Fever, a Monk and a bowl of Cornflakes!

We left Anaegundi through the north gate as dawn broke. As we rode through the village, we passed a sage looking elderly dread locked man, cycling along with a small boy sat astride his pannier rack and a cockerel perched regally on his handle bars... only India! 

The next few hours were a steady push against a demoralising northerly but we formed a tight peloton and plodded on until our lunch stop in a small white washed village called Kandgal. The town was bustling with people enjoying their Diwali holiday but there was no obvious eatery in sight... this is often the case! We approached a group of men dressed in white kurta and pyjamas (long floaty Indian top and trousers) and, after making the sign for 'canna' a friendly man appeared from their midst. He pointed a down a narrow street and moments later he was ushering us into his house, bikes parked outside. The thick stone walls of his old, one room house offered a cool shade. He and his brother began preparing a simple thali from scratch as a crowd began to form outside. We sat on his bed come sofa come dining table revelling in the safety of its santurary. The door to the house was nothing more than a see through curtain and brave children would poke their heads through, only to be swatted away by the owner. As well as the children, the chai stall had now decamped to some shade opposite the house as the numbers swelled. The food was delicious and after the now inevitable chai and selfies, we had to prepare ourselves to enter the throng. The kids outside could sense our impending departure and were shouting and screaming with excitement. We managed to weave through the crowd to our bikes (which were still in one piece thanks to the old guard who had kept watch) and we managed to send the kids into a frenzy by taking a few photos. We saddled up and cycled off with a tail of fifty shrieking children, a couple on their own rickety fixie bicycles. A few women lined the streets higher up, intrigued by the comotion, and looking very confused when we pedalled by. As we climbed through the cobbled village, crowds around us, it felt like being in a stage of the Tour De France... but the open sewers, mounds of burning rubbish, piglets, chickens, Ox carts and lonely braying donkey gave it a distinctly Indian feel! We then pedalled the last 16km in the long shadows of the afternoon sun to Ilkal and our second couch surf.

We were rescued from a gaggle of children by Shamsher, our host, who arrived from work on his motorbike. The shy boy the other children had constantly been pushing to the front turned out to be his son, who had been on the look out to welcome us but little did he let on at the time. Shamsher and his family could not have been more welcoming and we really did feel at home after the three huge Rottweilers were safely chained in their kennel... no need to worry about the bikes tonight we thought! We whiled away a happy evening looking over vast volumes of wedding photos, drinking chai, being very well fed (our first meat dish in Indian!) and becoming heavily involved in the games of two vivacious five year old girls (Kat took the brunt of that... she even 'let' them combe her hair which is no mean feat after a traumatic childhood experience... Irena!). We chatted at length about renewable energy and our amazement at the lack solar power in a place so bloody sunny.... this is something Shamsher is trying to rectify in his business which installs 'top quality' German photovoltaics as wells as solar water heaters. With very little formal education but an amazing amount of business nouse he was obviously doing really well for him and his family as well as supporting other local families less well off than him. It was very odd, during another cup of tea, to be handed a phone and to be suddenly chatting to his brother, a computer engineer, in High Wycombe, who'd just got back from a holiday in Cornwall... small world! As well as the younger generations, the evening's proceedings were quietly presided over by Shamsher's mother, every sense the matriach of the family. After our second meat dish, only this time for breakfast, we headed on our way with stomachs full, hoping to reach Badami where we were going to stay for the Diwali festival of lights... we'd been promised fireworks Indian style.

As described in our trusty guide book, the main street in Badami is an 'eyesore that will have you wanting to get the hell out of there!'. But just a few cobbled streets away from the dust and noise were wonderful ancient twisting streets with brightly coloured higgledy-piggledy (sp?!) houses, some carved with ornate doorways and nooks and crannies inviting you in to take a look round secret corners. The day before Diwali appeared to be a spring clean day as all the saried women scrubbed the streets clean and painted walls and doorways. The pigs were having a field day as the sewers bubbled with soap and detritus from the ladies work. Beyond the winding streets and past the banyan tree on the edge of town, a huge red sandstone gateway led you to Badami's true attraction, it's ancient cave temples and huge man made reservoir, retained by beautiful vast stone steps on which all the women were laying out their colourful clothes after washing. Unfortunately, Kat had to explore this herself as I was, yet again incapacitated and both bed and toilet bound... joy! This sadly meant that we had to enjoy the firework display from our room although the 'displays' are slightly different in India! Screamers, bangers, rockets and grapeshot went off from all sides until the wee hours and beyond, before starting up again at about half five when we set off on our bikes! Age restrictions seem a little loose too as the main protagonists seemed to be about 8 years old and as tall as the rockets they were letting off!

We plodded on with our cycling for a couple more days with the aim of reaching an Ashram (Hindu Monastery) nearer to the Western Ghats. Although the kilometres were ticking past, I (Ed) didn't seem to have my normal beans. The fact that we spent one afternoon in an air conditioned hotel watching Bad Boys II should have been a sign! We had one more 100km push until we were within a short days reach of the monastery. Everything seemed to be in our favour, perfectly smooth roads, a heavenly light easterly tail wind, high cloud providing a little shade from the ever present sun and minimal traffic. All was well until I (Ed) had a fairly big wobble at about 80km. We quickly stopped and rested with chai and a cold sprite and although feeling a bit better, my temperature control had gone a little peculiar! We did manage to make the last 20kms to a horrible dirty hotel with miserable rude staff on the grubby outskirts of a non descript commuter town, but it came at some cost!

Scene of Bad Boys II

I (Ed) lapsed into a fever and Kat took control... again! After another unsettled night and things appearing to get worse, the only option was evacuation to the safety of the monastery in the back of a truck! Whilst Kat bustled around the town, getting supplies and organising the truck, she felt more than a little harassed. For once, the locals weren't necessarily forthcoming with their offers of help and nothing makes you feel quite as much like a big white alien as being a lone white women stuck in Nipani looking after a feverish miserable 'husband' (as we have to tell everyone!) back in a dirty hotel room.

It was sweet relief once both patient and bikes were loaded into the back of a truck and we were driving up the Mumbai Highway to our Monastery at Kaneri Math, to meet the monk who would be looking after us, Nityanand.

Ed later said that in the depth of his delirium he imagined himself a lost stricken wonderer taken in by an ancient wise guru. Having sent me (Kat) out to find the healing hibiscus flower that only grows on the shady eastern slopes of Maharashtrean Western Ghats, the Guru would then set to work bringing Ed back to strength. In the cool courtyard of the Guru's peaceful residence he would later teach Ed the art of meditation, yoga, origami and of course kung-fu while I tended to his painful papercuts using hibiscus tinctures and ancient ayurvedic remedies. Finally, as a sign his strength was returning and his soul was ready, Ed would challenge his master in slow-motion, graceful hand to hand combat to the theme tune of barber's adagio. Later, trying to explain this to a monk who has never seen the crappy films we have was quite hilarious!!

In reality, Ed spent his time eating only dry biscuits, sleeping and generally feeling sorry for himself. Our kind host Nityanand, kept a close watch on his recovery and ensured we had everything we needed, as well as educating us on the true nature of Indian spiritualism. My role was once again as hunter gatherer, going off on sorties on the back of a motorbike bringing back bananas and tea. One hugely reassuring thing about the monastery was that it was less than 1km away from a clean, well equipped hospital which, in the end, we did visit to reassure ourselves that Ed wasn't suffering from dengue or chikungunya. 

As Ed slowly improved we were able to understand more of the working life of the Ashram. It was a unusual  juxtaposition. On the one hand a 1500 year old shrine and temple, a tree covered canopy where thousands of people came on a daily basis to eat the free holy food and worship in silent meditation. On the other hand, it was a working organic farm; a rare Indian breed cow sanctuary (we our now well versed in the many medicinal uses of cow urine and dung!); a 13 acre model village with startling waxwork figurines whose layout was reminiscent of IKEA; a hall of mirrors and a 7D (whatever that is...Dave??) 'horror bungalow '. The true definition of diversifaction! It also housed 100 extremely raucous children who were being educated in the Gurukalam tradition from ancient Sanskrit texts. For such small people they were very good at blowing conch shells and creating thunderous steps as they sprinted passed our room at 4.30am!

We had the humbling honour of meeting the Guru who was the incredible force behind the Ashram. As well as being the spiritual leader, he was also pioneering some inspiring projects like the organic farm and even hydroponics. He had also led a humanitarian mission to Nepal following the earthquake. 

Eventually, under the watchful eye of our new friend Nityanand, we packed our bags to resume our slow trundle north. Before we left, we bestowed the only honour we had to give to our friend, a ride on the famous 'Gear Cycle'!  Although our cycle to the next stop on our journey was a tiny 13km, it felt good to be on the move again. 

Our only mission on arrival in Kolhapur was to fulfill one of Ed's deepest desires...to obtain a bowl of ice cold milk and the irresistible crunch of a bowl of golden cornflakes...he truly is his father's son! 

Loads of love Ed and Kat xxx