Who knew an easy life in India was possible? My intro has been strangely easy peasy and
I’m thinking maybe I should just stay put.
Why throw myself into the filth and chaos, the death and destruction,
the miserable mayhem that is waiting for me if I leave this mini holiday
destination? Because I’m in India and
that’s what I’m meant to do, that’s why.
But for now, I’ll appreciate every single second of this very easy life
in India.
Taking the advice of my ever wise travel wifey Deb, I have
started my India journey in Fort Kochi, in the southern state of Kerala. Surprises awaited as a cushy and silly cheap AIRCONDITIONED
(!) airport bus took me from a relatively calm airport arrival experience the
two hours to this little tourist haven and dropped me near a guesthouse I had
arranged via reviews online.
Location: excellent, owner: fab, room:
dark cubicle. *sigh*. That’s okay, it’s only a room. I won’t be here much anyway. In the process of my first messy attempt at local
food I met an incredibly enthusiastic little Hong Kong born Canadian man who
claimed to be a retired teacher and who talked more than any single person I
think I’ve met in a very long time. I
mean, it was … wow… he talked. But not conversation, simply talked. Regardless, he had some interesting stories
and a lot of information so I took in what I could and just let the rest
flow. He put me on to his guesthouse as
he had initially stayed in the same cramped room where I was staying but found
a gem of a guesthouse for a cheaper price and a whole lot more. I’m in.
Bag packed, moved out of my cell, and into my palatial suite by
8am. I almost wept when I saw the room –
it was beyond perfect. Owned by who must
be the nicest family in all of India, I signed up for 5 days and may not ever
leave.
The days have been busy as I have wandered around a very
friendly, again EASY waterfront / port town.
Big cargo ships, fishing nets, boardwalks decorated with nonsense
souvenirs, and shiny shops full of expensive must-haves in the forms of spices,
flowy colourful clothes, and “antiques” to adorn your heart and home. The people are relaxed and smiley, even the
tuk tuks only ask you once if you want a tuk tuk, and yes, life floats by
here.
I lucked out in my timing as Kochi was hosting India’s first
Biennale; the town has turned into a supersized abstract art gallery, some of
which is really very good. I’m the first
to admit that I have zero creativity.
Zero. I cannot draw, paint,
sculpt, carve, play an instrument (okay, well I played the flute a million
years ago but that doesn’t count), or do anything that requires any stretch of
creative imagination so when I see a broken up Walkman (yes, a cassette playing
Walkman) running a continuous reel of tape with white noise playing as some
kind of Burmese symbolism, sorry folks, that’s not art to me. I have no ability to appreciate broken
children’s toys or shredded plastic or random scribbles and scratches on a
wall, or a mess of colour that may or may not take some kind of shape. I can
appreciate nice things, I can appreciate talent but sadly a lot of the
“abstract” is lost on me.
Hence, for me, a historical moment for India will not be
remembered by the tremendously influential and meaningful art work but by the
free MIA concert in the local park. An
Indian born UK / US pop singer whose music befuddled the local crowd but was
most appreciated by the travellers in the area.
And by the way, Indians can’t dance.
I was thoroughly amused not only by the concert but by watching the
local boys giving their all trying but failing monumentally to dance, clap, and
generally get into the groove. How on
earth Bollywood came out of this country is beyond me because at least in
Kochi, these boys ain’t got no rhythm.
Wow. Pure entertainment. But a good time was had and yes, my timing
was lucky lucky. Free stuff – who
doesn’t love free stuff?!
I had some fantastic company whilst at the guesthouse and
was able to explore the area without the usual “alone girl” hassles. Spent one day on a scooter with an Italian
couple (I had my own scooter, just in case you were wondering how three of us
managed on one bike) to find an amazing, almost empty, stretch forever beach
with big waves (from the sea and the locals) and hot, hot sun. Then the couple, an Israeli woman, and I
rented a car, complete with driver, to explore a tea plantation far too many
hours away. The driver was a very sweet,
gentle man of the tender age of 72. Yes,
72. The blue cataract rims around his
dark, kind eyes were my first warning sign but by the time we were in, there
was no turning back.
Tea plantations bloom and blossom in steep rocky hills which
often turn into treacherous territory in most areas so the roads to access
these towns are narrow, windy, and often poorly maintained. As we wove our way at far too fast of a speed
around these Indian roads with a dozy old man determined to pass every vehicle
out for the day, all of us (whom are all fairly experienced travellers) were
noticing that he didn’t seem to see oncoming vehicles until far too late, that
he didn’t seem to hear the warning horns of vehicles around the blind bends in
the road, and that he didn’t seem to care about his general state of
unawareness. We four were fairly
convinced this would be our last trip. Ever. At one bright and sunny midday point high up
on a narrow section of the road, our dear sweet driver insisted on passing a massive
dump truck whilst navigating one of these heart lurching blind bends. As we rounded the corner fully exposed on the
wrong side of the road, all four of us holding our breath and silently cursing
old man stubbornness, a large vehicle of some sort bore down fast and heavy on
us, we being directly in its path. Blind
Old Man swerved into the dump truck he was attempting to pass with a solid
smash as the rear of our car connected with the front of the truck. *sigh*
None of us the least bit surprised but really? I’m PAYING to die?! You’ve got to be kidding me.
Angry words were exchanged between the drivers as the four
of us quickly exited the vehicle and stood on the safety of the opposite side
of the road, as far away from the mess as we could. We’re fine, we’re fine, the car is fine (a
ding and scrape smash, no biggie), but Jesus, what are we going to do about
this guy? As the truck driver was on the
phone to who knows who, our little old man scurries over to usher us all back
into the car. We’re pretty sure he
pulled a sneaky quickie and we may have been accomplices in a hit and run but
meh, we’re on our way so not much we can do.
We continued to beg and try to reason with him, insisting
that we were in no hurry and that by slowing down we could actually enjoy the
scenery instead of white knuckling the upholstery and biting through our cheeks
but he was on a mission. Things to do,
places to see.
The day was long, somewhat stressful, definitely life
threatening but overall, a success. We
wandered through tea plantations, ate good food and cake (three cheers for
cake!) and learned lots about each other.
The stories, the stories, it’s always about the stories. I now have happy homes where I can lay my
head in Italy and Israel if anyone is interested in heading that way. We arrived home by the skin of our teeth many
many hours into the darkness with little sleep as we were all far too fearful
to close our eyes in the car. Strangely
enough, he seemed to become a better driver once the sun set. Go figure.
Another day, another adventure.
Spent a lot of time the next day trying to get my life
together and make a bit of a travel plan but failed miserably and ended up with
a few hours of sleep before a 3:30am alarm to make it to a 5am train that was
taking me to my very first ashram. I
know nothing about where I’m going, what an ashram experience is meant to be,
and if I will actually be able to tolerate a 2 week health focused, very
regimented program but I’m excited about my first go at yoga and as is my newly
adopted motto inspired by travelling so far…
why not? Hippie life, here I
come.
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