It's interesting that after questioning, many years later, whether I was happy and enjoying myself at this point, that's exactly the question I asked myself, then, on turning the page.
Arriving in Kerala, Ernakulam, I spent the usual day orientating myself and arranging the next departure - something that, as ever, takes an entire day. The usual spate on ripoff rickshaws to trainstations where no-one gives you a straight answer. The incredibly cheap room (hutch) that I've selected is clearly getting me down too - the walls don't meet the ceiling and the bed's too short for my 6'1''. I've also made a particularly distraught note about my radio chewing up a Tracy Chapman tape - oh the woes.
My mood changes significantly on a number of counts.
Firstly I have a haircut and shave - always a treat in India and transformative in every respect.
Secondly - although I don't talk about it at the time, my health is clearly improving. I'm eating a lot and talking about 'taste sensations'. Everything from omlette, to toast, to 'dosa stops' to egg birianis get a mention. Ice Cream gets a particular shout-out. Twice. All good signs.
I've also taken a particular interest in sightseeing. Vasco de Gamma's last resting place. The famous Chinese Fishing Nets. Walks along the harbour and to Cochin Island for the fort and palace. And Kathlkali dancing is a particular find. I maintain that I saw this form of Indian dance long before it 'toured' to places like the Edinburgh Festival and the Queens Elizabeth Hall. I particularly remember the eye-rolling, the preshow makeup, the watering pattering on the roof and the 'master of ceremonies' telling us about the significance of the dance and the relgious connotations throughout. I got a rickshaw back to the homestay after dropping off a chap at a rather fancy hotel.
In a matter of six days I would be well on my way to Bangkok - something that filled me with a certain degree of trepidation. I spent many an evening thinking about the journey, smoking the rest of my stash, reading Arthur Miller (All My Sons) and fantasising wildly. There was a small matter of a 52 hour journey back to Bombay to content with first - and with a seat rather than a sleeper bearth. That was all to come.
In a matter of six days I would be well on my way to Bangkok - something that filled me with a certain degree of trepidation. I spent many an evening thinking about the journey, smoking the rest of my stash, reading Arthur Miller (All My Sons) and fantasising wildly. There was a small matter of a 52 hour journey back to Bombay to content with first - and with a seat rather than a sleeper bearth. That was all to come.
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