Saturday 19/11/05 - Varkala to Kumily
Leaving Varkala, another face of India reveals itself: the three legged dog with a death wish, its bone and fresh flesh still exposed from its recent wound. No-one to care: only pain and death to come.

And life, life, unstoppable, continues around the junction as we wait for the bus to Kottayam. Four bum-numbing hours on a bus that fills more completely than I thought possible: limbs in even conceivable space. We tumble out into the oasis of an air-conditioned international hotel and rethink our plans. A taxi inland to Kumily, perhaps, rather than another five hours on a bus…

Next: After the long, dark Sunday

Friday 18/11/05- Varkala
angel of angles
asana sunset
spectral assault
glint, glimmer
itchy swimming figure
shadow hugger
land lubber
Scrabble and strife
the paradox of beachlife

The lifeguard is the first Indian I’ve seen weariing shorts. Still has a starched collar shirt, mind.

The baby Krishna opened his mouth and revealed the universe.

Next: From Varkala to the monkeys

Thursday 17/11/05 – Allepey to Varkala
My encounter with the Indian Mosquitos left me battle scarred and aware of man’s inadequacy. Specifically, this man’s inadequacy. Once I was imperious, immortal… but hey, who wants to live forever?

Red welts on my forearms itch in the salty air of Varkala, Southern Kerala’s lesser-known beach paradise, two hours on the train from Allepey.

Yoga and massage bring sleep but no respite from the fuckin itching. GG Marquez documents man’s futile war against ans, a war mere humans can never hope to win, no matter how many attacks they make with scalding water or RAID. But ants are benign compared to mosquitos, which bring pain and disease and will not F**K OFF however much repellent you apply. Little bastards.

My only hope is to acclimatise: to be bitten until I react no more.

Next: Beachlife

Wednesday 16/11/05 – Fort Cochin To Allepey
We take a taxi four two hours to Allepey, Kerala’s Venice, to board a houseboat and navigate the famous backwaters. Our home is a converted riceboat, with dining deck, two cabins (one for us, one for the crew of three), two toilets and a kitchen. It’s powered by punt, unlike most of the other tourist vehicles with spew out noxious fumes as they chug by, lending this rural idyll the atmosphere of a sleazy Las Vegas ride.

They leave us behind, and we relax into Days And Nights In The Forest. Reading now, for the first time in years, it seems. Already on to book two: Hari Kunzru’s Transmission, an Indian-tinged update of Doug Coupland’s Microserfs. Makes me want to write.

But mostly I want to go with the flow…

We gently drift past grotto ships like hobbit holes at sea. Hover-flies dally and dance over murky water transformed to rippled mirror by the setting sun.

Our evening meal – traditional Keralan fare, with a centrepiece of huge blue prawns on skewers with a stupendously spicy crust – is the highlight of the trip so far.

Next: to the beach at Varkala

Tuesday 15/11/05 – Fort Cochin
A half a day asleep and surely we’re on Indian time by now: check out of the luscious Malabar and round the corner to Ann’s Residence; goodbye to European prices and boutique luxury. Then a visit to Vasco de Gama’s gravestone in St Francis church – built in 1503 and said to be the first Christian Church in India – before spending too much on a collarless shirt.

Down one of the nearby backstreets, we discover the Kashi Art Café, a slice of beatific Goa, replete with the Pink Floyd/Van Morrison soundtrack and a courtyard shaded by palm fronds which turn into translucent shards of chloroform as they're hit by the mid-morning sun. Happiness, and for once good black coffee – not the sweet, milky horror that the locals drink.

Cocktails. Kathakali. Excrutiating. Leave early.

(Kathakali is the Keralan theatre that tells stories from Hindu mythology – but rather than speaking, the actors change facial expressions and use sign language. Which means it’s pretty impenetrable unless you’re well versed in Hindu culture, and have a lot of time on your hands – a single performance can last for eight hours)

Grilled Tiger Prawns on the harbourside as the local boys pay off the police and make clothed tables from rotting wooden frames to seat the sudden influx of tourists. We buy the seafood from the fishermen, and it’s cooked in tarpaulin lean-tos. The fear of sickness. A restless night, too cold with the A/C, too hot without.

Next: Wednesday - to the houseboat at Allepey

Monday 14/11/05 – Fort Cochin

We wake to crow calls. The sun is already shining and, outside the air-conditioned paradise of our room, the air is thick with moisture. We breakfast, then walk around the shoreline towards Jew Town, the spice market and 16th-century synagogue. My sprained ankle throbs through its sports strap, while the locals stare, bemused and amused, at my telescopic walking pole.

We take creamy orange juice at a cool gallery café before walking on to Mattancherry Palace to see ancient murals gently fading into plaster walls, and a swing that's literally fit for a king. The tiredness comes again, this time with hunger, so we take a Tuk-Tuk back to the hotel and eat a thali meal with the crows. Then sleep and, after the blazing sun sets, a surreptitious beer by the Chinese fishing nets, served in elephant mugs to ward off policemen.

Dinner is a Mediterranean feast at the Courtyard hotel, then home with lightening guiding us through blackouts, for guava coulis and yoghurt mouse:
“the best dessert I have ever had,” – Lise Meyrick.

Next: Tuesday in Fort Cochin

Sunday – Fort Cochin

Sunday 13/11/05 – Fort Cochin, India
After the long flight, the pause in Columbo, finally Cochin - a group of islands that cling to India’s south-western coast opposite the Ernakulum, the urban centre that serves as Kerala’s capital. A taxi meets us, thank Vishnu, as tiredness hits in waves that render us dumb.

To the cold Colonial house called Malabar in sleepy Fort Cochin, overlooking the scubby paradeground where packs of gentle dogs roam while sacred cows yawn and chew.

We are shown to our room – our beautiful, square, whitewashed room with its cool floors and four-poster bed – where we crumble. Here, it is lunchtime; in my head it’s 7am and I haven’t slept. But now she takes me, and my fitful wakenings are greeted by the ceaseless thrumming of the late monsoon rains, a wonderous Indian lullaby.

When we awake again it is dark, and the rains have slowed to the occasional thick plop. We eat at the Malabar’s opulent restaurant, overlooking the courtyard with its plunge pool and cackle of crows, then take a walk, stopping to for a drink at the even granded Brunton Boathouse. It’s the only place on the Cochin peninsular that serves G&T. But here we fall victim to a talker, an Indian waiter who wont let up about the cheapness of his brother’s taxi, the rate he charges per kilometre, the extortionate prices of his rivals… this is banter to rise to, but I have no energy to rise and I sends me plummeting back into violent tiredness: and so back, back and sleep, sleep.

Next: Monday in Cochin