Becoming Hinglish, Indian Building. and a Pair of Pants

So the weekend is fast approaching, time is flying by and we have just another five and a bit weeks here in India. This time next week Ruthy, Sarah's second cousin, will have arrived to get her first taste of India. I'm looking forward to seeing Kovalam through a fresh pair of eyes as much of "The Unusual" has become common place for us now. A familiarity as crept into how we see the place, we no longer remark on the litter except when its been cleaned up, the heat and day-in-day-out sunshine are taken for granted, occasionally I catch myself wobbling my head in response to questions but mostly it goes unnoticed and i find myself drifting into Hinglish syntax and phraseology. We are absorbing and being absorbed into this massive, populous, terrifying, delightful, confusing, wonderful country. We have learnt time here is relative and moves forward at its own pace, things happen when they will and trying to force the issue is pointless. Much as we have learnt to time our entry into the sea to reach safe swimming rather than to attempt dive through the breakers and end up thrown back onto the sand, we have learnt how to wait. When something is delivered "on time" it is to be celebrated but the important thing is that it is delivered at all.

This weekend the hotel being built just outside our kitchen window is due to finally open for business, you may remember we attended the official opening almost two months ago on the astrologically significant day as decreed by the temple priests, but this weekend should see the first fee paying guests arrive. The last few days have been a frenzy of bed building, laying of tiles and random cleaning. Praveen, the project manager, has gone from just looking like the most worried man in Kerala to the most worried man in the sub-continent. The afternoons have been punctuated by the sound of disk cutters, cutting, grinding and putting the finishing touches to the building while he stands and checks things off a long list of things to do. Incidentally, i have no idea how anything got built in India before the invention of the disk cutter, its used for everything. The standard method of construction appears to be to cast a large slab of concrete then sculpt the building out of the block with a disk cutter. If there are any detailed drawings scheduling first and second fix I've never seen them being consulted, its an organic process of design and redesign on the hoof.

The decision to raise the swimming pool on stilts outside the front of the hotel was such an organic development, a last minute decision when they realised they didn't have enough car parking, a car park which at the moment appears to have now morphed into a restaurant, when they discovered they didn't have one in the original plan and the access road is too narrow anyway. It will be entertaining to see the look on the guests faces when they are sitting having a romantic meal and we open our kitchen window straight into their restaurant. Almost as entertaining as when they are lounging in their infinity pool on stilts looking out over the sea as Sarah suddenly appears, apparently floating in mid-air, pegging out our smalls on our roof. Ah, I can see the guests now, a glorious sunset scene, lazing in the high tech infinity pool, mojito in hand, quaint wooden fishing boats bobbing in the bay and slap bang in the middle my (once white) pants hanging from the line.

In essence typical Indian building, unbelievably beautiful, high tech, traditional and but for the lack of planning... a bit pants.

have a good weekend

K&S

Seeing the new stuff

They say travel broadens the mind, not sure who "they" are but "they" do have a point. It certainly makes you aware of difference and at its best makes you re-examine what you have taken as read. As a species we have thrived on spotting the difference, the new, the unexpected. In evolutionary terms i guess its from the need to not just see the familiar landscape but to see that there is now a tiger poking its nose out from behind the bush at the edge of the forest. We are not alone in taking in the world in this way, dragonflies with their massive compound eyes have a pixilated view of multiple images, its when one of those images changes, becomes different that they take note and react be it to avoid a leaf or catch a flying insect for lunch.

The world we live in is complex, chaotic, overwhelming; sights, sounds, smells, touch constantly and unrelentingly assault our senses. To make sense of what's important our brains have become expert in switching off our attention from the familiar, the understood and seeking out difference. Its a tricky job and how we react to new things will determine our ability to survive e.g. tiger spotted on the edge of the forest = run away, potential mate = hug. Get them the wrong way round and you are in a world of pain.

India assaults the senses like no other place I've been but after a while, even here the bizarre becomes common place. Deciding what to write about, what I or you will find interesting is a constant challenge as what I now take for granted you would be shocked or enthralled by.

Mostly its the little stuff, the day to day I find most interesting after all that's where we live most of our lives. Tales of how we deal with the common place, traffic, food, work, relationships, religion, living in a hot climate, keeping healthy. i could wax lyrical about the temples, the architecture, how the mists poured down the hills in Munnar, the way the setting sun sets the sea on fire but to be honest i'd never do them justice and there are myriad of travel books you could read that would do a far better job. So I stick to what i know and see, people going about their daily lives in a very different place to our little village on the edge of Dartmoor. The longer we are here its harder to do as its amazing how fast the "different" becomes the norm.

Take food, i know i keep going on about food but it is sooooo good here and so different to being at home. I know for some of you, and certainly for my mother, the thought of curried hard boiled egg first thing in the morning isn't a natural choice and when we got here neither was it for us. Now its almost unthinkable to start the day without perotta or dosas and a good egg masalla. Back home i struggle to achieve the 5 fruit and veg a day recommended and few meals are without some sort of meat or dairy, here i've usually hit the 5-a-day by lunch and the odd egg apart often go without meat for several days in a row. I can count the number of times i've had pork, lamb(goat) or  beef on the fingers of one hand and can honestly say i've not missed it. Its "different".

Expectations here are different too, the most obvious being  life expectancy, in 2011 it was  65.48 years compaired with 80.75 in England (for the information of those working in the NHS, the life expectancy in the US for the same time period was 78.6 years - still want to move to an American model of health and social care?). i.e just over 15 years less.

In terms of income and expectations the Times of India in Feb 2012 reported the Indian per capita income had risen to £533 per year, OK its a big country with over a billion people but to put it another way yesterday the Hindu published its business section, its a bit like the guardian jobs section. Here, out to national advert, are some of the best jobs one of which caught my eye. It was for a university librarian, the candidate must hold an MA in a relevant subject, be fully qualified and no more than 35 (age discrimination is allowed here, i didn't see a single job I could have applied for at 52 years old but if i was expected to peg it in 17 years not surprising, India is a young country). The starting salary was £70 per month pro rata. Oh and for those of you in the medical profession a specialist registrar in the government hospital gets less per month than a single Ddoc shift and full time works well in excess of the 48 hours max. just to add insult to injury the figure is reduced by 75% when you aren't needed or not working.

True living costs are lower, but the prices of all the consumer goods we in the west think are so vital to our lives aren't. At these salaries is it any wonder most of our call centres are in Mumbai or Bangalore, staffed in the main with graduates and post graduates?

Talking of call centres (and heading off on a tangent) pretty much everyone (and i'm not exaggerating) here has a mobile phone.  Its said India has skipped the industrial revolution and moved straight into the technological one. Even TATA India's manufacturing giant once a tea producer (and now owner of Jaguar Land Rover) is now moving into telecommunications having its own 3G enabled mobile network and looking to team up with SKY to take on satellite TV. Even small restaurants are expected to provide access to WiFi for their customers. If you are doubting India's technological prowess, it might be worth remembering they are a nuclear power with intercontinental missiles, they are in the process of designing a lunar rover to be deployed in the next few years and are the technical hub for many of the worlds biggest IT firms, in processing power they could give silicon valley a run for its money.

That said, yesterday I saw an old lady at the side of the road, I'd seen here many times before, almost part of the scenery, she is there most days, doing her job. Her job is simple, every morning a large granite bolder is delivered to her by truck, it must weigh several tonnes. Her tools are a lump hammer and a woven palm frond. She sits under the palm frond to keep the sun off her head and uses the hammer to chip away at the bolder to make gravel for the construction industry. probably there was a similar old lady employed to make gravel for India's ancient temples. A job a thousand years away from the hi-tech multinational air conditioned glass palaces of Bangalore.

I guess "difference" is everywhere and i never fail to be amazed by it, but sometimes its things that stay the same, things we no longer see through familiarity that we should question.

Enjoy the weekend

K&S
24/1/14

A Road Trip to Munnar (2)

Picking up where I left off, the hotel was rather nice, perched on the side of the hill looking out over the valley the view down to the paddi fields below and up to the mist shrouded hill tops magical. (if you are genuinely interested you can have a peak here http://www.thewindmunnar.com/) Apprently the hotel had only opened the previous year and the rooms spacious and modern. It was ranked #1 on TripAdvisor so we were in for a treat, or so we thought. We woke at dawn to watch the sun rise at one end of the valley and a full moon set behind the mountains at the other, stunning.

There was just one problem, apart from the tuk tuk ride down the cliff that is, the service. Don't get me wrong, the staff were all smiles and eager to please, just clueless, perhaps the best illustration was breakfast.

As usual i ordered masala dosa, coffee, and juice. Sarah ordered scrambled eggs on toast (having given up trying to explain what poached meant) juice and lemon honey and hot water as she doesn't do caffeine. I should have known by the fixed smile, wobble of the head and panicked eyes the waiter had no idea what we had ordered. After 30 mins I popped my head in the kitchen to be shooed out with assurances that it was "coming". Sure enough 10 mins later two glasses of pineapple juice arrived, followed after another ten minutes by a basket of toast (which was sent back by us to be toasted) and reappeared another 10 minutes later. Sarah's eggs arrived next which she ate so they wouldn't get cold. 15 mins after she had eaten her eggs a smiling waiter popped out of the kitchen to ask if we had enjoyed breakfast. I calmly (honestly, i was too gob smacked to get angry) pointed out I hadn't had any and where were my dosas? "Dosa... Coming..."

Breakfast took just over 90 mins, we had effectively eaten alone taking it in turn to watch the other one eat.

Our driver hadn't had much luck either, he had slept in the car and by morning was rather cold so he popped down to the local chai wallah for a warming cup of sweet milky tea only to be told black tea only... a cobra had bitten the chai wallahs cow which had died. We should have taken it as an omen.

Once we had managed to escape from breakfast we jumped into the taxi ready for a day of sight seeing, the tea gardens, Munnar town, elephant camp, floral gardens, the Tea Museum and the National Park. Here's my thoughts and ratings.

The Tea Gardens 8/10
Tea Gardens in India are different to the ones at home in England, no cast iron chairs and tables, parasols, clotted cream or Victoria sponge just thousands and thousands of neatly trimmed camellia bushes stretching for miles and miles up ludicrously steep hills, looking like a real life set from the telly tubbies. Watching the tea pickers work was fascinating they actually do look like the picture on the PG Tips box. I could bore you with the difference between white, black and green tea, the different grades from dust to tips but if you are that interested i suggest you look it up (I'd probably get it confused anyway).

Munnar Town 3/10
All the charm of a long distance lorry park being used for a car boot sale. Its one of the few places that have banished plastics in an attempt to deal with the rubbish problem, there are signs up and everything.... but as out taxi driver said "They are only words". We have been coming to India for 8 years now and it ranks as our least favourite place, maybe its the contrast with the beauty of the hills but it really is an ugly town.

Elephant Camp 4/10
If you love seeing elephants being made to perform for the public this is for you, but not for us.

Floral Gardens 6/10
Nice flowers, think B&Q bedding plants on a may day bank holiday with a few Tesco orchids thrown in.

Tea Museum 8/10
Interesting, in fact more interesting than I'd expected. History of Munnar as a tea town with a nice video presentation.

National park
Abandoned - decided to call it a day and return to the hotel as we had another 10 hour journey back to Kovalam the next morning

The return trip was uneventful, no one died, i got to eat a beef thalli meal (I think it was made from the hoof of the cow killed by the cobra) but thats all really.

In short, the hills are worth a look but not worth a special trip to see them, go when you are in the area going to Alappuzha or Kochi. Munnar town is a dump and don't rely on TripAdvisor ratings as your sole reference when picking your hotel.

So now we are back in 34+C heat, swimming every day in blue seas and eating great food. The trip had done just what we needed, reminded us how much we like living here.

K&S

p.s. We also visited a Hydroelectric dam, Echo point and a Pharmacy to get some Listerine, the Pharmacy was the high point.

A Road Trip to Munnar, (Part 1)

Well hello there, we are back from our 3 day trip to Munnar and as promised here's what went on.


Not long after new year Tom and Lauren came to stay with us for a few days as part of their holiday here in India, they had had a few days in Mumbai, a few in Goa and then flew down to Kerala to spend some time with us. It was great to see them, we caught up on the "real world" and had some great meals but they had gone back and left us feeling a bit flat so we decided we also needed a holiday. We looked at the flights to Dubai, Sri Lanka and even Thailand and though cheaper than flying from the UK were still more than we wanted to pay for a short break. So, we decided to go on what my mother would call "an adventure" here in Kerala. But where? Ruth, Sarah's 2nd cousin is due to join us in four weeks time for a couple of weeks, her first trip to India, so no doubt she will want to do one or more of the usual destinations e.g. House Boat, Sleeper to Madurai etc. so where to go? Since new year the temperature has been steadily rising averaging 34 C in the shade so we decided to head for the hills to Munnar.

Munnar is a hill station, a small town 1600 m above sea level in the Western Ghats i.e at the top right hand tip of Kerala. It's famous for its tea gardens and according to the travel info set in stunning scenery, lush and green, oh and cool. Its where the Raj went  when it got a bit too warm for comfort. According to Google maps its a 5-6 hour journey by car so doable. I consulted TripAdvisor and found the top rated hotel and found it to be reasonable (for a treat and couple of days holiday) at £45 per night and the taxi for three days inc. driver was £120 i.e we would be only moderately ripped off by Indian Tourist Rates. So we booked it.

We packed our bag for the frozen north as at night the temperature was predicted to crash to the mid teens i.e. 16 C at night and no higher than 28 C in the day, positively cold, and to make the most of the day were picked up at 7 a.m. by our driver. We made ourselves comfy(ish) for the drive and then were told the journey would take 10 hours and not the 6 as predicted by Google. 10 hours on good Indian roads is no joke, when half the journey is on one track mountain roads its a nightmare. I adopted a fixed grin and settled back to the joy of feeling like I was being kicked up the arse by a man with hobnail boots for the entire trip.

A little about Indian main roads, mostly they are three lanes wide, not that they are supposed to be, they just work out that way. There is one lane in each direction, sort of, and the informal bus or lorry lane which runs down the white line in the centre. This is the "Lane of Death" with traffic traveling at break neck speed simultaneously in either direction. its also where you have to go to overtake. (NB. overtaking should preferably be done on blind bends, over bridges or when the road narrows, at least that's how it feels. Apparently when Fast and Furious was shown here no one could understand what was the problem as it appeared to be about a few mates taking a Sunday drive).

Fortunately we had a good driver, but he did have one rather disturbing habit. He was a devout christian not a problem in itself but every few hundred yards there was a roadside shrine or church (some no doubt commemorating the last major accident, where someone had gone off a cliff or ploughed into oncoming traffic) and he insisted on taking his hands off the wheel to bless himself as we passed, three cars abreast at 60 mph with a sheer drop on one side and a 40 tonne truck heading straight for us on the other.

However, after 10 hours of bum numbing, white knuckle ride through some truly beautiful mountain roads with spectacular cliff views (which I saw all too close for my liking) we finally arrived at our hotel. Well not quite "at the hotel" near would be more accurate. The 1.5km drive down to the hotel, which was perched on the side of the hill, was being repaired so our taxi couldn't get us all the way there. The repairs were "interesting" at the top of the single track drive a 5m x 25m concrete slab was being laid and further down to save concrete two concrete tracks had been made one for each wheel, the center of the road being large hardcore rubble, no doubt to help with drainage in rainy season. After a long long drive walking down the hill with our bags was not going to be fun. We shouldn't have worried the hotel had arranged transport to get us from the slab to reception and were sending the vehicle up to meet us. A nice touch. Then it arrived. A tuk tuk. If you are unfamiliar with this mode of transport, there is one defining thing which describes a tuk tuk. They have 3 wheels. A two track road with hard core down the middle is not an ideal road surface for a tuk tuk and after 10 hours on death defying roads with a driver who felt the need to take is hands off the wheel everytime we passed a depiction of the Madonna or a cross whilst heading into oncoming traffic on a mountain pass we nearly ended up at the bottom of a cliff 300 meters from the hotel as the front wheel jammed into a large rock in the middle of the track.

At this point i remember shouting something like "Jesus H Christ!!!" as the tuk tuk reared up then set itself down on the road with inches to spare... Maybe the driver had got it right.

Harvest Festival, A Fishy Orgy & Chicken Offal Curry

Wednesday 15th Jan 2014

from the last blog you will know yesterday was Pongal (Harvest Festival) here in Southern India, the date varies as its defined by the full moon, at bit like Easter. It was a joyous affair, the Mosque was decorated with miles of bunting stretched out from the minaret  to the surrounding coconut trees to form  a canopy of green flags which fluttered and bobbed in the light breeze.

Music blared out from a bank of speakers which had appeared on the car park at the end of our road not long after dawn prayers had finished at the mosque and there was an air of festival excitement building. As at home on bank holidays the morning had started with rain but unlike home by 10:00 the clouds had burnt back to revel a blue sky.  It was obviously a big day , all the kids were off from school and were running around with big smiles on their faces. 2013's monsoon had been good and it was a good harvest.

From our balcony we watched the crowds build men, women and children all obviously out for a good time. What happened next took us by surprise as the women and children all began to head towards the mosque carrying buckets and containers, initially i thought they might contain the usual harvest festival donations of tins of fruit cocktail or salmon but they were empty.

Here, as we found out later, the custom is for the mosque to give rice to the community and the women were all queuing up for their share.

Next a troop of dancers, all boys this was a Muslim celebration, appeared dressed not unlike morris men at home complete with tambourines and sticks adorned with tassels and proceeded to delight the crowd with what i can only describe as a cross between energetic morris and line dance made all the more impressive in the now noon day heat and the whole community had turned out to watch. Muntaz and Ali who own our apartment and live on the ground floor below us were there and tried to explain what was going on, no doubt some was lost in translation but it was great fun to watch.

As the dancers finished their final dance we headed off for the beach only to discover it covered with dead fish. What kind of eco disaster were we looking at? pollution? some deep sea trawler dumped its by-catch just off shore? I was seriously concerned until i noticed they were all the same species of fish, all about the same size and had a curious hollowed out look to them. Then the penny dropped, we weren't looking at a scene of death and devastation but one of birth and renewal, it was a mass spawning triggered by last nights full moon. The fish had accomplished their goal and now spent had died and been washed up on the shore. Impressive but all part of life and death's cycle, even if a bit smelly until the crows and jackdaws had cleared them away.

On our return home Muntaz appeared with several bowls and containers, she had prepared a havest meal and wanted us to share in the day. Pilao rice, coconut and lentil sambal, a meat curry, raita and popodums. It was delicious or it was until i began exploring the meat curry. Don't get me wrong ir was delicious and made from chicken (I'd noticed the the number of chickens in Muntaz's yard had fallen by one but that was OK, that was what they were there for and made it an even more auspicious meal) it was what i discovered that made me squeamish. An un-laid egg. In India, chicken curry means it has chicken in it, this can entail anything from breast and leg to liver, heart , kidneys in fact anything which is edible. I realise that protein here is expensive (relatively) and if you are going to kill one of the birds you have feed and nurtured you want to make sure nothing and i mean nothing goes to waste but I'm afraid my inner western Waitrose shopper rebelled. As far as chicken offal goes i draw the line at chicken liver. It was a truly lovely thought on her part and after careful forensic examination of the rest of the curry i managed to eat enough to show gratitude. It was after all - delicious.

Tomorrow we are off to Munnar for 2 -3 days  a tea town in the hills a 5 - 6 hour drive. According to my Weather App its cold up there, at night the temperature crashing to 16 C and day temp scarcely rising to 28 C. I'm considering taking a onesie for nights and a fleece for the day time.

I'll let you know how i managed in the cold when we get back.

Oh well Dosas are calling.... then off to the beach.

Have a good day

K&S

So that was 2013... Happy Pongal

So 2014 has been here for two weeks now and as its raining this morning, the second time in two months, I thought it would be a good idea to take a moment to look back on the year, a year of change and new beginnings for us. Today is Pongal, the Tamil celebration of Harvest a time to reflect and give thanks so its an appropriate time to think about our year. It hasn't always been an easy year but one where we decided to get out of the rat race and enjoy life, to see and do new things and be kinder to ourselves. In short to learn how to play and take pleasure from living without feeling guilty or asking if we deserved it.

The NHS reorganisation though traumatic gave us permission to examine what we wanted from life, how far we had come and if we wanted to continue doing what we had always done. I have no doubt if i'd wanted I could have found some other role in the emerging organisations but did I really want to spend the next eight years of my life chasing the latest wonderkid's vision of healthcare, a rehashing of initiatives and not so new ideas, watching organisations torn between local accountability and centrally controlled economies of scale?
Worse still jumping to address the latest Daily Mail statistical scandal, written by an innumerate journalist. e.g. "Did you know that just under 50% of care provided in the NHS is below average? Something MUST be done!!!" Statistically correct, and totally meaningless.

Nah... not for me or Sarah, so if you want to know in detail what happened (and have an hour or so to kill) read the back issues in the blog.

Also realising we had spent most of our adult lives being what we thought others expected us to do or be was an important turning point for us. Time to be us. So, I took early retirement, Sarah quit her job and here we are spending the winter in sunnier climes, something we intend to do for as long as we can, as long as our health holds and as long as we can afford it.

There have been some unexpected changes too, one of the reasons Sarah loves India is her love of Yoga, strangely, though she still practices regularly, its a much smaller part of her life now compared to her time back home in Devon. I haven't discussed it with her yet, in fact its only just occurred to me but I think when she was working it was her refuge from the day to day. Or perhaps "time for her", time which she now has in abundance. In the 12 weeks or so we have been here i've lost about a couple of stone in weight (aka blubber). I've not been ill or dieted, just eating better, more fish, fruit and veg, very very little red meat and stop when i'm full. I feel healthier and fitter than I have for a long time.

At its heart Kovalam is still a small village and in that not that different to Sticklepath, we are greeted most mornings by the coconut seller as we head of the beach with a cheery wave, locals smile at us as they go about their daily business of extracting money from the tourists, hawkers say good morning and pass the time of day (usually about the weather or moaning about the lack of tourists) rather than trying to sell us their goods. Don't get me wrong I'm not so gullible that I think we are now Kovalamites, rather like in Devon we will always be incomers, we occupy a place between potential source of income and locals.

We haven't become part of the ex-pat community, though there is one, they tend to sit in the same bars and restaurants at sunset watching the world go by. I think the fact we are based away from lighthouse beach in our own apartment has played a part in this and the fact most of our friends here are Indian. True, its fun from time to time to catch up on a trip one of them has had to Thailand or up to Goa but they aren't part of our world and neither are we part of theirs and have no desire to sit moaning about life in the UK or drinking our selves into oblivion which seems to be the course many take.

Back home, when we first considered retiring and moving to India for the winter it felt so decadent a thing to do that we needed to justify our good luck by immediately hurling ourselves into "good works" and talked about working for an NGO here full time. We have the skills and experience to help and had previously had established a relationship with a local social enterprise organisation, giving kids a second chance in education, improving health and social care and improving the choices for the local community in particular women. Back in April, on our previous trip, we even went as far as discussing it with the NGO's founder and he was keen to have us. Sarah was to work as a teachers's assistant and I was to work with their project director on social enterprise/project development. When we got back to the UK we began to have second thoughts, we were at risk of swapping one high pressured environment for another and one rat race for another.

When i was at King's Fund i remember a lecture on how certain people are attracted to intractable problems, according to the lecturer a common trait in NHS staff i.e. we are draw to occupations and jobs which are difficult and exact a personal cost, a perversion of "no gain without pain" in the end at a subconscious level its the pain endured rather than the gains made which define us and justify our existence. "Look at me, I must be a good person, look how much what i'm doing hurts me, how brave am I!" of course this mantra is chanted at a subconscious level and never spoken out loud as to fully demonstrate just how saintly we have become requires stoicism. There are lots of serious folk in the NHS carrying around two wooden posts and a bag of nails, long hours, always playing email, writing endless briefing notes, on call, etc. I know, I was one of them. The difficult part was putting them down and unless we were very careful we were about to take a set to India.

Independently we both discussed our plans and concerns with our therapists, both had the same advice, in short. Make no decisions during the first year you can't back out of, learn to play and enjoy yourselves. Heresy!!! But they were right. One of the hardest emails i have ever had to write was to the NGO telling them we were taking a year out to be well, enjoy life and consider our options. I needn't have worried, the email response was fully supportive and understanding of our decision, a sign we were dealing with the right people.

So here we are, just enjoying being, typically my day starts at about 6:30 with freshly ground coffee, a cigarette (I haven't given up yet but its on the cards, when I'm ready) and an hour or so reading the paper, unless the cricket is on from Australia in which case its a hour or two of watching England self destruct before breakfast.

Breakfast is usually at the local Tea Shop, dosas or perotta with a hard boiled egg, onion masalla and sambal. Delicious and freshly cooked to order.

Next the beach, for a few hours reading (my reading habits have changed dramatically, I now alternate classics with trash, before it was mostly Scandinavian thrillers now its far more eclectic) listening to whatever takes my fancy on the iPod or a play on the radio (God bless Radio 4 Extra on demand on the interweb), a swim or bounce in the sea when it gets a bit warm and watching non-swimming fully clothed Indians get hurled up the sand by the surf.

Lunch is usually dhal, a chapatti or two and some fruit served by Shiva on the beach (the restaurant behind the beach delivers for those of us who can't be arsed to get of our sunbeds).

Back to the apartment by 2-3pm for a shower and snooze.

Evenings are spent either going to a restaurant if we are hungry and haven't planned to eat in (i.e. couldn't be bothered with shopping for onions tomatoes or some other such stuff) or maybe watching a film on the TV or computer with some fruit and cashew nuts.

Bed time is anywhere between 8:30 and midnight (film and temperature dependant).

Obviously we don't do this every day, just most days, time to participate in thinking or not as the day goes. Pure indulgence, enjoying playing and having fun.

This year the harvest was a good one, a stormy start but it produced riches like no other, I'm looking forward to 2014 but for now just being is more than enough.

Happy Pongal

K&S

New Years Eve - A night I'm still trying to remember

New Year's Eve in Kovalam was absolutely spectacular at least the bits i can remember, its now 8 a.m. on the 2nd and I'm still feeling drunk.

As we had been told proceedings on the beach can get a bit frenzied we had decided to go to a very posh five star hotel do for the night at the Vivanta by Taj (look it up on TripAdvisor, its a popular honeymoon destination, all infinity pools and spa treatments). The theme of the night was "White Nights" and we all had to turn up in white. Sarah had duly spent Monday traipsing around Trivandrum for a dress and looked stunning in her Indian dress, i had a pair of white linen trousers and shirt on. We definitely looked the part as we headed out at 7:30 tickets in hand (£90 per couple, all food and drink included) for a civilized end to 2013, at least that was the plan.

The party was on the edge of the beach, a stage had been erected where various entertainments were promised, multiple marque tents erected for the lavish buffet and three bars for the 300+ participants a mix of hotel guests, local glitterati and tourists from around the world and us.

The first part of the evening was compered by an irritating bubbly Indian lass (think the love child of Timmy Mallet and Tony Blackburn and you will get the picture). Her job was to fill the gaps between performers with "fun games" and general hilarity. This was the point at which I made my first mistake of the night, i made friends with the bar manager, we got on like a house on fire as he singled us out for "special service" and my Bacardi and Cokes went from a 2:5 to a 5:2 mix.

Things went rather quickly from that point, we watched a troup of Mongolian dancers (very good), a Russian belly dancer (not so good), traditional Keralan song and dance (excellent) and enjoyed the extensive buffet.

It was during one of the comperes hilarious games I went looking for another table for us to sit at, one with a "bit of life". Unfortunately i found it, table 69. On which were Kiwi's, South Africans, French, Indians and a lad from Sri Lanka who was already looking totally lost. I had managed to find the only rugby table in the whole of Kerala. We moved to join them and were greeted warmly with the announcement they were all going to the bar as their waiter had abandoned them i.e took their last order, looked at them long and hard then ran off. These were our kind of people.

An hour or so later I remember trying to teach an enthusiastic but bemused Sri Lankan the words and moves to swing low sweet chariot, Sarah was trying to get the Indian off with a rather nice Russian girl, the French guy was running the buffet, the Maori lining up shots on the bar, and the South African lass explaining to me why white men should never try to dance.

We celebrated the arrival of 2014 on the dance floor which time we had been adopted by a Russian family whose daughter was getting married to an Indian. Her farther was a cross between an early Meatloaf and a Mafia hitman and amazingly was even more drunk than the rest of us. This would have been fine if this didn't mean we now had another new year to celebrate in half an hour, Moscow time. At about 1:30 (neither of us can be exact about the time) and far too many toasts later we decided to head home. I decided we were far too drunk to walk the 1 km along the beach so we got a tuk tuk.

Things went down hill from there rather rapidly.

There is no direct route from the hotel to our apartment so the tuk tuk had to head inland about 2km before the run down to the apartment. At which point the motion of the tuk tuk, the smell of the diesel fumes, the rogan josh, mango ice cream, biriyani, Bacardi and Coke, vodka, indian champagne all combined to produce what Sarah describes as the most spectacular demonstration of projectile vomit she has ever seen, and certainly rivaled the earlier firework display, right over the tuk tuk drivers head.

Needless to say we now had a 2 km walk home. Most of this is a blur but at some point i decided to throw away my shirt and destroyed my white linen trousers.by falling over in the Hindu Temples car park at the bottom of our drive. Fortunately Ganesh loves a piss head and we made it home.

All in all it was the most disgraceful and best New Years Eve I can't remember....

Happy 2014

K&S