Mysore bum

Sorry no photos, despite being in Mysore, sister town to Bangalore, the capital of the Eastern IT world upload is so slow that I will have to do them from home. Ooty has little going for it except a super botanical gardens, giant eucalyptus and fir trees hundrerds of years old and for the first time for a while perfectly maintained laws, paths, a real breath of mountain fresh air. The un-planned urban splawl has ruined the town for ever, however there is currently a scandle involving the destruction of 1500 illegally built homes, to little to late. I booked my trip to Mysore , 1 day will easily do Ooty.

My god, I`m sure my anatomy is changed for ever!, I got the bus from Ooty 2240m in the Nilgiri hills, this time a private mini-bus to avoid the `cattle truck effect` on public transport. I was however last on and luckily had the middle place of the back row for my legs which seem to be double the length of the locals. Seriosly rutted `roads` stretches of unmade roads, roads under construction and all of this descending through 36 switch-back turns with hundreds of metres of precipice below, even I offered a little prayer to any/all the deities so prevalent in India in all the busses. This is the short cut not taken by the pulic busses. Each time we flew over a pot hole we at the rear were shot into the air landing in a heap on the seats. We passed through the Bandipur National Park, home to wild elephants, bison, spotted deer,a few tigers and the list goes on. Usually nothing is seen of these illusive creatures but as luck would have it coming around a bend, a safari vehicle was stopped in the road and there at about 30m was a group of 3 Asian elephants walking slowly along. It tookm a moment to realise that these creatures are completely wild and free. Later the same scene was replayed with 200 or so spotted deer, black faced monkeys and another elephant with small baby....aah!. After a short stop and a total of 4 hours bumping, flying and bus rally driving we arrived in Mysore, a lovely, clean(ish) city largely built by the british. The Maharaja`s palace, a spectacular edifice built and designed in 1916 by a British architect in a park with huge parade grounds resembling Buckingham Paslace. Inside it a strange mix of high kitch, art nouveau and deco, with a heavy dose of Indian maharaja thrown in. On Sunday it is illuminated with hundreds of thousands of light bulbs anl locals and visitors alike come flocking to snap the lights, me included.

Catastrophe, nearly

da da da da da da, the familiar dulcet tones of my alarm went at 4.30 am. I half fell out of bed and went to the bathroom intending a quick shower to wash away the cobwebs, bed bugs and anything else I might have unwittingly aquired in the night. A very quick appraisal of my immediate surroundings changed my mind and a spot wash was all I could do, I even had to leave there to take my malaria pill. Down to reception to retrieve my deposit although why, when I had paid my room? Another family waiting to check out and I start to look at my watch nervously. Finally I dash across the already teeming main road in the dark to find my train. The platforms are at least a kilometre long and my train was waiting at the far end of course. I installed myself in what was the post wagon where they were sorting the night`s mail, and told to move.....luckily. I have my...backpack, a plastic bag with my snake boat in and....my day-pack, oh god my day pack is not there, my v.expensive camera, all my collected paperwork including flight e-ticket, my diary, my...life is in there. Responding to that electric discharge that the adrenalin effectuates in times of imminant death, I leap from the carriage, my cheeks flushed, my body tuned for fight or flight, I try to run back to the hotel where I realise I left my Bag. My pack must weigh nearly 20kgs and it will not let me lift my legs fast for more than 10 paces so I slow down to a fast walk, back up the platform, through the milling crowds across the teeming street and there it is propped up against the counter where I left it. Now I have to calculate whether it is worth speed-walking back with my dear very precious prodigal bag or give up and take a bus. Never one to give up too quickly, I go for it. It seems to me now that it all unrolled in slow motion, I can still feel every step there and back, seeing the red tail light at the back of the train hundreds of meters away, will it just be pulling away just as I reach it? No, as I install myself, a verirable torrent of sweat is pouring from every pore(it`s already 24 C), I mutter a generic offering to all and any deity that might be listening and another one to me not to be so stupid again!

We arrive an hour later at Mettupalayam and go looking for the steam train. The 4 carriages are already waiting.......full to the brim(?) with people. 2 carriages are reserved, leaving 1 1/2 for 2nd class and 1/2 for baggage. I settle down (stand up) for 4 hours of discomfort. My legs are already suffering from pre-dawn army weight training, I don`t know if I can `stand` this. The rather delapidated engine puffs it`s way behind us, it pushes the train to avoid smoke in the tunnels?, and off we go rocking to the rhythm of the steam power-stroke. We wound through the foot-hills for a while and started climbing, at a speed that you could comfortably jog at (oxymoron?).

The cuttings are so close to the open windows, people were picking flowers. There was just room for my feet on the floor, holding on to seats as we chugged up the mountain. Soon our first tunnel and the 2 groups of Indians, obviosly on a works outing or something, wives, kids and all and a real party atmosphere, starting whooping and shouting which occurred at each tunnl or gorge we came to (300m down). The views were breath-taking as dawn arrived with the plaines appearing below through a light mist, stunning. A lady next to me wanted to join the party in the back of the coach so I finally had a seat...ooof. Passing through immaculate tea plantations seemingly stuck to near vertical hills, rows of tiny tea-pickers huts, we arrived at Coonoor, another hill station and we have arrived, finally, in the Nilgiri hills. 2250m altitude. Change of engine to a diesel loco and off for another hour arriving at 10am. Find a hotel, it`s cold up here, and fall on the bed, I seem to do lots of that! Another unforgettable day but not one to be repeated!

Ooty-not so snooty

After being based for nearly 3 weeks in Cochin, Kerala, a town that I grew to love in my time there, it was time to move on. My last visit to the excellant Dr. Prasanth and his wife and team for my last crown and plate was over and he presented me with a model `snake boat` that are raced during a festival in Alleppy, very sweet of them. My next objective was the narrow-guage steam train to Ooty, a hill station used by the British Raj during the insufferably hot summer season. It is nestled high in the Nilgiri hills, famous for its tea, cofee and wild life. To get to the steam train railhead involves a 4 hour train ride from Cochin-Coimbatore, arriving at 9 pm, then catching the train to Mettupalayam at 5 am the following morning. The ride to Coimbatore was uneventful (for India that is). Several encounters including a young man running an orphanage in S. Kerala, going to meet an American in Delhi coming to work as a volonteer. The train I`m on goes from Trivandrum in the south to Delhi in the North, 50 hours stuck in a sweaty, dirty uncomfortable, (I`m in 2nd or `cattle` class) carriage eating food from vendors on the train or at stations and living in very intimate proximity with fellow inmates, not something I would consider doing except in the most dire of circumstances. I was glad when we arrived and headed for the ticket office to get my ticket for the next day. There were no less than 400 people queuing for tickets at the 24hr ticket office in very little order at the 6 windows, everbody trying to protect their place by moving as close as possible to the person in front, while desperate/audacious enemies tried to push in where they could. This , for the first time that I have seen in India, occasioned shouts of anger from the orderly line and at one point some one went to fetch the police. Order was established for a total of 5 minutes and chaos resumed its natural place in a country as overpopulated as this where 12 million passengers travel EVERY DAY! (think what it will be like around 2040 when the population should exceed that of China),

better visit soon if you want to. 45 Minutes later, ticket in hand and shoulders screaming from my back-pack, I barge out of the station somewhat looking forward to the inevitable

confrontation with the ubiquitous touts amassed outside. I find a hotel spitting distance from the station and, ignoring the unchanged pillow case/sheet and stinking squatter tiolet, lay out my silk sleeping sheet, put a t-shirt on the pillow, set my alarm for 4.30am and am soon in the land of nod...........(to be continued)

Up the Backwaters

So at last I go to see the famous backwaters of Kerala, a vast system of lakes, rivers, canals and ditches. Between these are huge areas of jungle, plantations of coconut palm, banana and pineapple. We started off in a mini-bus picking up a mixed bunch from various hotels, a young couple from Leeds on a long trip covering most of SE Asia, an older couple from Aus...... A bus ride of 40 minutes and we arrived at bridge over a canal and we disembarked. There was our traditional backwaters canoe at least 10 m long, 3m wide, covered with a superstructure of bamboo and palm thatch. Seats were arranger along the sides and our 2 `polesmen` each with his 5 meter bamboo pole made their way to each end. We were slowly propelled, very slowly and silently, down the shore, where the water is shallower and we get a better look. We continued for 1/2 hour and then sharp turn right into a channel all of 31/2m wide, the advantage of being punted is that you can navigate channels the same width as the boat. another 1/2 hour and we arrived at a village where the main activity seemed to be making coconut (coir) rope. Then on to a place where they made lime from shells, burning them with dried coconut husks, grinding, grading till pure lime is produced. I dont think, however that the health and safety inspecters had been to have a look! On to a well deserved lunch, a thali served on a banana leaf, rice, several veggie curries, a sauce for tthe rice, green mango chutney and yoghurt, followed by a sort of rice pudding made with pasta. We then transfered to a smaller canoe and were polled for a further hour down a stream no more than 2 meters wide. we passed by people`s huts and homes, washing clothes, themselves in the stream as we passed by, cameras at thhe ready. The stream was so narrow that the jungle closed over us and we silently slipped by, majic. We were all ready to head back to the bus, heat and sensory overload take their toll, another unforgettable day in God`s own Country.