Murder on the Shadapti Express...

Hello again! fancy seeing you here! Ok, ok, I've been a bit slack i know, but I've been hanging out in pretty remote places so haven't had access to these new fangled computing machines. Anyway, here's some highlights of the last few weeks:

Left Mangalore on the 10:30 bus, which left promptly at 11:30. Spent most of the journey so desperate for a piss that I had difficulty breathing. The four hour journey only lasted six hours, so arrived in time to bump into Yannick, a French dude, at the check-in desk of the Viyanaka hotel in Madikeri. We decided to share a room as there was only one single room and it was pretty depressing. Our room had a lovely view of a rubbish-slide (like a land-slide but made of rubbish) and if the wind was right you could smell it as clear as if your had buried your face in it. That evening we ate Masala Dosa's by candlelight in the Capitol Hotel, one of the many "Hotels" in India that doesn't actually offer accomodation, only cheap veg food. The candlelight wasn't for romantic reasons, but rather because elctricity in Madikeri seemed to be distributed on a TimeShare system, i.e. if the shop over the road had it, we didn't. After the meal, the power came on and I got up to wash my hands. The scarily enthusistic old man who had served us followed me to the sink and grabbed the jug to pour water for me to wash (there was no working tap). Just then the lights went out again, and in the resulting confusion I found that I seemed to be washing with three hands. It seems my new friend didn't trust me to wash my own hands and had started helping me a little, which was very strange as it made me feel like a 5 year old again, this being the last time someone else washed my hands for me! What with it being pitch dark there was very little i could do except continue trying to aim for my own hands and attempt to ignore the other eager five fingers that had infiltrated their soapy way into my grip.

After one day in madikeri spent walking to a rather pleasant waterfall, I decided it was time to find a quiet place to write some songs. After a few phone calls i managed to book a room at the "Palace estate", and the next morning me and Yannick, (who is often mistakenly refered to as Yanicka due to his introducing himself in a classic french accent: "My name ahhhh is ahhh yannick ahhhh"), jumped on a local bus and set of for Kakkabe, the nearest village to Palace Estate. Another jeep ride later and we were there. Palace Estate turned out to be amazing. It is located in the middle of forest and coffee plantations, halfway up the side of a mountain, and from the vernada of my room I could look down into the valley, which in the morning was a sea of mist with green islands popping up through the cloud. The family who run the place are amazingly friendly, and all meals are eaten together. They all spoke that wonderful victorian English only heard in india. "Will we be enjoying your company for dinner this evening Billy?...". The evening dinner was something straight out of an Agatha Christie novel, partly thanks to two older brit-canadian couples who had just the right hairstyles to complement the picture. I guess it was also because we all sat on the veranda of a very colonial looking house, sipping tea, and slowly getting to know one another by telling anecdotes.... when I woke up each morning to find no one had been murdered I was most dissapointed I can tell you!

One morning whilst getting my breakfast in the kitchen of the Palace Estate, I was lucky enough to catch an episode of the legendary Indian tv show, "Shakti Man". Shakti is power that exists in the cosmos and can be channelled by Sadhus and holy men. Shakti Man, however, is a slightly plump middle aged indian man in a lycra costume who is India's answer to Superman. He is truly hilarious. He looks like he should be selling vacuum cleaners. And the special effects are mind blowing. I saw him use his "heat vision". Two red beams extended slowly out from his eyeballs, and then, when the job was done, they were slowly retracted. Certainly very useful as long as your not in a hurry... :) I've been searching today for a Shakti Man T-shirt, but so far no joy.

Anyway, we finally left the Palace Estate, and headed for a place called Muzhapillangad beach, which we had read a recommendation for in the visitors book. It isn't in the Lonely planet, so i wrote down the name of the beach and we set off to catch a local bus to Cannore, the nearest town. Three buses and countless pot-holes later we arrived in Cannore. It was dark already so we decided to catch a rikshaw to the beach. We tried asking rickshaw drivers for muzhapillangad beach, but no one seemed to have heard of it. Eventually, by pronouncing it muapilangad, we found someone who had heard of it, but they insisted there were no hotels there, as did the group of curious young indians who had gathered around us. Against their advice we decided to go there anyway, and squeezed into the rickshaw. 5 minutes into the journey we realised that the driver didn't speak any english and had just been using the usual indian "say yes to everything technique" to overcome the language barrier. Despite this, he did manage to get us as far as muzhapillangad beach, but that's where he gave up, suggesting we get another rickshaw, and trying to charge us an extra 30 rupees for not actually getting us to our destination. Our second rickshaw was more successfull, being driven by two drunk young indians who drove us 3 k's down the beach (on the sand) staring at each light under the palm tress that we passed. Amazingly they did actually identify the right lights, and we finally reached our destination.

Since then I have moved to a smaller place on the same beach, which is basically a house with a kitchen and everything! Last night I cooked for the first time since arriving in india. It was a nightmare. Withing 5 mins I had got raw chilli juice all over my hands and face, I was sweating like a sumo in a sauna, and then the power cut out. I had to continue by candlelight, sweat pouring from my face in rivers as the kitchen heated up. When the food was finally ready, i discovered that I had misjudged the amount of chillies, and was forced to eat my own mistake whilst my face leaked profusely onto my plate. Tonight Yannick can do the cooking....