Kerala farewell

We’re slap bang in the middle of a highway

Winds are picking up and rushing through Lucie’s hairs.

The traffic is relentless but not orderly. We are in India. There are always patterns so it’s invariably differently organised from what you’d expect from the point of view of a westerner.

Much of the traffic is fully loaded others on the lookout antennae twitching, scouring, searching for its next load to carry back to the nest.

I wonder….What time do ants get up to start their working day?

The sun rises burning off the moisture lifting the misty fog.

It’s quite noisy with bird life making its presence known. Now and then the crack of a gun. What do they shoot out here? Rabbits? Birds? Wild boar?

Manjula is with us on the rocky outcrop in the mini photo I’ve introduced to everyone we met on this trip. She’s probably met as many people as we did on our mini holidays. It’s a bit weird as I don’t give the full details, just that she’s my wife from Mysore.

It’s time to move. The old mans knees and calf muscles are showing signs of age as every day passes

Lucie the pack leader that she is, the one to track through memory and smell leads the way.

A siren blares. Think Second World War. It’s time for work at the tea plantation or factory.

“Luce wait for me.”

She chooses not to wait for me. By the time I reach our hillside cottage she’s way past it down at the bottom waiting for breakfast.

Another great Kerala Wayanad breakfast and now it’s time to move again and leave the Dhanagiri homestay.

Thanks to Anant and his lovely family.

3 thoughts on “Kerala farewell

  1. Very nicely written, Stephen, sounds like you had a good time.
    In 1982 my friend Ulrike and I stayed at a coffee plantantion in Kerala. Going for a walk in the woods we met two little girls who ran away from us absolutely screaming. Later they very haltingly came back to us with their grandfather who explained to us wordlessly that they had been scared of us as they had never seen a white and, in Ulrike’s case, fair-haired person before.
    Which reminds me: Around 1960 my aunt had an Indian boy-friend, the first dark-skinned person I ever met, and I was very much in awe of him… Different times!

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