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
x
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
x
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