Absorbing the spicy streets of Kochi....

                       

'Chinese' fishing nets...

These legs were made for walking and that’s just what they did today around the narrow winding streets of Kochi (aka Cochin) pop. 1.36 million on the historic Malabar spice coast of southern India. Kochi was fortified by the Portuguese in 1530 in return for supporting the local maharajah against a rival kingdom. Subsequently the Dutch arrived and burned down much that had been built by the Portuguese. The last European settlement was under the British East India Company. Today, Kochi is  touristy, gift shops by the hundred and  seems to be resting excessively for its appeal on yesterdays colonial nostalgia. The historic old buildings are literally falling down, with no apparent collective will to renovate and improve the infrastructure, either from government or private investor groups. The western tourists groups that I saw were heavily weighted towards the senior set with the occasional young marrieds staggering about in the heat and humidity. Of interest, is the area known officially and sign posted as Jew Town. This area was settled from the 1500’s by Jewish travellers, arriving on vessels of the various colonial powers. Although now substantially diminished, Jew Town does have a few remaining Jewish families in residence. The synagogue, built in 1830 is being renovated and hopes to become again an active place of worship.

           Kochi is built on a peninsula that juts out into a large bay—hence the reason for having fortified the city. Today there is a constant procession of large ships, including Indian navy war ships that pass the tourist park at the northern tip, making for berth in the nearby port city of Ernakulam. At the north end tourist park, is a series of giant catapult fishing nets, operated so that the net is rapidly raised, hopefully loaded with sea-food treasures—personally I only sat very small fry being caught. Originally introduced by fishermen from China many years ago, this enterprise is still referred to as the Chinese fishing area. Your humble scribe is not very often bamboozled by con artists, but the fishermen almost succeeded! Come on, they said, help us haul in the net, let us take your photo, they said! Pictures duly taken and smiles all round, and by the way, that’s a 1000 rupees! ($20) you owe us. A pleasant memory dashed to the ground as I handed over my 100 rupees and beat a retreat. Lesson learnt. It seems to happen all the time in India---whenever anyone is friendly and helpfully smiling at you, there will eventually be a request for money compensation. It happens all over the world, but it seems so much more blatant in India. The other day, I was in a jewellery shop buying trinkets for my wife and daughters and got chatting to four young ladies who said they were university students. Lovely conversation with lots of laughter, when two of them suggested that I should pay for their purchases. No suggestion of misconduct here, but an example of an unhealthy tendency to beg/scam the “wealthy” foreigner. Another pleasant memory dashed. Talking with other tourists, my experiences are far from unique. Not good for the “India” tourist brand.

Up a lazy river.....

    Visited the famed Kerala ‘backwaters’ yesterday. The ‘boatman’ duly appeared at my guest house

Skimming the surface like a mosquito......

doorstep at 8.00am sharp, to escort me to the boat for my trip through the “backwaters”. I suspect that the real reason to pick me up personally was to avoid the possibility that I could be waylaid & grabbed away by the competition en route to his boat jetty location. Felt rather sorry for him, as I was the only passenger for the trip on a boat built with seven passenger seats. But with the knowledge that he could not be losing money (for me) and that with full loads during the fast approaching tourist season, he would be earning a handsome living. Of course, boat rides are likely only a 3-4 month occupation.

              Apparently, the 'backwater’ business is made up in two parts. One for resident Indian tourists, who rent mostly the large, over-nighting house-boats designed for wedding parties, corporate & youth groups etc., where meals are provided, drinking and loud music permitted. The other group, tend to be overseas foreigners who, like me, opt for the sedate 4 hour circuit through the nearby river system. The health the backwaters are currently in some threat from the more than 1000 large house boats that tour the area in terms of the diesel oil pollution leaking into the water plus from passengers who throw their plastic bags over board. My boatman had to stop a couple of times to unwrap plastic bags from the screw,         

            

Houseboat on the port quarter...

  The highly scenic freshwater rivers, bordered by coconut palms are an engineering marvel, as they are several feet higher than the surrounding rice paddies, especially so during and just after, the monsoon run-off season. The rather dense housing and narrow pedestrian track for fishermen and rice paddy farmers, is strung out along the man made ridges that separates the river and the paddies. I observed that a number of local residents of the small houses had erected plastic fences for some protection from the prying telephoto lenses of passing tourist boats. Local residents use the river for laundry, cooking, drinking water and bathing purposes and are clearly at risk if the river network gets polluted.

               Interesting to see the large and immaculate hospital boat doing its rounds of bank side villages. As I have previously noted, life expectancy in Kerala is fully 8 years greater than India as a whole.      

             I understand that the network of rivers comprises several hundred kilometres of water-way—of

Note that the river is higher than the rice paddies....

which I probably saw about twelve (4 hours x 3km). I was somewhat disappointed that my ‘cruise’ could not have been routed through narrower rivers of the system, despite my requests to leave the main routes. Anyway, opportunities may occur for another trip at towns further north.

          On a photographic note, I had much fun extending my point and shoot Lumix out from the boat and as low to the water as possible at the end of an extension pole. I am becoming a real fan of low-level picture taking. Great to capture a mosquitoe’s eyeview of the water. Perhaps I shall make low-riding my personal photo trade mark. 

                Throughout the backwater trip, Roy Orbison’s “Blue By You” kept going around in my head. For more than 30 years, I always thought the name of the song was “Blue Bayou”—bayou being the narrow inlets in the Mississippi Delta region. Yes, there are great similarities in these two worlds apart wonders---temperature, mosquitoes and humidity. Amazing how the sub-conscious mind makes links.

Backwater life in Alleppey....

Lined up and ready for the tourists...

                A relaxing and complete breakfast served in the comfortable confines of the Venice Home Stay A large family home, tucked away along a couple of alleys off the main street---totally impossible for the tourist to ‘chance upon’, but through the miracles of the internet, here I am. The name Venice seems to appear quite often in Alleppey aka, Allapuzha, as the town, pop. 282,700, is a central entry point to the Kerala tourism area known as the ‘backwaters’. The region reminds me rather more of Mississipi and its bayous than Venice, Italy and comprises a network of small rivers extending inland, running north south and parallel to the coastline. The supply of tourist boat services around and through the ‘back waters’ has grown into a major regional business, with river boats of all sizes offered at various levels of luxury. This morning, during my reconnoitring, I observed a larger boat garlanded in tropical flowers, being prepared, I believe, for inclusion as part of a wedding ceremony. Through the large windows one could see

Trade mark theft?

the bridal bed ornately decorated for the lucky couple.
(bed and breakfast).

              Interesting to note that the largest (by far) hotel in Alleppey town, with its own private mooring area for its houseboats, is the Ramada. Previously in my blog, I have reported the almost total absence of American hotel brands in India, at least along my 8000km routing.  It is clear to me that the Americans seem to be able to raise the art of inn keeping to a much higher level of sophistication than local, non chain Indian hotel operations that I have seen.. To date,  (mid/late November) the tourist masses  have not yet arrived and most boats are unused and vacant. Walk down through the boat jetty area and one is assailed on all sides, by pesky & aggressive sales touts calling their wares. Duly seduced, I have booked a four hour circular excursion tomorrow at 8.00am. The morning option chosen, as it does seem that the temperature and humidity rise to a crescendo before 1.00pm, culminating in heavy down-pour for a couple of hours, mid afternoon.

The Venice Guest House, Alleppey.

              Alleppey, is a small town by Indian standards, being basically two major roads that converge in the town centre. Today is Sunday and with this town having a large Christian population, many of the stores are closed. Along the main street, near my accommodation, there is a multi-level gold shop that would not look out of place in Las Vegas or Shanghai, and of course, dozens of smaller jewellery and gold shops. I cannot believe that the backpackers that I have seen, spend all their money on gold trinkets. Understand that the winter wedding season in India has a direct relationship on gold bullion prices world-wide.              .              

Interesting fact: (World Bank 2013).

Population density India per sq. km 421, China 145, Netherlands 498, Canada 4.

Life is a beach resort.....

                Still revelling at the tranquillity and silence of the Akhil Resort, Varkala, ($30/night) secreted away

No comment required!

at the top of an ocean front cliff amongst the swaying & graceful coconut palms---albeit in pouring rain and temperatures that have plummeted this morning to a mere 23C. Did I say coconuts? I have been threading my way, eyes  ever cast skywards and with increasing trepidation along the resorts winding footpaths. Each morning it is hard not to notice the smashed coconuts lying on the ground. Yesterday---sweet relief, the coconut harvesting crew was on the job. Fun to watch the ‘wallahs’ shinny up these massive trees and hack loose the ripe nuts. When it is my time to leave this world, rather it not be by having a coconut brain me from 40 foot! Interesting aside here---one sees massive and rampant disregard in India for safety: personal and industrial. People ducking under trains to cross tracks, hydro substations & transformers lacking any protective restraining barriers, chaotic and dangerous roads and the list is endless. Clearly, a major opportunity for the legal profession to step up and litigate. I am told however, that the average time to initial hearing in India is three years, and to trial 10 years. Often one of the parties has died before the formal court process can commence!!

             

I sense at this resort, currently about 20% occupancy, and along ‘gift shop alley’ that runs atop the nearby north cliff, that their hearts are in their mouths, ready for the crack of the starter’s pistol about 15 December, signal to let loose the tourist hordes and to start making some serious moollah. As previously mentioned, Russian tourists are a major group here and I am not at all sure that they will be arriving in the numbers of recent years--- the Russian rouble is down 50% due to western sanctions (Ukraine). Combine that, with the fact that the EU is still in the economic doldrums and it may be a very quiet tourist season for this stretch of Indian beach resort paradise. Although that I have noted several ‘German style’ restaurants and bakeries, usually a harbinger of crowds from Hamburg and Stuttgart, I have only heard German spoken a couple of times. Personally, I much prefer to be here during ‘shoulder’ season when prices are moderate and service is better.
              Occurs to me when I see the folks around the pool, that some, might not even realise that they are in India! There are no local or expat Indians staying here—only Europeans, and most of the staff are seasonal workers that come in from Nepal. Easy to wake up in the morning and feel that one might just as well be half a hemisphere away in the Dominican Republic or Majorca.. This touristic enclave and likely the whole stretch of coast north from here, is so 100% removed, economically & culturally from the ‘real’ India that I have come to love & hate these past 8 weeks travelling the rails. Even the food is great at this resort! These hedonists earn themselves nice suntans & tacky souvenirs, but what  real life experiences did they gain for their self- induced jet lags?

Talking of Kerala....

    My sharp turn to the right or northwards, once I reached the southern tip of India, brings me to the home

Line up for the temple--religious high festival.

stretch of my journey--- to my  Mumbai starting point. Before I reach there, I believe that I am going to see a ‘different’ India, in terms of the country from a touristic, & hopefully dispassionate point of view. Already the communist state of Kerala is revealing itself to be different, more prosperous, cleaner and for an old guy, that has been gastronomically challenged these past 8 weeks, offering a cornucopia of food delights. Just today, upon arrival in Varkala (pop. 49,000), I have enjoyed three good meals---pure bliss. The reason of course, is that India’s Arabian Sea coast line is a tourist region---mostly European and a lot of Russians. My seat companion on the 2 hour bus ride from Trivandrum, explained that the activities of the Russian mafia are creating problems for the Kerala and Goa state governments with the reasons cited as being familiar to Western governments that also experience the same issues with this group of gypsy businessmen. Is there an irony here: Russians coming to settle in an area where there is a communist administration in power?

            

Before I go further, I should report that yesterday in Trivandrum I broke a general rule of mine that of not purchasing city tours. In fact, this half-day tour was my first since arriving in India. I saw areas of the fair city of Trivandrum that I would have otherwise missed through ignorance or logistical problems. My very pleasant young seat companion, Keith, an Indo-Australian, was a mine of interesting information--- and to be congratulated on just completing his five year medical degree. The highlight for was to be on the ocean beach

Boiling orange waves.....

of bright red sand, so red indeed, as to make the foam from the crashing rollers, a yellow /orange colour---combine all this with pink skies, as the sun dipped and it created great photographic opportunities.

              Kerala, after just three days, is also registering itself noteworthy for me as being the first Indian state that I have visited, to be clear of wandering bovines and packs of dogs—it just makes sense that with so much chaotic traffic filling narrow roads, that the two only mix with difficulty---besides it is pleasant to walk with less fear of placing ones sandled feet into a pile of poo!

          Much of the Kerala inter-city bus system is government owned and operated—natural in a communist administration, I suppose. I mention this, as my bus ride today originated at Trivandrum central bus station. Viewed from the front aspect, it is a massive

white, marble embellished monument to public transportation progress. Possibly 10-15 storeys high and likely to have been designed to contain a composite of offices, shops and restaurants etc. Upon entering  to access my departure platform, I was shocked to see the interior empty, gutted and derelict. My enquiries, to other passengers, pointed to a mixture of government incompetence and contactor corruption. Sad, but could one say, inevitable where central planning is involved?

Tasting Trivandrum....

             Dutifully doing my tourist thing here in Trivandrum. Although the Arabian Gulf is nearby, the city does not seem to have any connection to it. Unique in the world, it has democratically elected a communist government into power continuously for the past 45 years. The hammer and sickle flies proudly on all public buildings and I have to say been very successful in cleaning up the city—not perfect, but no piles of refuse on the road sides here, no cows wandering about, or packs of dogs on the roam.                                      

                With a respectable and widely available health care system, life expectancy in Kerala is 75 compared 63 in the rest of India. As mentioned, they have had some success in building tourism along the coast, however in this major city of Trivandrum, the only tourists I have encountered on the streets were three rather scruffy British back-packers looking for cheap digs. Nothing really notable in the traditional tourist sense in Trivandrum---a main drag opposite the railway station and a maze of small commercial streets extending to the north. As a result of the sparseness of tourists, one almost never sees in India, the major US & international hotel brands—the independent local operators are left for the indigenous trade, with low service standards the norm-----high staffing levels of questionable competence, operational and cleanliness issues. My own hotel here, the Aroma Classic Days is an excellent example of  an outfit that is fat & complacent—clients are just too much trouble—who needs them!

               Kerala has high educational attainment levels, with private colleges offering MBAs and PhDs a major industry however with the absence of an industrial base, the ability to offer its young people a realistic future is missing. Hotel work or emigration are the only options for the ambitious. Sadly it is the suicide capital of India for the under 30 group.

Cricket. The passion of India. Round the clock games broadcast on TV. Personally, I always found cricket it in my UK youth to be too slow and totally lacking the glamour and speed of football. How things have changed!. The Indian TV cricket package is offered up in fast paced, full colour & with instant replays from every angle. The bowling rate is fast and furious and balls are hit for 6 with great frequency. As I write this, I can still hear back in 1960, the voice of John Arlott calling the BBC radio test match games while he smoked his pipe!

Chatting with folks on the streets of Madurai....

Completed my meanderings of the central city area of Madurai, fascinating, as they encompass the fourteen temple complex. Heavily domestic tourism dependent, with in Indians (Hindus) visiting on pilgrimage, but very few tourists evident from outside India.

Best shoe repair in Madurai--uses truck tyres for soles....

         Feeling that I had captured enough temple shots, or at least these temples, I concentrated my picture taking today on people in the work place, engaged in the business of making enough money to buy food for families. As such I tried, not always successfully, to avoid use of the built in  point & shoot telephoto that I feel is a ‘cop out’ and mostly misses the unique character of the subject. I tried to engage in simple, friendly conversations that would lower inhibitions (white folks are a REAL rarity to 99% of people on the streets of India. Who knows, but I might have been the first white person they had ever spoken to. Strange you say, but ask yourself, how many folks from Tamil Nadu have you ever spent time with discussing your work. But isn’t tourism all about people meeting people, so that barriers come down and prejudices disappear?.

            

The Honda water pump mechanic....

Glad that I have taken up the challenge of people photography as suggested in my educational reading, finding that I got a lot more out of my solo wanderings through the alley ways and lanes of Madurai and spent pleasant time sharing a laugh with strangers.
               Tomorrow, I head off to the ‘deep south’—that is to the southern tip of India at  Trivandrum---after Trivandrum, the next land is Antarctica!! Train leaves at 5.00am sharp and should arrive 7 hours later. Plagued with a pesky head cold, hopefully I can catch a spot of ‘shut eye’ in my AC2 sleeper berth en route.
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              Most cities and countries seem to have there own natural noise levels. Some have commented that Jamaica is an example of a noisy country with loud electronic music, shouting and laughter widely accepted by people as friendly & sociable behaviour.

First you dye me--then you eat me!!

             India from my own observations is a country of extreme noise pollution. Cars are judged by the size of their klaxons---large trucks and busses, having the loudest and most intimidating. Drivers drive with their thumbs on the horn button---- in total, the streets are a cacophony of sound. Initially, I found this all to be very wearying, but have to say that after 8 weeks ‘on the road’ that it disturbs me less--- maybe I am now slightly hearing impaired! Not only that, Indians are much more likely to speak with loud voices early or late in hotel corridors and in restaurants. No offence is intended or taken—that’s just the way it is and if you come to India, just get used to it!

Visiting the Shrines of Madurai....

               The objective today was to cover of the central part of the 2500 year old city of Madurai, population 1.8 million, the home of the largest of several Hindu temples in the city area. Only knowing the general direction and working off the cardinal points of my trusty boy-scout magnetic compass I located the Meenakshi Amman Temple complex, through a series of narrow streets, realising that I must be approaching, as the number of gift shops increased.  Meenakshi Amman temple complex consists of 14 separate towers constructed between 1200 and 1600AD ranging from 45 to 50 metres high, truly magnificent structures, whatever ones beliefs. The Meenakshi is adorned with more than 25000 (trust me) brightly painted statues of gods, animals and demons on 14 different levels. If interested, for a lot more information on this shrine and the symbolisms attached to it, try Wikipedia.

Courtesy Wikipedia.               An areial view of the temple complex.

                 I had been pre-warned about the necessity of long trousers for modesty and as usual the complex has to be viewed (uncomfortably) barefoot per Hindu religious customs. Once inside, some temple shrine halls were off limits to non-Hindus. Always one to get hot and bothered at perceived unfairness, my camera was impounded at the entry. OK, no problemo. Inside however, Indian visitors had carte blanche and no complaints from all the security guards on patrol, on their flagrant cell phones use for photographs. Pity, as

And the winner of the best fruit stand display is.........

the temple was highly photogenic and had some very interesting natural lighting possibilities. I saw many newborn babies ranged on the floors in the shrines for blessing by the gods. Obviously a very intense experience for some visitors as several female pilgrims indulged in screaming and violently gyrating. Apparently 15000 visitors visit the complex each day up to 25000 on Fridays. Unfortunately, the many signs of explanation and interpretation on the Temple property walls were in Tamil & Hindi only—one more example of India not yet being ready for a large international tourist influx.
                 Emerged from the Temples with the urge to feed the inner man, but unable to stomach a meal of hot spices, settled for an ice-cream (butterscotch?) and a bottle of Fanta. Back to the Moskva Hotel, to nurse the onset of another head cold.
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          Prior to visiting India it was my  conception that this would be a country of abundant flowers, big tropical flowers as in the Caribbean. Not so: very few blossoms around to appreciate, even in park settings, although the Indians do seem to enjoy flowers for female hair, especially of young women and garlanded for religious purposes. In the country- side as observed from my railway carriage seat and in smaller towns like Pondicherry, I was struck by the almost total lack of flowers.       

          My second observation could be tied into to the lack of flowers and that is the few insects evident, including bees, wasps, dragon flies, butterflies and yes, thank goodness, to this point on my travels any way, mosquitoes. Again, it was my pre-travel judgement that there would be clouds of flies, especially with the open sewer system operated here, animal excrement and the wilful scattering of refuse in the streets.

     Of course, the two go along inter-dependently, especially flowers that rely on insect cross-pollination.

             Not sure of the reasons for the above, but could be a result of massive pollution, pesticides and chemicals that likely prevail.

Going down the highway...to Madurai.

           Down to Madurai today, train leaving Tiruchy at 5.00am but who wants to set a 4.15am alarm?

Blind man in dangerous bus yard seeking alms.

Decide to ride the Government bus later in the morning for the 3 hour, $1.75 fare, 150 km stage. With departures from the central bus station, just 200m from my hotel, every15 minutes, I was not surprised to find my bus, less than fully packed.

         The suspension, or lack thereof, under the bus rear wheels, either means that I will need the chiropractor, or have been cured forever of any back problems. India employs a lot of ‘sleeping policemen’--- bumps in the road aimed to moderate speeding and each time we hit one, going in and out of towns en route, half the passenger complement almost hit the ceiling of the bus!

              We made excellent time along the 2 lane dual carriage, neither passengers or driver seeming overly concerned when the occasional car came to us on the wrong side of the separated carriage way. On balance, I think that the train, especially if it is 2AC class, is a much more relaxing way to cover large distances. To complete a 20 hour bus stage must be gruelling, although the private Volvo buses, with reclining seats and toilets would be more comfortable.

          The bus ride during the morning was made in light rain and (pleasantly) much cooler weather than when the sun shines. I am told that when I ‘turn the corner’ of India, and commence my route northwards up the west coast, that the weather will again improve.

       

Beautiful saris in the market....

Locate the anticipated Moskva Hotel and despite its rather grim name, one of the best in which I have stayed---a cool fruit juice and fresh flowers delivered to my room no less. The manager, with whom I chatted upon arrival, explained that the owner, an Indian, had studied in Moscow during the 70’s and obviously harboured sentimental memories—perhaps of Natasha at Midnight!

High point of Tiruchy....

Paid my respects to Tiruchy, (pop: 866,000) aka Trichy, aka Tiruchirapalli! Not unusual for Indian cities & towns to have several names for the same place. Ditto street names which could be marked on maps with their post independence Hindi name, but known popularly by locals/taxi drivers by the former colonial name. All adds to the excitement and confusion of the travel experience, n’est ce pas.

              Located just about in the centre of the state of Tamil Nadu, Trichy is not a large city comparatively, but is well able to compete in the noise and bedlam league- table with some of the most ear splitting klaxons yet encountered. My plan today has been to visit Rock Fort Temple, perched high on top of a huge rock, 3-4 kms away at the north end of the city. Last night some heavy rain and everywhere is a sea of mud. With open sewers, not too pleasant to imagine what is mixed into the cocktail of brown sludge.

           The ride out to Rock Fort Temple was well worth the effort. The entrance is guarded by a patient and friendly jumbo-sized real live elephant. The pachyderm apparently has special significance in Hindu mythology and is featured as part woman in the motifs adorning temples. Should know, but don’t, the significance of the fair sex as elephants. Like all good tourist sights, Rock Fort Temple did not disappoint in requiring special effort to attain it’s rewards. In this case, it was 486 stone steps that had to be climbed bare foot---this is a Hindu holy sight and to wear shoes in a temple is disrespectful---shoes are made of leather, leather comes from cattle and cows are viewed as the mother source of humanity! Anyway, that’s what the man told me. On my climb, not exactly comfortable for one with particularly sensitive feet, I passed several dark (and rather forbidding) Hindus only, candle lit prayer shrines carved into the rock. The summit of the climb provided great views of the city and one could see the grandfather of Hindu temples, to which people from all over India come on pilgrimage, in the distance. Personally, my ration is one temple a day only.

A group of pretty Tamil ladies almost at the summit...

               Carefully descended the 486 steps, back down into the narrow streets that compose the main bazaar district of Trichy. Light rain falling, I retired to a small restaurant for a glass of hot almond flavoured milk—delicious. Firmly support the concept of trying all the fruit & drink varieties on offer, but just cannot adapt to the heavy doses of spice on local food. 

               As locals have explained, Tamil Nadu (TN), a large and prosperous state in the Indian Union, has significant negative feelings about its role in the Indian Union. Firstly, the language spoken by the vast majority in TN is Tamil, as unlike the national language Hindi, as Russian is to English. There is significant resistance in TN to learning Hindi, which is seen by many as the language of the imperial ‘oppressors’ from Northern India. Secondly TN’s resistance is also centred on the issue of caste, central to the Hindu religion. The Brahmin are the top caste, ideally very light skinned and European looking---a la the Bollywood movie stars. Most people in Tamil Nadu have much darker complexions, to the point of being black skinned. There also appears to the outsider somewhat different facial features in TN compared to northern regions. In the north, there is wide spread feeling that Tamils are darker skinned and therefore lower in the caste system---a fact resented in TN.Interestingly, some contend that Tamils may be associated racially with the austro group of which Aboriginals in Australia belong.

          Doesn’t this all seem similar to racism issues in the Western world.

Rock Fort Temple

Easy life on the rails.....

             Reversed my 50km trip via bus back from Pondicherry to Villupurum railway junction. Rather quaintly named and lends on to think this might be miles off in the boonies, with just a single train passing through per day. Not true, and in keeping with all things ‘Indian Railways’ is on a massive scale. On this day, the Gurgaon Express chose to be an hour and 10 minutes late. Indian trains do not exactly screech into stations, but very slowly enter. Just as well today, as a herd of goats decided to amble down the track.

             It is always difficult to decipher muffled railway station tannoys--this one especially so, with the on-going screech in female Tamil---was I on the wrong platform, is the train cancelled, does it run on Tuesdays, were my tickets in error?? Despite being everywhere in street signage, actual knowledge of English is particularly thin in the south---a simple question, like, ‘when is the train coming’ unleashes a torrent of explanation from very friendly passengers, but unfortunately I can scarcely understand a word spoken and just have to nod politely.

               With several hours to idle, three to be exact, on the way to Tiruchy, drowsiness overtook me. Being one who can never really sleep on planes, I have however taken to sleeping on Indian trains like a duck to water. May be it is the fact that 2AC category passengers receive the convenience of a full length bed, clean white sheets and a pillow, has something to do with it!

               Arrived in Tiruchy (aka Trichy—many Indian place names have two, even three names—confusing to say the least for the tourist) at 3.00pm, and registered my self into my swanky (most up-market property in which I have stayed so far, in India) hotel---pre-booked thru Booking .com at what they call “Genius” rates. Perhaps they had a convention cancel on them. Attached to the Femina hotel is a food court, a small department store and only the second largish supermarket I have seen in the country---all 16 cities visited so far. How blessed can one be, not to have wander the dark & crowded streets seeking something to eat that does not have a spice level to lift ones head off! The name of my hotel in my next city (Madurai) rejoices in the name 'Moscow' Hotel---wonder what awaits me there!

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         The meaning of Indian gestures can sometimes be difficult for a Westerner to decipher. In the western world, a shake of the head north & south usually means “yes, OK, I am in agreement & permit”. The Indian equivalent as observed, is best described as a head wobble. The top of the skull moves to the left, the jaw moves to the right, alternating in rapid succession. This does require a certain looseness & flexibility of the spinal discs in the neck that I do not possess. The head ‘wobble’ gesture is frequently used by Indians for agreeing to that which is proposed.

            The second body gesture I have encountered that varies from European norms, is the clear and definite finger point to indicate a specific direction. The westerner typically makes a strong gesture, usually with the forefinger used like an arrow. The Indian will indicate a recommended direction with a broad sweep of the arm, across a 150 degree arc. This can be confusing for a lost soul --- I frequently find myself hammering away to obtain the navigational clarity that I seek.

A walk around and suggestions for Pondicherry.....

            After enjoying a long Skype session with the ‘folks back home’, I headed out into the heat and humidity that is Pondicherry this mid-November Sunday morning. Noticed yesterday that November is wettest month of the year in these southern parts, with 11 inches of rain (equals a 3 ½ metre snow fall!!) as the ‘northwest monsoon passes through. Having said that, the day was cloudless the with a high level haze. Just in case, I took the opportunity to invest in a collapsible umbrella.  Since arriving nearly two months ago, I have only seen an hours precipitation total, in a couple of locations—both times it was extremely heavy rain with the positive of providing a much needed slooshing (my spelling!) to sidewalks and outside surfaces where it was much needed.

Attractive verandah at French Chambre de Commerce....

             The central tourist area of cobbled streets and yellow stucco French colonial style buildings is only a small portion of metro Pondicherry. The original old town has burst at the seams and spread extensively, following the seemingly universal style of Indian cities, extremely raucous and chaotic. The city fathers seem to be without a plan to capitalise on the history of the town & have mostly failed to preserve the old town core and all that was there under the French, is rapidly sadly fast decaying in the tropical humidity. I happened to glance down a narrow alley off one of the main streets and could just about see, behind the tacky storefront facades, some interesting 18^th century French ornate stone work on buildings hidden from view. What a pity to lose this valuable heritage—but also lost, is the chance to wrap the Pondicherry brand destination in lucrative tourist appeal. My strong suggestion to the city fathers is to make it a priority to bury the open sewer ditches that line the streets in the tourist district and which create rather all pervading ‘rich’ odours in the high temperatures.

Those waves were bigger than they look here....

             Thanks to the former Gallic colonial power, the streets of the old town are laid out in grid fashion, making it is easy even for those with less navigational aptitude. With the knowledge that the ocean is to the east, I was able to carve out an interesting circular amble northward along the sea front and back down through the town. The sea front, and I believe the entire local coastline, is protected by massive man placed rocks that have been positioned to limit shore damage. Today the sea was calm, with little wind, even so, the rollers crashing in on the rocks would have meant instant death to anyone stupid enough to swim.

A first glance at Pondicherry....

Mission completed in Chennai. Way down on any list of beauty spots ---but visiting  points of touristic glamour is not the objective of this rail odyssey around India. To view, to observe, and to chat with some locals makes it worthwhile to visit.

                     A 3 hour train sector today, south to coastal Pondicherry (also known as Puducherry)

population 294,000. By this journey’s standards, a short leg and one that Indian Railways must have been expecting to have included a shipment of ice cream! The air conditioning was set at frigid, requiring frequent visits down to ‘cattle’ class, that does not have the ‘benefits’ of AC, so as to thaw out. Arrived on time at Villupuram Junction and ready for that steaming hot coffee (although the temperature out side in Villupuram was pushing a balmy 35C and super humid). Transferred from rail station to bus station terminal and ready to pay my $1 for the 50 km bus ride to Pondicherry. Wow, I thought, a steal of a deal—just half a dozen on passengers on board and piped-in Tamil pop music at high decibel thrown in, at no additional cost. Not gone more than 1 km and we were joined by half of India. Luckily, I had a seat, but without exaggeration, arms & legs were hanging out of windows. I swear that Indian buses have flexible walls and seem to expand as the load increases. The philosophy seems to be ‘no passenger refused a ride’---just pack ‘em in tighter. Despite the discomfort, everyone was most pleasant and accommodative to others.

Note the blue street name reminiscent of France...

              The former enclave of Pondicherry is a remnant of the former French Empire, founded in 1653 and  returned peacefully to India in 1954. Evidence of French influence is fast disappearing, as the old French colonial style structures collapse in the tropical heat & moisture. A small central part of the city has streets that are lined with over arching trees reminiscent of the French concession in Shanghai. Conveniently, much of Pondicherry is still laid out on the old French street grid system, making it easier for this direction challenged tourist to better orientate himself. In comparison, most cities in India are a chaotic maze of street directions where navigation for a visitor is a challenge.

             In the last few years, an administrative remnant of the colonial period has risen as it relates to the period of French control in Pondicherry. Apparently, many of the Indian civil servants employed by the French opted to take French nationality for themselves and family with the expectation that at the end of the period of the colonial administration that they would be rewarded with the right to reside in France. This was not to be the case and these former bureaucrats have found it difficult to transfer to Indian citizenship with its benefits. Thus, there is a diminishing strata of the population in Pondicherry that are considered as colonial outcasts and hold-overs. 
               November is the wettest month of the year in Pondicherry, with 11 inches of precipitation, from the "northwest" monsoon---must buy an umbrella tomorrow! 

Of photography & the economy....

          Far from being a competent photographer, I am and have been for the past 12 months, trying to learn more about this fascinating hobby, from books and the vast knowledge base on the internet. One of the

Yes, ---- I bought 3 bananas from these gentlemen....

areas that I have found particularly difficult is ‘street’ shooting. That is taking photographs of strangers on the street as they inter-relate with others and enact the drama of their lives. I have always felt that I am being aggressive & intruding if I shove a camera in some ones face and I suppose somewhat fearful of an aggressive reaction. No doubt about it, one must be careful. To avoid negative situations, some resort to the use of telephoto lenses, but these tend to flatten the perspective and look like impersonal pictures as seen in newspapers. Someone said that if you cannot see the eyes of your subject clearly, you cannot see into the soul.

                What I am learning on this visit to India, is that photos of strangers can be obtained if one can engage the target smilingly in some kind of conversation before they see the camera. Get the laughter and banter running and the request for a picture falls quite naturally out of the relationship. Immediately the picture is taken, I show them the result on the display screen to obtain their ‘buy in, and even sometimes ask, or they offer a chance of a second picture—perhaps a ‘selfie’ of us both together. I fully respect a person’s request not to be photographed.

              My four days in Chennai/Madras are now concluded. Not a city I have marked down for a return visit, although it is the fourth largest city in India and as dirty and chaotic as cities #1 & 2, I am glad that I came and at least cruised the major thoroughfares and a few backwaters too.

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This lady really enjoys her HEAVY work...

  India is in the process of transforming itself from primarily an agricultural economy into the second stage which would be an export led, low tech manufacturing economy. (An economy that supports nuclear bombs, aircraft carriers and satellites in orbit around Mars). That’s the plan, but at this point manufacturing has not kicked in, especially international partners, with imports of low end ‘made in China’ flooding the streets. Setting up a manufacturing operation here, or even a retail chain gets bogged down in the nightmare of Indian bureaucracy. Per a recent newspaper article, KFC, now reasonably well established, had to wait for 8 years to have its first restaurant Kolkata location finally approved. With 14+ Indian cities now visited, I have only seen two food supermarkets that would be approximately similar to North American examples.                  

The shopping for family food being done off sidewalk vendors, in the local markets, or at the myriad micro sized “go down” stores operated by a single male person, selling the identical items as sold in a thousand other ‘go downs’ in the same area. As a result, the retail scene is very inefficient and I suspect for the local population, very expensive. Sales to owner’s wages ratio must be totally disproportionate. This situation reflects, I believe, the massive unemployment and equally massive under-employment in India. So many men hanging around, not really doing anything—security guard for a couple of parking spots would be an example, an operator for an automatic hotel elevator, would be another.

Moving around places in the Indian city....

          Unless one is wrapped in the cosy confines of the packaged tour, the independent tourist to India is all alone on the gritty streets. These are narrow, very crowded, strewn with garbage, wandering cows, sleeping dogs, beggars and potholes big enough to sit in, plus any other obstacles you can imagine. The locals don’t speak much English despite assurances from every one earlier in my journey that the population in Tamil Nadu are near fluent in it—just not true. . These self employed drivers are masters of psychology, they seem to know just how much ones feet are aching, how urgently one needs the washroom etc…is it written so clearly on the customer’s (the tourist’s) face?

Bottom-line, any visitor with touristic aspirations, relies heavily on the auto rickshaw driver to be transported from point A to point B, or C or point D…..etc. These guys, never ladies, prowl the streets, like flies, seeking lost souls (like myself) in their noisy, open-sided motorised scooters. Easily identifiable in their uniform green & yellow livery, they come to a screeching halt if one as much as throws a glance in their direction. Here in Chennai at least, all auto rickshaws are fitted with meters that according to their driver-masters, are not working properly so its time to do the negotiating tussle. They quote 300 rupees ($5.50) for the trip, counter at 150 upon threatening to find another auto, settle at 200 rupees. Fun at first, just plain tiring on the 50 ^th go around.

                 Born , high influencer type of salesman, the auto-rickshaw drivers are fast to accept the fare and declare precise knowledge of the required routing to deliver to a specific address—problem being that they only have in general, an idea, a feeling, of the location of the target location. Yesterday, my driver kept muttering ‘25 years experience’---still couldn’t find even the area, let alone my guest-house address.

Having said all that, I have clocked probably a few hundred kilometres so far in auto rickshaws and am still alive to tell the tale. Horrific road congestion and totally in a free-for-all environment---the driver with the loudest horn wins the day.

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             Pleased to note, contrary to my expectations prior to arrival in India, that there are very few flies about, despite refuse and food waste being scattered all over the foot paths and roads. Would have thought this would have been the Mecca, the perfect breeding ground, given the heat & humidity, for the world’s flies. OK, a few but nothing to create undue annoyance. Even more pleasing is the absence of mosquitoes, at least in the list of cities I have visited so far. I am religiously popping my malarial antibiotic pill each day and have carried with me protective netting. Perhaps required later when some of my accommodation is in smaller towns nearer the beach.

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 Passed a “Hitler” clothing store today. Clothing for the stylish modern man, it claimed. ‘Hitler is awesome’ it shouted. Interesting and provocative (as in ridiculous) marketing approach!! 

Religious fervour plus squalor.....

                Faced with the 32 hour slow train, that is, one day & two nights, from Kolkata down to Chennai (formerly called Madras), I instead opted for the simple theoretical alternative $80, 2 hour Spice Jet shuttle to the south. That was the promise anyway. Guide books and other travellers tell me that the east coast of India is, in fact, not especially appealing. In the last week, I received two Spice Jet messages to inform me that my flight was cancelled, necessitating a personal trip toKolkata airport to solve the issue and finally secure a replacement confirmed reservation. Duly took-off yesterday, Sunday, fully loaded at 4.20pm from Kolkata. 30 minutes later a passenger suffered heart attack and we had to return to Kolkata---arrived safely 2 ½ hours late at our Chennai destination.

              Awoke this morning in my bed & breakfast at 8.30am—hungry---not able to eat all day yesterday

And what does GOD think of this?

being in transit through airports. Spice Jet was not even been able offer its passengers even a single cup of water in a 4½ hour flight. As stated, previously, finding food is this tourist’s greatest challenge—maybe different for the packaged tour crowd in the Marriott. Remove the hot & spicy offerings on the street and there is not a lot of choice left.

              Another (religious) festival day in India and attracted, just up the road, by the hypnotic beating of drums. Soon I was upon a whirling mass of self flagellating Shiite males. I have seen this on TV, but in full techni-colour real life, it is even more sickening. Especially disturbing to me was that young boys—some maybe only 7-8 years old, had deep bloody cuts over their backs with the constant whipping of ropes. . Such was the mesmerising effect of the chanting and pounding drums, that none of the many dozen participants seemed to notice, or feel, the severe cuts and deep damage that was being inflicted on their backs. All rather shocking, and begs the question as to whether this kind of religious fanaticism is not at the roots of the current schism of Middle Eastern violence. Disturbed to learn yesterday, that 55 people were killed, 100+ injured, by a suicide bomber at  the Wageh, Indo-Pak border crossing ceremony, that I attended just a couple of weeks ago.

              Chennai is the fourth largest city of India. Pop. 6.6 millions, is the capital of the state of Tamil Nadu. Fiercely proud of their own Tamil language, they view the imposition the national Hindi language, as an example of Northern Indian imperialism. I am told that more people speak English in TN than do Hindi. ‘Lonely Planet’ states diplomatically: “Chennai does not always make a good first impression upon visitors” and I would have to agree. I was expecting better, based on what travellers have told me, but we are back in a world of noise, chaos and streets piled with refuse of the most foul variety. I suppose that I should be more charitable, but I really find it difficult how to understand how human beings can collectively agree to live in such filth & squalor. Certainly there is no shortage of unemployed here that could not be conscripted into sanitation brigades.

             Routing myself with the aid  of my trusty old fashioned magnetic compass, I followed the wide & straight Marine Drive northwards for several kilometres, parallel to the beach. I have been told that extensive damage was caused to Chennai’s ocean-front area in the 2006 tsunami that roared in across the Bay of Bengal, however I was not able to see any areas of residual damage.

                Three solid hours of steady plodding, in rising temperatures and high humidity, I was anxious to fill an empty stomach and relying on my trusty guide book, figured that the YW/YMCA International House, near Egmore railway station might offer an interesting buffet repast---disappointed, I had to make do with a plate of rice and a couple of ladles of spicy sauce dribbled over. Maybe, tomorrow, I will track down that elusive and appetising eating spot.

Kolkata round up......

               The pace of my efforts to see as much as possible and record the sights of Kolkata does not slow down. Yesterday, Saturday, 3^rd year, U of Kolkata, IT Engineering student Samrat Dutta, very kindly shared his time and knowledge of this great city to show me the sights and sounds, high life & less high life, not typically seen by your average tourist. Thanks Sam, look forward to reciprocating when you visit North America next year.

 One of the joys (yes, miseries also) of long range travelling solo, is that one is somewhat forced to make contacts with strangers. Today, I crossed paths in a McDonalds with a couple of very interesting ladies, Americans, who are working for a children’s charity for three years in Orissa, southern India. One of them is getting married this week to the Indian Director. Fascinating to get their take, learn of their impressions, & to hear about struggles to make a new life in this country.

Hard bed......

                   Kolkata has been one of the surprises, on the pleasant side, of my visit, so far, to India. To me, Calcutta has always suffered from the lifetime stereotype that has been implanted into my mind, as a city of absolute squalor and deprivation---‘Black Hole’ and all that. The reality is that that this city is on the move---no way near yet the 'Singapores' of the world, but in terms of livability, so much better in my mind, than either Mumbai or Delhi. Most of the garbage created by a Kolkata population of 14 ½ million is cleared up & carted away by city collectors, unlike all the other places, so far that I have visited in India, where rubbish is left where it is dumped to be sorted and picked through informally by human and animal scavengers. More---Kolkata does not permit cows to wander where ever they wish, blocking traffic & fouling as is their nature. Excellent subway system and ritzy new shopping malls sprouting up all over.

Boiling the curd.....

Vast suburban 'new' areas of the city are being filled with modern high-rise apartment blocks arranged in park like settings, ditto, the high-tech garden suburbs that are sprouting up around the metropolis.

               Yes, life in Kolkata city is crowded, hot, chaotic & very noisy. Iin my time here however, I have not seen any evidence of aggression or anger displayed. People seem accepting of their lives, the pressures (economic & social) and respect the lives of others. For me, crossing the road is an excellent illustration. In the West, this a simple process, that is governed by understood rules: traffic lights, zebra crossings, cameras, police etc. many folk get very angry when the rules are flouted. Apparently, in India, laissez faire, no rules, no traffic lights, nothing—each person for themselves. Just now however, I am learning that a different, but real logic in fact applies and is generally understood. Everyone comprehends that according to the rules of the game, the cars will not actually touch, that vehicles will, at the very last second, brake for the old lady or the man with no legs, for the cow or whatever. All accept the unwritten rules and miraculously it all comes together peacefully without the evil of ‘road/civil rage'.

                            Tomorrow 3 November, I am travelling down to Chennai, formerly known as Madras, in

Sisters of Charity administering to the homeless....

the south of India. I have opted to make this a flying segment ($90) of this journey, to avoid a 32 hour train ride spread over two nights.  Duly purchased my ‘Spice Jet’ ticket 60 days ago and have subsequently received two e-mail notifications in the past week to say that my 2 hour flight has either been totally cancelled, or transformed into a 12 hour multi-city trip around India. A strong believer in the power of human reasoning, this morning I trekked out to the airport and demanded to speak to Mr. ‘Big’ at Spice Jet. All resolved amicably (computer glitches, what else?) and your scribe is back with his 2 hour direct flight. Trust that the plane does not suffer ‘glitches’.