Day 36 - Monday 21st of July - Fort Cochin

Went for a walk. Used the Internet. Myself and Ian walked around the island. I showed him the spectacular Chinese Fishing nets. Ian got called over and had us pulling up one of the nets with locals. The nice gentleman explained the whole process and then asked for a small donation after taking our pictures. I had only whispered to Ian that this would happen just as we were called over. It had happened to me the first day I did the tour of the nets by myself. We stopped and watched one net as it raised up numerous times, just to see what they got. As we were about to walk away, there was a call of successs. They caught one very large fish. One of the fishermen headed of straight away to sell it, to the market stalls, with the fish still alive, swinging away in his hand. All that sightseeing built a bit of a hunger so we headed to the Brunton Boatyard for a tasty and expensive lunch. 1085Rps for the two of us. Wasn't worth it.

When we got back to the lads Peter was ready to see a dentist. He was suffering too much and was now willing to see a local dentist. He was pretty nervous not knowing what the standard of dentistry was like in India. We had seen a couple the day before, near the chemist, so we headed to them. The surgery looked like any you would see in Dublin. Half an later Peter was out and seemed a million times better. An X-ray and checkup had cost him 150rps. Yes, remember the price of Ian and my lunch. We are talking about just over €2. He got all the medicine he needed for another 200rps. Myself and Ian decided we'd hire bikes so we left the rest of them to it. It took a while although we found them back near where we were staying for only 20rps each. Can't beat that. Well they looked the part. Shining racing green and polished chrome. The seats had suspension although they felt like they were filled with small rocks.

We went on quite an adventure down the far coast of the peninsula. We found one of the biggest naval bases I had ever seen. I didn't have any idea what it was when we got to the gate and they were having none of it. It was pretty much, “Move away from the gate sir.” A younger gentleman in full army camouflage stood brandishing a rather impressive and powerful looking weapon. He smiled back at me. A man came out in Naval uniform and spoke good english and explained to me what it was and no entry was allowed. We continued on our original path. The naval base went on for around 2km. We went another kilometer further until we found a way down to the coast. It was lined with a man made barrier of rocks. We sat for a bit looking out at the sea before heading across the width of the peninsula. The Fort Cochin area is enormous. I say by the time we got to Jew town we did a 4 to 5km round trip. We had being told of the Pepper Exchange and this was our next stop. Sadly it was closed for the day. I found one of the large and famous racing boats that is used in a big festival that happens in mid-August. Ian got chatted up by a young Indian gentleman that told him he was very handsome. True. Next I came across a gentleman that actually owns a business in exporting spices and pepper. He told me that on that day pepper was being traded at 14,600rps per 100kg. Ian joined me and he showed us large bags of cardamon, ginger and other mixed spices. He offered me a small bag of the famous and delicious masala tea mixture. For 50rps it would make 600 cups of tea. After our alls these aromas we headed up to the synagogue. It was closed although I ended up getting my silver chains cleaned in return for visiting one of the local shops. The local shops strive hard to do business especially in the off season month of July. Rickshaw drivers will bring you around Fort Cochin for free for the day if you visit a few of their shops. Supposedly they get a free litre of fuel if you just walk into a shop.

We stopped for cakes and coffee on our return. Delicious. Dropped the bikes back and met up with the rest of the gang. We had dinner on the roof garden of the Elite. Headed to listen to classical music in the same location that Aidan had being. It was a journey in itself. I sat there with my eyes closed and allowed my mind to travel with the sounds. A flute player accompanied by two drummers. The performance was A1. For some reason Ian kept sniggering and was finding it very hard to hold it together. I couldn't see what was so funny. He ended up leaving before the performance was over. As we walked home we noticed Greg sittting with Ian outside our Special Tea restaurant at the end of our road. It would be rude not to. More special tea. Sorry, just realised I never explain this to you. No, its not mushrooms, just plain old beer. Drink licenses are expensive and therefore some places will take the chance, few rupees on the side to the local police, and serve beer in tea pots. You ask for special tea. They know what you mean. After catching up on Greg's adventure in Munnar he headed off to bed. Shortly afterwards we were joint by a writer from Canada. His parents were Jewish and Scottish and it came across in his personality. I liked him a lot. He seemed to be going through a bit of an internal battle and was trying to drown it with this fine tea. He came across as quite lonely and a little self-destructive. We've all being there. Sometimes you come to India to do it I suppose, rather than doing it infront of people you know. We didn't stop long although there was a genuine sense of sadness as we told him we were leaving. He was doing himself no favours in attracting people in how he was coming across. Quite intense. We headed back to bed. Once again asleep in minutes.

Moving on to Auroville - Day 25 - Thursday

I awoke at 8am as my feet once again were being munched by something. A moment after waking Greg was awake. A lot times when you awake in Indian cities you are kept from returning to sleep, with the constant beeping. This was one of those morning. I resided to take to my adorable purple hammock outside with my book. Greg took the green one. I'd say 3 pages later I was lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking motion. I think I awoke once although didn't awake properly until I opened my eyes and heard a little In Indian lady nattering on in Tamil. I smiled and sat up. She continued murming something and motoning something which appeared to be about cleaning, so I replied in my word perfect Tamil, “eh, no its okay, they're sleeping. Nandre.”Quite I smiled and nodded and she smiled and then continued to talk to herself as she walked along. Ian came out a moment later, so we agreed we'd do breakfast at the Hot Bread place.

Pondicherry is as I've mentioned not like anywhere else you will see in India. Nevertheless, it still is very much India under the skin. As you walk around you still see the poverty, smell the smells, although there are major differences. The place has more money. There is far less litter and for the first time I have seen, there are people employed to clean the streets. Generally women. This is another far cry from westernised society. The type of manual jobs Indian women do. They work building the roads, they carry bricks and heavy cumbersome loads on their heads and so much more.

We arrived at the fresh pastry place for breakfast. It was like a cafe you'd see down the country in Ireland. As we sat waiting for our selection of delectables, the power went off. In no time at all we were sitting there sweating. A family that had arrived after us just stood up and left. It's another thing you forget or take for granted in Ireland. The auld leci. I remember when I was a kid loving when the power went off. In India it's a tad different. Sometimes it goes off 4 or 5 times a day and up to 6 hours off. Can you imagine trying to run a business with that type of shit going on. Since we arrived I say that I have experienced 20 days when the power has gone off a least once. 5 minutes later the fans were whirring above our very grateful and sweaty bodies. Ian at one point had nearly looked like he was going to pass out.

When I got back after breakfast I resided to do some more sweet hammock action. Ian was already back swinging away. The rest of the lads were up and talking about where they were going to head. By the time they got themselves together I agreed I'd join them for a coffee. Ian headed into lie down. As we were leaving we Greg who joined our little possie. We headed to Le Cafe on the seafront. Even though it was only 3 hours after eating a large breakfast, I ordered some food as well. Another thing for anyone that visits India, is to realise a generic difference in communication. One I don't believe to bet a language thing. It seems that a lot of things are based on a set of standard rules and changing these causes a lot of problems. On example was as simple as ordering, extra chicken, as listed in the menu, on a grilled cheese and butter baguette. Having an extra head would have got a less surprised and confused look. We explained we wanted the chicken inside the baguette. He suggested we order a chicken salad instead. After 5 minutes of hand signals and pointing at the menu, I got impatient and went inside with the menu to speak to the chef. Of course, was the response, with the usual little head bop. This is just one example, another one is traveling around. You need to know to ask the right questions or alternative answers will not be offered. This can be quite infuriating. I suggest always ask, “Is there any other option?” then ask the same question again, and once more to be totally sure.

I dropped into the internet café as we walked to the hotel. Within ten minutes I crashed one of the computers after installing Skype. I think the computer was too old. I got it all working on the next PC with Picasa installed also. When uploading photos and ringing people three hours fly by. I suppose for me this fairly minor. The cafe was a tiny little old room with 3 PCs. Every where we have being so far, has some form of internet connection. Handy for keeping in touch. Its probably a good idea to have you own headset if possible as you can always install Skype where you go.

By the time I got up to our rooms Aidan, Ian and Greg had headed to the post office to lighten there bags by sending some of there stuff home. Eoghan was swinging away reading his book and Peter was in catching some sleep. I jumped into the other hammock and caught up on my book that I have being neglecting on for some time. It was a couple hours before Ian returned. He was livid. The postal office experience was one that had driven him half insane. It takes a lot to get Ian going although he was still raging from the experience. They had gone off to get their items packaged. This had taken over an hour, as the woman had to hand sew material on the outside of the box. He was then left to wait in a queue in the post office for 75 minutes. They guy behind the counter kept serving other people first and telling Ian to wait. After trying to get the mans attention on numerous occasions, Ian finally got a Post Office manager and told him how angry he was being made wait like this. The manager started screaming at the now sheepish man behind the counter. Within five minutes Ian was served and out of there. An hour later Greg came back with pretty much the same story and was furious at how he was treated in the post office. I think there is an underlying sentiment of racism with a lot of Indians, which is understandable from where they come from in their history. White man has done the people of the country few favours over the years.

After Greg calmed down, we packed our bags and agreed to make it to the main Pondcherry bus stand for near to 7pm. We made our farewells and jumped into a rickshaw. The bus stand is beyond manic, as we had realised upon our first visit to it. We found an incredibly helpful man at the information desk. He proceeded to walk us around the platform looking for our bus to Auroville. To little avail, as bus conductor ignored his questions. It's not the first time I have seen this where you get ignored as if you don't even exist. Not sure if the cast system or what it is although you see it. He informed us that the bus was at 7.30pm and to wait around. Greg checked around 15 minutes before we were to leave and found our bus. The bus was jammed and we found a couple of seats near the front of the bus. An Indian lady sitting to my right tried to make conversation, as the bus plowed through the busy streets. She was lovely and gave me advice on how much to pay. This still didn't stop the conductor charging us twice the price. As we fished our way through the hectic streets more and more people piled on board. Greg stood up to give his seat to an elderly gentleman and then proceeded to worry about his possessions as he got bumped and shoved from left to right by the crowd.

The bus dropped us off at Auroville main street. It had just got dark and the main road was filled with beeping cars as the raced by us. We asked a man at the nearby shop stand where we where and he showed us our place on a map. We appeared to be a stones throw from the beach. So with a sense of direction we headed off down a dark alley way in the direction of our beach. We had gotten some tips that there were a few resorts nearby so we felt we could find somewhere to crash for the night. As we walked along we noticed a whitey, through a gateway. Who else but our Norwegian friend Lisa was getting assistance starting her moped. I called out to her and she turned and smiled welcomingly. She showed us the interior of her beach hut. It was raised on stilts, was made from bamboo, wood and roofed with a collection of large leaves. It came with electricity and its own mossie net. I thought it was quite charming although Greg was not that impressed. We thanked her and told her we'd probably see her the next day. We saw another place next store that was over priced and of a fairly poor standard. As we walked back towards the main road a gentleman with a torch called after us, to come back. We kept walking and then as he persisted, we stopped until he caught up with us. Thankfully, as 10 minute later we got our own boat converted into a beach hut for only 230rps between us. It had its own shower room, living room and big enough bedroom with mossie net, fans and electricity.

After hanging my hammock, settling in we headed to the main street to look for some food. Upon our landlords recommendation we went to checkout the Roof Top restaurant a few doors down from where we were staying. It was a few garden chairs and table sitting outside an old building. The man there confirmed to the rather amazed me, yes it wasthe roof top restaurant. As you can imagine we didn't stay. We went back to the main street. As we walked along, I noticed a fairly modern sign for somewhere nearby called the Third Eye, so we headed there. First impressions were good until the menus arrived. The prices were near to double the prices we had being paying up to this stage. The manager came over and offered us a 20% discount immediately. We declined politely and excused ourselves. He then pulled uot anntoher business card offering the cheapest airfares that we'd find both national and international. We laughed to each other as we descended the stairs wondering what type of prices could he be offering if his food was anything to go by. After checking another few places we found a small empty although spotlessly clean place, upstairs along the main road.

As we sat down in our seats and given menus, some Westlife began playing on the stereo in the back. Good to see they know what us westerners like. The meal was mediocre. The Fanta was over sweet, obviously having sat around for way too long. The coffee was a bad choice after the meal, with it tasting incredibly sour. We complained that the milk was bad and as you can imagine this ensued a broken english conversation of stating it wasn't. Funny enough after insisting it was and asking for a new coffee and tea, without milk, we learnt that the coffee was exceptonally sour and had being sitting around for the whole day. We paid up and headed back to the boat. Greg headed to bed and I jumped into my hammock to read my book and ring my handsome gostoso to wish him good night. An hour later I cluimbed into bed.

Day 24 - Wednesday - Pondicherry

I awoke numerous times throughout the night with bites and itches on my feet. At eight not being able to take it anymore I got up and went for a walk. As unexpected as meeting the Pope who do I meet walking back with a bag of shopping, but Peter. Remember its 8am. He sees the surprise in my face and smiles. His reason for being out so early is a good one. Toilet paper. We agree to go for breakfast together so I return to the Qualithe with him. As I'm waiting, swinging away in the hammock, Greg gets up and agrees to join us.

We head off in the direction of a market I had seeing the previous evening. We find a stark white cafe on the promenade by the name of Le Café. The place is impeccably clean with black marble floors and chairs and tables laid out on an arched veranda style affair. The premises is surrounded by green lawns and two hammocks. We sit down and order a collection of croissants, pain au chocs, coffees and teas. One thing about this country is that it never fails to surprise you. Sitting there munching away on our beautiful breakfast the last place in the world we looked like we were was India.

By the time we returned to the Qualithe we had purchased a small circular wooden travel chess set and a lovely wooden travel backgammon game. With opening prices at 900rps we charmed the guy down to 300rps a piece. The rested of the lads headed off with our new Norwegian friend Lisa for breakfast to some fresh bread and pastry place in the town. Greg and Peter headed back to bed and I sat swinging away in my hammock reading my book.

The rest of the day was a day of rest. We sat around chatting. Caught up on some internet. Rested some more. Its hard work all this resting, I tell ya. That evening we agreed to go for dinner in some fancy restaurant that both Lisa and our Rough Guide had recommended. By ten we all arrived. The setting was truly something else. An outdoor garden with an array of beautifully dressed, candlelit tables. Our party was 10, including S, E and ?. We ordered a selection of steaks and sauces. I decided on a lemon soda instead of the beer. The Kingfisher just didn't suit my pallet. The company was class and the dining was rather fine to say the least. As usual with the Irish wherever we go, we were the last to leave. I'd say they were close to kicking us out as the whole place had emptied, tables cleared, lights turned off and we sat around chatting and laughing.

As we headed back to the hotel we dropped into Le Space and picked up a box of beers. Nine of us arrived back, as Lisa had headed home early. We spent evening playing, guitars, philosophising, swinging in the hammocks and getting to know our new found friends. It was fantastic night/morning. Greg hit the sheets first and I took up second at around four, leaving the gang to burn the midnight oil.

Day 8 - Monday 23rd of June - Paloleum

Just another day - Monday

Laura, Kirsty and Emily were leaving today. A few of us met them while they were having breakfast. They were having some problems organising how to move on to the next location and I was sad to see them go. We left them to their planning after swapping contact details and Facebook names, etc.

We went for breakfast up in the main street today. The now usual pancakes and fillings were ordered and consumed, complimented by a pot of milk coffee. We had decided we were going to do some clothes shopping afterwards. As soon as we paid the bill, around 100rps each we walked across the road to the first shop. The first thing we noticed was the selection was pretty dire. Secondly it appeared all the clothes were secondhand. I found a very colourful pair of shorts and a moment later Ian had found a matching shirt. Aidan was looking for shorts also. For anyone that has being to India th next bit you will probably be able to connect with. India as we all know is a 3rd world country. €1 is equivalent to 67rps (ATTOW). Waiters in Goa get approx. 2rps per hour. A 3km rickshaw ride can vary between 20rps to 150rps depending on where you are and how much you are willing to fight for it or if it is on the meter. Every business person in the tourist areas begins with an opening price. For anyone that has seen “The Life of Brian”, the haggling scene is pretty much the same here. You are suppose to haggle. Now, for anyone that knows me, haggling comes second nature to me. I do it in Dublin all the time. Nevertheless, I find it easy in Dublin, because most of them are rip off merchants. While India is a different thing. The colour of our skin tells them straight away we have a lot more money. A museum in Mumbai made this very apparent. Entry fee for Indian was 10rps while foreigners was 250rps. Can you imagine asking foreigners in Dublin to pay 25 times the price for entry to places. So with all this in mind you constantly feel you are going to be ripped off. Its just really hard to work out what is insulting and what is the correct level of haggling. After Mumbai we had discussed that sometimes you needed to divide between 4 and ten times the price. So here I was now with three pieces of clothing and the haggling begins. They opened with twelve hundred and I counter offer with 300rps. After two minutes of “too much, you must be joking” and “this is secondhand clothing” I bullied the man to 500rps even though he was insisting on 550rps. Yes, I'm standing there fighting over 88 cent at the end. Now, after a while with out noticing this is what happens to you while traveling in India. You will sometimes haggle over 20 rps. Around 28 cent. I know people in Dublin who wont even pick 20 cent up of the ground if they walk over it or drop it. You start thinking of rupees as your own currency and if someone owes you 50rps you'll remind them of it, and perhaps even feel a little bit bad if they don't pay you. So, I left the shop feeling I had done alright with my purchases. Wondering whether they were laughing at how they had made or had they taken the offer because they needed the money. Five minutes later I took 20rps out and walked back in and gave it to the man and said, “In Good Will”. If you do visit India the money thing can really be draining after a while especially with the insane fluctuations all over the country.

The rest of the day went by with so more shopping. Brand new clothes for 100rps a piece :) Relaxing in the sun. Reading books. Bidding farewell to the three girls as they moved on in their journey. Discussing what we were going to do tomorrow. As someone said to me before leaving, it gets to a point were the only thing you have to do is work out were you going to eat each day. After our bit of shopping thats pretty much all that happened on Monday. We decided on the other British bar/restaurant. The Smugglers Inn. Our new Irish man Greg was now very much of our family and he joint us for a delicious meal of burgers and the sort. By the time we were finished we were too late to see a movie and we resided to get an early night. The boys were feeling a night off from the boozing was perhaps needed. We went back to the bungalows sat around chatting for a bit. Eoghan and Aidan went off to C & D. I think I was asleep by midnight.

Getting into the swing of things - Day 7

9.30am, up first Saturday morning. I bring a book, Yes to the breakfast table and sit with my toast and coffee taking in the stunning views. More white tourists arrive while I'm there. Ian's the first to come down for breakfast again. After our terribly strenuous day yesterday we plan to catch some rays and read our books. Laura and Kirsty join us shortly. Sometimes you end up sitting for three hours at the Paloleum resort diner, just for breakfast. So many more people arrive at the weekend so your constantly saying hello and exchanging travel stories. By the time we arrive back to the huts to sun bathe, Aidan and Peter are up chatting to a Canadian girl called Shannon. She is traveling with her boyfriend. Myself and Ian start catching some rays in the scorching Indian heat. Literally 5 mins and your face and body is beaded in sweat. Strangely this year the monsoon rains have kept at bay. TBTG. An offer of a swim an hour later is immediately accepted by me. Even against the warnings, four of us head out for a paddle. The water is glorious. A tad salty if you get it up your nose, although like silk gliding off you body.

After spending an hour arguing with Skype in the internet café I head off to explore the little village of Paloleum. The street we are staying on is topped by a T-junction. Numerous shops and businesses are obviously closed for the season. Empty lots and shells of building are scattered everywhere. The only places that are open are small shops like newsagents, travel agents, restaurants, accommodation and a barber shop. I head left to investigate a little further. Within a minute walking, its like traveling back in time. It reminds of my visit to Dublinia Viking tour. There is a collection of run down and modern brick house and guest houses and then amongst it lies wooden huts planted on red dirt grounds. Women dressed in the typcial Indian dress are preparing tea, brushing their pathways with wicker/twig swatches. Kids are running around playing. Beach dogs strolling across the road. The road way weaves to reveal more brick house. TVs sound from inside. Satelitte dishes sit on roofs. Different style bikes, scooters and motorbikes wizz by with their generic beep-beep. A woman sits on a path intersection, selling tiny fish from a wicker baskets. I stroll along, blown away totally by what I am experiencing. A truly magical experience. The simplicity. The community. The energy is... As I walk along I receive 100% reflection from my smiling and saying hello to the locals. It is something you have to experience to understand. It is very stilling and powerful. The roads continues to weave on. Dusks closes in fairly quickly. Further down mother and baby boars patter around one of the brick house front gardens. The roads comes to an end at a No Trespassing sign into a protected area. As I return along my 1km route, more women stand in the road chatting to each other. Nods are exchanged. Bright-eyed children wave from door, with beaming white smiles. There is an incredible sense of peace here.

By 9pm we are seated, cross legged, in the only real Italian restaurant in Paloleum. Stated to host an Italian chef. We order a selection of fine sounding meals and new selection of beers. One thing you will notice if you come to India is they have their own version of Diageo/Ryanair called Kingfisher. Its the number one beer supplier, an airline and they even produce water. Cashing in on the tourist business. The evening was thoroughly enjoyable with both food and conversation going down a treat. The only thing that took from it was the other locals having their meal that got on my wick. Munching away on my blood without my permission. We all left rubbing our bellies and strolled on down to the local. As we got closer to the bar the heavens opened and everyone ran inside. Aidan got inspired and decided to go for a run in it. After some minor effort he convinced me and we walked out in to the downpour. Within half a minute we were wet to the skin and loving it. We strolled down the beach in the dark with the towering beach light casting long shadows ahead of us. It felt bloody great. Aidan turned to me, placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “This is what it's all about.” I have to say, he was right. We took off our sandels and walked along as the sea washed over our feet.

By the time we got back a small group had gathered outside to drink on the beach. After five mintues or so I started chatting to an Indian gentleman. Can't quite remember his name, you'll probably hear this more than once over the next year. Anyhow, as anyone that knows me well, the conversation ranged from education to politics to poverty to taxation and the such. It He's in the area developing a piece of land, to place 5 to 6 one bed rented cottages on it. He has a number of businesses across India and some land in Darjeeling, in the north. He offered me to come along and help set up the school if i wished. It was exactly the type of chat I had being looking forward to since I arrived. I learnt a lot about the country and also how a businessman sees his own country. After knocking back another beer and chatting some more, he headed off for the night. We also met a few other new travelers that night, Glen and Will from the UK. They are very sound and relaxed. It was 4am before I knew it. The Irish of course were the last to leave. On our way back up the beach, myself, Eoghan and Peter decided to go for a walk towards the peninsula. The boys had beers I was wisely knocking back a litre of water. At night the tide goes out enormously. As we got near the end we noticed some people walking along in the dark. We continued on to where the river is and we were able to cross with the water only going up to our ankles. In the distance you could see the darker silhouette of figures moving around near the waters edge. Upon closer inspection they were moving in some form of unison. Its strange sight to see at 4am in the morning. It suddenly dawned on us that they were fishermen. This became more apparent with the outline of boat shadows on the sand. We passed them by and left them to there mysterious work. As we approached the island we could see thee channel intersecting it was now only 20 feet, nevertheless the water looked fairly fast moving. Crossing it was not really a consideration even though fairly tempting. As we walked back we decided to investigate the early morning workers a little closer. Now as our eyes were more accustomed to the dark we could see two separate groups of men sorting a net of some sort. A man walked out from the dark forest on our left and headed across our path towards the others. It was an amazing sight to see and a great insight into the villagers simplicity. Once again there is something about India that reminds me of old Ireland. There is a strong sense of community and working with nature. We stroll pack chuffed with our early morning find. Sleep comes upon us easily that night.

Paradise continues - Day 6

Its quite a sight to see cream and brown cows strolling along the white sandy beach. Paloleum beach is guest to some very relaxed looking sacred cows. As you sit for breakfast in our resort the view before you is of rolling waves, unfolding gently on the fine sand. To the right sits a small green island stuck out beyond the lush peninsula. With numerous staff service is fast and a far throw from the normal Indian lifestyle. We have landed ourselves in a westernised haven on the west coast of India. After some tasty toast and coffee myself and Ian head off for a walk down to the north end of the beach. A few locals walk by smiling as we greet them hello on our way. As you get to the far end of the beach you need to wade through a small river. As we make our way through, the water begins to rise above my waist. I hear a laugh from Ian only to realise my man-bag has gotten soaked. As I stand there, in the middle of the river, I notice a man on the far side, smiling and waving for me to cross further down. As I follow his directions the water becomes a lot shallower. I continue to cross and a moment later I'm on the other side. Ian follows holding his bag above his head, similar to numerous Indian ladies we've seen. The route continues to be difficult as we bump our toes into submerged rocks. We end up laughing in hysterics as we slip and slide on the rocks. Any form of activity in Goan heat causes a copious amount of sweat to pour off you. We strip off our damp tops and continue our adventure.

By the time we have climbed the rocks an hour has passed since we began the journey. The view from the tip of the coast is something else. Large boulders piled high line the far coastline. We sit and stair into the ocean as the cool and welcome breeze whips around the headland. The sea crashes ferociously on the rocks. Birds hang gliding on the streams of air. You can quickly see how the island was once part of the mainland as the sea rushes through widening the narrow gap. We rest for some time and chat. Its funny how tired you get when the heat is so strong. Every time you get a chance to sit down it feels like you've being going all day. This time is no exception. After half an hour or so we are ready to head back. The return journey is just as humorous as the outward. The boys are taking it easy upon our return. Sipping bears on the resort veranda. We join them quickly to rest our weary bodies. Like old men rest from a tiring walk, we collapse into the plastic chairs.

The evening comes around quickly. Our first full day has flown by with very little activity. The three girls joins us for dinner at the resort restaurant. The usual high standard of food is served efficiently by the friendly staff. Other tourist arrive to five loud Irish guys and three American girls, laughing, drinking Kingfishers and munching on Indian cuisine. Nevertheless, I'd imagine we are actually good advertisement to the empty resort. We should have being charging them. The lads are doing there utmost flirting with the ladies. Its quite humorous thing to observe as they get more oiled over the evening.

We end up in a new bar with a pool table, five minutes down the beach. Cocktails and Dreams. For anyone that is a Tom Cruise fan, will recognise this name straight away. Eoghans pretty chuffed because they have a pool table and there are no complaints from anyone due to the fact they have satelite TV showing the European Cup. The place is like something you'd see on holidays in a European resort, apart from the cocktails being undrinkable. The place has a good vibe of activity within an hour or two of arriving. I'm wrecked so I head off to bed , another early one for me. The boys go into the early hours with the matches kicking off at 2.00am Goan time. 5 mins after I lie down I'm unconscious.

Taking the tours - Day 3

I awoke 9.30, Wednesday morning in our lavish hotel room. Realising the time, and feeling a bit hungry, I got dressed and headed to Ian's room. Breakfast was to be finished in 30 minutes. A waft of curry hit me as we entered the dining room. Its a strange smell first thing in the morning. Its funny when you are programmed to think one way that it can be hard to break the mold. Eating curry at that time of the morning is the last thing to cross my mind. Perhaps this will change with time. After munching some miniature bananas, toast and coffee we headed back up to wake the boys for our 12 o'clock checkout. I stopped at the reception desk to ask was it alright to leave our bags there for the day, as we were catching the train to Goa tonight. The man was amazingly helpful, offering us a room to how a shower in upon our return, if one was available. We awoke the lads, packed our gear, paid our bills and left for the Elephanta Island Caves.

When we arrived at the Gate of India, the sweat was pouring off me. The square was a lot more packed than before. Traders were approaching us from all sides. Selling giant balloons, postcards, coloured balls, nuts, hashish and the lot. As we approached the island ferry a small round Indian man came towards us to tell us about the islands. He explained that the best time to view the caves was 9.30 in the morning and the round journey would take up to 4 hours. We agreed amongst ourselves we'd do something a bit different. Totally unaware to me, the same helpful man proceeded to offer us a guided tour of some of the best features of the island. At a mere, 500rps a head. We offered 200rps a piece, explaining the value of taking a group of five. The usual haggling began, so in the mid-day heat we began to walk away. The man continued his bartering with Aidan offering to show the air-con car we'd be brought around in. The vehicle we were shown was a clean silver modern looking jeep. We realised that there was probably no better faster way to see Mumbai. The final price we agreed on was 1600rps.

We all jumped in and began our first journey to the Washing Laundry. The heat in the jeep was stifling and poor Aidan stuck in the back was not feeling any benefit of the a/c. Sweat flowing off his face as we drove through the manic city. We arrived 20 mins later at Asia’s largest open air laundry. It was located in one of the poorer parts of Mumbai. Aidan nearly collapsed out of the back of the jeep. His t-shirt clinging to his body. Entering the outdoor laundry is like walking back in time. A matrix of concrete basins, with men smashing the wet clothes into the flat surfaces. Lifting the clothes and squeezing them. Rows of clothes hoisted on lines hanging high in the air surrounded the complex. Our guide explained that only the poor people clothes are now washed here as the wealthy people all have washing machines. 200 people are employed to work from 4.30am to 3pm. The clothes are collected, washed, dried and then delivered. As we stood, being informed of all of this, we were getting looks from the washers. It was only afterwards I thought what it would look like if a group of tourists came and watched you as you toiled away in the heat of the day. One of the washers called to us and asked us if we wanted to give it a go. No one offered :) We were told that this was the last generation of washers. The money being made was being used to educate the next generation. 10 feet from where we stood behind us, through bars, we could see a class of young school kids in uniform sitting at desks working away and staring out the foreigners staring in at them. The usual array of white smiles and bright eyes were beaming back at us from the small room. As we left I remember noticing some rather harsher looks from some men on our right. I smiled in greeting and no return was given this time. Understandable when you think of what I said above.

We picked up 2 bottles of water and to cans of minerals at the shop at the entrance, 60rps. Just less than €1. Prices in India are really hard to pin down with tourist tax being placed on pretty much everything and varying all the time. Swapping places I took the back seat and Aidan jumped in the front. The heat was unbearable as we made the 30 minute journey to the 100 year old Jain Temple. Full silver temple dedicated to Lord Mahavira. We passed through the Marbella styled area of Mumbai. Quite a difference than the places we saw, the first night we arrived, on route from the airport. I was pretty much ready to pass out as I fell out of the back of the jeep when we arrived. Outside was a lot cooler than the swelter box. After removing our shoes we entered the temple. Some form of ceremony was in process as we entered. The first thing you notice is the vast array of colors. Painted walls and ceilings with religious stories and messages of how to live a spiritual life. The centre room was filled with people in the middle of some form of ritual with two priest enchanting prayers. Two video cameras with lights were recording the whole thing. Relatives and religious men stood watching. Upon advice we entered in a clockwise direction. A side chapels filled with religious iconography was the first room we entered. Gold, silver and painted ceramic statues of Mahavira were everywhere you turned. Indians were entering and saying prayers and leaving their offering in the slots provided. It was kind of unusual walking around the temple while a pre-wedding is happening. The doomed ceiling of the temple was beautiful. Adorned with colour paintings representing some form of cycle. In some way similar to the signs of the zodiac. A holy man, dressed in a white robe, nodded his head to Eoghan to go venture upstairs. As we trailed upstairs we noticed a man sitting on the ground preparing coconuts for some form of offering to Mahavira. Above him another stunning carved dome ceiling cut from rock. The main room overlooked the centre room below. As we studied the painting we noticed a symbol that looked very similar to the swastika. We pointed it out to each other and murmured under our breaths as to whether the symbol was a reflection of the swastika and remembering stories of where Hitler got the original symbol from. Kind of weird to think that a symbol used by a German dictator, was taken from one religion and then used to persecute and wipe out another religion. After spending another ten minutes looking around our guide had called us as we were running over time.

Our next stop was the Hanging Gardens over looking the whole city. A public park laid with lawns and small hedges edging the pathways. Quite pretty and nicely cooled by the numerous over hanging trees. Eoghan was asked by some teenagers to play some cricket as we entered. Delighted he pitched a few balls. The kids loved it and were laughing and asking to play more. Next we were approached by an Indian family that wanted to take a photo of us with there family. The usual stares followed us as we walked around. When we found the playground at the far end Eoghan was straight in, jumping onto a see-saw with a kid on the other end. The kids all loved it. Some crazy wild haired Cork guy with energy like them. Peter went and joint Eoghan as he climbed up the monkey bars. One little girl there stood staring in amazement. Next thing Peter came down on the big slide. Bewildered looks from parents as the boys left the under 10's playground. As we walked back through the park we came across a big two storey concrete shoe painted in yellow and red. People were taking photos of their kids as they climbed up and sat on the toe. And as you can imagine we were up next. One Indian man asked could he join us and he jumped up beside the five of us. At this stage a crowd had gathered, smiling and laughing, taking photos of this not too often sight. As we climbed back down our guide was waiting, look rather impatient that we had kept him waiting, again. C'est la vie.

Our next stop was one Mani Bhavan. The place where Gandhi started his “Quit India Movement”. On route we passed the pathway to the Tower of Silence, a route used by the Parsi Community who carried they're dead to tower at the top of the hill. There the vultures would pick the body clean and then the bones are collected and grinded to powder and place somewhere. Sorry I forgot this part. Ghandi house was real treat and a person that I have enormous heart for. A leader of passive means that moved a nation and changed events by holding a passionate and still heart. The collection of photos, letters and items owned and used by Ghandi is quite a thing to be in the presence of. From his early years to his death you can see the constant struggle this man endured. A role model for any. One thing in particular I noticed and took note of, sitting on the table, of his glassed in room, where the three monkey. A small carved bit of stone, of see no evil, speak no evil and hear no evil. I did a stop, just for a moment in front of his room.

As we were dropped back into the old town of Mumbai, our modern jeep had aged quickly. Now the brakes were gone, the air condition bust and the engine was over heating. The vehicle finally came to a halt and stopped right in the middle of the city, just before our last toured visit. We paid our driver/guide, thanked him and went on our way to find some food for our rumbling tummies. We witnessed some local police dragging two men into the back of a waiting wagon and only guessed as to what treatment they were about to receive as the resisted arrest both verbally and physically in a filled pubic street to smiling onlookers. We found a small Indian restaurant down a side street. We were ushered into the a/c room and we ordered a collection of delicious meals with lassi as our drinks. A group a men across from us were having a great laugh and chatting amongst themselves and looking over. It dawned on me as I ate with both hands that perhaps this was part of the amusement. I noticed as their meal was served the customary right handed eating with the left kept under the table. Note: eat with right in public places. After paying and walking around a little lost looking for the Thomas Cook office we headed for our hotel. Stopping in a bar on the way to have drink, in one of the few westernised bars near our place.

By the time we got back to the hotel I'd imagine we smelled quite a bit. After hours of walking and sweating our clothes were drenched. When we arrived in the hotel we were given a room to use to shower and relax before we had to leave. This was very welcomed by all and much needed. We changed and showered and generally relaxed. Aidan caught up on reading some email from four or five months ago. The rest of us took some well deserved time out. We went down to dinner just before nine. Collected some smaller notes and gave tips at reception, to the porters, the waiters and the doorman. They have some quantity of staff in the Godwin, to say the least.

We left the Hotels in a normal, to me anyway, rush to make our way to the CST train station. Eoghan standing at the reception desk arguing over the laundry losing his favourite t-shirt as we are being hoarded into two private taxis out the front. Porter and doormen smiling and helping us to carry our bags. A row of cars behind blocked, doing their usual beeping. After tipping left, right and centre and calling Eoghan we jumped into the waiting car. The usual haggle over the fair began. At this stage too tired and hot we agreed to 100 rupees for the journey. We got to train station with only four near misses and some fine gear grinding. The lads were in the car in front.

We disembarked into the bustling train station. It was 10.30pm and our train was due to leave in half an hour. People were sitting on benches and on the floor. Some people lay flat out asleep on the ground. We found an official train employee and showed him our ticket. He barely moved from his seat and pointed up at the red digital board displaying the departure times and platform numbers. Ours was platform 16. We began to making haste and headed for the far end of the large station. We were intercepted by a police officer and who told us to follow him. He turned smiling and explained we needed to scan our bags. As the bags came through the other side they were laughing at the jumble of contents of or bags. The three young police officers, two men and a lady, asked Eoghan about the guitar as he lifted his rucksack onto his back. He played them a few blues chords sweating, smiled and excused himself as we were running a bit late. We trudged with bags a bopping to platform sixteen. The usual array of gazes and turns and smiles, as the white foreigners walked, dripping with beads of sweat, through the station.

We approached the train with some anticipation, not sure of what we were about to experience. We had only being able to get Second Class AC sleepers. As we began our search walking down the carriages, some nervous looks were thrown between the boys. The first carriages were packed. Four people, sitting above four people, opposite another eight and eight more perpendicular to the sixteen. Cattle would have had more room. As we continued the walk little was said as we checked our ticket to see our carriage number, A1. We noticed our carriage as the next one down. As we got near the door, a man kneeling fixing a door closed stood up smiling. We began to ask and he said, “31, 32, 33,....” We looked at each other in surprise and laughed. He leaned out the door and showed us a white sheet pasted to the side of the train. Our names typed out in full with seat numbers and ages, there alongside all the other passengers in the carriage. I had begun to realise here that India may have a lot of poverty, nevertheless their appeared to be some intricate organised system underlying it all.

After entering and finding our seat numbers we were genuinely surprised at the quality. Lower and upper blue fold-down bunks with 2 white sheets, a pillow and brown blankets, neatly folded waiting for their passengers. A blue industrial fan spinning away ferociously and double strip lighting illuminating the compartment. We laughed in question if the fan was the air-con as myself and Ian lay down on the top bunk sweating like we had earlier in the day. Within minutes of packing away our bags we were being offered cold bottles of water by men walking through the carriages. 5 mins later a man came to take our order for breakfast, to be served at half eight. Our options were omelette, cheese sandwich or fried vegetables. The train moved off without as much as a bump, I didn't even notice it until the lads told me. In another five minutes the real air-con kicked in blowing chilled air all around us. My early estimations and presumption of Indian trains were left behind on the platform. The 13 and half hour journey to Goa seemed all that much closer. After so much initial excitement we began to settle. Within 30 mins, Ian was asleep, lulled by the music from his iPhone. Eoghan was strumming away on the guitar although looking tired and the other three of us were delving into another world as we turned the pages of our books. An hour later we were pretty much all asleep. I kept waking thinking about our bags and whether they would be safe when we were asleep. The tiredness prevented me from staying awake to long. Unaware to me, Aidan popped his head out from below and told me was heading off to bed, a couple of compartments down. I considered waking one of the sleeping boys to take turns in keeping one eye on the bag and then thought differently. I resided to do my best to stay aware and half asleep until the morning.

In to the heat of it - Day 1 - 16th of June - Mumbai

After finally peeling the boys off their beds at 3pm we met up with Peter and Ian and headed out to our first daylight tour of Mumbai. Clad in flip-flops and shorts brandishing fine Irish colour we walked onto the promenade of The Gate of India. The heat and smells are the first things that you notice. The aroma was a mixture of burning wood, spices and an underlying dirty smell melded together. It was funny for first time to feel like the outsiders. Eyes turning and gazing from the local Indians, as five irish lads walked down the path. Eoghan with his harmonica in hand was gaining the most glares. The Indian people love to look and I was pleased to smile back at any that gave eye contact. There is no unwanted feeling from them just a look of curiosity and wonderment. I imagine the blue and green eyed bunch of us was quite some site from their point of view. The promenade was lined with mainly young 20 to 30 year olds relaxing against the wall. Mobile phone in hand and dressed in a mixture of western to local clothing. Older men sat on the ground with basins of piled nuts, cooking them on top with a pan filled with some form of charcoal. Black and yellow cabs lined the roadside. The sea directly below the Indian gate is strewn with litter crashing up against the sea walls.

As we got closer to the square in front of the Gate of India the crowd was filled with Indian tourists taking pictures, hanging around chatting. Vendors will try to catch your eye and offer their wares and a polite although firm 'no thank you' seems to suffice, most of the time. As we made our way in front of the rather impressive colonial structure we were greeted by a pleasant young Indian man. He offered a handshake and a smile and suddenly we had gained ourselves a new buddy. He wanted to be our friend. He didn't beg, just followed us. Smiling and nodding and constantly moving between us to become our friend. We presumed if we kept walking he'd eventually stop. Not so easy. We all kept smiling. He kept smiling and talking to us, and following. We walked for around 20 mins before he finally gave up the ghost. There was no sense of danger in any way, we just had no idea what to do.

The city is bustling to say the least and everywhere there is a constant sound of beeping. Cars racing in around each other, taxis stopping to pick up fares, bus racing towards people as they stroll across these highway wide roads. Its a whirl wind of activity. The scattered piles of bricks now had a purpose, as the poor people lay on the unfinished path ways chipping away to create walkways for some of the many 15 million feet that fill this hectic city. The casting system becomes very evident as you make your through the streets. The most disturbing thing, although not unexpected after being told, nevertheless quite disturbing, is the sight of little children lying naked on the side of the streets. I imagine this is only the tip of the iceberg in India.

Our aim was now to find the tourist office. Leaving late in the afternoon is a wise move as the high mid-day heat has dissipated to a paltry Irish heat-wave. Weaving through the barage of stalls and shops is an amazing experience. The experience of new smells and sights is like nothing I've come across before. Sugar cane drink stands threshing the fresh cane as locals stand around, skilled men hand carving marble masterpieces, groups of men huddled over dismantled mobile phones soldering minute electronic components are just some of the many sights that great you. It is sensory overload even for the most avid traveler. We ended getting a little bit lost before we stopped and asked for directions. The Veer Naiman Rd is one the main roads cutting across the southern end of Mumbai. It opens out into a wide avenue, lined on either side by the tall trees of the Oval Maiden parks. I imagine popular cricket fields in days gone by, now in what seems to be a state of repair. There is definite improvements going on around the city, although it is so overwhelmed by the general disrepair you can see. We finally arrived at Church Gate Station and knew the Tourist Information was close by. We got a quick look inside as hoards of people were racing for their red and white trains. We thought perhaps another day might be better to explore further. As we finally entered the Indian tourist office across the road, we were welcomed with a blast of ice cold air. This is a super luxury after walking through the stifling heat. We were greeted by a lovely smiling indian lady reading her magazine. Myself and Ian collapsed, dripping in sweat, into the waiting seats. The boys found some nice couches to rest their weary and wilting bodies on.

The office was lavishly laid out in old 19^th century mahogany paneling with a quite spectacular silver hammered wall covering on one end of the room. It felt like stepping back in time to the 1950s. The place was empty apart from us and a few staff pottering around. We were assisted in every possible way and made feel most welcome. Finally after collecting our photocopies of hotels, maps and Mumbai guide we left the delicious cold office behind and headed back into the heat. One task completed, three hours later, 1.2 miles.

We raced across some more crazy roads dodging the onslaught of honking drivers. We decided to pick up an Indian SIM card in the Asiatic Centre. Not to unsimilar to a Wigoders in Ireland. Learning the lesson of Indian bureaucracy is one to take note of. It took nearly 1 hour to go through this process with forms filled, photos taken, and copies of my passport and visa to be got. After paying we were politely told that the card would be activated in 30 mins. After getting some water we decided to starting heading back towards our hotel and to pick something up along the way.

As we crossed back across town we noticed one of the most dilapidated buildings I had ever seen. It was hard to believe this imposing building was still standing. An Indian stopped to look at what possibly we could be taking a photo of. He smiled in a bemused look and kept stopping to watch as we snapped away. Within 10 mins we were back within minutes of our hotel walking down Mahatma Ghandi Rd. This leads onto an impressive roundabout surrounded by three and some of Mumbais most interesting looking buildings. We decided we need to break for food and beer. Eoghan noticed a Sports bar with a pool table and the decision was made.

SBKs is like a Captain Americas/Morrison Hotel Bar. Very chiq and only filled with the most well dressed young Indians we had seen. To get an idea of the cost, a game of pool was nearly €2 a game. This same amount can get you an air-con bed in the local very clean YMCA . I'm sure we were sitting amongst some of Bollywoods best although this was news to us. I felt like we were cheating a little, because we might as well have being back in Dublin, nevertheless I wasn't complaining when I sat down in the chilled stylish bar with cosy leather couches. We drank the local beer and ate the delectable food. A few games of pool was had and a couple of basketball hoops shot. We headed back to the hotel. Drank some beers out the front. I got a headache and went to bed. The boys followed followed shortly and another couple hours of chatting brought sleep upon us quickly.