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A Ride to Remember

So we struggle to board the bus. Amit gets in first but getting a seat is out of the question, so is getting rid of the luggage, as the overhead racks are not large enough. As I enter, hardly able to pull my suitcase up the steps behind me, the conductor tells me to sit on the seat at the back. I am surprised, the more so since there is no place, but he orders the passengers seated there to make space and sternly directs me thither. Obediently I do as I am told, though worried about my dear huzb. He is too tall to stand upright in a bus, and given the road conditions, I worry about him hitting his head against the top. He has been pushed ahead, but now he spots me seated and works his way backward, lugging the larger of the two suitcases. This he hands me.

Since we are right at the tail end of the bus, I insist that he immediately take a pill to guard against motion-sickness. Not that this is an easy task, what with me trying to extract a bottle of water with my hands full with two large suitcases, and him trying to extract the pill while still holding on with one hand and trying not to hit his head. I wish I could see how he tilts his head back to swallow, since he can hardly straighten up, but this sight I miss due to some minor crisis with the luggage. Then the conductor gets his act together and arranges for Amit to stand on the lowest step, right next to the door, where he can fit by leaning, almost sitting, on the railing. I somehow manage to manipulate my wallet and pay for our tickets and then we are set for the remaining hour or so of our journey. We go through some really bad ditches, and the wheel of the bus sinks so far down that the floor board under Amit's feet actually touches the road, making him jump, lest the thin sheet of metal give way altogether and leave him standing on the road.

pThe worst is over and we can now make conversation with our neighbours. While I quiz the men next to me about the best stop for us to dock, Amit is fielding enquiries as to our marital status, number of children, and where all our travels have taken us. Eventually some people get off and he can sit next to me. We maneuver one suitcase under the seat and rearrange the other. All is fine till the fellow next to us indicates that ours is the next stop. We hastily try to pull out the suitcase, which finds the space insufficient to cooperate fully with my efforts. When we finally get it out, it blocks my passage, so that none of us can get out. We fight frantically and sort things out just as we reach the stop.

Now we are in a strange part of Cochin: whereas our previous hotel had been near the railway station in Ernakulam, we are now close to Willingdon island where our hotel and the airport are supposed to be 300 m apart. But our adventures are not at an end yet. We get into an auto who zips off confidently, and we pass a sign welcoming us to Willingdon island and a bridge, so we are reassured. The bus passengers have told us the hotel is only a short distance away. The auto takes a turn confidently and takes us past huge containers of well-known shipping companies. There is a sign saying Wharf. I am getting alarmed. There is no sign of an airport, and the area is deserted and desolate at night. The road winds around, with only huge containers and no signs of habitation. I am convinced the man wants to rob us. The road circles around some more. Then we see a tiny roadside restaurant, a namesake of our hotel. This is it, I think and my heart sinks. It is tiny, if it has rooms it could not be more than two, and it looks exceedingly shady.

This is not it though, mercifully, and we are directed onward. After another couple of stops for information we finally find the hotel, and discharge the auto. He has the audacity to demand a return fare which we dismiss in short order, considering he has brought us by a roundabout route and we have paid according to the meter and then some anyway. The hotel is sympathetic to our point of view and somehow shoo him away. We head for the dining room with all speed.

This is perhaps the most formal and classy hotel we have stayed in yet. The floors are carpeted, the walls are watercolour-adorned. In front there is a formal garden, small but well-kept. The dining room is formal and well lit with concealed lighting. Our room has two nice photographic prints above the beds. To top it all, it is not significantly more expensive than any other place, and is far cheaper than our room in Periyar (which, admittedly was far larger, but also much more spare).

Dinner takes a long time, but perhaps that is only because we are unduly impatient. We order soup and spring rolls, then switch to Indian: prawns in coconut gravy and chicken. The food is good, and we pig out with chocolate ice cream (though we had ordered chocolate milk shake) and caramel custard afterwards. This is our last supper of the trip, virtually our last meal. The next day permits - due to a late awakening - only a scanty breakfast and a charge down to the airport (for which we manage to get an auto, just as well, since it seems to be a very long 300 m). We are in a hurry to check in because Amit needs to get a seat with maximum leg space. It is only a 40 minute flight, and once we are airborne, it is all over.

The deer in silent valley. The loud comments on the boat in Thekkady. The frustration of not finding any backwater cruises. The sights on the way up to Thekkady. Fish 'n' chips in Kovalam, with the sea banging against the rocks in all futility. And the scores of photographs that we have come back with. These are the real treasures of our trip and they are with us for ever.

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