From Cochin to Mumbai

Back in February, I wrote this ...

At one point I past a couple of English guys thrusting a guitar into the face of a Laos shopkeeper. I paid little attention to this, but seconds later my ears pricked up. "Want a guitar?" shouted one of the guys to a stranger across the street. If the stranger replied I don't know, my instinct kicked in. "I'll have a guitar!" I said on the swivel. Whether the stranger across the road had even wanted it, I don't know - I never even looked in his direction! Within thirty seconds I found myself walking down the street with a barely used guitar on my back, tuner included! It all happened so quickly that we were already walking our separate ways when I realised I should have at least offered to buy the boys a drink! Back in my room I gave it a quick spin. It sounded great.

That was a long time ago. Now its eleven months later, and my journey is nearly over. One week ago I was in Cochin, a city I'd visited before. I spent some time here relaxing, but also planning my final week in India. I needed to make the long journey north. However, this was a very busy route, and finding a vacant train seat was proving difficult. After a frustrating day, I decided to join Hannah to a trip to the cinema. We saw Avatar, a Western film that was visually incredible but bored me hugely. However, for the first time I witnessed what Indians are like at the cinema; loud and boisterous. There is much applauding and whistling at the start and end of the film, not to mention during popular bits within the film itself. It was quite bizarre.

By the following day my decision was made; it made more sense for me to simply catch a plane north; This would be more comfortable, and would also allow me time to return to Alleppey for another backwater trip. On Friday, therefore, I said goodbye to Hannah (yet again!), and caught a bus south. However, despite all the bus journeys I have made over the last year, on this one I felt somewhat empty handed. It had become ever-clear to me over the past year that the guitar I had been handed in Laos should not be kept. It was handed to me by a couple of generous guys on the street, and therefore I made the decision to do the same. I intend my guitar to travel the world; passed from hand to hand from traveller to traveller. My decision of who to pass it to, by now, was obvious. During the many weeks I had been travelling with Hannah she had played my guitar more than me - and after having stated her approval of the idea of a travelling guitar, she had hinted that she would love to be the new bearer. I have therefore created a group on the website Facebook so everyone who owns the guitar can log where they have taken it, and on Friday I left my hotel guitar-less. Hannah now has some extra-luggage.

On arrival in Alleppey I soon bumped into Dave (aka Dave 2 aka Dave 1 aka Canadian Dave) at the guesthouse Hannah had recommended to him. He told me about the canoe trip that the other Dave (aka Dave 1 aka Dave 2 aka American Dave) had informed him about, and so I made a quick phone call and booked myself onto it.

On Saturday morning I met my canoeist at Alleppey boat jetty. Kunjachan, it was soon apparent, was a very friendly and very excitable local man who enjoyed ferrying canoeists across the backwaters, through villages, and in my case, letting them stay the night in his house. Joining me on the canoe part of the trip were Haidi from Finland and Gavin Webster, a former professional rugby union player for Northampton and Rotherham. He denied being famous.

The trip was very pleasant, yet very hot. We were punted round narrow canals and through friendly villages. There were many birds, and also early on a rattle snake shimmying by our canoe. Kunjachan's wife made us lots of food, and in the evening I joined Kunjachan in watching the history channel in his little house comprising of three tiny rooms.

The next day I woke up in my little room and was taken back to Allepey on the back of Kunjachan's son's motorbike. Later that day I found myself outside Allepey train station waiting to go to Trivandrum. As I waited I was approached by a bunch of guys all dressed in black. I had seen many of these people throughout the state of Kerela; they walk for many days or even weeks to get to the temple once a year. They are bare-footed and carry their belongings in a wrap on their heads. The friendly men told me that they were going to see their god in south Kerela. On Thursday he would appear before them as a small star that would rise from the ground into the sky. The most talkative man, whose English was excellent, was seeing the spectacle for the fifth time. They were very friendly and very interested in me, and the obligatory photo session finished off the interaction.

That evening I travelled to Trivandrum, and the following day I caught my plane to the final location of my travels; Mumbai. On my first evening I walked around the area around my hotel, and the next day I visited Elephanta Island and The Gateway Of India. I also saw The Taj Mahal Hotel, the prime location of the terrorist attacks which I mentioned in my very first blog entry back in 2008.

In the evening I bought an excellent seekh kebab before going to the cinema, something I had planned to do in Mumbai my entire Indian journey; Mumbai is Bollywood central.


Back in Delhi four months ago I remember being in my hotel room for three days straight; I was stricken with Delhi Belly. I was alone, but one familiar face kept coming to see me. As I watched TV, an advert for Coca-cola was rerun over and over again, and the terrible overacting of the main man in the advert began to annoy me; he was so bad. As the weeks and months went on, however, I noticed the man more and more. He was donning glasses and trying to be serious on hoardings for opticians, and then running around trying to be cool on crisps adverts. Lately, however, he had been even more prominent; his latest film, 3 Idiots, is huge. His name is Aamin Khan, and despite having been the most annoying man on my travels, it felt like I had little choice in what Bollywood film to watch.

To my surprise, 3 Idiots was pretty fun. I expected a dire movie concentrating on three Mr bean-esque characters, but actually the main trio didn't seem like idiots at all. Although much of the film was lost on me due to the language barrier, I actually found it funny in parts - whilst the Hindi understanding families around me found it an absolute riot. Having said that, they were surprisingly not as boisterous as the lot who joined me for Avatar in Cochin, although they did shoot up like they had been all shot at the same time when the screen instructed them to rise for the Indian national anthem at the start of the film. Aamin Khan, on the other hand, has become my favourite Indian actor - although I actually don't know any others.

It is now my final full day of travelling. Soon I hope to embark on a guided tour of Dharavi slum (which, despite my fears, is apparently very ethical and 80% of profits go to the slum).

Tomorrow, I go home. My next blog entry, I'm sure, will be written from a much more familiar place.

From Alleppey to Cochin

It's been a while since I've had a chance to write my blog, and so I will try and gloss over the bulk of it and concentrate on the highlights. I joined Hannah in Allepey (also known as Alappuzha) on 23rd December, and since then have tagged on to her plans with her friend Ciara from home. The pace has been fast.

The 23rd December was Hannah's birthday, and after a small party in the guesthouse, we woke up on 24th December with a surprise. Alleppey is famous for boat trips down the backwaters of Kerela, and someone had just cancelled. We were therefore offered to take their place for half the price. Along with Hannah's friend Nick, the three of us rushed out of bed and were soon sailing down the peaceful and picturesque river. It was very pleasant. As we anchored by the riverside in the evening, groups of kids approached the side of the boat, often including one dressed as Santa. They sang merry Indian Christmas songs; Asia's equivalent of carol singers I presume.

I woke up on Christmas day floating on our boat down a quiet river scattered with occasional riverside churches. Presents were none existent though. We soon returned to Alleppey to laze away the rest of Christmas, and the following day we travelled to Cochin. After a short walk we went to bed, only to suffer one of the worst nights I have had all year; the room was sweltering hot. The fan did little to help, and opening the windows seemed to let in little air any cooler, whilst simultaneously bringing in mosquitoes.

After a walk around Cochin the following morning, we took a very busy and hot train in which we failed to obtain a seat in for a couple of hours, and then found it very difficult to find a place to stay in an ad-hoc night in Calicut. Eventually we treated ourselves with an expensive room with air-conditioning, but the luxury was welcome.

With our batteries recharged, the following day involved a comfortable taxi ride to Kannur. The next day, however, was eerie. Kannur was in the middle of a strike, something we struggled to understand. It was a ghost town. For the first time ever in an Indian city, I heard no noise other than the occasional squawk of a distant bird. It was very bizarre; No rickshaws, no shops, no hustle. Later we went to the beach for an hour, and then returned to out guesthouse.

The main reason for going to Kannur, however, was to see some theyyam; a popular Hindu ritual of worship. As far as I understood, this meant all-night costumes, masks and dancing. We found out about some theyyam going on in a nearby village, and prepared ourselves for a long night. Upon arrival, things looked promising. Drums were banging in the temple, the place was packed, and one man was dressed in an extravagant orange costume. The locals were all excited to see some white faces, and before long we were mobbed. My favourite local was a kid I secretly named 'Question Boy'. He would discuss with his mates for about five minutes, then come to us and ask us a simple question (usually requiring a one word answer), before returning to his mates to decide on the next long-planned enquiry.

However, things gradually went quiet as the night wore on. The crowds depleted. After a few enquiries, we were informed that there would be no other ceremonies within the temple until, if I remember correctly, four in the morning - and so we waited.

Not too long after midnight Ciara suggested that the three of us went for a walk. I felt there was little to see, but I had no good reason to decline. After a few minutes of walking we heard some drums, and headed through some dark trees to an encirclement of houses. The drums got ever closer. We didn't quite know what was going on, but it felt worthwhile to find out. However, when we got just metres away from the house with the activity, we turned around; We feared it may be a funeral procession, something which it would be rude to walk into. As we turned and walked back through the dark trees, we heard a strange high pitch squeal. I was unsure if it was a baby or an animal, but as we increased our pace I felt deja vous, and soon realised that this all felt familiar; it felt like a scene from the Blair Witch Project.

As we walked past a neighbours house, we enquired what was going on. He told us the family were praying, and that we would be more than welcome. We therefore returned. We were welcomed heartily, and were instantly moved to the edge of the square in which the ceremony would take place. Many people were there, including men with drums in local holy dress. Ciara, however, spotted something that neither me or Hannah had. It apparently took her a few seconds to take it in, but soon, in an unbelievably calm voice, she uttered the words "Oh, they're going to sacrifice that chicken." The drums rolled, the candles were lit, and about two minutes of horror and fascination began beneath our noses. The parts I remember proceeded as follows...

A man holding a knife began to dance around a square of candles. The bells around his ankles jingled with each step in time to the hypnotic drums. Once he had finished his jig, he knelt down by a bowl of red liquid, and fiercely splashed some of it out of the bowl. Soon afterward, a second man presented him with a chicken. The dancing man began to fiercely pull the feathers of the disturbed chicken, before sprinkling them on the lit square. He then unleashed his knife, and as the chicken was held still, he amputated the comb (the red crest on the head). This too was thrown onto the candle-lit square. As the drums quickened to a dramatic and pacey climax, the chicken's head was pushed down just above the liquid-filled bowl, before the knife was dropped. It sliced and cut its way through the chicken's head. The head was thrown away like litter, whilst the headless chicken was subsequently dipped into the bowl. As the bowl grew increasingly red, the chicken was stirred like a spoon. Once the recipe appeared complete, the chicken body was too discarded like a piece of insignificant waste.

At this point I gazed hazily at the headless body. I saw first hand the origin of the term 'running around like a headless chicken'. Despite failing to land on it's feet, it scampered frantically on the floor, occasionally rolling over. Occasional spasms could still be seen maybe twenty or thirty seconds later. Ciara also reportedly witnessed the beak on the chicken's lonely head chattering away.

The posthumous movements of the ex-chicken, however, seemed invisible to the locals. They all focused on the main man, who was now taking a double-hand full of reddened liquid and seemingly pouring it into his mouth. Either that or he was at least pretending to. Soon the candle-lit square was pushed over, signifying the end of the ritual. It felt like the lights had just turned on and the crowd were told to casually stroll home, silent in admiration of what had just happened. In contrast, I stared idly at the open space in front of me; a space stained in blood-red water, a collapsed square of candles, one chicken head and one chicken body. I failed to speak for a minute. We had just stumbled upon something intense.

I thought at this point that I would always remember the night for the moment I witnessed a chicken sacrifice, but I was wrong. I would remember the night for being the time when I witnessed the sacrifice of seven chickens. The holy men were going from house to house practicing the holy ritual so that everyone could be blessed by the village god. We followed, witnessing calm chickens, screeching chickens, headless chickens that ran in circles, small children enjoying the fun, drums beating, people praying and three bewildered tourists.

When daylight began to return, we were back in the temple. It had been easy to forget that we had initially come for costumes, masks and dancing. When this finally happened, I was left underwhelmed. One fancifully dressed man pranced around to a small audience with little atmosphere. Whilst Hannah enjoyed it, Ciara drifted in and out of a snooze. We had barely slept. The theyyam itself had been of little interest, but sometimes it is the unexpected that makes a trip worthwhile.

The following day, Wednesday, involved some much needed sleep and a journey to Wayanad. Thursday involved more sleep and an unsuccessful attempt to see a waterfall before the entrance was closed. However, we knew we had to make something of the day; it was New Years Eve. That evening we were joined by Dave from America who we had met back in Alleppey. He brought along a Canadian guy he had met, also named Dave. In our room we played cards and had a small party to welcome in the new year.

On New Years Day our group of five made a pleasant walk through some tea plantations, which also involved a local woman inviting us into her small house. Inside was a disabled boy, probably in his teens. For the thirty minutes or so we spent there he just laid on his bed, occasionally stirring or laughing in an unlit room.

Later in the day we did a safari. Over my entire year, I feel like the main thing I have missed out on is wildlife. I have seen some, but maybe not enough, especially in the wild. I wondered if my luck was now in. However, people who go on safari often come back back disappointed; if it's wild, it's not going to want to come and say hello to a big loud noisy jeep. And so after an hour or so of driving, my sighting of one dog, one cow, a few deer, one 'dancing' peacock, three chained working elephants and a couple of flies was expected, if unsatisfying.

Saturday was a big day of travel. We said goodbye to Dave 1 (American Dave) the night before, and Hannah, Ciara, Dave 2 (Canadian Dave) and myself endured a taxi, a train, a bus and another taxi to arrive at Ana Mudi. This was something we had all been looking forward to; an Indian friend of Hannah's had invited her to the Christian wedding of her brother, and friends were more than welcome. On Sunday, therefore, we donned our best clothes (I bought a new shirt and trousers in Wayanad) and hoped that our white faces would not overshadow the bride and groom. Compared to many other places I have been to, in fact, the attention we received was low. We were given a lovely meal of seemingly unlimited food, while a few things seemed to be happening on the stage at the other side of the huge banqueting hall. However, by now I was a little confused. It appeared that the on-stage couple were already wed. Indeed they were; the previous night we had been told that there would be a service at eight in the morning, but it would not be something we would be interested in. By now it was apparent that it had been the actual wedding itself, and so after our feeding, there was nothing left for us to do but head back to our room.

The potential disappointment of this, however, was quelled by one important factor. I previously had had no hopes of being able to catch the hugely exciting televised Leeds United versus Manchester United FA Cup tie, but now I had a chance. However, it was not to be; I fiddled with the television settings for ages, but clearly I had no access to the game. I found out later that night that Leeds had achieved an historic one-nil victory. My ecstatic delight was matched by my disappointment of missing it. Bittersweet.

On Monday we travelled to nearby Munnar and undertook a really beautiful trek through, I think, the highest region in South India. Yesterday I took a break from things (partly to write my long overdue blog!) whilst Hannah, Ciara and Dave (who by now had promoted himself to Dave 1) embarked on another trek. In the evening we moved back to Cochin, and from here we go our separate ways.

Today is 6th January. On 14th January I fly home. I am ready, I look forward to it, and yet it seems insane.