"You Country Coin"

We're in Munnar in the Western Ghats in Kerala, south India. It's cold and rainy and we're surrounded by tea, it could be home except for how amazingly, almost scarily, friendly many people are. Yesterday a milk salesman (as far as I could gather) invited us into his house for some tea, much to the amicable confusion of his severely elderly mother.
   We met the chap whilst sheltering from the rain under the roof of a tiny 'temple' (This may make me sound like an uncouth pleb but it was literally a shed with a rock wearing a colourful skirt inside. I'm yet to understand Hinduism...). The whole area we were walking in is owned by a company called 'Tata' and most of the land is given over to the tea plantations (the tea is supplied to Tetley - as I found out when our new friend produced a branded bag from his shirt pocket - I didn't ask where he stored the milk). The tea trees slide in wobbly green lines down the hill and are tended by an army of fast-snipping edward scissor hands (little Indian ladies - is there any other kind? - I'm pretty sure the only way all the gazillion members of an Indian family can fit in their house is to store grandma under the floor boards) it's all very picturesque. Our new friend plied us with tea and a strawberry washed in a grotesquely brown puddle before inviting me to ride his little motorbike, something I think he may have regretted from the look on his face when it dragged me to a soggy stop in front of him a wobbly five minutes later.
On the walk back a school boy persistently dogs us, asking for "you country coin". He doesn't know any other English. I don't think he even knows what what he's saying means. This doesn't provide a very satisfying reply when I engage him in my usual conversational game (see previous post); The only questions I can make fit make me look just as silly as he does on reply: "where's a picture of a woman who's knickers you'd like to sniff?". "uh that's disgusting! And you'd probably be liable for treason or something...".

No time left, err .... in conclusion Western Ghats Good. 

Laterz
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I'm A Clebrity (Because I'm White): Get Out My Ear

I've been in India for about a week and a half, and I'm starting to think that there may be something conspicuous about my appearance. It's not a bogy, i checked. It's not toilet paper on my shoe, it couldn't be - in India, a damp left hand is the ubiquitous substitute for 'fancy western bum tissues' (and that would be a really creepy thing to be trailing from my trainers...).
People's eyes whirl round like fruit machines and settle, with the sound of bells and rattling coins, on two big dollar signs when they see me.
I think it's because I'm white....
To be fair, this is completely unreasonable, not everyone is a houseboat tour operator or a not so subtle rickshaw driver. (Who's sales pitch involves driving up carefully behind you and, you guessed it, throwing a HONK!! down your ear holes). We visited a park in Puducherry on day two and couldn't sit down for groups of people wanting a photo or a chitchat. This was exceptional even for me, I mean, even in Berkhamsted play park (where I am wont to spend many a spring evening soaring gleefully on the swings) Gordon (aka 'The Incredible Hunk') gets a truck load of attention from the all the babes, but this is beyond that, like grammar's beyond the guy at Berko market yelling about his "panda bananas" (whatever they are). After overcoming the initial unease at being so conspicuous in a foreign culture, I've grown to enjoy the attention at times. Yesterday at Allepy beach, out of interest, some guys (wearing swimming nappies - the Keralan equivalent to boardies) came over to say hello, though they didn't know the word for it. As I've found typical, a mutual understanding was formed that language differences weren't to get in the way of our communicating. A short babble in Malayalam (the language of Kerala) from them is met with a reply to my own invented question, usually concerning my snappy dress sense. - "Why yes this is a fine example of topman indie tailoring! I'm glad you can see past the unendearing sweat patches!", "Yes you do have a big moustache", "No, don't be silly, it doesn't make you look like a peado, you're not white!". People on trains will often smile and/or start a conversation, it's been a brilliant way of learning about Indian people's perceptions of their counrty and ours. For example Sathish, a software programmer, isn't happy about all the rubbish littering the countryside but, "what can I do?" he says. I've also found that a mention of "The Beatles" is met with a vacant stare, (reminiscent of those from any typical musically vapid Durham student when confronted with a comment about a 'wired niche' band like Arcade Fire), but that Kevin Pietersen is our most famous (imported) export. A tragic knowledge gap in my oppinion, a pickle short of a Thali (Indian meal) if you will.

I'll try to write more about what we're actually doing next time (I know Mum!).

Laterz!
Gordon
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Chapatti!

A mosquito just bit me on the spot on the head where you go bald from. Oh god there's another one! Eugh it tried to go in my ear. I've got biriani belly, my water tastes like chlorine and this computer is old enough to be confused by how grandmas work. That's right, I made it to India alive! (even more impressive when you consider that I've had to cross the road SEVERAL times in order to get here).

Stepping out of Chennai airport it's immediately obvious that we're in somewhere completely foreign. The humid air presses all around, much like the crowd of taxi drivers, vagabonds and a hoard of other staring brown people. After making several passes through the throng we eventually find our driver man. He quotes a mega rip off price, fine, it's what I was expecting. What came as a far greater shock was the liberal approach to any form of traffic rules followed by one and all. HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK honk-honk HONK etc. Smaller vehicles give way to bigger, (please don't mess with that bus brave little tuktuk man), and a honk of the horn is a sufficient warning that you're about to career through a junction between pedestrians and heavy perpendicular traffic. (Someone motorbiked on my leg today, painful but he only really gets dickhead points in my little book of 'notes for revenge: a tally of naughty points for all the silly people' for this for not honking. The positive side is that the tyre marks, of course, look pretty hench). Other than this anything goes. To cross the road is to run a gauntlet through honking weaving wheels and metal. (I have adopted the approach of waiting for the biggest of the busses to pass and to shuffle forward slowly and allow the river of tiny 'honda hero' motorbikes and rickshaws to wash around me and pray that I come out the other side alive. I usually do.)
At the hotel the bell boy demands a tip. Yes, demands. In confusion over exchange rates I accidentally give him about 20 times too much. probably a couple of days wages. no wonder he's so eager to part foreign chumps from their cash.
Next day we manage to navigate the queues at the train station and catch a train to Puducherry.The ticket costs about 50p for a 3 hour journey. Hear that London Midland? 50p! no not GBP 50 you money hungry waistcoated mini-ogres.Though in fairness I would have paid a little extra to avoid the smell of wee wees...

I've no time for more - another train to catch! I shall continue next time I can find an internet cafe.

Cheerio for now!

Gordon

Introduction

Hi,

This blog is where I'll be writing and posting pictures about my year-long trip around Asia (among other things).
I'm off to India tomorrow, wish me luck and I hope you enjoy the blog!
Rupeeeeeeeees!

Gordon
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