My Last Days In Kerala

I had a seriously enjoyable and relaxing couple of days in Cochin with excellent food and some good laughs. I really appreciated the way the hotel staff and security treated guests; friendly without being in your face and on hand if you needed any help. I have this feeling they quite liked me too with a permanent smile on my face, talking cricket and taking out a few minutes of my day to chat to them. It's not difficult to behave amicably with respect.
The one thing I had to do before I left was go into Ernakulum, to Travelogics to collect my refund a I had overpaid them. It was slightly irritating that I couldn't just get my credit card creditted so one morning, I got the ferry over and walked the 15 minutes or so to their office which I found quite easily which is a bit of a surprise as street names are not exactly prevalent. Sanoj and Leila were very happy to see me and Leila insisted on a photo session, maybe my photo is on their wall now in pride of place or maybe it's lurking in an email junk folder somewhere.

With cash in hand, well in my bag actually, I decided to try and find a CD which I had heard back in Kumarakom, "In the Lounge with Yani". I went into a few CD shops and realised that this Yani bloke is a huge star in India but this particular album, no one had ever heard of. I gave up then tried to find one of these lethal mosquito bats which would probably kill a small cat with their electric charge, unlike the ones is Holland. I thought Barry might want one so in 36 degrees of humid heat, I trawled through the hardware shops in the market but was disappointed as these little death machines only charged in the smaller sized plugs and didn't use your normal AAA Duracells. Shopping in this kind of heat is not much fun, so I threw in the towel before long, empty handed, went for a delicious milkshake and got the ferry back to Fort Cochin.

Oceano's Resaurant

My back wasn't at it's worst so I decided to give the cooking course a go at Oceanos. My stock of painkillers was getting very low so rationing had come into force about a week ago. I had kept a couple of pills for the flight home but was thankfully left with one last tramadol so I took this the morning of the cooking lesson and walked around the corner to the restaurant.

All drugged up and raring to go, I took my place in the kitchen (like a good girl), armed myself with the sharpest knife I could get my hands on and got to work at preparing endless vegetables. I might not be Gordon Ramsay but cooking is quite high up there in the things I can do and like. If I was able to stand up in a kitchen all day, I might have taken the whole cooking malarkey a bit more seriously and who knows, I could have been on Master “it doesn’t get tougher than this” Chef.

As I was cooking vegetable thali (a selection of different dishes), not surprisingly there was a lot of peeling a chopping to start me off. We used familiar veg like potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, green beans and peas. I got familiar with some lesser known ones like avial, suran, chayote and ash gourd. Chef’s English rated just a little better than my Malayalam so hand signals came in useful as we both waved out knives about in unison.

If you can't stand the heat......

I forget how many different dishes I cooked but more than 15 and less than 25 so let’s plump for a round 20. Some took seconds to concoct, some over half an hour. I started taking notes but it got a bit busy to keep writing. Chef was delighted with me as I knew instinctively how to cut up the veg, how much oil to use, how much of each spice should be added and maybe most importantly, he left all the seasoning up to me – a bit more salt, a bit more sugar or maybe a bit more yoghurt.

I was surprised by the minimal use of onions but not by the liberal use of the ubiquitous jeera (cumin seeds), mustard seeds, coconut (shredded, blitzed in the blender, milk and cream), turmeric and curry leaves. Astonishingly the dishes did all come out very different and the one I loved the most was the instant chutney made from mango, molasses, sugar, vinegar and chillies.

Continually tasting and seasoning

I worked hard and enjoyed myself immensely. The heat didn’t even get to me and it must have been over 40 degrees centigrade in there. I was relieved by the hygiene standards, not brilliant for Western standards but not remotely scary. The only thing that did make me wince was that the meat (which I didn’t touch) was just left on a counter festering before the other chefs cooked it whereas the fridge appeared to be used for coconut products, water and very little else! 

 As usual, I tried to get everyone laughing throughout the morning and succeeded, especially when gesturing at Chef’s somewhat huge belly. The lads in the kitchen were impressed with my Indian cricket knowledge as well as my cooking prowess – I almost asked for my money back, after all I had done all the work!

Just a few of my dishes

The thali is a speciality at Alonso’s and nothing else is served at lunchtime. It costs about €2 and if there are any left-overs, the staff eat them. Slow days in the restaurant must really leave a feast for Fatty and his boys! Everything is freshly prepared that morning and it is super tasty, especially on the day I cooked! I was slightly nervous when the first customers came in and ordered my food but they loved it which was a relief. Work was done for the day so back to the pool to cool down.

Paying customers eating my food

As I walked into the hotel, one of the girls on reception collared me and was obviously very excited about something. She said “Guests staying at the hotel with same name as you!” OK, so someone called Kate had checked in. Whoopdeddy do. “No, no, no....same family name as you”. I grew up in Yorkshire where the surname “Holdsworth” is as common as muck. When I moved “darn saff” to London, it was fairly rare and in Amsterdam, I’m sure I am the only one. So to meet another one in India, in an area not widely visited by the English was indeed a bit of a coincidence. I spotted them fairly easily – white, northern accents, tick! They were a lovely family and we had a grand chat about things that us Yorkshire folk talk about. They got burnt in the sunshine and I tried not to laugh.

I wish I had taken photos backing up my final tale in Kerala. The Haircut. I needed a haircut so why not get it chopped in Cochin? If it went horribly wrong, I could get Toni or Guy to fix it upon my return to Amsterdam. Feeling adventurous, I cycled off to the hairdressers. I think the Indian man entrusted to do the job was more nervous than I was. To cut a long story short, he cut my long hair, errrrrr......short, a bit shorter than I had anticipated. He started butchering on one side cutting about an inch off but by the time he got round to the other side, I was lop-sided by about 4 inches, and then he tried to even it up...........I’m so glad I’m not vain, otherwise I would have clobbered him. Instead I took the blunt scissors from him, tidied it up a bit myself and left. I was shocked that he wanted payment but hey, I was in a good mood so got my rupees out. One disastrous haircut cost the same as 4 nights dinner. You live and learn.

Back in Wonderful Fort Kochi

Ahhhhhh....what a difference a day makes!

Maybe it was the relief in getting out of Kollam or the excitement of going back to Fort Cochin, I'm not sure but I couldn't keep the grin off my face all day. I had my first encounter with the Indian Railways and was very impressed indeed. There appears to be about 6 different classes in which you can travel on a train in India, the lower ones are rammed to the roof but being a sophisticated lady, I chose to go posh, well as posh as was available. 1st class was either fully-booked or non-existent (the latter I think) on the 13.50 from Kollam - Kochi. I did try to get the crappy hotel to book me a ticket but along with a hundred other false claims, they didn't actually have a travel desk. Failing that, Sanoj at Travelogics did the booking and I showed up well in time in my tuk tuk at the station waving my e-ticket. (India is not entirely living in the dark ages)

My first impression was that the station was remarkably clean, I had half expected there to be the odd homeless person lying around but spotted none. The place was crowded but not chaotic. Passengers were waiting patiently in areas with sufficient seating, watching TV. Information was a bit scarce, the screens were all blank. I couldn't help thinking "South-West trains". However, unlike the abysmal train services in south-west London, there was a helpful station manager on hand who directed me to the correct platform. Good job I got there early, as the train would depart from over the bridge. I had to tackle a mountain of steps carrying my crutch, pillow, back pack and heavy suitcase. Step by step I started to ascend only to be interrupted on around step 6 by "Would you like some help ma'am?" (That's ma'am as in ham, not marm as in harm). I accepted gratefully and gave this man a great big smile. Indians don't smile enough  so I consider it my mission to get people grinning one way or another. They don't get my jokes so I have resorted to doing Skype impressions, pulling funny smiley faces. It was tough with my helper but eventually, I got him. He didn't even need to cross the bridge himself, he just felt sorry for me. Once on the platform, he handed me over to another unsuspecting passenger who would help. Ah, bless, what lovely people there are in the world.

The train arrived on time. Unfortunately, it was 18 carriages long and I was waiting where carriage no. 16 pulled up. My carriage? No. 1, right at the front of train. I had actually worked this out all by myself but helper no.2 didn't think it was necessary to start making a move to the head of the platform before it arrived. An all out sprint ensued. When I say sprint, that means walking with pace, kind of 2 levels before jogging. I don't jog. I had no idea where my new friend was sitting but it wasn't in carriage "A1, seat 31". He carried my case to my seat and disappeared before I could make him smile.

My seat was a bed, complete with pillow, sheet and blanket. The air-conditioning worked wasn't too cold and it wasn't too hot, a bit baby bearish really. No one was sat/sleeping next to me,opposite me or across the aisle from me for the entire journey. This was the way to travel. The toilet was clean and didn't smell and the gentle motion of the train was soothing making it all very easy to relax. We pulled into Ernakulum Town station only 20 minutes late which I think is a bit of a result for a journey scheduled to be 3 hours and 25 minutes long. No bridges to be tackled, built or burned but a long walk down the platform to the exit and the taxi rank with drivers ready to pounce on the affluent white woman. I had the taxi drivers in stitches and the tuk tuk drivers doing incredulous dances as I started doing impressions of Sachin Tendulkar with my crutch - I was in that kind of mood.......

The 15km taxi drive from the train station to The Poovath Heritage Hotel in Fort Kochi was the same price as the train ticket - 350 rupees. I shouldn't be surprised though, a taxi to Schiphol airport from central Amsterdam costs the same as a one-way flight to Yorkshire. I was delighted to be back in this unique place, as quiet as a small village but with endless restaurants serving the best food in Kerala. I had skipped lunch so as soon as I had checked into my room with it's huge, fabulous bathroom, I nipped round the corner to a restaurant called Oceanos. I devoured a delicious dinner of a healthy portion of prawns in a thick tomato and coconut sauce and a couple of chaphatis for mopping up purposes. For the first time since 1982, I fancied something sweet and ordered a desert of spiced ginger cake which was heavenly, all washed down with some fresh ginger and lime juice mixed with soda. 375 rupees. I noticed that the restaurant does daily cooking classes. I am praying as I type that my back will enable me to do this.

I like the hotel and it is the first one I have stayed in that offers free wi-fi in the rooms. It even works! There's no hot water but seeing as it's stupidly scorchio outside, barely dipping below 30just sit, relax and watch the sun go down with all the locals separated by a fence which prevents them pissing and chucking rubbish into the hotel grounds.

Another sunset

It's hardly surprising that the first thing I did today was to hire a bicycle. 3 days for 2 1/2 yoyos and I have a basket! Yet again, it's great to be back on a bike. I pootled around, looking at trees today which I hadn't noticed the first time around. The rain trees which line a couple of the roads are very old and very impressive. Apparently they are even more spectacular in the wet season when they produce pink flowers. I tried to get into the Army base down Rain Tree Avenue (not it's real name), asking the guard on the gate if he could teach me to fire missiles but his sense of humour was sorely lacking and he even banned me from taking a photo of the sign outside the gate. Spoilsport.

A rain tree and a goat outside the Army Base

Last time I was here, I had a good laugh with some not very hard working staff at one of those lovely outdoor restaurants with plastic seats and a vague menu. I returned and one of the lads remembered me, indicating my skin was almost as dark as his. For the uninitiated, Asian people do not understand why white people want to get a suntan. Fair skin is a sign of affluence and is considered very beautiful. Sod that, a tan (within moderation) makes you look and feel healthy and for the 2nd time on this trip, I was asked today if I was a student so it obviously makes this middle aged, retired, old lady look young too!

Cool tree

Off to Kollam

There is more than one way to get to Kollam, my next destination. I just preferred to go by the Government boat service rather than the noisy road and I will be getting the train back to Cochin. Grudgingly, I was dropped in Alleppy but not at the same place where the boats go to Kollam so I hailed a tuk tuk. I was almost 1 ½ hours early for the boat but I amused myself talking to some locals and some backpackers, of which 2 were getting the same boat as me. The first Dutchie I had met on my travels, Danielle and her English boyfriend, Chris were on their way to Ashram, the hippy village where there’s a woman who hugs everyone. They live outside Tilburg in the south of the Netherlands and it was good to have company on the boat, which was surprisingly comfortable and empty so there was plenty of space to lie down and chill out. This Government run service takes 8 hours down the waterways to Kollam and costs 300 Rupees. It made us realise that the houseboat tour is grossly over-priced at 6,500 Rupees per day!

The trip didn’t go without incident. We broke down for about 45 minutes and had a couple of crashes, in fact the driver was seriously rubbish. There was an allotted stop for lunch at a pretty place God knows where. We sat down, a piece of green paper was put in front of us (with thousands and thousands of banana trees around, why use paper when we could eat off a banana leaf, which incidentally, do not smell of bananas), rice, runny dhal and 4 curries were dolloped onto our piece of paper and a popadum and that was lunch. 75 Rupees. I have eaten a lot worse!

The boat to Kollam

Fishing Boat

After Ashram where I bade farewell to Danielle and Chris and made tentative plans to meet up with them on Queen’s Day, we were well behind schedule but that didn’t prevent our tea stop at 4pm. At least the toilets were clean at the tea place whereas the one on the boat got riper and riper as the journey progressed. The scenery became less beautiful and before long the plastic made an unwelcome return and I saw my first signs of something close to poverty with the make-shift shacks on the canals. Everyone was smiling though and the boys and young men played cricket in the sand dunes and amongst the palm trees. Approaching Kollam, colourful fishing boats lined the canals. Apparently, this is still a thriving fishing community, which is good to hear.

The canal and sea are separated by narrow strips of land. At one point I saw, what looked like, the building of sea defences. With the tragedy of Japan fresh in my mind, it was obvious that if something similar happened here, these communities would be entirely wiped out.

The last part of the journey was uninteresting and smelly! It was dark by the time the battered boat moored up so I got into the first taxi I could and asked him to take me to my hotel. At least I got to have a ride in an Ambassador Nova, great looking cars. The driver almost point blank refused to drop me at my hotel as it is a 5 star hotel and obviously 5 star people don’t travel by public ferry and look like backpackers. He kept asking me the name of the hotel, thinking I must clearly be staying somewhere else.  Of course, this annoyed me and I had to shout at him to actually drive into the hotel grounds.

Everything went steeply downhill from then in The Quilon Beach Hotel (formerly The Beach Orchid). I was given a room where there was some seriously bad pounding noise. I was so tired, I just wanted a much needed shower as I was filthy and lie down and watch England get thumped in the cricket but I could not ignore the thumping noise. I complained and eventually was moved to another room but as soon as I had settled, the same noise came back, a pounding that was too regular to be the bass of music, more likely to be something to do with an air-conditioning unit. Even watching a film or music with my headphones on, I could hear it so I complained again. 3 hours later, it subsided about 85% but I had to use my ear plugs to eliminate the remaining din. Through sheer exhaustion and with the help of valium, I fell asleep only to be woken up at 07.15 by the telephone with some eejit saying “You requested tea making services”. I had been very good so far not to swear at Indian people and it took all my resolve to not let loose a tirade of abuse. My sleep is sacred and when it is interrupted by some half wit, I get angry, very angry.

The noise was back too so I went downstairs to complain and asked for the manager. Of course, I knew no hotel manager would be on site first thing on a Sunday morning but I was pointed towards some poor 18 year old who got the brunt of my vicious tongue. There were so many absolute pants things about this supposed 5 star hotel and I couldn’t blurt them all out. One reason I booked this place was it advertised a roof top swimming pool so I could chill out and relax in the sunshine. No rooftop pool or rooftop anything. The hotel still advertises it in the hotel literature, in the lift and on the big hoarding they have on the road outside but it hasn’t been there for over 2 years. The other tiny swimming pool has nowhere to sit at all. I asked the teenager for the real manager, who was not available and was lead to have some breakfast which was vile and the breakfast room was full of mosquitoes. I returned to my room but the pounding noise was so loud now, I had to decamp to reception where at least they have comfy seats. Internet is an unbelievable 280 rupees per hour or a ridiculous 550 rupees per day. This place was seriously pissing me off.

The lovely rubbish tip next to the swimming pool

After 40 minutes, some man approached me and just looked at me. I hate this. If you are the manager of a hotel and I am a very unhappy guest, you should at least announce yourself “Good morning, my name is........, I am the Manager of the hotel, I understand you are unhappy with some things about the hotel, is there any way I can assist you?” Instead I just got a stare so I just stared back. Eventually I gave him the home truths about his pathetic hotel but he still didn’t listen, just showed me another room, still with the same noise and said “This is very good room, direct sea view, you want to move here?”

“NO! I don’t care about the sea view or the view of the simply disgusting, dirty and litter-ridden beach, I want a quiet room and somewhere to be comfortable by the swimming pool – please can you just listen to me!?” I would tolerate all these things if I was staying in a 2 star hotel somewhere but to advertise yourself as a 5 star hotel is blatant lying. To date this is the worst place I have stayed in. I made sure this so called manager, who had curry spilt down his tie knew that I would reporting this hotel to Travelogics in Cochin and that I was a travel writer and would be reporting on this shambles (Blog writer didn’t sound very impressive).

Back to reception, to write this while the smoke comes out of my ears and we’ll see what happens next.

Kollam Beach after being cleaned - it is still disgusting

I have been offered a room on the top floor, which materialises to be the 7^th out of 10 floors. It’s still noisy but at least I have a comfy sun longer by the pool which is most definitely not clean. I got in once just to cool off but I wouldn’t submerge my head in it or if I had open wounds, they probably would have got infected.

Back in my room 3 of the plugs didn’t work and there was no hot water. When I asked about the water, I was told of course it was on and I was given a patronising lesson on how to turn the tap to warm. 10 minutes later, an engineer came to the room and said the hot water wasn’t on yet. I hadn’t eaten yet so went to get some food. Both restaurants are advertised to be open all afternoon but that is rubbish too, closed until 7pm.

As the sun is going down, about a million people come onto the beach and bring their litter and play extremely loud music. I would have left Fawlty Towers but I had paid for 5 nights up front and was told I would get nothing back if I left. Anyway, I’m curious on how much else can go wrong.

There is absolutely nothing to write about Kollam. It has a filthy beach, it’s noisy and the weather has been very hot and humid that walking around is unbearably uncomfortable. It still hasn’t rained during the daytime since I’ve been in India. It did during the night once in Munnar and once in Kumily. I wish it would pelt it down now. All I feel like doing to do for the next 2 days in watch cricket on the telly and look forward to getting back to Cochin.

Actually I got up this mnorning (Wednesday 30th March) and went to watch the fishermen drag in their huge nets from the beach. A lot of man power for so very little output. No idea what the fish were that they caught but they looked like whitebait, very small silver things. 

Total catch was 4 of these baskets full of little tiddlers

I have just been out to try and find a bit of company and food and watch the cricket (India v Pakistan). I failed miserably as everyone seems to watch it at home and the streets were deserted. There were crowds around the TV shop window and around the shops which had a TV but I couldn't find anywhere to sit down and watch so wondered back to the hotel, stopping to get some indescribable but yummy street food, a cup of chai, a glass of fresh pineapple juice, 2 big packets of Indian Wotsits and 4 bottles of water (1 litre each), total cost of all that was 110 rupees. To be honest, was quite glad to be back in the hotel as it was 36 degrees out there and I was having problems replacing the fluids I was rapidly losing!

Houseboat in The Backwaters of Kerala

My houseboat arrived at noon at the hotel’s boat landing and I climbed aboard, glad to be free of Ayurveda but sad to be leaving the hammock and swimming pool. There were 3 men, in their early 20s as crew. I wasn’t expecting luxury on the boat but the bed was horrendous, exactly the same tortuous “mattress” as in Wayanad. Thankfully the furniture in the front of the boat, where I would be spending most of my time, was comfortable and mentally planned to sleep on the front bench which had a nice, padded cushion on it.

We stopped for lunch after only 1 ½ hours. I really didn’t appreciate being served up enough food for four people though despite it being wonderful. It’s a bit like buffet food, I never enjoy that either as I feel inclined to eat more than I actually want to. The lunch consisted of popadum, fish, 3 different vegetable dishes, a salad, pickle, yoghurt and enough rice to feed a small Vietnamese army. Hmmmmm.

A little light lunch

I was keen to get going but it’s all very relaxed on the houseboat so after a siesta (for the lads, not me), we got going again. There were hundreds of these houseboats around, made from wood, bamboo and coir (coconut hair) They range in size from 1-7 bedrooms. A quick stop at the local Tesco’s to stock up on a few things (Diet Coke for me) and we headed out into quieter waters.

The local supermarket

I was waited on hand and foot and I think they realised that they had a cushy deal with me as I kept saying no to everything they offered but I couldn’t resist a cup of masala tea of course.

Cuppa tea

Today, India were playing The Convicts in the Cricket World Cup Quarter-Finals. Unfortunately the TV didn’t work while we were chugging down the canals, so as soon as we moored for the night, the lads jumped into action trying to position the satellite dish on the shore which was hilarious. Our arrival had caused the village kids to come out and say hello and ask for pens and money. They were definitely hindering our attempt to get the TV working so were shoed off and a local farmer came to collect his 3 goats, tethered to palm trees next to the boat, maybe they weren’t satellite friendly.

I wanted to stay on this boat

After about half an hour, success and we caught the last couple overs of the Australian innings. It was with great glee that the first ball we saw was Ponting’s wicket. I cheered more than the Indians; it took some explaining to vindicate my hatred for the cheating, spitting, repulsive, little man. Usually, the staff are banished to the stern of the boat but I invited them to stay and watch the game with me, which I know they appreciated. Thankfully they weren’t into guttural snorting and spitting so it was good to have their company.

As we were watching, the chef was cooking prawns and the smells were mouth-watering despite me not being very hungry. At around 8.30pm. dinner arrived. It was ridiculous them bringing me all this food. They explained that they ate the leftovers (I ate all the prawns) but still, there is no reason to bring me 5 different curries and 8 parathas.....A fabulous victory for The Indians and it was time for bed. I said I preferred to sleep on the bench but the staff sleep on the floor in the living area so they lugged the cushion to my bedroom, which really did make a difference. I even had air conditioning which was welcome as it was roasting in my bedroom.

Queen Mary - my boat

I didn’t sleep too badly considering the circumstances. I thought it was just the mosques that had a call to prayers at 05.30 but no, the local Hindu Temple was blaring out music at a similar hour and even with earplugs, the noise woke me up, as did the 3 lads stomping around the boat a little later on. It looked a bit cloudy outside and the atmosphere hung as if it would rain. After 3 ½ weeks of as good as wall to wall blue skies and sunshine, I still didn’t like those clouds, especially not on a boat cruise. They were well-behaved clouds though and didn’t split open.

I went for a short walk along the shore at around 8am. The local villagers all said hello to me, I even got a moo out of a cow and a whole lot of cockle doodle doo’s from the roosters. It was all very serene, colourful and picturesque.

Village house and boat

Little canal

I was still full from the previous days feeding so I had to tell them that I did not want breakfast but I still got a whole pineapple cut up and some tea and toast. I nibbled away just to not offend anyone. Then we were off. The canals continued to be very broad and lined with trees. For some reason, I expected them to be much narrower, not quite Amsterdam style but less than 100 metres. I asked, when and where do they get narrower and in true Indian fashion, I was told “Yes Ma’am, later, later” with a wibbly wobbly head. It’s disconcerting Indians saying yes and shaking their head at the same time. They never actually shake their head as in “no” as “no” doesn’t exist in India.

Millpond Canal

The backwaters are unmistakably, beautiful and it is fascinating watching people going about their business. One word which sprang to mind whilst staring at them was “washing”. Washing themselves, washing clothes, washing dishes, washing food, all in the canal. I have noticed on my travels that Keralan people are extremely clean and absolutely meticulous about hygiene. Considering the sweltering temperatures, I have had a whiff of body odour just once since I arrived. I know for sure this wouldn’t be the case in the UK or Holland in 34°c.

Nice

What makes this place so idyllic is the setting of water and boats followed by palm/banana/mango trees, tiny cottages, then behind them paddy fields with hardly a road in sight. Everyone travels by foot, bicycle and of course boat. Each family is involved in agriculture some way, be it in coconuts, rice, mangoes, bananas and the animals like chickens, goats and not forgetting those lovely cows roam happily around. Manesh, who was the better English speaker, told me that they eat a lot of duck at home too.

Canal one side, paddy field the other side

Eventually, we darted down a much narrower canal and the water disappeared underneath a complete covering of water lilies. Children waved and shouted out hello, mothers ignored us and fathers scowled. I got the impression most houseboats didn’t come down here.  All 3 lads live fairly locally to Alleppy and I shouldn’t have been surprised we stopped around lunchtime at Manesh’s house. Why do I keep ending up at people’s houses? I had another ridiculously huge lunch served to me on the boat while the staff jumped ship and Manesh’s family and neighbours stared at me like a freak. This combined with a bout of constipation, (a side effect of painkillers tramadol and cocodomol) made me fell less than comfortable. It didn’t help that the people lining the shore just loved to shout at each other too creating an irritating din. I would have retired to my room if it hadn’t been for the rock hard bed and it resembling a sauna. (No air conditioning between 8am – 9pm.).

A canal covered in water lillies

Things went a bit downhill from here, not that you can really change altitude on a canal. I don’t think the lads were taking me to the most beautiful areas as we seemed to stick to very wide waterways and lakes and then slowed down to walking pace for some reason that no one would tell me. I was smelling rats. My sense of direction is quite good and we were approaching 5.30pm when houseboats must legally moor up, and I had a feeling we were quite a way from Alleppy where I had to get another boat the following morning at 10am. and if today was anything to go by, we wouldn’t be on the road until 9am. I voiced my concerns and even though I had told Manesh what my plans were, he said “Tomorrow we go to Kumarakom”. Oh dear, here we go. I produced my voucher which said “Kumarakom – Alleppy” but that was not good enough and I was told to phone someone. Who I’m not quite sure, my agent had booked it and the details he and I had were correct so I wasn’t sure what I could do except get a bit annoyed. Finally, we did a 180° turn and broke the 5.30pm curfew by 20 minutes, slap wrists. My mood did the same about turn as I sat and watched a stunning sunset.

Thankfully, the chef had listened to me and my dinner was just a simple fish curry with chaphatis and very very tasty. The owner of the houseboat hadn’t paid for the satellite TV so the cricket went off at the interesting point so I couldn’t witness South Africa getting beaten by the lowly Kiwis. I wasn’t in India to watch cricket but the armchair was comfortable and there was nothing else to do on the boat. I turned in and had an early night.

My crew

Heaven and Hell in Kumarakom

The drive to Kumarakom started out beautiful and interesting. My driver spoke much better English than the previous ones so we actually could construct a conversation or two. For some inexplicable reason, I had ordered a car without air conditioning which was a big mistake. My line of thinking was that it hadn’t been necessary from Munnar to Thekkady but that was at altitude, driving through forests but this time, there were larger towns, traffic and an increase in temperature of maybe 10°c. Leaving at 11am. wasn’t too smart either. I don’t like air conditioning, especially when it’s fierce and you have to actually wear more clothes than you would outdoors or when the cold air is blowing directly onto your dodgy shoulder or knackered back. Things deteriorated as we descended from the hills. To be honest, the rising temperature isn’t what got me hot under the collar but the driver’s relentless use of the car horn. You would have thought I should have been used to it by now but my logical brain refuse to understand the unnecessary honking on a straight road with no other vehicles, pedestrians or cows in sight. I stupidly attempted the hapless task of explaining to the driver that in Europe, we use the horn to avoid accidents (unless you’re a taxi driver in Amsterdam, waiting for a fare outside the “Escape” nightclub at 5am. on a Saturday night) and the indicator as a way of signalling intent to turn or over-take. No reason why you can’t do the same! Why do I always persist in trying to make a point, despite knowing I am being rude and possibly disrespectful? I blame it on that ridiculously intolerant brain of mine.

Good old fashioned punting

My headache from the previous day re-emerged and my mood deteriorated further as we approached Kumarakom, a very small village on Lake Vembanad. The roads are all unmade and I couldn’t spot anywhere to eat in case I wanted to escape from the hotel’s cuisine. For the second time on this trip, the driver went to the wrong hotel. It had happened in Kumily too. He said “Waterscape yes?” to which I said “No. Backwater Ripples. I asked you 2 days ago if you knew it and you replied “Yes””. I should know by now that “yes” doesn’t always mean the affirmative. He had heard “water” and that automatically made him think of Waterscape which is a bit silly seeing as Kumarakom is a touristy place on a lake and almost all of the hotels have either the words “water” or “lake” included in them. He had misheard the price we had agreed on too but I was not going to put up with that monkey business. If I had been in a better mood, maybe but not right then.

Backwater Ripples Hotel

Eventually, we arrived at the hotel where I was glad to get out of the car. Thankfully, the hotel looked beautiful and inviting, more like a luxury resort. I appreciated a swift check-in, my welcome cold pineapple juice and a quick burst of air conditioning in my room. This place is not cheap at around €80/night for the most basic of rooms but the peaceful setting, clean and refreshing swimming pool and impeccably kept grounds were worth it. I came across an Ayurveda centre on the way to my room, past the wonderful aromas coming out of the vents of the attractive looking building and my initial thought was that I could do with a de-stressing head message so I ventured in.

I am writing this after my 5 night stay in Kumarakom but throughout this journey in Kerala, I have been making notes periodically as I think it’s important to record my true emotions at the present time rather than writing with hindsight.  Some of my literary moments of inspiration have struck me when I have been in a tuk tuk and I challenge anyone, apart from my sister, to decipher my hand-written notes from these occasions.

At the Ayurveda Centre I enquired about a de-stressing massage. They had a list of treatments and I was lured into looking through their 3-4 day packages. Before long, it came out that I had a bad back and within a few minutes, the Ayurveda Doctor appeared. OK, I thought, I’m in a lovely relaxing setting, have a relatively comfy bed, I can be weightless in the pool, the sun is out and the hotel has hammocks, God’s little present to those with a back like mine so why not give this alternative mumbo jumbo a bash here. If it doesn’t help then I always have my own course of treatment to fall back onto. (The aforementioned sun and swimming pool)

Watching the sunset from my hammock

I fetched the CDs of my X-Rays and MRI scans and I talked the doc through them. He didn’t look at them very closely or for very long but remarked I was in need of help. He started giving me the Ayurveda chat, which I had heard once before but this was the briefer version and I started questioning everything he said. “Vata – means bones, you are vata”

“What?”

He was trying to say my bones were weak which is rubbish. For someone like me who spent 7 years doing gymnastics, rode bicycles like a stuntman, was fearless and has had more drinking injuries than  care to admit (especially from climbing the barriers in the middle of the A316 en route to the pub after coming out of London Scottish Rugby Club), I have broken the extortionate sum of one bone - my little toe and that wasn’t my fault. I’m not sure if I should also count the time when I nose-butted the wash basin in my bedroom after falling off my trampoline bed. I was only 5 years old at the time so I think it was more a dent in the cartilage, rather than a broken bone. [citation needed from Dr. Woodford, AKA my Mum]. Anyway, I tried to explain there was no problem with my bones, my vertebrae may be deteriorating because there is a lack of discs to cushion them from each other but anyone’s bones would do the same after 30 odd years, in fact I think my vertebrae are in pretty good nick considering the medical facts. He also pointed out that the scoliosis (refer back to Chapter 1 if you’re a newcomer) is a result of weak muscles on one side of my spine. Seeing as the pain started 3 years before I finally gave up gymnastics, I would love to know at what particular time, in these intervening years, my muscles got weak. I was on average a year younger than everyone in my class at school and clearly remember taking on anyone who would challenge me to an arm wrestle during those wet break times when we were stuck inside with absolutely nothing to amuse ourselves. I always won.

Maybe there is an element of truth in the muscle theory but his generalising of medical conditions pissed me off. I tried to strike him down with some badly thought out analogies but he wouldn’t budge. The verdict was I have fragile bones, the muscles on one side of my spine are weak, I don’t breathe properly and my digestion needs to be improved. He even said, just by looking at me, that drinking milk would give me diarrhoea. I haven’t drank a glass of milk since I was force fed it, warm at St. Mary’s School when I was 8 years old and won’t be testing out that theory in a hurry. (Maybe that’s why my bones are so obviously weak)

I was getting nowhere so it was time for a few home truths for Dr. Ayurveda. I asked him “Do you believe in all this stuff?”

“Yes, of course” he said, with his wibbly wobbly head.

“Do you believe that you can help anyone with any disease, condition or injury?”

“Yes” he said cautiously,

“May I be rude? And please can I apologise in advance for what I am about to ask?”

“OK, no problem”

“If you believe in all this, why are you so obviously overweight and risk developing diabetes?” Thankfully he laughed instead of hitting me. He replied saying he believed but he was not practising and was in fact a lazy person who liked watching TV and his wife cooks too much of the wrong type of food for him. At least he was honest. He seemed to think I was the opposite to him in being super active but I couldn’t be bothered to put him right.

Fed up with the conversation, I got straight to the point, “I am here for five days, do you honestly think you can give me any kind of pain relief?”

“Yes”

“Even if I don’t understand all these things you have been saying?”

“Yes”

“OK, how much?”

He devised a program for me and the cost associated with it. I bartered him down and when we agreed on a price, I said “and throw in a free head massage”. If I didn’t try this Ayurveda treatment, then I would be left wondering. If it helped, even a little bit, then I could come back again for a full program and if it didn’t then at least I could still enjoy the hotel’s lovely facilities.

I received my head massage straight away and it was fabulous. I had heard about hair oil from Sadhna, back in Amsterdam and by this time had been using it for about 10 days, after all, when in India......do as the Romans Indians do. It appears to do wonders for your hair so I didn’t mind when Rachel, my personal masseuse/nurse/carer lashed it on. A neck and shoulder massage followed which was fairly tame but pleasurable. The real treatment would begin the next morning at 8am.

Houseboat on the lake

Day 1

Rachel arrived in my room bang on time. She made me lie on my stomach which is always uncomfortable for me as it arches the spine the wrong way, even on a bed. She applied some kind of magical hot paste (lapam) to my lower back. After half an hour she returned, wiped it off and reapplied. After that was washed off, I went to their treatment centre and made my acquaintance with the “Ayurveda Table”. I was asked to climb onto it and again lie on my stomach. I had already pointed out to the doctor and now to Rachel that lying flat on my stomach or back, especially on hard surfaces was seriously painful. She ran off to get a roll up, plastic mat, similar to the type you may put on a sun-lounger but thinner and I lay on that. It was very uncomfortable but I gritted my teeth. The next treatment was something called podikizhi where a bunch of herbs are wrapped tightly into a piece of muslin forming a kind of poultice which was then heated and applied to my back in short, sharp, movements. The smell was a cross between caramel and frying fragrant spices in ghee – nice. It felt good too but my body was beginning to fight the painful position I was in. The muscles in my back went rigid, my shoulders tensed up and I found it difficult to move my head from one side to the other. After the podikizhi I crawled up into a ball to get a moments relief before being laid out again for kateevasthi, the treatment I had seen on the telly, where a ring is formed from herbal plastercine, around the lower spine and hot, herbal oil is poured in, left for 5 minutes and removed. The process is repeated 4-5 times, by which time I was struggling with this position and I made sure that Rachel and the doctor knew this. In a cold climate, this would have put me straight back onto crutches but the delicious Indian heat, the best form of pain relief for me was trying to undo the damage.

The morning’s 2 ½ hour treatment was to be repeated again at 3pm. so I made a beeline for the pool where I floated, stretched and curled up in a ball and the pain subsided. A couple of hours in the hammock, watching the houseboats trundle by, felt blissful and far removed from the pain I had had just 3-4 hours previously.

The afternoon session was in a different room and they had only put a blanket over the hard, wooden table. I refused, point blank to get on that table. Didn’t they listen to me before or did they just think “Sod it, this is the way we do it, she’ll just have to put up with it”? I feigned walking out which prompted Rachel into action and the flimsy mat was retrieved. This time, I positioned myself differently, letting my head flop over the end of the table which prevented the muscles in my neck and shoulders going mental. However, it was still painful in my lower back and my dodgy knees and ankles also began to protest. Back to the doctor to tell him there was no way I was going to gain anything from this treatment if he persisted on inflicting pain on me through the table.

I was drained that evening - watched a beautiful sunset, had a quick dinner in the over air-conditioned, over-priced, restaurant (in fact, I had to go back to my room to put on long trousers and a fleece) and had an early night.

Sunset

Day 2

I slept badly thanks to my back pain and felt pretty dreadful getting out of bed. In the morning I was given the same treatment as the day before but now it was decided that the  .....could be applied with me lying on my side, a decision really could have been made the day before. Why does common sense not always prevail? Unfortunately the...........required me to be flat so there was no reprieve for that half hour.

In the afternoon, I received my first full body massage with about 6 gallons of herbal oil. It felt a lot better than the tortuous lying on my stomach nonsense. Some parts were even enjoyable. This massage really isn’t for the prudish. All your bits and pieces are not just uncovered but your bum and breasts get a good rubbing too. Being a heterosexual woman, this part was a bit disconcerting to say the least and hoped it wouldn’t bother me too much. I also felt a bit like the Bond girl in Goldfinger who was covered in gold and me in oil. Covering every inch of her body didn’t do her any good!

Another Bond moment when I was led to the steam bath after my massage, sat in there with my head popping out of the top. I was just waiting for Sean Connery to nip by, shove a broom handle in between the door handles and turn up the heat. Steam, ie. heat always feels good for my back but the sitting position was not comfortable and that and a dose of claustrophobia got to me after about 10 minutes.

I saw the doctor after I had scrubbed and showered and told him I was not feeling any better, in fact, considerably worse and in my experience, the torture table and prolonged periods of time lying in positions that hurt were to blame. I had pointed this out from the start so unfortunately this was a bit of a “I told you so” conversation. The doctor wanted to try something different and asked me to try a different paste. He looked so pathetic I agreed. Back in my room, some gunk consisting of ground up herbs mixed with egg was applied to my lumber spine and when it had dried, I could move around but it had stuck fast so every little moment gave me a mini waxing which itched like hell. In the mirror, it looked like I had a big cowpat stuck on my back. Doc wanted me to keep it on all night but it irritated me and flaked all over the bed so I put up with it for 5 hours then washed it off.

Day 3

I woke up totally exhausted and in more pain than I have done for a few months so I hit the pain killers. My sense of humour was also being tested to the hilt. More massages and more paste applications. I was beginning to feel very grumpy and the massages made me feel as if my body was being violated. I didn’t want these girls touching parts of me that I consider out of bounds, it wasn’t pleasant and I shied away from their touch and also asked them to stop pulling my toes, after all what in the hell does that have to do with my bad back? I rehearsed the conversation I was going to have with Doc. Apparently the full body massage is for better circulation and the toe pulling is because people want to hear them crack. This was beginning to get farcical, far removed from back pain and I would have pulled the plug there and then if I hadn’t felt sorry for Doc’s and Rachel’s pathetic faces.

At 5pm. the hotel put on a free sunset boat cruise on the lake and until today, I had been on the slab at this time. This time, I made it, took some pain killers and I spent an hour on the water reflecting what all this meant. These are the notes I made during that hour’s cruise, it might give you an idea on my frame of mind:

1.      1. Ayurveda is a sham – there is no knowledge of the anatomy, all ailments seem to be treated under the same premise that increasing oxygen and glucose to ones damaged areas will cure all ills.

2.      2. What a brilliant decision I made in leaving The Ayurvedic place in Wayanad after 2 days. At least I found out the truth in luxury and I could deal with the inflicted pain so much better in a hammock and swimming pool.

3.      3. I have to face up to my damaged back. Today is the last time I shall feel sorry for myself. From now, I shall ignore the pain as much as I possibly can and not inflict my misery on anyone else.

4.      4. I am a very fortunate to have great people around me at home and the best boyfriend on the planet. I live in a beautiful apartment in a fantastic city. I don’t have to worry about money matters or put up with a crap job. Apart from my back, I am healthy and if I ever feel blue, I just walk down my stairs, across the bridge to my second home, Mulligans and 99 times out of 100, there’s someone in there to put a smile on my face. How many people have all this?

For the first time in 3 weeks, that evening I had a non-Indian meal of hot and sour soup and a prawn cocktail. A weird combination but that’s what I fancied. A good night’s sleep followed thanks to a sleeping pill.

Day 4

I took some tramadol this morning to get me through the day. Tramadol gives you a bit of flatulence so I tried not to fart my way through my treatment, although I was tempted...... I refused to get on my stomach so everything was done on my side and finally, someone had tracked down something to lie on which resembled padding. However the damage had been done and I was still experiencing sharp pains in my back. Doc was still trying and asked if he could apply some more cowpat (which apparently was some kind an anti-inflammatory – something that has never helped my back pain) that evening. I declined and said what’s the point? He said that it was reducing the swelling in my back. Poor Doc, he hadn’t understood anything. Swelling doesn’t give me chronic pain, that’s all very secondary. Bones getting too friendly with each other is the problem!

In the evening, I was glad I was almost at the end of this ill-fated experiment. I ate a delicious Kerala Fish Curry in the restaurant and had a good laugh with all the staff there, something that doesn’t happen very often for them unfortunately. I have seen the way that many Indian guests treat hotel staff and it horrifies me, they are so rude and look down on these people serving them. No pleases or thank yous. Disgraceful. I get treated so brilliantly by everyone in India because I smile and am courteous and take a few minutes out of every day asking about them - contrary to popular belief, it isn’t all about me.

When a party of 3 Indians came in, all elderly, over 70 for sure, I took notice of them as one of the trio looked a real character. She had long, grey hair in plaits a bit like the wife of a native American Indian Chief (if you follow me) and was dressed, not in a sari but in jogging trousers (sweat pants) and a t-shirt. Her lower jaw jutted out as if she was practising for a gurning competition but it was the air about her which just said “I don’t give a shit” that I loved. If I get old, I want to be like her. 5 minutes later, a lady walking passed by my table and said hello. She materialised to be the sister of the gurning woman and all her family lived in Leicester and had been doing so for 54 years but came back to India every winter. She said she was ready to go home now. We had a lovely chat about thing various and we wished each other a safe trip home,

The Pain Clinic

Day 5

One more massage, one more breakfast, a final swing in the hammock and float in the pool (which a few minutes later was taken over by about 20 kids) then I checked out. That was a bizarre experience in itself. I was asked to fill in one of their feedback surveys, something I usually refuse to do but I relented. Afterwards, I got the third degree on why I had marked the reception service as “average”. I explained that average wasn’t bad, it wasn’t exceptional, and they shouldn’t feel insulted. Just to amuse myself, I went on to explain that in maths, there are several ways of measuring the average and in something like a questionnaire, the “average” box should be the one in the middle, like the median. Their questionnaire only had 4 responses and “average” was the 2^nd worst option so either the header “average” should be changed or they needed to add another box and keep average in the middle. I giggled to myself at their blank faces.

Good riddance to Ayurveda but it’s not all bad news. My hair and skin look and feel great. Unfortunately I will associate the stench of all those oils with something close to hell if I ever smell them again.