101 Challenges:

Location : Allepey and Cochin - Kerala, India

After the crappiest night’s sleep in the World… ever! I woke up with my scrotum stuck to my left armpit. What was “called” a “pillow” was indeed a bit of hard wood and this was stuck to the lower right of the back of my now crooked neck. My entire body was saturated in sweat and my ankles were bitten to hell by those b*stard mozzies.

I raised myself slowly from the “bed” which was more uncomfortable than booking some fat, spotty bird as a £23 hooker for the night. I took a look outside and realised that we’re still at the same spot we had dinner in and there’s only 30 minutes of this “Luxury” boat trip left. It’s a bloody square!

Lee had already left the bedroom so I took the opportunity to make the best effort I could at washing my stenching body – using a shower that had as much power to it as Stephen Hawkins has running abilities. The boat had begun to move by this point and after I failed to remove my B.O, I stinkingly made my way to the “dining area” and had a b*llocks breakfast.

Lee was sitting like a twat – he stared at me and patronised the hell out of me – going on and on about Zen sh*t. Completely out of the blue, he tells me I have B.O. Well done bro – clearly I already know that – possibly the fact that I had to share a bed with your sweaty, clammy ass contributed somewhat to the whiff.

Stupidly and arrogantly, he suggested that we each leave a 150 Rupees tip for the 3 staff who had failed to look after us for the previous 22 hours. I said no. I made numerous reference points to our appalling journey; the square map we had “navigated”, the 3 hour lunch, the b*stard of a stupid walk to see coconut and banana trees and the skin-melting room we had just endured for at least 9 of those 22 hours. Finally, he saw sense to my reasoning and so, I reluctantly handed over 150 of my hard-earned Rupees and so too did my b*stard of a brother.

With breakfast over, I packed my bags and ran off the boat – thank God it was all over. I knew that we had been taken for mugs and ripped off – the locals knew this too. Nearly every single one of the 46 people we passed between the harbour and the main street, grinned and laughed as they pointed at us saying something similar to “hee hee hee”.

Onto another rip-off-chancing tuc-tuc where we were charged well over the odds for a 2 km doddle to the “bus station”. It was now about 10am and as we stood on the main road, attempting to stop 70 year old cans-on-wheels – we finally and miraculously managed to hail one over that started us on our way to Pondicherry.

Sat right up at the back on a chair made of bricks and with a metal bar precariously positioned at the exact height of my temple – we set off. If, which is always very likely in Indja, we were to collide with a wall, another vehicle, a cow or even a thrown-away packet of crisps – I would certainly be dead – that bar would crush through my forehead like Mike Tyson would go through a prosthetic ear factory. So, the Indian bus companies fail to adhere to any health and safety rules and regulations. Tw*ts.

Two hours later, I once again had to remove my scrotum from an unnatural position on my body. With yet another t-shirt ruined with sweat, I peeled my ass off the chair and got off the b*stard bus at Cochin.

A dirty, dusty, smelly, hot, clammy, and extortionately priced city. I hated it instantly. We got into yet another overpriced tuc-tuc and made our way to the city’s South Railway Station. Once there we stood in a queue, which only we interpreted as one. Indjan’s don’t know what queues are and so, after 7 of the buggers pushed past me, I started to barge anyone who made an effort to jump the line. Hell hath no fury like my sweaty ass scorned!

2nd AC Class was, not-surprisingly, all booked up and so – yippeedeedoodaa – we could save 1000000000000 Rupees by settling for cattle class. Oh how my ass was delighted at the expenditure prevention.

For less than 400 Rupees altogether, we had bought two train tickets which would convey us almost 1000 kilometres. But as the day was determined to go on as it had started, I looked at the ticket to find that the train didn’t leave at 16:30 as some lying tw*t back in Allepey had told us – instead, we’d have to kill a total of 10 hours in a stinking city that quite clearly hated me as much as I despised it.

Off to an internet café we went. I envisaged murdering at least 7 of the 10 hours by surfing for flights to Thailand, or replying to emails, or simply looking at free porn sites. Well, the “made in 1972” computer that I was using had a different agenda – it wouldn’t let me load Google without making me wait 6 minutes. Feck!

As I simply stated that this place was indeed a sh*t-hole and that everything in it was crap – Lee decided to throw his dummy out of the pram and ran away from me – probably to look for the pacifier which was spat away at such a venomous speed.

He finally came back (must have realised he was being unreasonable and childish) and we left the dial-up café and headed into the heart of what was most certainly not a beautiful or enchanting city.

No fecking way was I waiting another 9 hours and 54 minutes in this place, so, I spotted a travel agency a few hundred yards down one of the stinking streets and entered. I begged the man to get me the hell out of here by any means possible – he offered me an 800 Rupee bus journey that would leave just round the corner in 4 hours.

Being forever wised-up to the way of the Indjan, I said I’d think about it and then trailed the mucky streets for another 28 minutes until so I could find a second guestimated price from another travel source. B*llocks – 800 again. My haggling skills were utilised beyond comprehension – even crying at one point – but the man in front of me would not bargain. Pr*ck.

Sensing my self-worthlessness, Lee decided to mock me by suggesting we waste more money and buy a 1060 Rupee copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to India. No. That’s a pointless waste of cash. We’re only scheduled to be in the country for another week and if I have my way, we’ll be on a flight (even though I’m petrified falling out of the skies in a blazing ball of flames) out of it by dusk!

So, off we trail through manky streets and markets searching, and searching, and searching for this bloody book. Eventually we stumble upon one and as I’ve just stated, no way was I handing out 530 of my Rupees to share a book which would only serve a purpose for 7 days.

Another 3 kilometre tuc-tuc ride and waste of money later – we arrived at the North Railway Station after Lee was told by the disgusted book shop owner that a poor-persons 2nd hand book shop was near there.

By this point, the crotch rot I am suffering is unbearable. My legs are grinding together and the heat and sweat is causing my privates to ignite in balls (pun intended) of flames.

An hour of torturous walking incurs and I can’t take it anymore. I genuinely heard my willy shouting for me to stop. He was in excruciating pain and his neighbours were going through even harsher times. Lee slowly goes on and finally finds said 2nd hand book store.

Now, if we were Hindu’s or Muslim’s then we would have been in Hindu or Muslim book heaven. Unfortunately we’re not and so, the 48,944 editions of “Hindu For Beginners” (we can’t speak the squiggly language so I’m guessing that’s what some of the books were called) and “Mighty Muslim Men” (One for the Laydee’s or certain-tasted Gentlemen perhaps?) meant nothing to us.

Somehow though, the shopkeeper pulled out an edition of “Footprint” which is like the Lonely Planet, except it doesn’t tell you where all the cool places are and what prices you should expect to pay.

Instead, it’s written by some 72-year-old-hippie-woman who feels the need to tell her readers that if you travel 331 kilometres to this or that place, then the laundry facilities may be crap (no offence to the authoress – Annie Dare – who amazingly managed to tell us absolutely everything we never needed to know about South India and everything we couldn’t give a sh*t about either)

Still, Lee managed to get 75 Rupees from my tight pockets (not because I’m Scottish, but because the sweaty crotch I was enduring had now caused my shorts to shrink) and we bought the book at an extortionate price of 150 Rupees. Still, I’ve managed to kill 16 mozzies with the weight of the useless thing – so Annie, thanks luv.

Brilliantly, the time had jumped to the 4pm mark and so, unable to walk a single step further, I found one of the very few bars in this place and we went inside. If only I could have slept through this day, I’d still be on the wagon now. Unfortunately, due to circumstances out with my control – namely India – I ordered the first of four huge beers.

A couple of hours later, and with me now being in a more peaceful state of mildly tipsy mind, I asked for the bill and we duly paid – even leaving a 20 Rupee tip between us. But oh no – that’s all too bloody easy isn’t it.

No more than 25 seconds after handing the delightful little waiter his money, he came back to us, a no-longer-delightful-little-waiter, and he was carrying a 50 Rupee note in his hand. In some garbled language he told us that the note was not acceptable as it had a small hole in the middle of it and, we would have to pay with another one.

After a lot of talking which then turned into a bit of shouting and with a hell of a lot of gesticulating thrown in for good measure, we asked for all the money back, including the tip. We then handed over new notes and snatched back the 10 Rupees each we had only minutes before, put into his family’s pockets. Disgusted, we left. Was the entire World out to get me today? I think so.

Another tuc-tuc back towards the station and another needless spend of money later, we decided we’d have a shower in the building of the trains. Well, that was a bloody experience and a half.

With no soap, no towel and no self-respect left I walked into a “cubicle” and looked down at a small bucket. Was this what I was to fill up and pour over myself or was this the bum-cleaning bucket? Either way, I consigned myself to using the only implement that was there, fully aware that it was guaranteed to be covered in faeces.

A 9 minute drip-dry later, I left that cubicle, and all my dignity and headed back into town for dinner.

We passed another internet café and so, I tried again to find another means of escaping this living-nightmare. I checked flights to Thailand, ones that Lee had looked at two nights previously and, explained to him that the prices had gone up – most likely because we were getting closer to the date of our expected date of departure.

Lee went mad – I think the heat and crotch rot got to him too, or, he was upset at his lack of forward planning and angry at himself for costing us both more money rather needlessly.

Yet again he spat that dummy out (it’s going to get filthy if he keeps doing that) and he stormed off in a hissy-fit after shouting some profanities. I remained at the computer. 15 minutes later, he came back to me – obviously well aware that I would be his only form of protection against being kidnapped and sold into the sex industry by some big burly Indjan men.

We left the webernet café and on spotting a shaving place – we went to let some 89 year old shaky hand man put a blade to our throats. Our concerns of the blade were quickly banished as we realised that the towel he put over our necks was indeed covered in mozzies. Fecking hell – I sustained 5 bites to the face and neck in no more than 8 seconds.

Refusing to let any more of this horrible World get to me – I thereafter put myself into a self-induced state of comotosation – like meditation, but conducted in the form of crossing my arms, frowning continuously and stamping my feet.

We had dinner – which was crap. Knowing that it would have to endure a 9 hour train journey, my bum made me do a crap – which was crap. We got on the train – which was crap. I fell asleep – which was nice. I woke up in India – which was crap.