It's a dogs life.....

I’ve been studying the Indian head wobble now for a couple of weeks. It amuses me greatly, there’s something quite unnatural about it. After a few hairy moments of not knowing whether my directions are understood I now take the wobble to be positive, generally meaning yes, or I understand. 

 The humidity of the south hits me in the face like a house brick the moment I step off the plane in Kochi. I’m now south India in the state of Kerala. I’ve been looking forward to Kerala, excited by the promise of some much needed relaxation and a slower pace. I’ve seen brochures of paradise beaches and land of promise. The contrast from the north is striking, and as we travel from the airport the lushes green landscape bearing ripened mangos and bananas, men wearing mundu's (Essentially skirts) to keep cool, hung strung beef quartered, local festivities and ceremonies being conducted - I feel I’m in a different country.

I arrive at my pre-booked homestay around 6pm where the family look at me vacant. The little bird like waif framed husband states “we cancel all booking, due to family bereavement?” ....not a great start but after an hour of faffing I find refuge at another local homestay who makes me very welcome. It was a night to remember. The a/c didn’t work and around midnight the electricity went off. The heat was seriously like an oven, I felt like I was being cooked alive!!

Next day I move on, still heading south to Aluppuhza where the promise of the golden beaches of paradise await. I have to walk an hour from the homestay, sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage , it’s too much and the heat is taking its toll, but the thought of sun, sand and sea keep me soldiering on. When I arrive I’m gutted. I cannot describe the disappointment at the sight before me. An expanse of trash filled beach and a stinking sewage ridden sea. I’m mortified and as disappointment sets in i divert into the local harbour bar. Fishermen reside here for a beer after the early morning catch. It’s a strange place, oozing with characters of life and I’m soon witness to grown men staggering out of the bar like a baby taking its first steps (yep been there a few times myself!). I ask the barman what is the ‘godpiper’ they are drinking? ‘Ahh that’s soda mam’...I question further..”but soda doesn’t make a grown man wobble like this?” ....a big smile fills his entire face, his eyebrows raised as he does the head wobble adding ‘that’ll be the rum - white rum mam!’....it was very funny to watch, they were dropping like flies!

Tried communicating with this fisherman ....could not understand a bloody word he said!!

Accepting the beach was a disappointment I change tact and head for the backwaters. Most people enjoy these waters on a luxury house boat, but well you know me by now, I wouldn’t enjoy this pretentious approach - so I’m In a basic but very comfortable homestay and book a day in a canoe. The guide Mr ‘K’ is sixty seven years old. His smile knocks me back slightly when he greets me as most of his front teeth are missing and the remainder are ground down to yellow stumps...I struggle not to stare and battle to keep my fascination under control. He’s the founder of the backwater canoeing (or so he tells me). It’s an hours ferry journey to his remote village. I listen intently as I try to understand his broken English, it’s exhausting communicating like this. It doesn’t take long to realise this blokes no fool, he’s a shrewd businessman, with a twist of Del Boy for good measure. I’m amused by him. I observe him reeling off the pre-rehearsed unfunny jokes which form part of the days package trying desperately where I think appropriate to muster up a little snigger in the name of good relations. He shows me his currency collection (a pile of notes from different countries) of course English isn’t there and he has no problem asking for one ....another £5 gone...which of course Mr ‘K’ will cash in later!!!

Mr 'K' showing off his banana's

His humble home has been in his family for generations. His wife (who speaks little English) is lighting the cooking fire for lunch and they proudly show me around their home. We have a traditional breakfast of rice spaghetti made into a kind of burger shape filled with coconut and a masala chai and head off in the boat. Once we are off the main lakes, the silence and peacefulness sweeps through you. Hours of bliss follow enjoying nature at its very best. It’s a special day to get lost in. After a traditional banana leaf served thali meal by the couple I head back on the ferry contemplating their simple but full lives. I don’t think they realise the peace of paradise that has become theirs by default. They are oblivious to the ways and greed of the western life. By the time evolution comes knocking these people will be long past. I sit in this moment wondering who’s life has had the fortune? I’m quite sure my heart already knows the answer. 

Mrs 'K' lighting the stove

Mrs 'K's kitchen

Breakfast - Rice noodles with a sweet coconut centre

Lunch -The banana leaf Thali complete with mango pickle.....mmmm

Looking good Mr 'K' you crafty old devil!! 

Monkey man up the tree to fetch coconuts!!

Import / export

Family bath time

One thing I’ve been observing whilst here is the dogs. There are hundreds /thousands of strays in every town and city. They are riddled with fleas, practically dying before your eyes of starvation, scarred, timid of humans and filthy beyond belief. I head off to another beach and a bitch dog heads towards me. It’s a sorry sight. Her underbelly and nipples are sagging from too many litters, it has a piece of it’s ear missing (a war wound of street life) a limp from an injury to its back right foot, bald patches and a constant twitch and scratching from infestations which have taken over it’s starved body. It follows me for two miles along the beach, stopping when I stop, looking down but sitting by my feet in the shade with a little tail wag. If I move too fast it cowers. Her tongue is hanging to the side and she’s panting from dehydration. 

This afternoon got to me more than anything else I’ve seen to date. I’d managed to keep things impersonal until now. In this moment I feel a responsibility to act and I’m completely torn. Practically I cannot help this animal, I cannot even offer a hand of comfort, but do I help this animal for one day of survival? Is it crueler to prolong its agony and inevitable fate of pending death? It has absolutely no prospects and isn’t even recognised as a life form in its environment. 

I fill a half coconut shell with my water and watch as it desperately laps it up - and this is as much as I offer. Water will buy it hours but I don’t want to subject this helpless and defenceless animal to anything further than that. As I head home at night fall I see a pack of male dogs surrounding a bitch on heat. All are circling waiting their turn to mate with her, again this bitch has no choice or chance of survival and as I lay in bed that night I’m tortured by the cries from dogs of fear from both a lightning storm and internal pack fights. It’s absolutely awful, the worst part of all is there’s not a thing you can do to ease any of this suffering. This truly was disturbing. 

So sad

I intended next to head to Kollom, but having received a message of a severe weather warning from the owner of the beach shack I’d booked I decide last minute to carry on through the Varkala. I’ve decided to spend my last few days in India with a little luxury and loosen the budget strings and book a beachside / cliff resort with swings and hammocks and a nice cabin with a flushing toilet ....ahhh it’s the little things. Varkala was hit by a cyclone in December 2017 and the effects are still very evident. Homes destroyed, lives lost and the coastline battered into submission. Despite the natural disaster this place has a wonderful relaxing vibe to it so rather than rush to cram in more of the south, I settle in and enjoy the remainder of my time in India.

Morning commuter train Aluppuzha to Varkala.... 3 hours of blokes snoring ....bliss! ....

I very nearly missed my station stop!! 

Man in the Hat - My favourite barman who was fast asleep overtime I visited! 

Fisherman bringing in the morning catch....its tough work for little reward.

This country is more challenging than any other. It’s overpopulation and under-evolved culture gives a glimpse of what our ancestors would perhaps have experienced in the 19th century. It’s a life of hardship for the majority, with practically every life form scavenging its way through its own pitiful existence. Women stay home constantly cooking, washing, working and having very little independence. I struggled observing this, it made me feel lucky as a western woman and value the choices and freedom I have. India has shown me no matter what a persons circumstances, the will to survive surmounts the unimaginable suffering. I have studied India for a few years now, taking a personal interest in its spiritual leaders. Ironically and sadly though whilst I've had a fabulous adventure, I didn't connect with this country as I have others which has shocked me as I genuinely believed I would. The problem I feel is time. India is not a country you can claim to have seen in just a few weeks. It needs time to properly explore and digest its rich and vibrant culture (which is an unforgettable and indescribable explosion on the human senses), its chaotic cities, sights which defy ALL logic, religion, hardship, resourcefulness, grit and courageousness. It truly is amazing and my happiest memories were gleaned in the non tourist zones where you can fully embrace the REAL India....which in turn only accepts you when you

show it deserved respect. I will hopefully return one day to explore and enjoy you again.

Next stop Sri Lanka......to be continued.....

Things the soul cannot 'un-see'!

Jaipur completes the golden triangle tour. I spend three comfortable nights here. I find a Buddhist hotel (Sunder Palace Guest House) and as I book in I’m soothed by the incense candles burning, dark wood fixtures and extravagantly but tastefully painted surroundings, it proves to be a peaceful retreat from the bustling city and a vast improvement (although in a similar price range) to my previous hovels. You need places like these when backpacking, they allow you to recharge your batteries.....and get clean of course!!

Jaipur is known as the ‘Pink City’ it was the first pre-planned city and it shows. It’s more organised, with wider streets and tidier buildings. The roads are just as congested and as manic as ever though with horns franticly honking in every direction...the horn in India as a whole has lost its meaning, it’s used now as a habit only ....it makes me laugh inside and soon becomes white noise to me again.

I visit the Albert Hall museum which for me is an architectural explosion of delicacy utilising raw material. It was built in 1876 as a concert hall purely to ensure Prince Albert of England (during Queen Victoria’s reign) would visit Jaipur during his tour of the country. In celebration of the Royal arrival the city was also painted pink. The point of it all was of course political and the Maharaj intended this flamboyant gesture to strengthen ties with the Royal connections....impressive hey? I’m not sure what went wrong for me, there was certainly no Royal welcome on my arrival, just the usual stares of complete inconvenience at my very presence...ha ha I’m used to it now, I’ve grown a thick skin.

I throw myself into the city, the main places of interest and wander the streets, bazaars and parks. I really like and enjoy Jaipur. I like that it quashed my presumption of an intense, unlikable, poverty stricken place where you would be constantly hounded and intimidated. I happily wandered wherever I wanted generally undisturbed, I was very pleasantly surprised. 

Amer fort - an impressive Arabian feel building set in the dry mountainous terrain, a city set in walled grounds. It’s Barron and you can’t help your mind wandering to consider how the workforce with so little provision of water, food, tools and machinery ever created such a vast and beautiful empire. 

Hawa Mahal is next up. This building sparks curiosity in me. It’s a five storey facade essentially. The Hawa Mahal was built solely to allow the kings wives a viewing platform for the Main Street activities below. The views from inside out are extremely limited due to the tiny pains of glass and windows, it hardly feels worth the effort. The design primarily ensures the wives cannot be viewed from the street. It feels oppressive institutionalised and controlling to me....I would be sure to fail as a royal wife, I’d rather jump of its frickin’ roof than be controlled in such a manner.

After two enjoyable but fast moving weeks in the north I’m on the move again. I’m heading south west to Mumbai (formerly Bombay) and have really looked forward to this leg of the trip. I’m booked on an overnight sleeper train. It takes over fourteen hours to reach Mumbai via this method but it’s one of the parts of my travel adventures I enjoy the most.

I’m in good spirits as I arrive at the station but it’s not long before the stares take their toll - they are on a whole new level. I’m the only westerner in sight and literally every mans eyes are boring into my me. The fascination with the female foreigner is undeniably overwhelming in India. Seriously I’ve had my bum groped and ‘brushed’ countless times now and I’ve seen more penis’s here (men flashing from the public urinals) than I’ve ever seen in my life, they constantly pester you for selfies ....oh and of course let’s not forget the metro ‘dry humping’ incident! It’s a constant and ongoing battle to remain ‘untouched’ and stay one step ahead of these ‘creepers’ ...but I’m hanging in there!

As the train pulls into the station bodies appear from every direction, scrambling, mauling, frantically pushing....it’s a stampede for the prime seats in ‘cattle class’. The guards are taking bribes to move and assist individuals who’ll cross their palms with silver. It’s all corrupt and very desperate. There are people actually on the lines...it’s crazy....i’m flabbergasted at the chaos that surrounds me.

The calm before the storm ....

I’ve bought a ticket in a first class private cabin with A/C. Sounds plush hey?

Digs for the night!!

My trust companions for the journey ...i'm loving these little savoury snacks and am now addicted to masala chai...mmmm

I did know however what I was letting myself in for, nevertheless I still giggle as my room for the next fourteen hours reveals itself to me....it’s so kin scabby, grotty and unclean...I smile at India’s loose interpretation and plonk myself next to the smeared window. I look out intently on the changing landscape and most desperate of circumstances. There are thousands of makeshift tents, small villages and towns en route that are cut off and totally remote. They have no infrastructure,  people are semi naked bathing in the railway station’s drinking water for passengers or collecting it in large pots for camp. As night draws I watch children playing unsafely amongst the railway construction equipment, fires are lit in the camps to provide light from sawing local tree branches off. It’s a heart wrenching, harsh and distressing sight, it really gets to me and I question our individual responsibility to our fellow human - doesn’t everyone deserve to have a little hope and dignity? As the sun goes down I imagine such a pitiful fate in the dark with no hope for tomorrow, this gives me an ache inside I’ll never forget.

As the train plunged into darkness I lay out my liner & inflatable pillow on the brown suspect fake leather mattress. As the clatter if the rails shake the train I find myself being tossed around like a green leaf salad. As the body reacts to the motion, my internal organs follow with a slight delay. It’s not long before I’m feeling queasy. I can only akin it to lying on your kitchen worktop directly above your washing machine on main wash cycle...hours and hours of it! I try both ends of the bed, laying on my front, back and both sides....all of which result in numbness and temporary loss of the use of my limbs. It’s hopeless and the harsh realisation dawns there’ll definitely be no sleep this evening!! ....but I wouldn’t change it for the world, I remind myself of the sweat box cattle class in the remaining twenty+ coaches of this train, along with the people sleeping under the stars tonight...I press my nose to the glass and absorb in wonder the resilience, resourcefulness and strength of these people.

Mumbai is a cosmopolitan city where rich and poor brush shoulders, the colonial architecture, wide streets & leafy suburbs intermingle harmoniously with dusty grey back roads and dirt ridden but humble street sellers... it works in a bizarre sense and I like it.

The food I’ve sampled thus far in India has fallen a little flat for me, whilst flavoursome it’s been a combination of ‘safe choices’ and ‘mild’ dishes with restaurants afraid to ‘spice things up’ for the tourist. So I book onto a street food tour we head off on the local train network to visit a number of places across the city. This tour teaches you the names and safe places to eat and what look out for to avoid getting sick. For the next four hours my tastebuds are tantalised and tingling with spice and tradition ...absolutely loved this experience!

Chow Bazaar 

Since reading the beautifully written mesmerising novel Shanteram I’ve had a desire to see the Mumbai slums. I arrange an afternoon tour of the Dharavi slum, this is the third largest slum in the world. The tour intends to put a positive spin on life in the slum, portraying it as a ‘city with a city’ with its own economy. The guides, who are from the slum themselves provide me with hope that it is possible for these people to improve their circumstances, but sadly otherwise I remain unconvinced by the 'line' I’m being strung here.

The conditions are savagely cruel. Back breaking labour in undersized sweat boxes. Faces are drawn and hollow, muscles are pulsing in the skinny fatigued bodies of the workers scraping a living at the very bottom of the human food chain. The slum is piled unhealthily high in every single nook and cranny with waste. The residential areas consist 10m square room, no toilet facilities. Communal welfare facilities are provided at one per 1400 persons (provided by independent studies). Children play with waste products, waving and shouting ‘hello’ in open sewer alleys, barely wide enough for a human to fit. They are unaware of their misfortune. But the strain shows on the adult faces. This is the very definition of the toughest living, but somehow these people fight on to live another day. I don’t feel pity, I cannot help but admire them. I’m left feeling aggrieved at the cover up story being fed to tourists of opportunity, contentment and stability.... which if you use your own eyes can only be translated into suffering and exploitation.

A few randoms:

The regular condition of my feet!

Jaipur observatory - this is the Scorpio Astrology structure ....absolutely no idea how it all works but is was an amazing place to visit!

A random late night find ....favourite restaurant i'd just like to remember

The famous Leopold bar & cafe featured in Shanteram.....I had a spaghetti bolognese sandwich here - just wrong i know!! 

I found the Amigo's Bar in Jaipur ....did i sample ? .....of course i did x

How about this for wash day ladies.....and we think we have it tough!! 

A day at the office...this machinist working out of a cupboard. Reminded me of Jills loft ha ha ha!!