Monday, March 31, 2008

Rubber Stamp


The last tour of the year has finished and the rains have started to pour; 10 days non- stop; with massive damage to paddy fields, crops and numerous deaths. Spent the last four days packing up the cycles and training up the newest members of the team; Sinoj and Chippy. Sinoj aged 17 has ridden out with us about a dozen times whilst Chippy aged 14 was full of enthusiasm before undergoing a full days training doing nothing else but tube patching. A Trek bike is in there hands and I expect a phone call soon for advice on cycle repairing.

Its Tuesday 9 a.m and I have been on the train 48 hours now and have been promised 12 more should see me through to my destination of Gorakpuhr with 12 hours by bus seeing me through to Kathmandu and another Indian visa run. Appear to have overloaded the train with cycling gear this time with enough supplies and spares to last me 3 months of route finding. Almost collapsed carting a giant 36” suitcase containing my cycle and about 20 kg of spares up from my hotel to the railway station and onto the remotest platform 7 accessed only by the a heart attack inducing flight of stairs. Even the beggars recognized my plight offering sympathetic looks and refraining from asking me to dip into my inaccessible pockets for a few rupees. Feels like I have ruptured my biceps and two days on I am still struggling to stretch my arms out.

Anyhow now sat in the usual 2nd class sleeper carriage surrounded by numerous interested parties watching me type away, underneath my feet is a small dirt blackened boy sweeping the floor in return for loose change. A gaggle of aggressive eunuchs has just swept through the train cursing everyone in sight, clapping their hands, demanding money of all the men who seem ready to pay to ensure that their wives are not rendered barren by their magic.

I have spent the majority of the journey in the company of a vet from Kerala who has been supplying me with food that his mother made; 9 full South Indian meals wrapped up in banana leaves and bags of fried banana trips all kept in a bulging plastic bag, by day 3 his breakfast of iddlis had turned mouldy and he was forced to patrol the station platform in search of some fast food made by unclean hands.

The vet appears disillusioned with life with no wife yet despite being in his early 30’s in attempts to find a bride he spends 2 hours daily on the internet looking through the online marriage sites which is not his only source of online entertainment judging by his mobile phone downloads which he seemed eager for me to view, showing something indescribable featuring a horse and another object most possibly a human being. Appears to have an unhealthy interest in animals even for a vet. He is heading back to Lucknow to work in a halal slaughter house where his job is to ensure that the animals are slaughtered in a human way. He informs me that this is not the case as the buffalos are not stunned before having their throats slit (which is banned in India) but he signs the certificate anyway. “ What can I do I am just a rubber stamp.”



Friday, March 14, 2008

Tufty Club


In search of the new (mountain biking) lands we embarked upon a 2 day cycling tour to Kodaikanal. 30 km on road up to Top Station at 2000 metres above sea level then a cut through a steep sided terraced valley reminiscent of Nepal which caused a smile from our possibly homesick guide Rakesh. From there all trails through the Western Ghat mountain range led up and on we pedaled and pushed for hour after hour until reaching another valley which after a tremendous descent spat us out at the town of Kalavala. From there, 45 km on a broken traffic less road led us through forests to our destination Kodaikanal.

Nothing seems possible in the decidedly unaccommodating Kodaikanal. A visit to the forest department in search of their recommended trekking maps proved futile. After 10 minutes of unproductive discussion I concluded “No information, no pamphlets, no trekking, nothing possible, is this a fair reflection of what you have to offer?” “Yes” replied the forest officer. I shook his hand and thanked him before leaving. “Do not try the trekking guides they will mislead you,” he shouted as I walked out. Which reminded me of a trekking guide in Munnar who offered me his services and card. The card stated

MR SURESH KUMAR

LISENSD TRIKKING GUIDE.

ALL TRIKKING AVILABULL

Surrounding the very attractive star shaped lake that forms the heart of Kodaiakanal sit stone bungalows with well trimmed gardens welcoming the visitor with a stern ‘No trespassing.” All the tracts of forested land sandwiched in between have also been fenced off. Worst of all were the church of South India who appeared to own most of the prime lands protected by 8 ft fences replete with signs like “beware very savage dogs” and “violators will be prosecuted”. I half expected to see a sign saying “Fuck Off” adorning the gates of the numerous crumbling British built churches.

Attempts to avail a day pass for the Kodaikanal club, which is advertised as welcoming visitors also proved problematic. Signs stressed the need to wear a jacket and collared long sleeve shirt which precludes most occasional visitors I suspect. “ Are you a member of a club?” asked the club secretary. “Yes but you might not recognize them” I replied. “Which club is that” probed the secretary as he surveyed my flip-flops and collarless long sleeve cycle shirt which was unfortunately stained. Errm “The All England Mountain Bike Club and I used to be a member of Tufty Club”. Do you have a letter of rcccommendation? “ Errrr No” .

Friday, March 7, 2008

Bonda


Well it had to happen some day; I have fallen ill. Who and what to blame for the poisonous food inside me that makes me sick and gives me the drizzling shits???






Yesterday's diet looked like this.

Egg curry, 4 appams (like over sized crumpets)
4 coffees
Bonda (like a doughnut but chewier best eaten hot) and 2 black teas
Egg curry, green peas curry (pronounced green peace), chick pea masala
6 parothas
Vegetable Pillou (rice) and daal thadka (lentil curry)
4 Pappadum
1 bowl of vegetable yoghurt
2 Beers
1 fizzy pop
3 litres of water

Errm doesn’t sound good does it.

Experts (those responsible for all my food except the Bonda) blame the Bonda bought from a tea stall near the estate of Mlamala. According to Mr Devas of Devas restaurant, Bondas should never be eaten “problem powder making”. Today, for the first time since October I have a fancy for a cheese sandwich, possibly crisps and a biscuit and banana combination perhaps with ice cream.
Anyhow incapacitation isn’t the end of the world, its worse. For me it results in endless list making (see above) list upon list upon list in multiple notebooks each full of lists of half completed tasks. Now I am compiling the best of the best lists to see what I have forgotten in the last admittedly very busy 5 months.
Hopefully be back up and moving tomorrow and shift back to Munnar and then Kodaikanal (which has appeared on one of my lists of new areas to research).