Day 280 - What a difference 3,000kms makes

If I were anymore relaxed, I would be dead-set permanently horizontal.

If Bob Marley were sat next to me now, I am so relaxed that I would make him look, in comparison, like a recently-retrenched accountant living in London, complete with ex-wife, mistress and three kids in (extremely expensive) private schools.

I am chilled. And I mean....hold on....no rush....just getting the fingers ready....here we go......easy does it.....chiiiiiiiiiiilleeeeeeed Winston. Yep. That did it.

Now, picking up the thread from last time (when was that exactly? Hmmmmmmmm. Doesn't matter. Now, where was I), I vaguely remember writing about getting on a plane headed south. Something about being stressed? Hoping that 3,000km would make a difference? Yeah. That sounds right.

Oop. Nap break. I'll be right back.

Anyhoooooo. I guess that I was right. To say that north and south are different is like saying that dolphins are mammals and sharks are fish. It's accurate, but it's missing the point. (Hmmm. Decision time. Mango juice or coconut juice? Ummmmm. Can't decide. I'll have both).

So far, the south has been like scuba diving in a jar of honey. Languid, warm and far nicer and cheaper than you'd expect (Hmmmm. Not sure that analogy held up at the end there. But hey, what do I care? I think I'll turn over and tan my back now). And, like sex in the right relationship, things have only got better.

We started in Fort Cochin, which was lovely in a pseudo-Caribbean way. On the edge of the small colonial town, giant (Chinese) fishing nets by the water dip down every twenty or so minutes, pulling out hordes of prawns, crab and fish. You simply mosey on down, select whichever briny creatures take your fancy, have them cooked fresh and wash it all down with ice-cold beer. Too easy.

But, as is wont of Aussies, the lack of a beach began to take its' toll. Sun, sea and seafood are good, but it ain't a proper party without 's' number 4. So we took another train four hours south to Kovalam, which officially bills itself as "India's most developed resort".

We braced ourselves for the worst. I was dreading Surfers' Paradise Indian-style. Instead, we got a perfectly useful beach, hotel room perched atop a 50m cliff and a view to die for.

We had a much-needed few days of beach time, our first since Brasil. My soul continued to float softly down into the big fluffy duvet that life had become. Narmal, our own personal guardian angel, brought us plate after plate of fresh fruit. She took us under her wing.

She told us where to by gin (buying booze in Kerala feels like buying nuclear weapons on the black market). She told us the people to steer clear of. She even took it upon herself to shoe away the regular stream of Indian male 'amateur photographers', day tripping to the beach to take photos of bikini-clad strangers. Subtle as bricks.

Change is as good as a holiday, so they say. Seeing we were on holiday (so another holiday was out of the question), we decided to check out another beach. An hour and a half north took us to Cliff, Verkala.

It's well named. The whole place is arranged around a single path leading along the very edge of a cliff. Bars, restaurants, basic resorts and wooden shacks line it, affording a view out over an even-better beach some 100m down below, as well as the hazy blue of the India Ocean.

By now the tans were coming along nicely. Gone were the pallid traces of our European Christmas. That didn't last long.

The food poisoning hit Rachel first. Mine came two days later. Who knows where it came from? Eggs? Unpurified ice?

Everyone gets sick in India. We were no different. The ayuvedic doctor came. She prescribed a teaspoon of strong smelling spices with honey before food (usually watery rice porridge). 30ml of a dark pungent concoction after.

The first day, we both felt like we were dying. Or that dying would be an easy respite. Our guts ached, stomachs consumed themselves. My eyes rolled back in my head with the ache of my temples. Our muscles felt like they had needles stuck in them.

The second day, food stayed down. By the third, we were back on our feet. The sickness gone, but never forgotten.

Now, we're in Allepey. We are aboard a Backwaters Houseboat. It's like a miniature, floating palace, covered in dried-out water reed. It looks like a hobbit hole being transferred up river on a barge. The sweet smell of Indian spices are wafting down from the kitchen, a promise of the feast to come. We've manouvered through the thin canals (it's known as the Venice of India), watching small bunches of water-weed float past regularly. Now, we are out into the main lake, a hazy mass of water punctuated by the odd fisherman bringing up shellfish nets from the shallow bottom.

There's nothing to do but sit and take it all in. Think. Eat. Chat. Read. Drink. Smile. Laugh. Contemplate the world.

Relax.

A word of note to those back home; whichever morons are running around beating the living hell out of Indians are not only causing irreparable and serious damage to the reputation of Australia worldwide (did media learn nothing from the Cronulla riots?), they are also making it very hard to utter the words "I'm from Australia" out here.

We're both really sick of having to explain to every Indian person we meet that, no, all Australians don't hate Indians and, no, Australia is not dangerous to Indians and, yes, they will be safe if they travel to Australia. Only yesterday I was in a supermarket and picked up a Newsweek-style magazine with a picture of a bashed-Indian man and the title "Why Aussies hate us".

Please get them to stop!


Here are the rest of the photos from Cochin, Kovalam, Varkala and Allepey