A Beach, A City, & A Hill Station.

A beach, a city, and a hill station.  All in one little state. 

Varkala

After the ashram, it seems that most escapees head for a tourist friendly beach town called Varkala.  Western cafes and European themed restaurants  are jammed between over-stuffed shops spilling out radiantly colourful bits of silky clothing and tinkling trinkets that you are compelled to ogle over, if only for a quick fondle.  Stunning scenery as the long, broken cobblestone walk weaves along the top of jump to your death vertical cliffs overlooking the end of India open sea.  The beach itself was relatively clean and the rolling waves weren’t too overwhelming which encouraged surfers, swimmers, and fully-clothed waders to be constantly splashing about the water.  It was easy to see how travellers, local and foreign, could get stuck there.  A very comfortable holiday destination. 

And all of a sudden there were familiar faces everywhere.  Yes, the ashram was in Varkala.

While it was lovely to visit with people outside the confines of holy life, I had just spent 24 hours a day with some of these people.  Yes, you are lovely but I need to get outta here.  So what did my universe do to help me out with that?  Delhi Belly.  Bombay Bum.  Ganges Gut.  Whatever you want to call it.  Ugh.  I had one rough patch in the ashram just before I left where I slept for an entire day occasionally doubled over with stomach pains that thankfully never progressed to anything more.   Apparently once out from under the watchful eyes of cartoon gods, my body decided to show me the power of India.  A 1:00am wake up call that kept me no more than 5 steps from a much appreciated western toilet for a full 24 hours.  Nice beach vacation.  Thanks.

Really though, it wasn’t so terrible.  I was a bit fragile for a couple of days but I have no doubt there is much MUCH worse in store for me yet. 

I recovered enough to ring in a mellow new year’s eve with fellow ashramites watching locals explode arsenals of fireworks without the slightest ability for foresight hence running for their lives and stomping out small fires, shocked but howling with laughter at the outcome of their ridiculousness.  Ahhhh India, where safety is just a silly waste of time.  2013.  Beach, waves, pyrotechnics, peace.  A good one indeed.

I had a ticket booked to my first real Indian city and I was looking forward to getting on the move.  I have loved the time I’ve had so far but the travelling has been a bit… stagnant.  This is a massive country folks, there is lots to see.  So off to Madurai I go.  My first overnight train.  Ganesha help me. 

Madurai

So yeah, trains.  In India.  There are no words.  It’s absolutely pointless to try to explain them, you just can’t imagine.  It’s one of those things that you have to (or not) experience to believe. 

For the daytime trains it’s utter madness.  There is no way in the world that people other than guilt ridden fools like me actually buy tickets and try to remain orderly.  It’s a full on push and shove match with every possible inch of space occupied, often over occupied, by body parts and packages of all sorts and then once everyone is JAMMED in, vendors stomp their way through peddling everything from toxic waste like coffee and tea to e-coli laced samosas to random bits of who knows what you just might need.  You get sat on, stepped on, spilled on, and manhandled for the majority of the journey.  You just bear it.  They do. 

For the overnight trains, sometimes someone does come by to check tickets in the “sleeper cars” as you’re meant to be assigned to a bunk.  Sometimes not.  But the white face pays off and if someone’s in “my” space, they move.  Despite my bag being insanely oversized, I am quite short (this seems to be paying off in India!) so I manage to squeeze into my allotted space without much huff.  It’s too small and difficult to get a good photo of the sardine scenario but I’m sure there must be some horrifying renditions of it online.  I’ll try to find something.  Apparently there are 1^st class cars, tourist class cars, less cattle herding cars but I have yet to find them.  Ahhhh the elusive “nice trains”.  Where are you?

So yes, Madurai.  The overnight was relatively uneventful but I did have to do some watch and learn to sort out the sleeping thing.  Being my first go in a far too strange sleeper car, I of course didn’t sleep.  This meant that at every stop (and there are usually no less than seven thousand) you are gagged into fully alert consciousness by the suffocating smell of toilet.  I mean you literally cannot breathe.  And these are the small towns and cities.  I very well may die if ever I make it to the big ones.  I would gladly LIVE in a Canadian highway outhouse than have to face these rancid railway routes.  It really is that bad.

Okay.  Arrival.  It was something ridiculous like 5am but had the name of a place where I was to meet a friend and I was off.  Every time I asked directions and showed the address, I was sent a different way.  So I walked and I asked and I got turned around and I asked again and again and again every few steps and each time, someone sent me confidently in the wrong direction.  After an hour I was about ready to maim somebody by harnessing up one of the several stray dogs that were eyeing me over.  Finally after much consultation and head scratching within a group of men which included the likes of a shop owner, a policeman, a rickshaw driver, a taxi driver, a couple of coffee drinkers, and a few other stand arounds, a very kind man stepped in and confidently walked me to where I needed to go.  It took all of about 5 minutes.  Don’t ever ever  EVER ask an Indian for directions.  EVER. 

Woke my friend, got a room, cringed at the immediate decline the hygiene standards then set off to explore Madurai.  Early morning streets filled with all things Indian and I was doing okay.  Despite needing to get my head around a drastic drop in sanitation levels, it was exciting.  This is India. 

We explored a very impressive temple (I mean VERY impressive), walked market streets full of every and anything, took a rickshaw out of the city to see another temple, found our way back without incident, played cards and drank coffee on the rooftop of our guesthouse as the sun set, and celebrated a day well spent in a big city.  Next – mountain air and the middle of nowhere.

Karuna Farm

Hours and hours winding up up up on a horn blaring, corner cutting bus got us to Kodaikanal, a town high up in the hills where the air was cleaner albeit a lot colder.  A lively little hot spot with magnificent views and friendly faces strewn up and down vertical streets leaving this chub happily gasping for breath.  Again, more ashramites but it helped in sharing the cost of the obscenely expensive 4 X 4 we needed to hire to get us to our destination, about 5 kms outside of town.  Karuna Farm.  Just google it.  It’s not really a farm, well, I guess it is.  It’s a kinda sorta self-sufficient cluster of very basic cottages built deep into the hillside forests and oh my goodness, it is amazing.  Look into it.

I fell in love with the place instantly.  The little cottage with a wood burning stove hidden within morning mist filled jungle mountain views, with a long walk into town which takes you through sky scraping eucalyptus forests and small villages.  Quaint and simple and cozy and perfect.  We spent our days walking and getting lost and talking and exploring and living a very good life.  A one room cottage with a tiny little kitchen, boiling water on a gas cooker for bucket showers, freezing cold nose poking out from under piled on wool blankets, absolute nature-filled silence.  Dreamy.  I wanted to stay.

But there was India to see.  Despite a heavy heart my wandering ways won out and I had a bus to catch.  I think my time in that mountain town will remain a highlight of my travel days for a very long time.  A good shove off as I set out on my own.  I was heading to Chennai, an overnight bus this time.  Let’s  see how it goes.