Fai Tira blog Tuesday 3rd February 2011

Just left Cochin 10:28.31N 075:51.63E

 

It took a few days to acclimatise before we actually ventured very far in Cochin, but the more of it we see, the more of it we want to see, and although we’ve encountered some deprivation, there’s been none of the expected abject poverty, and from conversation with other travellers it would seem that the only reason is our location, in what is a relatively affluent part of this wonderfully varied country. However, almost everything else filled our expectations. The constant and manic activity in and around the town centre with the noise and colour generated by people and traffic is difficult to describe, but if it could be captured and bottled under the label of ‘Instant Atmosphere’, it would be worth a fortune.

 

We’ve seen fabulous parades and marches, both in protest and celebration, that were hugely entertaining and good humoured having the effect of almost paralysing the town; and I don’t think that I’ll ever become used to seeing so many elegantly dressed and mostly beautiful women all attired in fabulously coloured, sparkling and flowing saris. No concession to Western dress here!

 

It wasn’t long before we started thinking about travelling further, and signed up for an organised trip to the backwaters. The seven hour excursion that we took in the company of the guys off Chisl commenced with a tortuous white knuckle ride to our starting point before embarking on a rice boat for a gentle cruise of these tranquil waters; then transferring and finishing up with an even more soporific ride, this time it was in a punt exploring the shallow narrows that supported the local community. The day wasn’t startling, but gave us the chance to observe another perspective of Indian life.

 

 

A local backwaters fisherman and a coconut collector with his knife.

 

 

Women making rope from coconut husks and Maureen, Steve, Bev and Jeremy punting down one of the many backwaters.

 

Talking about other perspectives, both Richard and I had been talking, and agreed that any visit to India wouldn’t be complete without the experience of a stereotypical train journey, if there is such a thing in this diverse country. So far our encounters would suggest that, paradoxically, almost everything in this exciting sub-continent comes with a one-off tag attached so any pre-conceived ideas just had to be misplaced.

 

Anyhow a sort of plan was hatched that entailed a fifty pound budget, a railway system and a loosely defined direction of travel! Initially, however, all of this was dependent on the purchase of a ticket, not that difficult you’d think? Mmmmm.....this is India and almost everything is twice as complex! So on Thursday we both spent much of an exasperating day engaged in what would normally be a simple task that was often farcical, frustrating and funny, none of it helped by our lack of knowledge of both the system or ultimate destination (they couldn’t really be blamed for not knowing where we wanted to go if we didn’t).  What we were able to establish was that if we travelled on a local train we could buy the ticket on departure. However, it also meant that we would be travelling on a “passenger train” with just one class, Ordinary, and become just an insignificant part of the mass of people doing the same!

 

It was an early start to the next day, the one that heralded the start of our train adventure in India.

 

 

We had half a plan about our destination, although even now that was still flexible (a five hour journey only costing the equivalent of just over a pound meant that a change of mind would never be that expensive).

As we stood and contemplated the arrival of the train, we had time to anticipate and reflect. We had a good idea it would be hot and extraordinarily stuffy, we knew it was likely to be uncomfortable, we weren’t sure how to identify it, and something we hadn’t allowed for, although it was probably the most predictable, it was likely to be late: something confirmed by a young English couple we meet during the course of our wait. So our departure was extended by an hour, something that gave us plenty of time to just look and observe. Almost everything seemed in a state of disorder. The scramble in front of the information desk consisted of a mass of jostling people with elbows thrusting as they strived to be at the head of an uncontrolled queue. There were the flashing co-ordinated colours of the immaculate saris contrasting with scruffy shabbiness of the station’s decor. Then there was the awesome sight of the monstrous travel-worn engines and the sounds of their bellowing horns as they slowly pulled away, their interminable line of carriages easing slowly forwards as they struggled to impart some speed into the following snaking line that almost disappeared into the distance.

 

Eventually, as we gazed up the track into the shimmering heat haze, a grey form appeared, it was our train. The waiting, previously passive, crowd stirred and moved menacingly forwards to the platform’s edge. As the rolling stock trundled slowly into the station, it became clear that it was already crowded, and to ensure a place people were jumping on before it had stopped, others had decided that the doors on the other side were the ones to aim for and were already standing the middle of the track before the train had stopped. As it drew agonisingly slowly to a standstill, crowds gathered at the openings, elbows flaying and hands shoving and a disorganised scrum formed, almost preventing those leaving from alighting. We joined in, eventually scrambling on board  and gratefully grabbing some of the last seats.

 

We’d stood for much of the last two hours, and the thought of a soft padded seat was bliss. However, as I said before, this is India and what we actually got was a solid, lightly upholstered piece of board that would leave us, at the end of our five hour journey, questioning whether we’d ever want to sit down again!

 

The carriages were real throwbacks. Single seats were situated in a line alongside windows and separated by a narrow open passage from individual bench lined booths. Overhead were substantial ornate-looking iron luggage racks that could have been designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, and could be usefully employed as a support to hang onto when shifting seating position to a more comfortable one. The window openings were small and glassless with metal bars permanently fixed horizontally. The paintwork was old, drab and in need of a good clean and each time the toilet door, situated behind us, was opened, it provoked an invasive, lingering odour reminiscent of a hospital geriatric ward. Stereotypical chickens, goats and sheep were nowhere to be seen, and in all honesty it was a spectacle that wasn’t even remotely likely.

 

Soon the train eased forward as the monster engine gathered its strength in an attempt to gain any forward momentum. Very slowly it gathered speed and before long we were dancing rhythmically through the Indian countryside as towns, villages and communities sped by.

 

What is it about public transport that erects a barrier against communication? Whatever it is, it was afflicting our carriage as we all sat in silence. However, and I think I may have said this before!, This is India. And soon the entertainment started, some of it within the confines of the carriage as the sounds of a tapped beat could be heard, heralding the appearance of a slightly built middle aged woman rattling a form of Indian castanets  to accompany her shrill, wailing but pleasant singing voice as she strolled amongst the passengers. Next up was a lady acrobat gyrating her slim body down the aisle before shoving it through a tiny hoop and then requesting financial reward. However, most of the entertainment was provided at each of the stops, by the shouts and actions of the various vendors, frantically plying their trade in the restricted time before the train once more moved on.

 

We eventually arrived in Kozhikkode just before 5pm, thirsty and more than just a little sore.  There were two things high on our list of priorities; to locate some accommodation and quench our thirsts with a cold beer, not necessarily in that order. As it was, the beer came first. However, it wasn’t as simple as it would seem. Religious influences appeared to have hardened the further we’d travelled, and we eventually ended up in a dimly lit room surrounded by risqué wall mounted photos, surrounded by shadowy figures, whilst secretly consuming our seemingly illicitly purchased booze!

 

Then it was a stroll along the bustling noisy and colourful streets to find somewhere to park ourselves for the night. This turned out to be a really difficult exercise. There were plenty of hotels but all inexplicably full. Just when it was beginning to get a bit worrying, we found somewhere, only to be confronted by another stumbling block, my passport was still on the boat. This time the prospect of a night-on-the-street, had real meaning. Eventually pity prevailed, and even though it was my own stupid fault, Indian bureaucracy relented and I was allowed to stay on the strength of my driving licence identification....Phew!

 

 

 

It was a slow start to the next day after a restless night wondering just what we’d been sharing our beds with. Then after a quick curry breakfast at our local veggie restaurant, we went on a stroll. Everywhere we went the reception was fantastic. People almost queued up to say hello and talk to us, very reminiscent of our short but delightful stay in Belitung, and our celebrity status continued as we wondered along electric streets buzzing with activity, trying to ensure avoidance of the noisy chaos that went under the description of traffic.

 

Our attempts to inject a bit of culture into our activity were thwarted, when after a long tuk tuk ride, our arrival at the Museum of Archaeology was greeted with the announcement of closure due to power failure......This was the middle of the day, it was light!!  Anyway it had the benefit of allowing one more excursion into this fantastic town before heading to the station and the embarkation of our train to Pallikud.

 

The train was due early afternoon, and this time it was on time, and once more its approach was heralded by mass movement of the waiting crowd. This time, being experienced travellers, Richard and I were at the front, but still unable to shake off the shackles of British politeness, we waited for those disembarking to leave the train. Word must have circulated about the two daft Englishmen guarding an opening for people to leave and they all aimed for it, whilst everyone boarding attacked the other entrances, leaving us to climb into a full carriage.

If yesterday’s train was crowded, this was positively overflowing. There was hardly a vacant vertical space to lean against let alone anywhere to sit; and it now became obvious why those luggage racks were so robust as they doubled up as beds and seats.

 

As we planned this trip, we’d both joked about a train journey sitting on the roof,,,, well it didn’t quite come to that, but we did find ourselves sitting in an open doorway, with our dangling feet scraping concrete platforms as we sped along!  Eventually, as people left and seats became available, we found ourselves sitting in one of the compartments in conversation with a delightful young lady and guy, who were locals travelling to our destination, Pallikud, and started to provide advice on various locations.

 

We arrived late in Pallikud, the journey having taken an unexpected five hours, and were immediately faced with the familiar accommodation problem, lots of hotels all of them full!  Once more it was proving difficult to resolve, until a tuk tuk ride to the town centre had us climbing the stairs of a joss stick-smelling reception of a questionable bunch of rooms masquerading as a hotel.

This time there was no requests for passports and we were ushered up a flight of stairs, along a dark corridor and into a shabby looking space accommodating two single beds shrouded with one iffy looking sheet. The dusty, grime-covered windows were masked by limp threadbare curtains that were only occasionally attached to the overhead rail; and a poorly fitting piece of wood, with bolts inside and out passing for a door, sat in the opening that led to the shower room with its squat W.C.

 

In the centre of the room, hanging from a ceiling rose, was a large fan spinning furiously without much effect. The good news was it was barely audible. The bad news was the reason; it was being drowned by the traffic noise from the main street directly below! We looked at each other, gave an acknowledging nod, then went back down and parted with 400r, about £6.

So now it was out for food and with any luck a beer, but not before we’d revisited the room to dispose of some luggage only to be greeted by a giant cockroach that was lurking in a corner. Richard immediately leapt into action, and a struggle ensued. I think it was his six foot five stature and element of surprise that gave him the advantage, and he soon dispatched the monster. Not sure of the outcome if I’d been on my own though. The struggle may have been longer and even the outcome different, with me being the unfortunate vanquished one being ignominiously flushed down the loo by a victorious roach!!

 

Anyhow, nothing daunted we were now back in the street, travelling in a tuk tuk heading for a veggie restaurant recommended by the driver, an emerging bar sign caused an abrupt stop and the driver dropped us outside. Once more we were ushered into a dimly lit room although this time the darkness of the outside night and plush decor had the effect of making it more acceptable and we ordered our drinks.

 

The lingering heat provoked anticipation, and delay had the effect of enhancing those initial mouthfuls, and what was just ordinary lager turned, for a few brief moments, into cold nectar!

The bar wasn’t crowded, but it soon became clear that some of those sitting around wanted to talk, and before long we were both engaged in jovial conversation with a friendly bunch of guys that ended up with us being invited to the home of Deepak, a personable guy who worked in a bank, to share an evening meal with himself and his parents. We gratefully accepted, then came the question of transport for the 10 kilometre journey. He’d arrived at the bar on the saddle of his Royal Enfield motorbike, and suggested that we both make the trip perched on the pillion behind him. Quite honestly we’re just not that brave, and declining the invitation we opted to follow in the back of a tuk tuk. The journey that followed was mad and reminded me of my motor racing days and the rush from the start to Paddock Bend at Brands Hatch. Difference was at Brands that initial mayhem lasted for about 20 seconds; on this trip it was about 20 minutes, opposite lock in a three wheeled tuk tuk takes some doing!!

 

Once at his delightful home, we were warmly greeted by his parents, given celebrity status, treated to a superb Indian meal and then spent the evening talking endlessly about each other’s backgrounds, cultures, pasts and futures. We were also escorted on a tour of their lovely house, shown the alterations needed to accommodate Deepak and his lovely fiancé after their May wedding and also invited to the celebrations.  We came away with an imposingly strong impression of just how important family values are in this ancient and varied culture, and in particular what they mean to this lovely family who had just shared their home with two strangers....... Unforgettable!

 

At the end of a brilliant evening we were transported, in the small family car, back into town and dropped right outside the scruffy building that was housing us for the night. Back in our room, after chasing a scampering crawly from under my pillow, the effect of lack of springing and an overactive imagination, was a recipe for what turned out to be a very restless and uncomfortable night.

 

It was now Sunday, our last day and also that of an important religious festival. The town was virtually shut, and although we managed a good look round and visited a fairly nondescript dam on the outskirts, we decided to head for the station, this time it was  the one for buses, and brace ourselves for the two hour coach journey to Trichla.

I think we were both looking forward to the trip, after all it would complete our experience of public transport; but guess what?... This is India!  and any long road trip is best avoided!.

The bus we clambered onto was one of those growling Ashok Leyland monsters.

 

Although it had a driver, I’m sure its actions must have been guided by a mind of its own that was hell bent on self-destruction, surely no half sensible human, Indian or otherwise, could be responsible for the insane decisions that had us hurtling down narrow twisting pot holed roads passing lines of continuous traffic towards oncoming vehicles that looked every bit as solid as the one we were travelling in!

 

Am I glad we did it?,,,, I suppose so! Would I do it again?.... Never!!

We finally reached our destination safely, only to find it afflicted by the same celebrations that seemed to have closed the whole province; and although we managed to visit an impressive Catholic church, the temples we tried to see were inaccessible.

 

 

Then it was train back to Cochin, very crowded (unusual that!) but uneventful.

It was now late. We were pretty knackered and a beer beckoned.

 

What a great few days.

 

We’re now at sea having left Cochin and are without a cellnet signal for pictures, so they will follow later, as will Peter’s report on his tour.

 

 John, Pete and Jeremy