I Sea

Makassar, Sulawesi island and Surabaya, Java island, Indonesia 

In this blog: the only white face on a long cross-sea ferry, and a trip to a cigarette factory

-----------------------------------------------------------

Despite only making a couple of stops on the Britain-sized island of Sulawesi there was little else in the south to hold my interest following the amazing previous week in the Tana Toraja region, and the following few days were a bit of a slow, frustrating and slightly boring mix of buses, boats and trains but as ever with Indonesia, things are never completely dull.

Countryside on the way south from Rantepao

Rene and I heading to Makassar

Heading South

From Tana Toraja, Canadian Rene and I took a bus south to Makassar, a ten hour journey on one of the most luxurious buses I'd ever been on and set off just twenty minutes late, a total contrast to the discomfort of previous Indonesian journeys. The scenery was beautiful the whole way, starting with small rolling valleys scattered with Torajan houses with their majestic curved roofs. The scenery became more mountainous after a couple of hours with grassy and rocky peaks either side of the bus, and with the freezing cold aircon on the bus I felt like I was on top of those summits. It got me thinking 'cause this has happened many times in Asia - just like we Brits see heat as a luxury, it seems to me that Asians particularly in hot developing countries see coldness as a rare luxury and completely overindulge on it when they have chance. Eventually the landscape flattened out and for a few hours we saw nothing but huge green paddy fields both sides of the road with villages every so often, the houses having a very different style of architecture again. Strangely the driver drove for six hours straight with no toilet or lunch stop so by the time we got to Makassar I was both bursting and famished in equal measure. It didn't help either that we were dropped at the depot somewhere way out in the suburbs in the dark, but after a bit of walking and guesswork we flagged down a passing share taxi that was heading to the centre and all was well.

Makassar itself was to be nothing more than a transit point I decided. It was a big messy sprawling city with only a few places of interest to the traveller, so for the night and morning we were there I decided to eschew sightseeing and catch up on a few things instead before catching the boat. I was heading next to the main island of Indonesia; Java, and having found all the flights way too expensive plumped for the ferry instead. After all, with so many islands in Indonesia ferries are the lifeblood of the country, so it would be an experience in itself I decided. And it was. Rene had to go to the Indonesian capital, Jakarta for a few days to apply for a visa for India, so it was back to solo travelling for a few days, but just as we said cheers for now and checked out of the hotel, we were hit with a bill for the minibar. We'd not touched it but they were insistent we pay, and things got a bit tense for a few minutes. In the end I had to get to the port and left Rene to sort it out, thankfully for them to admit it was their fault I learnt later.

---

All Aboard

I really wasn't sure what the ferry experience would be like, but knowing that the economy class consists of hundreds of people sleeping on mats in giant rooms, I paid a bit more for a second-class cabin. I was a bit taken aback at first stepping on the ship, finding a dirty dimly-lit corridor full of people and boxes of luggage rather than the nice big lobby I ridiculously imagined. It was a confusing jumble of stairs and passages, but thankfully a staff member led me to my cabin which turned out to be exactly what I wanted; simple, functional and clean. Everywhere I wandered on the ship there were people, every passageway, open deck, corner, stairwell and bench contained folks laying on the floor, on their way back to see their families or earn their riches in another part of the country, unable to afford anything better than the most basic class. 

Everyone stared as I passed and initially I felt pretty uncomfortable but soon got used to it. Even opening the cabin door involved someone moving out the way to let me past, and unsurprisingly I was the only westerner out of the hundreds if not thousands of people on this ship. Now normally on the streets, where people have at least something to do I might get the odd 'hello mister' in my direction, but here people had nothing whatsoever to occupy their attention and I became even more of a curiosity than normal to them, with heads turning, whispers muttered and 'hello mister where you come from?' echoing constantly. Unfortunately England had been knocked out of the World Cup the day before and when I told them my native place I was constantly reminded of this fact! Indonesians really do love football.

The only free space on the ship

People everywhere on board

Leaving port an hour later than scheduled, it was quite pleasant sat there on the floor of the upper deck, watching Makassar disappear into the distance then small islands pass by, as well as huge cargo ships and tankers. The only place I could really get any space though was sitting in a lifeboat which I spotted hanging off the top edge of the boat with no barriers across, a perfect place to read and relax. Peace! Space! Once the sun had set the Muslim 'call to prayer' played over the ship's PA system, and I headed for a shower and food. Despite meals supposedly being included in the ticket, for some reason the second-class restaurant (nice name!) wasn't serving that evening and sent me downstairs to economy class, where I squeezed my way through the cattle market of people only to receive an overpriced plate of tepid rice and what might possibly have been chicken. Luckily it was all back to normal the next day and I got a decent feed. 

Despite it being a twenty-four hour crossing time passed surprisingly quickly and I actually quite enjoyed the experience. My plans of getting up-to-date with writing as well as finishing a book slipped away unfinished, and mid-afternoon we floated into the harbour at Surabaya - a huge industrial city of smoking chimneys, big factories, storage silos, and hundreds of parked-up cargo ships. 

---

Docking at Surabaya

I knew Surabaya had little to offer but hadn't got round to planning further ahead, to know where I was headed next so decided to stay a night. The port was a bustling frenzy of people and baggage squeezing into packed minibuses and cars, but strangely none seemed to go to the city centre. The language barrier made it even more confusing so tired of asking I set off on foot, eventually finding a share taxi which took me at least come of the way to a hotel before I guess-walked the rest. The room was nothing special with a lack of windows, no shower and a sink tap which didn't work, but choice was limited and it had to do. After the food on the ship I craved western-food, and with the biggest range of grub I could ever imagine available in a huge nearby mall I found just what I wanted. I'd planned to leave town straight away the following morning, but after some research a couple of interesting-sounding sights changed my mind. 

I've mentioned before that Indonesians are massive smokers, some of the biggest puffers in the world I reckon. Its a dirt cheap hobby here, and adverts appear everywhere on the streets, media and even train station departure boards. Whilst I hate smoking myself, the ever-so-Indonesian tourist attraction of a cigarette museum and factory tour sounded too interesting to miss so I took a becak - a cycle rickshaw - to the House of Sempoerna a couple of miles away. Sempoerna are one of the most popular brands of cigarettes here, and in this factory about four-hundred women hand roll up to four-thousand tobacco and clove mix cigarettes each per day. Unfortunately I arrived on a Sunday, a day which they'd somewhat considerately taken off, so saw just an empty factory and a video but it satisfied my curiosity just about enough anyways. The adjoining museum was funny even if it didn't indeed to be, full of curiosities, paintings and photos of people smoking and some company history, all in an old-fashioned 'Guinness Is Good for You!' manner that blissfully ignored the fact that smoking has killed the odd person. 

---

I took another becak (for novelty value mostly) to the Arab quarter of town which was full of busy narrow passages full of traditionally-dressed Muslims shopping or heading to the nearby mosque, but apart from that not a lot of Arabian feel in reality. It was interesting enough but didn't really grab me so I continued to a Chinatown nearby. Surabaya is the first place in Indonesia that I've seen any Chinese faces, but in reality the district is just like any other these days. The streets were pretty grotty and the Dutch-colonial era buildings crumbling, but the huge fish market was really interesting, a hive of activity. Men carried in huge plastic drums of fresh fish, and there was a real variety on offer that I'd not really seen before, including stingrays and barracuda. Next door was a huge shed where women sorted and shelled garlic cloves and around the corner an interesting chicken market, and I wandered amongst it all for a while seeing a few quite unique sights.

I'd planned to leave town on a 4pm train to the city of Malang, but ran out of time and decided on a later one instead. Heading to catch that one I arrived at the wrong station, and after a race across town reached the correct place one minute late. Now, I've been on time for everything until now, yet every single bit of transport I've taken in Indonesia has been late leaving - sometimes twenty minutes sometimes a couple of hours. Yet here I am, one minute late, and it had already gone. Almost  predictably though, when I caught the next train it left nearly an hour late! In the meantime though I headed for some food, on the way catching a free open air rock gig then on the way back, spending a quarter hour looking around an ex-Russian submarine used by the Indonesian Navy, now retired in a city park. Missing the train wasn't so bad after all.

Boarding the ferry from Sulawesi to Java island

Digs on the ferry

Oil rigs way out to sea (and yes I need to get

the dust out from inside my camera!)

Welcome to Surabaya

Sampoerna cigarette factory

Outside the fish market in Surabaya Chinatown

Torpedo tubes on the ex-Russian, retired Indonesian navy submarine

In Indonesia

Tarakan island, Indonesia (map)

In this blog: arrival in Indonesia, a stroll about town, and a backstreet karaoke bar

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Malaysia to Indonesia ferry

Arrival in Indonesia

A country of over seven thousand islands, the fourth largest population in the world, and so many volcanoes you could call them a little greedy - I've arrived in Indonesia. 

Huge and dissected by the equator, Indonesia is as diverse as countries get and could really be a collection of countries - it's a bit like if you were to include France, Estonia and Bulgaria as part of the UK. Having heard about this country over the years thanks to said volcanoes, sweat shop clothing factories, ferry disasters, the huge population, illegal migrants into Australia and so on (all negatives!) I've had it on my rough plan since the start. 

Our travel gang is now down to just two with the other pair jetting off in different directions, and I'm now travelling just with Rene Boulanger - a 24 year old Canadian from the city of Edmonton for the next few weeks until our plans take us in different directions. 

To go the short distance from Malaysia into Indonesia meant taking a ferry along the north east Borneo coast since there's no connecting roads. We set off from our previous stop in Tawau, Malaysia and rushed to catch the 10.30am ferry only to find the info we read was wrong and it didn't actually leave for another hour. Having rushed I was now a sweaty mess, and stood in the departure lounge on my own under the ceiling fan desperately trying to cool down, whilst Rene made friends with a German couple who were heading the same way as us. 

The ferry was dead quiet and surprisingly nice inside, with every passenger curiously handed a complementary can of soya bean drink as a refreshment. The journey was uneventful bar seeing loads of bamboo platforms way out at sea, which looked like oil rigs but were actually some sort of fishing platforms we guess. 

We passed hundreds of these mysterious looking platforms - for fishing?

We neared the docks in Tarakan and the excitement set in. Whenever I arrive in a country I always love those first moments - rapidly taking in how everything looks, the sounds, smells, the buildings, signs, people, whether it's calm or chaotic. In this case it was mad. We docked in Tarakan and for some reason had to clamber along the outside of the boat then across the deck of another whilst eager porters pushed past to unload the various luggage and small cargo on ours. It was back to chaos, but only briefly thankfully.

First impressions of Indonesia 

Tarakan is an island a little way off the coast of mainland Borneo, and for us just a necessary stepping stone for travel to the mainland. After passing through immigration, the four of us stood outside and looked at each other with the look of 'what now?' since neither guidebooks nor the internet had yielded any information on this out-the-way dull little place. English seemed to be less commonly spoken straight away. We agreed a price for a taxi and found ourselves ripped off straight away, when at the other end the driver told us the price agreed was for just two people and not the four of us. With each of us only £0.60 out of pocket, it was a fairly painfree lesson in vigilance.

Everything looked a tiny bit downtrodden compared to Malaysia, but not nearly as much as I expected. We went to the ATM and excitedly withdrew 1 million rupiah each before remembering it was just £50, then wandered around for half an hour looking for a place to stay within our price range. We found nothing but expensive business hotels so asked a young security guard outside an office block. He racked his brains for a moment then despite being on duty, in broken English kindly offered to drive us to find a place. We could tell he had no reason to fleece us, so hopped in his people carrier and after a couple of attempts he soon found us a perfect little hotel down a side road near the airport. The bed even had a sprung mattress, something I'd barely encountered for months, heaven! The staff barely spoke any English, and it was obvious foreign guests were as rare as hens teeth there, as they made a proper fuss over us and even asked for a group photo with them the next morning. A picture was building that after an easy few months of people being able to speak my native tongue, things were about to get a little more difficult. 

Backstreet karaoke 

That night after dinner the Germans suggested grabbing a beer somewhere so we went for a wander. None of the local shops sold alcohol, but a guy pointed down a road at a building before slowly riding his scooter to lead us as we walked behind. It was a strange looking bar - more like a warehouse or a nightclub from the outside, and we tentatively wandered in. It soon became apparent this was not a normal bottle shop or a bar. The walls and ceiling were completely black save for interestingly a load of Guinness banners, and the lighting very dim. There were no tables to sit around, and instead we were led to one of the bench seats which faced a projector screen at one end of the room like a cinema. This all looked and felt very strange, and it soon became apparent that we were in fact in a karaoke bar - something that is popular throughout Asia.

We were given a warm beer each (you have to ask for cold apparently, pah!), and a slip of paper - 'write your song here' the guy said. We had no intentions of doing karaoke, but he was persistent so we caved. There were only fifteen of so locals present including a ladyboy or two, and most of what they were singing was awful Indonesian ballads. Even the security guard came in from outside and had a go, in fact he probably had the best voice of all. The choice of western music was fairly limited but I soon found a couple of crackers which on reflection were strangely fitting - Green Day 'Time of Your Life' and Metallica 'Nothing Else Matters'. Us three lads collaborated on the microphone singing our hearts out, and received an applause from the small crowd at the end - it was a lot of fun. Very few foreign tourists pass through Tarakan, and I can't imagine any have ended up in this little backstreet place making it all the more of an authentic local experience. As far as karaoke can be called a local experience anyway. 

Karaoke time - we stuck with the English songs

Me, Christoffer and Rene giving it some beans

Back at the hotel we exchanged details with the Germans and talked blogs - they told of how they'd had custom graphics professionally designed for their blog, bought a new MacBook Air computer for it's weight and power, upgraded their GoPro camera from last years version, and travelled with four other cameras, with her writing and him editing their photos and videos along the way. It was all very professional for a pair of backpackers, a little too much I wondered, and further proof that Germans can't do anything by halves! They were a very nice couple and you can find their blog here.

Catch up

We had planned to move straight on the next morning since Tarakan was just a transit hub, but late that night we realised we actually had no idea where we were heading for since we'd not read too many details about the country. With a nice hotel to chill in, we decided to stay another day. Rene read everything about Indonesia he could, whilst I sat in a near trance in the cafe next door for much of the day, tapping away at the keys to catch up on writing.

In-between and after though, we went for a little stroll to sort a few things. Along the main road through town poor locals sat beside the road every couple of metres, selling petrol in one litre drink bottles for passing motorbikes despite a petrol station not being too far away - a desperate looking existence. Motorcyclists passed quickly shouting 'hello' and 'hello mister' to us, the only white boys in town being an obvious novelty to them. I bought an Indonesian SIM card for my phone with guesswork being the order of the day for picking one, and nearby was was surprised to see a few bakeries, where I bought some strawberry flavour banana crisps out of curiosity, which tasted like deep fried sugar and little else.

Tarakan was a gentle and fun introduction to Indonesia, the people were friendly and helpful, and I was filled with promise that it wasn't going to be mad, dirty and chaotic as the odd person has suggested to me before. Let's hope this wasn't just a pleasant blip.

With a local ladyboy, or manlady, or drag queen.
Orr just man who liked makeup. We weren't sure!

Rene, myself, the hotel manager, Christoffer and his wife Kerstin
The hotel manager was desperate for a pic with us,
they don't see many (any?) foreigners there it seems

An End To This Madness!

Trivandrum (map) and Kanyakamuri (map), India 

In this blog: your typical city, some martial arts training, an elephant parade, and the most southerly point of India.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Every place in India that I've visited has been distinct or unique in some way, but the city of Trivandrum, the state capital of Kerala, is the first that I can describe as 'just another city' - one without much distinction in any way. But since I was passing through I thought it was worth stopping for a day, and it also made a good hub for a trip to the most southerly point of India - Kanyakamuri, which turned out to be quite a bizarre day, even by Indian standards.

Royal Treasure

Room service is something that doesn't normally come into the vocabulary of your average backpacker trying to keep to a budget. But when you find, as I did one morning that you can have a complete breakfast delivered to your room for just £0.75 (75 rupees), how can you possibly say no? I felt like a king, a king with a paper crown.

Sri Padmanabhaswamy
temple

I set off for a city walk, stopping briefly outside Sri Padmanabhaswamy temple (a mouthful or what?), made famous when ten years or so ago a trawl of treasure - diamonds, gold, gems - was found in a hidden room, valued at between US$40-200 billion! Can you imagine being the person who found that? Next door was Puttan Malika Palace which I had a quick look around, where the standout item was definitely a solid crystal throne - is it possible to get more bling?

Museum in the park

I walked a couple of miles to the other end of town, impressed that an Indian city actually had pavements you could use for once, without resorting to climbing over piles of rubble, risking falling down a hole, or tripping over a stray cable. Passing an Indian Rail workshop I stopped for a few minutes to watch over a wall whilst men and women overhauled parts of trains, went past some interesting British Raj-era buildings that still look just as grand, relaxed for a while in a nice park, and had a brief gander in the pretty shabby Natural History Museum. The day was rounded off nicely at an old-fashioned looking cinema I chanced upon near my hotel, which happened to have a movie in English - 'Noah'. With a 20p bag of popcorn in hand and a pair of 3D glasses perched on nose, life couldn't get more exciting!

Loincloths and Sticks

Kalarippayat Training

Most martial arts seem to originate from Japan of China, but India has one of it's own, called - 'kalarippayat'. I read that the training session was open to the public, so the following morning I got up nice and early to see what it was all about. I walked into the building, finding a sunken pit where about twenty men and boys were training and grabbed a seat on the terrace above, along with a couple of other curious Westerners. It was a typically Indian experience - everyone wore a white loincloth which revealed way too much, and there was a small shrine in one corner that was occasionally paid reference to. The main part of training seemed to consist of walking along doing palm-to-the-floor lunges, reaching for the sky with both hands, or doing high kicks in the manner of Monty Python's 'Ministry of Silly Walks' sketch. I jest, but it was genuinely very impressive to watch, especially later in the session when some of them men did stick fighting exercises against each other with high speed and precision.

Lands End - Madness Magnet

Like the South Pole which has magnetic attraction for metal, the southernmost point of India - Kanyakamuri - seemed to have a magnetic attraction for madness - the day trip there was one of the most unpredictable and bizarre I've had for some time. So it was a quite fitting then that it should also be the symbolic end to my journey in India.

After the early morning martial arts - a mildly different start to the day, I took the train south for a day trip. A friendly man walked through the carriage with a broken arm and talked for a few minutes, then a little after a man with no legs rolled through, sat on a small wheeled cart begging for money. An hour later a severely disfigured man also begging for money looked my way. This doesn't usually happen on trains, the streets yes, but not trains. Reaching the town of Kanyakamuri, I walked a mile or so to what I thought was the southernmost point, and cresting a small hill what was my first sight? A man having a poo on the beach. Wrong place obviously.

Monuments on the rocks

It was swelteringly hot and humid, but at least the coastal winds now provided a little relief. I walked a mile or so later along the filthy shore towards the town, passing through a fishing village which was partly destroyed by the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. Kids say hello, and a woman with a baby offered biscuits to me, without a word or a smile. Back on track again I took a ferry with hundreds of Indian tourists across to a couple of big rocks a little way offshore, where there stood a granite statue of a god, and a grand  memorial to someone who once visited to meditate; a very Indian justification for such a structure. Traditional Indian music played through speakers throughout, and made the situation feel more like a movie than real life. It does feel that way in India sometimes.

Ceremony at the most southerly
point in India

Back on the mainland, I wandered to the most southerly point of India - I was finally there after months with it in my sights, sad in some ways, but a satisfying feeling nonetheless. A big ceremony of some sort was taking place - a man was being blessed and given a garland, and a huge line of identically dressed women were being presented with a flower arrangement to carry on their head. Fully clothed Indians were jumping around and playing in the waves below. A deaf female hawker with no teeth, a massive smile and an American bandana on her head started talking to me, for once not really trying to sell anything, but proudly showing me photos of her with other western tourists. A young Indian man asked if I'd be in a photo with him - not my first that day - and not wanting to be rude I reluctantly walked to the rocks below, only for a wave to crash in and soak my shoes. It was time to leave, and I headed back, grabbing a red banana on the way - red bananas I thought, whatever next?

Parade

The bizarre day went up another notch again when I spotted something on the street ahead. Was it really I thought? Yes, yes it really was - three elephants were walking along the street. It turned out the small ceremony I'd seen at the coast had now surprisingly turned into a huge carnival-like parade, with hundreds of people walking in line up the road. As well as the people I'd seen earlier, there were musicians, drummers, people in traditional dress, and the elephants - fully decorated and being ridden by traditionally dressed men. At the front of the parade were a pair of tractors which had a bamboo structure built on to them, and hanging from that were two men suspended by ropes, floating around like superman. I looked closer and my jaw dropped - they weren't just tied to the rope, but were suspended by fishing hooks that had been inserted into their skin! I'd never seen anything like it, I was amazed.

Hooked (note: look closely only if you dare)

The parade neared the end, and it was time for me to head back, so I headed to the train station. 'The last train was at four, you've missed it' the ticket lady said. I walked the mile or so to catch the bus instead, just getting there in time to catch it, and setting off heading north. About half an hour into the journey I looked ahead, to see that the bus was going to have to partly cut a corner to get past an oncoming bus which wasn't slowing. Suddenly BANG - one of the rear tyres blew out, presumably on a stray rock. Oh joy. Everyone piled off onto the verge, and an irritating young drunk guy started talking to me. Ten minutes later another passing bus stopped and we squeezed on. I then learnt that it wasn't going our way, so a little later we had to change bus at the next town. To add to this, the replacement bus we were awaiting was stuck in traffic - luckily it wasn't cold or wet - problems are only half as bad when the weather's good. After half an hour or so another bus showed up, and at 10pm I was finally back. Exhausted.

Martial arts, disabled beggars, defecating men, hawkers, unwanted photos, a surprise festival, a red banana, a missed train, and a bus breakdown - that's quite a day, even by Indian standards. And what a way to finish, because as far as Indian culture goes, that was it, the end of my trip - with a flight out of the country finally booked and just three days left, it was time to head to the beach.

'One photo please sir?'. OK then!

Street life

Pickled monkey in the Natural
History Museum

As far south as you can get in India 

Fun at the seaside

Parade

Ladies with their gifts

Backwaters

Alleppey, India (map)

In this blog: boating on the beautiful backwaters of Kerala, and a record breaking  bus journey.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The backwaters

Just behind the coastline of the south westerly state of Kerala, lie a huge network of lakes, rivers and canals, known as the backwaters, much of it formed in the same way as the Netherlands by building dykes and reclaiming the land. It's a really unique and beautiful area to visit, a very different feel to the rest of India and one I enjoyed mostly by floating around on the local ferries.

Formula One

The journey to the backwaters started in Kumily, where I headed west onboard a 'Fast Passenger' bus as they call it. In India this term normally just indicates that it doesn't stop along the way, but in this case the driver took it very literally. The fastest bus journey I've ever been on began. Remember Ernie, the fastest milkman in the west? Well this was Rahul, the fastest driver in the east. 

Straight after leaving the bus station the horn was on non-stop, and 'Rahul' then overtaking cars and motorbikes before even leaving the town centre. We started descending from the hills towards the coast, the bus jerking violently from side to side as he went round the corners right on the limit, everyone being thrown from side to side. It was as-if we were on a private road which everyone else had no right to be on, a private race track. We caught and overtook pretty much every car and lorry in sight, sometimes in pretty dodgy places, and like the other passengers all I could do was hold on tight with both hands to literally stop myself falling out of the seat. No-one else seemed particularly phased by it, having seen it all before no doubt. There was brief respite as we stopped in a town to pick up more passengers, and seven different hawkers barged their way on board, shouting loudly, selling every snack you might need. Though the beautiful scenery had a calming effect, the journey was pretty nerve racking on the whole, and on reflection I really should have got off and waited an hour or two for the next bus - it was that bad. India has the world's most dangerous roads, a fact I write now safely at my last stop in the country, and though this was a bit of an exception I can clearly see why.

Backwaters Begin

Relieved to reach Kottayam safely, I went to the boat jetty only to find building work meant I'd actually have to catch it six miles away. With time a bit tight before the boat was due to depart, I hailed a rickshaw and we went off down all sorts of side streets and country lanes, thankfully at a sensible speed this time, arriving with a few minutes to spare. Another phew.

Local ferry journey on the backwaters

I caught the Kottayam to Alleppey local ferry, a well built but tatty wooden boat with a noisy engine, which putt-putted it's way down the narrow canal, lined both sides by palm trees. We passed fishermen on narrow boats, with long propshaft motors sticking out the back, guys crouched on the bank line fishing with lines tied to bamboo canes, and an empty toddy shop (local alcoholic drink from coconuts). More people boarded and departed at little concrete jetties along the way, at small villages comprising simple little shacks and houses, built on the narrow bank between the canal and the paddy fields behind. I spent some of the journey sat on the entrance step of the boat, one leg hanging out and it all felt very relaxing, quaint, authentic, fun, and free. Well it did until the conductor ushered me back in! After the cooler mountain air of the past few days it was back to being hot and humid, but a breeze constantly passed through and now in the late afternoon, it was an absolutely beautiful journey nonetheless. 

Reaching a much larger canal, perhaps a hundred metres across, we slowed to a stop and the driver killed the engine. All the men on board gathered round the engine - set at the centre of the boat and surrounded by a wooden rail - to see what was happening, whilst the few woman sat disinterested. It turned out there was a leak of some sort, so one of the staff promptly fixed it, sort of, by tying a strip of fabric and a piece of string around a part before we were back on our way again. 

At dusk we arrived in the coastal town of Alleppey, and relived to finally be there, I found a nice guesthouse and headed out for food. I bumped into the Italian girl I'd met a few days before, as well as a nice French couple on holiday and spent a pleasant couple of hours chatting away in the cafe, a nice way to finish the day. 

Backwater Village Life

The following day I headed out on the water again. Rather than go on an organised tourist tour on the backwaters around Alleppey or take one of the popular bamboo covered houseboats, I decided to follow the suggestion of taking local ferry boats to get a more authentic experience of what life was really like in the area. The plan was  simple - to follow a simple route between three villages that I'd read about, changing boats on the way. 

Rice barge - a little
overloaded perhaps?

In reality though, the timetables were quite different and things didn't run anywhere close to plan. I ended up only getting partway to the first village, scratched my head, went cross-country on a bus, waited by a road, took another bus, and walked a couple of miles through the countryside - all directed by a vague map and some help from the locals. I walked to a jetty to catch the next boat, and in the middle of nowhere nearby spotted a tiny cafe behind a small hospital, so stopped for a filling thali (rice and curry buffet lunch) for just 45p. This was definitely not tourist territory, and the three cheery ladies in there were pretty bemused by the presence of a foreigner, laughing between themselves and asking me questions in their basic English. 

Local kids who
showed up on the jetty

I headed on down a dirt track to a tiny jetty beside a paddy field, having been told I need to wait two or three hours for the next boat - easily passed, reading whilst sat in the warm shade of the river bank. I could see rice fields being harvested nearby, done in this case using two modern Claas rice harvesters, running on rubber tracks like an army tank due to the soft ground below. Local kids soon showed up to see what was going on, asking questions before finally getting bored and moving on. Eventually an hour before dark the boat turned up, eventually getting us back to Alleppey way later than planned at about 9pm. 

Wash spot

Considering it didn't go to plan at all, the day turned out to be quite an adventure and great fun regardless, getting to see lots of things on the way that I wouldn't have otherwise. The boat journeys themselves were fascinating, with people constantly getting on and off at the little jetties, and beautiful scenery similar to the day before. We passed loads of tiny inlets, rickety footbridges, and barges overloaded with rice being unloaded onto lorries. For the locals, the canals really are central to their lives, and everywhere you go, there's the strange sight of them using the waters to bathe fully clothed, to wash their dishes, and to wash their clothes - quite often all three at the same time! The water appeared dark green, and though whilst not obviously polluted, I'm sure it wasn't all that great. On the boat itself, I watched with amusement as the captain and throttleman (sat at the back) communicated to each other by ringing a bell a number of times (one ring to go, two to stop etc). It sounded like Sunday morning at a church.

Cruising from Alleppey to Kumily 

Still enjoying the beautiful backwater region, I took another boat fifty odd miles south towards my next destination, this time on the upper desk of a tourist boat. Whilst it wasn't quite as fun as the local ferries the day before, it was more comfortable and every bit as enjoyable. 

Chinese fishing nets

The scenery was similar to the previous days; beautiful with lots to see. I was amused at the sight of a duck tied to the bank by a rope, furiously trying to swim away, a woman washing her goat on the riverbank, and a man fishing using just a line wrapped around his toes. There were churches everywhere (Christianity is popular in Kerala state), small ferry boats being punted across the river full of locals, large modern fishing trawlers. Many young kids waved at the boat - one boy of about twelve even shamelessly managed to wee and wave at the same time! Halfway, the boat passed through a pair of lock gates, which took forever since in the heat of the sun, none of the locals in charge of it could be bothered with cranking the heavy handle to open it, arguing amongst each other for a while. 

The wildlife was excellent - we saw loads of eagles circling around at a couple of points, and I even saw the awesome sight of a a fish eagle diving down suddenly and whipping a fish out of the water. Later, passing an inlet from the sea, someone shouted when they saw a jellyfish in the water below the boat. Before we knew it we were passing thousands of them, all about eight inches in diameter and mostly clear, save the odd bright blue one. 

At dusk we finally reached the town of Kumily - the end to three fantastic days on the very unique and special area of the Kerala backwaters. The boats had been uncomfortable and I'd got completely lost at times, but I'd loved every minute of it - another India highlight.

Luxury tourist houseboats - there's thousands

Locals off fishing

Cornwall to Sweden - day 3

Ringwood to Caen, France, via Portsmouth

Shortish day today at 45 miles. The aim was to get to Portsmouth with plenty of time to relax before the ferry to France. Cycling through The New Forest was very nice - a great part of the country. However once I got to Southampton I found myself on a mess of roads which were hard to navigate through to avoid the motorway. Good old Google maps sat nav saved the day.  

What with the roads, and looking round the gear at Southampton docks, then a Ferrari dealership, I got to the ferry port with 25 mins to go... only to find it was the wrong port! With some helpful directions I pedalled flat out across town to just catch it as the last person on the ship! Phew.

Great crossing, now in Caen, France. 

Todays route

Ferrari garage, Ringwood