A rail journey around India, beginning & ending in Mumbai...

A rail journey around India, beginning & ending in Mumbai...

Thursday 18 December 2014

India----- a post script.

                  I have now reached the final entry of this blog. Nothing profound. Back in Canada and preparing for a family Christmas, I cast my mind back to India, half a world away, to the noise, chaos and passion of people lives as they compete to survive in the world’s largest and very crowded democracy. At the beginning of this blog  I used the phrase ‘India—not for the faint hearted’ and that phrase sticks with me, even more so after having experienced the sub-continent close-up and personal for the past 3 months. I come away with the feeling that the country’s greatest asset is its people, quick to smile and insatiably curious---the cry of “what country you come from?” still ringing in my ears from being asked the question a thousand times.
                My observation is that India is chronically conservative in its social and religious structures. I witnessed first-hand, protests by women against harassment and for a stronger role in society, of chaos on the roads, the acceptance of dumping foul refuse any and everywhere and a bureaucracy that seems to be out of control. With massive unemployment and under-employment, there is certainly an available labour force to clean- up the nation –all that is required is a national consensus to undertake the task. New prime-minister Modi seems to be attempting to push his people in the right direction. To paraphrase, India is a country that should not function---but it does!
                Independent tourist type travel to India, except for the young persons back-packer variety, should not be undertaken lightly. Logistically, my trip was successful, as I did undertake extensive pre-planning, although this did result in some lack of the spontaneity of unstructured travel. I know that I did miss some interesting sights en route and was unable to deviate from rigid advance hotel and railway reservations. On the positive side, I did avoid countless hours waiting in long queues at rail station ticket booths, supplying reams of useless details of my life to make ‘on the spot’ rail reservations. Never did I have to trudge the streets of  (very) strange cities, late at night trying to secure a hotel room. I always felt, as a ‘foreigner,’ that I was welcome in India—people were quick to offer me a friendly smile and point out the routing, ---even if sometimes I could barely understand their version of the English language. My thanks to all who agreed to let me take their photographs as they went about their busy work schedules.
              As an Englishman, I was disappointed at what I perceived to be as a lack of an Indian sense of connection to Britain. The younger Indians that I met seemed to regard the UK indifferently, as just another condescending European country, whereas the older people seemed to have quite negative feelings about the humiliations that they felt that they were subjected to, during the colonial/Raj era.
          Thanks to Indian Railways for the generally on time and comfortable service they provided. I shall never forget the countless hours that I stood at the open doorways of moving trains as the villages and fields rolled by.
               Lastly and most importantly, I want to thank my wife Jian for her total support of this project and who so unselfishly permitted me to go foot-loose for three months, so far away from home; who so uncomplainingly picked up domestic duties like grass cutting and snow clearing in my absence, who brightened my everyday with a bright and cheery e-mail. Thanks always Jian.

Sunday 14 December 2014

And safely back to the starting point.....

        The circle closes—arrived back in Mumbai. The 11 hour train trip, 650 kms northward from Mangeon, Goa, only about one hour late arriving. Of course, my thanks go out to SD Enterprises, Wembley, UK from whom I purchased my 90 day Indian rail pass and who made all the required seat reservations for me---even ensuring that on every sector my bunk was lower level. Not an unimportant detail, should one have a call from nature at 3.00am and be required to make ones way along a rockin’ and rollin’ narrow passage, to the ‘facilities. 
A local Mumbai beach wedding party warms up.
                As I cruised this final leg, I reflected how I had become over these past 12 weeks, rather blaise---the joys of experience. Mysteries like how to locate one's carriage and specific seat in a train that seems like a mile long. I spent  scores of pleasant hours and miles hanging out of the open door of the rail carriage as we charged along. Sometimes I felt that it was like watching a National Geographic movie unfold before my eyes. Thankfully hanging out of rail carriages is permitted in India, but just watch out for the passing pylons that support the overhead electric rail power lines, or you may end up with a nasty head ache and a dented camera! With the advent of electric powered trains, India Railways banned the famous ‘riding on the roof’ routine. Still, would be interesting to know how many passengers they lose overboard each year from open carriage doors! Yesterday, as chance would have it, we passed the site of a major train wreck—the whole train—or perhaps 20 carriages, had flown off the track and piled up in a massive heap at the bottom of a high embankment. How long ago this happened, I do not know—but I expect, based on my knowledge of how things seem to operate in this country, that the wreck will stay in in situ for decades to come. Too bad  that I did not have my trusty Lumix in hand ready to record the dramatic scene.
Reluctant to go for a swim.....
Sand art (of a god?) on Juhu Beach, Mumbai.
               My final hotel accommodation in Mumbai,  is located generally near the airport sector & not far from Juhu beach. By pure chance, it is perhaps the best one of my whole India trip. Very professional. Super soft beds and attentive service. After complimentary cornflakes, I made my way via auto rickshaw down to Juhu. The hotel tourist map gushed that if I was really lucky, I might even see top Bollywood actors out for a jog on the sands, surrounded by their private retinue of body guards. Sadly, I missed the spectacle! Anyway, a most pleasant walk of perhaps 4-5 kms, up and down the hard sands in perfect 30C sunny weather that included the picturesque spectacle of boys running a beautiful white stallion through the surf. Unfortunately, my humble Lumix point & shoot was hardly up to the job. Due to the intense light levels, the LCD display, totally useless, as in point & guess!

Thursday 11 December 2014

Life on the southern beaches.....

         Emerged from my Panaji hotel at the rather aggressive checkout time of 9.00am sharp. Not too
displeased to see the back of Blessings hotel and their super hard and thin mattresses. Service was poor—room was never serviced in 6 days, despite requests. Should not bore all with complaints, as it was reasonably quiet, hot water almost on demand and never required to squash a single cockroach.
Beach beer shack....
               Last night, was too tired to care anyway, having done a days tour via  bus, auto rickshaw and on foot of the resorts about 15kms north of Panaji. Crowds and boiling sun not entirely conducive to that relaxed feeling. The beach corridor is certainly very beautiful, golden sands, overhanging coconut palms and beach front bars/restaurants pouring forth their diverse music styles. Notice that apart from the various hawkers, there were very few Indians, domestic or overseas varieties, present. Perhaps it was the skimpy swim-ware favoured by the Russians that frightened them away--- these large size middle aged matrons just should spare us their bikinis—it’s loose lip comments like this that could precipitate WW3! Sorry Mr. Putin.
Bull on the beach just before a pack of dogs attacked--the bull won.
            The area just to the east of the beaches has grown into a virtual shanty city of tourist gift vendors. I have never seen such a massive area, totally devoted to relieving foreigners of there rubles, euros etc. Must be kilometres of walkways winding up and down in the shade of the coconut palm groves. This is capitalism at its crudest—no fixed prices—haggle, haggle, haggle. Ivan, did you really need that one foot wooden carving of the AFRICAN elephant (with the big ears) and by the way---- where was it made? Kenya perhaps!
       Chatted to John, 250 lbs, shaven headed and 63, hospital orderly from Glasgow. His 30 th  trip to India. John’s southern brogue was so thick, I could barely understand what he was saying much of the time—but anyway, as the first Scot that I had encountered since the independence referendum; I passed along my great pleasure that we remain UK ‘cousins’ forever.
Chocolate and vanilla body!
Such a hot day, and when one could barely stagger from one beach watering hole to the next.
           Another day and another hotel. I am now positioned at Colva Beach, 40 kms south of Panaji, and just 3-4 kms from the main railway station at Mangeon, ready for Saturdays 6.00am departure on a 10 hour haul up to Mumbai--- back to my starting point for this India circular tour. My hotel at Colva rejoices in the name ‘Incredible English Hotel” and with a name like that, what Englishman could pass up the offer at $35/nt.? 
Holy cow!!  There is a cow in the church!

About 1km back from the beach, very quiet, secluded and with its own swimming pool—may be today I will give the salty sea a miss. Large, clean room, efficient internet AND a 5 inch thick super soft mattress to rest my bruised hips from the sleeping boards at Blessings.

Monday 8 December 2014

The food bug got me at last.....

Almost at the finish line— and already my chest was puffed out to proclaim that I had survived India’s dodgy food sanitation standards, when it hit me as I was standing on Colva Beach along with 50,784 others. Legs buckled and up it came. Now some 18 hours later, still a little queasy, but at least functioning. Feel myself
End of service--all the nuns heading for the beach!!

lucky that it does not appear to be the 4 day variety that so many tourists to India experience.
            Yesterday was my day to take a tourist bus on a circular tour of the southern part of Goa. This western coastal state is effectively split into three touristic regions North, South with the central region, being the capital, Panaji, the beach resorts located at the two extremes of this very small state. My tour yesterday ---- I was the only westerner in a full bus load, encompassed a circle of the southern region and included ‘voluminous padding’ to include visits to a wax museum, a chamber of horrors, an aquarium and a children’s science museum. Anyway, a chance to see a little scenery away from my base in Panaji. Sunday and the narrow roads were clogged with families taking their new motor scooters out for a spin (four, or even five passengers loaded onto a single motorcycle).
Don't think these guys plan on swimming.....
              My tourist guide, a bright and knowledgeable young man, explained that this year, it appears as though foreign tourist arrivals are collapsing---foreign, as in Russian, are by far the major national group, with tour cancellations hitting the 70% mark. At Colva Beach, one had to wonder if it was not in fact a Black Sea resort---the advertising hoardings and store front come-ons, all in Russian script. Just the other day, President Putin was warning his fellow citizens of tough times (sanctions, oil price collapse) to come and it would seem in the exotic holiday category, it may have already arrived.
               I am staying in Colva Beach from where I am scheduled to move northwards up the coast in a couple of days,  reason being that it is near the railway station at Mangeon from where my 6am train departs for Mumbai. For some planning reason, the main rail station is an inconvenient 42 kms from the capital city, Panaji, the challenge of finding a taxi at 3.30am to be avoided. Colva Beach is like everything negative you have ever heard about Yarmouth, Morecombe and Blackpool, UK., rolled into one. Words like tacky, ugly & derelict jump to mind, but then add masses of people, all fully clothed, milling about on the fine white sand, loud rap music blasting from the beach beer shacks and I think that you have the picture. To be fair, suffering food poisoning on the sands, did not exactly help my perceptions.
Ladies outside the Hindu temple.
            Lying low today is on the agenda--- hungry, but with little appetite for yet another spicy meal—probably going purchase a kilo of very tasty local tangerine oranges and gorge! 

Saturday 6 December 2014

Ambling around Panaji, Goa...

                 Anyone who has been even an occasional reader of my ‘India’ blog, will know that for me,
Neo-colonial style goverment building...
finding food (anything non-spicy) in this country has been my biggest challenge—sometimes missing proper meals for a couple of days. When one is hungry one gets a little ratty— & in my conversations with myself, I have come to the opinion that Indian food has NO taste!!!!! What---has he has completely lost it? Maybe too much sun! My stance is that one cannot taste the actual food in India---only the chillies, spices and pepper that have been heaped into the recipe.
Exceed your time parking for 5 minutes and the jungle takes over!

             Well to try and tie this into my  topic of the former Portugese colony (until 1958) of Goa, it had been my expectation that as Goa is supposed to be the mecca in India for the beach crowd from Europe, that there would have been versions of western style food on offer. Not the case, I am hungry & disappointed to report. Foods in abundance from all the regions of India, but not possible during a 4 hour ramble, to find even  a crumb that is unspiced in Panaji, capital city (pop: 98,500) of Goa. Have to admit feeling some guilt on this issue, as I have spoken to a fair number of non-Indian visitors who claim that they just love and thrive on the local hot & spicy cuisine ----Do the really believe this, or could it be that some folks just like to posture as cosmopolitans?
Looks like 'Ole Miss'  gambling eastern version...!
               Enough on food. Sallied forth from Blessings Hotel, after an e-mail checking session at the lobby ‘hot-spot’. Perhaps it was because of my stomach empty, devoid of its cornflakes & toast fix, but quaint Portuguese colonial, Panaji did not appear for me! Hectic, noisy and the usual Indian street chaos prevails….at least that was until 1.00pm (this being a Saturday) most shops dropped their steel shutters and the street emptied. Apparently on weekdays most businesses close down from 12-3pm for siesta---at least some worthwhile traditions have survived from the Portuguese period. Have to admit some prejudice here, as I have been a life long devotee of the short mid-afternoon slumber. (Winston Churchill took them at the height of the Battle of Britain, 1940).
              According to my ‘sources’ in the Indian tourism industry, the western tourists are supposed to be pouring into Goa, as of December 1st---during my 4 hour saunter around the city this morning, I saw perhaps half a dozen souls with maps in hand, just as lost as me! Perhaps the tourist throngs headed straight for the beaches.

              A major draw for Goa is that it permits casino style gambling. The casinos are operated in large vessels moored out in the wide River Mandovi, alongside which Panaji has grown. From my own observations, when I sauntered down to the ferry ramp last night, there appears to be no shortage of punters ready to hand over their cash.

Thursday 4 December 2014

Spontaneous day in Mangalore....

Today was my third and last day in Mangalore and one for which I had not planned any “must see” places to visit.  So with camera batteries fully charged, and a large bottle of water in my ruck-sac, I set off, trying to keep to the shady side of the streets on a cloudless and shimmering day. The plan for my walk was ‘no plan’. Just to follow the rule of going up and down any street that looked interesting and attempting to engage as many local people as possible in conversations----not difficult, as Mangalore is 100% unadulterated by tourists and folks here are really happy to chat to a foreigner, someone different—it is almost as if I had dropped in from another planet!
The guys in the cement bagging department....
                  After about an hour and a stop for my coffee, I found myself down in the city docks on the river. A peculiar type of docks, as fishermen and brick/cement shippers were all intermingled. The crates of fish being coated in generous clouds of white dust from the cement packaging operation. The colours of the place were tremendous under a powerful sun. The gangs of manual workers exuberantly demanded that I take their pictures as soon as they spied my camera—more than of several of them most happy to ham it up with arm waving and whoops of delight at being ‘recorded’.
               Drawing myself away from the friendly folks at the docks and in need of my morning drink of coconut milk, I headed up the hill, back towards the central city area, on the way noting things like stacks of colourful oranges on a vendors wagon, or a particularly interesting derelict building—I am learning that
Blocking the traffic to protest sexual harassment....
photography forces one to look at things not just see things. Hearing music and loud speaker amplified chanting voices, my foot steps rapidly getting faster, I arrive at a coordinated demonstration by several hundred sari clad women, who had just moments before, had effectively seized a major traffic intersection and blocked traffic from all directions. The police must have been pre-warned as most of the police who arrived were female officers. Apparently this protest is just one of many being conducted across India in
The police move in....
protest at violence and sexual harassment being waged against females. There was a fair amount of all female pushing & shoving as the demonstrators were loaded into a fleet of buses that had been quickly drawn up. Male passers by looked on bemused, but seemingly supportive of the female protests. I was able to chat to several male senior police officers standing on the periphery and able to congratulate them on the gentle and civilised manner in which this social protest was handled—a victory for Indian democracy! In this city with a large Muslim population, I noted that the female protesters were almost all Christian & Buddhists.
                     An interesting walk in Mangalore on a day for which I had no agenda planned. Tomorrow at 8.15am on the train for the 7 hour hitch up to Goa.

Wednesday 3 December 2014

From Mangalore to the coast....

          Arrived in Mangalore, or rather, survived the 12 hour 300 kms ride north from Kochi to Mangalore.
A lonely beach needing more than one tourist.....
Seems like it was 300kms and 300 stops—exaggerating of course. Should not grumble, just pity the crowd at the back, riding ‘cattle’ class, open windows and no A/c in the blazing heat.
            Mangalore does not really qualify to be included on the tourist list of ‘must visit’ Indian cities. Small by Indian standards with a population at 586,000, it is hilly and the nondescript roads twisty. Just the right size to go out walking and get lost and never be more than $1 rickshaw ride back to the hotel, mine being located just out side the railway station. That reminds me to record that when one asks the man on the street for directions to ‘the railway station’, one is met with blank stares and total bafflement. The louder I shout the greater the bafflement. At last, the proverbial penny has dropped—ask for ‘train station’---miraculously everyone knows the place—no problem, all smiles and sunshine. Just another of the little things that I should have known when I set out on this pan India trip, 2 ½ months ago.
Fellow passengers on bus #44B to Ullala.
                 With time to spare in Mangalore, not to be confused with Bangalore, aka Bengaloru, I decided this morning, to take bus 44B to Ullala, about 40 kms north of the city. Some hardy individuals that I have encountered, have done all their travel around India on local buses and their long distance (and more comfortable) cousins known as ‘Volvos’. Buses in India are kings of the road, with a breed of men known as pilots, at wheel—these men, who could be compared to matadors— seem they were born with out the ‘fear of death' gene. Left side, right side, any side, is my side of the road, is their mantra. Who, on a motor-cycle or on a farm cart, is going to pick a fight with a charging bus, no one except the pilot of another bus. First one to yield is  ‘chicken’!
               Anyway, the ride out to Ullala was completed without disaster and the beach there was as good as described in Lonely Planet. Absolutely deserted. Pounding surf coming in from the Arabian Sea. Hard to understand how in a country of 1 billion plus, that I was the only human to be on a couple of miles of golden
Preparing my coconut drink.....
sand, fringed with coconut palms. At the far end, just before a rocky out-crop, I took refuge from the blazing sun in the Summer Sands Beach Resort for my customary cold lime, (no ice) soda. As so often in India and at most of the hotels where I have stayed, it was totally devoid of tourists—so I enjoyed my cold drink in total privacy. Not a good sign, as the snow and cold takes over western countries, the tourists should be flocking in. Where are they?

Monday 1 December 2014

Goodbye Kochi.......

                         
Interesting street art in communist Kerala.....
 The calendar has clicked over into December & the final month of my journey around India. I sense a slowing down in the pace of the travel as I commence the final northward leg back to the starting point, in Mumbai.
              For the last four days, I have been in the old town of Kochi. The tourists are beginning to flow in as the temperatures in northern climes begin to drop and I can sense the relief amongst the hotel-keepers, rickshaw drivers and restaurateurs that cash will soon begin to flow once more. I can now better understand why the loans against gold jewellery industry is such a thriving sector, if one is to believe all the advertising hoardings. The problem in Kerala, (Kerala translates into ‘Land of Coconuts’ in the Malayam language) is that it is in a race with one horse, virtually all economic activity being dependent on tourism. There is very 
I am definitely going to ignore stupid tourists with cameras!
little real industry, although the military makes a strong effort to create employment with numerous barbed wire and walled off installations along the coast. Not an economist, but it does seem to me that India urgently needs an industrial strategy to expand basic export oriented manufacturing (textiles, electronic assembly would be examples) to sop up the massive over-supply of labour and generate consumer purchasing power.
             From Kochi, I took a second boat tour of the ‘backwaters’, this time in a man powered, pole propelled boat with 16 others from places as varied Australia to Croatia. One lady that I chatted to explained that she had been abandoned on the streets of Delhi as a one year old baby, rescued and adopted by a family in Belgium. This was her first visit back to India and it was interesting to listen to her, as she tried to explain the mixed emotions she was feeling. As our boat was small, we were able to penetrate some very narrow waterways, so low in places that we had to flatten ourselves to pass under the vines and creepers that in places formed tunnels. I was struck by the fact that compared to other jungles I have visited, that tended to be noisy & raucous places with the sounds of monkeys calling, insects buzzing and birds screeching, that this Kerala jungle was silent, totally silent, except for the splash & gurgle of the pole at work. It was a beautiful experience to ‘hear’ 100% silence around one, something that us city dwellers experience so infrequently. The silence does beg the question of what happened to, or indeed was there ever any wild life in the forests of the backwaters?
              Apparently of the western tourists that come to India, many come to learn yoga and the secrets of therapeutic massage. All those with whom I have spoken on the subject, express how worthwhile and spiritually uplifting has been there journey into these subjects---perhaps this old, boots on the ground, geezer is missing something.
              The tourist sector of Kochi is approx. 14 kms from the main city and port area known as Ernakulam. In anticipation of very crowded early Monday morning  commuter roads over a route that includes two traffic clogged bridges, I have relocated  for just a single night to Ernakulam city, to be near the central railway station, from where my train departs at 8.00am tomorrow for the 10 hour trip to Mangalore.