Our odyssey of India continued and after the fabulous tour
of Rajasthan we headed south to the bustling metropolis of Mumbai. In order to
get there we had to take a 14 hour overnight train from Udaipur…or so we
thought. Our train actually left from Falnu, a small town 160km from Udaipur –
a small detail anyone had neglected to tell us till the day we were leaving.
With a mixture of excitement and apprehension we boarded the train and fought
our way through the narrow corridors trying not to knock over any old ladies with
our cumbersome rucksacks strapped to our backs. Given the volume of passengers
on Indian trains, and the fact that the train had come from Delhi, the chance
of our seats actually being unoccupied was almost nil. Sure enough, when we
arrived and found our seats I could not help but feel like we were
gate-crashing a huge family party. In our small cabin we had mum and dad, the
children, aunties and uncles and even the grandparents all happily laughing and
chatting away, playing cards, drinking tea, eating chapati, all seemingly interchanging
“seats "every few minutes. I use
the term “seats” loosely. Just when it seemed like we were in for a very long
night, suddenly they all got up and prepared the cabin for sleeping. A few
moments later, Veronika found herself in a top bunk with me underneath in a
(slightly more claustrophobic) middle berth which seemed to appear from nowhere.
We were both surprised and amazed by the quick makeover of the cabin interior,
but nevertheless comfortable in our makeshift beds for the night. After a
surprisingly good night’s sleep, the cabin was re-jiggled back in to daytime
use and we spent the remainder of the journey as part of the family…chatting
away, drinking tea and eating chapati. Needless to say the moment we stepped
off the train we were ambushed by about 20 taxi and rickshaw drivers circling
us with intent but thankfully our new found friends from the train stepped in
to intervene.
I read somewhere that Mumbai (or Bombay as all the locals
still say) is on course to be the most populous city in the world by 2030 and
you would certainly not bet against that. Shockingly crowded slums, beggars, homelessness,
fancy cars, upscale bars and restaurants, millionaires…Mumbai seems to have a
bit of everything. We stayed in the Colaba district in South Mumbai, near to
many of the sights such as the Gateway to India (an impressive archway facing
out to Mumbai Harbour), the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower and the Fort region
which contains many of the best galleries, museums and colonial architecture. By
staying here, we were fortunately able to spend most of the day on foot taking
in all the sights. At night, in search of the big city vibe we headed out to
several of the fancy rooftop terraces hoping to rub shoulders with some of the
Bollywood elite known to frequent such establishments but, instead, all we
found were two middle-age overweight Scotsmen dressed in kilts posing for photos
with the locals! (No, I was not one of them.)
From Mumbai we flew to Bengaluru (aka Bangalore), India’s IT
hub and our real gateway to the south. After having spent weeks in the north
this almost felt like being in a different country, at least in the centre of
town, as the level of sophistication went up while the number of cows roaming the
streets dropped to almost zero. No offence to the holy cows. However, just when
it seemed safe to walk the streets without the fear of treading in cow dung
every step, sightseeing had to take a backseat as the dreaded Delhi Belly
finally took its toll and confined Veronika to her bed and me to the role of
Florence Nightingale for a few days. To be honest, I think we had both done
reasonably well to get this far without being struck down by Delhi Belly. First
and foremost, I have to say the food here is delicious (if you like curry of
course) but you do sometimes feel like you are playing Russian roulette with
your stomach and wake up the next day hoping for the best! That is especially true if you have taken a
gamble at one of the many street vendors! Curry lovers are, not surprisingly,
spoilt for choice and I think I had a different curry every day for the first
three weeks before I resorted to the trusty chicken tikka masala…and that was
only to compare it with how they make it back “home” of course. Miraculously,
in all our weeks in India I never fell foul to Delhi Belly. I suspect this was
through a combination of good luck and the “tolerance” I had built up through all
those late nights spent devouring curries in Brick Lane, London, after a boozy
night out. As Veronika was quick to point out, too, I’ve never seen a piece of
naan bread I didn’t like.
Still nursing Veronika back to full health, we rolled in to
the town of Mysore on the Shatabdi express, a pleasant 3 hour journey from
Bangalore. I am still not sure, however,
if Veronika’s cold sweats were part of the flu-like symptoms she had been
trying to shake off or the little mouse we had accompanying us in the cabin. I
suspect it was the latter. The highlight of the town is undoubtedly Mysore Palace,
a completely over the top and ostentatious palace built for the Wodeyar
Maharajas which looks like it could have
been built to host the Khardashian’s Christmas Special. Unfortunately, Veronika
was still quite weak at this point so we took the opportunity to relax in the
delightful heritage hotel we had fortuitously chosen to stay in. I did,
however, start to see the small shoots of her recovery as she managed to drag
herself out of bed and in to a few shops in the elusive hunt for the perfect Indian
outfit.
The relaxed small town of Fort Cochin, in the state of
Kerala, was our next stop. Again, this was unlike anything we had experienced
thus far in India. Here, the Hindu temples gave way to St Francis Church, Santa
Cruz Basilica, and many more Catholic churches in a nod to the legacy of the
past inhabitants of this area. The Portuguese feature strongly with the
Indo-Portuguese museum and you can even visit the tombstone of Vasco da Gama
who died here in 1524. Also not far away is Jew Town with a 500 year –old
Synagogue to add to the diverse blend to be found here. We found Fort Cochin to
be a lovely wee place to visit for a couple of days, despite the absence of
alcohol in most of the restaurants.
A trip to this part of India would not be complete without a
couple of days spent chilling out aboard a houseboat drifting through the
backwaters of Kerala. The houseboats
come in different shapes and sizes and our “one bedroom”, while probably not
the most modern of the fleet, was reasonably comfortable. If you like relaxing,
and I do, then you’ll enjoy the houseboat. For two days we cruised along the
narrow waterways past palm, coconut, copra, and cashew nut trees, through quiet
lakes and alongside remote villages. With nothing more to do but admire the
beautiful scenery and nature all around, read a book, or maybe stop at one of
the local markets to buy some fresh tiger prawns it was truly a serene
experience. The only stressful time came in the evenings when I, as always, was
sent in to the bedroom to check for unwanted intruders of the creepy-crawly
kind. Thankfully, there was nothing to report there, probably taken care of by
the ever-present geckos in the room. While on board, we were treated to some
fantastic local fare, such as spicy fish curry served on banana leaves,
prepared by the diligent Manish in the crude kitchen. He always looked so proud
and delighted when he presented his latest creations to us on the dinner table.
Sadly, the smile was usually wiped off his face when he had to watch us eat Indian
style, using only our hands, and the mess that was then created of his
masterpieces. There may be a way to eat a curry gracefully with your hands…but
I certainly haven’t grasped it!
The relaxation theme continued as we then headed up and into
the hills and tea plantations of Munnar. The drive up to the tea plantations
should have been, and probably usually is, fantastic. However, our young driver
was, by his own admission, completely lost and infuriatingly stopped to ask for
directions every 100 metres, even when it was clear to us there was only one
main road and it went to Munnar. Nevertheless, we arrived safely and it was
well worth the journey. The lush green countryside of the tea plantations is so
incredibly pleasing on the eye and with the added benefit of the smell of fresh
air it made for a great place to stay for a couple of days. Our hotel, which I
had chosen, not surprising last minute, was stuck in the middle of nowhere
which added to the serene nature of the stay. We spent most of the time just
out walking through the surrounding countryside and, for the first time in
India, it felt like we were the only people within miles.
With a relaxed mind and feet sore from walking, we then
landed in Goa. Both the current capital of Goa, Panaji, and the former capital,
Old Goa, ooze charm and still heavily echo the Portuguese era. The quiet
streets, old colonial houses and relaxed vibe only added to the notion that it
felt like we were travelling in a different country from the north where
everything had seemed so hectic. It also appeared, to us at least, that the
most Indian gesture of waggling the head in greeting someone or in response to
a question was more pronounced here. For weeks I had been afraid to try it wary
of offending anyone, but finally surrendered to the temptation and tried it
out. The first few waggles I tried were, at best, half-hearted and only met
with curious expressions but when I persisted with a more flexible waggle then
it was more often than not returned with a smile and an equally robust waggle.
We certainly found the laidback nature of the south to be reflected in its
people.
The fabulously named Hampi was the next stop and the end of
another long train journey. By this point we had been joined by yet another of
the intrepid Boesch family, this time Veronika’s brother Vitus. Hampi is a very
small village that just happens to be surrounded by ancient ruins set in an
incredible landscape of huge boulders everywhere in the rough terrain. Throw in
a meandering river, banana plantations and palm groves and it all adds up to a
nice place to hang out for a few days. Although, to really blend in with the
other travellers here it helps to have some serious dreadlocks and a glazed
expression on your face most of the time!
To conclude our time in India and, indeed our incredible
eight month adventure, we chose to go back to Goa for some time on the beach to
reflect on everything we had done and seen. Rejecting the busier beaches of
North Goa (didn’t really see us seamlessly fitting into the trance party
scene), we chose the quieter southern beach of Varca. Having previously stopped
on a day trip at one of the busier beaches in the north, I believe we made a
wise choice. The beach was beautiful, quiet, clean and ideal for long walks or
even bike rides (although one of our bike excursions ended in yet another
broken chain disaster forcing Vitus into a long walk back along the beach
pushing a lovely bright pink broken bike). The Arabian Sea here was also the
perfect temperature to swim and play in the waves for hours under the endlessly
blue sky. The Ruble rather than Rupee was the currency in evidence here though
as the Russian takeover of this beautiful stretch of Goan coastline is well
underway. We really enjoyed our last few
days here and found it to be the perfect way to end the trip.
With our adventure coming to an end it was just the matter
of making it back to Mumbai to catch a plane …but to where? Well, after having
spent the previous seven weeks in such an enlightening place as India it felt
only right that we return, if only for a few days, to what will probably always
be our spiritual home, New York City.
