So finally I decided that it was time to update the design of my blog. I’ve gone for a bit of an arty-farty one this time, but it may change depending on my mood. What I really want is a personal design that reflects who I am and what I do, so something that has elements of British and Indian design and landmarks. But damnit, I’m not a designer and my little sis refuses to have anything to do with that “dodgy web business”. So for now, it’s going to be this design.

What do you think of it?

One of the big things that I was worried about when I first came to India in 2006 was the food. I’m a self confessed fussy eater, and the list of things I don’t like could be turned in to a book 500 pages long. However, this worry was unfounded because the food in India is simply amazing. Fast forward to 2008, my Mum had the exact same worry. One of the big problems is, that in the West, we think everyone in India eats rice and curry. The thought that there are any other types of food is not considered.

Having lived in possibly the most conservative place in the entire world, where even at school, boys and girls are kept separated and even speaking to a member of the opposite sex can result in a 10,000 rupee fine, you kind of get used to the fact that you can never shake hands with, or pat on the back a member of the opposite sex. The thought of any kind of body contact is unheard of, and if it does actually happen it results in 1000 apologies as if they’ve just informed you that they’ve run over your pet cat that you’ve had for 10 years.

So, you come to Goa and it’s the complete opposite. As you walk down the beach, navigating between the hawkers, the girls and ladies come up to you with confidence, reach out to shake you by the hand and will even put their arm around you as they try to get you to buy their cheap necklaces. In England, this kind of behaviour wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, body contact betweem friends is acceptable, but when you’ve been in Chennai for 7 months, it’s a bit unusual and to be honest, a little bit disturbing!

Whereas Chennai is way too conservative, I think Goa is too liberal the other way, and there is a need to find some middle ground where they get it just right.

So far, everyone has been so incredibly friendly, the English is extremely good, and everyone is so curious to know about you. We’re told that this is the quiet season and that we should come in full season, but as we sit by our deserted pool, where there are more friendly, helpful staff than guests, having personal one on one service at the bars and restaurants I can’t imagine why anyone would come at a different time! Tell me where else in the world you can get your own waiter, your own barman, your own chef and your own tourguide for less than $10!

OK, so in my last post I said that Goa is the equivalent to Benirom or Daytona. I wasn’t far off the mark, but it’s not entirely accurate either. It’s a bit like one of those Greek island resorts where the tourism is aimed at the middle aged and families with young children. There is a certain attraction for hippy types, or those that simply want to get out of the rat race.

We are staying in an area called Calangute, which the tourist book describes as the armpit of Goa, over commercialization, young indian men off their faces, hawkers, fruit sellers the lot. But actually, it’s really not all that bad - and anyone who’s been to a Spanish resort will know how bad it can get! As you walk down the road towards the beach, you go past the tourist shops all selling the exact kind of thing - it does beg the question, if they are all selling the same stuff, how do any of them make any money.

As a whitey in Goa, you are a magnet for the hawkers, but unlike other places, although they share the same desperate persistance, they are also extremely polite. From the 10 year old girl who has perfect English and asks for 10 rupees to have your picture taken with her (and on a very serious note: there really needs to be some education to the kids about talking to foreigners), and claims that there’s “no school” today, to the much older, and more experienced hawkers selling you their wares from a coat hanger - yes, really!

You really have to keep your wits about you, and in most cases, be exceptionally rude - because if you are polite and give them the time of day, they will stick with you like glue until you buy something - all the while being very friendly, chatty and inquisitive though! If you are anything like my Mum who will try and be nice and give non-commital answers, expect to come off the beach loaded up with so much cheap tat that you could very well start hawking yourself!

If you have to buy something, or can’t bare to see the 8 month pregnant lady selling her wares (which is the same as everyone elses) in the blistering heat, it’s important to remember to bargain. The hawkers will start very high, so you should start very low. It’s amazing how a cheap bangle which they swear blind is solid silver (but leaves a suspicious green mark hours after putting it on) can go from 500 Rupees to 50 Rupees. Use the classic bargaining technique that you already bought something and it cost 20 rupees, and watch how quickly the price tumbles.

At first the hawkers are ok, but pretty soon it becomes tiresome and bothersome. There are two effective ways to deal with it though!

First, don’t answer, don’t reply, and don’t even look at the person. Even if they ask you questions, don’t reply, or if you do say anything, say a firm “No”. If they place a shawl around your neck, don’t touch it or feel it, continue walking and ignore it at all costs.

The second advice if ignoring them doesn’t work, is to head down to the sea and go in up to your knees! Works a treat every time, none of them will follow you in

Anyway, the highlight of the hawkers in Calangute is Rodney and Del Boy. Everyone gives themselves Western names, so Deva becomes David, Sandeep becomes Sandy etc. So we weren’t too surprised when one hawker told us his name was Rodney. The penny dropped when we met his mate “Del Boy”. The two guys could be attractions within themselves as they quote lines from Only Fools and Horses in their everyday language. They even tote their wares around in a big suitcase. I can’t imagine what’s going through their mind, or why they decided to model themselves on Del and Rodney, but it will keep you amused for some time as they tell you all their wares are “pucker” and how the other day Rodney was such a “plonker”. Asked where Uncle Albert was, and you are told he’s looking after their shop.

The other thing about the hawkers is that they all have a sob story to tell. Now depending on your level of naivety and compassion, you can make up your own mind whether to indulge the stories or whether to dismiss them out of hand. Sticking to my cynical self, I think that the stories are just that, stories to tell the tourists to get some more money out of us.

Kerala - What Western Tourists Should Know

In my previous post I lampooned India’s tourist industry by writing some fake tour guides for 3 completely lame tourist attractions - attractions which the Indian nationals queue up for and visit in their hundreds. However, what is apparent, is that the things that entertain Indian’s (standing on a bay shouting your name and listening for the echo) is not what entertainers Westerners (who, quite frankly, have been disney world’ed to death and if it doesn’t go upside down 400 times, soak you through, take 5 years off your life, and cost $50 to get in, it’s not ‘entertaining’) are wanting from the experience.

So, here is a (rather lame) Westerners guide to Kerala…

First off, the place is green (as I may have mentioned in my previous post). The views are spectacular and well worth the money. It’s like a combination of the Austrian / Swiss alps, the Lake District and the Scottish Highlands. If you are all for inspiring vista’s, panaramic views, mountains rising out of the mist, thundering waterfalls, then Kerala is the place for you. In the morning the mist can be seen in all the small valleys (if you are in a high up resort) with the mountains poking out, and slowly, as the sun heats the air, it all rises, joins together and passes through you and overhead.

Up in the mountains, there are huge tea estates. Seriously huge. As far as the eye can see kind of huge, there are miles and miles of tea plants. As a Brit who loves tea, it’s great to finally see the plant where it is grown and find out which part of the tree the tea comes from. Your impressions will be: a) it’s a lot smaller than you imagined and b) what part of the tree does the leaf come from.

If you are driving up to the mountains, make sure you get the driver to stop so you can get out and take some photos (if you want), because they probably won’t stop (tea trees are not interesting, right? But it’s good to actually see them up close). You will also see the ladies picking the tea with bags strapped to their back, so when you go back home to your friends and drinking your cup of Tetley, you can say, with authority, that you have seen the actual tea plants the tea came from AND actual people picking the actual leaves. Wonderful conversational piece. Go ahead.

The other strange thing that happened was the driver brazenly drove past three Elephants, and we had to cry out just to get him to stop. Again, it’s a Western thing, we don’t see Elephants in the street! You get to sit on the elephants and feed it fruit. No comment on the conditions the animal is kept in, but it’s probably not great

Beyond that, the recommendation is to either admire the views, or simply to ask your driver to drive around, because the real attraction is the scenery - and very good scenery it is too, they must have seen Lord of the Rings and thought, “hey, that’s a good idea! We can have mountains like that too!”.

There are some cultural things that you can do, and I use the word in the loosest sense of the word. You may have to ask around before you go, because my mother received an ‘ayervedic massage’ (say what now?!) - organized by our travel agency - in a freezing cold hut. We also watched a show about Lord Krishna (maybe, who knows?) which was very…cultural. If you are not in to the bizzare, abstract, downright weird, then you should probably give that one a miss too. If you are really going to be a culture vulture like my mum, then go ahead, knock yourself out. And if you do find out what the play/show/art/performance is about, be sure to drop me a line because I was totally lost.

From what I could tell of the story, the girl (played by a guy) was a real hussy and tried to lure the green guy in to bed. The green guy being very traditional refused and said they had to get married first. The hussy just wanted to get some action and persisted until eventually the green guy cut off her breasts because she wouldn’t stop. Then he went and told his father about what happened (and presumably got a bitch slap upside the head for being so stupid).

I could be gravely mistaken though.

Hmm, I’m writing this blog from a houseboat on the backwaters in Southern Kerala. It’s pretty cool, you get to see a completely different way of life, with women washing clothes in the river, washing the cutlery in the river, washing their kids in the river, washing themselves in the river, before finally, catching their dinner from the river. However, there’s also the cynic in me that half thinks: these guys are being paid to be rural and traditional for the high paying tourists.

Again, very scenic, and only slightly ruined by the number of white tourists gawping at the culture. Damn culture vultures!

Keeping with my penchant of comparing everything here to the way things are back home, the houseboats are like canel boats that you can take short breaks on, but over here, they know what a house boat is! It makes our canel boats look quaint, a little funny and a bit like a noddy toy. The Kerala houseboats are really big, really nice, well furnished, have great facilities and even better meals onboard.

Anyway. Next stop: Goa. India’s equivalent of Benidorm, Malia or Daytona.