Out of India

After the sad farewell to our lovely hosts we got on the road to Kovalam. The trip started quietly but we’re soon in the midst of hundreds of women marching down the road.  

Ladies on the march

They’re marching for equal pay for women and are young and old and dressed in their Sunday best.

Marching marching

 The march is organised by the CIP, the communist party who have been demonstrating all over Kerela flying their red flags with a hammer and sickle in advance of February elections. Everything is passing peacefully and John’s shouts of support “Up the workers sisters” is well received.

Follow us girls!

40 miles down the road we’re held up in a small town where protests may have been rather more robust. Aware of a lot of police standing around we watch as at least a dozen handcuffed prisoners are led across the road by burley, I wouldn’t mess with them, coppers who are putting their captives into a police bomb disposal van.

Move it move it

Further down the road a big demonstration is taking place with more red flags flying and about 30 cops trying to prevent the marchers from going any further. 

Stay back

Bystanders watch on

We gradually get by and see the remainder of a second women’s march disbanding.  Equal pay is one thing but there’s still a lot of sweeping, washing and cooking to be done!

Got to get back things to do!

The 4 hours drive brings us to Kovalam. We’re right on the beach and as we haven’t seen the sea since Christmas the sight is refreshing.  We are staying near the lighthouse which throws out its eerie beam over the palm trees and the sea.

The lighthouse

A walk into the next cove takes only 10 minutes but we are suddenly intimidated by the number of western tourists that are here.  It takes a bit of getting used to after the last 2 months when white faces have been few and far between.

On th plus side, the number of tourists means that there are a number of bars and eateries all competing for business – which means that quality is good and cost are reasonable.  For the first time in ages we are spoilt for choice as to where to eat and drink.

Walking down the promenade at 7.30pm I am quite amazed to see so many people   drinking mugs of  tea. That is until I realise that none of the bars have liquor licenses so all beer is served under the table and drunk from mugs.  It still tastes as good but for sure it looks odd. Beer isn’t the only refreshment available and many of the tables occupied by Indian parties have bottles of Johnny Walker or arrack, the local firewater distilled from (you’ve got it ) coconuts.

Milk one sugar

The food looks good with every place displaying the day’s catch with fresh fish lovingly displayed.  You have to be careful of the marlin which usually have an apple placed on the end of their sharp pointed noses rather like the button on a sword. There is a fabulous choice of fish, marlin, tuna, barracuda, red snapper, crab, lobster, shrimp…so we opt for chicken!.

I feel like chicken tonight chicken tonight.

On our last morning I ask John to get me a boiled egg and we have a Cool Hand Luke sort of moment with me in the role played by Paul Newman.  John asks the chef for a five minute boiled egg and indicates the cooking time by holding up the requisite number of fingers, one digit  per minute. Five minutes later, we’re somewhat embarrassed when 5 boiled eggs are delivered to our table.

A few days relaxing on the beach concludes our first trip to India and too soon, we’re getting ready to fly back to Colombo before the long journey home.

View from the beach

  We have enjoyed our first trip to India and whilst we have only seen a small bit of the South of a huge country we have been treated to fantastic scenery and brilliant friendly people. The memories will stay with us both for a long time.

The sun sets on our last night in India

Our next (and possibly final) blog will be from Colombo when we are back in Sri Lanka.

Special Birthday wishes go to Kate - we are thinking of you and are sorry we aren’t with you - have a lovely day. Hugs and kisses-  Dad and Lucy

Bobbing about on the river

After an 8 hour drive from Ooty we arrived at the most idyllic setting in Alleppey in the back waters of Kerela. We had read about the backwaters but nothing prepared us for its beauty and quiet. 

The backwaters at Alleppey

We are staying at a homestay which is right on the river, it has lovely gardens and we’re miles from anywhere…… and it sells beer.  Jiji, our host and his wife Jisha are very laid back and there’s a great atmosphere here which makes relaxing almost compulsory.

We spent our first day sitting on the river bank watching the world go by and we try a spot of fishing using a rudimentary rod and dough for bait. 

'Extreme Fishing' with Robson sorry Lucy Green

 We can afford to be patient and the fish are pretty dim and by trial and error I catch the first fish, a small cat-fish.

You should have seen the one that got away

John ever competitive then takes over and spends hours and eventually manages to catch two small fish.  Later, I almost hooked a 3 foot river snake which was swimming past – John has never seen me move so quickly or jump so high.

The artificial stimulant that enabled Lucy to make the Olympic qualifying height in the high jump

I decided then that I would hang up the fishing rod.  I would add that all fish were returned safely to the water.

The noise of loud and furious quacking alerts us to two men in canoes who are shepherding (or duckherding) a shitload (I’ve looked this up and it is the proper collective noun for ducks) of ducks across the river from one bank to the other.  They keep the rebel ducks who stray in order by gently splashing those that get out of line.

A quacking we will go

The guests at the Riverside Retreat eat together outside and there is a convivial atmosphere whilst we eat delicious home-cooked food which is outstanding.  We have a good natter to four teachers from Perth, Australia.  Rakshmi, Lekshmi, Ania and Kathy are excellent dinner companions and we happily swap and share our Indian experiences.

Communal dining with the teachers from Perth

Jiji has arranged for us to go on a house boat for an overnight stay on the backwaters.  On the morning of our trip our houseboat has engine problems and we won’t be leaving until after lunch.  No problem, we relax in the sun and leave for the boat in the afternoon.  The tuktuk into Alleppey takes about 30 minutes and as we pass through the busy town we are surprised by the volume of traffic, the noise and the dust, the roadworks and traffic jams and the number of tourists.  We’re both pleased that we are staying out of town.

A busy downtown Alleppey

Thomas the owner of the boat goes through our dietary requirements.  Top of the list is obviously beer and on the way to the boat we stop to buy supplies - the first two liquor stores only have rocket fuel (very strong beer) so Thomas makes a phone call and assures us that refreshments will be on board by the time we arrive.

We’re lucky because we have the boat to ourselves and the crew of three. The houseboats are based on the old rice barges that used to sail on the canals but many have been converted for the tourist trade.  We check out the facilities including the comfy cabin and the beers and get ready to set sail.  Actually, we don’t sail as we’re powered by a diesel engine but I thought that you would enjoy some naval parlance.

A converted rice barge 

We head to the upper level where there’s a cool breeze and great views. Passing gently through the main thoroughfare we meander into quieter waterways where our sense of direction is lost in the maze of canals.   We stop to purchase some fresh water tiger prawns for our evening meal – they’re the size of lobsters and have delicate long blue claws that dangle limply.

Frying tonight!

We sit drinking inky black cardamom tea and eat lightly curried banana fritters as we relax.  There is so much to see we don’t know which way to look first.  

Man using his head

The fleet gathers

About 6pm we moor up for the night watching the sun set over the bright green paddy fields and gently swaying palms.

Night falls

The rice is nearly ready for harvesting and is so green it looks almost false in the dusk light.  We sit back and listen to the birds singing, the frogs are clearing their throats for their chorus and the waters lap against the side of the boat.  A chap walks buy with a plastic container selling toddy, a liquor brewed from coconut milk.  The crew suggest that John might want to purchase some toddy which is usually sold by the pint but we insist that a glass will be sufficient.  For 30 rupees we get our toddy…the smell is rancid and if anything the taste is worse and after John has bravely tried a few sips we quickly swoosh the remainder over the side whilst the crew isn’t watching.  We half expect the fish to come floating to the surface on their backs.

Looks like the Sweeney Toddy man judging by his knives

Night descends quickly and soon its pitch black except for the stars and the fireflies.  Less welcome visitors are also about - mosquitos, midges, and every other flying insect you can imagine and we eat by candlelight to avoid drawing the beasties to our table. A few beers and we’re ready for bed – this relaxing can be pretty tiring.

I’m up early watching the sunrise and listening as the countryside wakes up. 

Sun rise over the paddy fields

 After a leisurely breakfast we are off again. Every aspect of life takes place on and around the water and the adjacent paddy fields.  As we slowly cruise down the narrow waterways we see people bathing, ladies doing their laundry and slapping their washing against flat rocks to get their clothes clean, fisher men with their nets, and canoes low in the water carting sand, cement and bricks up and down the waterway.

The 'brickies' canoe

A pot head goes to work

The latest Hotpoint automatic

 Water taxis zig zag across the canals picking up people on their way to work and speed past us leaving us bobbing gently in their bow waves.

Many of the houses are built on narrow strips of land between the waterways and paddy fields.  Often less than 15ft deep, they are home to large families with in-laws and children living  here cooking, eating outside, washing in the water and playing often sharing their strip of land with their livestock.

Narrow strips of land hold tiny houses 

Breakfast on the strip

We cruise till lunch time stopping for some shore based and commission insired shopping.  We watch an elderly sculptor carving religious icons from large tree trunks  using large chisels and copying photographs and using his trained eye.

50 years of experience 

It’s a family business and he has 50 years of experience which is evident in the quality of the pieces turned out. On the way back we stop to buy sees John and beckons him in for a trim – he needs one and I push him toward the chair.  The cutting goes well but when I see the barber dabbing copious amounts of Dettol around John’s neck before reaching for a cut-throat razor I start to worry.  I’m not the only one and the look on John’s face is a picture.  John rapidly negotiates the safe keeping of his sidies and the barber’s steady hand completes the job without so much as a nick leaving John pleased with his new hair cut.

A steady hand does little to reassure John and his treasured sidies

Back on board we eat our curry lunch from banana leaves in the traditional manner using only our right hands (the left hand is never used as it is regarded as unclean).  There are a number of delicious spicy courses and rice but you cannot imagine how difficult it can be eating with your fingers.  The idea is to make little parcels and to pop them delicately into your mouth but we get the mix too sloppy and end up dropping and dribbling the food in. 

I couldn't manage to eat all my banana leaf

There are strikes by public sector workers in Kerela today and it is possible that roads will be blocked by pickets from 6am to 6pm.  We are unsure as to how we will get back but are delighted when the captain tells us he will drop us off at the homestay’s small jetty. 

We spend the afternoon reading books and relaxing in hammocks in the garden.

The oldest swinger in Alleppey

Jisha does us proud with a superb dinner for our last night with fried chicken, a spicy prawn curry, dal, vegetables and fried rice. Jiji always ends the meal with a plate of freshly cut pineapple which is so sweet and juicy.

It is with sadness that we pack up and leave this wonderful place and bidding good bye to Jiji and Jisha is like saying farewell to good friends before we speed on to Kovalam, our final destination of the Indian leg of our trip.

Our fabulous hosts Jiji and Jisha

On a different note and in response to Concerned of Partick who commented on our Ooty blog.  We have some good news and have spoken to the experts on the condition outlined in your blog.  Interestingly, there are no seats in their clinic.

It's a bum job but someone has to do it

They have considered the best available treatment and have despatched post haste a jumbo consignment of chilli enemas which should hit the spot!

Take two and retire to a safe distance downwind

I’m sure we’ll all sit more comfortably knowing there is an end in sight.

A massage for you Rudee

As I mentioned in our previous blog, John and I each had an appointment with a masseur. I found the experience strange but thought you might prefer John’s forthright account.  I agree with a lot of the points he makes particularly about it being cold, and I have to admit I giggled to myself at different parts in the massage thinking of what was also happening to John!  Sorry but in the interest of modesty there are no photos.

John’s  Account

I’ve never been very keen on the idea of a massage and my previous experience in Thailand ended in disaster when I threatened to sort out the masseuse if she inflicted any more pain on me.  So I wasn’t as excited as Lucy was to experience the ancient Indian Ayurvedic massage although I reluctantly agreed to accompany her. We opted for the full wazoo and although we were to be treated at the same time, we would be in separate rooms and on reflection this was my only crumb of comfort.

At the appointed hour I met my masseur (let’s call him Al) who was small, wiry and tough looking with large hands and a firm handshake.  This was reassuring and I was pleased that he favoured the glare of the bright light bulb to the moody tea lights and Peruvian pan pipe CDs.  And so down to business in a cold small room. 

“All off?” I asked

“All off”

Not my Alan Whickers surely? I thought but when I saw Al holding up a skimpy loincloth I shrank at the knees and other places.  Al tied the cloth around my waist leaving a flap dangling in front of me, then tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that I should remove my trollies.  Once I had complied Al reached between my legs and secured the flap at the back in a thong arrangement which made me resemble a sumo wrestler.

The massage began with me standing in nothing but a piece of cloth the width and thickness of a toilet roll.  Al asks me to sit on a chair – it’s freezing as my largely bare bum and back weld to the plastic.  He gets a small drop of oil in his hands, says a short prayer (he wasn’t the only one) and anoints me.  I brace myself resolving to divulge only my name, rank and Tartan Army serial number.

We start with a short and vigorous head massage before Al asks me to climb up on the table and lie on my tummy.  I feel the knot on my loin cloth being undone and I hope Al’s not using his teeth. This is quickly followed by a splash of hot liquid on my back which I pray is massage oil.  So begins the rhythmic Abhyangam massage with the application of a viscous oil and some firm laying on of hands.  Al is very thorough as he works up and down my back from my head to the tip of my toes kneading and rubbing as he goes. 

I turn over and we continue.  He pours oil into my belly button – I guess almost half a pint disappears into this reservoir.  I’m lying on the bed with only my flimsy loin cloth to protect my modesty as Al goes to fetch more oil.  I can tell he’s left the door open by the breeze which sweeps up into the Trossachs.

Eventually there’s more oil on me than on the birds caught up in the Exxon Valdiz disaster.  The medicinal oil smells rank but Al says it will improve circulation and improve skin tone – He could be using Spry Crisp and Dry for all I know as I continue to grin and bear the manipulation.

We move on to the Kizhi, a full body massage applied via hot and heavy rice pads, cloth bags filled with hard rice and dipped in hot oil.  Supposedly restoring energy and vigour the massage starts by patting the hot bag onto my skin – as the bag cools, a hot replacement is substituted and the force of the application intensifies.  By now I’m so cold the application of burning oil to my bare skin is almost pleasurable.  Every forceful dab of the bag sends me sliding along the bed on my frictionless oily body and rather than relax I’m having to cling on by my finger nails to avoid sliding onto the cold stone floor.

And so we move on to the third and final torture, the Sirodhara.  This pouring of a continuous stream of oil onto the forehead and scalp is to eliminate toxins and mental exhaustion.  During the massage my eyes are covered with cotton wool and I lie back cold and bare awaiting my ordeal.  Apparently, the result is a fantastic sense of deep relaxation and inner peace.  For me, relying on sound it’s as if I’m lying naked in a chip shop with hot oil bubbling and spitting as it heats up, the strong smell of oil hanging in the air and the clattering and banging of pans as the hot liquid is transferred to the pot which will dribble the oil onto my head.  As the oil hits my head I imagine a warm golden shower cascading down – it isn’t a pleasant thought.

Lucy had told me that as you relax you can drift off – by now I am so cold that I am losing the feeling in my fingers and toes and other bits have shrivelled long before.  And yes, I could feel myself floating, generally drifting off………. into a hypothermic induced coma. Al was gently massaging my hair and scalp with the hot oil and I’m sure I heard a voice telling me to stay away from the light.

At last Al tapped me to get up and literally slide off the bed.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – staring back at me was a slick (oil slick) Christopher Walken from Sleepy Hollow with hair standing on end.  I quickly towelled off as much of the oil as I could before heading back to our room for a hot shower and hoping not to alarm any guests on the way.

The funny thing was that on my way back I had to admit that I felt much fitter and more relaxed but wait ‘til I see Lucy!

Relax guys when John got back to the room he stunk and he knew that I knew the humiliation he had endured.  After a hot shower and lots of soap to remove the oil we both had a good laugh and vowed not to repeat the process.

Oooooooooty

Ever since we watched the BBC’s Indian Railways programme we’ve wanted to come to Ooty (proper name Udhagamandalam and travel on the Nilgiri Hill Railway. The journey from Mysore takes us through the Mudumalai National Park and higher into the mountains than we’ve so far ventured.  The road is even scarier than normal with a series of steep climbs and 36 hairpin bends which our little Tata car struggles to cope with.  We crawl uphill using a combination of first and second gears – John says ‘smell the mountain air’ – all I smell is smoking brake linings and a clutch that must be red hot.

The Little Car that could

The Mudumalai National Park is a designated tiger sanctuary but as usual they elude us.  We do however watch an elephant go wild – it’s a working elephant with a gang of men when suddenly one of the men dashes of with the elephant in hot and rapid pursuit. We are reminded of how wild and how quickly these huge beasts can move.

Jumbo throws a moody

We finish the last hairpin bend and breath a sigh of relief remarking that it would be much scarier to go downhill…. In a tuktuk!  

Hairpins in a tuktuk - Nightmare

We pass through small and colourful hill villages and the air is much cooler here.  It’s still warm by our standards but we notice that many of the locals are wearing cardigans and coats.  As we enter Ooty we are only five minutes from our hotel when a guy at a bus stop shouts to our driver that we have a flat front tyre.

Our driver pulls over into the next lay-by containing a large bin which has the full and undivided attention of and a bin-dipper.  Oblivious to our driver who is jacking up the car, and to us with our jaws dropping the dishevelled gentleman is working his way through discarded plates of leftover food which he pulls from the bin with relish.  He clears every plate ignoring the smell and flies wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he goes.  It’s compulsive watching but we decide that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to catch the gentleman’s eye and retire to a safe point.  Wheel changed, we continue on to our hotel in the sprawling hill town.

John has been excited about visiting the train station and the following day we walk through the town enjoying the hustle and bustle of the market as we make our way to the station.  The stall holders are very welcoming and want to chat and pose for photos.  One of the flower sellers gives me a length of jasmine garland which smells lovely.

Garland seller in Ooty Market

Ooty station is famous for its toy train that runs down through the Indian hill stations to Metupalayam which is about 30 km and three hours away.  It isn’t possible to do the full return journey in a day so we buy tickets to Coonoor .  We get talking to the station master who is passionate about the railway and whilst we’re waiting for the train he tells us of his plans for this lovely station and the Nilgiri Line.

Lucy meets a real tv star

The train is full but we have reserved tickets in first class.  We thought we should splash out the 75p fare although second class was a very reasonable 5p.  The views are staggering and as the train slowly makes its way down it hugs the mountain side passing through small villages, tea plantations, and veg crops.  The journey takes about an hour and a half but my train spotting husband has a beaming smile on his face which suggests that this is nowhere near long enough.

Heading down to Coonor

A view from the train

School kids disembark 

We arrive with a couple of hours to kill.  Our friendly station master told John to make sure he visited the engine sheds at Coonoor and John heads off across the tracks to check them out.  He returns with tales of busy engine sheds and a number of steam engines in various stages of maintenance.  

Steam engine maintenance shed at Coonoor

We take a tuktuk to a tea plantation and again experience magnificent views are we climb out of Coonor to the tea plantation. The tea factory visit isn’t very exciting but we do have a chuckle at the claims made for some of the potions on display, particularly the ‘Crack Care Cream’.

I've ordered a crate for old pals in the TA

Whilst waiting for our train we witness the departure of the train to Mettupalayam.  You may recall that we were unable to secure a seat on this train and were on a waiting list.  How glad am I that we cancelled the ticket and opted for a car.  The train is rammed – so rammed that ticket carrying passengers cannot physically get into the carriages because of the numbers already packed in.  Four unhappy back-packers can’t fit in and as the train pulls out are last seen remonstrating with a station master who shrugs and walks away.

Plenty of room on top!

By the time we’re back on the train the temperature has fallen and when we get back into Ooty it is quite cold.  Ooty stands at over 5,500 feet and the air in the mountains is clean and fresh.  However once the sun has gone in the temperatures fall quickly.

We share our visit to the Botanical Gardens with thousands of Indian tourists.  The gardens are wonderfully laid out and in many respects it’s like walking around an English country park with familiar flowers adding colour whilst eucalyptus trees tower overhead.

Botanical Gardens - Ooty

We are amazed by the large groups of teenage boys who are visiting the gardens and are obviously enjoying the delights of the gardens.  Groups of boys and girls don’t mix but the boys still cast sly glances in the girls’ direction.  We’re asked by a noisy group of lads to do a another photo call – they’re polite and clamour to get into the shot with John.

John the superstar

We spend half an hour sitting on the large sloping lawn enjoying black tea and watching the Indian tourists enjoying the gardens.  A few families stop to chat to us and we really feel something of a novelty for those people who just want to chat.

Spot the father of five

Continuing our horticultural theme we head for the Centenary Rose Gardens and as it’s out of season we’re not expecting too much.   There are thousands of roses on display spread across four long terraces which overlook Ooty.  Even at the end of the season many specimens are still in flower giving splashes of amazing colours -  I have never before seen so many variety of roses in one place and can only imagine what the gardens look like in full bloom between May and July.

Centenary Rose Garden in winter season

The Fernhills Palace has a fantastic reputation for charm and sophistication which is right up our street.  We head over for lunch and it is like stepping back into colonial times.  Fernhills is the summer palace of the Maharajah from Mysore and although the exterior of the buildings is a little run down the interior is gorgeous with wood panelled walls adorned with old photos of by-gone days when India was one of the colonies and British values were held to represent the best.  There are photos of Rolls Royce cars, the Ooty Foxhounds and the pursuit of elephants and tigers.

Oh how the other half live

 The atmosphere is serene and because we’re out of season the hotel is largely empty.  On our way to the dining room we pass through the ballroom with its lovely wooden floor, elaborate fireplaces and period furniture and more photos of the Edwardian well to do.  You can almost hear the orchestra playing as we amble through to take afternoon tea.

Imagine the ballroom in its heyday

Even the menu harks back to the days of the Raj with a heading of ‘Attention Corporal – Get some pork on your fork’ and with offerings such as ‘Kenny Boys Kanjee’, ‘Clive’s Pork Vindaloo’, and my favourite ‘Cockeyed Marys Bo-Bo Curriee’

The food and service is wonderful and after lunch the hotel manager gives us a tour which includes some of the Maharaja’s quarters although we’re not allowed in as the Maharaja and his family still visit regularly and use these rooms.  The coat of arms of the two headed eagles is on everything although in my opinion the bird more closely resembles a two headed duck.

We are shown to a paying guest room and I immediately want to move in but ever sensible John tells me how impractical this would be. The rooms are done out in wood panelling using Burma teak, rosewood and cedar, the floors are mosaic marble and there is a warmth and cosiness to the rooms which are well furnished and look out onto the perfectly manicured lawns. Sadly we have to leave as we have an appointment back at the hotel with a pair of masseuses - more about that in a special blog !!

On our last full day in Ooty we head for the Doddabetta Lookout which at 8,640 feet is the highest peak in Southern India.  Our tuk tuk gave good account of itself and negotiated the hairpin bends with some gusto and we’re rewarded with great views of Ooty and the blue Nilgiri mountains.

We smile bravely on the downhill ride from hell

We walked around the peak which is a major tourist attraction sharing the views with more Indian sightseers and again groups of young lads were more interested in taking snaps of us than the views.  

Top of the world ma - well top of Southern India anyway

View from Doddabetta Lookout

As we posed for pictures more and more lads joined the throng until we were surrounded by a dozen or so young menall excitedly jostling for inclusion in the impromptu team snap.  We had a good laugh with the lads before going for lemon tea.

Superstar 1

Superstar 2 - I think they thought I was Lulu

On our way back to the tuk tuk we stopped for several more photo calls then started on the road back to Ooty.  You may recall that we had previously only imagined the horror of a hairpin descent in a tuk tuk and let me be frank our imagination had not run wild.  The driver took off like a rocket and we bounced and careered around blind bends in a flurry of stones and honking horns.  We both agreed that if Alton Towers ever introduces a new thrill seeking ride called the ‘Runaway DoddabettaTuktuk’ you are advised to give it a big swerve.

Ooty boating lake is another popular, if tacky attraction incorporating many of the amusements that were popular in Britain in the fifties including a boating lake with rowing boats and pedalos, dodgems and roundabouts and lame bits from the ghost train and the fun house.  The Indians were whooping it up and to get into the spirit we went into the house of horrors which was pitch black and rather hilarious until I walked head first into a black wall – come to think of it John even laughed at that.

Health and safety has not yet spread its killjoy tentacles here and loose wires, uneven paths and missing bolts on the roundabout are all part of the fun.  Our visit to the Maze of Mirrors was a psychdelic experience with its red and green lights and its 70s Indian sittar music playing in the background – at any minute you expected to bump into aged stoned Hippies or maybe Pete Doherty.

Now that's tripping man

We spent half an hour watching the Indians enjoying tame fairground rides, the men were the worst when it came to screaming and we could not stop laughing at the fear on their faces on rides that Izzy and Ben would think where for babies.  Even the dodgems were a hoot with your typical fairground showoff waltzing casually in and out of the mayhem until a young boy smashed into his car almost catapulting him into the watching crowd.

Young Lad 1 Dignity 0.


That’s it from Ooty.  Tomorrow we head south to Alleppey and a few days in the Backwaters of Kerela.  We’re not sure whether we’ll be able to get on-line whilst we’re there so it may be 5 days or so before our next major post but please look out for a short post in the next day or so regarding John’s ordeal at the hands of the masseuses.