Photos: from Udaipur to Hampi

Links below to couple of photo albums for your viewing pleasure from over the past couple of months - 

India IV - Udaipur, Ahmedabad and Mumbai

India V - Pune, Goa and Hampi

As ever, you don't need a Facebook account to view these albums. Enjoy!

Melting Pot

Kochi, India (map)

In this blog: lots of sweating, an interesting colonial town, and a mad professor.

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Typical sight in Kerala - man wearing a dhoti, with an umbrella

Kochi is a melting pot of colonial history. Due to the spice trade the Portuguese arrived first and colonised it, then the Dutch came and kicked them out. The British then waded in waving a big stick and took over for a hundred years or so, before India finally took it back as their own in the forties, meaning the old town known as Fort Cochin is not your typical Indian concrete jungle, and is all the more interesting for it. It may be interesting, but it was pretty uncomfortable such was the 35° heat and high humidity, meaning I spent the whole time a sweaty mess. Even a few seconds after a cold shower I was sweating again, and by night the only way to deal with it, was sleeping with no bedsheets and the fan spinning constantly. The locals didn't seem to mind though, taking it all in their stride with not even a sheen of perspiration on most of their foreheads.

Jew Town

The more modern Ernakule,
across the river

After arriving on the night train and getting settled into a place in the less touristy area of Ernakulam, I went for a little stroll around, finding it to be pleasant enough  as Indian cities go but a little dull. I stopped for a fresh sugarcane juice, a new favourite of mine, whereby the guy peels the skin from a length of sugarcane before repeatedly putting it through a motorised mangle to squeeze out the juice, squeezing in a little lime then finally filtering through a sieve it into a cup - refreshing and tasty without being as overwhelmingly sweet as you'd expect. 

Colonial buildings on
Fort Kochi coastline

I took the local ferry across the estuary to explore Fort Kochi itself. On the boat a Canadian girl started talking away to me at lightspeed - Cara, a pleasant but slightly irritating twentysomething, and a stereotypical 'blender' - a westerner wearing Indian clothing to try and blend in. After asking about my trip, she told me about the Ayurvedic residency she's doing in India. I asked what on earth it was and she wasn't even sure herself, describing living in some sort of commune where people practiced ancient Indian medical techniques, and put you through all sorts of weird treatments. I eventually got the impression she was looking for something without knowing what it was. I also didn't know what I was looking for - I had no plans for Fort Kochi, so agreed to walk with her and also-strange Indian friend to look around the racist-sounding-yet-innocent ancient area of Jew Town. 

After a odd diversion into a shop for her to smell some essential oils, we stopped for a quick look at the Dutch Palace on the way; a fairly plain building on the outside but beautifully crafted within during the Dutch era of the city, before reaching the centre of the old Jewish area. There's no Jewish community in India to speak of now, now nor has there ever been on a large scale, but at some point in the sixteenth century a small group of traders arrived and formed a small one, leaving quite possibly the only Synagogue in India. I had a wander about, finding it crudely speaking a little like a Methodist chapel with the furniture rearranged, some different pictures on the walls, and a whole lot of glass chandeliers. An interesting site, yet with only a handful of Jews left locally; soon to become a museum it seems.

What's left of colonial buildings

The other two guys wanted to stop for a drink, so finding them a bit too odd and irritating for my liking, I made my excuses and headed off to the other old part of town. The humidity was too high, the distance larger than I thought, and the local shopping streets less than interesting for once. The only relief being an escape into an air-conditioned, old-fashioned ice cream parlour for a few minutes. The day was disappearing and I was getting no-where fast, so I called it quits and headed for the ferry after a bit of a drab day at the office.

Fort Cochin by bike

A big dump of rain in the night did nothing to cool the air, and by 8am it had already evaporated completely. Another sweaty day beckoned. The heat wasn't the only grind that morning. A young waiter in the cafe forgot to pass my breakfast order to the kitchen for twenty minutes before I checked, this, just after he carefully picked up all the napkins that the fan had blown all over the floor and neatly placed them back in the holder on my table. An Internet cafe I then used, asked me to write down my full name and address 'to help prevent terrorism' but didn't actually check I wasn't making it up, which as always felt pointless. I went to leave the hotel only to realise my camera battery was dead flat. Then finally I hired a bike, to find the wheels wobbling like drunk Russians, brakes that needed ten minutes notice, and a seat designed as a medieval torture device. But thankfully with all the nonsense out the way early, the day soon got better.

Chinese fishing nets - The whole device
tips into thewater to catch fish, then
lifts them out in one

Fort Kochi turned out to be nicer to cycle round than walk. I had a leisurely cruise around it's quiet streets for a couple of hours, past various buildings which are a legacy of the colonial period - mostly old warehouses, offices, homes and social clubs In a range of styles designing on who built it. Many were quite nice, but looked a little worse for wear these days. One really interesting sight, an icon of the city in fact, was the very unique and historical Chinese fishing nets. These are huge old contraptions built along the shoreline which look a bit like trebuchets. The fishermen pull rope to tilt them, so that one end with a huge net drops into the water, then is lifted out a few minutes later at least partly full of fish to be sold along the shore. They caught a real mixed bag of fish, including some huge metre long ones, which they proudly carried along the pavement, laid in a basket in their heads.

16th century house built by Dutch colonialists

I escaped the tourist area on the bike for a couple of hours, heading into the real world nearby. I saw a burial service starting for an Indian at a packed Christian cemetery, with the coffin dropped off by ambulance. Goats wandering all over the town, but for once no cows to be seen. Boy racer style rickshaws parked up, and a loud air raid siren going off - apparently the tea break alarm in a big local factory. I stopped and looked around what is said to be South India's biggest antique shop; a fascinating place with stock such as old wooden sculptures from temples, carved granite pillars and huge elephant-proof doors, which all seemed to have been stolen from historical site around the country. It was more like a museum than a shop, a museum where everything is for sale. 

At late dusk I took the ferry back across the estuary. Whilst queuing, a couple of guys started arguing about something, which soon turned into a full on fight with each other. It was the first act of violence I'd seen anywhere in nearly four months in India, and they fought like a pair of children, just pushing and grabbing each other. Others intervened, and a few minutes later all was well again. Indian people seem to generally have a very calm and unthreatening nature to them, one of the things I like about the nation, so this was definitely a rarity.

The Mad Professor

As I got off the boat in Ernakulam, an Indian guy of around sixty started politely making conversation, and when I asked, told me he was Professor of Philosophy at Mysore University. He wore a smart shirt, was polite and astute, and had a gentle nervous laugh. He talked away about philosophy for a few minutes, then said he'd tell me a bit more over a quick beer 'in a bar just over there' if I was interested. I was a bit reluctant as I had plans, but am open minded and always keen to learn, so went with it saying 'just half an hour'. After four months in India I've got a nose like a dog for scammers, and the scent told me this was fine. I tactfully checked he didn't want any money from me anyway - he said no, but suggested I buy the beers. Errr, OK I guess. 

The bar turned out to be not across the road, nor 'just round this corner' as he promised, but half a mile away; a plain upstairs room full of after work drinkers, with plastic tables and chairs, and not a woman in sight. He ordered two large beers, despite my insistence that we just have a small beer, and started telling me more about philosophy. His first glassful disappeared quicker than I expected. It turned out to be traditional Indian type rather than the worldly type that we know, instead based around ancient scriptures and Hinduism - not really of that much interest to me to be honest, but I listened on. He went on to discuss Ayurveda - the traditional Indian form of medicine I mentioned earlier, which judges the balance of your body as a whole rather than individual ailments, saying it was part of Indian philosophy. I then inadvertently found myself being assessed, since he told me he was also an 'Ayurvedic doctor' - a skill passed through generations rather than being a true doctor. 

His assessment of my general condition was bizarre, contradicting what I'd been told by another one of these supposed ayurvedic doctors before. He said I was about 20kg overweight, which he based just on my age without asking my height (I'd be anorexic if that really were the case). He measured my blood pressure by placing his fingers on my wrist, much to the amusement of two other customers, saying it was 'way too low' and 'dangerous' (it isn't, I know). Then he finally told me my 'dosha was out of balance' and I 'needed some Ayurvedic drugs to balance' me, which he went on to say was 'the reason you're 31 and not married'. It had all turned a bit weird, or more weirder should I say.. I smiled, and politely told him I didn't really agree with his assessment but thanked him anyway, and as we'd been well over an hour now drew the evening to a close. After I paid the bar bill, he then surprised me with a request - asking money for the 'medical assessment'. It was only £1 (100 rupees), but in disbelief having checked earlier, and at no point agreeing to this bogus assessment, I said no way on principle. He was a professor, supposedly, so why would he want such a small amount from me? I was now angry, feeling a bit cheated but not knowing exactly how, though restrained from really showing it. He persisted, and I stuck to my guns. The friendly mood changed. Finally, I told him he'd wasted my evening and really annoyed me, and walked out. I stood at the street corner fifty metres from the bar and looked back. He walked out a minute later, head down, and headed the other way, off into the night.

The whole thing was most bizarre, and I still can't work it out. He wasn't just your typical scammer from the streets, as he clearly had knowledge. He was clever and insightful yes, but a professor? If he was a scammer, why would be try to get so little money from me? If he was lonely or a drunk, why would he spend so long just to get someone to buy him one beer? Or was everything genuinely true, and demanding £1 just his unusual manner of working?

I guess I'll never know.

Portuguese Catholic Church at Fort Cochi

Typical Kerala state bus with no windows

Dutch colonial house

Fishing boats

 Nice spot for an afternoon drink!

More Bangalore

Bangalore, India (map)

In this blog: the Las-Vegas of temples, a pint of real ale, and a big juicy beef steak (in India, really).

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Beef and Ale

After the fantastic day of Holi celebrations, Nick and I met with Suresh again that night - both of whom I'd met at Honey Valley a week or two before (see previous blogs) as well as a friend of his, and they showed us the local nightlife of Bangalore. After a couple of Kingfishers at The Monkey Bar - a trendy bar in the middle of the city - we went a few miles across town to a German-style brewpub, where they brew real ale in house - a relatively new idea in India, and a really smart and impressive place. For a real ale fan like myself, who'd only been able to find lager for months now, I was a happy man. Not only this, but the pub also had steak on it's menu, which Suresh and I shared in a strange couple-like manner that could only seem normal in India. In trendy, affluent Bangalore where less people adhere to Hindu norms, eating beef is not quite as sacrilegious as it sounds, and whilst it was a bit on the stringy side, after over five months without eating steak I was pretty delighted nonetheless. 

Computer City

Bangalore's pavements are terrible

If you've ever spoken to anyone in a call centre in India, which I'm fairly sure you have, it's highly possible they were sat in an office in Bangalore, since the city is the IT capital of India - a multi billion dollar business which actually stretches way beyond calls centres into outsourcing software, accountancy and suchlike. There are some exceptionally talented people in India, and if they don't get headhunter to go and work in the US they often seek their fortune in Bangalore. The city reflects this and is relatively modern, green and pleasant by Indian standards, though still a bit rough around the edges.

Secreteriat building

After the high of the day before, followed a day of catching up and planning ahead on a few things, after two weeks away from civilisation. I also said goodbye to Nick who headed off to work in Thailand for a few weeks. On my third day in Bangalore it was back to business however, as I went to see the city - not the most exciting in the world but worth a look anyway. I tracked down a hire bike to have a good look around; the only decent one I've been able to hire in india so far - and headed off on a big loop through the central Cubbon park, past momentous state government building, the high court, Bangalore palace, and a nice city lake. I chanced upon the military memorial park, which as well as the commemorations had some examples of Indian military hardware - tanks, bridge layers, a fighter jet, and even a space rocket - the latter two both built in Bangalore. 

Bangalore is India's high-tech
hub - both jet fighters and
space rockets are made there

The nice thing about cycling in India is the lack of enforced rules, so riding on (the awful) pavements and sneaking down the odd one-way street added to the fun. The suburban streets were quite green and pleasant, with tree lined high streets in between. I managed to find the ISKCON temple that I'd heard about - a strange building that looked like a holy version of Las Vegas - traditional temple facades set around a great big glass pyramid, with an interior clad almost completely in polished granite. On the path in were many small shrines, one with a looped recording chanting 'hare Krishna', inside, monks waved brushes in the air in a symbolic manner, and everywhere you went there was merchandising and food stalls. It was a pretty barmy place, until I saw the plans for their next Vegas-style temple, with a 500ft tower as it's centrepiece. All very bizarre, but interesting nonetheless.

Country Club

At one of Bangalore's 'exclusive clubs' with
Suresh (R) and his friend Lokache (L)

I arranged to meet up with Suresh again that night, and along with a couple of different friends of his, he took me to a place I can only describe as a country club in the city - where all the well healed Bangalorians go for badminton, swimming and afternoon tea. It's a members only place with lifetime membership at £13k, but we fortunately got signed in as guests of his friend. It was smart without being too pretentious, and we sat outside in the open air food court, buying small dishes such as Goan fish, masala chaat, and lemon chicken to share, and having a few beers. It was the first time I'd experienced the more upper-class part of India, and gave me a whole different perspective to this very diverse country. A fine end to a fun few days.

Astronaut?

Holi Moly

Bangalore, India (map) 

In this blog: getting covered in paint at the Holi festival

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Holi is an unquestionably Indian event, and I'm sure most people reading this will recognise the sight, if not the name after seeing the photos. Only in India would it make perfect sense to throw paint over each other as a form of celebration. Holi is the second biggest Indian festival (after Diwali), but unfortunately as I discovered it's traditionally a North Indian festival. Being in Bangalore in the south therefore made it a lot harder to experience it properly, but once we finally tracked down the action, it was a whole lot of fun.

Plastered

I spent the day hanging around with Nick - the Kenyan born, British bred, Spanish living, ultimate traveller, who I'd met at Honey Valley then been on a wee roadtrip with (see previous two blogs). We found getting any information on what was happening for Holi pretty difficult, with nothing obvious apart from adverts for a few cheesy parties for the more affluent locals. The local newspapers were full of contradicting advice about whether that festival had in fact happened the day before, or whether it was that day. Google said very little. When we asked knowledgable people they scratched their head. And when we asked locals on the streets, we were lead on a massive wild goose chase. Not the laid back celebrations we'd hope for.

The first rule of Holi is to not wear your Sunday best as everything is guaranteed to get ruined, so I donned an old stained t-shirt and a cheap pair of shorts, and Nick wore clothes he was about to bin anyway. We followed a few possible tip-offs and went for a wander round the streets of Bangalore, down a local side road, a park, the outside of a military base and a market, seeing small trails of paint on the pavement but no people. An hour or so passed with no luck. We got a rickshaw to another district, and finally came across a few multi-coloured folks wandering along, face down, looking decidedly peeved about their paint attacks. Further on a group of young lads were gathered outside a shop, and we asked them where people were celebrating. Would you know it, they responded by covering us in paint. The game was on.

Pink boys

We bought ourselves an eight-pack of paints from a market stall, which are actually powder rather than liquid, and continued on. With all the locals on the next two streets looking decidedly normal, we stuck out slightly more than usual - two white guys covered in shades of turquoise and pink. Small groups of revellers started becoming more noticeable, and we greeted each other with a 'happy holi' followed by throwing handfuls of paint in each other faces. As you do. We fashioned our sunglasses into a form of safety goggle, which seemed to work surprisingly well until some clever bod decided to up the ante and start throwing water, which inevitably lead to a mere bit of face paint turning into an ocean of colour. The good side to all this we learnt, was that for once the shop owners and rickshaw drivers had no interest in pushing their services to us - heaven. By now we started coming across groups of ten or twenty people celebrating on the streets, mostly young lads, and there was a real energy in the air and smiles on faces.

We kept asking where the main events were but no-one seemed to know of any, so we decided to head a mile or two south to an area briefly mentioned in the newspaper. Finally, at long last, we found something. We came across a university where many students lined the road, covered head to toe in every shade of colour known to man, really embracing the spirit of the festival. We stood watching, and sure enough a few people approached us and started talking, before inevitably paint flew everywhere, then was rubbed over faces and into hair. Some of them took it a stage further and ripped off each other's shirts, but I managed to just about hold them back on this one, thankfully.

The aftermath - Nick and I. Took ages to clean off!

Whilst Nick and I were a long way from our student days, we just about got away with hanging around with these oh so young folks for half an hour or so before finally relenting, deciding the huge public celebrations we were looking for probably weren't happening in Bangalore. The only trouble was, now we wanted a rickshaw, no-one wanted to pick us up surprisingly enough! Eventually one guy, obviously desperate for the money, took us on though and soon we were back at the hotel. After twenty minutes of soap and scrubbing in the shower, I managed to get most of it off my face but my back, chest, and hair remained multi-coloured. And so it remained for three or four days. Holi was absolutely brilliant fun, and will remain a fond memory of my time in India.

Roadtrip

Honey Valley to Bangalore, via Bandipur, India (map)

In this blog: a roadtrip with friends, a breakdown, a safari, a walk through a tea plantation, and a free lunch (there is such a thing).

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I love a good roadtrip, who doesn't? There's a real sense of freedom and excitement in driving with friends at whatever pace you like and seeing what happens on the way. So when Suresh, an Indian guy I'd met at Honey Valley, offered to give me a lift a few hundred miles to Bangalore adding that we could also stop at a national park on the way, I jumped at the chance. Nick, another guy I'd met there was also heading the same way so also hopped in, and so began a two day trip around part of Southern India.

Roadtrip!

Having travelled almost exclusively on public transport for months now, the first thing that struck me was what a different perspective you have in a private car. The aircon dulls the heat, the soft suspension smooths out the roads, the seats bring you closer to the road and the music replaces the chattering locals. The result is that you feel a little disconnected from reality, as if all the rubbish, poverty, and general chaos might not be as bad as it seems. I asked Suresh how difficult it is to get your driving licence in India, and his reply was along the lines of 'pretty easy, especially for those people who pass some money under the desk'. This is pretty obvious on the roads.

We drove through rolling countryside, slowly leaving the mountainous area, but retaining the coffee bushes beside the road, something we'd become accustomed to over the past week or so. Passing a Maruti-Suzuki dealership - the make of car Suresh drives - we joked that at least we know where to go in case of a problem.

Half an hour later, the clutch went. 

It was a very strange coincidence, especially as the car only had 30k miles on the clock, but we were fairly certain it was indeed the clutch. Suresh called the garage and stood waiting, whilst Nick and I strolled to a nearby village to find lunch. This cafe in the form of 'Friends Hotel' - a small grotty concrete restaurant with no running water nor English spoken, where everyone sat staring, a little shocked at the sight of these two foreigners in their local. After a bit of pointing at other people's food, we were brought a fish thali - a set lunch served on a stainless steel tray that has those indentations like school dinner trays, which consisted of a pile of rice and various small curries which you ate with just your fingers. It was a proper local experience, and fun with it.

Broken down, and waiting
for the tow truck

The local garage came out and very slowly towed us back to the garage, using a tiny Bedford Rascall type van that could barely make it up the hills. Arriving at the modern franchise garage they told us the clutch had definitely gone, but luckily had both the parts and men available, so got right onto it with an eager team of upto seven men working away. Or giving moral support at least. We spent the next four hours sat behind a big glass window watching them at work, whilst terribly produced Indian TV News rolled non-stop in the background, before finally we were back on the road, with Suresh' pocket £54 (5400 rupees) lighter for the pleaseure.

That night we stayed in another homestay within a coffee plantation, owned by a rather strange retired bank manager who cut the price for two rooms from a sensible price, to an amazingly cheap price without us actually asking. He then made us put our shoes in a cabinet outside which he hid with chairs, sat us down, stood us up to show the rooms, plied us with water despite it being late, locked the outside gates despite us leaving very early, and kept telling us how the TV worked despite our insistence that we were going straight to bed. 

Spotted deer at Nagerhole NP

At 5.45 the next morning we were up and on the road, heading to the nearby national park of Nagerhole, a large area apparently home to bison, elephant, deer, and even the odd tiger. We aimed to just drive through the park roads ourselves, but by chance found the official tour down the dirt tracks was about to leave so went along. The experience turned out to be pretty disappointing; going through the forest on a large bus driven by a guy who seemed like he was on a rally stage, with no tour guide, creaking suspension, squealing brakes, and grimy windows that you struggled to see through. All this meant most wildlife generally disappeared at first glance, if we saw it at all. That said, along the way we did manage to see some of the more common creatures of the wild - spotted deer, a sambar deer, a hawk eagle, jungle fowl and a few wild boar, which whilst not that exotic in Indian terms was better than nothing.

Feeling a bit deflated we left Nagerhole, and Suresh took us on a bit of a magical mystery tour of the area. We crossed the border from Karnataka state into Kerala state - known as one of the more highly literate and successful states in India, and it was noticeable from the moment we crossed the border. Most of the roads were very well surfaced and for once had actual white lines, barriers and road signs - something generally in short supply. The scenery was beautiful, the towns a little better kept than normal, the houses bigger and at times a little stylish for once. We passed butchers with beef carcasses hanging in the window - the only place apart from Goa where beef is eaten. Palm trees, banana trees, and flowering coffee bushes grew in fields along the road and the pleasant smell of the flowers wafted into the car. Most of the men walked around wearing a dhoti - a kind of skirt made by wrapping and folding a single sheet around their waist, and Christian churches were dotted around - a common sight in Kerala thanks to the colonial influence. Suresh pointed out a rubber tree plantation and we stopped to have a look, observing how they scrape the bark from a portion of the tree, and insert in a metal spout so the rubber slowly bleeds from the tree into a small pot. I'd seen photos before, but it was fascinating to see it in the flesh.

At 'God's own' tea plantation

A couple of hours later, the scenery changed as we entered the Wynard region - one of India's main tea growing regions. I was blown away by the scenery straight away, with mile upon mile of rolling and sometimes lumpy hills covered in waist high, well-groomed tea bushes, patterned on the hills like coral. Suresh had book us in for lunch at a smart guesthouse he'd stayed at before - the boldly named 'God's Own Resort' - a play on Kerala's slogan of God's Own Country. Set a couple of miles down a dirt track on a hill in a 20 acre tea plantation, it was a truly beautiful place. 

The owner was a really nice chap, and told us how they harvest tea all year round on a ten day rotation, taking it to the local tea processing factory once picked, then selling it afterwards at a tea auction to buyers such as Lipton. I spent an hour wandering around the plantation, chewing the odd leaf before discovering tea definitely tastes better dried than fresh. As well as rice, daal and pappadoms, we were given a particularly spicy beef curry for lunch - heaven when you've barely eaten beef for four months, and being slow cooked - very tasty. But the nicest bit of all was that the owner wouldn't accept any money for the food. None of us could work out exactly why, but it seemed the guy was both friends with Suresh's cousin and also wanted to encourage him to return and stay - very generous nonetheless. 

Driving through Bandipur National Park

With time disappearing it was time to head towards Bangalore. We headed briefly into Tamil Nadu state, then back into Karnataka where the roads were once again pretty awful; full of massive potholes, and stupidly placed, unmarked speed bumps in fast bits of road which caused everyone to suddenly brake hard upon seeing them. We drove through Bandipur National Park for an hour or so, passing briefly through an area that had a huge forest fire a few days before. We spotted very little wildlife save the odd deer and a chained up elephant, but was very pleasant nonetheless. The roads later got wider and faster, and Suresh sped up accordingly before I felt the need to rein him back a bit - my first and only time at 80mph on Indian roads was enough. We stopped briefly at Mysore palace as they have a light show there on a Sunday. Rather than improving the building, the rows of bulbs made the palace look like a carnival float, and having seen a few palaces on this trip now by choice or coincidence, I can't say the experience did much for me.

We finished the last leg of the tip on a four-laner aka dual carriageway, where the road discipline was terrible - something I hadn't noticed quite as much before in a bus. Drivers were overtaking, undertaking, driving on the dirt hard shoulder, cutting each other up, braking hard, not using indicators. The odd vehicle drove without lights, and everyone constantly beeping as ever. A small truck had lost a rear wheel, and was sat right in the middle of the road, whilst everyone swerved both sides around him. Despite all this we reached the bright lights of Bangalore in one piece late that night, feeling tired but satisfied with our eventful and fun roadtrip, and ready for Holi festival the next day. 

Tea plantations

Space for one more?

Not a toilet break actually!

Bandipur National Park

Mysore palace by night

Walkie Talkie

Honey Valley, India (map)

In this blog: a massacred chicken, a wild snake, some very interesting company, and eventful mountain walks.

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The Coorg region of India had proved to be right up my street, being an unexpectedly quiet mountainous area of natural beauty, and whilst I felt ready to move on from the previous homestay I wasn't ready to leave the area. Taking a bus back to the nearby town of Madikeri, I had no idea where to head that evening as sometime happens, but eventually decided upon an interesting place I'd come across on the internet by the name of Honey Valley. 

Before I started this trip, ideas would pop into my mind of what my ultimate destination would look like, my idea of paradise, and it was something like a beautiful location in the hills, with really interesting people and lots to do - almost by accident at this resort in the Coorg hills, I think I pretty much found it. Little did I know that the day or two of hiking I planned would turn into the fantastic eight days that followed and one of the highlights of my entire trip. 

Honey Valley - home for nine days

Honey Valley was formerly the biggest honey producer in India until it suffered from colony collapse syndrome in the 90's, and is now converted as a 45 acre coffee plantation and homestay, also growing a bit of pepper and cardomen. Often the places I stay as I travel are little more than somewhere to rest my head but here, as a secluded resort at the head of a forested valley in the Western Ghat mountains, this proved to be very different. With many walks in the mountains behind, a constantly pleasant temperature, and very nice owners, it's a place that attracts some very interesting people, and has been a place of long and interesting discussions, fabulous walks and lots of reading. It's also been the first time in a while where I've had routine thanks to set meal times in the restaurant, which was surprisingly nice for a change.

The journey there started from Madikeri town, heading 40km south on a local bus to the small village of Kabinakad, finding myself uncomfortably squeezed between six other locals on the back seat, as more got on and pushed their way in. A harmless old drunk amusingly spoke to me constantly in the local language, whilst the conductor tried to shush him before eventually the bus cleared and I was able to breathe again. After a sweaty two mile walk up a steep track from the local village, I was at Honey Valley.

Walking into the small on-site restaurant that evening, the hub of activity over the week, I said hello to the only guy there, Nick Goodfellow, and brightened his evening a little since it was his 40th birthday. Nick turned out to be one of the most knowledgable, well travelled and interesting people I've ever met and we ended up hanging around together on-and-off over the next couple of weeks. From this moment, the president was set; the week was all about walking and talking.

Talking

R-L: Nick, Roger, myself and Suresh

Conversation ended up a big part of the Honey Valley experience and was one of the main reasons that kept me there so long. The place seemed to attract a certain type of person, and everyone I met had an interesting story and something to give. Two or more of us ended up talking from 8.30am breakfast until gone midday most days, then again for another couple of hours in the evening, on everything from war in Syria, to economic history, to coffee growing, mountaineering, water security in China, cycle touring, halal meat, pending world disasters, Gandhi, and brain drain in Spain. I've never had so many good conversations, and feel just a little more enlightened about the world as a result, so below are the people I was fortunate to meet: 

>Nick - a very educated and knowledgable man, who works as a freelance academic, writer and teacher, and seemed to have the answer to everything I'd ever wanted to know. He's a living encyclopedia of knowledge, and one of those people who you can truly say has done it all. He has a very interesting background having been raised in Kenya and Egypt as the son of a Diplomatic Serviceman, schooled in England, studied at Cambridge University, and now lives in Spain when he's occasionally home. 

The ultimate traveller; he's also spent much or his life living and working abroad in over a hundred countries and travelled around Europe age 16, and the length of Africa at 18. He's passed through the notorious Darien Gap in Central America, hiked to Everest Base camp, and lived in Silicon Valley, Guatemala and Dublin amongst others. He also knows various diplomats, politicians, CEOs, and has co-written a few books. He's taught English to members of the Saudi Royal Family, went to Uni with David Mitchell and Sacha Baren Cohen, and has met Stephen Fry, Bill Bryson, Huey Morgan, and even The Dalai Lama. So in case it's not obvious, it's fair to say I really enjoyed Nick's company, and learnt a tremendous amount from him.

>Suresh - an Indian guy who works as freelance computer programmer in Bangalore, he's worked in England and knows a lot about a lot. Suresh filled in every gap in my knowledge of India, and we walked together quite a few times at Honey Valley.

>Roger - a well educated and successful English garden designer hailing from near Liverpool, with a tremendous in-depth knowledge of almost everything. Thanks to the seasonal nature of his job, he spends three months travelling abroad every winter.

Vid and Annie

>Vid and Annie - a retired American cardiologist and lecturer in their seventies who have a ten year visa for India, and are spending their early retirement years hiking in India and Nepal. Very fit for their age They had many stories to tell from their trip, including the six people at various points who have died hiking in their vicinity. .

>Jans - a German in his late thirties who studied philosophy then economics, travelled South America extensively, then worked in Finance for many years before quitting to spend the past year riding his BMW motorbike around Eurasia and to India. Interesting guy with some good stories to tell. India's roads are the worst he's ridden on! Has a brilliant blog - www.headingeast.de

>Hamish and Lauren - a lovely young English/American couple, who are travelling whilst producing a photography book - 100 Photos in 100 Days, and very creative types. 

Walking

Views from the valley

There's a big lack of hiking maps and information in India, but wherever you go there's usually some willing guides to take you along and make a rupee or two. One of the great things about Honey Valley is that you can do aay with the guides, thanks to the book of walks they've compiled around the local area, allowing you to go off alone at your own pace. The directions and maps were a little vague and out of date occasionally which only added to the fun, and I went out hiking every day, sometimes on my own and sometimes with Suresh - another Indian guy who was staying in the room next door who was a good hiking companion.

Most of the walks were trouble free and pretty pleasant, apart from the odd bit of getting lost or beating my way through some overgrown tracks. One day I did a particularly exciting trek on my own, doing down a track deep into the forest and jungle. Excitingly, no-one seemed to know where it ended, so I just walked a couple of hours down and back the narrow and often steep path. With dragonflies, ghekos, moths and butterfly's passing, ant nests in trees, plenty of birds calling, and elephant dung on the path, it felt suitably wild and exciting.

Another day, Suresh and I walked a path in the book, which over time slowly got more overgrown until it was impassable, so we took a short cut by going sideways up a steep and slight less overgrown hill. Hearing a rustle in the bushes, we turned, assumed a cow would step out only to see a large sambar deer running and jumping away from us, which was quite exciting. We also did a couple of longer hikes which were a little eventful at times:

Mt Tadiandamol, the big hill

Top of Mt Tadiandamol

The highest mountain in the region at 1740m high, and a 16 mile round trip, this was the longest trek I did. I set off with fellow hiker Suresh on a fairly straightforward hike up the tree covered valley then along a long open ridge, walking with Vid and Annie - the American couple for some of the way. Despite being in their early seventies they kept up just fine until they went their own way near the end, whilst we climbed the steep section to the summit. It was a great feeling to reach the top, though the views weren't great thanks to cloud, and there was little peace and quiet thanks to some large and excitable groups of young Indian hikers who were whooping and cheering their way up the hill. On the way back, I experienced something I'd not seen for four months - it rained! And rained a fair bit, but didn't ruin a fine walk and we returned shattered, but smiling nonetheless. 

Choma Kund, the chicken, and the snake

Narrow ridge on the way
to Choma Kund

The second highest peak around at 1600m, Choma Kund was a pretty challenging hike up hill and down dale. It was a ten mile round trip, through forest, coffee plantations, then along an open ridge which was only a couple of metres wide at a few points, adding a bit of fun. As Suresh and I left at the start, all five of the Honey Valley dogs came along with us and somehow made it the whole way which seemed amusing enough, until an event on the way back...

Wolf pack

Walking down a road, the dogs started barking and we looked up to see the whole pack of them chasing some chickens on the road. They had their eyes on a cockerel who hopped along, flying a metres or two at a time before going over a wall. The dogs followed, and Suresh and I stood helplessly listening as the chase went through the trees below. Feeling helpless, we kept walking down the hill until an angry local shouted our way, walking towards us whilst holding a chicken upside down by its legs. Soon a group of five or six locals emerged and started shouting amongst each other, and as they guy neared us we could see the chicken was alive, but missing a wing, feathers and some flesh. Not good. Thankfully Suresh understood what he was saying in the local Kanataka language, phoned the keeper of the the dogs, and after ten minutes, and £3 (300 rupees) handed over for the cockerel we were on our way.

Almost back, walking along the track something appeared in the corner of my eye. I instinctively jumped to one side in an almost Irish jig-like manner, looking back to see I'd almost stood on a snake! Thankfully it was pretty young - about half an inch diameter and under a metre long, and it quickly slivered into the undergrowth - an exciting end to an exciting day.

  

Drying coffee beans picked on the Honey Valley
estate, which takes five days

Gotta love a good butress root

Group of female engineering students we met on the
way to Mt Tadiandamol - it's a rare sight to see a
group of girls out like this in India

Suresh and I

Choma Kund, from halfway

'The Scotland of India'

Madikeri then Mukkodulu, India

In this blog: bus breakdowns, staying in a coffee plantation, Tibetan New Year, and hiking some mountains.

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Reasons to like Coorg - 

Hills? Tick.

Greenery? Tick. 

Hiking? Tick.

Peace and quiet? Tick.

The bus to Madikeri

After a few months travelling through mostly flat and arid scenery in India, I was excited to read about the Coorg region, an area in the south-west that contains many of the things I like about home, but in a warmer, bigger and more exotic manner. Taking the local bus from the city of Mysore the road slowly got windier and hillier, and the scenery greener and covered in lush forest and jungle. Soon the roads were lined with flowering shrubs - a fairly rare sight in India, and in between the trees, coffee bushes - for Coorg is India's main coffee growing region.

Nearing the final destination of the town of Madikeri, I heard a very loud screech of tyres and looked forward through the bus windscreen to see another bus coming around the corner towards us, chucking out a spray of dust and gravel as it went round the corner seemingly way too fast. It turned out to actually a coincidence - I turned around, expecting to see the bus lying in the hedge only to see it driving on as normal whilst we came to an abrupt stop. It was actually us who had problems - a blowout on one of the front tyres at that exact moment. After over seven hours on buses, it wasn't exactly the ending to the journey I wanted and I expected a big delay. The driver and conductor got out to have a look, and quickly set about changing the wheel, before ten minutes later another passing bus came to a stop and ferried us on board. Not the drama I expected at all.

Madikeri instantly appeared to be a fairly nice town by Indian standards, with the town built in a valley, and various buildings scattered amongst the tree covered hills reminding me a lot of Launceston in Tasmania. I knew the Coorg region I was in was beautiful, but lacked any info about it so I wrote-off the rest of the day to do a bit of research and planning to work out what to do and where to go, and came up with some good ideas for the next day onwards...

Tibetan New Year

The Golden Temple

By chance, it was Tibetan New Year, and I was an hour from Bylakuppe - a large Tibetan settlement like Dharamasala in the north which I visited a few months back, to which many Tibetans fled after the Chinese invaded in the fifties. The area is now home to around 10,000 Tibetans, mostly Buddhist monks and nuns. Another traveller told me it would be well worth the journey over to see the celebrations, so after a morning of catching up on a few jobs I hopped on a bus that afternoon and headed over to see what was happening.

With Buddhist monk

Arriving at the settlement of Bylakuppe, I walked to the Golden Temple; set within a large monastery complex and the centre of the events. Walking through the gates it was obvious it was not really India - the area being clean, green and landscaped, the buildings beautifully kept, and that sense of calm in the air typical of anything to do with Buddhism. Until the celebratory firecrackers started... For reasons I'm not sure of, Tibetan New Year is in early March and an all day event held over four days. Young monks in particular were lighting firecrackers throughout the large complex, resulting in very loud and unexpected explosions wherever you walked. Very exciting, but the only celebrations that were happening that day it turned out. The Golden Temple itself was a really striking and impressive complex of buildings, each brightly and delicately decorated, with huge golden statues of Buddha and his chums. Interestingly many local Indian tourists who were Hindus also strolled about - both religions strictly speaking aren't actually religions, and there was clearly a mutual understanding between them, partly thanks to their historical connections I guess. 

Walking back out, I briefly made eye contact with a monk who was quietly sitting on a wall having a drink, and he motioned for me to join him. His English was self-taught and reasonably good, and we spent half an hour chatting away. I find most Tibetan monks to be smiley and friendly, and this guy was no exception, telling me about the settlement, how most monks are funded by sponsorship from abroad, his life as a monk, and how Buddhists live life in moderation, taking only what they need and nothing more - nice guy. I walked along the road through countryside for a couple of miles to see another Tibetan settlement, which once again had a calm and peaceful aura about it. Being the only foreigner in town, a couple of Tibetan guys in their mid-twenties curiously chatted to me, and kindly me round a few of the old buildings for a few minutes. A very pleasant and interesting afternoon.

Madikeri

I started the next day with a South Indian breakfast I'd not tried before - interestingly called chowchowbath, and consisting of two piles of a mash potato-like substance - one savoury and one sweet, and both very tasty. The day that followed was another 'stuff' day around town; booking a trek, buying a few local gifts, scouring six ATMs before finding one that worked, buying a new phone after months of it slowly dying, and posting a box of bits and pieces home, something I'd dreaded for a while.

My last episode of posting a parcel with the Indian Post Office a few months back was a pretty frustrating affair, but this time it was much more amusing, and a perfect display of the odd and inefficient way in which things sometimes happen in India. Rather than being given a box and some tape, I spent forty-five minutes sitting amused whilst a whole team of people worked on packing the box for me, all for just £0.60 (60 rupees). First I was sat at a desk to tediously discuss what was in the box and the options available. Two men then stood scratching their head whilst looking at the box, discussing the best way to go about it and continuously asking 'you really want to send this item?'. A third was then called to gather supplies, and a fourth stepped forward to give his take on things, before finally six people had had their say at various points; hilarious, yet a little sad. With what was left of the day, I went for a walk around the few local sights - the rather neglected fort, the raja's seat - a nice viewpoint, and the royal tombs - in a neglected park which overlooked the town.

Coffee Plantation and Hiking

Coffee bush in flower

Despite hating coffee as a drink, the opportunity to stay in a homestay within a coffee plantation, well out in the countryside sounded very appealing. I took a local bus to the village of Mukkodulu, an hour away via winding roads that cut through pleasant hilly forest, with mostly just coffee bushes underneath. The suspension on the bus was harsher than you'd normally expect, and made a loud banging noise over every bump which the driver ignored for miles. Finally, after going from big road, to small road, to narrow dirt track, the driver decided enough was enough and we stopped. The suspension was clearly knackered, with the bus tilting severely to the left, and that rear tyre touching the chassis. The driver limped the bus a little way further and parked in a field. I thought this time it really was it, but once again, the Indian public transport system worked better than you'd expect, with a jeep soon turning up to ferry the few of us left to our destinations.

Abdul and Julie

Valley Dew homestay looked perfect on arrival - a farmhouse stood in a clearing in a quiet valley, surrounded by coffee plantations, thick jungle, a beautiful river and scattered paddy fields. My main reason for visiting was to go hiking, and lead by Abdul the guide, we soon set off into the hills for a fifteen mile hike. He turned out to be perfectly prepared - carrying nothing whatsoever but a machete - no phone, water, food. Good job I had enough supplies I thought, until he asked for some of my water and biscuits! Along with Julie the dog, we walked along a track through the jungle, where the sound of birds and insects filled the air exactly as you'd expect the jungle to sound. The idea of an adventurous trek turned out to be out of the question, and disappointingly we mostly just walked on dirt track and road, which seemed especially boring and pointless when a pickup truck of tourists comes flying past. 

Mandelpatty

We followed the gentle curving track up to the hills of Mandelpatty, an open grassy area with fantastic views all around of tree covered hills, and it was finally clear why they describe the Coorg region as the 'Scotland of India' - a term I thought was a bit odd before then. Sat having a break near the top, we heard a buzz and turned to see a huge swarm of bees coming along the ridge towards us. We quickly crouched in a vain and probably pointless effort to avoid them. but fortunately they were more interested in flowers than people and passed by without problem. The walk back was pretty uneventful, and back at base, feeling suitably tired I read on the veranda for a few hours. With only a few other Indian guests staying, it was nice for a change to spend the evening in a quiet place, and I enjoyed talking to a fairly adventurous Indian hiker who earns a living as a musician in a gypsie-folk band, a combination you naturally don't expect to hear of in India.

Day 2

Enjoying the countryside and knowing there was more walking to be had, I stayed another day, setting off the following morning up another nearby peak, with a different guide this time, more prepared than the other one in that he had a machete AND a small bottle of water. What a pro. The 10 mile return hike took us from 700m or so elevation up to 1,643m, and this time I was defiantly satisfied. It was steep and challenging, and we went up narrow paths through rainforest, passing through dried-out paddy fields, and eventually clambering up a path through what initially looked like an impenetrable vertical wall of rock until a cutting revealed itself. The view was amazing yet again, and I was surprising to find a small shrine and temple at the top in such a remote place - it seems no hill in India is complete without a temple.

River bathing

Once back at base, the perfect end to the afternoon was to be found at some waterfalls a few minutes walk away which the guide had shown me the day before. The water was a decent temperature to bathe in and up above the falls, within the gentle rapids of the river, there was a natural bathtub shape scoured into a rock where you could sit and relax, not something I expected to find in India before coming here. I ended up lying back and relaxing in the river for over an hour and with no-one else around, and nothing but the sounds of the local wildlife, it was paradise and an unexpected highlight of my time in Coorg. 

Falls near Mukkodulu

Paddy field terraces out of season