Darkness over the world, I'm in Trivandrum arrived earlier than expected, still very heavy and sleepy. The Indian trains are always for one surprise. Well. This is the final stop on the journey south, at least as far as the journey by train is concerned. From here there are only buses.
And so I stand with my bags at the train station, it's almost five o'clock in the morning, and I try to orient myself. According to the guidebook, the bus station should not be far from here (which it is), and just as close should be a restaurant or café to have breakfast.
Looking for a restaurant
None of this. I stroll with all my luggage through poorly lit, but not deserted streets and find out that I am too early and the places are closed.
At least there's an open restaurant at the train station, but the neon-lit atmosphere immediately takes away my hunger. The strange-looking and akward smelling milk coffee remains undrunk.
Finally, I find a tiny little restaurant of about four square meters, where I eat something white, indefinable and drink mineral water. But what I want most, a coffee, is withheld from me.
The restaurant seems wonderfully Indian and very local at the same time. I can hardly see my hand in front of my eyes, which is probably not bad considering the indefinable food. I can not escape the charm of the place, but as a courtesy I do not shoot photos. A pity, because the early morning time washes in a lot of different people. As a foreigner, I'm a geek, of course, and secretly but intensively observed.
Trivandrum awakens
As the darkness sneaks quietly away, the city comes to life. The market opens its non-existent doors, the first customers rummage through the offer, the voices grow louder.
Something is finally happening.
I - still with a backpack and everything - amble through the streets. I am watching intently what mechanisms are in place, starting with the TukTuks, which line up with roaring engines, the shops open its doors one by one and the first customers disappear through the entrances.
Everything is different and yet strangely familiar.
Southbound
Then I finally find out where the bus leaves for Kanyakumari. However, it is necessary to wait until eight, because only then the local bus will appear. And indeed, there it is, on time like the Indian Railways. I sit down as usual on the rear rows. Since the demand for those seats is more than limited (one is thrown back and forth depending on the maintenance of the suspension), there is always a certain likelihood that it has enough space.
Hell's ride and hell's fun
The ride takes over three hours, a hell of a ride as usual, at a rapid pace through pedestrians and bikes and dogs and cows and children. With a roaring noise, the bus narrowly avoids other cars and buses and trucks. Narrowly means at best a few inches, in the worst case a few millimeters. But if you're able to forget the risk of a murderous crash, it's a hell of fun.
Apart from the risk of going down in the annals as one of the millions of victims of road traffic, it's a more than entertaining drive through Kerala's south.
Kerala
By the way, the state of Kerala is famous not only for its wonderful beaches, but also for its political orientation. Since 1962 - except for short phases of President's rule - the Communist Party of India (Marxist) and the Indian National Congress have been at the top of the government.
In terms of social development indicators (literacy level, women's social status, economic development, control of population growth), Kerala occupies one of the top positions among Indian states.
The immediate effect is fatal: because the prospering Indian companies fear the influence of politics, they avoid investing in the state. This in turn forces well educated citizens, mostly young men, to work abroad, with the risk of being exploited.
Kanyakumari
Unfortunately, we reach around noon Kanyakumari, the southernmost point of the Indian subcontinent. I could have endured the journey for a few hours more.
The hotel, proposed in the guidebook, is more than questionable. First of all, each time I have to climb five floors (after all, a bit of physical activity). Secondly, there is only an asian stand-up toilet, and to the chagrin of my olfactory nerves, I'm not able to operate the flushing properly, but what the hell, tomorrow I'm gone.
A strange place
The town has certainly experienced better, quieter times. In addition to its geographical location, it also houses a Hindu sanctuary and a very special building in honor of Gandhi, whose ashes were scattered here into the sea. This has created a funfair-like atmosphere.
Marzipan? Chewing gum? Nobody know for sure. In any case, it's a rather failed tribute to the great Gandhi. But after all, we are in India, where everything is permissible and marvelously crazy in its own way, just like the whole country.
Stalls are everywhere, there is offered a plethora of indefinable things. The place is teeming with pilgrims, sadhus and other holy people and numerous, especially Indian, tourists.
The fishing port
I let myself drift, breathing in the special atmosphere and try to think nothing. I'm still hungry and still find nothing that suits me or what seems harmless to eat.
There's a really nice fishing harbor where fishermen mend their nets, a long stone dam leads far out into the sea. I wonder where the southernmost point is, here or further west where the two tiny islands with other sanctuaries lie?
Did I imply that India is more colorful than any other country in the world? If you need any more proof, here it is.
Where two Oceans meet
Actually, I would like to dip my feet into the water, the right one into the Arabian Sea, the left one into the Bay of Bengal, but I cannot find the right spot. Okay then. There is also a huge statue on one of the two islands that reminds me of the two statues from "Lord of the Rings". Boats go back and forth tirelessly, bringing Indian tourists to the sanctuaries and back again.
I somehow cannot quite make friends with it, but I probably just miss the religious context in order to recognize the meaning.
Vivekananda monument and Tiruvalluvar statue at the place where two oceans meet
A unique sunset?
In the evening countless people gather at the sea, admiring the sunset. But the promised simultaneous moonrise does not take place today, so people take pictures of the setting sun like crazy. Honestly, it really looks just like any other place where the sun sets.
So I'm taking photos of the people who are photographing the sun and have a lot of fun doing it. Unfortunately, I still haven't figured out which is the sacred, forbidden temple for non-Hindu. So I don't enter the temple-like building by the sea, though it later turns out that the actual temple is somewhere else ...
Evening with Larry
Tired by the long journey, in the evening I sit down in a garden restaurant of a pretty good hotel, waiting for the food and watching the groups of tourists, the laughing young people, the couples in love.
After a polite greeting, a no longer young Canadian sits down at my table. A long and intensive conversation about God and the world develops. He introduces himself as Larry, he has no family and spends the winter somewhere in the world during two months (he is a roofer and has no work during these months).
I head to bed early, with the permanently strong wind rattling the window, and throw in some medicine against the headache. Already at four o'clock I am awakened by a terrible woman's voice, singing Hindu chants over loudspeakers.
P.S. Matching Song: Mark Lanegan - Floor of the Ocean
And here the journey continues ...
