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.