India 2009

Kerala - Fort Kochi, Backwaters and Kumili

2010-01-26T12:03:13+00:00

Me and my friends arrive at Kochi Airport in the morning. Sunshine and heat - we change our footwear and take a taxi into Kochi town. This ride already gives us a good impression on what India is like - a million of smells ranging from flourish to rotten, a million on vehicles on the dusty roads barely concerned about regular European street rules, and a million of colors aside the streets. Dust, fume and the noises of a dozen simultaneously honking vehicles. Pedestrians, cyclists and even animals in between. After we managed to get some Rupees we head towards Fort Kochi, the old harbour town. Chinese fishing nets and a slightly smelly fish market on the shore. We find a somewhat dodgy backpacker place with a free windowless 3 bed sleeping room with bathroom which turns into a sauna after each of us had a shower. The mosquitoes love our sweet blood already when we have our jetlag nap. Beautiful sunset on the first evening, and two cute Isrealian girls...

Next day, we join the girls for a backwater tour on a two man poled wooden boat. Tranquil and silent ride on the small brackwater channels through crop fields, coconut plantations and trees. Vegetarian Indian lunch on a small island. Tourist stuff, however very very pleasant. On a bigger lake we watch Indians fish hunting with plastic pieces being dragged by a small boat and a diver collecting the thereby motionless watching fish. And we go swimming there from our boat too.

After we met our French friends we were waiting for, our bunch is complete. And the action starts right away, five of us with backpacks on a single Riksha in the middle of town, waving at the waving and smiling Indians. Werner gives his son Jean a two-day houseboat ride ticket as birthday present, and Urs and I join them. Compared to the other boat ride, the houseboat attracts with a feudal feeling. A three man crew takes care for all of our desires. Two bedrooms, a dining room and a big open air area with big couches and chairs and sun shelter in front of the boat - luxury compared to the half nice backpacker accomodations we have had in Fort Kochi before. We play all those 60ties and 70ties tracks and watch the afternoon passing by on the slow boat ride. Kingfisher birds sitting on the wires. School children wait for their taxi boats back home. Rice fields and palm tree plantations. Women washing their clothes in the channel. Trees with big blossoms. We anchor in the late afternoon beside the rice fields and go for a swim, after which we became very brownish... From the opposite riverbank, Indian sounds frame the sunset. Lovely diner, and good vibes all evening long. We decide to sleep on deck rather then in the sleeping rooms.

Next we decide to take a break from the heat and head for the mountains with rikshas and local buses. It takes almost one day to get to Kumili. Tea and pepper plantations and small towns along the road. The old bus groans and moans on the small roads uphill, yet it does the trick. We get nice rooms in a small new hotel, who's owner proudly shows us his pepper and cacao plants and his solar equipment in the roof.

The first morning, Werner and I meet very early in front of our rooms and decide to take a walk, following the sun in the East. After a while, we leave town and enter the forest on a small footpath. Watching the birds and talking, we keep going and going. We cross the forests and enter a gras lowland with lots of animal traces. Heading more west again, we find a gravel road and slightly after, a guarded gate which we have to cross to get back to town. The guards stop us and ask where we are coming from, telling us we were already in the Nature reserve of Kumili. We reply innocently where we were coming from. There was no gate nor fence nor any other sign preventing us from entering the Nature reserve, we tell them. However, they insist on a fine for illegal entering the reservation. It takes a lot of polite smiles and talks to convince them, but in the end we drink coffee together and talk about computer programming, and we can leave without a fine. On the following day, all of us head for the park before sunrise with a guide to watch an elephant herd, monkeys and the incredibly beautiful landscape of the mountains.

From Kumili to Gokarna

2010-02-21T08:51:47+00:00

From Kumili to Gorkarna, an famous Hindu town it takes another long journey by bus. We leave Kumili in the late afternoon and reach Bangalore very early on the next day. From there, we should get a bus to Gokarna. Some guys at the bus station "take care" of us, and bring us to their office. The bus goes in 15 minutes, they'd tell us. So it's enough time for a breakfast - Chai and cookies. After half an hour or so, they'd still tell us "bus go in 15 minutes". Indian way of business we suppose and stroll around the huge bus station. Eventually, one hour and a number of times asking for the bus later our lad shows up: "bus go now, bus go now, hurry hurry!!!". They'd take some money and ask two rickshaw drivers to catch up with some bus that has obviously left the station already. We're hunting the bus in Bangalore traffic, and eventually catch up. The bus stops, and we are placed in the last seat row. Happy we are on tour again. However, last row is a pain in the ass to travel by bus. Every bumper on the street lifts us up to the roof and smashes us back on the seats again. Sort of uncomfortable... However, watching the life on and beside the motorway we are riding on is fun. Men sleeping on the cargo area of nicely painted and noisy trucks. Out of Bangalore there are small wooden houses and crop fields, giant rocks and coconut plantations. Herds of cows and woman in colorful clothes beside the road. With all windows open in the bus, there is enough fresh air and enough road dust. At sunrise, our bus breaks down nearby a small village. The driver tries to fix the problem himself, and our hope to reach Gokarna tonight starts to fade. We ask the locals at a street shop for a taxi, but even though it was probably a really good business opportunity, they cannot get us a cab. However, one hour later the engine of the bus starts again, and we are back on track. Reach a town with no name (hmm, I forgot) at 10PM, and still some 50 miles to go to Gokarna. It's full moon, Jean's birthday. None of us is in the mood to hang out in this town, and so we take a taxi to Gokarna.

The winding road leads over to mountains. From the taxi, we have a very good view on the Indian traffic at night. Trucks with no light come towards us. On a dusty resting place in the middle of nowhere, we have some late diner We reach Gokarna after midnight, finding a town completely asleep. Our driver manages to get a hotel room for us. We are happy we survived :-)

Early bird next morning, swim on the Gokarna beach with the Hindus at sunrise, talk to a biker gang and have Chai and smokes with a baba (a holy Hindu man). When my friends awake, we leave town for some remote beach with a few barely developed bungalow resorts. Hippies and Rastafarians hang out here, after sunset there are Djembee and Digderidoo sessions on he campfire on the beach. People dancing, and the tiny stones the waves are playing with glitter in the light of the full moon when they roll back into the sea. Paradise! Tai Chi in the morning, swimming to distant beaches after breakfast. Chill out at noon in the hammocks underneath the coconut trees. We stay about a week and enjoy ourselves, the good company and life itself.

One afternoon, my mates go for a walk to a neighboring beach to watch dolphins there at sunset. I decide to swim there instead of walking. Its a nice evening there, and outside the bay we can see the dolphins playing. Yet it is to late to swim back and foolish me forgot to ask my lads to carry my sandals. After diner we walk back the hiking trail in complete darkness, 5 guys with candle lamps and 4 pairs of sandals. First it is funny, yet after a while only two or three of the lamps are functional and the horny skin of my feets sole is a past memory. Every stone and thorn on the path reminds me to my stupidity. The hike would taken less then 30 minutes on daylight, yet we utterly loose our direction in the hills. Reaching our beach again, I'm not in the mood to join tonight's Goa party no more...

Towards Hampi

2010-02-21T08:52:05+00:00

After about one week on the beach it's time to leave our paradise. Hampi, the capital of an ancient Indian kingdom is our next destination. We leave the beach by boat towards Gokarna. Two dolphins swim beside us. Bye bye Paradise. The next part of the trip is by train. The 3rd class wagon we hop in is dark from dust and totally crowded. The roof of the wagon is dotted with big ventilators. Some of the kids start crying. A red faced elderly American or English guy starts playing guitar and chants Hare Krishna songs, and some of the backpackers join him singing. The kids stop to cry and for some reason we all get a seat, even though it's four of us sitting on the wooden seats. The hours pass by the window like the Indian landscape with its savannes, rivers and small villages. Hare Krishna, hare rambo... From the train station, our bus to Hampi leaves late at night. We spend the time in between on a nearby holiday resort beach which feels quiet different to what we just left in the morning.

After a long and hard night on the bus we reach Hampi in the early morning. The bus stops just beside the ancient temple. Except for this huge building, there are only small houses and hovels made from wood and metal. A few tourist nappers stroll around, and a few shops would serve food, chai and clothes. Its hard to imagine what this place must have been like in ancient times.

We're just early enough to reach our little backpacker resort on the opposite side of the river before the day's heat sets in. Beside the river, the flora is vivid and green. Rice paddies and fruit plantations. Yet just a few hundred meters away the land is dry, almost like a dessert with few trees here and there and dotted with huge boulders. And that's the reason, why my lads wanted to go to Hampi - climbing the rocks. The resort is just a few hundred meters away from a rocky hill, from where we have a splendid view of the sunset. In the kind resort we're dwelling, the net surprise is waiting for us - some of the lads from the last beach arrive there as well. The owner is happy about the arrival of the musicians and prepares his camp fire for the night. It is Shiva days, he says. After an hour of playing the drums and didgeredos, a crowd of about 50 people from the neighboring resorts has gathered, and some of the guest brought their own instruments with them, guitars, drums and so on. An Israelite couple would play and sing Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah". Touching evening.

I spend my days cycling to the nearby Hindu temples or ruins in the early morning hours, breathing the Indian spirit. At noon, temperature would be too hot for big activities, and so I'd usually hang around in the resort with my friends, playing Tai Chi with them and learning to play the djembee that I just bought in the village. A German couple is in the resort too. They were traveling hundreds of kilometers in India since more than a month already, he on his bicycle and the lady on a rented scooter. We talk a lot about cycling trips they did all over the world, and I get really curious about doing extended cycling holidays on my own.

Goa

2010-02-21T08:52:17+00:00

One week in the heat of Hampi, and it is time to head for the beaches again. Goa is our destination, we'd like to party and dance over there even though we've heard few good recommendations during our journey. The hippies are all gone, and Goa's former spirit is dead - spoiled by mass tourism everyone would tell us. Beach parties are closed by midnight. Nevertheless, Maik, Urs and me go for it. Our French friends decide to stay in Hampi for a little longer.

We reach Arambol after another long bus ride early in the morning. We stroll around, have some breakfast and look out for possible accommodations. Even the smallest primitive huts have utopic prices compared to what they offer, that's what we find. However, we spend the daytime relaxing on a less frequented neighboring beach, swimming in a small sweat water lake for a change. A bracelet seller gives us a hint for a small hike into the woods behind the lake, a holy man would sit there on the river. We decide to go for it and walk up the narrow foot path. We find the Baba man talking to some tourists, and move on, further up the small river in the thick and vivid primeval forest. Sudden screams from underneath a nearby giant tree on a hill - Ahooooo, ahoooo. The sound of drums. We check it out - there is a bunch of Babas and young white tourists sitting around a blossom bedecked circle. Even the big trees surrounding the place are decorated with hand made flower bracelets. There is still some place to sit, and a welcoming gesture of the oldest of the Baba's makes us joining the group. The people just sit around, play passed around instruments together, and smoke and drink passed around coffee. No one would really talk, but talking isn't necessary here. The drums do the talking, and the giant trees around us.

Later that afternoon, me and my friends leave Arambol, heading for Anjuna, another famous beach area of Goa. Its gonna be our last chapter of this journey, and the three of us spoil ourselves renting an entire neat house in town, not far away from the beach. We visit the market, a vast collection of carpet sellers, cloth, jewelry and spice shops. Some of the shops would play Indian mantra chants, holy songs for enlightenment. Colors, sounds and smells of India concentrated... Maik and Urs would buy themselves djembees, and we spend the following days and nights playing together in front of our house or on the beach. Once, a few Indian tourists joined us during a session on the beach, and ask us for the drums. After we handed them the instruments, they'd start playing very complex and beautiful rhythms together, claiming they did not play before. It seems they'd have music in their blood...

If we didn't play the drums, we were on the beach for swimming or dancing. Even though there was barely a 10 minute piece on the beach without someone trying to sell us the 5th shirt or the 10th bracelet, lets just say our time in Goa was great, great due to the friends and the drums :-)