(P) andamonium

Tamil Nadu and the Andamans.

The heat and the stress of travelling in India had, I had to admit, been getting to me. If travelling is all about mood, I couldn’t seem to shake my bad one. The challenge of India seemed to me to be less about punishing journeys to get to special places, as in Nepal and China, than about how
much irritation or hassle you can take before you run out of
‘zen’ and lose your temper. We needed a break. Somewhere beautiful, away from it all… perhaps not even in India?

Cue the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, a place I hadn’t even heard of before the 2004 Tsunami nearly wiped them off the map. Closer to Thailand and Burma than to India, we thought maybe here would be a slice of South East Asian cool.

Of course, being administered by the most frustrating country on the planet meant that getting to the islands in the first place was by no means a relaxing experience.

What the guide books don’t tell you is that once off the plane, you have to stand in a 3-4 hour queue (2 hours if you’re lucky) which isn’t really a queue; more of a mass free for all, where tourists and locals throw themselves at the counter, desperate to get at least one body part in front of the person ahead. Once at the front, you push your application form through the small hole in the toughened-glass (necessary protection for the excruciatingly slow ticket staff) and hope for the best. Amid the mass of bodies, fights break out about every twenty minutes, at which point the police come and wave their batons around to break it up.

From a couple of other tourists, we somehow managed to bag the last two tickets for the boat departing the following day, leaving Sarah and Guy, and their parents who had come to visit them for the week, to their own adventures on a private fishing vessel with no life jackets, navigation lights, insurance or indeed common sense (the fisherman that is). Stuck as we were in the queue, we enviously watched them go: surely anything was better than fighting it out with the locals!

The absolute misery of the transport system was matched only by the peace and natural beauty of the islands. If you knew the Andaman Islands before the charter flights began, then you might be in for a minor shock: rebuilding work undertaken on Havelock Island (the main tourist destination) since the Tsunami has led to considerable development. But for first-timers like us, it’s still a world away from the beach bars and bucket drinks of South East Asia.

There is just one road, built especially for the prime minister who visited two years ago (it runs out at the point where he decided to turn back), along which everyone rides their bicycles and mopeds between the various restaurants, guest houses and dive shops of the eastern side of the island. On the other side of Havelock (a hefty $10 rickshaw ride away) is the spectacular, if un-inspiringly named, Beach 7. Here, giant primary forest reaches right down to a huge bay of perfect white sand, where the crystal clear turquoise water is the safest spot for swimming outside of Goa. Only when you get in the sea can you fully appreciate the beauty of it all, and so we swam and swam, just to keep looking, until our energy ran out and our fingers were shrivelled like prunes.

Sadly, it looks as though Beach No 7 might be ear-marked for development, as Indian Army survey ships were out in force when we were there and, as history shows, where detailed maps are made, ‘civilisation’ soon follows. One can only hope it’s the kind of ‘exclusive’ eco-tourist resort which, while being elitist, will at least preserve the natural environment there.

The scuba diving was also very good – although the coral didn’t quite match the other Andaman sites we’d dived around Ko Bida Nok in Thailand. One newly discovered site – Jackson’s Bar - didn’t disappoint, though, and we saw huge schools of barracuda, a white tip reef shark and an array of octopus, spotted rays, giant moray eels and other sea life. The following week, a few days on the quiet backpacker hangout of Neil Island promised a glimpse of the Andaman’s mascot, rare sea mammals called Dugongs (often known as Manatees), which are commonly seen by snorkellers.

Alas, for us, the Dugong was to prove elusive, but on the boat on the way home, I reflected that the Andaman Islands had been a lovely place to wind down after the stresses of mainland India, although given the nightmarish ferry terminal, not the perfect destination if you have limited time or aren’t travelling in South India anyway. For me, Thailand (if you pick the right spot) is still up there as my number one Asian beach destination. It certainly takes some beating… so roll on Cambodia and Indonesia!

Yoga Tourism

Kerala has long been a favourite travel destination for stressed out television producers and Islington’s ‘yummy mummies’, thanks to an interesting and beautiful geography; cool (some might say cold!) high tea stations to the east and a coastline situated across 850 kilometres of idyllic backwaters, not to mention the many yoga practitioners who base themselves there, .

Kerala has certainly worked hard at promoting itself. It is different to many places in India, with a history of communism, liberal attitudes and higher literacy rates, even amongst women, than anywhere else in India. So it was a pleasant surprise that our guesthouse owner in Fort Cochin was a bustlingly efficient woman in her late thirties who ran a very tight ship, with no apparent help from a husband or brother - it was good to see women take control of their business and livelihoods. This is a serious achievement as sexism in India is rife: for every woman seen in public there are about 30 or more men, so just by sheer force of numbers men dominate. Young Indian guys tend to hang around in groups, where many can’t help but leer at Western girls or take pictures without asking: intimidating if you’re on your own, and exasperating if you’re the boyfriend or partner. A couple of people have told us of their frustration at the general lack of respect towards their girlfriends; for a nation who gave the world the Kama Sutra, India is full of very sexually frustrated young men. Luckily for me, I've avoided much of the hassle that some women experience: the most frustrating thing I’ve found is being totally ignored by the man at the railway counter simply because you’re a woman.

For visitors, the done thing in Kerala is to take a houseboat made of bamboo along the backwaters, kick back and watch as life drifts slowly by, waited on by your captain and cook. The place where you get the boat, Alleppey, is described as the ‘Venice of India’ by various hyperbolic brochures and guide books, but Venice needn’t worry: it is a dusty, congested town with few restaurants or places to eat and a small number of expensive hotels along the beach. Only when you get out to the backwaters do you realise what the fuss is about.

The backwaters were peaceful and as lovely as their reputation hails them to be. We had great company in the shape of Jamie and Laura who we met in Goa, and the food was home cooking at its best. Somehow, though, as backpackers we couldn’t help feeling that we were just a few years too late for Kerala. Although the people are generally friendly, activities and accommodation are expensive, it gets very crowded with two week holiday makers at peak season and the touts are just as knowing as any in the North.

Down the coast, at Varkala, yoga tourism is in full force, as was another reason why people come to Kerala: Ayurvedic medicine. There are a number of hospitals in Varkala and we soon began to notice large amounts of terminally ill looking people wandering along the cliff top path. After our friends checked into a hotel that could have been described more accurately as a hospice, we realised that this was the last chance saloon for a lot of visitors. After a few sessions of yoga, an ayurvedic massage and an interesting meditation lecture, I was ready to move on.