India (Part 1)

On the 50th day of the trip, we entered our 5th country - India. We would be ducking and diving out of this huge country of 1 billion people over the next 6 months. The first spell would last a month. My stomach was recovering but Jo, having spent the previous day throwing up, was a little fragile. It was to be a lucky day. We caught a local bus (the sexes were split by a metal grid within it) halfway to the border hamlet of Wagha 23km away. I got talking to the young chirpy conductor who had spent two years in Manchester. `What the hell`he said, `I`ll tell the driver, that I have two English friends aboard and he will take you all the way` Which is what happened, much to the bemusement of locals who got on, only to find the bus headed 10km in the wrong direction!

The border crossing was easy and very civilised. The Indian side had a visitor`s book to leave your comments on the time taken and standard of service. They even had a computer! (We had only seen ledgers in Pakistan). No searches. As we left the border compound there was a sign that said, `Welcome To India. The largest democracy in the World`. Turning down taxis we decided to walk into Atari to get a bus. A Range Rover pulled up. It was the Head of Indian Customs offering us a free ride to Amritsar 35km away.

Amritsar is a noisy, dirty, dusty city but it is the Sikh`s holy city and contains a real gem ・The Golden Temple. To enter, I had to wear a cloth around my head and we had to remove our shoes and wash our feet. Within the complex, you find a long toothpaste-white marble walkway around an artificial rectangular lake.(`The Pool of Immortality-Giving Nectar`. In the centre, rising above the water is the richly guilded Sari Mandir. Inside this ornate temple, priests read the Sikh`s holy book (Ali Grarith) continuously every 48 hours. They do 3 hour shifts as do the musicians and then it all begins again. The music was hypnotic and gave the whole place a serene and tranquil feel.

Pilgrims, from all over India, covered in dust and with their meagre possessions in a bag on a stick, entered the Golden Temple and gave thanks by offering a leaf with a sticky porridge substance on it. They must make tons of this stuff every day to deal with the demand. There is also a communal canteen where anyone regardless of creed, colour, race and gender can get a free meal. We had our small portion of black 租al・(like thick peppery soup), chapati bread and water, while an army of people washed up the trays outside. They serve over 10,000 of these a day! The religious site, one of the most impressive I have ever seen, seemed to have overcome the hundreds of deaths in the 1980s, when Sikh extremists holed up here and battled it out with the Indian army and police.

Amritsar had a new sight for us. Man-powered rickshaws. A three wheeler cycle with room for two people on a seat at the back behind the rider. We got one to the Temple through the congested streets, but with my weight, it took him a while to get going. I didn`t have the heart to put another poor sod through the ordeal. It was our first town in India. We didn`t really notice much difference with Pakistan except the road was better. An old woman drove a cow through the market sitting on a cart full of solid cow pats (not something you see everyday).

The dry weather and pollution was causing visibility problems in north-west India and we decided to head south fast to Bombay for some clear skies and heat. We caught a 6 hours express train to New Delhi at 5.15am which was very western and civilised (tea, breakfast and audible messages all part of the price). Armed soldiers came past after every stop asking passengers to identify their luggage (After the explosion in Delhi the previous week, they were taking no chances). There were no views from the train. The whole landscape was shrouded in mist. As we approached Delhi we started to see some of the real India ・tent and shantytowns by the side of the railway. People in rags, taking a crap by the side of the track. Meanwhile not 200m away, two Indian teams in spotless whites were playing a Sunday cricket game. Two juxtapostioned images that I felt was very appropriate.

I had been dreading Delhi. The stories I had read, the travellers・tales and the culture shock. The only shock I had was that it was raining. The streets were deserted. They had turbo-powered rickshaws and one took us to another Railway Station in the south of the city for our connection. We were able to spend a couple of hours at the excellent National Museum, providing the best overview of Indian history with it`s well laid out halls of stunning artefacts. The Bombay train was delayed 4 hours and we had to sit it out on the dirty platform as hundreds of families waited and waited for trains to take them somewhere. With the rain and mud, it was filthy, but everyone lay around on the ground on their blankets, seemingly oblivious. People just pissed up against walls.

The 15-hour overnight Bombay Express was also excellent. As in Pakistan, we had triple layered bunks in air-conditioned carriages. The big difference was that you got sheets, pillows and blankets handed out. Also meals and drinks. The evening meal consisted of soup, chicken tikka, dal, rice, bread and tutti-frutti ice cream. Breakfast was an omelette. Drinks were also provided on a regular basis. All in with the price. Our travelling companions were two men from a plastic-moulding factory who had been attending a product demo. One of them was the size of Fred Flintstone with the face of Lou Costello and high pitched laughter of Jerry Lewis. When he was covered in a blanket it looked like someone was sleeping on top of him.

We spent three days in Bombay staying at a cheap and very comfortable Methodist Home (a first). Bombay is India`s most commercially important city. It alone generates over 35% of India`s GNP and handles over 50% of the country`s foreign trade. It was very western with its battered old red double decker buses with horns like sad old honking geese (low and mournful), battling it out with the black body/yellow roofed American taxis through the streets that are dominated by the English past. Masterful gothic creations like the Victoria Railway Station with it`s architypical British red and white bricked arches and columns with long eared hounddog gargoyles hanging off the roofs. There was a lot of this architecture - the Prince of Wales Museum, the University, and the Central Post Office. It looked stunning in the sun surrounded by palm trees.

The Gateway to India is Bombay`s most famous sight ・a British 1930s Arc de Triomphe through which exited the last British troops in 1948 after we had lost the plot. Across the way lay the Taj Mahal Intercontinental Hotel ・the best in India (no riff raff please). From the Gateway, we caught a rickety old wooden ferryboat for an hour`s ride out to Elephanta Island. It is famous for it`s ancient rock cave temples, but these were disappointing. It was more revealing to watch Indian tourist families at leisure and watch the very scruffy and tourist spoilt monkeys hanging around. The lush vegetation of the island and cool sea breezes made a welcome respite from the Bombay climate where 33`C was the current high (20`c low)

One morning we strolled up to the municipal Dhobi Ghats where the city`s washing gets done ・by hand. The huge open-air laundry is the centre of `One of those miraculous Indian institutions which is usually regarded by westerners with disbelief`(Rough Guide). Each morning, washing from all over Bombay is brought here to be thrown into soapy piles and thumped by someone in the countless concrete tanks and shanty shacks inside the compound. After rinsing, it is spun by spin dryers that you pedal to get going and then hung out to dry. Looking down on the place, it looked like a clothes shop had exploded over a large amount of water. A very industrious place.

Indians are keen to help ・at a cost. In retrospect, I can now see that Pakistan is very naive in dealing with tourists ・in that they just liked to help at no cost to you. The Indians have been dealing with tourists for a long time and have devised crazy bureaucratic systems in order that someone can make a buck doing it for you. At Amritsar, we got the train details from our hotel. When we found the Reservations counter there was someone hanging about waiting to show you what to do. We had the info, we just had to book the ticket, but he muscled in, took charge, got the tickets and then demanded a dollar. I told him to sod off. We had not requested his help and we would have coped quite nicely thank you.

The central post office in Bombay was another hysterical exercise in Indian bureaucracy. I wanted to send two packages home. One clothing, one books. When I went to the counter to inquire as to the procedure, there were two post office workers who took charge. They were short and looked like the Joe Pesci brothers. I called them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. First Tweedle Dee takes me outside where an old man of 88 sits on the ground and sews a cloth bag around each of your parcels (all parcels have to have this done). This takes about 20 minutes and costs 20 rupees a parcel so he gets a cut too. Then we go back inside. Tweedle Dum takes me to the parcel counter where the clothes parcel is weighed. A price for postage is quoted. Tweedle Dee takes me to another counter to purchase the stamps. He lines up. I pay. With stamps there are two more issues. You would think that stamps of high value would be used. No chance ・you get 20 small value stamps. Secondly, they are non-adhesive ・so they all have to be pasted onto the parcel (there is a large pot of glue in every post office for this purpose). This is Tweedle Dum`s job though he only just gets them all on. Tweedle Dee then takes me to another counter where it is reweighed and postage checked and a final counter where it is handed over and I got a receipt. It all took about 40 minutes. At the end, they stuck their hands out. They got a 10-rupee note just for the laughter factor, but they both wanted Baksheesh. I`m thinking `hang on, it doesn`t take two people to post a parcel. So you can sod off too.

Meanwhile I still had to post the books. This, unbelievably, is a separate exercise in a separate building. After leaving the dynamic duo (who wisely ducked out of this one), we eventually found the building and the unmarked hidden office on the second floor. Inevitably, it was now closed. We had to return on another day for another series of counters and procedures. The things I do for cheap entertainment.

One wonders what Ghandi would make of this 21st Century India. We visited his home Mani Bhavan of 17 years (between 1917 & 1934) in a leafy suburb, where he wrote his books and organised his civil disobedience campaigns. It was very peaceful, but now just a museum of photos.

On our last night in Bombay, beggars attacked us. At a road junction, youths were panhandling the stationary traffic which was pinned in by barricades. We accidentally ended up trying to cross the road here, got trapped and had no way out but to walk between the cars. 6 boys set upon us - three on each of us. It was not just `Mister, one rupee`. They surrounded us and I could feel hands start to try and get into my pockets. Then they started to kick my legs. At this point, I could see Jo hitting out at three of them with her bag. I pushed them away and when one came back at me, I kicked him so hard, he went down screaming and could not walk. The others shocked, backed off and dragged him away. What would you have done? It left a bad memory in a place that we had actually enjoyed.

It takes an age to travel around India. The roads are bad, the buses and trains slow ・averaging less than 50km an hour. We decided to find areas and base ourselves for a few days with long 24 ・6 hour travel periods in between. After Bombay we zigzagged our way down the south western side of India for three weeks through the states of Maharashtra, Karnataka, Goa and Kerala.

We travelled overnight to Aurangabad in Maharashtra, and based ourselves here to visit India`s most famous rock temples. We found the UNESCO protected caves at Ajanta, disappointing and over touristed. The 28 Buddhist caves were chiselled out of the chocolate brown basalt cliffs around the 5th century. They are famous for their multicoloured murals, but we found these in poor condition and guides who refused to turn on the lights to see them properly unless they were tipped. Thankfully we avoided the masses of Indian tourists who arrived later in the day as we were leaving.

Ellora had a series of 34 temples ・mostly Buddhist and Hindu dating from the 6th ・11th Centuries. The highlight was the Kailash temple. The world`s largest monolith, this vast lump of solid basalt, took 100 years to carve into a `spectacular agglomeration of interconnecting colonnaded halls, galleries and scared shrines`(Rough Guide). It made everything else there and at Ajanta look tiny and unimpressive.

Nearby, there was an imposing 14th century fortress at Daulatabad. The awesome hilltop citadel crowned a massive conical volcanic outcrop whose sides had been shaped into a sheer 60m wall of granite. Inside was a labyrinthine of interlocking bastions, moats and elephant proof gates with huge spikes. There was also a maze of dark tunnels to fool the enemy and also us. We were approached by large groups of Indian students who wanted to have their photo taken with us. This became a common occurrence at many sites.

While Jo spent a day suffering from stomach problems, I walked 10 miles around the Aurangabad area in scorching heat. I visited a poor copy of the Taj Mahal (釘ibi-Ka-Maqbara・ which had run out of money during construction and had many cutbacks which made it look very amateurish. The heat dehydrated me and my urine was red. It was like passing red current juice. This also became a regular occurrence if I did not drink water constantly. The temperatures were over 30`c everyday that was a real change from our earlier travels. Extreme dust and heat. Your teeth always felt gritty.

The buses and trains run 24 hours a day and we constantly found ourselves dumped at a town around midnight having to find another bus station across town for a connection. To see the real India, you have to see hundreds of sleeping bodies under blankets at 2am at any bus station, waiting for a connection. We would pass through many towns where hundreds of homeless people just slept on the streets.

There is often complete chaos when a bus rolls in and there are a lot of people waiting. They do not wait for the people to get off - people just launch themselves in at the same time. It is fend for yourself time ・mad scrums to get on. I yelled a lot at the stupidity and swing my backpack in the way to block the door while Jo scrambled on to get a seat. They didn`t like it when I accused them of acting like a bunch of monkeys hanging off the bus. Beggars climbed aboard buses at every opportunity.

We travelled overnight and all day to reach Hospet. The final bus 5 hour bus ride in the afternoon after 24 hours travelling was the worst we had encountered. The bus had no suspension and we had to sit at the back. The single lane track was unsurfaced except for the bridges which were 8 inches higher than the road. The driver would launch the bus at these and we were thrown out of our seats as the front wheels hit the bridge and as we were coming down, the back wheels would hit it to ensure we got a double dose. We averaged 10 miles an hour and I could not feel my backside by the end of this ride. Just painful numbness.

The rural scenery was idyllic: Lush green vegetation growing on dry dusty red soil. Fields of sunflowers turning their yellow heads to face the sun. Carpets of red chilli peppers on the ground, while colourfully dressed women sorted through them. A large pond where locals washed their clothes, another washed the backsides of his Brahmin cattle and another washed his tractor. Black or white Brahmin cattle pulled all carts with the large lumps on their necks. There were no horses used here.

The vast 26 square kilometre temple complex of Hampi, near Hospet, turned out to be the most impressive site in India so far and one of the most enjoyable. Our hotel even had a swimming pool ・luxury! We spent three days here exploring the magnificent ghost city of Vijayanagar. Between the 14th and 16th centuries it was the centre of the 杜onkey kingdom・and the most powerful city in Southern India but was later abandoned. What is left are scores of ornately carved temples (lots of monkey images), palace buildings and city gates and walls. Small brown monkeys swung through the trees, exploding through the leaves. (They appear at every temple and tourist site in India). The complex was built on a surreal boulder strewn plain surrounded by craggy rocks. We climbed the highest for a superb view over the whole area. A beautiful green river runs through the site where I swam to cool off.

Towering Gopuras, a narrow stepped pyramid tower covered in carvings, dominated the temples. One 60 metres high. Some are still used for pilgrimage purposes. In the main one, we saw an army of small boys in white lunghis (white wrap around towels that replace trousers here), going through various ceremonies to get blessed by a Holy man. On our final day, we climbed up to a remote hilltop temple to hear chanting and singing. It turned out that a Guru was preaching for 2 days to his followers. We were ushered in by children and as the only western tourists, became immediate celebrities. After the Guru had finished his morning session, we were invited to lunch. Under a large marquee within the temple, banana leaves were placed on the tables and dollops of vegetable curry and rice were ladled out onto the leaves. We ate with our right hand and used roti bread. Men with buckets kept piling it on until we were full. Everyone was very friendly and inquisitive. It was so nice to see one of these temples still used in a traditional way (rather than just another dusty monument). Electric power for the music seemed to be the only modern convenience.

The small ex-Portuguese enclave of Goa is where the majority of tourists come to stay in India. From all accounts the New Year period had been a nightmare with 200,000 extra westerners and a million extras Indian tourists than normal. The police ended up banning all the overcrowded parties. Many had fled to Hampi and we had been surprised to see so many tourists ・but the huge site easily swallowed them up.

Goa wasn`t on my priority list, but we decided to catch an overnight sleeper bus and find a beach. No seats ・instead pairs of people lay stretched out in cabins. Actually it was more comfortable than seats for those of us who got them. In typical Indian style, they had overbooked the bus from 22 to 34. The twelve extra passengers got told they could stand in the aisle for the 12-hour ride or lose their money. This type of money grabbing attitude really poisons other experiences of Indian hospitality and it was not a happy bus.

Most of Goa has been destroyed by tourist commercialism. We got a bus heading south and got out at the very last beach in Goa at Palolem. This turned out to be the last bastion against the tattooed, pierced-body brigade who have moved in everywhere else. We were able to get a beach shack and spend 3 idyllic days on a beautiful palm tree fringed, white sanded beach by the warm Arabian Sea. We ate at a restaurant on the beach while the waves lapped near our feet.

There was a new experience for us here. We had an outside toilet. A small brick hut with a sack as a door. When you squatted down over a hole, a hog`s snout would suddenly appear and eat anything you produced. Pig powered toilets! I had made the mistake of eating a whole watermelon and had another case of the runs. I became a firm friend with this pig who couldn`t believe his luck. On my frequent visits, he would head for the hole as soon as he saw me approaching. Then this snout would appear and slurping noises rise up from between my legs like Hannibal Lector in `Silence of the Lambs`. I always knew when the toilet was engaged, there was a pig outside it.

The three days on the relaxing hassle free beach allowed me to work on the long called for tan and lose more weight. We also rented black Hero one gear sit up and beg Indian bicycles (16 pence for 4 hours!) and cycled up to the Cotigao Wildlife Sanctuary which was very peaceful if devoid of wildlife except monkeys.

Heading inland to Hassan, in the state of Karnataka, we visited more 12th century temples at Halebid and Belur. These were small but very ornate temples with lines of intricately carved lines of elephants, horses, dragons, monsters, Buddhas and statues everywhere. We were choosing our temples carefully and spacing out the visits so we didn`t get `Templed out`. So far, we have been lucky in that every site has been different from the previous ones and I love the craftsmanship that has survived invasions and historical religious turmoil (e.g. the Muslim invaders made sure that every elephant trunk in every temple was destroyed).

Hassan was a busy market town, which saw few tourists, and we found the reception very friendly. It was always nice to hang out in a normal place and watch the street life. At tailors, they even sewed up my next batch of photos in cotton for postage free of charge ・they just felt honoured to have a westerner in the shop. Since the English cricket team had just apparently crushed South Africa, we were obviously adversities worthy of respect (so they told me).

Sravanabelgola is a popular pilgrimage site just south of Hassan and consists of two large hills and a huge square sacred pool in between. At the bottom, where we left our shoes as at every other temple, was a sign telling people to 斗eave your guns, pistols, knives and weapons・before ascending. We climbed up 700 steps carved out of the bare rock of Indragiri Hill, while huge brown birds of prey soared on thermals, to the temple to see the extraordinary 18 metre high monolithic statue of a naked male figure ・Gomateshura. This 10th century colossus is said to be the largest free-standing sculpture in India and visible for miles. By the large stone feet, a holy man gave blessings to the pilgrims ・putting a red spot between the eyes, sprinkling flowers and ringing bells. Some people were carried up the steps in wooden seats on poles held by 4 skinny but obviously very fit Indian men. I am getting used to see religious people and ceremonies as part of the Indian daily life. While we haven`t seen any large processions, there is always a temple or shrine with something happening or holy men offering blessings (even on the beaches).

Mysore, in Karnataka, was a very noisy city. Horrendous traffic, loud constant horns going all night. Thankfully, we were there only to visit the Maharaja`s Palace. Started in 1912, it is another remnant of the British Raj and is a splendid building and ・a fairytale spectacle・(Rough Guide). The lavish interior had meticulously detailed oil friezes (copied from photos of a 1930 festival), cast iron pillars from Glasgow, multi-coloured Belgian glass, wooden doors inlaid with intricate ivory panelling. It was a beautiful spacious building with shaded reception halls in the open air. With the runs I had to make a quicker tour than I would have liked!

We caught a lunchtime bus up to the hill station of Udhagamandalam, better known as Ooty. This 5-hour ride was a pleasant surprise in that we passed through the centre of Bandipur and Mudumalai Wildlife sanctuaries. Beautiful deciduous forests spread over the hills. Lots of monkeys hanging around the roads including Bonnet Macaque with silver hairy rings around their faces that made them look like old men. We also spotted our first elephant in the wild (well not really ・it was grazing ・they are used in the timber industry here). The twisty and turning road then took us through 36 hairpins up to over 3000 metres through gloriously green and carefully cultivated tea plantations that covered the slopes and forests of eucalyptus trees.

全nooty・Ooty calls itself the `Queen of the Hill Stations`, another remnant from the British Raj when they retreated here to escape the summer heat of the plains. But nowadays, it is a grubby little town, used mainly by Indian honeymooners who paddle around the lovely lake or take walks through the large Botanical Gardens (planted by Kew Garden staff in 1847). In these grounds we met a gardener who was a Toda ・a member of the indigenous tribe who were here before the British. The diseases the British brought with them wiped them out and only 600 Todas remain. He took us to his village outside the gardens, and showed us his small whitewashed, one storey home while making us coffee. There were only two rooms ・a front room which was the bedroom with two double beds (one for his wife and him, the other for his two children). The backroom was the kitchen, full of metal pots and pans. They cooked on a one-ring gas burner. He took us to the small thatched barrel shaped temple (where they worship the buffalo). Nearby, three women sat in the shade and knitted traditional clothing of red and black. It made for an interesting diversion.

We had come to Ooty to catch the train back down again. The Nilgiri Blue Mountain railway is a Toy train that is the rail gauge is much smaller than normal and therefore the blue wooden carriages are much smaller. It is now pretty much a tourist train but also used for the villagers to get around. A steam engine pulled us down. We descended very slowly, almost crawling in parts, down the edge of the valley through 16 tunnels (where people stuck their heads out and screamed and the carriage filled with smoke from the steam engine) and 250 bridges ・some with sheer drops below. The scenery through more tea plantations and towering cliffs all around was indeed spectacular ・but I thought that the bus ride up had been just as thrilling.

We connected to another train and then a bus at 9.30pm for a nightmarish 4-hour bus journey to Kochi on the coast. The journey should have taken 5 hours, but our driver was so manic he did it in fewer than 4 including a 15-minute break. He didn`t care how he drove. He just kept his horn going and blasted his way in-between the slow moving lines of trucks. There were many trucks carrying hay ・seriously overloaded and hanging over the sides so that they took up most of the road width. These were, to add a little spice, unlit from behind or at the sides, so we would be hurtling down the road only to come up against a dark object that blocked the road. The brakes would be slammed on, before we went into the back of it. Twice, when he overestimated the power of the bus to get past in time, we careered off the side of the road into the dust to avoid the oncoming traffic. The man was a menace and it was the first time since Pakistan that I seriously thought we would be lucky to get out alive. In Kochi, a bus plunged down a gorge that day killing 5 and injuring 70 people because, the newspaper said `a truck was driving on the wrong side of the road`. Night-time bus driving in India is deadly. Around 2am we checked into a hotel that stood like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We didn`t find this out until the morning, and just thought our legs were tired when we climbed to the 5th floor in the dark and kept losing our balance.

Kochi on the coast of the state of Kerala, has become popular with the tourists because of its location by the Arabian Sea and the backwaters. While Jo interneted, I went exploring and caught cheap ferries to the old part of Fort Cochin, with the oldest European church, St Francis, in India. The town and church was originally built by the Portuguese in the 15th Century (Vasco da Gama who discovered this part of India was originally buried here), then taken over by the Dutch, then English. Inside, there is one hangover from the English days ・the continued use of punkahs, large swinging cloth fans on frames suspended above the congregation. People sitting outside, pulling on cords operate these. Next door was a village green straight out of England with a cricket game in progress.

Cricket is played everywhere in India at every moment of the day. On any patch of grass or dust, you will see groups of men playing properly, or gangs of boys playing their own version. Sticks are used as stumps, bats are often just carved pieces of wood. I was invited to play a game in one village and was bowled out in spectacular fashion. I have only seen two footballs being kicked about.

Despite this, I didn`t think much of Kochi ・another hot, dusty, noisy city. I saw the main sights, we organised the next part of our trip and got out on the same day. While researching the trip a few months ago, I had stumbled upon the opportunity of staying on a farm in rural Kerala. We called up, reserved a room and caught a bus to the tiny village of Kadalikad about two hours inland from Kochi.

Haritha Farms is a family owned Eco-farm growing spices and tropical plants on the foothills of the Western Ghats of Kerala. It is only 7 acres in size, situated on a hilly piece of land facing paddy fields. They grow coconuts, pineapple, bananas, yams and spices such as pepper, ginger, cashews, nutmeg, turmeric and medicinal herbs. We spent two days/nights here in a relaxed atmosphere. Jacob, a 37 year old lawyer who ran it as a business with his mother, made us feel very welcome and gave us a two hour tour and lecture the next morning at 7am ・explaining the plants, what they were used for, how they were grown, the concept of Eco-farming. They had scrapped the rubber trees some years before as non Eco-friendly but the farm is surrounded in rubber plantations. They were all being tapped, with a small coconut husk hanging off the trunk and a white rubbery substance trickling down into it. This is collected and rolled into flat bathroom mat sized pieces which were hung out to dry.

We enjoyed our time there. Our room was lovely with a mosquito net over the bed and a balcony to sit out on. There was an Israeli couple travelling around on an Enfield motorbike, and two women (Swedish and German). The six of us met up for home-made vegetarian meals from the produce grown on the farm (including cows milk and chickens). Breakfast was my favourite: an all you could eat buffet of fresh pineapple juice and chunks, rice flakes & milk, a mountainous pile of toast, pineapple jam, pots of coffee and tea. It was difficult to move afterwards. During the day, we explored the lovely area, swimming in the fast deep green coloured river, walking around the pineapple, coconut and rubber plantations, talking to the locals and just getting a taste of rural Kerala. In the evening, lots of Kerala specialities were washed down by bottles of home-made Pineapple wine (not the place to come if you don`t like pineapples!)

From the farm after a final lunch, we caught buses to the start of a 2 and a half-hour backwater ferry cruise to Alappuzha. It was a local boat without tourists and cost 18p. Heading west, we were treated to a marvellous scarlet sunset that turned both sky and water red. The following day, we did another full 8 hour backwater cruise to Kollam which is geared to the tourist market (£2 each!)

These backwater cruises are promoted as one of the most memorable experiences available to travellers in India, and I`d certainly agree that it is a fantastic way to see the unique area of Kuttanad between the sea and the hills and it`s water culture. This bewildering labyrinth of shimmering waterways, composed of lakes, canals and rivers is lined with dense tropical greenery which changes to open vistas and dazzling green submerged paddy fields with lines of women hunched over. Homes, farms and churches can be glimpsed among the trees. Some families live on tiny pockets of land with just enough room for a simple house, yard and their own boat. At the water`s edge, they bathe and wash their clothes and sometimes their buffalo muddy from the fields. Traditional wooden long boats glide pass, powered both gondola style or by motor. These carried all produce and commerce. There were boats full of concrete powder, laden so heavy, the water nearly came over the edge. Door to door salesmen had boats full of pots and pans, eggs and other necessities and paddled from home to home. Fishermen unravelled their fishing nets from boats while bright blue Kingfishers flashed around the trees. There was a constant criss-crossing of the water by boats with people taking their bicycles on board while Indian women sat under black umbrellas for the brief crossing.

In more open water, gigantic `Chinese` fishing nets frames hung ready for the next spell of fishing. A huge net is spread out under a wooden frame and lowered into the water by weights and pulleys and pulled up later with the fish trapped. It is a traditional way of fishing here. Large Chinese type floating boats with coconut fibre thatched roofs were used as homes or rented by tourists. Both trips were very relaxing and most enjoyable. There is nothing like spending 8 hours on the bow of a boat in the sun, as a different world passes slowly and silently past your eyes.

Our final base was Verkala beach in southern Kerala. The Keralan beaches have been developed as an alternative to Goa, but they are also becoming very commercialised. Verkala is seen as the last one to go. Tall cliffs surrounded the narrow beach. There were no beach shacks here but we were lucky to find a cheap room in a residential area. At the bottom of the road, an elephant, used in the local temple, was housed. We spent two days here, but found more hassles on the beach from locals and touts. The western tourists have moved in en mass and the locals have got wise.

The beach town seems to be selling itself on a health-kick angle. One such place promoted 鄭urveda, the traditional, ancient, scientific Indian system of holistic medicine・ There were about 50 different of treatment including 天asthi・involving the `application of certain herbal oils and extracts through the rectum daily for a period of 5 to 25 days`and 哲asyam, where you got the same treatment through your nose. I think I`ll stick to beer to cure my complaints!

Final thoughts on this first visit to India:

Men urinate everywhere. There is a complete disregard for privacy. In the streets, off railway platforms, anywhere. I even saw signs on people`s houses saying `Please do not urinate here` There is rubbish everywhere. People throw it out of the buses or on the streets without thought. It is a very dirty place and no one seems to care about public places. Cows wander around everywhere ・eating from the rubbish. You will often see a cow, goat, raven and person all picking through the same pile of debris. Pot bellied pigs rooting around. Dogs always asleep in the dust.

I have experienced two bouts of the runs in India. They last about 3 days and my stomach just turns to water. I just get on with sightseeing/travelling and hope I can find a toilet in time. I have been drinking the local water and eating everything. I can`t put my finger on the causes ・hot food, dehydration or just dirty places? I have been able to enjoy cold bottles of Kingfisher beer, but have found that some Indian cities are dry Most Indians do not seem to drink alcohol or smoke. This may be down to money.

We are often treated like second class citizens. No one will help us, we get pushed aside or ignored. We seem almost honoured when someone is kind enough to help. We asked someone where the post office was. He didn`t know ・and he was standing in front of it! Women also seem to get a rough deal. There are few women`s toilets and usually they are locked. In the touristy areas we find a lot of the young Indian boys/men very cocky. Trying to impress their friends by making comments at us (which we can`t understand) or sitting next to us to stare. On the other hand, in areas where few tourists visit, we have found the youngsters delightful company ・friendly and intrigued by our visit, eager to learn about us. Like any country, you put up with the bad people to enjoy the company of the nice people.

I think that the one thing that finally grinds you down is that there is no privacy in India and personal space is unheard of. People just barge their way through. Everyone watches you all the time to see what you are doing. Even now, while I spend hours typing this, an Indian boy sits behind me watching ・every minute. Eventually you feel like a zoo animal and it is always a pleasure to lock yourselves away. We gave up being polite in India within a few days. When people refuse to accept a 哲o・they get a mouthful. Beggars get ignored. Taxi drivers taunted. It is almost like stress relief. When chatting to a Belgian tourist and comparing experiences he made an interesting comment `What you have to remember is that you are dealing with very ignorant people. They only know their neighbourhood and customs. They haven`t seen how we behave・

But there are also some very intelligent people here. Computers are taking off in a big way. Billboards saying `Join the revolution and help turn India into a Computer superpower - training courses 1250 rupees` ($25). Optical fibre is being laid everywhere. The bookshops are full of computer manuals.

We are bored senseless by being asked `From which country Mister?`and `what is your name?`. Its difficult to sift out the people who just want to make contact by asking these questions, and those who want to hold a proper conversation. Most people just want to know how much you earn and how much Computers, cameras etc cost in England. The Indians cannot grasp the fact that we are 杜arried・but don`t have children. They also can`t identify with travelling. No job. No house. No children. Why?

The cost of travelling in India has been very cheap. Once you are away from the major cities, the prices tumble. We average between £2-4 a night for a room. About the same on a good evening meal. Local bus and train prices are very low (about 13p for an hour`s ride). Beer costs about $1 a bottle. Internet charges however are about £1 an hour which makes updates and checking mail very expensive especially at the slow speed of connection.

They say that the first month in India is the worst, but it has become all too familiar to me and I知 ready to travel around some new countries. For all you people freezing in the northern climates, my suntan is now walnut brown.

Travel - £45.60
Accommodation - £52.50
Food - £55.05
Other - £81.12 (plus £101.71 on India-Maldives-Sri Lanka-India flights)
Total - £336.43

Grand Total - £1124.79