Kissing goodbye to Kerala

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January 19th 2009

Published: January 19th 2009

A well of tears brims each lower eyelid causing a film to form over a pair of spectacularly glistening irises. Eyes that have depths of green so radiant that they seem to have soaked up every shade of colour in every light from the the Keralan tea plantations. Shining pupils surrounded by an explosion of gold so great that they must have been stolen from the sunsets over the sandy beaches of Goan paradise. The beauty demanding recognition in such a moment of sadness is something that I will remember for a very long time. I tear myself away after few words and she files past the sandbags and armed police of Mumbai International, both of us never knowing when our paths may next cross.

I use my pent up emotion to demand a tip to the taxi driver back, after he was disgustingly ungrateful, negotiate a killing price on a rickshaw, swallow a couple of Gulab Jamon whole at the railway station, and force my way onto a rammed railway carriage with the least violence possible (still a fair bit necessary) and my worldly belongings strapped to my front and back. After being headhunted for a Bollywood movie (on the sole pretext that I am white) and stopped randomly in Churchgate railway station to film a political message for Obama (I opted for "Be a person, not a politician"... whatever that means) I am back in the zone, back to travelling alone, meeting lots of people and creating my own adventures. Amy has just sent me a message saying how she feels she is missing an arm, or a weird growth which she grew to love, and as flattering as being described as a weird growth is, I think that it is probably quite an accurate description considering the whole "Jack threshold" which my housemates lovingly concocted in the 1st year of Uni.

Anyway Amy jetted home a couple of days ago, and I need to update you on our adventures up until then. The tea plantations around Munnar seemed to be an emerald in amongst the destruction that the earth normally endures from mankind. It was amazing to think such beautiful scenery is in fact a man-made industry, and it almost remains as an apology from British colonial rule as if the suffering India often reminds us that they endured during the days of the British Empire is forgiven for the clever colonial use of the perfect tea-growing climate of the Western Ghats. I appreciated air more than I thought was possible, but true mountain air after a solid month of dirty polluted fumes of sulphur, urine and every creatures poo, fresh air was magnificent. The best part about the air though (not to go on about air too much, I promise this will be the last of points raving about fresh air) was the very welcoming effect it had on the Indian population of the Ghats- for the first time in god knows how many weeks, I passed hours without having to cringe to a local man or lady "clearing her throat". This being a horrifically loud, throat rasping, nose snorting sound of phlegm being brought into the oropharynx (excuse medical term- I just didn't want to say throat again) culminating in a huge glob of infected goo spat out to the ground, often in very close proximity of your feet- sometimes a sneaky splash back can get you between the toes. But none of that, which was heaven and made the men seem more friendly and the women more attractive (or less repulsive, depending on how much spitting bothers you.)

So in the few days at Munnar we breathed fresh air (last time, sorry) spent an awful lot of time doing our new favourite hobby of rock-hopping up to waterfalls, and rode an elephant(second time for me-old hand now.). The whole Nelefant situation was a situation of great entertainment for me. Amy really like Elephants. Like, REALLY, really. It was pretty much the main thing she wanted to see in India. So I promised her an elephant somewhere, when I felt I couldn't handle her looking at wooden or stone or printed pashmina ones anymore. On the windy ascending road up to Munnar through the hills I was gently dosing when with a start, adrenaline pumping through my vessels I was awoke by Amy squealing with delight at a sign offering Elephant rides, turning to me and then in rapid Anglo-American exclaiming

"Jackda, look! A sign with a nelefant on it, I love elephants sooooooooo much, I mean I don't mind so much about riding them, I mean I wouldn't want them not to like having people on their back- because you know they are wicked clever and emotional- but I just really, really, really want to hug a nelefant and say how much I love them, and I think they will love me- but I just really wish I could even SEE one because I really, really..."

"Ummm, yeah great Amy, there was an elephant just next to that sign- a real elephant, in the flesh, not a picture... I think you kind of missed it now, unlucky mate!"

After that, and despite my fascinating facts on how much better African elephants were than Indian ones, the obsession led us to book a night in Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary, in search of the meagre wild Indian elephant. On the road there we got a rickshaw so we could stop off at (another) waterfall, see a tree with many bee nests, check out some more tea plantations, see a lake or two, a Sandalwood forest and that elephant ride I mentioned. The elephant was called Lakshmi, it bonded with Amy, and they shared a mutual love for each other but it was somewhat indifferent to me whose job was to stand back and taken dozens of photos of Lakshmi and Amy smiling (yes apparently the elephant was definitely smiling) and gazing into each others eyes. I was more concerned with the cowboy walk I had developed after having to sit on the elephant with a leg on either side- lacking the yoga skills of Amy it was somewhat painful considering the width of Lakshmi's back.

Chinnar was living a little boyhood dream, as we had a basic, I mean VERY basic, tree house to stay in. Pretty damn cool a tree house all to ourselves at a confluence of the two rivers of the park where the egelfants often come down to drink. Holding that thought my wild jungle-man alter-ego I was rapidly creating for myself was somewhat tainted by jungle-Jack living wild in a tree house.... but with a guide guarding the door with a small pile of rocks to keep away the beasts of the darkness. He didn't do so good at keeping away the cat-sized rat munching on our satsumas (health conscious rat- pretty sure it was trying to shed a few pounds as it was a beast, probably turned to fruit after growing tired of eating small dogs) or on the furry caterpillar on my bag in the morning... which looked alarmingly similar to one of my dreads. (Do not fear it was not a lock of hair chewed off by the hulk-rat, they are still, reassuringly in tact.)

We tracked a few Bison with our guide- not something I would recommend, as the crash of bushes whenever we got close was a great indicator of the sheer size of the animals, and also of how much of a wimp a bison can be. Bison- absolute pansies. (Although maybe hulk-rat had paid them a recent visit, if so fair play on being a bit scared.) And yes, we saw wild elephants/nelefants/egelfants/ellys/nelliewellies. In late afternoon up a 30 metre watch tower we saw them a couple of hundred metres away, and slowly inching their way forward. Amy sent them loving vibes and they came even closer- whether that is because of positive energy interwined with Buddhist philosophy, or because they were moving to the closer, older trees to supplement their diet with bark, no one will ever know. (It was definitely for the tree bark.) We also saw the same herd of 8 with babies in tow the next day, and heard the herd (clever) trumpeting and two giving each other a little shove.

We then began a few hectic days of travel, fitting a houseboat on the Keralan backwaters in on the way south for our flight (a rarity for me, as domestic flying is infidelity to India in my morals) from Trivandrum, right down near the Southern tip of the country back to Mumbai.

The first bus took us from Chinnar to Munnar. The bus was rammed. The most rammed I have ever been on. It was a bus where it looked chock-a-block when it pulled up. We somehow got on, making it definitely past full capacity, and then somehow another dozen people sardined themselves in amongst us. Seats obviously were not available, and a much needed upper body workout came about when clinging to the roof bars in an attempt to remain upright as the bus charged round the corners on its way back to Munnar. Another excerpt from Amy's blog, as that girl just has a way with words:

"Jack and I played our own version of I'm Going on a Picnic (changed to I'm Going on a Pilgrimage, as it seems that's all Indians do in their spare time, and all items brought had to pertain to India... this included Urine Stench Wafting, Leering Indian Men, No Toilet Paper, etc), while I stood squeezed between a pole, Jack, and a seat. A young Indian fellow, likely around my age, stood slightly forward and to my left. As the ride progressed, he seemed to inch closer... and closer.. and closer. I got the distinct sense several times that he just might be trying to SNIFF me. I leaned back, he leaned further in. I tried to console myself that he was likely just bouncing along with the bumps and sways of the bus, but it became clear with each passing minute that this was not the case. As Jack put elbows, arms, and knees between myself and the fellow, he found ways to inch around them subtly until again, he was thiiiiiisclose to me. Jack finally grabbed my shoulders and whirled (as much as possible given the space constraints) me round until I was practically behind his rucksack, and his leg was blocking the fellow from touching me. It made for a rather uncomfortable fifteen minutes until a seat opened up and we were able to sit down- myself at the window, Jack next to me as a "buffer."

It was then that Jack said, "Mate, he totally almost poked you with his boner..."

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

After sincerely thanking Jack for sacrificing his thigh to the Protect Amy's Psychological Well-Being cause (which I am sure the fellow enjoyed equally as much, being Indian after all), I tried to shake off my disgust and get on with the ride, and get past the fact that only moments ago, a benign looking Indian youth was sporting a raging semi and attempting to frotteurise me with it."

I have washed and washed my right leg but I still cannot feel clean. I might have to get it amputated. I think its the only way.

Anywho, another beast 6 hjours of bussage got us to Cochin back on the Keralan coast, and another 3 (it is getting late now) got us into Alleppey. Things welcomingly went rather smoothly, as after getting into Alleppey we got a hotel which also happened to have a fleet of very nice house-boats. As they were fully booked and it was nearly 10 at night, they kindly let us have a room they tend to rent out to groups. It was an absolute BEAST of a room. The size of a ballroom (cue attempted waltzing) with huge wooden rafters (I naturally had to climb up into) and three bathrooms (spending much longer than necessary choosing "which toilet to use this time").

The next morning we got on our very own houseboat, complete with 2nd floor sun balcony where we would sneer and belittle the other inferior houseboat designed with only one floor. We cruised along the palm lined canals and photographed the birds flying through the verdant (along with undulating has to be our favourite words.... on that note it may be a sign that you are spending a little too much time with someone when you have favourite words) rice paddies. We saw a lovely sunset and had three amazing meals cooked by our cook. We also had a boat driver (pilot?) and another guy. I am not quite sure what he did... apart from getting a what felt like a compulsory sizeable tip at the end of the trip.

Off the houseboat at 09:00 (check out Sir, check out, you must pack) before the next lot got on for the once in a lifetime experience (which was awesome) but is shared with 600 other boats doing the exact same thing, taking away a little of the magic. We caught another 5 or so hour bus-ride down to Trivandrum, where after Amy caught up on much needed souvenir shopping to plaster her room with India prints and patterns and elephants (goes without saying) we got on our plane back to Mumbai. And the next morning at the airport takes us nicely to where we started.

Kissing goodbye to Kerala

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