There's No Place Like Home
The last few days are spent the way any trip should end - on a beach doing a whole lot of nothing. From Kolkata we head south, to the little known coastal town of Bakkali - where the Hooghly river drains into the Indian Ocean. The Lonely Planet barely mentions this place and we are the only tourists making the trip (involving two public busses, a river crossing by row boat, and a packed school bus).
As a result, we are surprised to find a well established and comfortable guesthouse nestled between the rice paddies and banana trees. Five minutes walk away is a huge stretch of sand meeting cool ocean water. The sand is mostly white, with just a tinge of black mud washed down by the monsoon floods.
The place is deserted, apart from a few fishermen trawling the shoreline with their nets. The locals prefer swimming with their buffalo in the small, muddy ponds that litter the low-lying country side. To them the sun scorched sand and salty sea is no place for leisure.
Unfortunately the beach is lacking the one thing that all beaches truly need. Surf. Not one wave breaks onto the shore - the water is gentler than a baby's bath. How can anyone really enjoy a good day at the beach without being dumped head first into the sand and then being dragged out to drown by a murderous rip?
This is a deep blow to morale for Glover. His passion is ocean swimming (long distance swimming through rough surf). Not a day has gone by without him relating yet another story about some day at ocean swimming, when the surf was "maaaassive" and they all got hammered and nearly drowned. It's like a phsychotic version of American Pie: "And this one time, at Ocean Swimming". The lack of surf at Bakkali has him close to tears.
Still it's an ejoyable time: swimming in the cool sea; trekking up the endless expanse of beach, while armies of small red crabs scurry for cover at our approach; burning ourselves under the heavy glare of the equatorial sun. Who could ask for more?
We are the only customers at the guesthouse, and we have the place to ourselves (apart from a few cows that wander around outside our room). The manager tells us to lock our doors when we go out so that monkeys don't get in. Naturally, we leave the doors wide open, hoping to come back to find a monkey kicking back on a bed under the ceiling fan, with a banana smoothie in one hand. Unfortunately, we are without success.
With little else to occupy my mind, my thoughts turn naturally to home. It's been three months and three days since I left those distant shores. How will I adjust to going back? Will I remain a social outcast until I once again master the art of "personal hygiene" and those alien devices of soap and deodorant? Won't I feel naked without my money belt strapped constantly to my waist? And how quiet and empty will my bedroom be without Glover babbling in his sleep across the room?
And what of Glover? How will he get by on his own? This trip started with me heading off to find some cats in Kyrgyzstan. Glover decided he'd meet me for a few weeks travelling in China and then we'd head home. Obviously the plan has got a little muddled since then.
Now Glover's got some mad notion to make his way back to Australia via South East Asia and every other country on the way. He's even thinking about buying a push-bike and riding his way through Bangladesh (a country that is 50% flooded at any given time and riddled with wild animals, including the Bengal Tiger). He's keeping a blog for any of you interested: http://www.jroller.com/page/complier
Then even more worrying questions form. Will I be able to adjust back to sit-down toilets, or will my flatmates come home one day to find me squatting guiltily in the bathtub? Will shitting even be an option once my diet no longer consists of pure curry and rice? And how will I ever manage to make an impression on a girl again, with my "mates" happily relating the tale of me shitting myself in Tibet at every opportunity?
I put these thoughts out of mind. I'll find out soon enough. Now it's back to Kolkata. To the big city smells, the bleeting horns and the swarming herds of people. There is one question I can't put out of mind (though I try, oh how I try!). What will I do about work when I get home?
In truth the funds have been only midly wounded by this trip. Contrary to what most people think, travelling is a damn cheap way to live, assuming you pick your country right. There's no rent, no bills, no car expenses, no expensive piss-ups with the mates. Of course it helps to go a few days without eating here and there, and to sleep in really budget accomodation (such as under steam rollers).
Still, even with cash to live off, it's expected - one must work. Society demands we do "something". Travelling provided me with a certain immunity but now I'm heading back it's time to start "taking things seriously". How else will I be able to land myself that steady girlfriend and buy that house and have those kids I so surely need to be happy? Of course, I'll be too busy working to really make the most of those things once I have them, but you've got to take the good with the bad.
Still there's no use rushing into these things. I'm not flying directly to Sydney. I'm spending two weeks on the Gold Coast for a little break with my extended family. A man needs a holiday after all this travelling. This is however, my final blog - the Leopard's Tale is officially over.
And once I'm back - who knows? Perhaps it really is time to get a job - but of course, there's always South America.
As a result, we are surprised to find a well established and comfortable guesthouse nestled between the rice paddies and banana trees. Five minutes walk away is a huge stretch of sand meeting cool ocean water. The sand is mostly white, with just a tinge of black mud washed down by the monsoon floods.
The place is deserted, apart from a few fishermen trawling the shoreline with their nets. The locals prefer swimming with their buffalo in the small, muddy ponds that litter the low-lying country side. To them the sun scorched sand and salty sea is no place for leisure.
Unfortunately the beach is lacking the one thing that all beaches truly need. Surf. Not one wave breaks onto the shore - the water is gentler than a baby's bath. How can anyone really enjoy a good day at the beach without being dumped head first into the sand and then being dragged out to drown by a murderous rip?
This is a deep blow to morale for Glover. His passion is ocean swimming (long distance swimming through rough surf). Not a day has gone by without him relating yet another story about some day at ocean swimming, when the surf was "maaaassive" and they all got hammered and nearly drowned. It's like a phsychotic version of American Pie: "And this one time, at Ocean Swimming". The lack of surf at Bakkali has him close to tears.
Still it's an ejoyable time: swimming in the cool sea; trekking up the endless expanse of beach, while armies of small red crabs scurry for cover at our approach; burning ourselves under the heavy glare of the equatorial sun. Who could ask for more?
We are the only customers at the guesthouse, and we have the place to ourselves (apart from a few cows that wander around outside our room). The manager tells us to lock our doors when we go out so that monkeys don't get in. Naturally, we leave the doors wide open, hoping to come back to find a monkey kicking back on a bed under the ceiling fan, with a banana smoothie in one hand. Unfortunately, we are without success.
With little else to occupy my mind, my thoughts turn naturally to home. It's been three months and three days since I left those distant shores. How will I adjust to going back? Will I remain a social outcast until I once again master the art of "personal hygiene" and those alien devices of soap and deodorant? Won't I feel naked without my money belt strapped constantly to my waist? And how quiet and empty will my bedroom be without Glover babbling in his sleep across the room?
And what of Glover? How will he get by on his own? This trip started with me heading off to find some cats in Kyrgyzstan. Glover decided he'd meet me for a few weeks travelling in China and then we'd head home. Obviously the plan has got a little muddled since then.
Now Glover's got some mad notion to make his way back to Australia via South East Asia and every other country on the way. He's even thinking about buying a push-bike and riding his way through Bangladesh (a country that is 50% flooded at any given time and riddled with wild animals, including the Bengal Tiger). He's keeping a blog for any of you interested: http://www.jroller.com/page/complier
Then even more worrying questions form. Will I be able to adjust back to sit-down toilets, or will my flatmates come home one day to find me squatting guiltily in the bathtub? Will shitting even be an option once my diet no longer consists of pure curry and rice? And how will I ever manage to make an impression on a girl again, with my "mates" happily relating the tale of me shitting myself in Tibet at every opportunity?
I put these thoughts out of mind. I'll find out soon enough. Now it's back to Kolkata. To the big city smells, the bleeting horns and the swarming herds of people. There is one question I can't put out of mind (though I try, oh how I try!). What will I do about work when I get home?
In truth the funds have been only midly wounded by this trip. Contrary to what most people think, travelling is a damn cheap way to live, assuming you pick your country right. There's no rent, no bills, no car expenses, no expensive piss-ups with the mates. Of course it helps to go a few days without eating here and there, and to sleep in really budget accomodation (such as under steam rollers).
Still, even with cash to live off, it's expected - one must work. Society demands we do "something". Travelling provided me with a certain immunity but now I'm heading back it's time to start "taking things seriously". How else will I be able to land myself that steady girlfriend and buy that house and have those kids I so surely need to be happy? Of course, I'll be too busy working to really make the most of those things once I have them, but you've got to take the good with the bad.
Still there's no use rushing into these things. I'm not flying directly to Sydney. I'm spending two weeks on the Gold Coast for a little break with my extended family. A man needs a holiday after all this travelling. This is however, my final blog - the Leopard's Tale is officially over.
And once I'm back - who knows? Perhaps it really is time to get a job - but of course, there's always South America.
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