Cyclone to Singapore

We were supposed to get a train from Varkala to Chennai to take our flight out of India to Singapore and then on to Bali. It should have been a 15 hour overnight affair getting us into the city in time for a quick look about before our flight. But after a marathon train journey a few weeks earlier we'd checked the domestic flight prices, caved and bought tickets. We had no idea how lucky we'd been.

The night we would have been travelling towards Chennai by train a cyclone hit South India. In particular it hit Chennai. At the time that we took our cheat flight, trains were being held outside the city and the roads were flooded. It turned out that there was only one way to make our flight to Singapore and we were on it.

This knowledge did sort of make the 7 hour wait for the flight in the cockroach ridden, overpriced filthy airport sweeter but it was tough going.

Many hours later we arrived in Singapore in time for New Years Eve morning. There couldn't have been a bigger contrast. From above Singapore looks liked a city built by Lego. After sliding through the pristine airport and out on to the metro system I couldn't believe how clean everything was. I started to wonder what the people of Singapore were so worried would happen if something got dirty.

Fortunately for my sanity we had managed to pick the red light district to stay for the night and things here were sufficiently grubby (though really not very grubby) for me to feel at ease.

Singapore has been described as “The only shopping centre with a seat at the UN”. It sure does have a lot of shopping centres. We visited a few and then went back to snatch a few hours before the fireworks and our flight to the Indonesian Island of Bali.   

Germans can't surf

Varkala is Hampi by the sea. Sponsored by Kingfisher Beer, it is also appears to be dry. So there is an odd juxtaposition of all the walls covered in adverts for Kingfisher and not being able to legally buy any. You can, of course, buy a Kingfisher but it's served in either a tea mug or in a bottle covered in paper. Everyone knows that police officers cannot see through paper.  The sea was warm and I learnt that you can surf in India. I can't. And neither can anyone from Germany.

Fort Cochin or The hunt for the Christmas drink

It started in the lush hotel that Mum and Dad had booked us into as a Christmas present. It was an amazing place which used to be owned by one of the Jewish families who had lived in Cochin. After Israel was created many of them left to join the new state leaving behind some great houses. Sadly many had fallen into rack and ruin until tourism came along and rescued them. So there we were sat in the yummy restaurant asking for a beer to go with the food: “Ha, ha there is no alcohol here.”

We consulted the slightly dated guide book Helen had leant us. No booze in our hotel at Christmas was a serious problem we needed an alternative source. A couple of options presented themselves, we set out to explore.

At place after place they laughed in our faces. The only places we could find in town to serve us anything remotely Christmassy came with a five * tag. But it was Christmas so we settled in to the comfy chairs listened to the Indian band doing random covers of western songs and ordered another Kingfisher.  

Water, water everywhere...

We got to Alleypey, unfortunately I wasn't feeling great. I had drunk the filtered water in Kumarakom rather than make the waiter go and get me a mineral water bottle. “It's fine. It's filtered. I drink it all the time” So by the time we got to Alleppey I pretty much insisted on the first place we saw that had a toilet.

It was only afterwards that I noticed the cockroaches. The guy who ran the 'homestay' would disappear for large amounts of time and the water did not run. I spoke to the other residents who were a group of sweet but very very stoned Swedish backpackers.

“yeah... he's just here... Oh... wait... he went out. Yeah... An hour ago.”

“Does your water work?”

“Oh... That's why the toilet doesn't flush”

We stayed there a night and then booked ourselves into a hotel. With a pool. On the roof.

I'm getting the feeling that both Hazel and myself are pretty shitty backpackers.

The following day we booked a day trip in the backwaters being punted up and down the canals by a local man who would occasionally point at a temple and mumble “temple”. Being pushed around on a boat for 5 hours is an incredibly relaxing way of spending the day and I would heartily recommend it.

This ones for the ornithologists

People go to Kumarakum for a few reasons:
1. To pick up a converted rice barge also known as houseboat to drive around the lake on
2. To see the setting for Arundhati Roy's booker prize winning novel The God of Small Things
3. To watch the birds.

We couldn't afford a houseboat and Chris hasn't read The God of Small Things so birds it was. Early in the morning we headed to the bird sanctuary (which does run alongside Arundhati's old gaff in a former rubber plantation) for a spot of twitching.

Our guide was brilliant pointing out giant fruit bats settling down for the day, night heron's tucking their beaks under their wings. Baby black turtles shuffling into the water like a couple of black pebbles, Darter birds darting, rare thrushes that prefer walking to flying, walking and so on. We saw all manner of kingfisher, egret and heron not to mention kites and eagles. There were butterflys, dragonflys, wild pineapples and rubber sap oozing from the trees looking just like rubber. Chris was not quite so enthralled as he was still feeling ill. Every time the guide pointed out something new Chris could just about muster a nod and a 'yep, its a bird'.

Later that day sat having a Kingfisher beer and a sandwich while looking over the lake we saw a real kingfisher dive from the tree into the lake and swoop off with his catch.

Back at the homestay new guests had arrived, three elderly ndian men. We said hello and made polite conversation and later they came over again. "Do you drink liquor?"  We supposed we did and found ourselves in their shared room drinking whiskey and water and discussing Indian's new anti-corruption bill and the relative merits of north or south India.    

"It's very dangerous here..."

Ooty was lovely. A hill station up a mountain, the weather hovered in the mid teens and was incredibly refreshing from the heat and humidity of the rest of India. We had arranged to stay at a homestay halfway up a mountain surrounded by terraces of tea.

Hazel insisted that we go to the man made lake in the centre of Ooty and have a go on the pedaloes. This was Ooty's answer to Disney World. After a full hour on the pedaloes Hazel decided that that was quite enough fun for the day and we now had to find a drink to steady our nerves. This is not easy in Ooty. The only place that we could find to drink alcohol was a 5 star hotel up a mountain where the waiter stood beside us and topped up our pint glasses if we even looked at our drinks.

The next day we booked a trip through our homestay for a days trek. This was incredibly good fun although very tiring. Two staff from the homestay took us in a four by four around the 36 hairpin bends down into the neighbouring valley where we were joined by two men from one of the local hill tribes. The six off us set off into the scrub with the one person who spoke English gesturing at the mountain in front of us and saying 'up there'. Right. 

A quick shimmy through the fields, over a river and passed some lowing cows and we had started a near vertical assent. Our 4 guides (which seemed excessive at the time) seemed to have no bother sprinting up in front of us, laughing and joking and taking mobile phone calls. The one in front hacked a path with his machete and they all just kept going without even breaking sweat. By the time we reached the plateau we were dripping and could barely speak for trying to breath.  

After that the walk eased off a bit (perhaps they took pity?) we got to have a look at the flora and fauna. Our tribesman guides pointed out things and our man from the homestay attempted translation. We wondered if we were getting the full benefit of the tribesman's wisdom when after a lengthy explanation our English speaker turned to us and nodded at a large tree and said "its a tree". 

We did manage to find termite mounds, bee hives and an elephant skull. This all seemed pretty cool to us and we'd have been happy with the elephant tracks and the skull, but there was more to come. 

We were walking down a sort of wide grassy pathway in between forest high on the mountain side. It was flat which made a nice change. All of a sudden our guide with the machete made urgent noises, appeared to blanche and urged us quickly backwards running himself. He had spotted the most dangerous beast in the jungle and it was headed our way. A female elephant with her calf. We could hear the elephant trumpet behind us. All I could think of is how to explain to Hazel's mother how I was really sorry but Hazel just couldn't run as quick as the rest of us. 

Once he'd gathered himself he approached the elephant again and redirected her into another part of the forest using the ancient technique of clapping his hands. We heard her crashing through the forest beside us and were again urged to run in the opposite direction. 

The adrenalin rush seemed to bond us as a group and we all laughed with relief. Our English speaker confided in us as we settled down for lunch with a view over the valley; "It's very dangerous here, only local people come no foreigners". Right.