All the way to Alleppey

For one night!

Alleppey, further south along the Keralan coast, is another way to enter the backwaters and, as I discovered, not much else for tourists. After leaving pretty Fort Cochin with its rich sense of culture, my expectations were high and Alleppey, for me, not quite cut the mustard.

I needed to strap a sandwich board onto me saying "no houseboats, thank you!" as Alleppey is a place where flocks of people, many holidaying from other parts of India, come to take a houseboat along the backwaters. For a cost!

The houseboats, which fabulous air conditioned bedrooms and luxurious dining and communal areas, sail along the backwaters and cost a minimum of Rs 15,000 for one night, about 200 pound sterling. Glorious, but not on my backpacking budget!

With the French girls, I took a quaint and much cheaper boat through the backwaters once again - and they hadn't lost their charm.

However, the great highlight of Alleppey was our serendipitous invitation to eat at a local wedding reception. Earlier that day, by chance we wandered up to a modest Hindu temple nearby our friendly hotel. First of all we were invited into a room to hear a singing practise. India girls have a very unique, almost shrill tone, to their singing voices and we were spellbound by the music they produced, serenaded by just an old and battered accordion.

We then stumbled across a small, local Hindu wedding. Not quite knowing what to do with ourselves, even though we had been invited into the temple, we were eventually beckoned over by some of the wedding guests, who insisted we go inside and eat. We were hesitant but they insisted we try the food and celebrate with them. We were led to a lofty room, adorned with many chairs and tables in long lines. Paper imitations of the traditional banana leaf were laid out in front of us. The men dished up a feast (it is surprising in India how male-dominated the restaurants and food outlets are) of many different parts, including fried banana and hot, fresh chillies. They crowded round as we tucked into this unexpected meal with just our right hand. In India, the left hand is seen to be impure and therefore it is proper to eat with the right hand - a task I find difficult being an avid lefty!

The food was delicious - and deliciously messy! I ate every last thing I could pick up, despite having a big breakfast. After chatting with the wedding guests, and seeing the bride taken off to her new home with the groom's family, we went outside to face the midday sun - feeling very lucky to have been gifted this experience.

The strike

On Tuesday 27th April, the whole of India stood still. Well, almost.

There was no public transport in Kochi, apart from a few bold autorickshaws, and many of the shops and restaurants were closed until 6pm (I assume they didn't have the staying power for the whole day!).

Many people who I asked about the strike didn't seem to know why they were striking, and others had slightly different versions of the truth. I guess the backwaters seem a million miles away from the big cities.

When he stopped by me, I asked one lone rickshaw driver in Fort Cochin about the strike, and indeed who he was not striking. He, whose name was Salu, told me the strike was lead by a group of 13 political groups in protest of the rising cost of living across India (something that I hadn't considered myself, as comparatively India is insanely cheap compared to anywhere I've ever been). The aim was to send a message to the current Government, although it struck me that maybe they should focus their efforts on one thing at a time, rather than a general cost protest - this may have been done before though.

When I asked Salu why he was not striking, he said he had lived in Kochi all his life and was not afraid like the other people here. Maybe he was trying to act like the tough guy in front of me, but, by implication, if you did not strike you risked a beating.

I wondered what effect it had in the big cities, such as Delhi and Mumbai, and how much money the country as a whole lost in that one day.

Let's hope the Government is listening!

April showers

Whilst it is currently summer in the south and the Monsoon isn't due to hit until June time, the heat of the day is occasionally broken by a brief but impressive rain storm.

The clear blue skies will suddenly be consumed by dark, menacing clouds. The women's saris start to fly in the whipping winds and the sky cracks and bellows. Then the rain will set in, usually for an hour or so.

It is the type of rain that will drench your clothes and skin in seconds and it is hopeless to attempt to walk around in it. Most people run for cover or hail an autorickshaw to get them home (including me!), and many of the shops will close. But it is so much fun and it freshens up the air for the evening, cooling the summer temperatures.

It has made me wonder what the monsoon rains are like. The south experiences more monsoon rain than the north and thunderstorms dominate the weather. Kerala is one of the first places to be hit and electricity and water supplies are problematic, not to mention the large scale flooding.

So, I am more than happy with these modest rain storms - and I'm escaping north before the serious rain sets in!

Falling in love with Fort Cochin

There are goats everywhere in Fort Cochin, and I quickly gathered that's what I had in my tea with breakfast - goat's milk. Fort Cochin was a lazy and beautiful small town laced with European influences.

My new home for the next couple of days was a quirky homestay (family guesthouse), enshrined from the road by big leafy trees. Breakfast was served on the rooftop, which was cleverly made with bamboo. I lounged in a hammock while I ate a tasty breakfast of egg and potato curry with bread and sweet, small bananas - this is the life!

As the next day India was to be on strike (more about this later), I took the opportunity to go to Cherai Beach, on the neighbouring island of Vypeen. I took a crowded ferry (Rs. 3) with the locals and then came my first Indian bus experience. I thought I must be the very last person to squeeze onto the crush of the bus, but then throughout the bumpy 20km journey to Cherai town, we casually picked up more and more passengers - I felt like we were being vacuum packed!

Along a dusty road from the town, lay Cherai beach. Despite some litter (a common entity in India), it was a lovely, white sandy beach and I sat and watched the powerful waves crash on the beach for an hour or two, enjoying the fresh breeze.

While I am still amazed how Indian women wear such layered and beautiful fabrics so effortlessly in the heat, I was even more shocked to see a man clad in motorbike gear (including his helmet), walking up and down the beach - sheer madness!

On strike day, I took the opportunity to wonder around the quiet streets of Fort Cochin before heading the the waterfront where the Chinese fishing nets were poised and ready for action. These are huge mechanical structures that are operated by 5 or 6 fishermen. The work on a weight balance system, using ropes to pull the net in and then the men's weight to push the net back in. I was invited (for a small tip) to have a go myself. It was fun and the fishermen were singing as they worked - my catch was modest but about right for the time of year. As I left, the men started the process yet again and they would then sell their catch to the nearby market.

I lost count of how many hands of children and adults I was invited to shake during my time in Fort Cochin, and since then. There is a strange esteem given to Westerners, and they seemed particularly delighted to hear I am from England - maybe they think I am related to the Queen!

I was sad to leave this lovely haven, but I made arrangements to head south the following morning with two French girls, who were also staying in my leafy homestay. There are so many places to see, and I know the time I have won't even scratch the surface.

Backseat on the backwaters

After my second restless night's sleep, I jumped into the cold shower as today I was visiting the famous backwaters - a vast network of lagoons, lakes and narrow waterways taking up half of Kerala's coastline. There are more than 900km of waterways, which surround a cities, towns and endless amounts of villages.

As I hopped into the back of a dilapidated minibus, I was glad to meet other tourists and share their experiences of India - everyone has a story to tell.

A short bumpy ride away was a quiet, traditional backwater village and we all felt quite intrusive as we headed to the water's edge. After a relaxed cup of delicious chai (tea with Indian herbs and spices), we gathered onto a worn out boat where we were to spend four hours that morning.

We sailed through the chains of water, encountering local families and fishermen, who waved ferociously at us. For them, traveling the backwaters was a daily event and meant getting rice from the town, going to school, or fishing for survival.

Our tour guide, Shajas, who spoke immaculate English, explained how the majority of the islands were owned by wealthy farmers from the cities and many of the villagers were here as tenants. During the Monsoon, the water levels rise by up to 2 metres - and so some people are forced to leave their homes for drier ground.

Most of the land in the backwaters is dense with trees - mostly coconut. The villagers maintain a high level of self-sufficiency and I was truly impressed by their resourcefulness. After passing a hard-working man who was fishing for tiny clams (he threw a handful to our boat), our first stop helped us to understand the significance of these small little shelled creatures. My (very poor) scientific understanding is that they burn shells to create a form of calcium carbonate (a white powder), which could be used as fertiliser for their crops, as whitewash paint for their buildings and as a key ingredient in toothpaste and medicinal tablets. Scientists, shoot me now! We also tried 'toddy' here, made from the sap of coconut palms and can prove very toxic if left to ferment for too long (100 proof toxic! And perhaps the reason for the phrase "blind drunk" as we heard that some Indian alcoholics were turned blind from how much they drank). At 2%, even the babies and young children enjoyed it. It was very sweet tasting but most of us tried to hide our screwed up faces - yuck!

After enjoying a magical morning in the backwaters, we headed back for a traditional Keralan lunch, which I helped Shajas to serve (that would explain the rice on the floor, perhaps!). The main curry was fruity and spicy, accompanied by chillies, tasty carrots and tomatoes and other veggies - simply wonderful! I am not so fond of the local deserts though, which on this day was like rice pudding, but made with noodles, interesting.

We then headed for the canoes, which were to allow us down the narrow canals. Comically, and now I realise, typically, there were just 2 life-jackets for the group of 10. When I pointed and asked about them in amusement, our afternoon guide simply said "symbolic" - how we laughed!

We were punted along and it seemed a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of the mainland. We sauntered past children playing and washing in the water, some of whom held on to the canoe for a "lift please". We got up much closer to the villages and felt almost voyeuristic as we watched the local people do their chores.

We stopped to see the art of 'coir' making, by two aging women who were not at all phased by our presence. This was rope made by entwining fibres from the coconut tree using two large spinning wheels. The rope is used everywhere in Kerala, for everything!

That night I took another boat to the quieter town across the water.

Land of Contrasts: Human traffic

What struck me in my first couple of days in Ernakulam (the mainland of Kochi), was the sharp contrast on the street. The gentle ebb and flow of the people, many of whom take time to stand around chatting or just observing, was so different from the people driving rickshaws, scooters, cars and buses.

Drivers are impatient and noisy and their vehicles are fast and jerky as they weave through the traffic. They appear not to the phased by the oncoming buses packed full of people - not if it means getting to their destination faster, faster, faster. And yet the people on the pavements seem unperturbed and the honks and loud engines don't seem to penetrate their laid back way of life.

Keralan's take it all in their stride until they get behind the wheel.

Kochi and the Kathakali dance

Kochi is a vibrant cultural melange situated on the south-west coast of India in the state of Kerala, hailed as 'God's Own Country' (there are signs saying as much on every street corner).

The cosmopolitan mainland is complemented by the historical towns of Fort Cochin, Mattancherry (on the same island off the mainland) and a few nearby villages - all linked by bridges and boats .

As I walked through the mainland on my first day, I was serenaded by the honks and screeches of endless traffic. After feeling slightly dazed and confused by the endless cloth shops and street stalls, I escaped to a nearby park on the waterfront, which I appeared to break into with the help of two Indian men who had just done the same. Naturally, I was the only white person in the park and this attracted me a lot of attention, especially from the children enjoying the playground. The breeze from the water was very welcome and as I walked along the front, I smiled and waved to the children, who all giggled at me and waved back. Heaps of Indian families lounged in the snippets of shade and some of the more confident children flounced right up to me and said "hi!" and then "bye!" at the tops of their voices. One girl, who couldn't be more than 7 years old, even mimicked my body language to the enjoyment of her group of friends!

I perched on the wall overlooking the water and was careful to sit far enough back so there was no chance of falling in. I wondered for a moment what the water in the infamous Ganges river might be like, if this was how dirty it was here.

That evening, with a very basic map in hand, I made my way to the Kathakali Dance Theatre. This particular performance of Kerala's Kathakali Dance has been put on by the same family for more than 100 years. I picked my way across the broken pavements and, after asking about 53 different people for help, I eventually found the small theatre - which was strangely locked .

After knocking sheepishly on the rusting gate for a minute or two, eventually someone came out to let me in. I was ushered in to an entirely empty 'theatre', except for a man sat serenely cross-legged on the small stage at the front. The man was applying bright and bizarre make-up and the narrator sat next me and talked me through the religious and somewhat philosophical performance I then witnessed. The man in make-up and an elaborate costume, was thought to embody God after his transformation and acted and danced a Hindu story to percussion - it was mesmerising. Just as impressive was the narrator's knowledge of all religions and his ability to tell such a story at the age of 81. He told me he had been with the theatre for 40 years and it gave him a great sense of spiritual well-being, and they still carried on even if no one was there to watch. Now, that's dedication!

The curse of Eyjafjallajökull is lifted

My adventure begins on the anniversary of my birth - 23rd April. After a week of 'volcanic panic' in England because of the prolonged and ash-heavy eruption of Eyjafjallajökull, I finally made my way to one of the hot topics of the week: Heathrow.

The drive and subsequent lingering at the airport brought about a cocktail of emotions, not least of which was anxiety about what lay ahead. I kept reminding myself of the reasons why I was going to India and gradually, throughout my flight, I managed to push most of my doubts aside and let the excitement take over.

I can't go on without mention of the somewhat hilarious predicament I was faced with on the first flight. As I struggled to my seat along the unkind narrow aisle, my tired eyes fell upon two blue eyed baby boys - cute! Until I realised that one of them was in my seat. Their cuteness quickly evaporated! A rather flustered mum looked at me and asked if we can swap seats, "of course!" I say cheerfully, thinking I'd escaped the baby bonanza...no such luck! The seat flustered mum number 1 points at is in the middle of her and her baby, and flustered mum number 2 with her baby. Feeling I could nolonger withdraw the offer, I squeezed myself into the seat and thought to myself, "happy blooming Birthday!".

The second flight was less eventful, apart from a brief rugby scrum at boarding (Indians don't queue like we do).

Before I write my first impressions of Kochi (Cochin - many places in India are still referred to by their colonial name), I will share my Grandad's first thoughts about India:

He wrote: "First impressions from walking the streets in the city centre were that a good part of the whole population were on the street together at the same time; it was seething with swaying bodies and incessant noise from the people an the traffic.

"In retrospect, it was a formidable culture shock in contrast to our own pattern of life, and it was great in dimension and extreme in its variation."

And how right he was; the streets here are alive with people. Everywhere I look in Kochi there a stalls selling delicious smelling food, traditional clothes, bangles, pungent spices and everything else imaginable! But it is the people I can not keep my eyes off, and it would seem that I too am the object of many people's gaze.

Nerves, unpacked

The less than organised amongst you will be pleased to hear that being efficient has its disadvantages.

With days to go before I fly, I have already packed my bag and now all I have left to do is mull over the following:

1. Travelling alone. The echoes of "you must be mad!" and "your mother must be worried sick!" are clanging in my ears. I have read all there is to read and, while nothing can prepare for being flung into a entirely different culture, there are moments when I feel completely relaxed about it all!

2. The heat. As a person who is in danger of turning into a giant freckle conglomerate if left out in the sun for too long, I have found myself closing my eyes to try and imagine just how hot 40 degrees will feel (especially after a somewhat cool British Winter). I will skip over my failed attempts to sit in the sauna at my gym for more than 10 minutes.

3. Missing everyone. Yes, even you.

4. The dark. In many places in India, especially in the budget accommodation that I will be sniffing out (not literally, one hopes), the electricity cuts out over night. As a rather feeble person who insists on turning the light on before moving from my own bed, this poses somewhat of a threat - yes - a threat. Trusty head torch AND hand torch, packed.

5. And finally, the lurgy. My arms have been jabbed enough times to make my bank balance wince in pain but I know it is highly likely that I will get sick at some point during my trip. Let's hope the 'Delhi belly' quickly subsides and my bottled water skills hold out.

Thankfully, I have left over Easter eggs and impish dogs (and sisters) to keep my mind occupied for the next few days. And a Lonely Planet guide the size of Mumbai to contend with. Happy days!

Starting with Goodbye

So my first Aireytale starts with a Goodbye, or rather 'Alvida' (in Hindi).

With just an oversized backpack stuffed with crumpled clothes, far too sensible sandals and infinite bottles of Factor 50, I am heading to India: land of contrasts.

And the timing is oh so bittersweet.

It was my grandfather, Sydney Tierney, who first inspired my Indian curiousity. He spent three years exploring the country during the Second World War and spoke so fondly and vividly about these formative experiences. After each cherished conversation, I assured myself I would visit and take my very own piece of India away with me - just like him.

Sadly, he did not live to see me follow in his Indian footsteps as he passed away in March this year.

So, this one is for you, Grandad! I know you will be around every corner.