The insects did not invade our rooms, the animals stayed away, the birds sang with the dawn and it was time to leave the hill country.
Chris was up too early, again. His roommate Tony was better than expected after passing out the day before. He was armed with painkillers and praying that he would not be the butt of too many jokes. Such a forlorn hope.
Michael Cooke's hangover was still hours away, he was in an unsteady, sedate but unsober state.
For the second day in a row we failed to get a second round of tea or coffee before yomping up to breakfast.
Tony asked about his gloves at breakfast. He'd had to leave his bike and his gear when he went to the hospital and this morning could not find his gloves. That was Alex's opening, especially when no one had a spare pair. Well after breakfast and packing up Tony found them in one of his panniers.
Dharmender promised that my bike had a new battery and an adjusted clutch. As every morning I was full of hope but not expectation. Today the hope was a little stronger as Abi had come up with a logical explanation yesterday for the multitude of inconsistencies the bike was throwing at me.
We had the morning briefing, something about heading towards a place called Thekaddy, which must, in the days of the Raj, have led to more sophisticated jokes than any of us could think of that early in the morning. Alex got on his bike, ready to set off then sat back, breathed out and told Tony that we weren't leaving till Tony gave him his gloves back. The attempted ribbing was water off Alex (who the duck is Alex)'s back.
Unsteady, like newborn savanna animals, we tottered off. Up the hard hill,
My bike was a lot easier to ride. A couple of missed gears but far more reliable. The ride to town was pleasant with the three fallers (Tony, Steve and myself) at the back. Abi guarded the first junction to send us the right way.
In Munmar, it got confusing for Tony and I. We waited at a busy junction for Abi, which was lucky because we would have gone the wrong way. Fairly soon we caught up with the proper bikers. As so often happened they were log jammed behind an even slower moving vehicle than us 'droppers' who were pottering along, trying to regain our confidence.
It was a steady ride, mainly in convoy. But we were travelling through gorgeous scenery in the hills and through the tea plantations.
We weaved around a large lake with tea bushes going right down the steep hillsides to the water's edge. The bushes are about 1 m high, but are interspersed with tall trees that have been heavily pruned. These stabilise the soil on the hillsides and provide a speckling of shade.
I am trying to think what the clumps of tailored bushes remind me of, somewhere between a sponge and one of those thick carpets beloved of the 1980's in our avocado bathrooms.
Of course the rolling countryside and large lake made me think of a golf course, again and this would be a stunning location. It may be one day, but the rawness of the far hillside and the coiffured tea bushes are probably better suited to the local ecosystem than manicured fairways and blobs of bunkers.
We rose up another hillside, through a coll, or a pass through the hills, and Bam! A massive vista opened up. We stopped and took photos and our adrenaline safety valves did their job. 10 minutes later we set off again only to find the main group at a much better photo op stop with yummy food and budgies (bhajis) and all sorts of excessive second breakfast treats, including a beany type salad that looked delicious and dangerous and ended up as irresistible. We talked a lot again and Will dreamt of flying a helicopter through the pass to enjoy the land falling away quickly, a sort of 'copter drop, beloved of film makers and loopy flyers. We thought that buying the house high up the hill and setting up a hang glider school would be a great idea. It was a day for looking at opportunities and business and big floating thoughts. Funny how that happens so high up, with such a huge view of the world.
This was the spot for Fluffy's Adventure Ashram photo op which was a great chance for our individual portraits, well done. And here are the organisers. Alex and Fritha (Fluffy)
I stood the whole group for their mid morning snack and which cost the princely sum of maybe 200 rupees. You gotta laugh!
We set off on another trek through the thoroughly enjoyable countryside. My confidence came back steadily and it was fun leaning and rolling and taking the overtaking chances as they came up.
The next chai stop was quite long and fairly snacky. The wagon train caught up and did a bit of reorganising which involved the roof of the luggage van. It was a reality check to see the previously hidden aluminium stretcher being repacked. It looked serious and sturdy and capable of keeping a smashed up body together for a while. A sensible decision to have one ready, but a concept that had not crossed my mind. A horrible thought about what could happen and a wake up call as we were getting confident again. Never get cocky.
Fluffy was in a frisky mood and for some reason adjusted her bra, we all pretended not to notice. But it must have triggered dormant thoughts in Chris who was in fine form. He offered a 50 rupee bet that he couldn't make Fluffy's boobs move without touching them. She foolishly accepted. He happily grabbed them and used the 50 rupees to buy everyone's chai on Fluffy's behalf.
The gesture had mixed reactions to say the least. From shock and outrage to uproarious laughter. Luckily Fluffy, who Chris had nominated as a 'top bird', was with the laughter crowd.
And so we motored off, through the gorgeous Kerala countryside, weaving in and around and through the settlements and the Bullet Boys were leapfrogging along.
We stopped for lunch at a place with stone floors and stainless steel tables.
It was the worst I had in India and I even left the food which, for an ex-public schoolboy is close to a crime. Don't trust a modern restaurant and certainly not somewhere where you can't see them cook!
We continued in convoy through gathering settlements and into Thekaddy as it started to rain. The hotel was a pleasant surprise. On the edge of seeming chaos and down a steep hairpin drive to park the bikes almost under the main road. A quick check-in, down some steps and you find yourself on the edge of the jungle. We faced a large swampy area that forebode of massed insect attacks at dusk. But there were herons hanging around and a treeline about half a kilometre away. At least I could get the binoculars out and sweep the countryside, more in hope than expectation. But it was something to do and the deer grazing on the edge of the treeline were something to pretend we were interested in.
I wanted to write and turned down the opportunity of a swim, which was lucky as it was apparently 2 octaves cold. For guys a change of 2 octaves on entering water is significant. And it doesn't help any semblance of Bullet Boy image!
Michael and Will opted for another massage. I wrote and paralleled with Chris and Tony, sitting around occasionally sharing with the others glimpses into our own wi-fi world. Chris had taken the consumer solution to the imminent danger of insects seeking a free meal from our pasty bodies. He kindly handed out incense sticks, swearing that they would ward off any beast known to man. It didn't seem to be enough to tackle the marsh's multitudes on the porches but we put them in the room anyway.
Michael and Will returned with that massage glow and medium smiles. Since the hotel did mot serve alcohol we mumbled around organising a walk. By the time the faffing was done the rain had started. Being big and brave and strong we got up the nerve to borrow some brollies from reception and set out.
The roads turned into those muddy streams beloved of nature documentaries and French romantic films. Splashing through the street we wove into a shop for Michael to load up again, this time with something that had elephants on. Will and I left Chris and Michael for their elephantine shop. We bravely set out and made it all the way across the road, twice before finding a shop where Will saw a fun jacket for our last night's dinner in traditional dress. A little trying on and a little bargaining later, while Will was admiring himself in the mirror, two unexpected elegant blondes walked in. I told Will how proud I was to have him as my partner and gave him a loving hug! The ladies left abruptly. Resigned to life with the Bullet Boys Will didn't even hit me.
Across the road again we found another shop with a shirt for Will. But the owner was from Kashmir and I started talking about how lovely it was and admiring his Pashminas. The shop was floor to ceiling with scarves. He was thrilled and dug out a suitcase with his extra special quality.
The quality was really superb. I like pashminas. I like cashmere, a lot, but the little cashmere I own Is a scarf, which was a present, and a couple of jumpers which I inherited! Cashmere is an older spelling of Kashmir, which was a single state and is currently half controlled by Pakistan and half by India. There are separatists and bombs and the occasional exchange of artillery fire high up in the Himalayas.
Some twenty years ago I was in Kashmir, on the Pakistani side. Back in days when westerners could go around Pakistan. It is a stunning place, so, so far from London and Frankfurt and cities with reliable power and taxes and non-government salaried jobs. My time visiting the most remote villages high in the Himalayas in a helicopter lent by the Aga Khan as a guest of the German ambassador was a massive experience, and one for another story. But in Kashmir I had bought pashminas for the girls in the family. Some 80 x 120 cm they pass through a wedding ring. Now that's fine. But not the finest.
So here we are in the semi tropical south of India, a long way from the Line Of Control, an arbitrary dotted line that runs through the savage terrain of the highest mountains in the world and we're looking at this young man's fine cashmere.
We talked of Shahtoosh. Shahtoosh in Farsi means 'king of wools', it comes form the Tibetan Antelope, a protected species under CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species). The antelope have been hunted to near extinction and owning or wearing shawls from the wool is illegal. It's a ripe market for commercial farming but like ivory and most of the trade in endangered species the danger is that a legal supply provides a conduit for illegal supply. And we don't want to lose yet another species.
While I was lost in the luxury of the past and Will was struggling into and out of another shirt we had a message that Chris had sent a tuc-tuc for us, which was waiting outside. I had no idea where we were off to but the boys had found somewhere with beer. We left everything on the counter.
The tuc-tuc rolled up to some hotel gates and the security guard wandered over suspiciously. He saw us and jumped back, we were immediately allowed into the hotel because we were white. It continues to amaze me that just the colour of our skin seemed to give us completely undeserved respect. At least we did not abuse that respect, just each other.
We were in Spice Village, apparently, but from the crunched up back of a tuc-tuc we could have been anywhere with a security guard. It was definitely not a government facility as that would have multitudes of guys with guns milling around. But here we had a barrier and a hut and a guy that let us in with no questions.
We wander into the hotel compound and I blindly follow Will who seems to know what he's doing. I have no idea what communication has gone on between anyone, my head is full of fun and kashmiri wool.
In between tropical plants and up half a hillside we stumbled into a large room that looked just like a large hut. At one end was a long bar stocked well, with an air of colonial about it.
At the other end of the room was a full sized billiard table and all around the walls were old photos and hunting trophies.
But in front of us were Michael and Chris who had commandeered good colonial seats and what seemed to be the tourist version of good colonial snacks and we ordered a couple of beers.
The boys told us that the guy serving us could pour any height of head on the beer we requested. We both asked for about one centimetre of foam and we got exactly one centimetre. He had a great way of cupping the base of the bottle in his hand with the neck pointed back up his forearm. That gives real control over the bottle. Something we have struggled with for years!
We were in fine form, swapping self-deprecating stories and comments and mingling these with mild abuse. Then it is smoke time for Michael and Will, so we have to move outside. We offered our seats to a party of French people who had steadily wandered in and crowded the bar. Offering them the seats in French caused the usual electric shock when people realise that you may have understood their conversation. Luckily for them whatever insults they had used about us were either too quietly spoken or in a slang neither Will nor I could understand. But it's always fun surprising people by speaking their language.
As for the insults foreigners use it was something we were pretty blind to, as we were only abusing each other. And outside over a smoke or two for some reason we had a whale of a time. It worked and it worked well. We only had two beers but the conversation flowed and we had fun. Maybe it was getting away from the group for the first time. Maybe it was the night air. Whatever it was, it was welcome.
Someone got hungry and decided we should head back to the hotel for supper. We went back inside and looked at photos of AW Wilson from the days of the Raj. Dead tigers and stern faces, dead elephants and long dead colonialists. A time long past. One we do not feel guilty about because we weren't there, nor were our fathers, nor or grandfathers.
It was comforting that the hotel was happy to have all these pictures of the past. Whatever ills there were from colonialisation there didn't seem to be any grudge. It was not used as an excuse. India seems to be growing so fast, to be so Indian, it has outgrown those times. That is such a refreshing approach, so now we can enjoy what is there today. And a lot is there today and there is a lot to enjoy.
Leaving the hotel we somehow remember the umbrellas and pattered up the sodden streets till we found a tuc-tuc. From the line of available machines the one at the head of the queue was the one that had taken us to the Spice Garden. So we bargained with him for the fare back then at the end of the trip gave him a 100% tip, which is always a fun way to do business.
We were the last at supper and wandered around another hotel buffet. It was always fun stocking a plate with multitudes of different tasters. They were all good but they somehow seemed to end up a a mush in the middle of the plate by the end. Whatever colours there were starting out, it all ended up brown, as any 5 year old finger painter can tell you.
It was really not difficult going with the Kerala cut out, which is a silly way of saying that in the State of Kerala the sale of alcohol is highly restricted. So most hotels did not serve booze. But that would probably have been a bad thing for the happy state we were in. We continued having a gas over supper. Fluffy foolishly wandered past and we shanghaied her into suffering our table banter.
She told us about the final day and a boat organised to take us around the lake at Cochi, well the lake and the backwater.
For some reason, probably because of the teenager in him, Michael giggled, then Will started and then it got infectious. Will is highly contagious. The reason for laughing was quickly and completely lost, the laughing took on a life of its own. Viral fun. Poor Fluffy took it in her stride, there was a world we were living in that she did not completely understand, which was smart of her because none of us did.
So we descended to our rooms on the edge of the marsh where legions of nocturnal flutterings clouded our porches.
There was probably a party in one of the rooms, but it was too hard and seemed a little desperate to go and find it, so it was an earlish night.
Steve had taken a sleeping pill and failed to wake as I bumbled around the room, which reeked of the incense. But just before hitting the sack I turned out the light on our porch, guessing that Chris had left his on. Between the incense stick and the lack of light on our porch we avoided any bites, well any that we noticed.
Excellent as normal
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