Forcing ourselves away from the beach, we caught a 15-hour train from Goa to the city of Kochi in Kerala.  The train was of course delayed (by 2 hours) but there were plenty of bats swooping low past our ears and flying around the station platform to keep us company during the wait.  The train was almost unbearably hot and sticky.  The period immediately after new year is the peak season for tourists catching trains up and down the southern coast; as a result, we were lucky to get the last 2 tickets on this particular train, but it also meant forgoing the relative comfort of AC class and travelling in the dirty, dusty, airless sleeper class.

We have never been so relieved to reach our destination.  We had both had an extremely hot and sleepless night, even when we had managed to fall in a sweat-drenched sleep we were soon rudely awakened by other passengers getting and off the train, lights being turned on, and vendors walking up and down the aisle.  Shouts of ‘chai’ (tea) and the unrelenting stares from the vendors awaiting a response haunted our dreams.  Once we arrived at our hotel, we both took gloriously refreshing showers.  These became a frequent ritual, as we averaged about 4 a day during our stay in Kochi.  Showers were the only way to combat the oppressive heat and humidity and rid ourselves of the dust that clung to our sweaty skin.  Kochi is a fairly modern city (by Indian standards) but is very noisy, polluted and uninspiring to walk around.  Amazingly, it was the first city we have visited in India that doesn’t have cows freely roaming the streets – we think they might actually eat them here!

The highlight of our visit to Kochi was our day at Cochin Fort.  The ‘fort’ is actually a reasonably big neighbourhood located on a small island, accessible by frequent local ferries.  The fort has a very colonial feel with wide tree-lined streets and European style houses.  Cochin fort is famous for, amongst other things, its Chinese fishing nets – these giant nets are suspended from large wooden pivots and lowered into the water 2 or 3 times a day.  Each net is owned by 5 or 6 people who collectively share the maintenance and bounty of the nets.  The nets are certainly successful as we enjoyed a large red snapper fish for lunch.

The Chinese fishing nets line the shore of Fort Cochin island.

A neighbourhood cat hungrily guards 'his' fish.

Fort Cochin is also home to the first church built in India – St. Francis.  The simple colonial style building was well preserved and proved to be an excellent shady place to escape the sun. 

We left Kochi on the 6am public bus heading for the hill station of Munnar.  Being a government bus, our transportation this time was far more basic: it was open-seating, in low-backed bench-like seats similar to those on an American school bus.  There was no glass in the windows making it a blissfully breezy ride; horizontal bars prevented passengers from climbing in and out (a favourite method for those desperate for a seat), but also prevented any emergency exit in the case of an accident.

Who needs windows....or a lick of paint..... or safety features....??

The 4-hour journey cost us about 75 cents each and was a pleasant climb up through the ‘Western Ghats’ region.  As we gained altitude, we left the heat of Kochi behind and entered the cooling fresh air favoured by colonialist tea plantation owners for centuries.  Munnar is surrounded by the spectacular views of hill upon hill of lush green tea plantations – a truly fantastic sight!! 

Mile upon mile of hills were carpeted in a blanket of green tea bushes.

Unfortunately, the small town of Munnar is a dump.  Centred around a smelly, polluted river, it exists purely as a transportation hub and squalid residence of local tea pickers.  Our accommodation (complete with cockroaches) successful carried on the theme of the dismal town.
Due to the lack of efficient public transport, the easiest way for us to explore the area was by taking the government tour bus.  The tour took us up winding roads through picturesque tea plantations to the ‘Top Station’ stopping at various viewpoints along the way.  Unfortunately, the Top Station was shrouded in cloud, so we were denied its famous views across the valley.  After lunch, we drove to a nearby National Park home to the regions famous ‘extremely friendly’ wild mountain goats.  The park, despite its setting amongst rolling hills was a disappointment.  We arrived at the park 15 minutes after it officially closed, but were ushered inside and told the closing time had been extended by 2 hours.  No doubt the park officials had been swayed by the fact that half of our tour were westerners and therefore would pay 15 times more than the Indian entrance fee (entrance fees to tourist sites across India are heavily biased against foreigners).  Movement inside the park was highly monitored and severely restricted.  We were only allowed to walk along a tarmac road for half a kilometre and then made to turn back; if we tried to venture off the road, park guards were quick to blow their whistles and demand a return to the man-made surface.  After a mere 15 minutes, we were told we had to leave the park as our time was up and were escorted out by guards weilding large sticks and blowing whistles.  Frustrated that we were not allowed to trek the promising craggy hills inside the park, to venture into the grassland to search for the wild goats (if they did indeed exist) or even linger to admire the views, we decided to complain and demand compensation from the government tour agency running the excursion.  Back at the main office, the tour guide both denied and lied about what had happened, his attitude was hardly surprising given the example set to him by his boss.  The agency manager first tried to ignore us, then claimed any compensation would come out of his own pocket before finally blaming his employee; essentially labelling the man as 'useless' right in front of him.  Amazingly, we walked out of the office with a tour refund and promptly celebrated with a slice of cake from a local bakery.  Despite our poor experience in Munnar, we would still recommend a visit to the area – the countryside was beautiful... just stay outside the town, and avoid any tours at all cost!!!!!

The countryside surrounding Munnar remains worthy of a visit despite our experiences in the town.

We decided to leave Munnar the following day and take the 6am bus to Kottayam.  In the process of identifying the correct bus, we came across a common problem for westerners in India – comprehending the meaning of the head-bobble.  The 'head-bobble' or ‘head-wiggle’ seems to be a uniquely Indian trait and involves the swaying of the head from side to side as if the head were perched on a spring rather than a neck.  A head-bobble can mean ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’ or ‘I don’t know’ but the fine difference (if indeed there is one) between each specific meaning is undetectable by foreigners.  Throughout our travels in India our questions and queries have often been answered with a head-bobble.  On this occasion it proved even more frustrating as we tried to decide whether or not to jump on a bus as it drew out of the station....the situation went as follows:

Eric and Nikki scan the parking lot of the bus station, it is 10 minutes past the scheduled departure time of their bus and there appears to be only one vehicle in the vicinity.
As they approach the lone bus and try to determine it's destination, a nearby rickshaw driver asks them where it is they wish to go.

Eric asks, pointing to the bus, "Is this the bus to Kottayam?"

The rickshaw driver head-bobbles and adamantly replies, "No."

At this point the bus conductor looks out of the open doorway of the bus (presumably checking for last minute passengers).

Eric asks the bus conductor, "Is this the bus to Kottayam?"

The bus conductor looks blankly at him and head-bobbles.

A passerby, spotting our confusion, stops to ask which destination it is that we are trying to reach.

Eric replies, "We are trying to find the bus to Kottayam."

The passerby converses with the bus conductor who begins to head-bobble back at him.  After a brief 3-way conversation, the passerby, the bus conductor and the rickshaw driver turn their attention back to us and head-bobble.

Nikki asks Eric, "So is this the bus to Kottayam?"

Eric, rapidly losing the will to live, replies, "I have no freakin' idea!"

Eric and Nikki, still seeing no other bus in sight, jump on as it pulls away...and yes, it was the bus to Kottayam.

The bus driver liked his speed and hard breaking, so we made it to Kottayam in under 5 hours - not bad going.  Bidding the bus conductor goodbye (he head-bobbled in reply), we grabbed a rickshaw and headed straight to the ferry terminal.

 The single deck, wooden ferry, complete with noisy engine, would take us on a 3-hour ride through the Keralan backwaters to Alleppey.  The backwaters are a swamp-like network of canals and lakes lined with palm trees, rice fields, and small villages.  Our first trip through the area was very impressive and certainly quite unique; neither of us has seen a similar landscape before. 

The backwaters were an amazing blend of vegetation, water and animal life.

We sailed through narrow canals, locks and waterways passing small breezeblock and wooden houses.  The residences were busy with daily life; men and women washing or doing laundry in the waters, fishermen and laborers transporting goods in long dug-out canoes, and children running along the narrow paths beside the canals, shouting and waving at passing boats. 

Amongst the palm trees, small villages would emerge bordered by large fields of rice.

The ferry was part of the local transportation service; we stopped many times at little jetties to offload and pick up passengers.  As we neared Alleppey we saw more and more bamboo-adored 'houseboats', the luxurious mode of transport chosen by many tourists to lazily cruise the backwaters for a day or 2. 

Weeds and algae would often get caught around the propeller forcing one of the crew to dive under the boat to cut away the blockage.    The locals waiting on small jetties were used to the delays this caused to the service.

Once in Alleppey we found a great homestay located in an old colonial house and run by a friendly couple, their puppy, 3 kittens and a cat.  Whilst in Alleppey we decided to take a local bus to a 'secret beach’ that our homestay family had told us about.  We caught a public bus with no problems, though Eric entered via the wrong door.  We failed to realise until we were on the bus that there were distinctly segregated male and female sections and even male and female doors at opposite ends of the bus.  Both exits were manned by doormen, one armed with a bell, the other with a whistle, who monitored the flow of people on and off the bus.  The bus was very busy so we were forced to stand in the aisle; at 5'6" Nikki was clearly the tallest woman on the bus, 2-3 inches above the rest of the women...and half the men.

The beach was a glorious stretch of white sand and palm trees as far as the eye could see in both directions. 

The 'secret beach' it seems is still very much a secret as we saw only 5 or 6 other people whilst we were there.  The sea was incredibly refreshing and felt like swimming in warm velvet; we spent the afternoon swimming, reading under the shade of a palm tree, and nibbling on our picnic lunch of samosas and cupcakes.

Leaving Alleppey we took an 8-hour ferry to Kollam.  It was a slightly overcast day, which meant it was cool and breezy as we took our second trip through the backwaters.  The scenery again didn’t disappoint and also included long rows of Chinese fishing nets constructed near a flooded sea inlet.   

Fishermen cruise the backwaters in their dug-out canoe.

Our stay in Kollam was little more than a stepping-stone to our next destination: Varkala Beach.  The bus to Varkala left promptly the following morning and was of similar style to the one that we had taken to Munnar.  The bus ride took just over 2 hours and was fairly entertaining.  First onboard we had the fishermen’s wives, with their big tin bowls of fresh fish and shrimp which they were transporting to sell at various markets.  They took quite an interest in us, chatting and laughing, asking questions with their basic knowledge of English.  They took great pride in showing us their wares which we ‘oohh-ed’ and ‘aahh-ed’ at much to their delight.  The bus also served as a mail delivery van, picking up sacks of mail from the depot.  These were deposited under different seats depending on their destination, and then unceremoniously thrown out the door at the correct stop.  Later the bus transported the ‘vegetable women’ to market with their huge branches of bananas and sacks of vegetables.  All too soon we reached our stop, this was one bus ride we could have happily endured all day.

Life at Varkala Beach exists along a 3-foot wide path snaking along the top of red cliffs. This stretch is home to a multitude of guesthouses, restaurants and shops.

Heading north along the path takes you out of the main thoroughfare towards the black beach and a series of further smaller beaches.  Here the number of tourists is diluted somewhat by the presence of local fishermen who crouch in the shade of their boats mending their nets and exchanging tales. 

Small stretches of sand are sandwiched between rocks and palm trees to the east and the vast Indian Ocean to the west. 

To the south along the path is the main beach, a curved stretch of sand surrounded by a crescent of red cliffs.

Lifeguards, that is to say 2 lifeguards, 2 or 3 ‘wannabe’ lifeguards, their mates, and occasionally 1 or 2 tourist police, oversaw swimming at the main beach.  This rabble were to be found sitting chatting under a beach umbrella or standing in a group at the waters edge.  The main role of the lifeguards was to enforce the swimming zone and keep away local gawkers, dressed in what appeared to be security guard uniforms it didn't really look like they ever intended to venture into the water.  They fulfilled their role with vigor and displayed great glee at any opportunity to blow their whistles and gesticulate wildly at any infringement.  Unfortunately they did this so often and with such confusion that swimmers often could not figure out what it was they were objecting to or what direction they are trying to give!

Eric meets the David Hasselhoff of Varkala Beach.

Swimming in the sea we often spotted schools of small fish, and when they swam near the surface, so did the dozen or so eagles which circled above.  On 2 or 3 occasions we watched the eagles swoop down and scoop up their prey from a mere 10 feet away from where we were swimming.  Sometimes there were so many fish we could see them clearly suspended in each wave as it peaked and curved to break, as if the fish were preserved in a sheet of glass.  As we ducked under the breaking wave we were occasionally slapped in the face by fish caught in the motion of the water…a very weird experience!  The fish also gave rise to an interesting social observation.  One afternoon as the sun began to set a school of fish swam too close to the shore and beached themselves in the incoming tide.  People and eagles crowded to the shoreline to scoop up the fish – an amazing sight in itself.  But whereas the tourists were eager to save the fish and throw them back into the sea, the locals were hastily placing them in their bags or pockets to take home for dinner.

At dusk the restaurants would display much larger fish from the daily catch, hoping to entice customers to occupy one of their candle-lit tables for dinner.  Amongst our favorite was the tandoori tikka Blue Marlin and grilled Barracuda.

We celebrated Eric’s 28th birthday at a cliff top restaurant dinning on barracuda and sipping cocktails as the sun set over the Indian Ocean.  Because many of the restaurants did not have alcohol licenses we were often served beer in china tea pots and ceramic mugs...a simple but effective way of foiling police spot checks.

After 2 months in India it is time for us to leave.  An overnight train took us from Varkala to Chennai (Madras).  Tomorrow we board the red-eye flight to Bangkok to begin our tour of South East Asia.