I'm sitting in the train station in Alleppey with Alice. It's 08:10 and our train has just been delayed until 08:45. The station is probably the most pleasant I've experienced in India. Usually, they are a seething mass of bodies and, I'm sorry to say, smell of toilet. Sometimes, the edge of the platform is being used as a toilet.
Here, the air is fresh and there are few people. I can hear birds singing.
We stayed in Alleppey for two nights at the Brown Residency, which was basically some guy's aunt's house. His name was Mathew: a really nice chap whose words emerged between fits of nervous giggling. I'm not sure what was so amusing but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Aside from the proprietor's questionable sanity, the residence itself was a large house with several guest rooms on the first floor. We were the only people staying at the time, with the run of the house and exclusive use of the lounge and kitchen. On the last evening, we got a curry delivered and ate off our knees in front of the TV... just like home.
The day before, we walked 20 minutes or so through Alleppey to the beach and had masala dosa at a place called Indian Coffee House. Honestly, the best masala dosa I've ever eaten, along with endless cups of coffee. It cost about £1.50.
On the first night, after almost a week of only water an coffee at the homestay, we fancied a drink. Matthew had told us that there were two state-run booze shops that supplied the cheapest plonk in town. The idea of government-sponsored alcoholism was baffling but, undeterred, we sought one out.
The queue shuffled toward a slit of a window. Behind it stood two men - arbiters of a glittering array of beer and liquor. I got three big bottles of Kingfisher for the equivalent of a couple of quid and then legged it back out of the alley. Most of the other men emerging from the queue were stashing their gains inside their sarongs. We walked back with bottles in our hands and drew some stares and even some shouts. I'm not sure why.
The train is about to approach.Overall, our two days in Alleppey have been perfect to ease us back into city life. Handy, considering we're about to leave for one of India's most bustling cities - Chennai.
Here, the air is fresh and there are few people. I can hear birds singing.
We stayed in Alleppey for two nights at the Brown Residency, which was basically some guy's aunt's house. His name was Mathew: a really nice chap whose words emerged between fits of nervous giggling. I'm not sure what was so amusing but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Aside from the proprietor's questionable sanity, the residence itself was a large house with several guest rooms on the first floor. We were the only people staying at the time, with the run of the house and exclusive use of the lounge and kitchen. On the last evening, we got a curry delivered and ate off our knees in front of the TV... just like home.
The day before, we walked 20 minutes or so through Alleppey to the beach and had masala dosa at a place called Indian Coffee House. Honestly, the best masala dosa I've ever eaten, along with endless cups of coffee. It cost about £1.50.
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Following Mathew's directions, we wandered for about 15 minutes. As I was just about to suggest giving up and retreating, Alice pointed down a dingy side street. At the end was a crowd of shifty looking men. There were no women and Alice was starting to draw some odd looks. I suggested to her that she wait on the main road under the protective illumination of the street light. I squeezed into the crowd.
A short way into the press, rising high on either side, metal bars herded bedraggled men into two queues. There was no squeezing back the way I came. If anyone tried to take my wallet or injure me, there was no room to move. I stood a good head taller than anyone else in the crowd and hoped that this would deter anyone from giving me grief. The air was thick with fumy exhalation: it was clear that this was not the first time today that the men in front and behind had shuffled through these bars . I started to question the wisdom of this enterprise.
The queue shuffled toward a slit of a window. Behind it stood two men - arbiters of a glittering array of beer and liquor. I got three big bottles of Kingfisher for the equivalent of a couple of quid and then legged it back out of the alley. Most of the other men emerging from the queue were stashing their gains inside their sarongs. We walked back with bottles in our hands and drew some stares and even some shouts. I'm not sure why.
The train is about to approach.Overall, our two days in Alleppey have been perfect to ease us back into city life. Handy, considering we're about to leave for one of India's most bustling cities - Chennai.
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