Leaving behind highly enchanting Hampi proved to be tougher than I imagined and I still think of it as this trip's first real highlight, not least because of the people I got to know just when crossing the river on a little motorized ferry boat on our last day. One imagines possibilities for upcoming travel companionships (I'll be heading to Malaysia once Geordie is returning to Berlin; my plane to Kuala Lumpur is departing from Calcutta, hence I will keep on going North after we split ways in Chennai) and I'm curious what and who is going to await me in South-East Asia. Already now I'm clearly regretting not to have some extra months of spare time. Like, half a year at least; adventurous spirit full on.
But India for now. Still in Hampi we booked a sleeper train from Hospet straight to Mysore (for Rs550 each). Took us about 12 hours, passing by Bangalore (Karnataka's capital). The train felt and looked like a prison with urine smell all around; Geordie had some issues with the fans and lights, but we slept well nevertheless (luckily having an upper berth each). Once the sun got up the train got stormed by an army of hawkers, trying to sell their share of chai tea, coffee and masala dosa - an endless verbal advertisement the likes of which, in both its intensity and absurdity, can only be exceeded by the shrill voices of hawking women in Central America. It seems clearly impossible either to go hungry, thirsty or... continue sleeping. Geordie tried hard, I crawled out of the sleeping bag instead, enjoyed the lush, palm-fringed surroundings and kept on reading.
"Chaaai, chaaaaaiiii - masala dosaaaaai!"
We came to Mysore both for its huge spice and fruit markets (the Devaraja market) and its truly impressive Maharaja palace being described as "the grandest of India's royal buildings", the former seat of the Wodeyar maharajas. I recommend getting an audio guide, even though the numbering might leave you helplessly confused.
We also came to town in time for its 10-day Dasara festival which meant cordoned-off streets (hooray, cut-down traffic!), enthusiastic crowds, music, parades and an illuminated palace. You also shouldn't miss out on Chamundi Hill, some kilometres south of the city - there's a 1,000-plus steps foot trail that gets you up passing by a 5m-high statue of Nandi, the bull of Hindu deity Shiva. Quite a sight. However, we took a bus up and walked down in order to avoid those mad Indian crowds.
Coming next was the hilly (and drastically chillier) city Udhagamandalam. Right, but really everyone calls it simply Ooty. The bus trip was fun: lovely views alongside eucalyptus trees, charming tea plantations and - of course - way too narrow roads covered with insane bus drivers (including our own). We also passed through a tiger reserve on the way (just before leaving behind the state of Karnataka and gunning into Tamil Nadu), spotting our first wild elephants.
Ooty itself is quite an unpleasant place to hang out plus it takes far too long to escape its stressful city limits, even though the Botanical Gardens (established in 1848) were certainly worth it - despite those "roughly 20 million Indian tourists".
If you happen to fancy either a good bath, a massage or simply both after another we can highly recommend buying some rather delightfully smelling eucalyptus oil in one of classy little shops that still remain from the Colonial era.
Still, it hardly comes as a surprise but one of the best things about Ooty is, in fact, leaving it behind again - at best by train. We postponed any more serious trekking to Munnar (see below) and booked tickets for the miniature train to Mettappulayam (that is been given World Heritage status by UNESCO in 2005). It takes around 4 hours and features truly spectacular views on eucalyptus forests, sublime tea plantations, cheaky monkeys awaiting you (and your food) at fairly small hill top stations plus a fair share of waterfalls, too.
16 Rupees (around 20 Euro cents) well spent, indeed.
On the way back to the coast we spent a night in Mettappulayam, a place most likely remembered for 1) nasty bed bugs in a room we declined to take and 2) watching the final (?) trailer for Episode VII: The Force Awakens. Suspense, suspense!
Interlude: a word about the culture of noise. Just as the Japanese hate whales (as enchantingly portrayed in one of my favorite South Park episodes) the Indians seem to strongly dislike silence. Whenever you find yourself with locals on public places in an initially placid instant you can bet your rupees on that it won't stay like this for long (say 10 seconds if it's your lucky day). India almost by definition is loud, noisy, frantic - and the Indian seem to love it: you might find yourself on a bus with speakers as loud as on a Nine Inch Nails concert and really nobody seems to be bothered by it. You might find yourself further waiting for a train at some tiny, rather enchanting station, enjoying the silence for a splitsecond before several people's mobile phones come to rescue you from a momentum of aural boredom with a wide range of Bollywood film soundtracks. Obviously I wouldn't need to bring up Indian traffic again, but since its virtual ubiquity I just do: honking in India is as common as indicating on European streets (besides, perhaps, in Italy where drivers remain to adjust to the rest of their EU neighbours, probably coming as close to India in terms of street chaos as possible in the Old World; the average Italian arguably simply lacks the sense how to drive in any civilized way).
It's election time in India at the moment and that, too, can mean no good (in terms of noise pollution). The streets are being packed with demonstrants promoting their very own political views (a good thing, of course) and this on a daily basis (not so). Really annoying (and actually hilarious) are little buses and rickshaws with speakers attached, blasting out political messages that would any reasonable person drive mad (one would assume) - certainly deaf, though. One of those speaker cars actually followed us at one point, so it seemed: we walked into a side street, high-pitched political tunes constantly in our backs. I wouldn't vote for someone responsible for my eardrums to crack, I guess.
Rather obvious also: You'll never be alone - someone will always want to shake hands with you, take your picture, want to know your name. When Geordie and I were in Hampi, exploring some rather far-out bazaar ruins we observed how a museum guard made his way quickly walking towards us, starting possibly about a kilometre away. We considered doing something wrong here at first, perhaps invading some (invisible) holy barrier, but once the guy reached us, he simply looked up to us (being some 140cm tall at most), asking: "Sir, which country?". Geordie must have responded with either "Estonia" or "not from here". Our current favorites are: "Oompa Lumpa Land", "Tatooine" and "North Korea" (with a straight, honest-as-possible face). Either way, he didn't respond and simply returned to where he came from until blurring away in the far distance, leaving us pondering and giggle for many days to come.
Saying all the above: coastal Kochi (or Cochin) in the state of Kerala turned out to be a truly pleasurable distraction from all chaos; it's quite a lovable place, reminding me much of León or Granada in Nicaragua (mostly due to its European colonial buildings, but it's also much cleaner than the average Indian city, though that doesn't say much). However, it's been described as "a living homage to a vibrant past unlike any other" and it really is a curious cultural mix: giant Chinese fishing nets, a 400-year-old synagogue, much older mosques and a good amount of Catholic churches as well (the Portuguese landed here around 1500). We devoured the markets, art galleries, much enjoyed chatting with locals like nowhere else before and also heavily spent some cash (on spices like masala, mango and ginger, a stylish stone chessboard and little presents for home).
Our accomodation, too, was quite luxurious: 800Rs for a clean, big-sized room feat. fan and air-con alike within a charming hostel (feat. breakfast, supercheap laundry service and hammocks under the rooftop). Look out for "Happy Camper".
We spent one more day with the Israelis that we keep on meeting at various places since Gokarna (much like the Banana Pancake Trail in South-East Asia), Geordie did yoga and I started reading yet another book, peacefully reflecting the wicked turns in life in my hammock.
This second travel report is going online at the place we were heading to next: Munnar. It took us some three buses and about 6 hours to get here (for about 170Rs or €1,50) being quite surprised to find many of the guest houses in quiter Old Munnar (after Ooty we decided to skip the major town right from the start) already booked out. Exhausted from the bus ride we opted for a one-person room (with a big-enough bed) and started exploring the incredibly wonderful tea hill surroundings the morning after (see cover picture). Unlike Ooty it really doesn't take long here to leave behind both street noise and pollution. We ended the day watching a cloudy sunset at a rather popular viewing point, naturally surrounded by packs of curious Indian tourists, much litter and honking rickshaws.
Ah, India.
It's October 25 today (I don't even bother to figure out the actual week day), we're still in Munnar and I'm writing these lines in complete serenity, surrounded by brigades of dragon flys, lying down next to the Atthukad waterfalls; Geordie's reading a book just by my side. It'll be his birthday tomorrow. Let's see how and where we'll spend tonight...
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