Day 94 to 105: Mangalore to Mysore

Well, we’ve finally come full circle and here we find ourselves back in the grip of the almighty and intoxicating Kolkata. With only eight days to go till our feet are once again placed firm on English soil, I’m starting to feel giddier than your average kipper. Our train pulled into Howrah station this morning at five o’clock and we haven’t really done too much since but (although I never thought I’d say it) it’s really nice to be back in this city. Just being in a familiar place where we know the streets, the restaurants, the hotels and even some of the people is a huge relief and allows for a little, well-needed breathing space. So, to pick up from where we left off...

After fleeing from Goa and all of its delights we found ourselves racing south on a train to Mangalore, a coastal city in the state of Karnataka. Although we spent three days in Mangalore, I’m unable to say much about the place as we spent all of our time there writing and updating the blog and only ventured out of the internet shop at feeding times. Now I could have just jumped straight to our next stop, the Coorg, and overlooked Mangalore but I do have one tale to tell, a little story which will enable me to remember the city in years to come.

We spent the three nights in a rather nice hotel, probably the nicest hotel of the trip and the staff were exceptionally friendly and helpful. On the second morning we gave the young and eager laundry lads our bag of washing to deal with which was full of stinky and sandy clothes from the Goan beaches and on the morning of our departure the bag was brought back with each item fresh smelling, spotless and ironed.

Once we were at the bus station and wearing his now gleaming trousers, Jonny had a feel in his back pockets in search of his wallet so that he could pay the conductor. He pulled the wallet out of his right back pocket but said that he couldn’t get his hand in the left one as it seemed closed. After we’d got onto the bus I had a look and sure enough it was sewn tight. Jonny started yelping and saying that someone had, ridiculously, sewn up his back pocket. I told him not to be silly as it had probably always been like that and was supposed to be more of a fashion accessory rather than an actual, practical pocket.

We arrived in the Coorg (our next and a most enjoyable stop) later that evening and once we were in our hotel Jonny took of his trousers and turned them inside out. Where Jonny insisted there should have been a pocket, only the fringes of a hacked-at piece of material could be found. Amazingly, he was right! Not only had someone sewn the pocket up but they’d chopped it off aswell! This caused great amusement: who would want to steal a pocket? And why!? We had visions of one of the hotel staff running around waving the pocket in the air, shouting to everyone that he had managed to pinch a pocket made from special, breathable material (the theft was from his all-weather North Face walking trousers) and laughing at how the white man had never even noticed.

As no explanation could be found, after a few days the incident started to blur into the background and we had to leave the case unsolved. Then one morning, Jonny noticed that the bottom of each of his trouser legs looked different from one another; the right leg was definitely made from slightly lighter material. On closer inspection we realised that the bottom part of the right leg was actually made up of a seperate piece of material from the rest. A kind of patch- a pocket patch! There was the missing pocket! Sewn onto the bottom of his right leg! But once again, why? We only had to turn the trouser leg up to find for ourselves the incriminating evidence and a pocket pinching explanation. The original part of the trouser leg was in tatters, a shred of which was scorched...with the tip of an iron print. So, whilst ensuring that we got our washing back in the cleanest and crispest of fashoins, the young laundry lads from the hotel must have had the iron turned up a little too hot and burnt right through Jonny’s trouser leg. Then to make sure that they wouldn’t get a beating from their boss and to make sure that they got their money, they must have ran to a tailors (I like to imagine them running) where he would have chopped off the left back pocket and proceeded to sew it over the evidence AND probably recieved a handsome sum himself. Very clever. So the mystery of the missing pocket was explained and we could get back to our travels.

We were then in the green and mountainous Coorg. The Coorg is a vast area of steep hills and valleys and home to coffee, tea and cardomom plantations, pepper vines and ginger roots. The best way to appreciate the beauty of the place is on foot so we hired a guide and experienced a two day trek in the south Indian countryside, spending our nights with a farming family in their home in one of the remote villages. It is a shame that with these sorts of ventures you have to hire someone else to come along and show you the way; it would be ideal to be able to just set off and find your own path but it just doesn’t seem to work like that out here. Our guide was quite young and he talked incessantly, pausing only to point out and name every single thing from each and every “spider” to each and every “aeroplane” flying overhead. This was as annoying as it sounds so two days with him was definitely enough but the countryside itself provided a lush and tranquil escape and I could have happily stayed with the family and their many animals just a little longer. If only for some more of that homemade lime and mango pickle.