Hanging out in Kerala

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Trip Start Mar 21, 2007 Previous
Entry Trip End Dec 23, 2008

  Varkala, Kerala, India
Saturday, November 15, 2008

We left Goa feeling very healthy and bronzed but ready to move on, which isn't always the case, so it was nice. Our train journey was to be sixteen hours in a 3 a/c carriage, which meant three bunks each side to be shared of course with older Indian men who would snore through the night. I nearly had my legs clipped a few times trying to make my way on to my top bunk because our beds were beside the carriage door, so as I was clambering on to my bed, the door would frequently be pushed inwards with gusto by the constant stream of chai, coffee & curry sellers. Being near the carriage door also meant that, as is the Indian tradition, there was a continuous soundtrack of men clearing their throats, readying themselves for the open window in the adjoining corridor to release the contents of their mouth like a missile. Spitting is a national pastime, it's often quite a coloured affair as on every street corner there are stalls selling betel-nut filled palm leaves, which are masticated and then colour the phlegm of the chewer with a deep russet colour.

We arrived in Alleppey the next afternoon and we were really surprised at the bustling, thriving town we passed through in our rickshaw en route to our hotel. The streets were full of fresh-faced children in an assortment of school uniforms, the hustle bustle of shops and lots of very new looking cars. There is a massive difference between Kerala and the northern India. Rather than the constant hassle we used to get from the moment we stepped off the train, nobody tried to rip us off. We're pretty hardened at this stage though, which is a shame because it doesn't allow for those random chats with locals which we would have had in other countries. We've been burned too many times by conversations which invariably led to a sales pitch. Here in Kerala though, it's different, they're just not that desperate. The sadness and sorrow you saw in everybody's eyes in the north has disappeared.


After a clean-up at our hotel, we headed for the tourist office to figure out if we were going to go stay in a village or go on a house-boat. The man in the tourist office spoke so quickly and with such a heavy accent, that between us we picked up about a quarter of what he was saying. After declining his very expensive offer of taking us to his village for the night, we took a wander downtown. We dropped in to an Indian coffee house for some time out from the heat, which was like the local equivalent of a greasy spoon caf' except the waiters were wearing sikh turbans. Of course, we were a great source of entertainment for the clientele.

The next morning we rose bright and squeaky to make our way down to the boat jetty for the morning ferry to the village. For 5 rupees we joined all the other locals making their way about their daily live along the backwater. At the various stops along the river people hopped on and off in a flash and we quickly realized we were on the school run. Gaggles of kids swarmed around us, smiling, asking our names and asking for pens. One of them persistently peddled raffle tickets for a school collection. Dave quite enjoyed making sure he earned his rupees by the dragging out the transaction a little while, but it was all with good intent and our new friend was proud as punch we bought a handful of tickets. As we made our way down the sleepy backwaters, we saw the hundreds of houseboats of all sizes tourists can rent overnight. Basically you sit on your arse while being waited on hand and foot. Not our cup of chai, we needed something a little more interactive.

With the friendly ticket collector's nod, we hopped off at our destination and walked to the house to meet our guide. The family was warm & welcoming; in a way we hadn't seen in India thus far; charming & charismatic while not being insincere or invasive. We were taking on a tour our host's rice fields and vegetable gardens, which were busy with people labouring the harvest. We rented bikes and plodded around the pathways of the riverbank for a few hours, stopping at little shacks to buy glass bottles of warm soda when the humidity got too much. The ease and tranquility of the backwaters had a very beautiful, calming effect; from the labyrinth of leafy trees and hedges heavy with green, to the friendliness of the villages we met on pathways and singing hello to us from the fishing boats and rice fields.

It reminded me of the hobbits in the Shire, a simple utopia where people seemed to be healthy & happy with themselves and each other. I was waiting for the catch. Along with quite an eclectic pre-arranged tour group staying in another homestay, we did an evening and early morning guided walk around the pathways and rice fields, stopping along the way for chai at thatched huts and to get the inside view on life in the backwater from our guides. After a dinner of egg curry and being taught card tricks by our hosts effusive & erudite youngest daughter, we retired for the sleep of the dead.

The next morning we caught the local ferry back to town, happy with our lot. Waiting for our train south the Varkala the next morning, the train station hummed; Indian families in their Sunday best, especially the kids. For the first time we saw little boys in over-sized suits and little girls with cropped hair-cuts laden with jewelry, colourful silk clothing and lashings of black kohl for some reason, even though none of the adult women wear it.

Varkala is a well developed beach town with a strip of cafes, shops and guesthouses on a palm-tree lined cliff overlooking the beach. It gets a bit claustrophobic after a while because there is literally nothing else here, except the strip and each day involves a constant chorus of 'come look my shop' 'you come for dinner' 'you want massage?'. That said there's a constant sea breeze to take the sting out of the beating suns and it's pretty cheap and so we have settled ourselves in for a week of daily yoga, interspersed with many juices, shakes, fruit salads and curries. In fact most days, after our morning yoga class, are filled with ways of killing time before we can justify sitting down for another snack or meal!

A couple of days, after arriving here, the cough that had been lingering in my chest since I started to get sick a month ago settled in a little deeper; I was getting broken sleeps and wandering around zapped of energy. Again.

To say I was sick of being sick would probably sum it up, but for both our sakes, one afternoon on the beach after another fight with my lungs I suggested another doctor trip. In Kerala they don't have a GP system so off we trotted in a rickshaw to the local hospital. Of course the fact that we were coming straight from the beach in typical beach-gear; my strappy dress soaking from my wet bikini, didn't really help with the level of attention we were already going to get in a bustling India hospital. I'm hoping that for those whose hospital visit would ordinarily have been an ordeal, we provided some light entertainment.

Of course, Dave, my soldier was by my side, as we were escorted from registration into the doctor's office with no queuing, despite there seeming to be long waits for all the locals. After a disinterested prognosis of a chest infection I was prescribed a daily injection and a cocktail of tablets. From there another stop-off for blood tests and then after paying for the drugs from the hospital pharmacy, I brought my newly purchased syringes and medication to the injection room.

The hospital itself was quite old & crumbling, but seemingly very efficient. The walls of the little injection room were smeared in splashes of multi-coloured liquids which looked like they had been accumulating over years without anybody seeing the need to clean them off. Not very inspiring, but my syringes were sealed, so I hoped there could be no hygienic risk. The first couple of injections were fine, I proudly thought 'I'm such a brave little patient'. Injection number three wasn't so pleasant; despite trying to suppress the pain by chewing my hand, I'm sure the crowds in the waiting area outside must have been laughing at my whimpering. Luckily Dave was oblivious as he tapped away to his iPod surrounded by a group of little boys staring in awe at his amazing toy.

The thought of five days of those injections was enough for me to nicely ask the doctor the following day for a prescription of tablets. Hopefully that's the end of my litany of ailments and visits to Indian doctors.

Our yoga teacher has been impressed with our progress; considering a plank of wood would probably have had more flexibility than we had on day one, that wouldn't be difficult. But after five days of sun salutations and copious amounts of sweating, we can definitely touch our toes a little more freely. It makes us feel like we're doing something productive with our day, despite having to walk around like penguins after the first couple of classes.

We signed up for a cookery class with another couple we had bumped into along the way. When we walked into the kitchen for our class we weren't too inspired by the vision of filthy worktops, plates of uneaten food and a fridge of old decaying vegetables. Bu t knowing there was little chance of a refund, we spent two hours chopping and frying to make edible but relatively uninspiring koftas, chapattis and curries. Never pre-pay!

So, we're off to Chennai on Monday to make our flight to Sri Lanka. We're getting pretty excited about our month there and being able to surf a bit. Hopefully the yoga will have helped with my complete lack of balance and flexibility!!

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