India: Part Two of the Adventure of a Lifetime
By MARIE BRUCE
My next adventure on my recent trip to India began when I said goodbye to my group in Delhi and branched out on my own for the rest of my journey.
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MARIE BRUCE savouring the tranquility of a boat tour through the canals known as “the Venice of India.” It was a welcome interlude from the madness of the rest of India.
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I planned to extend my trip by another two weeks and tackle a bit of the south of India, then fly home from Trivandrum. When I first arrived in Delhi, I booked a second class air conditioned train ticket to Ernakulam – it is a staggering three thousand kilometers, taking two nights and three days on the Kerala express.
India Railways is the largest employer in the world and well-known for moving millions of people all over the country daily and one of the great legacies of the Raj period. It covers the length and breadth of India and the timetable is a thick tome which would challenge anyone’s powers of concentration.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to tackle that because I had my reservation and all I needed was to buy a pillow and a few snacks and, of course, a sturdy chain to secure my case to my seat.
I wedged my case and pillow into an auto tuk tuk and sped off to Delhi train station – I imagined a Victorian edifice with some western refinements. However, it was the usual India chaotic scene of throngs of people, all carrying on the business of daily life right on the tracks.
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TEA PICKERS up in Kumily in the Western Ghats region of India.
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People were washing from a hose, eating, shaving, cooking and ear cleaning, all while waiting for the trains and in view of the world. One is constantly diverted and continually amazed at the sights and sounds of India, and none more so than at Delhi Station.
If there were tea rooms and waiting rooms, I didn’t see them – there was a deluge of faces, porters, shouting, dirt and pollution. My case was immediately grabbed by a porter with a red band on his sleeve who looked at my ticket and motioned me to follow.
Up over a dodgy iron bridge and down on to the side of the tracks where we waited amid the fumes and dirt. The minute the train appeared, I was hustled on to my compartment and my case safely stowed and chained under the seat.
I was very fortunate to have a young Indian man who worked for the civil service as my travel companion. His English was perfect and he was intensely interested in the world and shared his views freely on all topics.
I was able to get the low down on arranged marriages, still very much the practice in India today. Canada’s reputation as being the best place in the world to live is well-known in India and he envied me greatly living in such a wonderful place.
As the day wore on, people settled in for the long journey – the men wearing dhotis and the women in their usual comfortable attire. Noisy chai vendors came along slopping tea around in small plastic cups, the usual chewing of betel leaves and clearing of throat continued apace.
I imaged myself reading and looking at the changing scenery, however I had become a tourist attraction. I was the only westerner on board at that time and a woman on my own. Everyone stopped to chat and quiz me about my journey, where were my sons, and husband??? And why was I travelling on my own.
Station after station appeared, we often stopped and more vendors came on board selling food, water, peanuts and papers. Rubbish piled up on the aisles and the one awful toilet was never cleaned. The air was foul and my skin and clothes were filthy – I began to doubt my sanity for undertaking such a long journey.
I couldn’t resist asking my companion why people would accept this dangerous lack of hygiene, he shrugged his shoulders – no one seemed to mind – the Indian travelers are a stoic lot.
We sped on through the day and night. The countryside was flat and dun colored, just the odd water buffalo, villages, and the searing heat beating down. Stopping at the stations provided the only colour and excitement as people scrambled to get on and off to buy food and drinks and exercise their legs.
I stayed on the train thereby avoiding the constant demands of beggars and vendors. I lost my appetite and managed to survive the journey on bottled water and bananas. An Italian nun got on the train and on one of my exercise walks we started to chat.
She told me she was running a home for abandoned baby girls in a remote hill village with the help of only two other nuns and could only accommodate them up to the age of 13 – I realized I had met someone with a very worthwhile cause and was able to donate to her mission – she was very grateful but said confidently “God Always Provides.”
I arrived in Ernaculan with one thing on my mind – a shower and a clean bed. I had arranged to have a car and driver meet me and all my hotels were booked for the 10 days of travelling around. My driver, whose name was Jobi had his own agenda.
It took us a day to come to an understanding that even though I was a woman travelling alone, I was not a “push-over.” His continued questions about money and how much he might expect for a tip started to bother me – so I responded – no more mention of money or NO TIP.
It worked like a charm and from then on he drove me all over the south of India in great comfort and safety. I felt like the proverbial memsab as we drew up to the hotel and my driver went to announce me at the reception, I never had to carry my battered old suitcase.
The south of India is a feast to the eyes and completely different in every way from the north. It is a lush tropical paradise. The people are very friendly and laid back. Kerala has the highest literacy rate in India and has a huge Catholic population.
The south is very densely populated, yet the poverty is not as crushing. There were schools and happy children everywhere. It had been settled and resettled by Europeans, all vying for the spice trade, who left behind many ancient churches and less spicy food.
I had an action packed 10 days and every day I enjoyed encounters with the local people, tried different dishes, visited spice plantations and indulged in Ayurvedic massages. We often passed groups of women in beautiful coloured saris walking along the road on their way to work as tea pickers.
The drive up to the Cardamom Hill to the high ridges and tropical forest was glorious. I stayed two days in Kumily, nestled amid mist covered hills and dense jungle. I visited tea plantations and wandered around watching the women pluck the tea leaves.
The air was so fresh and the surroundings so stunning, I felt I could live there. We drove over to Trekkadi to visit the famous Periyar Tiger Reserve – a very complicated process requiring early morning line-ups, limited tickets, boat rides and a huge surcharge for foreign guests.
It had to be done and we saw wild elephants from the boat. I was booked on an overnight Backwater Tour in a converted rice boat out of Allepey. Jobi drove me down to the Malabar Coast to join the tour.
Imagine my horror when I discovered I was the only guest on the boat with four staff to meet my modest needs. I overcame my “discomfort” and settled down to enjoy the tour through the back water – touted as the Venice of India.
The boat was beautifully furnished with wicker chaise lounges and complete with an ensuite bathroom. The gentle and kind staff made me feel at home and consulted me about every meal and pointed out all the historic churches and places of interest as we glided along the canals.
Life along the sliver of land which formed the banks was ever changing and looked idyllic, it was paradise, although a lonely one for me. I awoke the next morning to a beautiful sunrise and a dawn filled with bird song and kingfishers darting about. I shall treasure my memories of this unique and tranquil interlude from the madness of the rest of India.
Soon it was time to head down to Kovalan Beach to say goodbye to Jobi and hand over the promised tip. I had two days to relax and enjoy the beach and to prepare for the long journey back to Canada.
I jumped for joy when I arrived in Vancouver and George was waiting for me, it felt wonderful to be home. India is an adventure of a lifetime and I barely tipped the surface of that amazing country.
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Marie Bruce is originally from Kilcock, County Kildare in Ireland. She has lived in Vancouver for the past 35 years and she and her husband George have three grown children.
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