9^th Jan 13         Day 7                The Tour begins.

                      

My first decision has to be trust K’s skilled driving and switch off. That way I can enjoy the journeys. It’s the same response I use when flying through turbulence - made my choice, want to be here, OK  whatever will be etc. I'm alone, no responsibilities for others' safety, excited and looking forward to seeing everything. Can't waste my adrenalin getting anxious about the driving and I detach.

The Toyota is clean and cool, I relax in a comfy arm chair. Let the adventure begin. Driving in India is a fairground ride and it is great fun. I soon learn the idea is to head for whatever space appears in front regardless of which side of the road it’s on and get through it. I could say they drive on the left but it would be a massive exaggeration.  If it looks as if you aren't going to make it and the bus/lorry/motorbike/tuk tuk is getting there first, you just decelerate and touch the horn. There is no agro’ no white van man cursing or road rage, no spite, revenge or ego involved, it is a glorious, cluttered, good humoured, free for all. A small motor bike with a man holding his young son sitting between the handlebars, feet dangling over the front wheel while his wife is on the pillion and young daughter clinging on the back, putt putts by my window on the wrong side of the road. They all smile, wave and wobble. Logically I know it is extremely dangerous but also fascinating and commonplace. As most of the roads we travel are just wide enough for two way traffic and often only one way wide, there isn't the chance to do the big speeds we are used to here at home. And there are hundreds of people travelling, walking, sitting, shopping and living.

We leave Kovalam, through Alleppey to Kumarakom. Whole towns emerge from the jungle. New, houses in pastel plaster locked behind iron gates and stretches of older, smaller shop/houses line the road, some with ramshackle tin roofs circa 1950s.  We rattle along consistently adding our music to the symphony of vehicle horns outside. After a couple of hours we stop for a toilet break at a cafe. I daren’t have a cup of tea in case I want to stop more often. K has supplied me with a bag full of sealed half litre bottles of water picked up from a relation at the side of the road. I rinse my mouth round and get out to wee while I have the chance. It is a western toilet in that there is a pedestal but the whole room is covered in water. The seat, the floor, the walls have all been sluiced down. Fine I am equipped so I dry off the places I want to touch and use my kit, diligently sanitising my hands. An unsteady broken plastic cistern allows me to flush it with brownish water...very carefully. I can do this. It does smell of old pee but then I have been in a lot worse in the past. No I am perfectly happy. Off we go again. ‘Is driving a good job K?’ ‘A little bit good Mem’ ‘Did you have to take a test?’ ‘Oh yes Mem.’  I wonder what was tested. It seems clear to me that given the expectations, K is an excellent driver. He takes exaggerated care over ferocious sleeping policemen like cattle grids but I suspect it is to protect the car.

We turn down long, straight, dusty red pathways raised above vast paddy fields. The pickers wear coloured umbrella hats as they bend double over the rice. We approach the Vembanad Lake, the largest backwater in Kerala. Houseboats, all different shapes and sizes like basketwork hippos, are tied up at the water’s edge. Mine is called ‘Gavathry,’ the Duck. I wave goodbye to K and he says he will pick me up in 2 days at my next hotel. How will I get to it? Sail there of course. 

The Duck is on the left.