Festive fallout!

As the years roll by, wherever we are, our world changes. Our immediate world, not the world at large! Will the change be of benefit or to the detriment of us all, will it help or will it hinder. What effect will we have upon the environs we exist in? Many believe the knack is to pass through the world without upsetting the balance, others are intent on leaving their mark, something to be remembered by. Whether individuals roam the face of our planet or exist in the tiniest corner, we all have an effect. Few are stirred to greatness, yet most wish to be remembered. The ends do not justify the means, take John Lennon’s assassin for example, a warped individual who’s sole aim seems to be the fame his murderous act earned him. I like to think I leave a ripple in my wake, enough to maybe lift people’s heads above the surface, but nothing to cause alarm. When amongst crowds I prefer to go unnoticed altogether. (Photo: Huge moth - Namaste guesthouse, Ohm Beach, Karnataka)

Rajastan may receive more tourists per annum than other Indian states, but over the festive season it’s southern states which get the huge influxes. Miles of glorious sandy beaches, most with no infrastructure at all, no hotels no cafes, no shops, and few chances to reach them, if there’s any access at all. The places are often seen across enormous bays, where there is nothing marked on the map, not even a village. Ask a local what’s there and the answer is simple, nothing! Maybe the occasional fishing family have a hut somewhere, a bamboo shelter, probably not accessible by road. I get the feeling those are the real havens to chill out on, while away a few days without being disturbed by a constant stream of tourists, whether Indian or foreign. And those are the places you’ll never reach, unless you’re independent transport wise. Without, you’re stuck with utilising the same places everyone else has access to, just one of the hoards.(Photo: White breasted kingfisher - Namaste Guesthouse, Ohm beach, Karnataka)

Ohm beach is supposed to be a quiet getaway, well on the tourist trail but laid back and low key. Unfortunately there is also a road in from Gokarna, so the city folk come in their droves. Young, modern Indians, come to drink and make merry, strut their stuff, cigarettes and beer in hand.A guesthouse owner sits smiling, watching two young Indian women smoking and drinking. He wasn’t exactly disapproving, but made the point that you wouldn’t see local girls/women smoking or drinking, in public or private. Someone claimed to have actually seen Mumbai girls on the beaches of Goa in bikinis, whatever next, I’m all for this cultural equality. So ironically, the next day, as I lay basking in the sun, hey presto I saw my first group of Indian women in bikinis. It was a pleasant surprise to see a mixed group of western guys and Indian girls arrive and settle next to me, you don’t really such groups, though I’ve never hung out in the big cities. India is changing very fast, and the change is coming from within. No longer is it the foreign tourist who flaunts what the locals can’t have, it’s their own countrymen, which makes it more accessible, more desirable. There appears no end of affluent visitors from Mumbai and Mangalore, youngsters flashing their cash, They’re not sleeping in shitty little huts with toilets shared between twenty, if they do stay it’s an a/c room, as many as they can fit in. Seeing that show of affluence from fellow Indians has to bring it closer to home. Let’s be honest, a good proportion of the beach crowd around Goa, and many other Indian beach resorts, have got bugger all worth having anyway. How could young local guys envy that, most of them live in better conditions than the tourist beach huts? (Photo: It's a long tale - Namaste guesthouse, Ohm beach, Karnataka)

(Photo: Space race - Ohm beach, Karnataka)


So it’s much busier than I imagined here over Christmas and New Year, I thought I was going to find a very quiet place, perhaps I’m too spoilt, had too many exotic paradises. I’d have thought I could have found a place more suitable to relax and write, India is so huge that if you want to move on it takes days to get anywhere else. And that can be very draining as well. As in any situation, you should try and make the most of it. I’m content with being here, my book is grinding inexorably on, the creative juices aren’t at their best, but are getting the job done. I’m very reluctant to rush it, or is that lethargy? The days are being counted and I know who much is left to write, when I sit down bits dribble out. I know what I want to say, but can’t find the exact words, I spend as much time pacing that typing. But it is coming, and I’m still committed to finishing it competently, I don’t want to screw up so much effort with a sloppy finale. With ten days left before turning home, I’d better get my finger out. (Photo: Romance in paradise - Ohm beach, Karnataka)

Eclipsing the way forward

I’d love to begin by wishing everyone a very merry Christmas, I’d also love to extend my heartfelt happiness to you all at this special time of year. The trouble is I don’t have that happiness to extend. Don’t get me wrong, I am not in the depths of depression, but I am keeping the hell away from merry makers and their party antics, I do not feel like partying. It’s solace I seek at this time of year, it may well be found in the bottle, it may well be found in other intoxicants, but it is of course at festive times we miss our loved ones the most. And boy do I miss Cai. But hey, let’s not dwell on sadness and loss; let’s appreciate what we do have in life. After all, life goes on! (Photo: Checking for supplies - Kudlee Beach, Karnataka)

At present Ohm beach is undergoing a fairly fast turnover of tourists, some are rushing off for Christmas, others are arriving to settle in before. Not that it changes anything, some newfound friends go and other potential friends arrive. Perhaps I should put in more effort, be more sociable, to be honest I can’t really be bothered. Most of what’s going through my head is writing and next year’s forthcoming journey, and I’m getting bored of extolling my travelling adventure past and present. Of the past, they are all overshadowed by losing Cai, and the future, who knows what the future holds? None of us can know, the only certainty is that one day we die. It's up to us to make something of our time here. Each of us is responsible for the life we lead, for the deeds we do. Wouldn't it be nice if we all made them good deeds? (Photo: When the times are hard - Kudlee beach, Karnataka)

Weekends are busiest, with groups of Indians travelling from all over Karnataka to enjoy the beach here. How they enjoy it is a different matter! Sunday I caught a low-life with his hand in my rucksack, rooting around to try and find something to steal. I erupted, pushing and kicking him away, ever since I’ve regretted not beating the crap out of him. Maybe this has induced a melancholic mood, or should I say more of one. It made me so angry, still does whenever I dwell on it, which it shouldn’t, I know there are such scum in the world, I shouldn’t let them spoil my demeanour. I reported the incident to a police officer, but wouldn’t point out the actual culprit because I refused to go to the local town, Gokarna, and write a report. (Photo: Gokarna beach, Karnataka)


Anyway folks, Adieu. The time has come for me to sign off, please don’t send soppy Christmas wishes or your repeated condolences over Cai. The reason I ensure I’m away for Christmas is to escape all that, to deal with my head and heart myself. As nice as the sentiments are they hit hard and deep! Take care y’all! (Photo: Looks like we got ourselves a convoy - Kudlee beach, Karnataka)

Ohhhhm!

Beach life isn’t only for the foreign invaders, there is a lot of Indian tourism, a new wave of affluence has swept India and domestic tourism is rife. One thing is certain though, they don’t attempt to stay in the places of cheap squalor that attract western beach bums. You don’t find them staying in palm frond huts without toilet, shower or even electric. They must look at the conditions we pay money to stay in and feel nothing but disgust, even more so than we look at the dirt and filth around India. To be honest the conditions of man tourist huts is no better than the squatter camps, made barely more acceptable by the presence of communal toilets. Blocked and splattered with shit they may be, but at least they are subjected to some form of daily cleansing, probably more frequent than the tourists themselves. From an Indian eye though, people are paying to live in squalor on the beach, people how can afford much more; in their eyes at least. Groups of screeching Indians, crowding the surf line, are a common sight. Their innocent delight in the simple pleasures is touching; for once it’s the western eyes, staring in amazement, at the unexplainable antics of the local tourists. (Photo: Dogging, Indian style - Ohm Beach, Karnataka)

Nor are the pleasures of the beach restricted to the human species! Dogs, cats and cows all vie for the attentions of the visitors. Most cafes have their resident dogs, most bitches care for their most recent litter, heavy teats still providing for their brood. Puppies have an easy life, which is just as well, many of them will not make it into adulthood. Once the tourists leave and monsoon arrives their food supply dries up, I imagine it to be a hard life surviving on a desolate coastline, devoid of the countless scraps discarded by the casual tourist trade. But while the tourists swarm the beaches they live a life of relative luxury, rich pickings for all. From an early age they learn the benefits of being appreciated by humans, petted, pampered, adored and fed tidbits almost from birth, none are the slightest bit knarly. As adults they’ve lost their charm, though remain friendly, and become more peaceful and polite. Together they run up and down the beach, chasing each other, play fighting, frolicking in the surf. In the heat of the day they can be found laying in the surf, cooling down, delousing. It’s not unusual to see a dog run out into the crashing waves only to be engulfed in the foaming surf. Cats are like the local kids, hassle you for a pittance, but only briefly, it doesn’t take long for them to realise they’re wasting their time. Give them anything, just once, and they’ll never leave you alone. The presence of cows is nothing unusual either, they are after all everywhere in India. Not having spent time in the cities I can’t vouch for the welfare of urban cattle, I’ve been lead to believe they suffer badly, emaciated and disease ridden they wander the streets, rooting through plastic waste for the chance of the tiniest morsal of vegetable matter. My experience in rural areas has consisted of well-nourished animals, respected and cared for, with frequent vegetable matter presented to them. On Ohm beach a dwarf form of oxen are in residence, though a distinct lack of them during the hot mid-day sun credits them with more sense than the average westerner. Once the heat of the day drops, on they come, in groups, traipsing down the shoreline in search of food. They hustle tourists for it, if they smell fresh fruit they will blatantly bully it from you. Of course, often enough they are encouraged, mango skins and coconut offered as a form of amusement, only when they start sifting through your belongings, rummaging into your personal possessions, do people realize their mistake, too late. (Photos: 1] Sunset over Ohm bay; 2] Gribbit - Ohm Beach, Karnataka)

A walk across the headland to the next beach turned into a fortuitous balls-up. Not having planned to walk the whole way, I had no water and no money on me. Maybe a bit shortsighted of me, but I only went to see where the track could be found, I guess I got a bit carried away and 40 mins later arrived at Half-moon Beach, hot, hungry and dehydrated. Knowing my need for water was my first rational thought, with none available my second was to turn around and head for the facilities of my own hotel. I needed to take it easy and stay out the sun where possible, so the walk back was leisurely, up through a deep narrow stream bed, along the cliff tops and a down a rough, rocky trail. After the strenuous climb, I meandered along the cliffs, appreciating the rocky bluffs below me. Right on cue, in the hidden bay below, a pod of dolphins surfaced, half a dozen or more, lazily cruising within the confines of the bay. However hungry and tired I was, I hung around, mesmerized, all thoughts of food and water far away. A passing boat headed towards them and off the went, reappearing five minutes later, casually heading off in the opposite direction. It made my day, even falling and smacking my knee failed to detract from the experience. It does mean I have to stay out the water for a while, give the wound time to heal, they have a tendency to fester in the sea water here. I don’t mind waiting though; it gives me time to get into the flow of writing. Not that I’m grammatically challenged, I’m sat writing every day. It may be slow, but it’s sure! Do I even detect a reluctance to finish, probably, the end is in sight, and it’s been a very positive experience cataloguing the most profound incident of my life. Of course I want to do my utmost to preserve that experience, hey, I want the world to know! Wake up folks, nasty shit happens, you’d better make the most of life while you can. Treasure your loved ones, show them how precious they are, ensure the understand, it could be the last chance you have to do so. (Photos: My luxury bachelor pad - Nameste guesthouse, Ohm Beach, Karnataka)

And folks, if the regularity of blogs astonishes you, don't hold your breath, Christmas is approaching fast and I'm likely to go off-line.

Ohm Beach!

Ohm Beach, Karnataka, squeezed between Goa and Kerala, an alternative to the busy beaches of both the latter mentioned. It is gorgeous, but not what I‘d call a quiet, ideal paradise. There’s a dozen places offering rooms, most are no more than huts made of palm fronds, slotted in one against the other, with shared bathrooms, no privacy and no security. There is certainly no electricity in the huts and having the space to type and concentrate is just not going to happen. So I’ve taken a room in the most touristic place here, Nameste Guesthouse! Prices are top of the range for this beach, but the rooms are without doubt the most modern and comfortable. In many ways I would prefer a basic hut, but they just don’t come with bathroom and electricity. Namaste’s restaurant leads onto the beach but all the rooms are tucked away out back, they are a bit crammed in, the once secluded gardens have succumbed to the greed of the owners desire to fit in as many rooms in as possible. It’s easy to distinguish the older, original rooms with the new units squeezed in between. It is quiet though, which suites me fine, especially now they’ve given me a room right at the top, a detached building overlooking the rest. They swapped my room when I explained I needed more space and seclusion to write, It’s the same price, 700 rupees, which is just under £10. (Photo: North end of Ohm Beach - Karnataka, India)

Named after the double crescent shaped beach, it resembles the Ohm symbol, having a rocky promontory splitting the two halves. Further round the coast, you must walk over a headland, are two more beaches, even more basic and cut off. Paradise beach is the furthest and seems to be filling fast, it sounds just the place for almost total seclusion. Over an hour’s walk away it’s a rough trail to get there and few facilities once there. No power, very basic accommodation and limited choice of food. If it weren’t for the desire to write it would make an ideal getaway, but it’s seclusion is a major attraction here, many folks are hunting for the most undisturbed beaches. Unfortunately the effect has meant a quiet secluded beach that is more crowded than the main one at Ohm, the only advantage is the police don’t go there, so parties can continue all night. With Christmas closing in huts are in short supply, with Goa being almost closed down for parties the word is out that Paradise beach is the place for festive parties; I think I’m better off on Ohm beach. Having walked the length of the beach I’m now fully aware of what’s on offer, only one other seems to have rooms with attached bathroom, Jungle café. It isn’t on the beach itself, which does give more seclusion, but it is also the main drug supply along the beach. It is used for those getting off the beach for a quiet smoke, or to score. They stick the music on when customers drift in, at other times there is a tendency for them to leave the TV crackling most the day. At first glance it’s promising, sitting and taking in the vibe I have severe doubts. I won’t consider packing up and moving along the beach unless I’m sure it will be worth it, one thing is for sure, the second crescent of the beach is where the long termers tend to stay, it’s also the busier half. This is where the fires are lit on the beach every night, where the impromptu parties occur. It’s also chock full with Israelis, hoards of them, full of life, full of themselves. (Photos: 1] South end of Ohm Beach; 2] No, it's not Cowes - Ohm Beach, Karnataka, India)

Generally the Israelis are to be found in groups, if they didn’t already have an attitude of us against the rest of the world group mentality will encourage it. People naturally form into groups of similar customs, language or habits. Let’s face it, if travelling alone, most people will find themselves socializing with those who can speak their own language, or one they are proficient at, and then group mentality ensues. It doesn’t matter what nation they’re from, in a group they are always louder, more adventurous, more sure of themselves. There are a lot of Israelis and Russians in India, they both have a bad reputation, for travelling in packs and being arrogant. They aren’t the only ones, though each have a strong penchant for sticking to their own kind; maybe more so than many other nationalities. (Photo: Jumped over the moon - Ohm Beach, Karnataka, India)

Wherever I go a few days of relaxing and settling in mark my arrival, once chilled out I try and establish a routine to create the ideal circumstances to write in. Well, I’ve got that at Ohm beach, quite quickly, and whilst the writing is slow, it is now my primary concern. For sure I scored some Charys without little delay, of course I got stoned for the first few days. Indian beach life is a magnet for the worlds potheads, it’s what the social scene here is all about. But now I withdraw and make maximum use of my hotel hideaway. Here I can remain anonymous, sit at a table alone and the chances are people won’t interrupt me, certainly not if I’m sat typing. Though it’s seldom that I sit and type in public, only to write my journal or blog. It works well, I don’t get in the habit of wasting time. If I want a break I move along the beach and find people to mingle with. By reading my research material over breakfast it prepares me for the day’s writing, gets the creativity warmed up before other distractions waylay me. I keep myself pretty much to myself, reluctant to open myself up to the vagaries of other peoples shenanigans. I actually like sitting back and watching the world go by, without exerting any personal influence on the proceedings. (Photo: Getting in the groove - Ohm Beach, Karnataka, India)

Doh, for Diu!

Having well and truly settled into the town of Diu, on the Island of Diu, it becomes time to move on, find a place for Christmas and writing. My first few days in Diu involved sitting on the roof of the church, getting stoned and chilling out. It takes a few days allowing it all to soak in properly, it just isn’t like India, it’s much to peaceful! There is a distinct lack of noise, of people, and of general hustle and bustle. St Thomas church, where I’m staying, is a magnet for easy-going stoners, the rooftop social scene is ideal, overlooking the quiet side of town and the beach. Most visitors end up staying longer than anticipated, I’m going before I thought I would, due to getting stoned too much, the spontaneous bouts of drinking at night also have their effect on my motivation and creativity. I suppose you could say I’ve settled in rather too well! It would be hard not to, our view includes a number of massive old colonial buildings, interspersed with countless palms, Neem and Mango trees. Defining the margin between land and sea is the old Portuguese fort, crumbling walls are open access for visitors, you can walk along the top of them, without being worried about the safety measures, because there aren’t any. A lighthouse, perched atop the fort stands proud from all else, and can also bee visited, though it isn’t the same age as the fort and churches. A lovely fortified island sits just off the coast, I believe it serves as the main prison now, the only way to get there is through the court system. Three vast edifices punch their way above the residential homes, St Paul’s Church, St Thomas and St Francis of Assisi. Only St Paul’s still operates as a church, our’s is a Museum come guesthouse and the other has been converted into a hospital. All three are aglow with gaudy coloured lights after dark, though the subtle amber hues and shadows are beautiful on the bell tower. (Photos: Views of Diu Fort, Gujarat, India)

One section of the fort still houses the ‘Sub-jail’, a moustachioed guard hustled me away when I tried to take a picture. All in all there is little hassle here, you aren’t hounded to fill the pockets of all and sundry wherever you go. The main hassle is from Indian tourists wanting their photo taken with me, I restrict them to one photo now, thank them for the honour, shake hands with them all and walk away. There’s sanctuary here at St Thomas’s, and I appreciate that, if for nothing else, for the time it gave to catch up with my blog and get the creative juices flowing. Having the best room in the place was an extra benefit, but I had to fork out a lot for the privilege, a whopping £9 per night, for bedroom, lounge, balcony and bathroom. At that price I can afford to live like a king! (Photo: Parrots having a strop with each other - St Tomas Church, Diu Town, Gujarat)

Proofreading the last two chapters I wrote reassured me no end, a pleasant surprise to find there was little I felt needed rewriting. It feels forever since I sat and wrote my book, three months is too long, though when I read through it felt like only yesterday. Still connecting immediately with the emotions and experiences of the Americas makes the writing come easier, each time I relive the thoughts and feelings it leaves me feeling a little bit more positive within myself. It has helped put it all into perspective; by viewing it more objectively I can appreciate what I actually went through, how far into the realms of madness I actually fell. I still find the physical aspects of the journey nothing special, it doesn’t take an exceptional person to ride the route I did. The circumstances under which I managed it were! My eternal thanks for all those, who were there for me while I rode the Americas, and who shared the experience, encouraging me to continue both riding and writing, it made all the difference.(Photo: Formation flying - St Thomas Church, Diu Town, Gujarat)

But alas, Diu is now a 22hr bus ride behind, I’m frazzled but not fried. Despite looking forward to Mumbai like a hole in the head, it’s been tackled without any fuss. Rather than just going with the flow I created my own fortune, initially by getting dropped in the suburbs, rather than the Central station. Giving a persistent tout the slip halved the cost of a rickshaw to the train station, and got me there with over six hours to spare. Left with so much time meant finding an ATM and topping up my cash reserves, with any luck I can now get through another week or so without hunting out another bank that’ll accept my card. And then I only had five hours left, ho hum! (Photo: St Thomas Church - Diu Town, Gujarat)

People watching, one of the few reasons to spend time in a city. Why, oh why, do so many Indians henna their hair when they go grey? They seem to wait until they are completely grey, it goes that bright flame orange that Orientals get when they try to bleach their hair, which is cool for the young and hip. It’s the Indian equivalent to the comb-over, and looks as preposterous. Grey hair is meant to gain respect, to be revered in Asia, so why go and ruin the perfect chance to be taken seriously? How true that is I’m not sure, judging by the reactions of a couple of kids on the train, it’s becoming a thing of the past. When being admonished by an old guy they starting pulling faces and taking the piss, not overtly though, so there is still some aspect of truth there. I personally get more positive reaction from kids than older Indians, and that is a reaction to my hair. In Rajastan I got lots of attention and positive comments, in Gujarat it’s all stares and laughing behind my back. So you can guess which place I preferred! (Photo: Your's truly, batty in the belfry - St Thomas Church - Diu Town, Gujarat)

Leaving Diu took me through the rest of Gujarat, what I hadn’t seen on the way to Diu. I was pretty much the same, rural India at its most agricultural. Squatter camps accompanied any area of construction, the railway entering or leaving every town or village, even wherever in the countryside planting or harvesting are underway. No change there between Gujarat and Maharashtra, in fact it intensified as we entered the outskirts of Mumbai. Vast areas of slums lined the road at one point, but they weren’t the worst of it, at least they were made of semi-permanent building materials. I believe shanti shanti to be a term used by foreigners in India, damned if I know what the hell they’re talking about, but in Mumbai it could only be used to describe the extent of street dwellings. A couple of bin bags, stretched over a few poles and they get an instant home. Half don’t even have the privacy of enough plastic to form a screen at the entrance. The overall look of rural areas didn’t appear to change massively, huge areas under cultivation, but the crops themselves did change. As darkness enveloped us the fields sported large areas of cotton, not high producing cotton, but cotton all the same. As the sun rose and revealed a new State the abundance of cotton was gone, in its place grew rice. Long strips of paddy curved over fields, small patches filled in corners, even between the railway lines small plots for paddy were being prepared. What I haven’t seen are the enormous areas put over for one crops, or oxen preparing the soil. Gujarat had immense fields, mainly ploughed and tilled by a pair of Oxen. I found it hard to believe how large an area they managed to plough, initially I assumed tractors were the main workhorses, purely due to the size of fields. After seeing nothing but Oxen hitched up I had to conclude that they are very much as useful as they ever were. And for Maharashtra? I’ve not seen too much, but the work seen has been manpower, except where it comes to planting and harvesting, then it’s people power. Generally the women are too busy carrying huge containers of water, to and fro, on their heads. The kids appear to look after each other, which they make a good job of. But let me clarify, it’s only the dirty, dusty kids running around together while their parents toil, dawn to dusk. The nicely dressed kids are precious, treasured things, prettily dressed and obviously spoilt rotten. (Photos: 1] Scrubbin' me barnacles - Gomptamatan; 2] 500cc Enfield bullet Trike; 3] Love birds, aaaah! - Diu Island, Gujarat)

Whether urban or rural, the number of animals roaming free is phenomenal. It’s impossible to tell whether they have owners or not, well, some at least. An abundance of bristly pigs route through the most hideously filthy places; I’m not talking about unshaven British cops either, though I know they adore digging out whatever filth they can find about anyone, except their fellow officers of course. No, I mean porcine beasts, which are not on any menus I’ve come across. Though in all honesty neither are the majority of animals on the loose, dogs, pigs, cows, they all enjoy a life of freedom, looking well fed without needing to worry about seeing the inside of a cooking pot. Only now do I realise the few times I’ve had meat in the last six weeks, after watching what they feed themselves on I’m rather glad. Though in Mumbai I noticed a number of cows tethered on the pavement, people were coming along and feeding their waste vegetables to them, they were huge. (Photo: View from St. Thomas - Diu town, Gujarat)