Granite Giant

Shravanabelagola, India (map)

In this blog: a huge granite statue and a dull little town

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Travel guide books can be both a blessing and a curse. On the positive side they can give some good tips, and save a lot of time and hassle especially with transport. But on the negative they can turn an adventure into a mere tourist route that everyone follows, as well as hype a place up beyond your expectations leading to disappointment. Don't believe the hype I found out in this case.

Sravanabelagola, pronounced Srav-an-bela-gola (a right mouthful eh?) is a holy town for members of the Jain religion - a peculiar offshoot of Hinduism where every living thing is considered sacred including bugs. In a landscape flat for miles around, the town is distinctive for it's two distinctive rocky hills, each with very old temples at the top. The temples though weren't really the attraction for me, more the supposed promise of great scenery to cycle around, the desire to get off the beaten track away from the popular tourist places, and the 'unforgettable sight' of the landscape at dawn from the temples according to the guide book. However I travelled quite far out the way to get there, only to find in reality that the bike hire shop didn't exist, the landscape was pretty ordinary, many tourists visited the town by day, and the 'unforgettable sight' wasn't actually that exciting. 

Arriving mid-afternoon, I checked in at the only cheap accommodation available; in an interesting guesthouse complex run for visiting pilgrims run by a local Jain organisation. I went to hire a bike as planned, to find no such shop actually existed despite what the guide book said. Whilst asking around, a guy offered to hire me his own. He went round the back of his shop, returning a few moments later with something suitable for a twelve year old. I insisted it was definitely too small, but he was having none of it, 'try it anyway' he said, so I went for a test, looking like some sort of circus act on this tiny bike before politely declining. 

Jain temple on Chandigiri hill

I changed my plans, and climbed one of the rocky hills to the ancient Jain temples in just my socks, as it's customary to remove your shoes in temples. I had a stroll around the complex and a caretaker ushered me inside a couple and passionately explained a few basics. I looked at the view of the area for a while which wasn't nearly as fantastic as I expected, and descended back to the town. A few people were buying fresh coconuts from a street vendor; a guy in a dirty vest with a thick moustache and big belly, so I followed suit. With a grubby looking machete, he hacked the top off and put in a straw to allow you to drink the water, and once you're done with that, he butchered it some more so you can eat some of the flesh, both of which were quite refreshing.

A little bored for once, and disappointed with the place, I decided to go for a walk for a few miles around the local countryside, passing through a village where people seemed quite surprised to see me. A few kids shouted hi across the street, which was lined by a couple of small shops and some small dilapidated houses, and a few buffalo were tied up beside the road. Interesting enough, and a good way to spend an hour or two. A power cut that evening - pretty common in India due to lack of capacity - was about the only bit of excitement in this boring little town.

The next morning, I followed the guide book's recommendation and headed to watch sunrise at the temple complex on the hill, supposedly an 'unforgettable sight' but a bit of a disappointing experience again. I arrived at the bottom gates at 6.15am to find the gates locked, and after an hour of waiting for the guy to come and open up with a group of eager pilgrims, the moment had definitely passed, and the experience not what I expected. Moan moan moan! A stray dog provided the only entertainment, racing everyone to the top, spending a few minutes there, then strolling back down - on his own pilgrimage perhaps?

Inside the temple complex was an 18 metre high granite statue of a Jain god - the  largest sculpture in India, and carved from a huge rock that was placed there naturally; it was superbly crafted and a striking sight. It was interesting to sit and watch Jain pilgrims gathering at the base, who passed their gift of a coconut to a priest, who as part of the ritual poured the coconut water over the foot of the statue before blessing the worshipers. 

The 18m high granite statue of Gommateshwara

Sravanabeloga felt like a bit of a wasted visit at the time. On reflection though, the couple of interesting things made it a little more worthwhile, and it's just the nature of travelling sometimes; you travel to some places on blind faith and not everywhere can end up being what you expect, but you can usually take something from it anyway. 

I had breakfast nearby to the hill before moving on, trying a couple of dishes new to me - an Idly, which is a kind of sponge pudding made from rice, and a Vada, a savoury donut from lentil flour, both served with a tomato dip and a coconut dip. The good thing about the early start was that by 9am I was packed up and on the road, spending the next six hours on three different bus journeys across the state of Karnataka. We overtook small trucks with two or three cows in the back, another containing a ram died bright pink, and one full of about ten people stood in the back and the roof rack. It was very noticeable though how much better the buses and roads were in the south of India, compared to the north where they can be pretty terrible, and the driving a little calmer to boot. Heading further south to the supposedly beautiful Coorg region, I wondered if this time it would be the real deal or more hype?

2m high statue on Chandigiri hill

Vindhyagiri Hill, with statue on top

Fresh coconut water

The swastika is actually an ancient religious symbol
that Hitler stole and reversed the direction of. A very common sight.

Beautifully painted bullock cart

6.15am queue

Pouring coconut juice as a gift onto the giant foot

Blessing pilgrims

Transvestite Jain pilgrim, or so it looked

A Journey to Remember

Hassan, India (map)

In this blog: the colourful Indian railways, and a surprise festival

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I left Hampi with a smile on my face after a cracking few days amongst the amazing scenery there, and set off on a long and protracted journey of six separate journeys on trains and buses. The most interesting was the train from Hospet to Hubli, where I sat in the lowest-of-the-low second-class carriage with all the locals, a 90 mile journey that cost an unbelievable £0.30 (30 rupees). I found a seat in one of the busy booths alongside a couple of families, and at each station things got busier and busier until there were kids on strangers laps, people sat on the slatted wooden bunk beds above, many people standing, and squabbles over who just stole who's seat. For the first time in India I felt a bit of hostility as a westerner, when a couple of people separately indicated that I should give them my seat, and move to sit on the bunk above. I later wondered though if they were were actually trying to help by getting me out of all the madness. As ever, I was stared at constantly but for once was completely left alone, save for a guy who without so much as looking me in the eye, kindly gave me some fried peanuts and bought me a tea. 

The scenery outside was pretty dull, save for passing a chicken farm, where the many huge open-sided buildings contained thousands of stacked wire crates of poor white hens. Inside the train though was much more interesting. A man in traditional robe dress slept on his side on the wooden slats above, whilst another similarly dressed old guy sat cross legged on the opposite rack. When the train emptied out a bit many other passengers sat cross legged on seats, and kids ran around the place. When one child spat out the open window, his parents took the decision to not stop him, but teach him how to spit properly! A very common habit in India. Chai wallahs and crisp wallahs (sellers) got on the train selling their wares before getting off at the next station, and a couple of Indian ladyboys entered the carriage, clapping at people to demand money before continuing on. 

Humbli station

I changed trains for the overnight journey south, this time travelling in the more upmarket AC3 carriage where I was back to civilisation, and it was much duller for it save for a brightly-robed Buddhist monk sleeping in the same compartment. Waking up at the ungodly hour of 3.45am, and complete with a freshly acquired air-con cold, I got off at Hassan station, an insignificant city except for its transport links, and thought 'what now?' since the bus station didn't open for three hours. Bleary eyed, I decided to find a cheap hotel to get some kip and somehow despite the time of day and my tiredness, managed to haggle out a great deal on both a rickshaw to a hotel nearby, then on the nights stay. This, despite the fact that I was obviously the desperate one, giving them the upper hand on negotiations to name whatever price they wanted. You win some, you loose some.

Rude awakening

I was awoken the next morning by the sound of kids singing, and perplexed, drew back the curtain to find a large school assembly taking place in the gravel yard just outside, with uniformed kids all in line. Feeling pretty rough from both the interrupted sleep and my cold, I went and had a dosa for breakfast - a huge rolled-up pancake nearly half a metre long and made from rice batter, which you tear strips off and dip in a sauce. 

Walking to catch the bus at around 10am, a turn of events then happened that I could never have predicted, something which really made my day. 

Traditional dancers

I was trying to find the bus stop, when I saw a crowd gathered around a side road, and before I knew it a group wearing identical clothes started playing music. I stopped to watch. People started filming on video cameras, and the police diverted the traffic from the street. It was all very confusing, but I soon found out that I was at the opening ceremony for the Hassan Literature Festival of all things. Only in India would the streets come alive with a marching procession at 10am for a Literature Festival! And were they alive - a decorated tractor led the procession of three sets of marching drummers, various styles of dancers, people in traditional costumes, local scouts, ladies in saris, a band, and many others besides. There were hundreds, if not a thousand of them. And all this on my way to catch a bus!

I was stood, obviously looking a bit perplexed at all this when a guy in his fifties came and talked to me, explaining in broken English what was going on. He kindly ushered me along, and we walked through town alongside the procession, with him saying it was just for ten minutes (it was actually an hour!). We walked beside them all over town, stopping to watch a certain section before overtaking it again. It was very loud, colourful and really exciting, and comparable to a carnival in its energy and spirit. The guy who's name I sadly forget, stopped and bought a freshly squeezed sugarcane juice from a street vendor for each of us, kindly refusing to take any money. One of the officials introduced himself - 'Your country sir?' - and we briefly chatted. 

The procession ended at a large theatre, and we went inside and took a seat, whilst some of the parade went in one door and out the other. The guy then said he had to go and pick up his motorbike from a service, and I suddenly found myself looking like a right plonker, sat alone in shorts and t-shirt beside my big backpack, in this huge room full of smartly dressed Indians, with all of us bemused as to how I came to be there. Some curious teenagers from in their Air Cadet Corps uniforms sat next to me and asked the usual questions. A guy came and without asking, stood right in front of my face, took a photo and walked off. On the stage, various dignitaries entered and a ceremony took place, all in the local Karnatika language. Flowers were given, women sang a song, and flowers were given out, whilst the crowd clapped very briefly but quite insincerely. As fun as it had all been, I had no clue what was going on and was pretty bored after an hour, so with the excitement gone I decided to leave and head to where I was actually going in the first place. Which after this long story, I'll now leave for another day...

The friendly guy who showed me round

Festival president

Ladies with gifts

Sugarcane juice street stall - tasty stuff

Inside the auditorium

Don't Worry, Be Hampi

Hampi, India (map)

In this blog: I do the two biggest travellers cliches by seeing temples and a waterfall, but in a amazing old abandoned city.

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'Goa, is India for beginners' my friend Shaun recently said. I tend to agree - the former Portuguese colony generally lacks the noise, hassle and bustle, poverty and chaos of the rest of India, which is partly why it attracts so many people I guess, as well as the beauty. The huge number of tourists in Goa was no more obvious than when I was sat in Palolem waiting for the nightbus inland to Hampi, along with a huge huddle of western backpackers of various ages, but no locals whatsoever - quite the reverse of most other journeys I've been on India, where I've often been the only foreigner.

Vitthala temple

Hampi, a town in the neighbouring state of Karnataka, is a pretty remarkable place - various ruins of an abandoned sixteenth century city, litter a landscape of banana plantations and paddy fields, along with rolling hills covered in huge granite boulders which look like they've been dropped from the sky like pebbles. A really stunning and quite unique area which I found really enchanting.

25th Feb

Despite doing my best to travel by other means, I once again ended up taking a dreaded night bus from Palolem to Hampi, only managing to get about two hours sleep. I was sat by an interesting bunch of folks though. Behind me a young guy from El Salvador on a study trip to India, and beside him a guy from Brooklyn, New York, who works on Sesame Street as a stage manager - cool job! Beside me, a very pleasant girl from Bolivia also on a study trip who told me all about her interesting little country. Amazingly, a guy who I first met in Rishikesh over two months before, also out of the blue got on at a later stop; small world.

Around 7am we reached Hampi and the chaos began. And I mean real chaos. Indians are usually pleasant and patient people and out to make a wage in a fair way, but the moment you reach a tourist area where they smell the scent of money in the air, they mutate into something completely different, much more rude, pushy, and loud. Money really does corrupt their minds, and rickshaw drivers are often the worst affected. My case in point was proven the moment the bus stopped just outside Hampi. Immediately, it was surrounded by twenty to thirty rickshaw drivers, all trying to snare potential passengers into using their services for the short ride to the village, but more lucratively into hiring them for the whole day afterwards to explore the area. Normally you might be accosted by a few of them whilst getting off a bus, but here, whilst we were getting ready to leave our seats, these guys were literally climbing the side of the bus, sliding open the windows, and leaning in to give the unsuspecting passengers the full sales spiel. Total greed and desperation, they certainly didn't get into my wallet.

Amongst this madness I managed to loose track of the nice people I'd just met on the bus, which was unfortunate as I didn't really end up meeting other travellers for the couple of days after. I ended up staying in a homestay just out of the village, partly cause of it's quiet and lovely location in the middle of a banana plantation, but also for the first time in India a little out of charity. The owner and his family had taken to renting out their own bedroom in a little concrete house, whilst they slept in a makeshift bamboo and palm leaf extension on the patio outside. The room was basic yet clean, but I was not too impressed with the squat toilet, nor the lack of shower, sink, or in fact any running water inside. But after the guy introduced me to his wife and kids and said he'd need the £4 (400 rupees) charge up front to go shopping, I didn't feel I could leave, it was obvious they needed the money much more than I needed a sink. So for two days I showered literally using a large bucket of cold water and a scoop, and brushed my teeth with water from a plastic urn they refilled from the tap outside. It was all clean and tidy enough but felt a bit degrading to be honest. Everyday life for many Indians, and for me an experience nonetheless. 

Virupaksha temple

Hampi struck me as pretty amazing straight away, the five hundred year old abandoned buildings and stark rocky landscape were reminiscent of both Ephesus in Turkey, and Petra in Jordan, two similar abandoned cities. I'm not particularly interested in Hindu temples generally to be honest, but in the context of Hampi, they're very much part of the landscape, and interesting for their craftsmanship and history. After a little doze after the lack of sleep on the bus, I set off on foot around some of the nearby sites, starting right by the village with Virupaksha temple, where once under the 'gopura' - the tiered tower - and inside the walled site I spotted the resident elephant named Lakshmi, painted up with Hindu markings. I watched with a smile while people took their turn with his magic trick before I went for it myself, placing a 10 rupee (10p) note in the end of it's trunk, which it passed to its master before turning back and touching me gently on my back with her trunk. Very impressive. 

The stone chariot

I walked down the old bazaar, a long street of empty granite post and slab buildings, and found a rock roughly the size of a tractor carved into the shape of a bull, of some sort of Hindu significance. Over the hill was Achutaya bazaar and temple - what would have been a large settlement now completely abandoned and starting to fall apart, and really striking at first sight. A mile or so on, after passing many more old temples, I reached the daddy of them all, called the Vitthala temple complex. The various carvings on the granite columns were pretty impressive, as well as some stones that were musically tuned when you struck them, but the most striking bit of all was a stone chariot complete with wheels that once turned.

A late lunch was in order back at the village, which took forever thanks to the woman having to go off to the market to buy ingredients, something that happens all too often, and I passed the time talking to a couple of quirky French and German chaps. Refuelled, I hired a bike for the next few days (50p a day!) and finished the afternoon by heading a couple of miles south, cruising around some of the other sights including some old elephant stables; like the horse equivalent but four four times the size. In the evening sun the landscape of the area was even more dramatic, with rocks bigger than houses, and temples on hill tops silhouetted against the colourful sky. 

I've mentioned before many times, both the curiosity Indians sometimes have towards us foreigners, and their uncouth manner in speaking with us. Hampi was no different, with two or three groups stopping me over the day and asking the usual questions - 'where you from?', 'where is your wife?', 'what is your profession?', before saying 'one photo please', which always means ten, then putting their arms around my shoulders or doing a cheesy hand-shake pose, before swapping around so all of them get a turn. One of them, with no concept that it's polite to ask, just grabbed my sunglasses from my head and put them on for a photo, asking 'how much this cost?'. It's a question that also regularly gets asked about my camera or tablet, neither of which are particularly flash in our eyes, but because salaries are low and the rupee is so weak, what we see as everyday affordable items, are something to be looked at in awe here. Fortunately I've got used to all this strange behaviour now and realise it's just their way. If any of you want to know what it feels like to be famous, head to India. 

26th Feb

Not exactly a Fendt, but he's still ploughing

After two nights in a row of very little sleep, waking up after a fantastic ten hours of kip, and seeing nothing but banana trees out the window was just great. I set off on the bike again, soon bumping into the Sesame Street guy I met on the bus, who told me about a waterfall hidden away down some lanes, so I thought I'd cycle down and try and find it. For the couple of miles along this lane there was nothing but banana trees, all roughly ten feet tall with huge leaves, some of which had huge bunches of bananas hanging off ready to pick. I stopped for a few minutes and watched a boy of about ten ploughing a small paddock with his two bullocks, before reaching the end of the lane and headed off on foot to find the waterfall. 

Swarmi, the guide

Stood half way across a mostly dried up river bed, I was stumped, having no idea where to go. Conveniently a local then showed up, whom I'd passed a few minutes before and offered his services as a guide. He wasn't your typical guide I must admit, being a small twenty-something with no shoes, torn trousers, a mud-stained t-shirt, blood red gums and a number of teeth missing. But he was a friendly guy and I was lost, so I agreed to pay him a bit to lead me to the falls. Swarmi, as he was called, told me he lives in a palm leaf hut with nine other family members, and works 9-11am on a banana plantation, then more lucratively guides people to the falls the rest of the day. His English was poor, but he was very helpful and patient, and a lovely guy.

Wild swimming

The falls were quite interesting in that the water disappeared down a big gap between a pile of massive rocks, only to reappear ten metres away from some other rocks. I learnt that an Israeli girl died a year or two back swimming in the dangerous pool just below the falls, but was told it was safe to swim in another pool just upstream. With no togs I initially dismissed his suggestion, then thought what the hell as it was so hot that day, and went in in my boxers anyway. I was the only one in the deep pool surrounded on all sides by boulders, and it was the perfect spot for a cool down. Daftly, it was only later that afternoon when I cycled past a place selling bags of Urea fertiliser, that I questioned how clean the water might have been... no harm done though.

I cycled on, stopping in a yard where local farmers were bringing sugarcane across the fields on bullock carts, and loading it onto lorries ready to take to the mill. An interesting sight, and they were eager to try and strike up conversation. I went on through a small village, and some young kids jollily ran alongside, initially being friendly before demanding 'some rupees' and getting annoyed when I refused. I passed many more fields of sugarcane and bananas, with the odd temple and huge rock in between - it was a fascinating and beautiful place to be. It didn't even worry me that I got a puncture two miles out of town, and I carefully rode then walked it back and exchanged the bike. I finished off the day by riding to a large area of ruins to the south of Hampi, much of which was the royal enclosure - a huge complex of walls, foundations, wells, water ducts, temples and monuments that made up the palace complex and all very nice to to wander around.

27th Feb

A half day on the bike again, this time exploring the quieter area across the river. There's no bridge across, so the only way is reach the other side is to take it on a small motorboat, along with many other people. There was more agriculture and less ruins on the north side of the river, most of which were paddy fields surrounded by palm trees and big rocks - absolutely stunning to cycle through. I went off road for quite a while, on a track beside an irrigation channel which feeds the paddy fields and banana trees, waving back to some farm labourers having their lunch who were a bit surprised to see me there. Seeing a set of steps leading up a steep hill to a temple, I went up for the view. It was very sweaty work in near 35° with little breeze but worth it for the fabulous view over the surrounding area.

River crossing

I had to get back over the river, but was now a few miles upstream so went to catch a different boat. Well away from the tourist area of Hampi now, this was a real experience. Somehow they managed to load about six motorbikes onto this tiny craft, as well as my pushbike and a number of passenger. Squashed between a bike and an old man, I winced as the overloaded boat turned around, the top of it's side only about four inches from the surface of the water. It was one of those moments I looked around with great clarity at where I was, the faces surrounding me, and the situation and realised this is why I love travelling.

Me,being blessed by an elephant

Virupaksha temple

Amazing scenery

Elephant stables

Banana plantation

Sugarcane harvest

Meditating monkey?

Paddy fields and rocky hills

Beaches and Biking

Palolem, Goa, India

In this blog: quiet beaches, a rural village, a one armed beach poet and a funk-soul party.

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This follows part one the Palolem blog - I kindly suggest read that one first. Only if you feel like it. You don't have to. No pressure.

18th Feb

Beautiful paddy fields

After a couple of lazy days on the beach at Palolem, it was time to get out and about and see the local area, so naturally I hired a bicycle; a pretty terrible creaky single-geared Indian thing, and hit the road. Since arriving in Goa it's been about 32° and sunny every day, but this day it was even hotter, maybe 'cause of a lack of breeze. Knowing the present weather at home, I know I'm getting no sympathy discussing this! Drowning in my own sweat, I followed my nose and went inland through a small town, along quiet roads, over a large river, through some nice jungle and some small villages. I passed some locals removing silt from the river by hand, saw a very Indian take on what a Catholic Church should look like, and went along a road that cut through the middle of some beautiful vivid green paddy fields, fringed all around by palm trees. It ended up being about a twenty mile loop, which eventually led me back to the coast.

Galgibad beach, aka Turtle beach

Turtle beach, when I eventually reached it was a revelation - a very peaceful and undeveloped place with very few people around; just a few simple huts and cafés set back from the beach amongst the trees, and a mile-long stretch of sand. It was a total contrast to busy Palolem and I absolutely loved the tranquility of it - a rarity in India. In fact, it was like back in Cornwall for a couple of hours.

Back in Palolem that night, I wandered along the beach to see what was occurring, bumping into Hans and his friends at a small gig along the way, where some Westerners played Indian instruments like the sitar and tabla. It was a bit embarrassing to watch, not cause they lacked skill, but was a bit like watching white people doing black rap music. The traditional Hindi songs were pretty dull, but their versions of western music such as a couple of Rolling Stones songs were plain awful. That's free gigs for you. Whilst sat there one of Hans' friends told us a yarn about how he was once installing a fountain in the home of Eric Clapton. Walking through his house he cheekily picked up a guitar thinking no-one was around and started playing it, only for Eric himself to walk in and rather than get annoyed, instead gave him a half hour guitar lesson. Lucky guy.

We later went to a silent disco - music in Goa is banned after 10pm, so a couple of venues hire out wireless headphones to party goers and the party continues. I'd tried this before at Glastonbury a few years ago and whilst fun, in many ways it's just a bit of a novelty, but ended up being good fun, and not as anti-social as it sounds, as you can talk easily in the silence when slip off the headset. I met and hung about with Emily and Milly for a quite a while - a couple of young and slightly snobby English girls who were actually quite fun, and later bumped into a group of people from Okehampton of all places. Can't get away from those Devonians. 

19th Feb

Deserted Talpona beach

After enjoying the peace and solitude of Turtle beach the day before, I headed south on the hire bike again, to another remote sandy bay backed by a long line of trees, which was even quieter and less developed again. So much so, that I was the only person on this mile long stretch of sand some of the time - a complete surprise in the country where you can't normally escape people for even a second. After a relaxing day of reading on the beach and in the makeshift cafe behind, I braved the local dogs on the journey back. Indian dogs, stray or owned, seem to go a little loopy after dusk. I was warned of this by a local, and carried some stones in my pocket to try and scare them off when needed, but these were hardy dogs and I still had to pedal pretty fast to escape the blighters a time or two. 

Back in Palolem that evening, walking along the beach I found myself drawn like a mosquito to skin into a packed cafe along the beach, where funk-soul tunes were blaring out and the place was jumping. The music this time was absolutely fantastic, and I had a great time dancing with three French ladies in their sixties, friends of friends from the cooking course - they still had the moves. Afterwards on the beach outside, I hung around with German Hans, and English Emily and Milly, watching  an Indian fire dancer. This guy was good - he starting by spinning a long pole with each end on fire, then moved on to fire poise, jumping through a flaming hoop, and his finale of filling his mouth with presumably paraffin (Indian H&S again), and blowing out huge fireballs into the night sky.

20th Feb

Sunset at Agonda beach

After cycling north about six miles and spending the day at Agonda beach, I returned to Palolem and that evening and bumped into Emily and Milly at a beach cafe, so had a few drinks with them and a couple of their friends. A young Indian guy came up to us and introduced himself as 'the beach poet'. With a large number '7' tattooed on his neck, and his left arm missing he was quite the character, and makes his living by reading poetry to people on the beach in return for tips. Being late at night he gave us a free poem, maybe as an appetiser, hoping for us to scream 'more poetry, MORE POETRY!'. To be fair he was actually pretty funny, and it was quite a novel idea. Only in India.

21st Feb

Beer time with Aussie Shaun

My Australian friend Shaun, who'd I'd previously hung around with in Rishikesh and Mumbai arrived in Palolem, along with Oz (coincidental name) - his German mate of Kurdish-Turkish origin; a switched on and funny guy. We met up at nearby Patnem beach for a sunset beer and ended up having a really good laugh and talking crap for hours. Walking back later, I came across Aurelia and Christophe in a bar, a French couple I'd met a few days before so finished the night having a beer and talking to them before yet another late bedtime.

22nd Feb

Ride to Chapoli dam

Village in the hills near Palolem

Cycled inland a few miles into the mountains to Chapoli dam, a place that I saw on the map that turned out to be well off the tourist radar. With a steep hill, one gear on my bike, and once again 32° sun with no breeze, I was a sweaty mess. With no-one else in sight, I sat by the quiet lake for a while relaxing, watching eagles flying overhead. Cycling further up into the hills, I reached a dead end at a remote village and stood there for a few minutes, looking around at the basic houses, dried-out rice terraces and a volleyball area, a sport which seems popular in Goa. Some women were drying out rice grains on the concrete playground of the local school, and a few buffalo wandered the roads on their own. A lad in his twenties came and talked to me in broken English, neither of us really understanding each other. 

At sunset, I met up with Aussie Shaun and German Oz on the beach again for a sundowner, later watching a live band whilst sat on the beach, and having Chinese noodles and a beer or two. Another fun night. 

23rd Feb

I headed southwards along the coast for the day across three different beaches, scrambling round the rocks to get between each. The further I got the quieter and more beautiful they were. I realised time was ticking and I'd been in Palolem over a week, when that night I found myself at the weekly reggae gig again, along with Aussie Shaun and German Hans. I got talking to a Scottish woman who was stereotypically loud and drunk, yet still composed enough to be good fun, and after sensible talk on Scottish independence, she helped me to fine tune my Scottish impersonation which was 'nearly impressive' apparently. 

24th Feb

A quiet day of blog writing and catching up on sleep after quite a few late nights. The only highlight was hiring a sea kayak for an hour, and paddling round a small island just offshore. With the sun setting, gentle rolling waves passing by, and the odd fishing boat on the horizon it was one of thos perfect moments that really brings a smile to your face. A great ending to three weeks in Goa. 

Goa had been infectious. I'd stayed a bit longer than I intended, but after six months on the move I had no issue with that. It was a holiday from a holiday. A time to relax, read, meet people, and party. I could never argue travelling is stressful, but it was good to have a break from getting up at a sensible hour, from being on the move all the time, from culture, poverty, uncomfortable transport, noise, seeing stuff and haggling. Imagine if you went to your favourite restaurant every single night, or spent all day, every day with your best friends; you'd probably get bored of it. The experience of travelling is similar - you can have too much of a good thing. 

But it's a big exciting world with lots to see though, and after three weeks I felt suitably rested and ready to move on, ready to get back out there and make the most of the great opportunity I have.

Catholic church, Indian style

Indian buffalo eating out with friends

Riverbed labourers

Indian spotted eagles flying overhead at Chapoli dam

Villagers drying out rice grains

Nearly Paradise

Palolem, Goa, India

In this blog: a 450 year old corpse, gigs and parties on the beach, a cooking course and a spot of cycling.

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After a nice, but slightly dull few days in Vagator in North Goa, I headed to the South Goa coastal village of Palolem - known as a bit of a hub for independent travellers. Like the previous week or so in North Goa, most days in Palolem seemed to revolve around walking, swimming, lazing on the beach, hanging out in beachside cafés, reading, podcasts and meeting people - good to do, but pretty boring to read about so I've tried to cut it down to a few highlights below.

Palolem beach - nearly paradise

Palolem is a place of outstanding natural beauty, though slightly ruined by development over the past twenty years or so. Compared to other parts of Goa it's better looked after however, with the council banning hawkers from flogging stuff, keeping the con men away, and picking rubbish daily so it's not all bad. It also seems to be quite literally Little Britain - I've not come across so many Brits since I left home. Some on holiday, some spending the winter there. Most of them nice, but I came across a few less desirables such as an ex-con couple and some lager louts. On the whole I loved the place though - not over busy by day, but busy enough by night.

I arrived knowing no-one, but managed to meet quite a few people over the week, to the point that after a short wander along the beach of an evening I always came across someone I knew to hang out with - a nice experience after several quieter weeks on the social front.  A mix of English, Scots, Germans and French mostly, with the odd Dane, Swede, Indian and Ukrainian thrown in for good measure. 

15th Feb

Started the day in Vagator with an Indian breakfast I'd had every day for the past week - Poori Bhaji. This consists of a doubled up roti bread which is deep fried so it comes out as big puffy discs, and is served with a non-spicy veg curry. Using your fingers, and trying not to burn them at first, you tear strips from the bread, double it up and pinch the veg between - in the manner you do with many Indian dishes. A great breakfast which really keeps you full for hours.

Leaving Vagator, I set off heading south to Palolem. Despite it being less than seventy miles away, this involved taking six different buses but unbelievably for India, I didn't have to wait more than a minute for the next one to depart each time, what are the chances of that I thought? 

Cathedral at Old Goa

Coffin of St Francis Xavier

I did a little detour along the way to a town called Old Goa - the former capital of the region of Goa when it was a Portuguese colony, but mostly abandoned in the seventeenth century due to cholera outbreaks. As I was en-route to Palolem, this meant spending two hours walking round with my heavy main backpack as there was nowhere to leave it - not the most pleasant of things in a breezeless 32° sunny day I tell you! The buildings were all typically Portuguese in style and interesting to see, but the most interesting part was the Basilica of Bom Jesus - a church where the body of St Francis Xavier is kept in a glass sided coffin resting on a plinth. Despite dying hundreds of years ago, his body 'miraculously' stayed well preserved (though fairly shrivelled now), and bizarrely they open it up and carry it through the streets every ten years for everyone to see. He is however missing a toe which someone curiously bit off, and an arm which was given to the Pope as a gift!

Digs

Arriving late afternoon in Palolem, I walked a mile or two from an inland village to the coast with a recently married British couple from the bus, who are travelling India for a few months as their honeymoon, nice idea. My digs this time were as simple as it comes - a small bamboo and palm leaf hut raised on stilts, set amongst other huts about twenty metres from the beach, with only an outside toilet and cold shower - basic but fantastic.

I headed out along the beach that evening, which in between the swaying palm trees is lined with many restaurants. The evening started a bit dull, having tea in a place full of ignorant London geezaas watching Premiership football. Moving on I found a venue with a live band playing, and got talking with a guy at the bar who I thought was English due to his near-perfect English accent, but turned out to be a German guy called Hans (what else?!) who'd lived in England for eight years. A 48 year old train driver, like many people here he comes to Palolem on holiday every year so knows it inside out, and thereafter I ended up bumping into him most evenings at the various gigs and parties that happened around town.

16th Feb

Elsewhere in India you often wake up in the morning (or night) to the sound of traffic, beeping and shouting. In coastal Palolem though, it's sometimes cockerels calling, wild boar snorting, and crows crowing, or on my first morning there - the sound of waves crashing in on the beach nearby - not the worst wake up call. 

Near to my hut was a slackline tied between two trees about a foot from the ground - a bit like a tightrope, except a fabric strap. Along with a French guy, we had a go at learning to walk it later that day. At first it was a pretty disastrous effort, but we slowly got better, eventually both being able to do nine or ten steps until it got too bouncy in the middle and we could go no further. I really enjoyed learning a new skill and spent a little bit of time on it every day though never got that good - the circus hasn't called yet anyway.

In the evening, a live reggae band were performing at the end of the beach at a busy venue in a little cove surrounded by palm trees - a perfect location. The music was fairly average, but I hung out with the English couple from the day before and it turned out a pretty fun night nonetheless.

17th Feb

Cooking course

After another day on and around the beach, I booked to do something different - an Indian cooking course. I've eaten so much Indian food now, it would be sacrilege to keep using those crappy jars of sauce from the supermarket when I eventually get home. I also thought it would be a good way to meet people, maybe even some girls for a change. No such luck - the group comprised an Irish couple, and three gay English/French guys! 

The dishes on the cards were butter chicken, fish byriani, mushroom masala, chicken vindaloo and chapatti bread. Rahul the instructor was very good - down to earth, patient and knowledgable, and at different times either split the group in two, or gave us individual tasks to do - chopping, stirring, adding spices etc. Indian cooking turned out to be quite complex, for me anyway, involving a huge range of spices and many steps - often the meat and certain veg and spices are cooked separately then combined at the end. I see Indian cooking as 'modular cooking' - many of the different dishes are from the same ingredients, but just made using different quantities and methods. It was good fun and pretty interesting, even for someone who generally hates cooking, but there were two especially good bits at the end - 1) we didn't have to wash up, and 2) we got to eat it all! And very good it was. 

Our group got on well, and went for a drink afterwards, also meeting-up with some French friends of theirs who I got talking to. After just a few minutes, one of the girls - Aurelie - said to me 'so what do you think about French people?'. Oh hang, sensitive subject. I hesitated, trying to think of a diplomatic answer, and she laughed knowing this. All the French people I've met whilst travelling are first of all very nice, but also quite aware of the tendencies of some of their fellow countrymen, and I carefully explained my view before she fortunately smiled and agreed. 

Continues in a couple of days...

Local going net fishing on the river near Palolem beach

Typical house in Goa - bright, bizzare, gaudy

Lunch one day - it's not all curries -
masala omelette and salad papad

River near Palolem beach