern beachs of Arambol, living in beach huts 50 m from the sea with a small group of people settling in for the season. Chillums and grinders rule here and the niche backpacker crowd still own the place...not swamped by Indian toruists as I found further down the coast. Beach bbqs most evenings with freshly caught crab and the rest of the day enjoy the fine Goan sun. Found myself a Enfield 350 motobike, so was cruising up and down the coast with a couple of friends. This was the real Goa...deserted beaches...no hassle from anyone, just us pitching a couple of hammocks and riding back into town for a few more beers. Equally Goa has changed since the loose party days on the 90s....the Russian mafia has even set up shop....business is booming in all sorts of illicit activities and India being India... enough money sent in the right person's direction will solve most problems. Rumour has it that the real Goan scene moved up into the mountains years ago...and you have to be in the know to find small communes littered with Israelis having overstayed their visas several years over.

Anyway, got pretty friendly with a sound group of people, some very chilled Indian lads down to set up an organic juice cafe, my partners in Trance...the Germans Ko and Natalie and even old connections from Edinburgh; the place quickly became home, turning into several late night sessions at our beach bar followed by even later mornings. This life, could have become the perfect routine as it already has done for so many, up at midday and strive to do nothing for the whole day. I even stumbled across three time world record holder and India's strongest
man, Monty, a 140kg bloke built as they come who gave me a lift on the back of his 120cc scooter, pretty surreal. And similarly when was the last time you heard the word's hash/coke/mdma offered to you by boys travelling 30mph as they pull up alongside your motorbike...anything goes here, yet I politely declined!

India, ladies and gentlemen, is epic; I will certainly be making a return to Goa around Dec time and I would encourage anybody who is interested to join me. Until then Bonsoir

The Bosphoru