The biggest hoax

After an early rise the day before I decided to take things slow and took my time for grooming and indulging in the great breakfast buffet with muesli, pancakes, fresh fruit juice and younameit. Then I packed and went down to the lobby. Remembering I should check in for my flight at half past twelve at night I sat down at one of the computers and logged on to the Singapore Airlines website.

It didn't work. I got the error message that internet check-in would only be available 2 to 48 hours ahead of the flight, I should try again later. But I was in that time frame! - Wasn't I? I checked the date of my flight: December 13. I looked at my watch: December 13. It dawned on me my plane was already on the way, at that point somewhere between Singapore and Seoul!

My mistake dated back to the bookings I did back in Vancouver. I had foolishly assumed the flight out of Mumbai on December 13 at 00:30 would be leaving at the end of that day and booked the connecting domestic flight from Delhi to Mumbai accordingly around 17:00 on December 13. During my stay in India I had repeatedly reviewed the dates, using the sheet with the reservations for all domestic connections whenever I flew around, and trying to get in touch with Singapore Airlines in order to change my seat selection for the return flight (this never worked out due to busy phone lines). Still I wouldn't notice that I couldn't possibly fly to Mumbai in the afternoon and touch down in Singapore in the morning of the same day! - It turned out that the biggest hoax of my trip I played on myself.

I tried calling the Delhi office of Singapore Airlines, but the line was still busy, so I decided to take a taxi to the international airport and figure things out there, hopefully not having to go back into town. A 45 minute taxi ride took me there with all my luggage.

The airline offices lined the mazelike hallways of three buildings outside the international terminal. A 7 year old got 10 Rupees for showing me to Singapore Airlines, but they couldn't help me as their flights had a seat availability of a negative number... I needed a different airline. My next choice was Air Canada, but I learned they were no longer represented at the airport. The helpful guys at Lufthansa could finally make a booking of a swift connection via Frankfurt leaving the same night (3 AM) for around 1800.- CAD, stretching their working hours into the lunch break. (That was after going round at Swiss, considering the option of staying a couple of days in Switzerland and meeting my family. However, this would have been about twice the price for some reason.) - I considered myself lucky to be able to leave basically on the same day not wouldn't have to wait in Delhi for who knows how long, since at this time of year the flights are usually full up to the toilet seats!

I would have to buy the tickets prior to check-in, and I wouldn't get allowed in the terminal before 11:30. - I had to wait for 11 hours. I certainly didn't feel like sightseeing anymore (I had planned to see the Fort in Delhi that afternoon), all I wanted was an internet lounge where I could write my blog and inform my plantwatering neighbor, but most importantly check the balance of my credit card whether it was sufficient for the ticket purchase!

Believe it or not, there was no public internet access at the airport. Someone recommended to go to the Centaur hotel, a five minute drive. I found it in the middle of nowhere, an utterly posh airport hotel with a 10 story tall lobby. After explaining my situation to the receptionists they decided I should talk to the manager. He didn't seem too friendly, but he opened the door to a back office and started to get a computer ready to work on. I asked him about the rate. "200 Rupees an hour." Very well then. I asked him to please call me a cab.

The 3 minute drive cost 100 Rupees. I didn't have much of a choice but to accept their service, advice and condescending treatment. I entered the small cybercafe they had pointed out: 15 Rupees an hour... That's more like it! However, those computers ran on Windows 98 and the headsets didn't work. After much empty-handed tech support by the staff I finally left the place and asked around, but nobody knew a different internet place in the area. I stopped a cab. It basically took me just around the corner and dropped me at a solid cybercafe chain, the same one I had already used in Trivandrum! There I could finally call my credit card company in Switzerland and have them raise my limit. There would have been no backup plan for this solution.

There I stayed until they closed at 22:00. Hungry as I was I just walked in the first restaurant I found in the high traffic and low appeal area, and it turned out to be pretty exclusive, with a plasma screen and live music. One last time I wanted to go for a traditional vegetarian Indian dish and ordered paneer with tomato. - It was simply delicious. Silky texture, well-rounded spice, beautiful color. The nan bread was a delight, too! Why couldn't all the food of the last three weeks have been like this?

Back at the airport I got in line with tall Teutons for my Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. But it wouldn't be until 4:00 until we could finally board the plane, just to wait another hour until the plane would finally start moving to the runway. then it taxied out for so long I thought we were gonna drive to Germany. - Eventually we took off.

A kind air hostess had offered me to move from the jarred front to an area in the back of the plane with plenty of free seats. After much consideration I asked a guy sitting in alone in the 4seater row in the middle of the plane whether he had planned to lay down, and surprisingly he agreed to switch with the two seats next to the window that I had claimed. - I slept for the whole flight stretched out across the immensely uncomfortable seats (the old fashioned Lufthansa chairs are among the worst inventions of the 20th century, ranking not too far behind the nuclear bomb).

Despite the delay there was ample time for catching the Air Canada flight to Toronto. For some reason however we ran late again, making it impossible to catch the connection to Vancouver. They sent me on the flight one hour later, but as I found out afterwards waiting at the baggage claim in Vancouver failed do the same for my suitcase. The keys to my apartment were in there, but luckily my plantwatering neighbor was home to let me in.

The backwards culture shock set in waiting around at the airports: It's amazing how much space western people take up. Everything looked new. There was a budget and scheduled time to neatly decorate baggage service desk with Christmas ornaments.

Although I had wasted a brand new dress shirt, two pairs of sandals, two bags, one domestic and three international flights, it was a rewarding trip after all. I was in a car accident in Mumbai. Puked secretly into the sheets of a sleeper train. Swam with jellyfish. Had a third world X-ray. Got tickled by an elephant. Got my neck cracked at a barber shop. And I managed to picture the Taj Mahal with no people around.

A friendly scam

I checked out of the hotel at around 5:45 and went to the East gate of the Taj Mahal, I wanted to be first in line! I was almost a bit disappointed to see there were no other people. Finally a couple got in line behind me, waiting for the ticket booth to open. Their clock ran ten minutes late, but at least they opened on time accordingly.

The mysterious black silhouette of the mausoleum rose into the dark gray morning sky. A prayer chant followed, unlocatable, all around.

With hardly any people on the site, no fountains running and long exposure times I could get some good shots of the monument. - Due to the fog there was no sunrise, the scene just got uniformly brighter. Then, at 8:20, the clouds parted a bit, and the white marble assumed the bright yellow color of the sun. Time for some more long shots before the fountains started running (and spoiling the reflection) 20 minutes later! The light wouldn't last long, so I decided to leave the enclosure and go for breakfast at Joney's.

When I returned afterwards I found the situation hadn't changed much, so I left again through the East gate. A herd of massive brown buffaloes came passing. A boy explained they were headed for a "shower", a bath in the river. I didn't follow but went the other way, taking pictures of the animals that trudged along spread out into several small groups. An animal at the very end of the herd suddenly stopped. It had spotted what appeared to be a calf, standing at around 50 meters off the street. The buffalo grunted loudly, then charged at the young cow, followed by the peasant that escorted the end of the procession. The bull stopped in front of the cow without getting a reaction. At this point the farmer had caught up with the runaway and used his bat to bring the bull back on track. The animal followed the command unwillingly at first, but then all of a sudden started running down the street after the rest of the herd, nudging over a parked moped. He eventually slowed down its pace a bit, just to surprisingly charge at terrified pedestrians here and there, with the cowboy trailing behind at quite a distance.

It was still foggy, and for the first time on my trip a couple of raindrops fell. I took a taxi to the Red Fort, where my first strike was to haggle down 4 AA batteries from 400 to 150 Rupees (I pretty much ended up changing the batteries daily). A guide offered his services, but I declined. I found there was ample information in the LP travel guide and on the signs on the campus. - The enclosure was enormous, rounding 2,5 kilometers in circumference, but only a corner of it contained buildings (the rest of the site was actually closed off to visitors due to maintenance), but really I can't even begin to imagine what it must have looked like with all the building still standing, before the English had destroyed them. The remaining buildings were featured a maze of rooms and halls of mixed architectural styles. Some parts for instance were extended with white marble by Taj builder Shah Jahan, who was finally imprisoned there by his son. - The gloomy fog only added to the mystic mood of the place.

Upon leaving the fort I felt like I had deserved a good lunch. I followed the recommendation of a slim and smiley cycle rickshaw guy and ended up in a rather noble place with a bamboo interior. The Mughal Chicken there was mild and tasty but not as rich as I expected. Anyway, it pleased my tummy so that was good. Premi the rickshaw guy had waited outside and wanted to bring me around some souvenir shops on the way back. He explained he would get commission even if I didn't buy anything. He played with open cards, and I liked that. Besides, I had no other plans and the weather wasn't too inviting, so what the hay. I entered the shop with absolutely no intention of buying anything, but then I was impressed by the quality of the bedspreads, pillow covers and the silk scarves. I had hardly seen anything like it during my stay in India. I pondered a long time while the shop assistants kept spreading more and more stuff on the floor for evaluation. Finally I took a decision and haggled hard, starting with a very low price in order to then raise my offer, but including more items. However, this seller turned the table. While I would usually turn my back and walk away in order to have the seller run after me with a cheaper offer, now he played offended and started packing up his merchandise when I told him my final offer. In the end I couldn't get below 20% off. - And the same thing happened at the next store: I couldn't think of anything I wanted to buy nor did I want to spend any more money, but then the stuff here was even nicer! I felt I could have haggled a lot better (the seller's ready-to-shake-hand darted forward a bit all to quickly when I told him my final price), but I was already quite worn. - Premi told me he would get 2% commission off my purchase. I was actually happy for him.

These cities of the north sure had some elaborate scams in stock, I read about some that can really get you in trouble. On the other hand I enjoyed how Jaipur and Agra weren't too crowded. There was definitely a lot of pollution, but compared to Mumbai the air seemed a lot fresher.

After yet another meal at Joney's I went to the hotel to pick up my suitcase. A young couple from England, Rory and Bonny, were heading for the 20:30 train to Delhi too, so we shared a motor rickshaw. The train was late again. While we waited on the platform there were several power blackouts and countless beggar kids. In the darkness they could have easily emptied the fruit seller's stand, but they didn't. I thought that was remarkable.

My hotel in Delhi was within walking distance from the train station, so I could proudly stride past all the taxi wallahs (the first taxi driver actually wouldn't wait for people to get off the train but came on and tried to sell his services while people were leaving). Along the way there were even people trying to hook me up with "cheap" hotels. They didn't understand when I told them I had already paid for my room, which was actually true, but it somehow shut them up. By the way, the room was basically the same price as the one I had in Mumbai. Both were central, came with AC and breakfast. But here the market was really saturated indeed. Almost every building along the street was a hotel, and when mine came along it was by far the best deal I had on my trip: Tightly fitted marble from the lobby to the top. You could choose between a stylish spiral staircase and a glass elevator on the outside of the building. Lots of efficient, professional staff, with cleaners ceaselessly cleaning in circles. In this world everything was brand new.

Poison and prayers

After a bit of sleep on the train to Agra I woke up to stomach cramps. I was in the top berth, so moving wasn't easy and I decided to just go back to sleep, hoping it would dissipate. Before doing so I tried to remember what I had consumed that would cause a tummy ache. I had avoided snack stands for the last two days, ate healthy food, had no fruit juice that could be suspected of containing tab water. The water! All of a sudden I realized my negligence when I had purchased the two liters of water after leaving the restaurant last night: I membered having seen unlabeled bottles in the fridge of the dirty little corner store, and when I filled one into my bag-sized drinking bottle and handed it to the guy behind the counter for disposal (for once not crushing it as I always did), he removed the label with routine and threw the bottle onto a pile. How could I not have been suspicious that the seal of the bottle was reattached? I was prone to a completely crudely performed scam of tab water sold as mineral water! - And I had already drunken more than a liter of that stuff before going to the train station.

Still I didn't move, feeling weak and pinned down on the bed by the stomach ache. I managed to sleep some more until someone tapped my arm: It was the old lady from the berth below, telling me it was 6:30. She and her husband were ready to leave. I had a memory of an arrival time after 8:00, and the train was late, too. The couple must have been overanxious. I still didn't feel any better and decided to go to the toilet and see what happens. I had to poop, that much was for sure. But when I got up a bit (I was just below the ceiling) I got suddenly nausea and had to act quick.
So I puked into some folded bed sheets, nicely and quietly in order not to disturb any sleeping passengers. - Following through with my plan to go to the washroom I climbed down and put my shoes on, but when I went for the toilet the train stopped and mounting passengers with luggage came the other way. Finally I could push my way through, enter and lock the toilet, just to find I didn't feel all that sick anymore. I still had to poo, but was hesitant to do so for the matter that the train had stopped. Indian train stations already smelled bad enough I thought. I reflected for a moment, then opened the door again and asked what train station we were at. "Agra Fort." - Oh boy. A generous squirt of adrenaline pulled me right up and I rushed back to my berth, grabbed my jacket, hat and bag (that I had given to the elderly couple for custody but which were already gone at this point) and left the train. Immediately a cab driver approached me, and I followed him out of the crowded station and across the busy street to his motor rickshaw. That's when I realized that my left hand wasn't pulling a suitcase... It was still on the train! At top speed I ran all the way back, jumped on the train, pulled my suitcase from under the seat (while baffled eyes were watching for a second time) and went off again... Whew. Somehow the taxi driver managed to keep track of me in the course of all this, so we repeated the walk to the taxi once more.

Being happy to have gathered all my belongings in time before the train departure I rewarded the taxi driver somewhat generously for the short trip to the hotel. That was a mistake, because now he would insist in arranging a time for a sightseeing tour later the day. Finally I had him write down his number so he would leave me in peace.

The hotel room had a smoky smell to it, most of which adhered to the woolen bed covers. It was basically clean but cold, making it a bit hard to catch up with my sleep.

I woke up around 13:30 and found I had regained some power (I had started the antibiotic again before going to sleep). I put on some more clothes, shuffled to the open air hotel restaurant and ordered an apple-only fruit salad and a tea. The weather situation was somewhere between overcast and foggy, which was apparently nothing unusual for Agra. - I only picked a few slices of apple and took the rest of the dish back to my hotel room. Eventually I left the hotel and walked up the street towards the East gate of the Taj Mahal. No motorized vehicles were allowed within 500 meters of the monument, so only a few bikes, pedestrians and cattle moved about between the low buildings of souvenir shops and snack stands. All of a sudden I felt pretty sick again, but I had to take a decision: Pay 750 Rupees to go see the Taj with the chance of an eventual retreat or go straight back to the hotel now? - I got myself a ticket and entered through the gate.

I discovered the Taj is more than a white marble building, the mausoleum is part of a much greater composition aimed to amplify the beauty of the center piece and turn it into an enigma. At no point will you stand opposite of it, you're always within it, and being part of it it's impossible to comprehend it. - Entering through one of the gates, East, South and West, you're led onto a square with four tall trees. A generous space already. You're drawn towards the much bigger gate in the North, adorned with domes and blind windows. The red structure actually contains two gates in sequence for it measures around 20 meters in depth. And there you see it when you approach: The white mausoleum fills the entire gap! The large size of the gate through which you're looking and the great distance at which the mausoleum must be standing lets you guess its enormous scale. As you pass through the first gate you start seeing the shapes of the three white domes, then the "smaller" towers. Only after passing the second gate you finally see the edge of the base and the front towers as well. But now you also find the domes of the mausoleum echo from behind the trees in the park at your feet: The red mosques in the East and the West. But those buildings are almost entirely concealed from view, so again you don't see everything, set aside from the part you've already left behind you! Standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the park you find yourself leveled with the entrance of the mausoleum in the distance. At this point its reflection fits precisely the fountain that stretches across the center of the park. You go down the stairs and walk behind a line of pole shaped shrubs that line the water. Halfway there you want to rest on the platform in the middle of the garden. It's slightly elevated but still much lower than the mausoleum. Now the marble structure is huge, filling your view like a cinemascope screen when sitting in the front row, dwarfing the modestly waiting gate behind you. - You advance further, but now the mausoleum vanishes behind its base for there are no front steps up. You need to walk alongside to find a few red steps leading you onto the first platform, just between the mausoleum and the mosque in the West. (At this point you are either barefoot or wearing the shoe covers you received.) You walk back to the center, looking up at the minarets towering above you. There you find another small staircase, covered and running sideways. It's part of the second pedestal made of marble. Now you're up there. Here you can enjoy the view of the garden in the South, but you're much too close to the mausoleum to see it. All you can do now is enter and dive into the obscure sea of visitor voices on the inside. Only little light is admitted through the marble screens in the sides of the octagon shaped room, and after your eyes got accustomed to the darkness, you realize it's actually not all that big. It feels official but intimate. It's a dome inside a dome. - Again you don't see everything. Inside the octagon shaped and elaborately adorned marble shape in the center of the room lie two graves, the one for his wife Mumtaz Mahal in the middle, Shah Jahan's own - absurdly against all rules of symmetry - offset to the left side, on a pedestal.

I was happy to find that I didn't feel sick anymore, so I decided to keep strolling around until nightfall to see the light change, but also to allow myself to get hungry again. I offered people to take their picture in front of the monument, but all of a sudden strangers insisted in having their picture taken together with me.

On a pathway in the garden two cows are bridled in front of a cart, with their horns painted green. A gardener gives me a virtually non-verbal explanation. I understand the color is a code for the "profession" of the cows, in this case it's gardening. I start scratching the the front of one cow, and the other one approaches too for some TLC. Then the first one lowers her head so I could scratch her neck.

I left through the South gate and asked someone for a good restaurant, which lead me a few steps further to Joney's place. This place was tiny. It had only five tables, one of which was currently used by three teenager boys as a kitchen extension. Joney, a friendly roundish guy, cooked me some rice, along with a fresh lemon soda and a delicious banana lassi. I told him about my upset stomach, and he explained with great seriousness that he was Muslim, prayed five times a day, and would always include his customers in his prayers.

After the meal I got really sleepy, stumbled back to the hotel and went straight to bed. It wasn't late at all, but after all I had plans to see the Taj again in the morning. The doors would open at 6:00!

On top of Jaipur

I was just about to embark to on a motor rickshaw trip to Choti Chaupar, an intersection in the old city from where I wanted to continue my walking tour I had stopped the other day, when all of a sudden another guy climbed into the vehicle. He'd be going in the same direction, said the driver, whether it's OK if he joined me. So it happened that I would spend the day together with Doug from San Francisco, technical writer for Apple. A slim red haired man, 42 years of age but looking at least 10 years younger. His face seemed to say something between "seen it all!" and "too scared to try!". - Initially it was his plan to go straight to the palace, but then he changed his mind and joined me walking the last few hundred meters. I enjoyed picking up the groove of the early morning city, getting some bottled water and indulging in a glass of fresh pineapple juice until stepping up to the entrance of the palace.

All in all there wasn't too much to see there as most of the interiors were closed off to the public. We had a look at some elaborate antique clothing and a courtyard featuring four doors with designs of symbolic meaning. The most memorable thing were a couple of super sized (6 foot tall) silver vessels, used by a certain Maharaja for taking some holy Ganges water to Britain on his journey.

The royal observatory was only step and a half away from the palace. Now this was a terrific sight. There was no telescope, no lens or machinery, the observatory was actually more like a football field sized sundial clock, am open air facility obviously. By building larger sundials they could obtain an accuracy of up to 20 seconds. There were constructions for astrological time, zodiac, ascendant, inclination of the sun etc. - We hired a guide to have all the details explained to us.

Doug inquired cautiously whether I mind if he still joined me for lunch. He was very easygoing and accommodating, so I didn't mind his company at all. We decided to check out OMB, a vegetarian place. The food was fine, but an excessive amount of waiters were pacing around bored, and eventually "our" guy hovered over me with bulged eyes while I was paying my bill, expecting a tip. - I didn't do him the favor.

It was already past 14:30 when we took on my plan to get a ride to the edge of the city and hike up to Tiger Fort. We hired a cycle rickshaw boy. Showing a map to any taxi driver had always turned out to be somewhat pointless and caused more confusion than shed light into the situation, but still I thought it might be helpful in this case. The boy didn't talk much at all but seemed to get the point. He went off in the right direction, then took a slant to the right off the course, eventually leaving the city through the wrong gate and continuing on and on. Talking to him from the back didn't seem to help, and we basically had to knock him off his seat to make him stop. We showed him the map again, but he just remained in mute apathy. We went across the street to flag down a motor rickshaw (in order to make up for time) that came the other way. There are no meters in Jaipur, and the first guy to stop asked for a 100 Rupees, but soon after that we had someone agree to 50 Rupees which sounded a lot more like it. Again there was some discussion about where and what, but eventually he took us swiftly to the outskirts of Jaipur, a village of goats, pigs and flying garbage. We started walking uphill and soon left the last buildings behind us. The fort above us had moved into proximity, and only a few bends of the stony path would bring us there. But first we had to stop and marvel at the fantastically maze-like rectangular pattern of the city that stretched out at our feet! There were almost no landmarks, just tightly woven structures with tiny people strewn across the roofs. We were a bit at a loss of how to frame such endless richness with our cameras, but eventually we managed to move on, and shorty after 15:00 we had reached the top. A few white cows greeted us after entering the outer enclosure. Where we had expected a ticket booth, at the gate to the the inner wall, some sort of cat door lead us in without further ado.

After a short walk on the defense wall we made it to the palace. Much like in Amber where a palace was part of the fort just next to the main palace they had apparently felt the need for another palace in this fort, too. - Here at last was the ticket booth. With almost no other tourists around the only guide on the site offered us his service. He seemed OK, so I went for the deal. It turned out he had high aspirations in photography and more often than not gave us detailed instructions of where and how to take pictures of the building. The latter contained basically a suite for the king and 12 separate identical suites for his wives. Many of its ornaments, mainly the cornices, featured abstract vulval illustrations. So what we had here was the private brothel of a rich hillsitter, defended by eunuchs and cannons. - Talk about machismo.

We had returned to the inner city by nightfall, walked right across it and continued on until we reached the "Copper Chimney", a restaurant that was recommended in both our guides. It had a nice interior, but the chicken tandoori I ordered was actually a burger.

I had plans to catch the 2:00 night train to Agra, so I grabbed 2 liter of waters from the next corner store before taking a taxi back to the hotels. The driver offered he would send his brother to pick me up at 1:20 (the station wasn't far at all, but 40 minutes would give me enough time to look for a backup vehicle if he was a no-show). I said bye to Doug and retreated to my hotel. I had already checked out of my room in the morning, but they had a pretty cozy lounge with internet access, sound system, library, washrooms etc. in the back of the building, so I logged on there.

1:20. All hotel stuff had already left, but I could retrieve my suitcase in a shed and open the main gate, stirring up two freezing men in woolen covers that had rested against the wall of the hotel property. They loaded my suitcase and took me to the train station. We didn't talk about the fare until we stopped; I suggested 60 Rupees, a fair price considering the distance and the time of day. The stared at me in surprise: "No, 300!" Apparently they seriously expected me to cough up 300 for having waited in the cold for three hours, and apparently there was some miscommunication with the brother about the price. I explained that their business wasn't my concern, I would just pay for what I got, a 7 minute ride to the station. I didn't understand why it would take two guys to drive a taxi in the first place. Still feeling a bit sorry for them I gave them 100 and left the taxi, but now one guy came after me telling me they wanted 300 or nothing, attempting to return the 100 Rupees to me. Hassles! I turned and headed for the station.

The platform was crowded. People huddled around a display box with a tattered printout featuring a list of reservations. I had a look and didn't find my name, but even if I did the list wouldn't tell me anything else than the information I already found on my ticket. What I needed to know was: Where would my coach be standing after the arrival of the train? Nobody spoke English. Eventually one guy understood me and, asking the food sellers on the platform, he could point out the spot. - The train turned out to be late. Its announcement played over and over, tightening up the atmosphere on the expecting platform. Finally: A single bright light, approaching slowly and almost unnotably like an approaching meteor.

I looked for my berth and found it occupied: An elderly couple (she was caucasian, he appeared to be asian) were waking up to my request. She explained they couldn't climb the stairs, so I quickly agreed to go for the top berth. That even turned out to work out to my favor, too as the bed were short and my feet were sticking out into the corridor, but on a level higher than most of the passengers' heads. I had already put on my sunglasses and headphones in order to doze off when someone disturbed me: The guy with the ticket for the top berth. I didn't react much and simply let the old lady in my berth take care of it.

Being led

That was just what I wanted: A great breakfast buffet with porridge, cereal, fresh fruit juice, omelett and lots of other tasty treats. The place had big windows with a view of the garden and the pool and the waiters were very attentive. I certainly did a couple of passes round the buffet, but after finishing breakfast didn't lose much time, grabbed my bag and stepped out on the street. A highway actually, with no shops or pedestrians, just traffic. Two cows were quietly walking down a lane, getting passed by buses and cars. I started wondering if there was any chance of catching a cab out here, but before I could finish my thought a motor rickshaw stopped and the silhouette of a driver waved at me.

His introduced himself as Justin. He could have passed for a pirate with his beard and rough voice. Maybe it was also in his quick reactions and easygoing attitude. "Amber" I told him quite simply is where I want to go, but didn't mind when he made unasked stops on the way: On an intersection where I got a view of the Tiger Fort, in front of the Palace of the Wind and at a viewpoint of the Water Palace. After we rusty vehicle had climbed the hills in the North quite slowly and noisily he dropped me off without charge and said he'd wait until I come back; there would otherwise be no taxi opportunities from Amber to Jaipur.

I took a look around: The view of the Amber Palace and the Jaigarh Fort in the morning sun was simply stunning. The Fort was stretching over the mountain top, watching over the Palace located at a lower level and further to the right. A protection wall connected numerous watchtowers on the surrounding hills. What kind of wealth and greed and war and labor this place must have seen!

I had only made a few steps towards the bottom gate when an official guide introduced himself. He wasn't the youngest, but looked sincere, with some kind of Clint Eastwood smile. He suggested 150 Rupees, which was a good price according to the LP travel guide. There were also elephant rides up the path to the palace, but I decided to walk. The path reminded me of a ghost train ride: Along the steps sat beggars, and when we apporached the silhouettes would start to move and howl.

Clint Eastwood turned out to be very patient (I always take some time when shooting pictures) and enduring, explaining things slowly and repeatedly (without asking). It seemed he really enjoyed his job as a proud facilitator of his heritage. He was also pleased to hear that I knew the story of Ganesh and Shiva. - While we were on a watchtower of the palace I asked him if it would be possible to go see the fort as well. It looked just too majestic up there on the hilltop and it couldn't be too far. - How much? I was surprised to hear "Same price."

We left the palace and took a right turn to the fort. For the fact that there was a traffic access on the back side of the enclosure this path was rarely travelled by tourists. In the early days the Maharaja would commute on these cobblestones by horse or elephant. But apart from the historic appeal the way also offered a number of beautiful views! - Which were a good excuse to take a breather. Much to my surprise my 57 year old guide actually didn't show much effort at all doing the climb in the hot midday sun.

The fort contained basically another palace, some room for all the army muscle, and a huge tank for water supply.

We had reached the end of our tour, all we would have to do now is go the same way back. But first I needed a snack at the restaurant up there. I repeatedly invited Clint for lunch, but he only asked for tea. The room was simple and very empty. I gave the waiter a bit of an attitude asking why there were no guests, and he immediately backed up the quality of the food with laminated press reports and pictures of the cook, as far as I understood a royal cook, a living legend and incredibly old. - It was very tasty indeed.

Back in the valley my guide also took me for a demonstration of vegetable color prints. This quite obviously served the purpose to get me in shopping mood in the stuffed handicrafts shop in the back, home to camel leather shoes, jewelery, statuettes etc. without end. They lured me to the very back with the prospect of seeing "the world's second largest Taj Mahal". And indeed, that thing made of white marble was huge. And not for sale. But the world's smallest Taj Mahal would be! - I told them they had the wrong guy and politely disappeared.

I handed Clint 300 Rupees, after all I had two tours.

Justin and his taxi were still waiting. Because he didn't want to miss my return he hadn't eaten and was a bit short tempered, so I gave him a banana I had bought for the way back. Although I had plans to follow the walking tour through the inner city and I was with less than 4 remaining hours of sunlight already a bit late for that matter I agreed to go round a carpet workshop on the way back. I got a relaxed tour of the facilities and a thorough explanation of the processes involved in the carpet production, followed by a presentation of some really nice carpets. But again, I told them: Not for me. They continued with a presentation of all kinds of silk fabrics, until Justin, hungry and all, interrupted: "Ok, let's go!" and pulled me out of there.

He dropped me at the gate to the Pink City. Like many people in Jaipur he told me to give him whatever I wanted and he would be happy with that. But apparently I was a bit too cheap, so he just demanded 1500.- Rupees.

I ventured into the bazaar-stricken city. Lots of workshops, cows, motorcycles. Eventually I passed at a barber shop and decided to go in. My hair needed a trim and I was unable to shave that morning because my razor had broken in my toilet case. I hadn't been to a hair dresser in more than a decade, so it was about time to get pampered again! And pampered I got. After the haircut and the shave the guy all of a sudden started to massage my arms, cracked every single of my fingers and my neck, too. Head massage, face massage, the full program.

There's something to be said about Indians: They're always impeccably groomed. You see poor people brush their teeth in the streets in the morning, some having their shave down by a roadside barber, sitting on the pavement. You won't find a messy neckline ever.

Relaxed and refreshed I left the shop again. The sun was already setting at this point, so I would have definitely to end my walking tour for the day. A Krishna temple was nearby and I went in. The caretaker, a short roundish guy with mustache, received me. Unfortunately there wasn't much to see. He took me up to the roof and flew a kite while we talked. Apparently everybody flies a kite in the evening breeze in Jaipur! Numerous paper squares joined the flocks of birds in the sky above. - He told me about his believe that his God would punish him if he ate meat, about his favorite Guru that could be in two places at once and so on. When I asked him about a good restaurant in the neighborhood he invited me to stay for dinner with his family, but I politely declined. Finally he tried to sell me some handicrafts in his art shop, but that didn't work out either. - A pattern emerged: The Jaipur way of dealing was obviously to involve visitors into a friendly conversation, then start showing handicrafts with "no pressure to buy", and if they didn't guilt-trip them with a disappointed look.

I left the old city and found my way to "Niro's", a somewhat uptight looking and pricey, but also friendly, fast and truly delicious restaurant.

After much discussion which way to go a bike rickshaw drove me in less than five minutes to the nearby internet cafe. Again a vexed look when I paid the guy 20 Rupees. - Just what did he expect? The motor rickshaw that finally brought me back to the hotel was also struggling finding the way. I was glad to finally get to rest... It had been a long and eventful day.

Hi Delhi! Bye Delhi!

I decided to leave my new sandals behind. For starters I don't even like sandals. I knew I wouldn't wear them back in Vancouver and I wouldn't need them in the cool North of India either. Besides, I got them wet at the Beach yesterday and so now they were SANDals indeed. - I grabbed my luggage and went to check out.

40 Rupees for half an hour of internet was too much, but I paid it anyway (at first I had even assumed the access to the one crappy computer in the corner was a courtesy of the hotel). I told the clerk I would like to talk to the manager, just to kindly tell her my opinion, but apparently that wouldn't be possible. - She was just in the room next door! I guess the clerk didn't want to be the bearer of bad news and gave me an email address instead.

Again I got a good window seat. This time it was crucial, flying basically all over India, South to North, and in the middle of the day! The only catch was that the guy in front of me snored like an ogre. - Approaching Delhi the view of the landscape beneath turned into an impenetrable gray towards the horizon. The guy next to me explained that wasn't smog, just fog, and that there would be a lot less pollution nowadays...

Well, the air was fresh, but by fresh I mean cool. Leaving tropical Kerala for this kind of climate almost gave me a feeling my vacation was already finished.

On the way to baggage check I started talking to a pretty Indian girl, and to my surprise I didn't get attacked by the mob, whiplashed and salted. She was a model and suggested I could go shopping in Delhi. But I had other plans: As soon as I had grabbed my bag I got myself a prepaid taxi to the New Delhi train station. In order to get a train out of Delhi I was advised to make a reservation in advance. However, as I had found out a couple of days before, that was only possible in person. So the question was now: Would there still be tickets? And if so, would I have enough time to get them?

The time frame of around 3 hours seemed rather generous, but first I had to find out that the calm and relaxed ticket office for foreigners - in a different part of the train station - would only issue tickets up to four hours in advance. Leaving me with the choice of one of the chaotic queues for long distance trains in the regular ticket hall: People in front were splashed up against the teller window, as if that would help getting their tickets faster. But then the knot unraveled and things started moving. - Eventually I could snatch my ticket to Jaipur for the 20:00 train, and used some of the remaining time for getting back to the oasis for foreigners and buying the other two tickets I would need for the rest of my journey.

I tried to convey a focused attitude moving through the crowded train station, but still people would still ask me where I'm going and what I wanted. I had been warned there were lots of scams and barked at them, feeling sorry afterwards... Maybe they really just wanted to help?

A bit to my surprise there were no shops to distract the armies of waiting people on the platforms, and the "refreshment room" was basically empty, too! - The waiters there were happy to have a customer, but the food was lousy. - When I got back some 45 minutes early I found the train already waiting, located my coach and got comfortable in one of the ruby benches of the my 1st class compartment. Everything was quite old but well maintained. - Soon an older Indian gentleman, Vijay, joined me and we chatted a bit, discovering that we stayed at the same hotel in Jaipur! And he had already a pickup organized, so that worked for me sweet.

There was dinner service on the train, I didn't really count on that! Afterwards I soon fell deeply asleep under shades and headphones, just to wake up at the precise arrival time of the train, 12:40. The train was 10 minutes late, so that was good timing.

I had picked a rather exclusive hotel, there was a lawn in front and a pool in the back, painted stucco and small pictures of traditional artwork on the walls of my room. Crisp sheets. Good night!

Getting lucky

Coming from Cochin I had plans to rent a bike again and pedal 20k to the beach, probably the one in Kovalam, South of Trivandrum. But this time finding the way wouldn't be that easy, and I remembered my dilemma from the night before. I didn't have a complete map and the receptionist thought I was talking about "reductions" of price for my room when I asked him for "directions" to the beach. What I did find out though: There was a second branch of the same hotel next to a beach North of the city. Two British gentlemen I had breakfast with (all the guests would sit around one big table) had plans to transfer there, so I simply jumped in their taxi.

It was unbelievable. The small hotel was the only resort around, and by coincidence there were simply no other guests! We had the place to ourselves. To myself, because the two brothers were busy checking in when I stepped out on the orange beach. Ahead a single fisher boat rested in the water, just to make the view perfect. More boats rested ashore further to the left and the right, and a couple of fishermen pulled a net out at a distance. Being straight as an arrow and vanishing at the horizon in both directions, the beach seemed to span around the planet. I went down to the water, and the blue-green waves asked me to play, jumping at me like a big dog.

Despite my somewhat lousy planning things had fallen into place. That's the beauty of it, I thought: Having a good time at the risk of getting burned. In one word: A challenge. Right now I got lucky. But speaking of getting burned: I wouldn't challenge the sun today and use some sunscreen.

When I came back from a long swim I had company from the British brothers. Boy, these two could talk! I enjoyed it, a day on the beach all alone would have been definitely all too lonely. And eventually they retreated to seek shade and gave me a brake. During the day the fishermen were resting out of sight, a few solitary dogs were straying about between the boats, crabs were out looking for small prey being washed up by the waves. A number of majestic eagles of what must have been close to a 2 meter wingspan were soaring overhead, looking for a fat crab. - Laying on the beach I heard the waves crash left to right like passing jet planes.

Eventually we had lunch and a couple of beers by the small swimming pool. - The Pomfred fish on my plate looked a bit like a roadkill but was tasty and crispy.

In mid-afternoon I went for another swim. The Arabian Sea of India. It was a curious notion that behind that horizon lied Africa. But both the Indian and the African nation would never take to the sea and thus remain strangers, while the Portuguese, the Dutch and the British would find their way to the subcontinent! I had learned from the brothers that most Indians can't even swim (now the interference of the ranger down at the river the other day made perfect sense) and that black Africans were absolutely rare in India and would get touched by the curious locals. - I was at about 200 meters out when I turned my head and saw something brown floating below the surface, about the size of a small bucket. A jellyfish? Dead? I looked again. It was a jellyfish indeed, and alive, swimming out to sea. Anyway, I had seen enough. Anything floating in the water would freak me out! One jellyfish meant many jellyfish. And what do you know, on my way back three more of those critters came the other way. Somehow I had managed not to bump into them on my way out.

One of the servants around the garden had been smiling at me all day, shy but flirtatious. She asked my name and introduced herself as Bindu. She hadn't heard of Canada or Switzerland and had also trouble understanding and making herself clear. However, reading an English text out loud didn't present any problems. After all Kerala has the best literacy rate of all of India, and English is very much enforced at schools. But apparently there's a lack of everyday use of the language, just like me and French. - If I would come back tomorrow? - No, sorry...

I said bye to the ocean, it would be a long time until I could immerge in it again, around here or anywhere else. I walked a few steps into the water, when two big waves arrived and got me wet up to my shoulders. - I ended up staying around until sunset and watched the fishermen push their boats into the water.

I got a transfer back to the city, showered and followed my Tourist Guide to a nearby restaurant. I thought those were vegetables along with the fish in the gravy. They were peppers. My throat was on fire, and a - albeit a bit slowly served - lassi (drinkable yoghurt) - finally brought relief.

Sandwich Day

Due to the early rise the day before I woke up early again. Although check out time was only at noon I had packed up my belongings a lot earlier and soon got to work with making changes to my trip in the North: I had talked to people and found out that Delhi would be worse than Mumbai and thus best to be avoided. A randomly met Delhi-native tourist guide recommended to run to Jaipur as soon as I get to the capital, and travel from there on to Agra, eventually having no more than one day in Delhi when getting back for the flight out of there.

Best first I would go see Trivandrum further South in Kerala. My flight was at 17:50, so there was still some time to kill. After taking care of my bookings and visiting "Salt & Pepper" once more for lunch I went to have another Ayurveda massage, but this time just for my foot. It was still a bit swollen and although the range of motion was getting a lot better there were still some constraints. To be honest: I'm not too fond of the Ayurvedic way, there was simply nothing else available. It's like softening the surface of a dried up clay statuette with water; it will blur the shapes and doesn't really work the structure of the body. - A guy in his 20s rubbed the ankle wherever I told him it hurt, and wouldn't let me go until I told him it was better... And when I walked away, I noticed that it was!

Then finally I paid a visit to the St. Francis church that was just next door from my homestay. It was more roomy than I thought, but not too big. I liked the plain white walls and the very simple design of the stained glass windows. In any case a lot less pretentious than the neighboring basilica that I had visited already two days ago.

And again I needed another bag. The one I had bought in Mumbai only about a week ago already lost zippers and couldn't keep his seams together. Going round in a shop on the way to the airport I found one with the same functionality albeit a bit bigger. But after all it's a product of Kerala. If it only lasts!

We drove through Ernakulam, the city on the mainland. - Nothing like the village of Fort Cochin. It screamed with capitalism. There were vast billboards of people with Indian features but very white complexion advertising silk, jewelery, food. Not just along the highway, but also in the town center, sometimes just too big too see. And stores with the entire front side of the building working as a shopping window: The street had become a sidewalk.

I was an hour ahead of time and used it for dinner. Uh, I was hungry! At that point I didn't know they were gonna serve a snack pack on the 40 minutes flight, so I gorged myself on the sandwiches of the snack bar at the gate. I wasn't able to get an earlier flight, so takeoff was at sunset. The plane rose to a level where it lined with a bank of clouds on the horizon, making the grayish blue land of dusk beneath look like a deep see landscape. Eventually dots of lights appeared in the deep. We sank and approached Trivandrum: The dots made the sea off the coast look like a starry sky. Fishermen.

Again I had arranged a pickup. I was surprised to find myself in an 8seater Opel with just 40000 kilometers. There were a lot of modern cars around, undented cars. And they didn't behave as pushy, either. Unlike I had guessed things were more accommodating down South!

The hotel featured a fancy marbel staircase (with a carved railing) and a giant room, its bathroom being big enough for an entire Basketball team to shower. However, the space was badly used, the sink and a tiny wooden cabinet being pushed into a corner. I unpacked the soap and wanted to dispose of the wrap. I found the garbage can in the corner at my feet, but with its pedal pointing away, so I bent down and banged my head against the corner of the cabinet. I was furious, mainly because this was so unnecessary given all this space! The cabinet didn't really hit my head, rather than scraping off a junk of my sunburned skin that had started peeling during the day. - I continued on to the shower and opened the tabs, but there was no hot water. I picked up the phone to call reception, but it didn't work. Rats! After a hefty complaint in person (take into consideration I didn't sleep a lot), the appliances soon did their job, and the tan of my face washed off like crusty makeup. - Tomorrow I would have another chance.

The area of the hotel (a mansion with only six rooms) was rather noble, a bazaar of advocats and doctors. No odors from the water drain along the alley that usually smelled of sewage and decay. But regardless, even here I saw a the shape of a jumbo sized rat run across the street and squeeze under a gate. - On my nightly stroll I noticed two things about the map I had: I had underestimated the scale, and there were streets missing on paper. I have a sound confidence in my sense of direction, but these bendy alleys that ran for hundreds of meters before the next junction appeared had me all mixed up. - I was happy to finally get back.

Big stuff

I slurped my banana shake and grabbed the bag with the fruit salad that my hosts had packed me for the trip. The driver of the white Ambassador introduced himself as Cletas, he was shortish stuck up to his armpits in his pants. - We drove off. The sun was rising over the Kotla players already warming up on the sports field of Fort Cochin.

A handful of waiting tourists had gathered at the water's edge of the shallow river. The atmosphere was peaceful, except for eventual blast that sounded across from the other bank: People were fishing. Then some excitement rose, and when I checked a trial size baby girl elephant shuffled down the path, accompanied by two trainers. It was really tiny, looked scrawny and shaky, with protruding bones and dry eyes. An explanation fell into place a bit later when I learned that all the elephants in the camp were orphans, picked up in the wild. - After a while a bigger youngster came along, followed by the rest, consisting of two large females and yet another cub. The animals started spraying water at themselves using their trunks for hoses. Then the trainers told them to lie down on the roundish rocks in the shallow water, a command they followed without protest. No wonder: They would get scrubbed thoroughly, head to toe, trunk to tail. The trainers used coconut shells for that, the inner bristles of the nut working like a brush. Soon some tourists joined the scrubbing frenzy, and the elephants didn't mind. They looked very relaxed, with their eyes rolled back, eventually dropping some junks of poop in the water. A trainer grabbed them and threw them out in the river. - "One side OK": After around 20 minutes the elephants were told to turn, and the some more scrubbing was due. - One of the big elephant ladies picked our pantlegs and inspected our feet with her trunk, and when one of the youngsters was done we posed for a picture together. The boy made sure I smiled by tickling my ear...

The animals started their procession back to the camp, and so did the people in their cars. Much like the staircases they have at airports there were steps for boarding an Elephant. 200 Rupees a ride. But really, they could have asked for anything. However, it turned out they failed to inform me I had to take my sandals off prior to mounting, so a trainer ripped them off and tucked my feet under the rope that worked as the elephant's collar (in order not to mess with the elephant's ears), much in a manner as if I was an elephant myself. I trumpeted back at him as my right foot was still in pain. And I was a bit worried about the fact that if the elephant flexed he could turn my feet to pulp like a ripe papaya. But regardless, the ride was memorable in a good way. Riding an elephant you pretty much sit on the top of his shoulder blades, so you constantly shift from side to side. - Cletas took pictures again, while being shy at first he now got pretty much into it and started making suggestions for better viewpoints once I had the camera back.

After the ride we occasionally observed how one of the elephants was put to work, stacking up a bunch of cut plants, picking it up and dragging it along a path. - That was impressive.

We stopped for lunch in a basic traditional restaurant in a small town. Supposedly it was a good place, but instead of a menu card it had a lot of flies, so I decided to move on. Eventually we had a tasty lunch with Kerala rice featuring jumbo sized grains.

The road took us up into valleys of woodland, and after about an hour we passed the gate to the National Park for an entrance fee of 40 Rupees total. In this scenic and soulful resort you find Waterfalls galore! The main river first falls down a wide and not too steep slope, for a stretch of maybe 200 meters. And after flowing peacefully for about another 1000 meter it throws itself straight down a cliff, separating in 3 streams, one of which a bit further left and around the corner, so when for instance standing at the bottom you would see a waterfall straight on and two from the side. - Quite possibly the most picturesque Waterfall I've seen so far!

In between the waterfall sites we crossed a bridge over a small river (including another waterfall). The water formed several ponds on the way down to the stream, and I asked Cletas if that would be a good spot for a dip (I was prepared wearing my swimsuit underneath). He parked and took me along a path leading down from the road and eventually out of the forest onto the rocks of the riverbed. I hopped across the stones up to a beautiful spot, perfect for a bath. I couldn't believe it: After having had always some sort of company in this crowded country ever since I had arrived, there was absolutely nobody in sight (except for Cletas who watched on from a distance). The waterfall upstream as well as the one downstream laid around a bend, and the river had a calm temper in that stretch. I was just a bit hesitant to get in for the matter of dangerous animals. It all looked harmless, but after all this was India! I pictured myself pulling out a leg full of leeches or being ambushed by hundreds of water snakes (I had seen one the day before) the moment I set foot in the water. I went for it. Looked around... Nothing happened. A dragonfly was posing atop of a rock in the river. I moved a few meters through the warm water in order to reach a set of more remote stone islands, which was a bit tricky because the water was quite dirty and wouldn't let me see the rock formations I was on. I climbed out and stood up straight, and just in that moment a warm breeze rose up. I took a deep breath and savored this moment of peace.

Minutes later, I was already starting to redress, I heard a whistle and a shout: One of the two park rangers (the old grumpy one) that were positioned at the bridge head had come down to the point where my driver was standing and ordered me to get going. I just ignored him and took my time. Finally I started going back. Cletas translated what the ranger had said: The water was deep. - Yes, eventually it was deep enough for swimming, but what's the point? Anyway, the three of us climbed back up onto the street, where the stern ranger underlined his statement by tapping with his stick fiercely against a sign at the beginning of the path and giving us another look of loathing. It made the whole experience just so much better.

We made it back to the homestay by 7... This was a 12,5 hour trip. Santosh had actually asked me to take some pictures for his trip advertisement. Well I took around 500.

I had been wondering where on Earth all the other tourists of Fort Cochin would have their dinner, and finally I found the corner with two seafood restaurants with packed patios. I felt like fish and pasta, thus ordered the "Fish Pasta" at the place "Salt & Pepper" - It was terrific! I also had a beer in a teapot and a cup... The restaurant wasn't licenced.

Idle backwaters

After another opulent and tasty breakfast prepared by Santosh's wife I didn't have to wait long for the tour bus to arrive: Today I would join some fellow tourists and explore the backwaters of Kerala in a guided tour.

For around 45 minutes we cut through the morning traffic including busloads and troops of schoolgirls in light blue uniforms. The cockpit of the bus was adorned with three cut out picture book illustrations of biblical scenes involving Jesus and the obligatory rosary... We are catholic in Kerala. The communist party CPI(M) also marks its presence with red posters and writings on street posts.

Eventually we transferred to a "house boat": It was made of wood, rounded about 12 meters in length and was covered with an elegant construction, also handmade of organic material. Two guys were our motor, one on the bow, one in the back (invisible when inside the housing), pushing the boat forward with long sticks, just like they do in Venice. This was the perfect counterbalance to the previous day of action and sunburn (yes, for some reason I forgot to apply the sunscreen I had brought to the beach): Just sitting in the shade, casually raising my arm every now and then to take a picture.

To cut a long story short: It was an enjoyable but uneventful day of slow motion in the midst of a peaceful freshwater island landscape ruled by palm trees and jungle. The local people harvest the grass between the larger plants though, and I guess also maintain the waterways, so there is something parklike about it. Like messy but naturally beautiful hair.

They introduced us to the traditional way of making cocos fiber string, and then there was also a small workshop for something they make out of mussels and more coconut... I'm afraid I didn't pay attention. At one point we would sit down in a small hut for lunch on a palm leaf for a plate.

We arrived back in Cochin after 5, leaving me with a short hour until dusk. I walked past the tourist bazaar to the harbor and shot some pictures of the peculiar fishing net contraptions that were standing in the water there, and of a lot of school kids that wanted to have their picture taken. Birds and puppies picked through the washed up seaweed. - A big red sunset ended my stroll.

I checked out a different restaurant in the vicinity. While the fish skewer was delicious, the lighting and the service were not really enjoyable. A bit like the restaurant the day before this place could have moved up a couple of notches by making some simple adjustments.

After making plans for the next day with my host Santosh (and a couple of hours of blogging) I went to bed late and set the alarm for 5:50, looking forward to some more water adventures.

Cherrai by Bike

I peeked out the window and saw a few casually walking people in shorts, locals! Is that for real?

Santosh and his wife served a hearty breakfast with a lot of fresh fruit. I asked him about the boat trips into the backwaters. He replied it's a day trip with departure at 8. - It was 7:50 and I wasn't in the mood for rushing my meal. Not today then. I had read about a beach called Cherrai on a neighboring island, 20k from the ferry, and Santosh would rent me out a bike. Deal! Upon my request he also scheduled an ayurvedic massage for me, at 5:30.

From all the bikes Santosh kept in his shed, this one was the least unridable. Old and heavy and lo-tech it reminded me of the vehicles I used to ride to school as a teenager, so there was a charm about it after all. I mounted and set off for collision course with a motor cycle. Oh, right! I'm on the right side of the side of the street... That is wrong.

I pedalled through the village to the nearby ferry terminal, to the wrong one at first: No bikes on the pedestrian boat. So I lined up with along with numerous motorcycles. The distance was short and the ferry would run every 20 minutes. Quite a few minutes of that time accounted for the landing part: There was only one door, so everybody had to awkwardly inch out in reverse.

Finding Cherrai Beach should be easy, there was basically only one road stretching across the island. The thing was that everybody was driving on it. All kinds of vehicles at all kinds of speeds, that meant a lot of passing, for example: a motorcycle passing a car passing a bike passing a pedestrian. So sometimes the opposite traffic would pile all the way over to my kerb, and I ended up getting pushed off the street a couple of times by what seemed to be the ever same feisty red bus.

As enthusiastic a bike rider that I am I had started out at a fast pace, but having no gears the bike got me pedaling at high rpm. Every now and then I would have to stop for water (and a picture). However, what really, literally quite exhausted me where the exhausts.

Every few kilometers the street would narrow down to a bridge crossing picturesque backwaters guarded by palm trees and lots of other vegetation. - Eventually the traffic got a bit easier, to the point where I wondered whether I'm still on the right track. And according to my estimate I should have been pretty much there already. "Which way to Cherrai Beach?" The guy wanted to point in the direction where I came from at first, then gestured the other way and shrugged: I must have missed a junction and now it's about the same distance either way. Of course I went ahead, keeping left. And my mistake was worthwhile. There was basically no traffic left on the winding and narrow but paved street that offered plenty of views and photo opportunities. For instance: A bird I already saw in Mumbai must be the Indian version of a crow. Also common bird, but more elegant than its relatives I know of, with a shiny, silky neck. As I would find out later inspecting the brim of my hat (with unconceiled disappointment) its droppings also look different.

Before long I reached the ocean. It was in sight that is, but running behind a wall. On my side there was a lose palm tree grove, peaceful dwellings here and there, eventually a tight up cow looking for some herbs poking through the sandy ground.

The road led out of the trees. A building to the left looked rather inviting. I was a bit set back from the street, and the pathway to the front gate was an arch of a wooden construction with silver ornaments. next to the entrance stood some sort of price list, and there seemed to be a patio, too. It was already around lunch time, but my appetite was still absent as my belly was still busy picking up its duty. However, I needed to use a washroom. Maybe if I asked kindly this restaurant would help me without a purchase? But as I approached the gate I realized my error: This was no restaurant but a temple! - I retreated to my bike on the street. A nearby working man had observed me and came running, saying something in his dialect. He must have thought I was looking where to place my donation because pointed at a slot in one of the shrines at the beginning of the arch. I stuck a bill in there, and he rejoined the dozen of his fellow workers who were muscling around a boulder to fence the beach.

Sanctuary came in form of an unobtrusive seaside hotel at the very start of the sandy beach. There I could park, poo, purchase water, rent a beach towel and give my bag into custody while I went swimming. I basically had the whole stretch of the beach all to myself! No swimmers, no boats, just pure piece and lots of sun.

After an hour or so two local men showed up, small, skinny and not the youngest. One came talking to me, but all I could hear was a lot of dialect. Here and there an English word: "Fish" - So they were fishermen. "Wife" - And two fingers counting children. "Liquor" - So that's the funny smell. "House" - He wants to invite me? And all of a sudden he got all touchy and hugged me repeatedly. What, is that part of local customs or are these two "He's out more often"'s? I just wouldn't know. I had noticed already that people in Kerala can be friendly without a business plan, would just start asking questions in the street, displaying an interest in their visitor. However, although I would ask questions back the conversations were aimless and would run dry quickly. The vibe I got from the people was just somewhere between innocent and creepy. Well, maybe they just wanted to practice their English? - Certainly not these two guys... I thankfully declined the invitation.

I got back to Cochin an hour ahead of time and thus could allow myself to have a look around the historical town. I still had my rented bike, but I had to take my butt into consideration that ached from the uncomfortable seat.

The ayurvedic massage took place in an ancient house with a giant Rain Tree out front. When I went into the shower afterwards I couldn't help peeking in the mirror: I was toned down because I had hardly eaten for days, with a serious tan and all greased up from the massage... Not too shabby!

I found an elegant restaurant serving in an ancient curtilage, home to a giant mango tree. When the waiter told me there was gonna be classical music soon I was sold! - And just a bit surprised when two of the three musicians showed up with percussion instruments. The violist, sitting on the floor like the others, held his instrument straight down in front of him, producing a nasal sound of Indian sing-sang tunes. No, I'm not complaining at all! - I gladly noticed that I was running an appetite and even happier I could feed it with something that didn't swim in brownish gravy. I ordered baked mussels for starters and grilled fish on spinach... Delicious. While eating I was a bit worried about mosquito attacks on my bare (and still a bit oily) arms and calves, however couldn't find any evidence of the beasts. But my worries were needless, as I found out later they were in the washroom stall. All of them.

Bye bye Mumbai, hello Kerala!

I opened my eyes. Although the two pigeon hole-windows of my small room were shut and had their window panes painted over (and all I would see were dirty walls) I thought: My last sunrise in Mumbai. - I was happy to leave.

I checked out and had a slow and careful breakfast. Slow also because I was waiting for the adjacent internet cafe to open at 10. However, it turned out that due to the fact that it was Sunday there would be a delay of an hour, so I took a cab to Colaba where I could get started already.

The flight departure to Cochin was at 16:50. It was a domestic flight so there it wouldn't be necessary to check in too early, but for two reasons I wanted to get going to the airport in due course: I wanted a window seat. And you never know what's gonna happen next in this city. There was a good chance a gorge would open and separate me from my getaway plane. So around 1:30 I got restless and chartered a taxi.

It's known to be a solid 1 hour drive to the airport. My driver got me there in less than 40, almost at the cost of my sanity. He would zig zag thru the traffic, muscle for space at the lights, fit his car like a bullet in a barrel when passing at full speed between other cars. He pointed at a car in front of him: "He crazy man!" - At one point, when we passed a bend in the proximity of the Muslim church, home to the disfigured beggars, one of those came walking the other way in the middle of the street - on all fours! The traffic was rounding 60, and his head was on bumper level. Nothing happened then, but I don't know how the story ended.

We stopped, I was as pale as linen. Speaking of which: I gave my driver the shirt I bought the other day as a tip. (The store didn't have a mirror and back at the hotel it turned out that the shoulders weren't sitting right. I knew it was a risk... But maybe I bought it just for kicks of haggling it from 500 Rupees down to 200.) He was pretty tall and it looked like it could actually fit him.

After checking in I had a small lunch. Then I allowed enough time for the security check, but that one was fast, too. - The irony of it all was that while waiting at the gate the flight got repeatedly delayed. It was already long after sunset when we finally took off into the sky. Not much to see from my window seat...

Mumbai could pretty well be regarded as the opposite of Vancouver. While people in Canadian city embrace nature, love being outside and are all laid back, Mumbaikers seem to be out for business at all times. Banker or beggar, they all run around in dress shirts and long pants, seemingly always ready to close a deal. They dwell in rooms without windows and pollute their environment hopelessly. The latter of course is also due to the fact that the city is just so densely inhabited. But following the newspaper throughout the week I would read repeatedly about things like piled high dumping sites without recycling and careless city officials. It seems to me like a very greedy or "money mad" (as the LP travel guide put it at one point) place. Poverty is just another result of the priority list that puts profit first.

After a surprisingly short time on the tightly packed aircraft, they announced our approach to Cochin. Out the window I could see thousands of lights, loosely spread out over the dark surface. And they twinkled! I was stunned and searched helplessly for an explanation. Finally, at a level closer to the ground, I recognized that the lights were beneath a layer of black tree tops. Rain Trees. It's peculiar: While Mumbai's massive Ashoka Trees with their crazy twisted, multiple stems and weird hanks of air roots very much represent the city's absolutely messy character, Kerala's Rain Trees stand for peace of majestic dimensions: Generously spaced branches open a sky of evenly arranged leaves.

The baggage claim was incredibly fast, and straight across from the exit door there stood a guy in the crowd holding a sign with my name. Jason led me to a white Ambassador Classic. Now that's a tat better than a black Mumbai taxi!

An hour later we arrived in Fort Cochin. Jason honked the horn and a middle-aged man came out of the building, greeting me cordially: Santosh. The landlord had told me his name already on the phone. He showed me to the room where Vasco da Gama died. My room. It was huge and had a high ceiling. There were three beds in there and it still felt kind of empty. A bathroom with toilet and shower was fitted in one corner. With the deal came also an adjacent room with lots of chairs, big enough to lecture a small class. Space is gonna do me good.

Not quite there yet

Rising from the bed I felt new power within me and eagerly went down to the breakfast room. But after nibbling on the hard boiled egg, fried bread and curry vegetables I was so struck that I had to retire back to my room and lay down again. My stomach was turning, constantly grumbling and gurgling like a cheap coffee maker, commanding me to take a seat in the wash room every now and then.

Later in the afternoon I went shopping for a little bit, staying close to the hotel. Returning from my trip I decided to start the regular diarrhea pills again, in addition to the antibioticum. That was the right thing to do: In the end I could attend an early evening screening of "Om Shanti Om", a Bollywood movie Chetan had recommended.

The projection was about to get started, and I had just gotten up from my seat in order to let some people pass to their seats, when an announcement filled the screen: "Stand up for the national anthem!" A bit baffled I remained standing. And everybody else was standing, watching a washed out film print of a flag in the wind, close up, while an orchestral anthem squealed. Strange! Instead, there was no turn off reminder for the cell phones (and sure enough there would be plenty of beeping and ringing later on). Other than that, like in every big cinema around the world the screening was sharp, loud and cold like a cracking glacier. The movie - very good indeed! Starring truckloads of Bollywood stars in a comedic but still touching story.

Leaving the cinema I felt rather tired and not too adventurous, but then decided to stick to my plan and take a taxi out to the "Phoenix Mills", where a number of nightclubs were at. What I found was a very American-style shopping village: An American Dollar Store, McDonald's (with a slightly indianized menu), even a Subway was there! It must have been very new as one side of the center square was still to be completed by another huge building.

I found the club "Ra", but the bouncer politely advised me to come back a little later as there was nobody inside yet at this point, so I kept strolling around. Although it was already quite late there was a fair number of families in the mixed crowd. People played arcade games, licked ice cream, purchased porcelain, boozed in bars. I returned to the club and - why am I not surprised - found that now the bouncer was overruled by his manager who wouldn't let me in a single guy. I moved on to a second club: Private party. After that I didn't even try to enter the third and last one, just to get my shirt smoky. I had enough of this product of imperialism and returned to my hotel.

Incorporated animation or animated inspiration?

I had asked Rolf Baechler, my former mentor, for animation contacts in India. He hooked me up with Bill Dennis, who hooked me up with Vina, who hooked me up with Uma. So far everything went by email.

I was supposed to meet Uma at Rhythm & Hues already on Thursday, but luckily we could postpone for Friday morning. Once more I would travel North by train, this time equipped with a book. A taxi rickshaw brought me out to the mindspace towers near the shore, where people were a bit taller than average and dressed fashionable.

Except for a handful of people the facilities of R&H were deserted: "The Kingdom", a movie they had adorned with special effects, just had a screening. But Uma would soon return, and although there wasn't a real purpose in me seeing the place she would kindly show me around. There were no surprised except for the unusual ethnic interior architecture. I explained I had a meeting with Vaibhav Kumaresh lined up, and she recommended to also go round another 2D-studio called Animagic and gave me their contact.

I remember laughing histerically when seeing his MTV-shorts "Poga" a couple of years ago, so I was excited to meet Vaibhav Kumaresh. He had done a lot of clay animation, but also ventured into all kinds of techniques and styles. His studio was a 2 bedroom apartment in an rundown building in Borivali, with some very basic equipment. Picnic tables bending under the weight of CRT monitors. - An alchemist's kitchen. A major project had just been finished and there were basically no other people left working at this point. He kindly took me for lunch, recommending "Idli", a couple of palm sized rice based cakes with a fine grain like cous-cous, and a fresh lemon soda.

On the way back I stopped at the Animagic studio. I knew nothing about it and didn't quite know what to expect. In any case I didn't hold my breath when I entered the house in the suburbs.

I found the same warm welcome as before, and more. The three friends Chetan, Gayatri and Sumant who had been running the studio for the last ten years provided an almost family-like environment. They all lived in the neighborhood and would hang out at the studio long before and after the regular hours. It was their place of inspiration. They told me they started out as animation enthusiasts, learning everything from scratch out of the few books they had, watching as many movies as possible teaching themselves all sorts of techniques. In the meantime they had grown into an absolutely professional allrounder enterprise, covering everything from cereal commercial-style 2D animation to 3D special effects, even to feature film storyboarding and production design.

They all spoke excellent English, and Chetan spoke a lot of it. And he had a point. "What is it we're supposed to do?" he asked. Make McDonald's commercials or make movies with a message? Indeed they had already won a bunch of awards with a 20 minute commissioned film regarding child abuse. While that project was basically done for free they had always kept a stack of commercial jobs to keep them alive. Now they're in the preproduction of an absolutely amazing feature project and for that matter try not to invest too much energy in other things. - A passionate attitude that I can only admire!

I showed them my short "Swiss Fuss" on my website, and to my surprise they all laughed spontaneously! I didn't expect anyone other than the Swiss to really get the point. Talking away it also turned out they shared my point of view on the movie "300" as a simplistic and dangerous depiction of ethnic groups, very fatal in the present world situation. - And what's more: They don't drive cars.

They offered I stayed for dinner, and around 22:30 I finally left from there. Six hours had just vanished in a moment.

Sunk into my book on the way back on the train a foul stench cut through me. Looking out the window I could make out a creek in the moonlight. I tried not to breathe, but it was too late: It had crawled inside me and caused me physical pain in my ribs. - Mumbai was a stinky city indeed, smells of feces and diesel follow you almost everywhere you go (one exception was luckily enough my hotel room). On the upside you could blast the most atrocious fart and everybody would take it for a fresh breeze.

What a mess!

It must have been still early in the night when I had to let go through my head again what I had consumed over the past 8 hours. In reverse order, down to dinner. What had left my stomach already by this point would plash out the other end in a watery spray. Once I was all empty and hollow I would still feel sick. It was time to lay off the regular diarrhea pills that I had started a couple of days ago and switch to the antibiotic! I realized I had to stay upright if I was to keep it. It was the kind of sickness where the slightest thought or smell or visual sensation could cause and irritation. Sitting on the edge of the bed I tried not to think or focus on anything. I had invented meditation. And it worked for that matter.

Day broke, night fell.

There I was, with a purple baby foot, a head swollen from banging against all the low ceilings in India, a mouth with sores and smudged with vomit, and an ass like a garden hose. India had welcomed me with a fine treatment!

Many gods in Mumbai

Much as a continuation of the visit to the ancient temples the day before I planned a route to see a number of religious sites in the city, starting out with a short cab ride to the newly renovated St. Thomas Church at the Horniman Circle. A rather small church in a slightly gothic style, its side wall lined with pompous marble gravestones and memorabilia. A strange impression gave the two series of ceiling fans that were suspended from the pillars like lanterns, but on long sticks so they would reach down to the benches beneath. It looked a bit like a multi-engine heavenly aircraft. The room was empty except for an old woman kneeling at the choir entrance. A group of three European looking tourist girls gathered in the back of the church. They were all wearing mini skirts and sleeveless tops. - I was wondering about the thoughts and comments of the locals on that.

I continued on walking South thru a bazaar I called "office town". Almost every single store advertised in yellow, red and black letters services like computer typesetting, xeroxing, lamination and the like. It's incredible where people around here can fit a computer workstation! In tiny booths along the street sat people in front of 14 inch CRT monitors on crooked shelves, typing away in concentration. While I usually had trouble fitting in in cybercafes, knees bent and back to back with the next person, Indians cope with that by simply not taking up much space. Most of the times their loosely fitting dress shirts, pants suggest slim and bony bodies, and obviously they're rather short. What if you would magically swap every Indian with an US American, and every minimal sized vehicle in the streets with one of their hummers and pickup trucks? India would be piled 3 miles high!

I was actually looking for a Jewish synagoge in the quarter, and although I was certain it had to be in the immediate proximity I decided to interrupt my search and go for lunch instead. The rather exclusive and stylish Chinese restaurant "Silk Route" seemed a welcome change from all the bazaar snacks. Half an hour and only a few steps later I had reached the light blue building. After signing into the book a warden would let me up to the ceremony room on the first floor. Being small and furnished with generous, laid back benches gathered in a circle around an altar in the middle of the room it had a cozy feeling to it, but other than that it was rather plain and uninteresting. There were no churchgoers at the moment, only one guy sweeping the floor and another one waiting to ask for a baksheesh for opening the door to the upper level.

Churchgate train station could be easily reached walking a couple of hundred meters along the traffic. Just looking at a map in order to decide which station to buy a ticket for would attract a tourist guide trying to make friends with me, telling me at which train station I actually was and pointing out a garbage disposal when I apparently wanted to dump my empty water bottle. - Come on! Luckily, he was gone again after 4 minutes. I noticed that's the time that people from any line of business would harass you before looking for their next victim.

I followed the LP travel guide recommendation to see the clothes washing from the overpass at Mahalakshmi train station. - The view offered a wonderful composition of the facilities indeed, making it look much more like a fantastic movie set than a place of unforgiving every day labor.

There were two temples at the water. It was a bit hard to find the access routes from the street, but soon I passed a colorful bazaar lining the alley to the Hindu temple. It ended at the bottom of a staircase, where I was going to add my new sandals to the pile of shoes from the other visitors before the climb, but a beggar woman took them into custody, handing me a numbered plastic chip for a token. At the top of the stairs I was reminded by security personnel to keep my camera in the bag. The temple site was small and mainly consisted of an open air square lined with benches under an arcade. the building in the center looked much like a box office and held lots of fences ready for long lineups, men and women separately, for blessings by one of the two massive shirtless priests. Donations were given by sticking (by what means I didn't inspect) coins to a wall. If the space got too full a temple servant would wipe them off and they would fall thru a grate into a container. - Most of all however I was drawn to go down the steps to the sea that had been absoluteley conceiled from view until now. There was a small resting area with snack opportunities, but no outside seating and no access to the water. Thru a an iron fence the Hindus would watch their Muslim fellows cross a quai to their church, located out on the water, maybe half a mile away.

The quai would flood at high tide, and the church would become an island. I didn't do any planning regarding the tide and was lucky the quai wall was far above the water level. It wasn't straight, but had a slight swing to it, and a colorful band of people stretched on it in the afternoon sun. The path was lined with sellers and beggars of all sorts. A guy had dug out an old scale and tapped onto it with a stick, encouraging the passers to have their weight measured for a baksheesh. People with deformities. Three crippled monks laid on the ground singing a rhythmic chant, their stubby legs in the air.

The church was bigger and more elaborate, but much like the Hindu temple consisted of a courtyard. You had to leave your shoes outside the bungalow in its middle in order to receive the blessings, and again there were separate doors for men and women, the room for men however being quite a bit bigger. I entered barefoot and after a moment remembered to put my hat back on. People brought the priests flower ornaments wrapped in newspaper and in return received a pat on their head with a feathery utensil. There was no ban on photography, and other people took pictures too. But then bystanders interfered when I would take a picture of the women on the other side of the altar. I decided to leave the room at all. I found that in the back the church opened to the seashore rocks below and people enjoying a 5 Rupee ice cream would spread out over it, eventually go in the water, too. A buy even bared his upper body. So much freedom!

I took a taxi to Chowpatty Beach and took a stroll. I passed a circle of girls sitting on the sand, of course all of them wrapped up in clothes and veils. Much to my surprise they called "Hello! Come over here!", but when I approached they all froze up. - So it was a joke after all. I continued on along the seawall, and eventually ended up walking all the way back to the hotel.

I had met no other white tourists all day. No wait, I caught a glimpse of two older ladies at Mahalakshmi and a young couple near the temples. - Of course I was a stranger in India, but I was also basically alone being a stranger. Which was a good but unusual thing. In any case I never felt lost or unsafe.

Completely oblivious of my experience the other day I ordered the same "Chicken Roast" in the same restaurant and got the same disappointment, only this time it was fully cooked.

I had plans to go to a night club with the frivolous name of "Red Light", and since it would close around 1:30 I took a taxi to around 9:30. But no... The place was still empty and lit. I was advised to come back around 11:30, and I walked down to a bar in Colaba. It was crowded, so the waiter sat me down at the table of the lonely beer drinkers where a guy from Belgium and a Saudi already had been quietly enjoying their Kingfisher. They both temporarily worked in Mumbai. We talked, no, slandered about the town and its inhabitants until I took off and went back to the club. The entrance fee was 1000 Rupees, of which 800 were returned as vouchers for booze. I couldn't quite enjoy the nice setup of the club as half of it was a restricted VIP area. I started talking to two white men - business from South Africa as it turned out - who were also trapped in the lower caste, and the slandering went on. - Once it was full the club featured an exceptionally multicultural crowd. As everybody sang along to the "Hare Krishna"-song however I was reminded I was in Mumbai.

What's made of one piece will hardly come apart

I had to wait about half an hour at the table before breakfast was finally served, but that wouldn't stop me from being the first on the ferry to Elephanta Island. I had noticed I didn't feel quite 100%... There was a rumble in my stomach and my poo had started to get rather liquid (pardon me being so graphic). In addition to starting my diarrhea medication I got myself a Coke in order to help my digestion. Maybe it's true what they say!

There wasn't an excessive amount of tourists, the lower deck of the ferry filled just about up with a number of Swiss couples and plenty of other Europeans. An older Swiss guy was saving his money by fighting off a postcard seller. Obviously he was also saving on a hairdresser and razor blades. An Austrian tourist was delivering his travel adventures with a nasal voice to his fellow passengers. Someone applied sunscreen, head to toe.

The ship started its journey to the East. Eventually it would slow down and drop local people onto other ferries in the harbor. I was sitting the head of the ship, looking for photo opportunities. Ships big and small would make their appearance in the hazy smog stretching over the surface of the water. A seagull was picking on a dead fish. Every now and then a shoe floated by in the murky water. - A shoe? Finally something much bigger distilled on the horizon: Elephanta Island, home to Hindu temple caves, some 1400 years old.

We climbed ashore on a quai wall that protruded out from the coast for about 200 meters. A miniature train stood ready for the tourist to bring them to the island. Almost everyone else got on, so I thought it's part of the ferry ticket. It turned out it cost 10 Rupees, which I hastily paid, and it moved at walking speed. Well, maybe still a tiny bit faster than I would have walked with my injury. The engine of the train had the old fashioned steam barrel bonnet but contained a tiny combustion engine that ripped the silence of the surroundings with a hammering rattle. We passed some food sellers, followed by a gate for 5 Rupee of tax fee of some sort, followed by a handicraft bazaar that would lead up along the steps all the way to the temple site. Me and my fellow tourists didn't get harassed once. - That would follow on the way down.

The notion that an entire columned hall including all ornaments could be chiseled out of a mountain was mind-boggling. A sacred but open minded atmosphere filled the cave. There were several niches with religious scenes depicting Shiva, about 3 to 4 times life size. All the (mostly quite well preserved) statues were wonderfully dynamic and elegant. Their faces showed subtle but very readable expressions, having their eyes closed at all times. It was as though they tried to be expressionless but couldn't help showing their emotions. In the center of the back wall there stood the majestic three-headed portrait sculpture of Shiva, as creator, preserver (with the curious attribute of a lime) and as destroyer. - I had prepared myself with some basic knowledge about the mythology and decided to encounter the artwork only visually at first before eavesdropping in on one or the other guided tour.

Along a generous path around the mountain followed a handful of other caves, but each was less and less elaborate, the final one being a mere crack in the mountain. "Cannon Hill" read a sign. An older couple was selling fairly cold beverages and trying to make a buck by having the woman's picture taken. "What's on Cannon Hill?" I asked. "Cannon!" Oh, silly me. I went on, walking the now narrow path through the woodland carefully slow. I was wearing the fake Nike sandal on my left foot, and the much hated, even cheaper toe-worn flip flop on my right foot since this was the only shoe that would accommodate the foot in bandage. The strap was starting a blister on the back of the foot.

It turned out there weren't just two 30 foot cannons mounted on huge carousels on the hill, but also an excessive amount of tourist litter, mainly water bottles. Simply careless. - An an artificial elevation on the very top of the hill must have been the lookout. Climbing down from that bump I got some pebbles in my fake Nike sandal. When I tried to shake them out the sole came off. Not just partly, but the entire piece of plastic, without warning. The hot midday sun must have molten the glue. Rats, I had just bought it two days ago! So much for shoes being thrown in the ocean. I would dispose of this one properly though. - I was just at the very beginning of my descent, but it turned out that walking without that sole wasn't too hard as long as I avoided the pointy pebbles.

The path led out of the wood onto what I discovered was the top of the second cave. The sun was burning down and close to a dozen of eagles were circling the hot air above. It was amazing! I dropped my bag and took my camera, shooting like a WWI air defense until I was dizzy. Further along the way, in fact back at the top of the stairs some monkeys were occupying a tree, being at war with birds and dogs. The latter didn't care much about the primates though. Eventually the monkeys would take a break from the fighting for a little coitus.

Back in Mumbai I got myself some anti-diarrhea antibiotic, just in case (a steal at 100 Rupees anyway). Travellers diarrhea is defined as "3 watery bowel movements within 24 hours in addition with one of the other symptoms such as fever, vomit etc." I didn't have shivers earlier in the day, but short "drop outs" in my hearing. Although... is that maybe related to the cool AC at night? Am I not infected just adapting to the new diet? In any case I would drink all I could in order to keep things going. I noticed that the climate this time of year was very dry. Things dried quickly, which was of course convenient when it came wet bathroom floors and laundry that laundry that I washed in the shower.

A pair of Bata sandals were horrendously expensive at 750 Rupees (25 Francs), but would hopefully last until the end of the trip. Most of all I could almost walk normally in them, what a great feeling of rebirth!

The spell is broken

I don't feel a jetlag, at least not so far. Maybe it's due to the layover in Singapore? Ok, I woke up two times at night, using the occasions for treating my foot with cream. But I had a good night's sleep and woke up eager for new adventures. I was very happy to find that my foot was much better and hardly presented any difficuties when walking at a moderate pace!

I still had in mind to go for a boat ride from the Gateway of India. A ride to Elephanta Island is a must, they say, but I had learned that it's closed on Monday. Therefore I dug out my other plan: Getting a better bag. I started the day slow, allowing for the shops along Crawford market to open, and I was lucky. By the time I got there exactly one store had started with the arrangement of their goods. After a pretty extensive search I finally found a shoulder bag I liked: Good zippers and big enough for everything along the way plus some eventual purchases. However, the strap was way too short, and the guys promised to extend it if I just waited 20 minutes. I showed them precisely and repeatedly how long I wanted the strap, just a bit longer than I needed it, and when I thought they finally understood I waited in the bar across the street where I ordered all sorts of fruit juices (after being assured they're all fruit and no water that is). Sure enough, the bag dangled around my knees when I hung it on my shoulder. "It's adjustable" the seller smiled. I finally made him open the seam and shorten the strap again... 1 hour gone. At 11 I eventually found a seat at the only internet place in the neighborhood and typed away for about 2 hours. After a meal I returned to my room. It was getting close to 2... What to do?

I didn't feel like walking around the city again, especially with this foot of mine. I read something about a certain Gorai beach, clean and somewhat secluded. It didn't look too hard too reach though. A nice train ride, a quick taxi transfer, laying on the beach until sunset. Sounds relaxing! I grabbed a cab to the train station and lined up for a return ticket that turned out to be some ludicrous 18 Rupee. Trains would basically go either North or South, fast or slow. That was an easy one, too. Waiting on the track I noticed that the trains didn't have doors, just plain wide openings that would fill up people sticking their heads in the breeze. My train rolled in, and I was getting ready to get on. A guy I was talking to pointed out I had a second class ticket, and I was gonna ask him something, but he ran off and jumped on. Everyone else jumped on. Basically the whole train was second class, so there wasn't a problem finding the right car. I was a bit baffled though what the turmoil was all about. People in Mumbai walk at a steady pace, they never run. They maybe get a bit pushy in traffic but in a cool kind of way. It turned out that a train stop in India is like a super sized musical chairs game! I didn't even think about getting a seat. I thought it was exciting to remain standing near the doorless entrance of the train, enjoying a bit of a blind passenger feeling. The train ride shouldn't take too long anyway. Before long however the train stopped again and another stampede broke out. All the seats were taken already and still people ran and pushed and stumbled. A tiny man next to me who had sat down and leaned against the wall (probably in order not to get everyone's elbows in his eyes) was told to get up already. And after a few more stops there came a station with another battalion people squeezed in. Some pushed into the crowd with huge bags. It was absurd. Finally my station arrived and I had to pretend I was was a salmon, flapping my fins hard and swimming against the current of people wanting to get on the train. The station was extremely crowded. Beggars asked for baksheesh, commuters flooded the overpass, in the middle of it all a couple leaned against a pillar, sleeping.

I made my way out and immediately found a few taxi drivers readily waiting. I opened my map again, trying to guess the distance in order to be get an idea what would be a fair fixed price. One of the drivers approached me and inquired about my destination, and whether I want to go by road or by ship. I was a bit confused by the question since my map indicated a street, straight as an arrow, heading West from the train station directly to Gorai beach, crossing an inlet of marshland by what I figured must be a bridge. The ferry must be further South, that would be a detour. Let's take the road! The driver, I'm gonna call him Saddam (he was Arab and had the features of the tyrant including the mustache), sat me in his car and explained he would bring me there using the meter but charge me the return fare, too. He would show me which bus to take for the way back. I agreed and we started the trip. - Something wasn't quite right. There were a lot of bends and telling by the position of the sun we were going North instead of West. I realized that we were going to encircle the inlet for some reason. The rush hour traffic was crazy, so I didn't dare to distract Saddam from squeezing between colorfully painted trucks and racing alongside with motorcycles. Finally there were less and less vehicles, the landscape and the street turned more rustic. I asked him about the direct connection. As I suspected by this point, the answer was "that's the boat"! - Crappy map. Soon we would find ourselves on a pothole stricken road meandering through a jungle in the light of the late afternoon. Every now and then a few huts along the street, a lonesome truck that seemed have lost its pack. Motorcycle boys doubling their brides came the other way. We reached a more populated village. The street was running between walls and suddenly opened to the beach. Saddam parked the car on the sand and turned to me with a conversion table that indicated the ride was 600 Rupee. - Less than I feared. It was 4:30. "Hmmm", i said, "since you are gonna ask the return fare anyway, how much would you ask to wait an hour so I could get back with you?" 200 Rupee and hour he replied. Sounded fair to me! I handed him 1200 Rupee. He stuck the money quickly in the glove box and said "This is finished now. When you return after an hour you give me 200 and then we use the meter for the way back." "Pardon me?" I made sure I understood right, then told him to his face that this was fraud! "You're gonna charge me the return fare twice!" In the end he reduced his claim to an overall 500, that meant half the return fare. I wasn't impressed with that kind of behavior, but I needed someone to watch over my bag, which wasn't only brand new but also filled with my valuables, so I agreed... There would simply be no tips for this guy.

I headed for the water. It was low tide and the beach very shallow, so I crossed a long stretch of wet, very regularly rippled sand. There were a few other people strewn across the beach or wading in the water, but at a fair distance. They all appeared to be local. So, in order not to offend the Indians I decided to wear my shorts, not just the speedo that I also wore underneath. I entered the warm water and kept wading until it was deep enough to swim. I kneeled down in it, and it was as if the water washed away my concerns. Enormous palm trees lined the horizon behind me, dark silhouettes of fisher boats rested off shore to the left. No combustion engines. As a part of nature I felt vulnerable and free. No worries about my attire, about 300 Rupees, about my bag. I was simply - here.

After a slow and relaxed swim I walked back across the beach. Standing for an hour in the train had caused the swelling of the ankle to slide down into the body of the foot and gave it babylike appearance. It slightly wobbled with every step. Back at the car I grabbed my camera and took some pictures of the scenery. Dogs. Boats. Birds looking for what was hiding in the sand until the sea would rise again. I approached a guy holding a horse. "Nice horsey" he said. "Ride?". "I'm sorry, I have to go." "Nice horsey" he said. I didn't want to stretch my time limit of an hour. But then Saddam came and lent me 50 Rupees for a quick stroll. - My first horsey ride!

On the way back I asked Saddam: "How long have you been driving a taxi?" - "25 years". - "How many cars?" - "Just one car. Is good." - "Ever had an accident?" - "No accident!" Wow, I thought to myself, 25 years of riding bumper cars without a contact! He turned the subject on religion, explaining he was Muslim. He was proud to tell me he held two apartments with one wife each. No wonder he wanted to charge me twice. But hey, I guess I'm lucky... He's allowed up to four spouses!

Dusk fell as we drew closer to the city. Before long we were in the middle of the honking and stinking traffic again. Our street would merge with the national highway to Delhi - without traffic lights. Saddam was slowly pushing into the stream coming from the right hand side. Finally there seemed to be an opportunity. Saddam went for it, and that's when, suddenly appearing from behind the car beside us, another taxi cut our way - Crash!

The impact had immediately stopped the passing lightweight car. The drivers got out of their vehicles and commenced a high energy dispute. The baffled face of a taxi client showed up in the window of the dented car door. Luckily nobody got injured or hurt, I for instance just bumped my head on the low car roof. Saddam opened the door to get some documents. "Not my fault" he claimed, as if I cared. I just found it amusing to watch on as the traffic grew even more impenetrable as it circled around the two cars blocking the intersection. - Finally they had exchanged their information, picked up some lost car parts from the street and got back into their vehicles. For the rest of the way to the train station I was somewhat unnerved... The car ballet had lost its magic, there was physical evidence that accidents do happen.

A fast train to Mumbai was already waiting on the track for me. There were no seats left for that matter. But after a few stops the seats were basically empty, so I even got to stick my boo boo foot up on the opposite chair. Once we reached the terminal station however, a wave of people flooded the car...