JaJaJeEv

The brands of lightweight travel: Timberland, Nokia, Salomon, Canon, Apple, P20, PADI, the UK government and Niall Ferguson.

Our first stop is Mumbai, as a weekend’s decompression – and this time’s departure from India. We’re staying right down on Juhu Beach, and of an early morning, it’s a bustling walkway, sports pitch, harbour, religious site, and fish warehouse… all at the same time.

The main trade seems to be pole-supported nets, dragged in by the fishermen. The contents are mostly eel, but that’s wastage, and they all end up rejected on the sand, and a feast for the thousands of gulls.

Amongst the remaining rubbish and ceremonial detritus, the keepers end up being squid, lobsters, and only the largest of the white fish:

All of this, of course, adds to that unique aroma which can only be one of the world’s largest cities, Mumbai, on a muggy tropical morning.

So, farewell Maharashtra for a while!

To get away from the heat in May, we headed up to Manali, a hill station up in the Himalayas, about a 14 hour (memorable) bus journey north of Delhi.

After the heat and dust of a record summer, the cool mountain forests and meadows were another of India’s amazing contrasts.

Manali is more or less an Indian resort – mostly national tourism – and seems to have made a name for itself in the action sports department. Trampolining…

…abseiling, climbing…

…getting wet…

…rolling down hills in plastic balls…

…and bouncing across raging glacial torrents.

Adrenaline junkies though they may appear, however, nothing prepared us for the drive up to Rhotang Pass the next day… of which more to come.

As of tomorrow morning we are homeless. Homeless for almost 4 months.

Our ‘Big Trip’ (as we describe it to the kids) kicks off tomorrow. Basically we are heading east, south, east, north, and east again in order to reach Europe for Christmas.

I have a small backlog of Indian photos to get up on this blog over the coming weeks. After that, stay tuned for the next stages of our family adventure!

Whilst footwear-related instructions at the temple seem to be designed to be contradicted…

… are the repairs to the inner part of the basilica …

… due perhaps to too many fireworks?

Photos: a day of temples and basilicas in Goa and old Goa. The latter is a cluster of vast, slightly lonely Portuguese edifices – in stark contrast to the bustling intimacy of Shri Nagesh, top.

Back in May, we spent an great week in Goa – (yet!) another corner of India with a particularly unique atmosphere.

No moonlight trance raves for us – this was a laid-back family stay at a wonderful resort.

Nestled at the tip of a long empty beach, all the Arabian Sea clichés apply, but, well… why not?

We’ve used the Indian Railways several times this year: these photos are at Ernakulam Junction in Kerala en route to to Goa.

No words can describe something as vast, complex, and diverse as the Indian railway system – even the clichéd ‘did-you-knows‘. (And anyway, I believe WalMart has more employees these days.)

Travelling overnight, the trans-state miles slip by in relative comfort. It’s a wonderful way to wake up, seeing rural India rattling past. Even better, you get enjoy the truly unique experience of an Indian station at night while waiting to board.

During the day, the stations are everything you might expect – squared. A heaving mass of humanity, with members of every stratum of Indian society (and several species of animal) trying to pass through – or live within – the noisy, bustling station halls and platforms.

But the chaos works. Millions of travellers get where they want to go every day, more or less on time. Millions of tickets are issued, and waiting lists planned, printed and checked off, with rarely a computer system in sight.

In fact, in Ernakulum, the centre of technology gravity was actually in the waiting room, where passengers line up by the single socket panel to charge their (in some cases, multiple) mobile phones.

I have spent more time cleaning Indian drains in one year than I have in a Western hemisphere lifetime. And as you can (but probably rather wouldn’t) imagine, it’s not the most pleasant of sewage.

So imagine how pleased I was to see a new addition to our local store’s inventory. Yes, it’s heavy duty, it melts grease and hair, and it kills germs.

But what’s more, it’s “Now in an International Pack”.

OK, now I have no idea how that actually affects the chemical composition of this fingerprint-removing stuff (and I mean off my fingers). And in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the constituents were actually banned ‘internationally’, under some important clause of the Kyoto treaty.

But the hybrid indigenous-ingredients-blend-with-foreign-brand formula is a winning one here. The domestic automotive industry, for example, is dominated by the likes of Maruti-Suzuki, Hero-Honda, Mahindra-Renault, and even Ashok-(yes!)-Leyland.

In other words, I think ‘International Pack’ simply means it has a picture of a Kiwi on it.

Our last afternoon in Kerala was spent in Fort Kochi (or Cochin), at the northern end of the main stretch of backwaters.

That day, at least, it was a sleepy place, bathed in early evening sunlight through the Chinese fishing nets. That siesta feel is complemented by relics of the town’s Portuguese influence: quaint backstreets, art galleries, Iberian-style churches and a pretty town square.

Despite a higher tourism ratio around the fort itself, there’s still an authenticity to the place. If you don’t watch where you’re going, you’ll trip over the sign to the State Bank training centre, for example.

We liked it a lot. Another facet to this hugely diverse country – but still very much India.

Next stop – the train onto Goa!

One of the things I didn’t really think about before we came to India was the seasons. Of course we knew about the monsoon, but I’d naïvely assumed there were still four parts to the year. Not so! As the inside of our (Korean-manufactured) fridge confirms, there are really only three: winter, summer, monsoon; in that order.

It did feel odd having summer (and the holidays) in April and May, before I figured out the geography. The length of the day doesn’t vary much, but being south of the Tropic, that is when the sun is directly above us. By the middle of the year, it’s actually lower in the sky.

Well, after a scorching summer, to muddle my metaphors, this year’s monsoon has been a bit of a wash-out: more like a feeble British summer than a tropical force of nature.

It’s been far drier in all parts of the country than usual (particularly the north), and grain shortages and agricultural problems are manifold and widespread. Actually it’s a very serious deal.

(To re-enact the classic monsoon experience, for us, however, we resort to fountains at the local picnic spot.)

Now we’re in September and the sun is at its zenith again. Who knows what surprises the climate holds in store for us and the rest of this agriculture-dependent nation?

Today was Anant Chaturdashi, the last day of the festival of Ganeshotsav, and (despite its somewhat anti-colonial history) we’ve been made to feel very welcome in the festival’s proceedings by our fellow residents.

So Ganesh has been down in the car park keeping us all company for about 10 days, and receiving daily pujas. Today it was time for his journey down to the river.

The Godavari River is one of India’s most holy, but is conveniently only a brisk 5 minute walk away from here. On the other hand, what’s the rush? It’s a great opportunity for a noisy procession, complete with dancing and blaring Bollywood hits from the back of a vehicle.

From nervous novices during Holi, our children have now become precision paint-powder ninjas:

And this time, Jayne doesn’t escape so lightly either:

But of course it’s an important Hindu festival too. And when we reach the bridge over the river, the rowdiness stops and our apartment’s gang makes the final offerings to the statues: coconut, flowers and so on.

Not surprisingly, neither we, nor our fellow residents, are prepared to accompany Ganesh’s final swim in the murky, litter-strewn river. Nevertheless, there’s a cottage industry of local boys who will carry him out to the depths and see him off for you.

The boys then bring back a handful of sediment from the river, which you take back to your home. The cycle is complete (give or take a few kilos of gypsum and cadmium dissolved into the water supply).

The full set of photos is here. What a memorable day!