Alleppey (Alappuzha) is the nearest town of any note and must be worth a look. So that's the plan. It's to the north, so the major challenge is getting past St. Xavier's church without bequeathing my pension to Sister Maria. I also need to find the villa we will soon stay at on Omanapuzha Beach. The church is quiet today but I'm not taking any chances and I sneak by having waited for a bus to provide cover. I head down to the coast and find La Plage which is right on the beach and there's the promise of a cold beer. They will cook red snapper for Liz (her favourite), so all is well.
The coast road takes me to the outskirts of Alleppey where I encounter a bit of hostility. I'm cycling slowly along taking in the sights when an older man on the roadside shouts angrily at me and waves his arms. The only word I can make out is "American". As he shouts this he gets ready to spit at me. Thankfully he hawks first and this gives me time to escape. (Women: hawking is the noisy back of the throat/nose thing that blokes do in the early stages of man flu. The preferred time is just as you are dropping off to sleep in bed and you then jerk awake thinking your bedroom has been invaded by a wild boar with a hernia that has stepped on a bit of Lego). I was a bit shocked by this and didn't know what to make of it. Has Donald Trump been down this way with that shredded wheat on his head building cultural bridges?
The beach at Alleppey is on its way to becoming a resort: part sandy nirvana, part building site. There are a few cafes so I stop for water and a healthy portion of chips. That's right; healthy chips. Just before we came away I went to the doctors with a stomach upset, probably related to my fresh fruit and vegetable diet as opposed to the bucket of prosseco/cointreau/cranberry cocktail I drank with my research group to celebrate Christmas and graduation. An odd conversation with my Doctor ensues:
"I can give you something for that."
"Thanks. I am going to India in a couple of days to celebrate Christmas and New Year."
"Try to avoid spicy food and alcohol."
"I can't imagine that will be in any way difficult Doctor."
"Also, be careful with drinks, water, ice and food. Actually, fried food is best. Chips are the healthy option in this case."
"Can I have a prescription for KFC?"
In Alleppy I am more confident in heavy traffic and curiously I actually feel safe. The rule is just keep doing what you are doing and no sudden moves. This is fine until I approach a very busy four way junction near the bus station. There are numerous buses the size of, well, buses and they are coming from all directions. Unfortunately, I need to turn right and I now need to deploy a strategy I learned from a woman who had a learning disability.
When I was training as a clinical psychologist I researched Alzheimer's disease in people with Down syndrome and I tested a woman in her fifties who lived in Gogaburn Hospital and who prized her independence. Her vision and hearing had deteriorated and my newly developed tests showed a memory impairment and some other worrying signs of change. A couple of days a week she went into Edinburgh on the bus and spent some time there. There was a concern about her safety so I was tasked with following her. I caught the same bus into the city and got off behind her near Princes Street and watched as she approached a very busy junction. She stopped at the pelican crossing and moved close to the person next to her and when they looked at her, she simply held their hand. I watched her do this a few times and every time, without fail, she was helped across the road with care and attention. So now, when travelling, I do something similar. In Alleppey I wait for a motorbike at the junction and then touch the rider's arm, gesture and then stick close to as they weave through the traffic. Liz and I also deployed this strategy in Rome where at difficult crossings we would wait for a nun or priest (double insurance and the place was knee deep with them) and then stick close as they crossed. Worked every time.
On the road out of Alleppey the temperature is in the mid 30's and there is no shade. I'm close to the 25 mile mark, hot and thirsty and so need to stop for water and to buy a pineapple for Liz. There's a roadside stop with pineapples on show where the Tuk Tuk drivers have gathered so I take a break. Sitting on a small, black stall I am sweating profusely from the heat and effort, covered in dust, sunburnt, thirsty and knackered. One of the Tuk Tuk drivers I have seen before asks me if I want a Tuk Tuk.
"No thanks. I like riding my bike."
"I put your bike in my Tuk Tuk."
"It's ok thanks. This is what I like to do on holiday."
"You have money for my Tuk Tuk?"
"Yes, but I like cycling."
"Why ride your bike in the sun on the bad roads when you could take my Tuk Tuk."
"Erm... It's enjoyable. Lots of people in England like to cycle."
"But they have cars. Why cycle if you have a car?"
"Ermmmm, it's nice to cycle. In fact one of the leaders of our political parties cycles to work wearing a shell suit."
"I am very sorry for you and your country."
"Yes, me too."
"Be careful near the church. There are people who will take all your money."
"I know. I met her."
This conversation reminds me of a trip to Katmandu and a ride in a cycle rickshaw. The 'driver' was about 10 and his legs were too short to reach the pedals when he sat on the saddle. Consequently, he had to pedal whilst standing. It was a very hot day and he was sweating with the effort. I wondered what he might make of my gym membership:
"So. Let me get this right. At this gym you pay someone the equivalent of a year's salary in Nepal so that you can pedal their bike that doesn't even move."
"Yes, that's right. If you pay extra for a spin class you can have someone shout at you to go faster. How good is that!"
Route 66 takes me back to the resort and as I approach the gate the security guard, with impeccable timing, opens the gate so I don't have to stop. He helps me chain my bike to a cashew nut tree and as we do this I can see other holidaymakers lying by the pool on sun loungers being served cold drinks and reading books. I do wonder whether the Tuk Tuk driver has a point.
The coast road takes me to the outskirts of Alleppey where I encounter a bit of hostility. I'm cycling slowly along taking in the sights when an older man on the roadside shouts angrily at me and waves his arms. The only word I can make out is "American". As he shouts this he gets ready to spit at me. Thankfully he hawks first and this gives me time to escape. (Women: hawking is the noisy back of the throat/nose thing that blokes do in the early stages of man flu. The preferred time is just as you are dropping off to sleep in bed and you then jerk awake thinking your bedroom has been invaded by a wild boar with a hernia that has stepped on a bit of Lego). I was a bit shocked by this and didn't know what to make of it. Has Donald Trump been down this way with that shredded wheat on his head building cultural bridges?
The beach at Alleppey is on its way to becoming a resort: part sandy nirvana, part building site. There are a few cafes so I stop for water and a healthy portion of chips. That's right; healthy chips. Just before we came away I went to the doctors with a stomach upset, probably related to my fresh fruit and vegetable diet as opposed to the bucket of prosseco/cointreau/cranberry cocktail I drank with my research group to celebrate Christmas and graduation. An odd conversation with my Doctor ensues:
"I can give you something for that."
"Thanks. I am going to India in a couple of days to celebrate Christmas and New Year."
"Try to avoid spicy food and alcohol."
"I can't imagine that will be in any way difficult Doctor."
"Also, be careful with drinks, water, ice and food. Actually, fried food is best. Chips are the healthy option in this case."
"Can I have a prescription for KFC?"
In Alleppy I am more confident in heavy traffic and curiously I actually feel safe. The rule is just keep doing what you are doing and no sudden moves. This is fine until I approach a very busy four way junction near the bus station. There are numerous buses the size of, well, buses and they are coming from all directions. Unfortunately, I need to turn right and I now need to deploy a strategy I learned from a woman who had a learning disability.
When I was training as a clinical psychologist I researched Alzheimer's disease in people with Down syndrome and I tested a woman in her fifties who lived in Gogaburn Hospital and who prized her independence. Her vision and hearing had deteriorated and my newly developed tests showed a memory impairment and some other worrying signs of change. A couple of days a week she went into Edinburgh on the bus and spent some time there. There was a concern about her safety so I was tasked with following her. I caught the same bus into the city and got off behind her near Princes Street and watched as she approached a very busy junction. She stopped at the pelican crossing and moved close to the person next to her and when they looked at her, she simply held their hand. I watched her do this a few times and every time, without fail, she was helped across the road with care and attention. So now, when travelling, I do something similar. In Alleppey I wait for a motorbike at the junction and then touch the rider's arm, gesture and then stick close to as they weave through the traffic. Liz and I also deployed this strategy in Rome where at difficult crossings we would wait for a nun or priest (double insurance and the place was knee deep with them) and then stick close as they crossed. Worked every time.
On the road out of Alleppey the temperature is in the mid 30's and there is no shade. I'm close to the 25 mile mark, hot and thirsty and so need to stop for water and to buy a pineapple for Liz. There's a roadside stop with pineapples on show where the Tuk Tuk drivers have gathered so I take a break. Sitting on a small, black stall I am sweating profusely from the heat and effort, covered in dust, sunburnt, thirsty and knackered. One of the Tuk Tuk drivers I have seen before asks me if I want a Tuk Tuk.
"No thanks. I like riding my bike."
"I put your bike in my Tuk Tuk."
"It's ok thanks. This is what I like to do on holiday."
"You have money for my Tuk Tuk?"
"Yes, but I like cycling."
"Why ride your bike in the sun on the bad roads when you could take my Tuk Tuk."
"Erm... It's enjoyable. Lots of people in England like to cycle."
"But they have cars. Why cycle if you have a car?"
"Ermmmm, it's nice to cycle. In fact one of the leaders of our political parties cycles to work wearing a shell suit."
"I am very sorry for you and your country."
"Yes, me too."
"Be careful near the church. There are people who will take all your money."
"I know. I met her."
This conversation reminds me of a trip to Katmandu and a ride in a cycle rickshaw. The 'driver' was about 10 and his legs were too short to reach the pedals when he sat on the saddle. Consequently, he had to pedal whilst standing. It was a very hot day and he was sweating with the effort. I wondered what he might make of my gym membership:
"So. Let me get this right. At this gym you pay someone the equivalent of a year's salary in Nepal so that you can pedal their bike that doesn't even move."
"Yes, that's right. If you pay extra for a spin class you can have someone shout at you to go faster. How good is that!"
Route 66 takes me back to the resort and as I approach the gate the security guard, with impeccable timing, opens the gate so I don't have to stop. He helps me chain my bike to a cashew nut tree and as we do this I can see other holidaymakers lying by the pool on sun loungers being served cold drinks and reading books. I do wonder whether the Tuk Tuk driver has a point.
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