Final destination: India, a.k.a. the country of the mustache

Paul (FYI for those who missed the travel buddies entry, it's my backpack) took ten years in one plane journey from Bangkok to Mumbai. He had managed to stay clean so far, his pretty pale blue color unstained, no scratches on his soft skin. But that was before India.

So, I arrive in Mumbai where I have a 3.5 hours layover before flying to Chennai. I had planned plenty of things to do to stay busy while I waited: sorting out pictures, writing a blog entry about Thailand, painting my nails, finishing my book. Yeah, I know, I was full of hope. Paul is checked in to get to Chennai directly, but I have the feeling I should wait and check if by mistake he would arrive on the luggage belt in Mumbai. After a good 30-minutes wait, I decide that I've waited enough and we would meet in Chennai. I am leaving the luggage pick-up area when an employee of the airport stops me, asking “where is your luggage, madam?” (Ouch. Madam. That hurts.) We go back together to the belt and there he is, covered with grease stains, dusty, unrecognizable. I grab him, we go through a first bag screening, walk along many long non-A/C hallways, get in line to go through another screening, and another one, and then to the check-in again. I follow the other passengers, we take a bus, drive around the airport for 30 minutes, watching the slums settled  right next to the airport fence and clothes hanging and drying on the barbwire, before we finally reach the domestic terminal. Then there's the 40-minutes queue for the security check – women have a separate line, which might seem a good idea to avoid any inappropriate male behavior, but which in reality works like the toilets: the women's line is always ten times longer than the men's. By the time I reach the departure hall, I have 15 minutes left before boarding the plane. So much for my great plans. I was truly optimistic for India.

India scares me. I've heard so much about its decadent and busy cities that I don't want to take the risk of staying overnight in Chennai, fighting with the taxi drivers to have them drop me where I want to go, bargaining for the price, and sharing my room with bugs. I book a room and a taxi to Mahabalipuram, a small town on the coast, famous for its temples and rock carvings. And it is a great place to start with India.

Ok, there are cows in the streets, as you expect it, but there are even more goats. Goats everywhere, goats of every color, size and shape!

The next stop is Pondicherry, its French colonial architecture, its French road names, its French advertisements, its (French?) monkeys, its French bakeries. With delicious pains au chocolat, the real ones :-)

Hahaha very funny:

We take the steam train direction the Nilgiri mountains, to Coonoor and Ooty, two small towns in the mountains, surrounded by tea plantations and eucalyptus trees.

Ooty - very famous for its legendary hospitality :-)

More animals...

And of course... more goats!

Local food: thalis...

porottas....

masala dosa....

upma...

sweets... :-)))

and plenty of other dishes, but i keep forgetting their names :-)

The cold temperature (yeah, I know, 15 degres celsius is not that cold, but when you've been traveling under 30 degrees for 3 months, it is cold) encourages us to take the bus down to the coast, direction Kannur, Northern Kerala. The bus ride down the mountains is scary, but we're well protected:

Kannur is a nice little town on the Malabar coast, with a long deserted beach and a local weaver cooperative. And the temperature doesn't drop under 30 celsius degrees... I feel much better :-)

We travel South to Kochi, starting to get used to the overcrowded trains and the incessant litany of the food and drink vendors in every station, "chaia tea chaia".... I instantly fall in love with Kochi, its portuguese colonial architecture, the big chinese fishing nets... it's just touristic enough to get some comfort of the western lifestyle (yes you can find real coffee here), without having the drawbacks and the continuous hassle of most touristic places. Kathakali dances, spice market, cooking class, ayurvedic massage, the days are busy!

Of course.... goats!

"Should I use the ladder?"

Hahaaaa.... net fishing... impresssive.... but we know how to do it too!

 

Fish masala, eggplant masala, pumpkin masala, dahl, chapati.... no more secrets for me!

Kathakali dance show and make-up:

And of course, a boat tour in the backwaters!

wooops... load too heavy...

And then, the ashram. Instead of going to a huge yoga meditation enterprise, I decide to try a Christian ashram in the hills, near the small town of Vagamon. And that's an experience. Of course, men and women in separate lodgings, and not allowed to talk to each other. Prayer and meditation at 3.45, 6.00, 12.00, 2.15, 6.30, alternately in English or Malayalam. The rest of the time, reading or meditation. Which means a awful lot of time to think about yourself :-)

So I'm there, sleeping with the nuns, and feeling that I'm in Back to the Future, that the bus who took us there actually traveled back in time and brought us to the Middle-Ages. And in a sense, this way of life is attractive. Think about it: no more shaving, waxing, make-up, no more "what am I gonna wear today", no more troubles with boys... Tempting, no?

Ok just joking, but staying at this ashram is a beautiful experience, being welcomed by those monks who left everything they had to dedicate their life to a religious and spiritual quest is fascinating.

My room:

The surroundings:

Hard to go back to the "real" world after that...

Though it helps when the real world is Varkala.

Sandy beaches, coconut trees, fishermen pulling their huge nets every morning, sunset every evening...

As for the mustache part, well it's just that my heart stops beating once a day when I think I see Freddy Mercury in the street... Damn it I know he's dead, why can't I just stop fooling myself???

http://www.askmen.com/top_10/travel/top-10-mustache-dense-countries_1.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/15/AR2010021503409.html