Malabar Coast

I woke up to what looked like bird shit or someones takeaway sauce all over my tent fly. I sighed, looking up at its shadow, knowing very well it was going to be one of those days. My prediction was a good one. It was one of those days. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and was so revolted by the crap on my fly that the first thing I did was take it out into the ocean which in hindsight probably not the smartest. I packed up my soggy tent and went for the ferry which transported me across the bay without issue. Once I started riding the heat of midday was already destroying me. Not only that but I must have slept awkwardly because my chest felt crushed in the way where if I tried taking a deep breath I immediately felt pain. In this condition I made my way back onto the dreaded main road that I’d be anchored to for the following days, route 66. There’s something about a 4 lane road baking in the sun that can really put me off, and that’s route 66. It’s just a big no thank you of a road. I need one lane and towering trees. This is just the desert. But it’s all I have, and luckily I have a goofy hat and sun sleeves for my arms and legs. With my sun shields on I’m invincible. The going was tough. I must have done 30km that day before I even had breakfast. I was ravenous and so happy to finally find a hotel serving the works to stop at. I had a dosa and then another and a few cups of chai to wash it down. A Russian guy was sitting next to me. He was on a motorbike and actually a total sweetheart. We chatted a bit but his English was so bad it turned into a pass the Google translate back and forth session which gets exhausting fast. We said our dosvadanyas and set off in opposite directions on the hell road. In an hour or so I was already dead again. I chanced upon a shack with just enough shade to rest in. I bought a coconut and slurped it down and then just wallowed for a while. I had a little editing to do, which is horrible to do in this kind of heat but it had to be done. I was starting to worry about the effect of all this heat on my electronics. Nothing I can do really. 

I waited for early evening to get back on the bike and continued for a few hours in the cooler air. I found a suitable place to camp for the night. The next day was much the same. I passed an important pilgrimage site and paid it a visit, it was giant statue of shiva. Nothing to write home about. Back on the road. Cycling. Heat. Just getting through it. I made it to Udupi. There wasn’t much going on. I stayed in a hotel, ate some novel foods, back on the bike. I got to Mangalore. Same story. One thing of note was that at this time Modi was finalizing the Ram temple in Ayodhya, so all the Hindu nationalists were out screaming Jai Sri Ram, adorned in their orange, waving orange flags. Orange everywhere. Go orange? No. Not in this case. It was pretty wild to be honest. Some towns had built huge replicas of the temple. There were loud speakers all along the roadside blasting Hindu spiritual musical, and most of the time they were set up right outside of churches and mosques. You could feel the tension amongst the muslims, but they carried on with their days without seeming to mind and no incidents occurred. Soon after Mangalore I crossed into the promised land of Kerala. What changed immediately was the food scene improved. I could stop so many places for fresh juices, and they actually had ice here that wasn’t made from raw sewage, and there was a prominent bakery culture carryiong an assortment of little savory and sweet baked goods. They also had beef in abundance. Home sweet home. At the first stop a kind man entreated me to some of these snacks unbeknownst to me, as I went to pay after he’d left and was duly informed there was no need. We’re still buds on instagram. 

The roads were sadly worse in Kerala due to construction. Traffic moved slowly onto single lane detours running parallel to a highway that was under construction seemingly all throughout the state, this made life needlessly shitty on the bike. But I prevailed. In Kannur I met back up with the sad British girl and we treated ourselves to a wonderful supper. In Culicat I ran into an old friend from Palolem. The Scottish girl who’d been upset with me for making too many sex jokes. It turned out I hadn’t really offended her and she was just having an off day and we had dinner. Kerala beef curry. She’d actually made Robs acquaintance and we made fun of his Manchester accent together.

Kerala was good to me, albeit tame and clean compared to the rest of India. It was hot though. So hot. I camped out a few times but eventually resolved to stick to hotels, especially after a camping incident that left me with a giant tear in my tent. Yes, that’s right. I was sleeping on the beach, somewhere not far from Kochi, the only place I could get an adequate breeze for the night, and I neglected to realize it was a Fishermans town and for some reason there’d be watchmen patrolling it throughout the night. And that these night watchmen, for whatever reason, would delight in beaming their high powered flashlights right into my tent and staring at me or yelling something at me for no purpose. At one such moment, I was soundly tuckered in, and in a deep dreaming state, and I awoke to the sense that something was very wrong, and I opened my eyes and saw a man peering in, just next to my tent, looking at me, and I felt terror and the need to defend myself so I shot up and, yelling, tore the tent open in order to be able to lay hands on him quickly. Well, he chuckled and told me to relax as he walked away. In my dizzied dream state I hadn’t even realized what I had done. I was so in shock and anger at this man. I looked for the zipper and found it but for some reason the tent remained open. After a few minutes of comically trying to zip my tent back closed, the reality of the situation dawned on me. I tried to put it out of my head and sleep the rest of the night. The mosquitos buzzed around me. The next day I could see the extent of the damage. Yes, I’d somehow torn right through the mesh of the entire left side of the tent. It’d be hotels from here on out. 

In Thrissur I went to a well-rated hospital, Amala Christian hospital, to get blood and stool work done. I’d been looking for Ayurvedic treatment centers and some were requesting a diagnosis so I thought it’d do me some good to obtain one. I found a hotel next to the hospital and basically just walked right in there and they were so nice and accommodating to me that I obtained consultation and an appointment for the next day immediately. The doctor was sure there was nothing serious wrong with me. I told him that I felt I had a rectal prolapse and he laughed saying that was impossible. Probably hemorrhoids. And he was right. I can’t believe I thought my asshole was falling out. Not the best feeling. Don’t recommend. With my tests done, and safe in the knowledge that whatever was wrong with me wasn’t oh so serious, I left Thrissur for Kochi.

And then I was in Kochi. Hot and dusty, old town, with large trees and plenty of old white tourists. I discovered Jew Town, the old site of a Jewish community. I befriended a German girl and an Italian girl and an Indian video editor who was missing a hand and a Nepali British girl and all sorts of other folks and we had a fun little community there in Kochi. And I met back up with a friend from Gokarna. I enjoyed the little community I formed in Kochi and was happy with my new friends. I found a kashmiri tailor who patched up my tent for almost no money. I had a feeling of accomplishment in Kochi, I had reached just about as far as I’d planned to go in India. I would use the rest of my last remaining month to treat myself to some spiritual and physical healing, in Kerala the famous home and capital of Ayurveda, to purify myself after 5 months in India. I decided to start off at a yoga retreat.