I had contracted a nasty dose of the eponymous Belly Rot and my stomach gave a cautionary groan when the cage on wheels which was to take us from Varkala to Allepey, our first Indian train journey, pulled up. Indian faces, elbows and knees protruded from the iron bars that constitute windows, and a press of people rushed toward the doors. We barged our way on, found a seat near the toilet and dug in.

Railway Managers everywhere – take heed.

In truth, the trains look a whole lot worse than they are actually are. Even in the lowest class (2nd Class Unreserved) the toilets are comparitively clean, there are ceiling fans bolted on at random angles and – the best bit – a 3 hour journey cost us about 40 pence each!
Anyway, we had come to Allepey to explore the backwaters of Kerala, a must-see when in this part of the world. Hundreds of miles of serene lakes and waterways, busy with fishing canoes and luxury tourist boats. The banks are lined with villages, huts, the odd school, the ubiquitous Keralan coconut trees and rice paddies stretching backwards; dark women in bright saris cooking, cleaning, bathing and washing; friendly children splashing and waving. A wide array of birds swoop all around – eagles, cormorants, kingfishers, geese, duck, crows and many other iridescent and strange unidentified creatures.

The tranquil backwaters.

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We took two excursions onto the backwaters: still with our new travelling companions we chartered a houseboat. A double-decker bamboo-effect luxury boat with 3 double bedrooms. We had our own on-board chefs and were waited on hand-and-foot for one extravagant night. They let us hook up the boat’s speakers to our iPods so we had our own private party, and sat up drinking rum and coke and playing cards. One of the stand-out experiences so far.

Chillaxin’ on the houseboat.

The next day we hired a smaller vessel which was able to take us into the nooks and crannies of the backwaters that were inaccessible to the large houseboat, where we got to see people going about their daily lives along the canals.

Partyin’ on the houseboat.

We next headed to Fort Cochin, a town which promised so much but delivered so little – we scurried out after a couple of nights. After that it was a train, bus, rickshaw journey to Wayanad National Park where we – after a good night’s kip – embarked on a, none-too-easy it transpired, 2000+ metre climb up nearby Chembra Peak.

Tea fields.

A tuk-tuk-took us to the starting point, then we continued on foot, above the bustling towns, above the pristine tesselated tea-fields punctured with perfectly perpendicular trees, up seven consecutive peaks, each stacked atop the previous, above even the wheeling black eagles, until we were afforded an expansive verdant panorama of the Wayanad area from the tip of the seventh peak.

Climbing. Shattered by this point.

View from Chembra Peak.

The next day we were up at 5am to go elephant spotting.
We saw our first wild elephant just as the sun was beginning to peer through the forest of Muthanga Wildlife Reserve. A fully grown bull, it observed us for some time, tail swishing. He must’ve seen something he didn’t like as, with an almighty visceral trumpeting, he decided to charge our jeep. Luckily the driver was on the ball, and we were in no danger. But what a fantastic sight!

Watching…

Charging!

After that all we saw were the backs of a couple more elephants shouldering through the forest and some tantalisingly fresh tiger footprints but alas, no tiger.

The next stop on our journey is our first outside Kerala, we head to the state of Karnataka…

More of the backwaters.

Holy cow.

Another one from the Chembra Peak trek.

Amy, Mel, and some goats.

Picture this: a fiery sun setting over the Arabian Sea, silhouetted fishermen casting nets from bobbing canoes; a wide, rangy beach; hundreds of Indians bathing and praying in the surf. Further on, Europeans soaking up the vestiges of the sun’s rays, body-boarding, relaxing. Behind them a green-bearded teracotta cliff, coconut trees sprouting angularly along its ridge providing shade for the early evening strollers. Bamboo bars and juice shacks line the cliff. We find ourselves, predictably, in one of these bars, drinking beer from tea-cups (to subvert some obscure licensing laws), taking in the whole scene, listening to the waves crash against the Keralan coast. The sound of bongo drums approaches…

“Hey you – YOU – you want buy bongo drum?” The spell is broken.
“Why not you want bongo drum?”
“‘Cos it won’t fit in my backpack!” I tell him this at least once a day.
“Ah but this veeery good bongo drum. I-give-you-good-price.”

Varkala Beach

But, actually, this is India-lite. The police actively keep beggars and hawkers at bay and the harassment is minimal. We know that we’re being spoiled, and when we leave our little hippy enclave we’ll be hit with India’s full frontal assault.

Life’s a beach

But for now we’ll just enjoy life on eeeeasy street. Drinking by night, relaxing by day, living almost exclusively on fruit shakes, curry and beer; lazing around on the beach or in our hammock, trying not to laugh at the proselytising hippies with their yogic pretensions. Amy has bought some baggy hippy pants so she can cover up in more sensitive parts of the country. I have decided to grow dreadlocks to go with my ‘Free Tibet’ T-shirt.

…

Nothing much else to report. We made some friends – Emma, Pete, Olly and Mel – the latter two of whom we are going to travel on to Allepey with, where we may or may not rent a house-boat and laze about for a bit longer. Tough old life.

New Years Eve…pre-drinks at our place.

The beach again.

If we weren’t bathin’, we was boozin’