Altogether we spent five leisurely days in Mysore and the hills to the south. At 700m Mysore delivered the 'Indian Summer' we wanted and after three days we went on to Madikeri, which was at 1,500m dropped another couple of degrees - so only 30-ish during the day.
Mysore had all the contradictions and rhythms you hope for in India, from the Maharajah's palace, looking just like Harrods all lit-up, through to the 'famous' market where we went for our breakfast and the drainage had failed so everyone just covered their faces.
Laura and Patrick faced the biggest change, having come from winter in the Alps (Patrick complete with goggle marks) to the heat of India, although their mountain home ensured when we did set out on our obligatory 6.30am hill walk/pilgrimage their high-altitude lifestyle ensured they shot up the hill, at least that was our excuse.
Mysore gave everyone a bit of what they wanted - Patrick enjoyed the monkeys most, they were on the roofs and our walk; Erica managed to purchase, in what is the least touristy famous spot we've been, a blanket, Laura enjoyed her first proper curries and the head nodding and I liked that you had change from three pounds after all four of us had eaten lunch.
Before we left Mysore there was the saga of the missing flip flops or jandals, for our linguistically challenged readers in the southern hemisphere. The things to understand are, our hotel was a relaxed place and we took to leaving the odd thing lining about and anyhow there was always one of the three house boys around keeping an eye on things. We know house boy doesn't sound politically correct, but it's what they called themselves and the description couldn't be more accurate.
When we came to leave, Erica's jandals were nowhere to be seen. We scoured the room, the landing and the balconies and as a last resort tracked down our house-boy, who was mopping the floor downstairs. Following the usual gesticulation and incomprehensible blabbering from me, he asked me to follow him and we headed up to our room. Once we arrived outside the door, he paused, then stepped out of Erica's flip flops, smiled and strolled off. Flip flops restored, we spent twenty guilt-ridden-wealth-laden-western-mentality minutes contemplating whether to donate said flip flops, or purchase new ones for him. This anguish left us however when he strolled happily past in a very adequate, if less trendy pair.
Then it was on to the hills and for this I pass you over to Patrick's diary, which sets out concisely the highlights of our two days in Madikeri:
Misty mountains in the morning.
Anoop whose house we stayed in.
Dogs, Pinky, Blacko, Snowy, Pinko and their boyfriend.
Incredible greenery.
Keeping a baby squirrel safe.
Elephants, twelve, at Dubare forest reserve with a
River to wash in.
Indian traveling.......
The final thing to mention from our time in the hills is Mrs B's discovery of date balls, like great balls, just no fire. She and Laura developed a minor addiction.
Saturday, 26 April 2008
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Meeting Laura and Patrick
When we planned our trip last year we agreed to meet Laura and Patrick somewhere in southern India, the exact location to be decided. After more than a little debate Mysore got the nod and it turned out to be a good choice, but first we had to get there.
To reach Mysore, we had to dash up the Kerelan coast, then head inland, a journey which taught us three things:
Never catch a train on the first weekend of the summer holidays - it was like the Northern Line at rush-hour, just for five hours.
Secondly, Indian train travel while busy is head and shoulders above Indian bus travel, it's not the seating, people sit on each other in both, it's just a bus journey feels how I imagine it would be to sit on a trailer, being pulled by a tractor, through a very muddy field - fine for ten minutes, uncomfortable for any longer.
The final lesson is this, if you're male and you do find yourself stoically fighting your way through a carriage on one of these trains and the carriage only has hundreds of sari and burkah clad ladies, I can offer you the following insight; the reason they all look miffed is you're in the ladies only carriage (veils off etc.) and the very last thing Indian ladies want closely confined with them, is a large, sweating, pasty-coloured, foreigner of the male variety.
Although, as always with these things there was an upside. The ladies loved Mrs B, she got a seat, acquired a bindi (a sign of marriage), talked and grinned a lot and left her husband loitering by the loos, with the other male types you find at the ends of ladies only carriages. So four hours of comparing sweaty armpits for me and four of refined cross-cultural interaction for the wife.
Anyway we got to Mysore. Laura and Patrick had less luck, but more comfort, they couldn't get on the first two trains from Chennai (Madras) and as there are only two a day this meant we didn't meet until a day and a half after they landed. Needless to say, it was all more than worth it in the end. It will be a long time before I again find myself waiting on the platform of a central Indian train station to meet Patrick, who I hadn't seen in three months. It all felt like we were in totally the wrong place, very dislocating, but ultimately very good news. We were all just pleased to have managed the normally simple thing of meeting up.
A flurry of posts may now follow, our excuse is that train travel gives you time to think about what you can say. Apologies for getting carried away, it was always more for our pleasure than yours.....
To reach Mysore, we had to dash up the Kerelan coast, then head inland, a journey which taught us three things:
Never catch a train on the first weekend of the summer holidays - it was like the Northern Line at rush-hour, just for five hours.
Secondly, Indian train travel while busy is head and shoulders above Indian bus travel, it's not the seating, people sit on each other in both, it's just a bus journey feels how I imagine it would be to sit on a trailer, being pulled by a tractor, through a very muddy field - fine for ten minutes, uncomfortable for any longer.
The final lesson is this, if you're male and you do find yourself stoically fighting your way through a carriage on one of these trains and the carriage only has hundreds of sari and burkah clad ladies, I can offer you the following insight; the reason they all look miffed is you're in the ladies only carriage (veils off etc.) and the very last thing Indian ladies want closely confined with them, is a large, sweating, pasty-coloured, foreigner of the male variety.
Although, as always with these things there was an upside. The ladies loved Mrs B, she got a seat, acquired a bindi (a sign of marriage), talked and grinned a lot and left her husband loitering by the loos, with the other male types you find at the ends of ladies only carriages. So four hours of comparing sweaty armpits for me and four of refined cross-cultural interaction for the wife.
Anyway we got to Mysore. Laura and Patrick had less luck, but more comfort, they couldn't get on the first two trains from Chennai (Madras) and as there are only two a day this meant we didn't meet until a day and a half after they landed. Needless to say, it was all more than worth it in the end. It will be a long time before I again find myself waiting on the platform of a central Indian train station to meet Patrick, who I hadn't seen in three months. It all felt like we were in totally the wrong place, very dislocating, but ultimately very good news. We were all just pleased to have managed the normally simple thing of meeting up.
A flurry of posts may now follow, our excuse is that train travel gives you time to think about what you can say. Apologies for getting carried away, it was always more for our pleasure than yours.....
Friday, 18 April 2008
A solution at last.....
The Indians, realising the task ahead, secured UN funding to open a centre focused on the problem of our age, Ericas everywhere are assured of the skills they need.
I accept this is facile, so apologies to my wife and her family. It was originally going to be called the Eric Training Institute, but apparently the gap in the Erica market was bigger. Not news to me.
Time flies, while also standing still. Southern India.
Everyone tells us we've had the easiest of introductions to India. Kerala is where people come to recover from the stresses and strains of the north, the sights, crowds, rubbish and touts are absent from the south-west and the result is people say they are happier and more relaxed here.
After six days we couldn't agree more, in fact it took us some time to feel like we'd left Sri Lanka, the flight was so short, the climate and people so similar. Varkala the beach resort we headed to, felt like a busier version of Sri Lanka, although the beaches weren't half as nice. As it turned out, traveller-friendly Varkala was a little too dull for our tastes, everything was too easy, so we were pleased to leave the limbo and head for the infamous backwaters.
The backwaters are India's version of the Norfolk Broads, with Alleppey playing the part of Wroxham, they even have the same weed issues, in their case it's from Africa and while they don't have cider, they do have duck-herders, which is the next best thing to duck punts*. It was here we were planning to spend our next two days.
At this stage Mrs B. played the honeymoon card (which is plastic) and we went for the pricey fifty pounds a day boat, as it turned out we shouldn't have worried, neither of us can think of one hundred pounds better spent. For the next two days and nights we cruised the canals and broads, doing nothing but watching the banks slip by and being waited on hand and foot; we ate, drank, slept and read to our hearts content. We couldn't do anything to help, it was so ludicrously self-indulgent, we just lounged around as three people worked hard to ensure we were happy and if it wasn't for the fact the cook so obviously loved his job and the captain enjoyed being the boss, guilt could have set in.
It was so over the top, the relaxation was mind-numbing, time stood still, the end result was best described as stupefying. After four months of unemployment, it was on a house-boat in Kerala that everything finally stopped and although it's two months until we're back in the UK, we talked and thought about home more than we'd done before.
After the boat we hopped on a train to Fort Cochin and we've spent the last day or so planning how we get from here to Mysore to meet Patrick and Laura, without having to do an over-night bus journey. After all, it's a well known fact that an over-night bus journey is the most effectively serenity destroyer known to travellers, particularly those who are six feet and taller.
*All Norfolk references credited to Bruxner, G, sometime Norfolk pub-crawling, duck-punting champion (it's a small field, made up of just his close relatives).
Friday, 11 April 2008
Adieu Sri Lanka
Tomorrow we fly to Kerela for the start of two months in India. While we can't wait to get there, we're sad to be leaving Sri Lanka after only sixteen days. Our mistake was to think two weeks would be enough, while we've got round the 'highlights', another week or two in the south would have been good for the soul.
We've enjoyed the Sri Lankan way of life, despite a nasty government, freedom fighter/rebel types and an economy badly on the skids, the people have always been all smiles and charm. We've found it refreshing, if you could bottle and sell Sir Lankan optimism you'd have a good living.
So we head a little reluctantly to India, despite the less happy news reports, we'd reccomend nearly everyone to come to Sri Lanka. We'll definately be back, although it may take a while!
Super stupa (to be said in a geordie accent)
In the hills it's tea, tea and .... hot milk. Tea is everywhere, all bushy and extra verdant. Having spent ten minutes watching tea pickers, Mr and Mrs B came to very different opinions as to the merits of the job.
Mrs B. (ever the optimist) saw sunshine, the ladies only crew, obviously high levels of gossip, good perks (one has to assume they drink a lot of tea) and decided this was an OK sort of job.
I on the other hand saw no men (it's hard work), the afternoon downpours, the lack of mechanisation and concluded being a tea picker is not a good job. These ladies have done it all their lives, they're so short even Mrs B. towers over them, so weather-beaten you'd think they slept outside, yet they couldn't stop grinning and cracking gags, we think at my expense. So maybe Mrs B did get it right.
After the hills and a tooth in Kandy, we headed for the central plains and the Ancient Cities. The most glorious part - besides of course the temples, stupas (Geordie accent), general assorted ruins and big Buddha statues, was the near total absence of tourists. These big sites never had more than five or six westerners and generally none. The only downside was it meant touts invariably out-numbered us, but even this wasn't too bad, as in true Sri Lankan form they'd hassle you altogether at one spot and then you'd be free for an hour until you hit another 'tout spot' and then it would start again, a fairly stress free way to tout we decided.
While ranging through the various means of transport available, hunting out the better guest houses and places to consume curry, a special mention should go to Mike and Marion who we saw on and off for a week. We first met them on the train to Adam's peak and we ended our travels together with some mild to moderate (in the case of Marion and Mrs b. moderate to heavy) Arrack and Sri Lankan curry consumption. Other than us, the bathroom salesmen were also indirect beneficiaries of this brief travelling bond. Marion and Mike I think we'll see you again...
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Adam's Peak, Sri Lanka
After a week on the coast we headed for them there hills, the largest and most prominent of which is called Adam's Peak.
Now Adam's Peak is famed for a walk, or more correctly a pilgrimage. You walk to the summit for sunrise, it's Sri Lanka's answer to.......... us heathen Brits most have something similar, but lord knows what - there's a footprint on the top and depending on your religious inclination, it's either Buddha's or Adam's.
The synopsis is, you get up at 2am, walk up a 2,400 metre mountain, ring a bell or two, say at prayer at a temple and gawp in wonder as the sun does it's thing. The good news is there's a head start, the village is at 1,300m and there are 5,000 steps, so no scrambling over rocks. The bad news? None of the guest houses have hot water, so cold showers at 2am are the order of the day and well, have you ever walked down 5,000 steps at 7 in the morning?
Our stock of provisions was good, we had cashew nut chocolate, polos and Hawaiian biscuits (with coconut). We also had the kit, we've lugged it round for the last three months and finally we could wear our jumpers, jackets and walking boots,
Obviously, we sprang up that hill like mountain goats and were happily ensconced with 300 Sri Lankans, 15 or so gringos and some monks for 5.30am. To give credit where it's due (by-the-by you earn good karma credit for doing the walk) it was the best sunrise we've seen. When the old ball of burning Hydrogen finally crested the horizon, it may have been the drums, it may have been the prayers and gasps, it may have been the fact you couldn't feel your hands, but somehow the slog up the mountain felt easy and that moment was good.
The last thing to add is once down, we had a herbal bath heated over a fire, which we can recommend; and that two days later we're still looking at steps with apprehension and our calf muscles still hurt.
Now Adam's Peak is famed for a walk, or more correctly a pilgrimage. You walk to the summit for sunrise, it's Sri Lanka's answer to.......... us heathen Brits most have something similar, but lord knows what - there's a footprint on the top and depending on your religious inclination, it's either Buddha's or Adam's.
The synopsis is, you get up at 2am, walk up a 2,400 metre mountain, ring a bell or two, say at prayer at a temple and gawp in wonder as the sun does it's thing. The good news is there's a head start, the village is at 1,300m and there are 5,000 steps, so no scrambling over rocks. The bad news? None of the guest houses have hot water, so cold showers at 2am are the order of the day and well, have you ever walked down 5,000 steps at 7 in the morning?
Our stock of provisions was good, we had cashew nut chocolate, polos and Hawaiian biscuits (with coconut). We also had the kit, we've lugged it round for the last three months and finally we could wear our jumpers, jackets and walking boots,
Obviously, we sprang up that hill like mountain goats and were happily ensconced with 300 Sri Lankans, 15 or so gringos and some monks for 5.30am. To give credit where it's due (by-the-by you earn good karma credit for doing the walk) it was the best sunrise we've seen. When the old ball of burning Hydrogen finally crested the horizon, it may have been the drums, it may have been the prayers and gasps, it may have been the fact you couldn't feel your hands, but somehow the slog up the mountain felt easy and that moment was good.
The last thing to add is once down, we had a herbal bath heated over a fire, which we can recommend; and that two days later we're still looking at steps with apprehension and our calf muscles still hurt.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
The answer is Sri Lanka.
What's the question?
We've realised we go quiet when we're enjoyiong ourselves. Blogging becomes just a wee bit dull, this tends to coincides with when it becomes trickier and pricier, as well.
Sri Lanka is good, it's a contender, it may even knock Laos of it's perch, but as we've only done six nights, we're reserving judgement on that.
After heading to Colombo, which is dirtier and uglier than the namesake detective, we headed south. Colombo is the only thing we've done so far that we'll skip when we come again.
So to Galle, bright, sandstone-walled old town, with a great sea breeze and Mrs Khalid's home cooked curry, Mrs B. got very excited in the shops, but my cautionary shopping arguments won out (Mrs B warns India is going to be marketful and bag laden). Then to Unawatuna for sun and sand and too much relaxation - our room was luxy, two yards from the beach and only 15 GBP a night. After four days we thought a Sri Lankan style safari in Yalle national park would be in order - too much to tell (will bore you over dinner).
We've decided not to read the Foriegn Office advice on Sri Lanka until we're in India, but things are a little warmer on the Tamil Tiger front than we'd realised (like there is actually a front). This has had several consequences: firstly the Sri Lankans are not having fun, inflation is 25%, the governmnt taxes everything and they're killing each other - all of which lets face it sucks. The unintended consequence is some things are much pricier for us than we'd expected. There are also very few other tourists and no tour buses in sight.
We're 'up country' now, so must dash for tea. So far we love vegetable rotis, green bee-eaters, lime sodas, sunrises (even the getting up at 5.30 is good) and local buses!
We've realised we go quiet when we're enjoyiong ourselves. Blogging becomes just a wee bit dull, this tends to coincides with when it becomes trickier and pricier, as well.
Sri Lanka is good, it's a contender, it may even knock Laos of it's perch, but as we've only done six nights, we're reserving judgement on that.
After heading to Colombo, which is dirtier and uglier than the namesake detective, we headed south. Colombo is the only thing we've done so far that we'll skip when we come again.
So to Galle, bright, sandstone-walled old town, with a great sea breeze and Mrs Khalid's home cooked curry, Mrs B. got very excited in the shops, but my cautionary shopping arguments won out (Mrs B warns India is going to be marketful and bag laden). Then to Unawatuna for sun and sand and too much relaxation - our room was luxy, two yards from the beach and only 15 GBP a night. After four days we thought a Sri Lankan style safari in Yalle national park would be in order - too much to tell (will bore you over dinner).
We've decided not to read the Foriegn Office advice on Sri Lanka until we're in India, but things are a little warmer on the Tamil Tiger front than we'd realised (like there is actually a front). This has had several consequences: firstly the Sri Lankans are not having fun, inflation is 25%, the governmnt taxes everything and they're killing each other - all of which lets face it sucks. The unintended consequence is some things are much pricier for us than we'd expected. There are also very few other tourists and no tour buses in sight.
We're 'up country' now, so must dash for tea. So far we love vegetable rotis, green bee-eaters, lime sodas, sunrises (even the getting up at 5.30 is good) and local buses!
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