My left foot and the perils of paradise

In the Bay of Bengal, around 1000km east of the subcontinent, there lies a chain of islands, an archipelago if you will, which is currently being inhabited by a group of people who look out of place in this part of the world. These strange beings have been seen running virtually naked along tropical beaches, floating face down in the water while sporting some curious head wear, and inhaling large quantities of flavoured smoke out of clay pipes......

These people are referred to as 'Westerners', and if you go to the Andaman Islands in the next few years, you're going to see more and more of them.

We travelled to the islands the good old-fashioned way, by ferry - no 2-hour plane journeys for us. So, first hour on the ferry, and all the 'Westerners' are up on deck, mingling, getting to know each other. We produce a bottle of rum, and start tucking in. Across from us, the rave music starts, and the chillums are passed. And within 15 minutes, our rum and the chillum being passed are in the hands of security. So no fun on this trip, and a 500 RUPEE fine to top it off. Not a great way to start.

But it didn't matter, the ferry trip was in many ways a delight, and I was genuinely sad when it ended. Sometimes you need a bit of luck, and we got it - it matched us with a core group of people we were to spend the next 4 weeks with. By the end of the journey, we had made friends for life, the type of friendships that can only be forged through suffering hardships together. Like Vietnam Vets, we later recounted our experiences on board - the dawn chorus of throat clearing waking us up each day, the food that couldn't get more simple, the smell down in bunk class, the state of the toilets/showers/ship in general, the lack of space, but most of all, the injustice of having our rum taken away from us.

But really, it wasn't so bad, and on arrival in Port Blair, we all set off together, not sure what the next few weeks would bring.....

Not much surprise though, that every single one of us was on the next mornings ferry to Havelock Island, where lies a thing of such natural beauty, you hardly dare to take your eyes off it in case it changes. Now, I've always been one of those people who would smugly say 'Yeah, it's beautiful, but I'm not really one for lying around on beaches all day, I get bored'. The famous beach No.7 on Havelock doesn't entertain such an attitude. Simply strolling along is a pleasure, your feet pressing into the floury white sand, eyes dazzled by the suns reflection in the torquoise water, and not by the neon lights of Palolem. And when you're not feeling like walking, another world awaits you under the sea, and with the aid of some basic snorkelling equipment, you can float for hours watching the fish darting around their coral home.

The thing that really makes this beach, though, is the forest which backs it up. Tall, branchless trunks reach up to a canopy sporting the most natural green you'll see. What a change from the coconut palms of southern India! In fact, with the islands being distinctly closer to Burma, Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia geographically, this was in fact south-east Asia.

But having discovered paradise, we were soon to discover its perils. Day 3 on Havelock, and I'm strutting along beach no.5, taking pleasure in every breath, when "F#@K!!!", I only went and stood on some dead coral, ripping into the side of my foot, and leaving me limping up the beach, trail of blood stretching out behind me. I reached the next guest house, recognised a few people I'd met previously, and got bandaged up, the verdict - no swimming for at least 5 days.

The next week was spent trying to find that perfect hammock postition, feeling sorry for myself, and being encouraged as other casualties limped into our guest house. Dog bites, motor cycle crashes and sand-fly bites all claimed more victims, as people, more bandage than skin visible, could be seen stumbling around no.3 village like zombies.

So after 5 days waiting, I decided I was fit to swim again. I went down to no.7, and took a left, to the 'nudie' side of the beach. Caught a few nice waves, then caught one badly, got tossed around like clothes in the tumble drier, whacked my foot against the sand, and that's that - the wound is now open again, and bleeding. Good thing it happened too, as my English friend Leroy squeezed a load of puss out, and cleaned it using Hydrogen Peroxide solution, and anti-biotic powder. That did the trick, and I was back swimming two days later, as good as new.

We had been 12 days on Havelock now, and Niall was doing a diving course I just couldn't afford. So I headed back to Port Blair with English Shelley and our Israeli friends Avi and Itai, to celebrate Holi, that delightful Indian festival where everyone throws dye all over each other, resulting in a pink belly for days after. I didn't get around to going to the tribal museum in Port Blair - the most worthwhile thing we did was go to the (worst) aquarium (in the world). Niall returned to Port Blair with English Lauren and Slovakian Petra, but assumed we'd left already, and went north to Digliapur. We (now me, Shelley, Petra and English/American Chris), bought our ferry tickets for that night, but I somehow got it into my head the ferry left at 6. It left at 5, with Shelley and Petra happily on board, and me and Chris looking at a 12-hour bus journey the next morning.

So 4am we board our bus, having bought our tickets to Digliapur. I slept for the first 6 hours, completely missing our ride through the Jarawas tribal reserve (more on that later). After 9 hours, we pulled up to Mayabunder, and the conducter called 'last stop!'. So he had fleeced us. Now, since Rajasthan, I'd managed to keep a cool head in India - but that afternoon, I lost a shit-load of face in local terms. For half an hour I follwed the conducter around, demanding our money back, all the while, he couldn't look me in the eye. When it finally dawned on him that we weren't backing down, and that, no, sometimes you can't treat tourists like this, we got some of our money back, and found out the next bus to Digliapur was in 4 hours. We got a rickshaw down to the junction, and within 10 minutes hitched a ride in a 'Save The Children' jeep, complete with A/C and CD player. Happy days!!!

So, we all met up again in the Pristine Guest House near Digliapur, determined to visit Smith Island. Since last year, Smith has only been open to day trips, expensive ones at that. We first agreed to go to Coconut island, on a trip arranged by the guest house. So it was a surprise when the fisherman landed the 11 of us on Smith!!! We spent the day there, admiring a beach every bit as beautiful as no.7 on Havelock. Where no.7 was almost too perfect, like it had been planned, Smith was more rugged, wild, natural. On Smith we met Ben and Matt, who I'd met previously in Port Blair, and whose story you can read about in this blog by Aspiring Nomad. It also has good info about the tribes of the Andamans, and the aftermath of the tsunami.

We toyed with the idea of going back to Smith to camp - actually, I was really up for it, but my time was running out. 8 months of travel had left a hole in my pocket, and with a hankering to see the mountains one last time before heading home, I had booked a flight to Calcutta for a weeks time. With the group heading to tiny Avis Island to camp, I dutifully followed. Avis Island is not beautiful, but has a certain charm that satisfied us for 3 nights - it's basically just a tiny coconut plantation. We arrived in Mayabunder (again), the base town for the trip, and after that, Lauren and Shelley took over. Before we knew it, baksheesh had been paid, a boat had been arranged, and we were sailing across the bay, phosphoresence lighting up the night sea, courtesy of the two English girls.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually I said my goodbyes, and headed back to Port Blair with Niall. On the way down from Mayabunder, I stayed awake, and spotted two Jarawa tribesmen on the road through their reserve. Two boys, running virtually naked, looking very out of place in this part of the world.....let's just say that the two kids looked 100% African to me. Like I said, read the blog above for the full story on the tribes.

We spent a night further south in Wandoor, where we were reunited with a few other friends we'd made, before heading back to Port Blair (again...). Niall was getting his permit renewed - another 15 days in the Andamans beckoned for him, as well as another 6 months (at least) travel. We wished each other well, and I struck off, alone again for the first time since Christmas, for Calcutta.

My reasons for taking the flight instead of the ferry are simple. With little time left now on this trip, I didn't want to waste 3 days on a ferry. Also, the flight was cheap.......

Air Deccan started running budget flights to Port Blair from Chennai on March 1st. On March 15th, they started flights to/from Calcutta. These flights, costing on average around 3000 Rupess (60 EURO) are expected to bring an increasing number of tourists, both domestic and forgeign, to the islands in the coming years. Seems that tourism is about to really take off here. Also, posters dotted around Havelock Island announced that actor Johnny Depp would be arriving in a few months to shoot scenes for the movie 'Shantaram' (which is THE book everyone is reading in India right now) on no.7. If the island of Ko Phi Phi in Thailand is anything to go by (scenes from Leonardo Di Caprios 'The Beach' were shot there), no.7 is going to be receiving a lot of attention very soon. And in a smug way, I can always say 'I was there before they shot that movie'. But it won't hide the disapointment of knowing that another 'paradise' has been lost.

Conor.

P.S. I broke my camera on Havelock, so I've only pictures of that island. If you're sorry about that, think how I must feel....;)

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