Goa to Karnataka and now a cheeky bit of Kerala

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After lazing away the days on the beaches of the Arabian Sea, the culture vultures in us has made for quite a contrasting few days around old skool buildings and historical sites. From where I left off, after checking out of our authentic Portuguese family guest house at the painful hour of 8 am, we had a day to burn before our overnight bus to Hampi and thought we would check out Old Goa. A fair amount of churches to ogle and cathedrals to leer at in the Indian-man-on-a-foreign-girl sort of way, but we did not go as far as a grope or a subtle act of frottaging which I have become quite accustomed to witnessing. As true as the overwhelming smell of urine guaranteed in all nooks and crannies of the country (which I am now worryingly not noticing- some sort of odour immunity) India also promises an easier time for male travellers through the reduction of leering and unabashed downright blatant staring at any hint of a curve the most baggily dressed western woman may be obliviously sporting. Literally heads may do a full circle on the head of what can only be described as a "deprived" Indian man with the naive display of a knee or a flash of a shoulder. I have taken to starring just as leeringly back in some sort of protective response, but the man sometimes shrugs, and often just keeps his eyes fixed on their prize as if it is perfectly legitimate entertainment whilst eating the entirety of his chapatti and chicken biriyani.

Just realised I am off on a bit of a tangent, but travelling with Amy has opened up a different angle to India in some ways. There are times when people are just genuinely very interested, and I described such staring incidents of a dozen people grinning inanely at me huddling my gangly frame into a size rationed train bed, often keeping the spectating up for a good ten minutes after I looked down and pretended to get on with plotting my route in my Lonely Planet. Occasionally going to sleep with a solitary grinning face peering through my closing eyes as if amazed to see that we also sleep with our eyes closed in the West. But the extra interest that female travellers get, without being save in the knowledge that they could probably come out trumps if need be in a "scuffle", really hits home how hardcore female travellers in India are going solo, particularly my own mother, doing all this jazz 30 years ago. Well done Mumpy.

However travelling with Amy has brought up the query of how straight the gentlemen of India are. I am so used to seeing men hold hands whilst there being no acceptable contact within a married couple, that I have apparently grown oblivious to the what may be over-affectionate men. Its a bit of a joke that we share, but take the last day or two for example- just now we were in a spice shop (Munnar, Kerala- I am a couple of days behind blogging), and the lovely man behind the counter said "Ah, you are handsome man, she (almost disdainfully pointing at Amy) is very lucky. Ha. (Clearly knew who carried the wallet). Or last night getting back from town the rickshaw driver offered me the chance to drive back, which I excitedly took up (Amy did not seemed too pleased- in Hampi she opted for bicycles rather than a moped- I think out of my self-deprecating admittance of being an inexperienced driver). At the time a gentle back rub and thigh grab to get my foot on the brake from the helpful driver seemed perfectly normal- reflecting on the cozy photos Amy took from the back seats, does seem to suggest the rickshaw drivers friendliness was somewhat peculiar. But that is peculiar for an Alpha-male driven America, and not for the lovey-dovey, playing in the waves in their boxer-brief, embracing young Indian male population.

So, Old Goa had a fair number of grand churches and cathedrals... and that was about it really, definitely a fallen city, although to quote the guide book "it used to be able to stand up to Lisbon and London and demand whose the man". Brilliant. Interesting, beautiful churches but a bit past it.

Night bus in-land to Karnataka took us to Hampi. This ancient city was old and past it, definitely, but to the destroyed and ruined extent that it was fascinating walking round the broken temples, and some were still in pretty good shape. I took picture after picture of the incredible boulder rock formations with the silhouette of a temple.... and then took some more of the sun hitting the huge boulders.... and then some more of the boulders. How I have become quite so obsessed with geology is a real worry to me (picturing myself morphing into a corduroy trouser wearing geography teacher, think Mr Allan, fantasizing over urban sprawl and the onion skin effect) but these rocks were amazing. They helped back up the huge privilege of me declaring they are "probably my favourite ruins in India", and being such a tick-boxing, World Heritage Site chasing traveller, that is definitely saying something. Despite the depleted number of sexy sculptures I am used to from Khujuraho, Hampi definitely got my stamp of approval, particularly for its ancient royal state elephant stables (complete with Amy's best elephant morphism), a large stone carriage, and a huge monolithic Ganesh.

After a couple of nights in Hampi, where I managed to break a mirror (NOT by looking at my dreads too much) We headed on South with Kerala in our sites. Considering I thought I would be a beach bum for the last few weeks in India, this travelling was more than what I was expecting. The beach-bumming is going to have to be delayed until Thailand, as The LP has fed us wlots of grand ideas with very little time to do them. After almost getting left behind by the night bus twice (My time-keeping has never been the same since swapping my watch for that damn whip back in Agra) we reached Mangalore. At about 4 am. We did a fair amount of ambling waiting for the city to wake up before we realised it was better asleep and promptly escaped out of town to a beach resort where we could spend the day before the arrival of our night train to Cochin.

The journey could have been smooth, but was not. Amy has no idea how I have made it round so much of India by my little, inefficient, scatty self. As after a very uncomfortable nights sleep sharing a tiny bed (the infamous "waiting list" for seats claimed me as its newest victim after so many other unwitting travellers have been caught out with paying nearly full price only to be left seatless) we managed to sleep in and miss our 3:30 am stop. I was flabbergasted (boom been wanting to get that word in all blog) that we missed it, I mean my alarm went off at the right time, the train stopped, but I just rolled over (or attempted to before realising how cramped and precariously balanced on the edge of the bed I was) and went back to sleep. "Why Jack?!" Well Amy, as trains in India NEVER run on time, but the impossible happened and we actually were at the right stop- something that is unheard off across the whole subcontinent.

Anyway, a copuple of hours sleep on a station floor, a train in the opposite direction, a bus into the Western Ghats for 5 hours, and we have reached Munnar, where I am currently residing amongst the verdent hillocks of the tea plantations. It is lovely and you shall here about it soon.

Kisses.

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