Back to Kochi and out of India

I’m becoming nocturnal. It was at night that I arrived at Sivananda and it was at night that I left. And night, at any rate, was the only manageable time to be on the bike at that time in Kerala. Rolling back past those same sparkling lights I had marveled at more than two weeks prior, I thought about how much had changed, how much I had changed, during my time at Sivananda, and the growth and habits I hoped I could bake into the still raw cake of new Nick. I had gravity on my side for the most part as I sent it down to Trivandrum to stay at a hotel next to the hospital. I had to go there to get a chest x ray for my New Zealand working holiday visa, because it was important that I didn’t bring tuberculosis into their island utopia. Just as in Amala hospital in Thrissur, I was treated with white glove care by the staff at the hospital. There were a couple hiccups, I got hit with a bigger charge as I hadn’t made a reservation (but this was like $30 total) and I had to run out somewhere to get passport photos but otherwise it was smooth and everyone was exceedingly nice to me. New Zealand here I come. After my business with the hospital was concluded I set down on the coastal road to Kochi.

On the first day I easily made it to the bustling beach town of Varkala. It was still a tough day and I was looking forward to checking into my hostel and enjoying some of the famous calm beach vibes of the sleepy town. But it was a weekend, and packed to the gills with Indians. To make matters worse, it turned out I had booked my hostel for the wrong days, for which I blame booking.com because they will sometimes sneakily change your dates if there’s no availability when you’re looking for rooms. So I was out on the streets at night time and had to find last minute accommodation in this crowded getaway destination. And I did. But it came at the staggering price of 2000 rupees a night and turned out to be some kind of Indian party hall. Ugh. Great way to test my post-panchakarma calm. I did, however, persevere, and the throbbing desi music was off by around 11, allowing me to sleep well enough. As I had expected, it tended to be somewhat of a challenge maintaining my diet and lifestyle to the Ayurvedic doctors specifications. Every day I was meant to take some pills and eat a really weird black paste before meals, then I had to refrain from all wheat, sugar, caffeine, alcohol, acidic fruits, spicy food, cold beverages, and cold showers. Some of this was outright impossible, mainly the showers, it’s rare to find hot water in India and for good reason. I also had little control over spiciness. But I did my best, and managed to find rice and steamed veggies and approved fruits most of the time. Doing without caffeine was hard but I managed okay with that as well. Just as I failed to maintain my meditation after Dharamshala, so too did I fail to continue my yoga practice. But it’s fine. One day I’ll get back to it. Varkala did not grow on me, far too commercial and soulless, and after a few days of the old walk around, eat, work, sleep lifestyle it was time to get out of there. My next destination was Munroe Island, a place where I could supposedly enjoy the backwaters in their full glory.

I arrived at the one hostel on Munroe Island in the evening and it was pleasantly off the grid. The hostel was bare bones and communal, just what I like. I made friends with a good Israeli there. By good I mean that he acknowledged Palestinian suffering and regretted Israel’s role in it. That’s about as good as they get. We explored the backwaters in a two person kayak and I swam a bit but I don’t recommend as the water is filthy. After a few days in the stagnant nothingness of Munroe I had to move on. On the day I left I was lucky enough to catch Rob, touring with his Spanish lover. They had taken a motor bike and were going off to the hills together to enjoy some romance. I felt a small pang of jealousy. But also, I was happy to be on my own. Those romantic getaways always seem exhausting to me in. Sure, you ride off into the sunset together, but then what? How soon before you run out of things to talk about? Sex is nice and all but that only takes up a few minutes of the day, and then you have to keep this lady entertained for the remaining 23 or so hours? Forget about it. I rejoined the coastal route and came upon the Amritapuri ashram. This is an ashram completely devoted to the hugs of a lady who they call Amma, which means mother. I was determined to get my life-changing hug. To do this I had to stay at the ashram a minimum of two nights. Easy. The reception was only open at certain hours for foreigners so I killed time getting dinner by the ocean on the other side of the narrow coastal strip and chatted away with two guys who were friends since childhood and one of them was a drunkard now. I came back and met a haughty English girl who was also waiting but she warmed up to me eventually as they do and we became sort of friends united by the overall weirdness of the space we were in. And it was weird. Run dutifully by Europeans clad in white carrying an inflated sense of importance and the awareness of a concentration camp guard, they had no problem letting you know if your behavior wasn’t appropriate. I committed the atrocious sin of wearing shorts and was quickly reprimanded various times for it. I was also housed next to the grand ceremony area and this ended up being a big problem for my freedom of movement as they closed down the hall where my room was every time Amma passed by and people were livid when I snuck through. Overall Ammas ashram freaked me out, it was cult vibes all the way. I did get my hug though and I did feel something inside me. I don’t think it was magical. I think it’s rare in life that we get on our knees and embrace a large hefty woman who then whispers things in your ear in a way that causes your body to vibrate. Obviously that’s going to make you feel some type of way. An instant portal back to childhood, a feeling of submission and meekness, definitely something that can aptly tickle the spirit within. I was high on whatever this force was for about 10-20 minutes before coming back down. And then I packed my bags and prepared to get out of that place ASAP the next day. 

Back on the saddle and away from hippie weirdness, I continued my return up the coast. My next stop was in the city of Kovalam, another backwaters destination. Here I found nothing special. A beach, some canals. I don’t know. I didn’t stay long. I was so close to Kochi anyway, I pushed through to finish up. It was bittersweet, riding back to my final destination, with all the stress of finding a bike shop, packing the bike, and making it to and through the airport looming over me. I was about to be done with India. A place that has become very special to me. I alighted in Old Town and spent one night in a hostel there, then I crossed over to Ernakulam to be nearer the airport and found a hostel there. Probably one of the nicest hostels I’ve stay at in India. I discovered a bike shop that agreed to clean my bike part by part for the trip to New Zealand. They have strict bio control laws over there so it had to be immaculate. 

The final days in Kochi passed without issue. A man on a moto found me looking for a bike shop and took me to his office where he gave me ziplock bags and a whole lot of bullish speculation that I didn’t ask for on the future impact of AI in my industry . Finally the evening arrived that I would take my flight. I went to the bike shop where all was set and done. I was running a little late but not stressed as I loaded the bike box into the cab, my mind wandering with pre-flight jitters, hoping I hadn’t forgotten anything, thinking with eager anticipation and nervous anxiety about all the transfers between cities and the fateful morning in New Zealand where I’d have to figure it all out, already stressing about the lifestyle compromises that New Zealand’s higher prices would encourage and first world culture that awaited me in that faraway land. But no, I’m pretty sure I had covered all my bases. I had my New Zealand work visa. I had my flights purchased. I was ready to live frugally again as a trade off for better weather and breathtaking scenery. What could go wrong? I got to the Air Asia kiosk and that’s when the fun began. First, I had severely underestimated the weight of my bike box. As the studious reader may recall, Air India waived all fees when I boarded at JFK and allowed my cycle box on as stowed luggage, because India is awesome. Air Asia had more of a KG counting and penalizing culture, and they were demanding an additional 300 American dollars for my oversight of 10 or so KGs in my estimate. I don’t understand why this stuff has to be so expensive. Are they burning more jetfuel because of 10KG? But I had no choice. I was either getting on this flight or I wasn’t. And I had to get on the flight. But just as I was about to pay, another problem occurred. A big problem. I saw the worried hesitation on the Airline administrators face as he asked if I had a visa for Australia. I said I didn’t need one because I had a flight out of the Melbourne airport. I asked if he needed to see it. He called over a manager who spoke with another manager. The news was bad. Air Asia couldn’t let me on the flight without a visa. I needed something called an ETA. Things looked grim. They were pretty sure I wasn’t going to make it on the flight. It takes at the least 6 hours to process, and that’s with an additional fee. I was pretty upset at this point. I looked at the website for the application process, and I didn’t see why I should have to pay Australia money just for the privilege of spending a few hours in their stupid airport. Why are things like this? I called Australia. The lady was a bit cold with me. If my layover was less than 8 hours, no visa was needed. Mine was about 10. Sorry, she said. This is how the world is now, she said. Well, there wasn’t much I could do. But here’s the real kicker. The first leg of the flight was to Kuala Lumpur, which was a fine place for me to land. I needed to leave the country that night anyway or I’d be overstaying my Visa past the extension I had already been given. But Air Asia wouldn’t even allow me to take the first leg of the flight I’d already paid for. I ended up buying another ticket on that very same flight. I had no other options. There was no sympathy from Air Asia. No offer for a refund. And since I had bought the cheapest tickets and no insurance it was doubtful I’d be able to apply for any kind of refund. This was just the cold brutality of making a mistake at the airport. I was going to lose around $500 just like that. I guess this is the price of both entering and leaving India. First I’m scammed in Delhi, now I’m scammed by Air Asia. Sure, maybe I could’ve done my due diligence. But I didn’t even think about this. I thought visas were handled upon entry, and that anyone can just fly into an airport if they’re going someplace else afterwards. Anyway, I called my mom to ask what I should do, even though I knew already, I think I just needed a testimony to what was happening. Luckily she was sympathetic to my cause and just as incredulous as I was, it could’ve easily turned into an admonishment had I been younger. So I bought a brand new ticket and did my best to forget about the incident. They still took issue with my package weight but after an appropriate amount of pleading they finally showed some humanity. The box went through inspection and the officer tried to get me to open it up to show him my headlamp wasn’t a bomb but eventually he, too, showed me grace. I guess I should focus on those moments. After all this hell was over with, I found my gate and boarded my flight. In little time I was in a completely different country. After over 6 months, I was no longer in India.