Right after Geordie and I returned to town from our waterfall-bound hike in the hills of Munnar, Mister Jay had some last food before hopping on the bus towards the coast where we planned to spend his birthday at. We didn't actually have any real plans, in fact, but not being on some nerve-robbing bus ride would be favorable, we agreed. However, fate had something different in store for us (and the birthday party): Geordie's final dinner in Munnar quite disagreed with his stomach and he wouldn't get much better for over a week; he also developed a fever. We spent the night in a rather unspectacular town named Kottayam, planning to catch a ferry to Alleppey the next morning, his birthday. This was supposed to be the major starting point for the famous Keralan Backwaters - a "900km network of waterways that fringe the coast and wind far inland [across] shallow, palm-fringed lakes studded with cantilevered Chinese fishing nets" - we were quite keen to get there. Again, everything turned out differently: Once we arrived at the supposed jetty in Kottayam we were told there either wouldn't be any regular ferries to the coast (probably a plain lie) or we could charter one ourselves. So we dismissed the birthday boat trip and took a bus again - against all odds. But to quote a fellow Israeli traveler we met again in Alleppey: Just embrace it. (Thanks, Liri!)
Thanks to Geordie's online research we soon found ourselves in some rather wonderful little bamboo hut right next to the beach; the place is called "Funky Art Guesthouse" and I can highly recommend it. While he got stuck in the hut with painkillers, water and his iPhone trying to relax and wait for his body to regenerate I had dinner and some drinks with the Israelis and some Australians. They were planning to get on a boat and see the Backwaters the next morning, but we couldn't yet agree or decline, but simply waited for Geordie to get better.
The morning came, he remained sick, hence no tour and I spent most of my time relaxing on the hammock next to our hut, devouring the very amazing The Unfolding of Language by Guy Deutscher.
Short linguistic lessons interlude:
Did you yet know that...
- the word "nick-name" origins from the word eke-name (meaning "also-name")? One used to easily miscomprehend it when saying: "an eke-name"
- the English word "but" comes from Old English be-utan meaning: 'by the outside'
- the word "rival" developed from the Latin rivalis which originally was "someone who shared the same river"?
Well, I didn't. Good book, read it! (I probably just picked the lamest examples).
So with Geordie down (at least for most of the time; he really gave his best to socialize as much as was possible) I made two decisions:
First, to book a flight from Kochi (North of Alleppey) to Chennai at the East coast (realizing I'd be running out of time while still having one big target on the list...) and second: to get myself right there. After having it talked over with Geordie and being convinced he'd be doing fine enough without me taking care (big boy!) I hopped on a bus towards Kerala's number one beach destination: enchanting Varkala.
Yes, it may be slightly overdevoloped by now (not as bad as anything in Goa, though) and the water still can't compete with Indonesia, but that's not what you're here for. The waves are simply wonderful and the water temperature is pretty much perfect. That said, I arrived on a rainy afternoon and could only guess what the place would actually have in store; a spectacular sunset over the ocean made for a decent start, however. I spent 400Rs for a huge room, went into the night discovering the area around the cliffs and then collapsed on my single bed only to be woken up by the gardener cutting plants just below my windows at 7am.
Hence I was out and about early on to organize a spacy and superclean double room for the following nights (Geordie wasn't much better, but took a train nevertheless and arrived later that night); our room even had a balcony with ocean view (for a whopping 500Rs). Enter paradise: I spent the day playing with the waves, tanning and reading at the beach, surrounded by lush green cliffs; couldn't have asked for much more (ah, well). Later that day I bumped into well-known Israeli faces (Nathalie and Liri made me believe in the Indian version of SE-Asia's Banana Pancake Trail), had a yummie veggie roll for dinner watching both ocean and sky turn yellow at sunset before heading off for some bargaining at the markets.
I stayed in Varkala for 4 more days (Geordie a bit longer, I headed up the coast to Kochi without him and that also meant au revoir for the time being), slowly collecting Wi-fi connection codes among the seashore restaurants and really starting to grow on the place: pretty much the perfect distraction from the chaos and pollution of inland India. Then came Halloween and... nothing happened! In fact, we couldn't be bothered less while being on a backpacking trip living the beach life.
Instead I was out for a quest one day: a good friend happened to be in Varkala some 6 years ago and I was trying to figure out where exactly, using pictures taken then. That was the easy part, though - I sadly didn't succeed in tracking down a Nepalese boy she acquainted back then. His raison d'être apparently reminded her of my own, hence I would have been delighted getting to know him.
On my last day, Geordie and I finally managed to do a cooking class together; we are are now prepared to surprise friends and family at home with the following Indian specialities: the legendary samosas; Masala Dosa, Biriyani (both Keralan style, the latter mainly consisting of rice with pineapple pieces, onions and cashews); chickpeas masala; Aloo Gobi (one of personal favorites); and coconut payasam (think Vermicelli noodles, again cashews and, of course coconut milk and flesh).
I'm actually getting hungry myself writing this just now - unfortunately I'm sitting in a plane; see last paragraph.
After all the cooking (that lasted two hours in total) we were obliged to eat all that and actually managed to try it all, but I surrendered at the payasam, just - too - much. Hungry passers-by, however, happily helped out.
We then had one exciting last swim together in Varkala's wave-ridden beach before I went off to catch my train back to Kochi (that obviously featured heaps of handshakes and chit-chat). I didn't even take the latest-possible connection and was still unable to discover a public bus from the mainland to peninsula (somebody mentioned a strike, so I apparently timed it pretty well), but connected to a co-passenger and local teacher instead who helped me track down a rickshaw for a very reasonable price.
I had two days to spend in sweet, easy-going Kochi before heading East, and used them for explorations of the surroundings. Being alone now and on a showstring budget I opted for a hostel dormitory where I got to know Cuba-born Raúl who grew up around Byron Bay in NSW, Australia (from one Aussie to the next, hey?). We immediately connected and went out for a trip to Cherai Beach together, a popular spot on the island just North of Kochi, featuring a good glimpse of the Backwaters that we talked so much about, but never actually experienced on a proper boat tour.
As mentioned in an earlier note, there are elections going on in Communist Kerala (Raúl just needed to mention "Cuba" or "Ché" and the kids would run wild) and while many people we talked to didn't seem to bother at all, many of the others happened to be overly enthusiastic, forming street parades, waving flags, howling and dancing on the streets. The bus we "sat" in got completely packed while at the same time stuck in a heavy traffic jam, but we loved every minute of it seeing all the school kids jubilate.
My flight from Kochi to Chennai (formerly known as Madras and still being the capital of Tamil Nadu) was an early one, so I got up at 5:30 and shortly after that observed a freshly road-killed cat being devoured by a pack of greedy crows while walking up to the airport bus. That image, not lacking some irony, somehow got stuck.
I didn't expect much of and from Chennai, not least because virtually everyone we talked to on the trip either hated it or found it boring without end. Well, good on me - with expectations that low I could only win and did indeed enjoy a complete day of strenuous, but still quite rewarding sightseeing which included the Egmore Museum (feat. some tiny sculptures that come with hilarious labels), an actually quite wonderful collection from Ancient Hindu/Buddha statues to a huge baleen whale skeleton; rather wicked memorials at the city's huge beach front (where wild dogs gave me a clear sign that I wouldn't be welcome); colonial architecture like the impressive Madras High Court. I spent my last hours in the city in some mosquito-infected internet café before heading to Egmore Station for the night train North to Bhubaneswar, the capital of Orissa.
When the train slowly rolled out I put Gramatik's "Muy Tranquilo" onto my ears and all mellowness disappeared into the surrounding darkness of the night. I thought of certain individuals back home, some of them in Berlin - curious and amiable alike. I thought of friends traveling in other not-so-far places not too far away from India. I was nevertheless happy to leave Chennai behind. Actually quite a dump when being perfectly honest.
Bhubaneswar (also known as BBS) was something different, not least because of its population size: While Chennai featured a sprawling 6-7 million, BBS has just around 800,000. The city also sets a prime example of Indian population growth in recent years: While in 1960 there were just about 20,000 people living in town, already 20 years later it's been ten times as much.
However, I rather thought of finding a bed to sleep after some 20-plus hours train ride and it didn't actually prove to be an easy task. After 6 fully booked hotels and guest houses I just started to get nervous (or rather frustrated), but "got lucky" at the Hotel Deepali International, once coined "the best hotel on Cuttack Rd", the major street. The room wasn't exactly clean (but pretty big) and the attached bathroom looked dodgy as can be, but I didn't really have a choice. After an amazing dinner in a wonderful veggie restaurant I hushed to sleep... only to realize that I wasn't quite alone.
A cockroach family also happened to live in that shack of a hotel room, but I was clearly in no state to do much about it, so I endured their noisy whereabouts after some ramba-zamba to start with.
BBS is famous for its temples and Bindu Sagar is at the centre of it all, also known as "Ocean Drop Tank" it allegedly contains water "from every holy stream, pool and tank in India". I spent hours wandering around and exploring architecture, sculptures and the markets, always trying to hush away from the chaotic traffic. Had some lovely conversations with kind locals of all possible social backgrounds and happily left 24 hours after arrival for Kolkata. Bye bye, roaches.
Bhubaneswar's bus station is one of the dirtiest and most uncomfortable I've yet seen and I was just happy when being out of there, by this time incredibly curious for my last stop in India before heading South to Malaysia.
Enter Kolkata (known as Calcutta before 2000). What a city - what intensity! I really didn't know what to expect: extreme poverty, colonial magic, surprising modernity and culture, even more hectic and frantic traffic? A bit of everything and rather enchantingly stirred together would have been my best bet. In fact: it appeared less poor, much more modern; not overly more stressful than, say, Mumbai; but full of surprises instead. Why did I never before hear of the grand Victoria Monument? (Have you?) What about the Marble Palace? Okay, that one proved to be less impressive (plus equally less approachable). Then there are Park and Sudder St. The latter actually rang a bell - it happened to be the traditional place for the Kolkatan backpacker scene (really a bit like Bangkok's Thanon Khao San) and I, too, succumbed to its... charms?
A rooftop room in the legendary "Modern Lodge" became my domicil for 36 hours, starting some time before 8am and I decided to use the morning light and absence from crazy traffic for a long stroll, thereby discovering Victoria Monument (described as "a cross between St. Paul's Cathedral and the Taj Mahal"), the Maidan (a huge, pretty enchanting park) and an Oxford book store branch that just made my day. Got to know a bunch of lone travelers at the roof top later that night whose stories could fill books, but I won't reveal them right here.
Before heading off to the airport I kept on discovering more parts of the city: the very Islamic East and North (around Nhakoda Mosque and the Marble Palace), wonderful Eden Gardens and the very inspiring Writer's House. I also recommend drifting away to foreign stories of life and death in Park St Cemetary, watching almost-ancient graves and their mysterious inscriptions...
Kolkata Airport - the place I'm writing this from while waiting for my flight to Kuala Lumpur - proves to be quite a misplanned monster. Despite omnipresent electric noteboards claiming this to be the "Best Improved Airport" one can merely smile away such wishful thinking so very typical of developing countries (obviously not claiming that the airports in my home city of Berlin would be much better, but at least they got the temperature right). The city bus drops you right at the Arrivals and while ambling along the modern glass façades one starts to wonder when the Departures begin - who would have guessed that those might be hidden away only to be reached some magic lift on the 4th level? Once there I next get a cold stare from a soldier asking me when finally aproaching something that looks like an entrance: "What do you want?" - "Well, getting my flight, I guess." After being checked on both passport and ticket I find myself stuck in something even colder than the soldier's unwelcoming face - freezing, in fact: a huge departure hall featuring megalomaniac air-cons all around. I wouldn't be too surprised in, say, Antarctica, but it remains a miracle to me why the Indians not only fancy noise and chaos, but also freezing themselves to death when they could simply enjoy very pleasant 25 degrees (C) from the outside. I'm now sitting here in winter clothing, still freezing, pondering about why there are only two stores in the whole wide hall to get hot tea in.
Just behind me sits someone covered with a huge blanket (I'm close to getting out my sleeping bag, too) and the giggling below (a giggling blanket!) reveals her to be some Asian girl. After this is getting a bit more frantic I get out my head phones, put on Gramatik (Coffee Shop Selection!) and start thinking: If, just IF I will ever end up in a plane crash, please not together with packs of squeaking, panic-struck screaming Asian girls. I'd rather enjoy the last moments with some really good tunes on my ears. (Hmm...) Nine Inch Nails' The Fragile would do the job. Heading off now with hyperspeed!
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