Onwards to the Hippies in Hampii...

Worst sleep imaginable! We should have seen it coming! We had arrived in Bhadravati, the Port Talbot of India, an industrial town in the shadow of a giant steel plant. Huge towers pumping noxious fumes into the air and the constant blue flame on the horizon of burning gases. Our hotel was just off the main drag through the town. On our evening bimble (in the words of Howard), we found the main cross roads completely blocked by what, at first glance, looked like a riot. Men blocked the dual carriage way with flaming torches swaying to a rhythmic drumming. It seemed to be energising a growing crowd as the the traffic, initially toleratant of proceedings, became more impatient. The sound of blaring horns ever increasing as motorbikes and auto rickshaws jostled for position. We sheltered in a petrol station next to our hotel to see what developed. Our position seemed a little less safe when we watched the attendant open the underground petrol reservoir and begin funelling buckets of petrol in by hand, all illuminated by the light from fifty flaming torches only metres away! We asked a seemingly unconcerned policeman what on earth was going on, trying not to think about the impending explosion. He calmly explained that the 'riot' was in fact a celebration of a miracle which had once happened at this particular beautiful industrial intersection! Before long and with no obvious culmination in events the flaming torches disappated and the traffic unwound its impossible tangle amid police whistles and horns.

After all that excitement, and pleased the petrol station and our hotel were still standing, we headed back to our room for some peace. Unfortunately, the hotel manger had decided to start renovations to the lobby in the time it'd taken us to go out for food. A downstairs room next to reception suddenly seemed like a bad idea. We tolerated the banging and mitre saw until half nine but then enough was enough and it called for drastic measures... heading into the building site in my boxers did the trick! This unfortunately did not stop a bus load of Indian tourists arriving after midnight and we were ready to leave by 4am after the second express train had thundered past our bedroom window, punctuating the brief silence with an endless blast on its whistle. I suppose that's what you get when you scrimp and save on accommodation (Kat's keeping a very tight reign on the budget these days!).

We left Bhadravati sleep deprived but keen to make our next stop in Davengere as there, we bravely planned on entering the world of couch surfing (all be it a little apprehensively!). The smooth tarmac quickly deteriorated to a slippery red muddy mess alongside seemingly never ending roadworks and we vied for position with buses, trucks and cars, wheels slowly clogging. With tummies hungry for breakfast we searched in vain for our normal delicacy of samba and idli (dahl and a spongy fermented rice cake). We escaped the road works and began asking shop keepers for the nearest dhabas (street vendor). One friendly shop owner saw I'd (Ed) got a little cut to my ankle (t'is but a flesh wound, I replied) but he promptly invited us into his house, gave me a plaster and plied us with coffee, biscuits and fluffy artificial white rolls. With bellies full of sugar and kindness we happily pedalled the next 10km to our food stop

We reached Davangere on a hot afternoon. We'd arranged to meet our host for the night in front of KFC, newly built alongside a Dominos Pizza to cater for the needs of a growing student population. Nadirah, was a Malaysian junior doctor who had lived in the city for the last 5 years. We happily waited outside a stationary shop, while the owner graciously introduced us as two mad British cyclists to every passing university lecturer and professor. Nadirah duly arrived after finishing her morning theatre list and we followed her on her scooter to her nearby flat. We were then welcomed as old friends and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening chatting about home, Malaysia, travel, her work with refugees and some of the very real differences between our respective lives as junior doctors. From her time in European refugee camps she made some very accurate observations of the fluffy, "patient centred", empathetic approach of British doctors, she did an amazing impersonation which had us both cringing - she had absolutely nailed it! She explained that patient communication is slightly different in an Indian Government  hospital! Our initial apprehension over couch surfing seemed completely ridiculous as we sat, talked and ate an incredibly tasty home cooked Malay feast. The only downside to the evening was that Ed came face to face with his nemasis....three of the fluffiest Persion cats you have seen! We crept out the next morning and continued on our way. 

As we've slowly progressed northwards through Tamil Nadu, Kerala and now northern Karnataka, we've  noticed people have become increasingly inquisitive. Breakfast stops in small, roadside shacks have become anything but peaceful. We stopped on sunday morning in a sleepy village to refuel. There couldn't have been more than two dogs, three cows, a pig and two old men smoking beadies in sight. However, before our first mouthful of idli had reached our lips, we were surrounded by at least thirty pairs of eyes. The inevitable questions followed... what is your country? What is your name? What is your sister's name? What is your  father's name? ... it goes on! Then comes the snotty child passed into Kats arms before the selfies begin!!

Chai stops are also becoming increasingly time consuming. Before, the chai stall was a safe haven where the etiquette for tea and tranquility was stritly adhered to, no matter the setting. Now, within seconds of stopping, a host of men and children engulf us and the bikes. 'Gear cycle?!' they whisper,  as others point at the disc brakes and knowingly squeeze the tyres. Men nod approvingly to the mounted iPhone, our GPS (another Roger Moore invention), while passing their hand back and forth in front of our rear lights, 'ah recharge LED' they reply. No matter how nice the bikes appear, no one can hide their dismay at our lack of 'bike stand', an obvious flaw as we clumsily mandhandle the bikes into a stable resting position.

Very occasionally the attention we get is a little less welcome. It usually comes in the form of slightly  sleazy  men on motorbikes. In the last few days we've devised a  routine where I (kat) cycle up the hard shoulder alongside Ed, allowing him to gruffly inform the often baby faced youths where to go in his most polite English!

Different sort of attention...

Our next destination was with the hippies in Hampii. To reach this oasis of ancient ruins, perched amongst granite boulders, a winding river, coconut trees and rice paddies; we knew we had to tackle Hospette, a grim transport hub and its infamous 'Red Road'.  Our reward, a few days rest in a simple mud hut in a bucolic setting (see Lonely Planet page 732!). All was well until a road, the size of the M1, deteriorated into a single lane of crumbling tarmac, red dust and numerous cavernous potholes. Busses drove two abreast as gargantuan freight lorries fought for position on what was left of the road. A never ending 10km followed, our only occasional refuge was the half built road that came and went as quickly as the buses next to us. When all hope was fading we rounded a corner and an immaculate 4 lane highway opened up in front of us as if a mirage. Hospette was a breeze after this and we were safely on our way to our bucolic mud hut!

Mud hut for the night...

The setting around Hampii and Anaegundi was pretty magical. We could try and describe the ruined temples over looking Hampii Bazaar with hills made of precariously balanced granite boulders the size of houses (India's bouldering Mecca) but we would struggle to create the feeling it inspired (although Clem managed to find the boulder fields on Google maps!). After two days recovering in Hampii itself we moved to the ancient walled village of Anaegundi, 7km downstream. Hampii had been our first real exposure to fellow western tourists en mass. It was a strange reality to confront meeting someone from Mid Wales (Llanidlois) under a pagoda, drinking Lassi (banana yoghurt drink) surrounded by rice paddies...

Anaegundi proved to be other worldly. It's ancient city walls and stone entrance gates appeared to have kept out some Hampii's vices. We stayed in a beautifully restored simple village home and spent our time wandering the village streets and purchasing ethically made, recycled sari dresses and made to order tablet holders (we couldn't help ourselves... their goes Kat's budget!!). It was hard to leave after a sunset sat on top of the highest boulder watching men in coracles peacefully fish in the river below but our second couch surf awaited in Ilkal.

Loads of love

Ed and Kat

Xxxxxx

Ooty to Bhadravati.... ten bloody years!!

After a few days recovery, we loaded our bikes once again and began the final ascent to Ooty. We managed to find another peaceful resting place having battled through the Ooty smog centered around Charing Cross and the Ooty Racecourse! As we wanderered around the town, clutching scarves to our faces, diesel fumes on our breath, we tried to imagine what it must've been like nearly fifty years ago when Kat's dad last visited.

Luckily, in our lake side guesthouse (trees perfectly positioned to obscure the open sewers bubbling into one of Ooty's main attractions) we befriended our first foreign fellow tourists, Nico and Julie. We chatted over tea and breakfast about the beauty of India's many unfathomable and at times laughable contrasts. Somehow, despite the pollution and waste, beautiful flowers and butterflies still manage to thrive.

We said our farewells and set off to Masinagudi, a small village on the edge of the Madamalai and Bandipur Wildlife Reserve, a park with the highest concentration of wild Tigers in India. Having spent the previous afternoon chasing park rangers all over Ooty to see if safe passage was possible, all we'd managed to discover was that if we survived the 36 hairpin bend road to the reserve, a tiger mauling or elephant stampede would be almost an inevitability.

As we descended the hairpins, brakes squealing we found our first fellow cycle tourer, Jo, a 23 year old Brit cycling from Canterbury to Australia! He had faired less well on the descent having suffered his 15th broken spoke and 80th puncture by hairpin 10! We then stopped to chat every 10 hairpins or so to allow our brakes to cool. 

It was a mixed blessing the next morning when park rangers denied our entry into the wildlife park proper. Although disappointed not to be cycling, we persuaded a friendly truck driver, Ramesh, to take us the 28km through the park. Bikes strapped in the back we piled in excitedly for a morning safari, secretly hoping to spot an elusive elephant along the way. It dawned on us why people might think we were mad cycling, when it feels so good standing in the back of an open truck, wind in hair, driving through untamed wilderness. We'd spotted wild boar, spotted deers, monkeys, peacocks, before rounding a corner and seeing a swaying elephant deliberately munching her breakfast in the undergrowth. We stopped and watched with no one else around. It was hard to imagine she would ever be aggressive to two passing cyclists, but I guess that's easy to say from the safety of a truck!

It was hard to believe that later that same day we rolled into Mysore (Mysuru - population 1 million!). We were a bit paranoid about entering such a big city but India's second cleanest city proved to be more like a suburb of Barcelona with wide open tree lined roads and reasonably well behaved traffic! That night we headed into the city proper to see the Palace illumination which happens for 45 minutes every Sunday. The lights themselves were dazzling but what was more amazing was being swept up in the wave of people there to see them. A city break followed with a day of slowly losing ourselves in back streets, soaking up the sensory overload in crowded ancient markets, finding the best street food vendors and sampling the local delicacies. It again showed how India can amaze in a day from hitching a ride in a truck and seeing elephants to the bright city lights!

Leaving Mysore before the sun rose with a waning moon overhead, we made good progress escaping the city traffic. It was a cool morning with mist slowly rising over the surrounding rice paddies. There was an option of a little shortcut which proved a great decision. A dusty road over an ancient bridge ran alongside a steel monster under construction. Rice paddies gave way to coconut plantations as we wound through small, peaceful villages. Passing looks of disbelief told us that this was a route rarely taken by cycle tourers! One chai wallah was so amazed he gave us our teafor free! The rest of the day passed in a dream state as we took the pilgrimage route to Shravanabelagola. We noticed the architecture had changed since reaching the heart of Karnataka State. Vibrantly coloured mud houses in azure and pea green, terracotta tiled roofs and carefully swept red earthen floors. We arrived in S.Belagola with enough time to ascend the 614 steps to the Jain 2000 year old monolithic statue but having made it down we barely had enough energy to muster a conversation over supper. All this 'zen-like' discovery is pretty exhausting!

We'd plucked up the courage to try our first couch surf in a coffee plantation in the mountains above Chikmagalur, but our legs couldn't face an 80km uphill detour so we gave in to Air-con in a bustling commuter town in the foothills. Our disappointment weighed heavy on the bikes and one of our shortest days proved to be one of the hardest so far... legs like treacle and Ed in a horrible mood!

As Ed sang on his bike this morning... 'what a difference a day makes.... twenty four little hours....' Ed's little black cloud had passed as we rode through coffee plantations and jungle, around perfectly banked curves before descending 30km to Bhadravati as we celebrated our tenth anniversary..... bloody hell!!!!

Apologies for the rambling, for future reference, best just to look at the pics!

Love to all... next stop a little break with the Hippies in Hampii.

Ed and Kat xxxxx

Marayoor to Coonoor.... Delhi Belly Strikes!!

Well since our last entry, we’ve experienced the best and worst Tamil Nadu has to offer from acts of kindness to the dreaded Delhi Belly! We’d planned on trying to put in a big effort to head towards the Nilgiri Mountains, where Kat’s Dad visited as an innocent 17 year old a fair while back (apparently later returning home to his parents house in Worcestershire with no shoes, long hair and a new love of mountains!)

The descent from Marayoor out of the Misty Mountains towards Udulamapet was an unforgettable 42km of twisting hairpins bends through dense forest, golden in the morning sunlight with colours to rival an autumn back home. Once we reached the lower plains we entered the Mudumalai Wildlife Reserve which is part of an unbroken chain of protected habitat through Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. We happily cycled passed the warden’s barrier and no one seemed particularly concerned that we were entering a tiger reserve on our bicycles! It didn’t stop you from peering into the dense roadside vegetation at every rustle, especially when signs implored all motorists to remain inside their vehicles! The heat ramped up as the earth reddened at the side of the road. As we cycled alongside a rocky outcrop rising from the jungle, a huge bird flew overhead and then we heard the unmistakable trumpet of a distant wild elephant. It really put the hairs up on the back of your neck and made the legs spin a bit faster! We were probably quite lucky to only hear their call as we later found out another foreign cyclist was squashed a few years ago in a different reserve by a bumbling elephant! The sound was so evocative though and we were the only people to hear it. 

Back on the hot windy plains we’d hoped to get 100km under our belt to get closer to the cool of the mountains again and everything was going smoothly until the inevitable puncture with 25km to go in the baking midday sun. So much for the indestructible Schwalbe tyres I’d constantly been banging on about, Kat thought! We found some shade and began the laborious, sweaty process of emptying panniers and searching for the culprit thorn. As it turned out, the tyres reputation remained intact for now. The bloody rim tape had slipped and punctured a hole on the inside of the inner tube. Unfortunately, now we’d attracted the attention of passing motorbikes and rickshaws. One pissed idiot would not leave us alone as much as we pleaded for some quiet while we mended the bikes and made sure we’d not left anything littering the floor. It was the first hassle we’d experience and came when we were all hot and flustered.

We eventually set off but made slow progress in the heat. We sought the first shade and a place to refill our water. Out of nowhere two cool packets of thirst quenching mango juice were put in our hands as a passing motorcyclist stopped and deposited this beautiful gift before we had time to thank him! It tasted like heaven! A few kilometers down the road another kind stranger bought us a bottle of cold water (we must have looked a little sun kissed and parched!) before, finally, a friendly bank manager negotiated our stay in that nights hotel. Such is a day in India!

We found ourselves right in the middle of a never ending Indian holiday. Everything has been covered in garlands of sweet smelling flowers, tinsel and turmeric. Almost all windscreens are completely obscured with wilting banana leaves which makes cycling more exciting! Apparently it’s a festival celebrating the nine forms of Shiva’s wife but it’s all a bit confusing especially when your progress is delayed by a march of 5000 women carrying milk on their heads!?

We reached Mettupalayam after another 100km day this time with a near perfect tail wind. From there, we were undecided as to whether to cycle the climb to Ooty or take the UNESCO Toy Train, remnant of the British Colonial Era. The Madras government would escape the heat to ‘Snooty’ Ooty during the summer months. Unfortunately, rumbles turned in to something all the more serious and I (Ed) couldn’t leave the proximity of the loo! So ensued a lay day, and plans of a summit attempt were put on hold. 24 hours, 1000mg of Ciprofloxacin, 3mg Buccastem and 1g of Paracetamol later we dragged ourselves out of bed at 0300 to get to the station to queue for unreserved tickets for the Toy Train.

The process was made beautifully laborious as only Indians can. First the queue for 3 hours in an already busy station (19^th cleanest in India!) unsure as to whether you’d make it onto the train; then a glorious scrap of paper indicating the number of people in your party who’d now made it into the carriage; then confined to the train, while sat in an overflowing carriage, one member was allowed to then leave the station to the ticket office the other side of the road to purchase your ticket before being told by the Post Master that it wasn’t possible to put your bikes on!! Ridiculous in its complexity and because we knew he was lying! He claimed an hour in advance was not enough notice although his much friendlier colleague the night before had told us otherwise! Then came the inevitable paper work, documentation of passport numbers, bike serial numbers and an argument about the colour of Kat’s bike (I’d said green at which he protested – I then changed my documentation to state Olive Green (you bastard) to which he had no reply!) Finally, chai in hand, bikes safely on (they were the only two bikes!) we sat down shattered but happy to be on board. The whole process was made much more bearable by the two Indian friends from Madyra Pradesh we made in queue with whom we covered Brexit, the NHS and evil private health insurance all before 0500 over a coffee!

The train trundled off, puffing with steam as we watched the world go by. We made it to Coonoor, a town below Ooty, where we planned on spending a couple of nights. Unfortunately, Kat was now taken ill and took to bed. Living in close quarters is obviously a risky business! We think we’re slowly recovering and are planning on cycling the 16km and 500m of ascent to Ooty tomorrow slowly. Luckily we’re staying in a beautiful 150 year old creaky colonial house lording over the town below. It’s a perfect retreat to recover!

More soon…

Loads of love

Ed and Kat xxxx

P.s Thanks for Birthday wishes from both of us! x

Kanyakumari to Marayoor...

Hello... well we've survived our first week cycling in India! It all started at the most southerly tip of on Gandhi’s birthday which was hopefully a good omen. 

After a short stay in Kovalam, a lot of bike maintenance and some very good advice from our Indian guardian, Barbara, we set off to Kanyakumari a little less apprehensive about what was to come. Our taxi driver had recommended the 'Super Highway' which sounded terrifying but turned out to be an empty 4 lane motorway shared with a few cattle and guys very interested in taking our photo on scooters.

We got a few kilometers in the legs pootling along the Super Highway and made our first stop over after finding out just how hot living in the tropics is (40 degrees in the sun!). Since then we’ve avoided the big red roads and sought less trodden sleepier backwaters.

It's been a pretty steep learning curve since then but we're settling into the routine and have made it into the Western Ghats after a pretty sweaty 40km climb from the plains of Tamil Nadu at 300m to our first pass at over 1700m.

After five days of cycling through small dusty colourful villages in the vast flat plains we've made it into the 'misty mountains' as every hotel likes to call it. Over the mountain pass we found dense jungle, tea plantations, cheeky monkeys and deafening bird song (and surprisingly perfect road surfaces!) but no Tigers yet.

Everyone we pass thinks we're mad. I'm not sure cyclists tour this route very often but we're getting lots of help and smiles along the way and the Chai Wallahs are keeping us well watered.

We've avoided towns and cities when possible but Sivakasi took us by surprise. We were caught in a flow of auto-rickshaws, buses, trucks, cows, goats and other cyclists moving through the maze of dusty streets. It really did feel like time slowed as each motorbike crisscrossed oncoming traffic and somehow missed us in blaze of bells and horns! We made it out the other side a little shell shocked but in one piece.

The mountain roads have been much quieter and cooler which has meant freewheeling through tea plantations and sandal wood forests has been a dream. We’re heading to Ooty, another former hill station, in the next few days for a little rest as our legs and bottoms are feeling the strain!

More soon…

E and K xxxxx

P.s Thanks for all the Birthday messages,

Kat xxx

'Happy People Ride Bicycles'

We met a friendly Dutch cyclist yesterday whose T-shirt read 'Happy People Ride Bicycles'! He then showed us the video below... Indian ballet! 

Our bikes and panniers are packed and we're off to Kanyakumari at dawn for our first day of cycling. A little apprehensive but keen to get the wheels turning!

E&K x