Arabian Sea. Travel tips. Drugs. Apple Bytes Back.

Silent, spectacular lightning storm off the Malabar coast where I am. Mascot Beach Resort, Burnaserry, near Baby Beach, Kannur, north Kerala. Luxury hotel. I've had to go luxury. No choice in the matter.

So, I guess the ... (the what? epicentre? is that the correct word to use? No, that applies to earthquakes and tremors. I'm off to the land of earth tremors soon soon. My birthplace. Taiwan) eye of the storm is far out to sea, as there is no thunder. Not even a whisper. Far away from the Malabar coast.

Sounds so exotic and idyllic, no? It ought to be. 'Ought' being one of those dodgy words. Like 'should' and 'try'. For example, it either is, or is not. You are, or are not. Try? You either do it, or don't. What's 'trying' all about? Trying, I would say, is very trying.

Back to Mascot. Lighthouse to my right, throwing out intervallic beams. Highlighting the oiliness of the dark, brooding ocean. Such a forceful tidal pull here. Waves crash violently onto the huge square rocks below the hotel garden and terrace. Deafening, sometimes. Exciting.

The moment I arrived here in the dark, after a 6-hour train journey from Ernakulum Junction Railway Station, Kochi, to Kannur, on Tuesday 5 March, it felt like I had finally "arrived" in India. At long last. Thank, Shiva. Aum, Sweet, Aum - as it says in the ayurveda rooms at the back of the dinky swimming pool area, and beautiful, manicured mini-hillocked gardens.

I would say, Om, Sweet, Om. As Om is my name backwards.

My big double bedroom on the ground floor has a sweet, bijou balcony with two plastic garden chairs. Overlooking a small neat garden with a short bushy palm, date palms, coconut palms, and three long thin palms that I have no idea what they are. Palms. Who cares? I don't have palm trees in Waterloo or the Southbank. Only in my dreams.

Just can't fully appreciate it all when I am a lone traveller. A virgin visitor to India, and have had some Lower Respiratory Tract infection, Secondary to Viral infection. Acute bronchitis. According to the Junior Casualty doctor at the Medical Trust in Ernakulum, Kochi. I would highly recommend that hospital. State-run. Only R50 to register. And medication is as cheap as onion bhajis in India. It's also quite close to an excellent ayurvedic centre, the Santhigiri Ayurveda & Siddha Hospital. They also have rooms there. How perfect is that? Shame my lungs had had enough of Mumbai and Kochi by the time I discovered it. I had to get away from hot, dusty fumes and the NOISE.

The noise in India is mental. No silencers as far as my acute hearing can make out. This is from a classically-trained musician who can hear the hordes of cockroaches sing in her rotting bathroom door posts at SAAS (pronounced Sarze)Tower, Cannon Shed Road, near to Marine Jetty, Ernakulum [ where you take the ferry to Fort Kochi]. Unable to sleep due to extreme coughing, I lie in bed and hear a high pitch, whining singing frequency. If you ever get that. Just kick the door very hard. They stop singing immediately. Dirty fuckers.

More on that hotel sometime later. Despite the rat on the 3rd floor, the cockroaches in Room 230, the reception staff that didn't really speak English - the place had hot water - a luxury. And was good value for money.
Sorry, back to drugs. I wouldn't mind some pharmaceutical heroin the way things are going. Or some proper clean opium. Is gouching out on opiates OK for poorly lungs? Err, thinking about it, no. Definitely not. I wouldn't ever inject heroin. Too dangerous for me. I used to chase the dragon - medicinal purposes - got me through my first degree final exams. That was back in 1997 in Brighton, not surprisingly. And pure opium one has to smoke. I did a small lump in the Sinai last year. Bliss. Calming bliss.

Smoking and I are not friends anymore now. Not since 24 February, day one of the nightmare 38-hour train journey from Mumbai to Ernakulum. Via Andhra Pradesh. Andhra Pradesh state seemed to go on for over a day. Every time I asked which State we were in, the answer was always the same. Hot and dusty. Coughing coughing coughing. That's all I've done for the last two months. After Andhra Pradesh, I gave up caring which State we were in. I think I would've have poked my own eyes out if someone said the name of that State again. I was in a fine old state myself.  It had almost become an expletive. Not that I have anything against Andhra Pradesh - but I have never known anything that big in my life. Except the vast expanses in Tanzania. Tanzania seems like luxury compared with the packed Indian Subcontinent ... the little I have seen. But Tanzania is another story. For another time.

I gather now that the rail journey I did goes something like this: Mumbai, unbelievably big 'Swear State', Karnataka, Kerala. That's going from the East coast - almost to the West Coast, back to the East Coast further south, then further south into Kerala.

I guess, I'll have to tough this out then. No opiates. Bums.

Back to Britain, and BAA.

[It makes me want to break out into:
Baa baa black sheep have you any Epilim Chrono?
No, ma'am, no, ma'am, one and a half bags full.]

You don't need prescriptions in India. Much like Thailand when I was there in 1992. If you've run out of medication because BAA franchised chemists like Boots at Terminal 5 Heathrow barely hold any drugs - you're in luck if you're travelling to India. No prescriptions necessary, like I said.

Can you believe it? Boots the Chemist don't hold many drugs. That's what the very efficient and helpful Chinese pharmacist said to me at T5 departures lounge. Whatever next? She had to call the Boots on the 'free' side of customs and security, to get them to deliver my prescription - what they had of it. That took a good half an hour.

Don't think you can leave it to the last minute, and get your meds at Boots at a British airport. Airports are a no-man's land. Bear that in mind.

Don't think you can leave it to the airport to activate a new credit card, like me. ATMs are seriously challenged in British airports - just like Boots the non-Chemist.

OK, back to Kerala, India.

After a 5-day course of antibiotics and other meds, the infection didn't go away. Oh.

Now the second doctor in Kannur, a well-regarded Consultant Physician, says it "could be" pneumonia. That's after an examination of my chest x-ray two days ago. I will see her again on day 5 of her set of medications. She will have interpreted my two blood samples, 3 sputum samples (nice), and whatever she sees fit, I guess. Koyili Hospital is one of the town's leading hospitals. It is known for its nurse training centre. Don't believe the photos on their website. In fact, the photos I've seen on hotel, hospital websites are make-belief. Website gallery photos make everything look clean, shiny, modern and all the things you would like. The reality is grubby. One feels a bit cheated with guest houses and hotels. 

Please don't think I'm knocking Keralan hospitals. They seem to run very efficiently. And I'm thankful to be seeing Dr Ramanchandran. I believe in her.

I hope whatever this lergy is has gone away by then. She said to get away from Kerala - meaning the whole State. The humidity is not good for my lungs. Just bear that in mind, won't you, luvvies? Not good for dicky lungs. Having looked into it, with the help of a friend back in the UK, the whole of the Eastern coastal region has high humidity. Around 67%. We are now in the height of summer.

Avoid this too. Don't leave the UK during what is the most bug-ridden, and poorliest (just made that word up) winter that me and so many of my friends have had. From freezing cold UK, around 0-2 degrees Centigrade, to come to Kerala in summertime. Too big a leap in temperature and climate. Especially not if you've just been poorly. The Consultant Physician, Dr Roshna Ramachandran, also mentioned that the change in cabin pressure and the A/C can all go towards catching a chill. Which is what happened to me during the flight from London to Mumbai. I only fell asleep once the BA crew had given me a hot water bottle. 

After visiting Dr Ramachandran at the Koyili Hospital, I will only have about 6 days left out of my one month in India. Not surprisingly, I would like to be a WELL person for those last 6 days.

Any lone travellers out there thinking of coming to India for a quiet time. Forget it. Unless you have a super up-to-date travel guide, or decide that you want to hook up with other travellers, then fine. That would be an anathema to me. I travel to be alone. Ironically, travelling alone can sometimes attract more attention when you are me. Though I don't want to get all sexist and racist about it. All tourists stick out like sore thumbs. Indians are naturally intrigued by us tourists. Keralans, I've been told by an English 'India aficionado', genuinely want to talk to you. Hang out. No strings attached. This was a hard notion for me to swallow the 8 days I spent in Ernakulum. It's hard for a Londoner, woman traveller like me to comprehend. Why is it always Keralan/Indian guys? What do they want from me? Where are the women? Why can't I talk and hang out with women? Why don't they approach me on the streets? They're at home cooking and being housewives, silly billy! Or working in offices, banks, shops, hotels, you know. It's usually the men that have been abroad to work - everywhere from Europe to the Arab States - and they tend to speak excellent English.

Keralans especially, I've been told, appear to have a naive wonderment that has largely been lost in the West.

Stick your earphones in. Even if they're not attached to anything. You can look, smile at people and shrug your shoulders, wobble your head when they talk to you. Good in Dahab, South Sinai. Sometimes good in India. Though doesn't always work in India. As they really HOLLER at you, and don't even notice that you have your earphones in half the time. Damn it.

My e-Lonely Planet Guide has gone AWOL on this blinking iPad2. Partly because I'm a gadget newbie (what a feckin' stupid word that is. Where did that come from?) Partly because I forgot where I filed the e-guide in my Yahoo mail folders - I have definitely misfiled it. There is a thing as being too organised. And, partly because I am 51 and not of the computer generation.

Unless you're a middle-aged Dr Logic and former MacUser editor, or something fancy like that - get something that's cheaper to use. Where you don't have to spend a feckin' fortune buying extras like kits to rig up your camera. Fancy cables that may or may not even work. Apple. Nice logo. Shame about the bite. Apple Bytes Back. Chomp.

One thing that is cute. The Mandarin for Apple is pin guo. When my dad said that last month, when I took the iPad to his house, my heart crumpled a little. It sounded so cute. It had never occurred to me that it would be the same as the fruit. Of course it would be. Obvious when you think about it. Apple sounds too cute in Mandarin. To my first-generation English immigrant ears, it sounds so crisp, pink, crunchy and deliciously forbidden. Pin guo. (Second rising tone, third tone. Mandarin is a tonal language.)

Actually, I'm in India. Maybe a look in Mumbai, just before I leave India on 20 March. Look for an Apple Store. Might be much cheaper than waiting till I'm in Kuala Lumpur, Taipei - and heaven forbid - the UK. Forget the UK. We are mugged in the UK. Seriously mugged for everything. Most of the English are mugs anyway. Brain dead politically.

India is not a place to have a QUIET time. Not if you're travelling on your own - for the very first time in India. I have to repeat that. In case you are like me. Attention span of a goldfish. A bit like some Indians. You stand their in a queue, you get served, lovely. Then someone behind you with some bit of paper waves it in front of the person who was serving you, another person does the same thing. One stands there like a lemon. Eventually one pipes up, and warbles, Hello, it's Me, Kathy ... Ah, they're back on one's case. Thank, Vishnu.

If London noise levels are about 4. Marol, a Mumbai suburb, is about 8. Kochi is about 6. The ferry from Ernakulum to Fort Kochi is about 7 because of the old school diesel engine. Remember I was poorly so that the wind off the sea, the fumes from the engine nearly choked and deafened me to kingdom come.

Keralans are really, really nice. Too nice almost. Sometimes I just need to do a head wobble, smile and walk. That would be the most energy- and cost-efficient thing.

The India I have experienced is not quiet. So unless you are super-prepared, fighting fit, totally clean living, don't come to India on your own - only for one month. Everything takes such a long time to accomplish. It's bonkers. A good six weeks or two months would be better - to get the hang of things a little better.

So, don't come here for a short time, expecting a calm time. Not unless you know an Indian that lives here. Is a jolly good ayurvedic practitioner, unmaterialistic guru, free yoga teacher, or are coming here to do an ayurvedic detox, course, ashram, darshan ... You know, that kind of thing. Or knowing an Indian, who you can visit in their own home. That would make the world of difference. Maybe.

For quietude, go to Nepal, apparently. [Thanks for that, Mr Dashing Bouche-tastic Moustach-tic. He said it's Buddhist and all that. Why didn't you tell me that before I booked my trip to India, hmm? It's ok. I'll let you off.]

A lot of Don't's here. Do not. Do not. Don't. Do not.

Watch this space for the Do's. Do do do, do wap da do .. doo-doo. Do ...
... Watch. This. Space.


p.s. if there are any more typos left in this. And I am sure there are. Well, sorry. Have spent far too long on editing, re-editing. So this version will have to do-doo.