24 January - Swamps & Mud

Another day in which I fail to honour this holiday motto (everyday do less than the day before) and get swept away in the Mexican Twins one… (Fear and Loathing in Bangalore). We head for the falls which we hope will provide enough seclusion to finally be able to swim/get wet. But as our driver drops us off at the end of tiny country lane and says 'It will be signposted’ things go wrong very soon. Within five minutes I’m lost in a banana swamp. Liberating as it is to walk knee deep in mud it's s bloody hard to lift my feet out of it, though not as hard as Glastonbury, and I have a stupid beach bag type sack to weigh me down or at least hold up so it doesn’t get muddy (books, writing pad, water, food etc – am well prepared for getting lost), but as you know, you can’t sit in mud. This is not where I want to be. One of the reasons for taking up with the Mexican Twins is to not be alone when exploring archaeological sites that are on the whole deserted but could reveal a predatory man round every ancient column. Same goes for deserted banana groves. Why I think the incendiary Mexican Twins are safer than a stranger is debatable apart form the fact that I do trust my instincts. Why I think they would protect me is truly a delusion as Jovi is right now recovering from opium ingestion under a tree back where the lane started (I don’t know this at this point, I think he’s behind me but he never makes it, he’s busy throwing up and falling asleep and eating a bit) and Badger has gone on ahead saying he’ll find a way and simply never come back. Add to my load his shoes which I rescued from where he’s abandoned them. At least am balanced. Only to be told later ‘I’d have found them on the way back’. Thanks!
So yes, alone in the swamp though it’ sunny at least. Birds are sqwaking and I don’t think snakes lurk in mud. I’m listening very hard for sounds of waterfalls or rivers but they seem to come from opposite directions. Several hours so sundown so am not unduly worried. My cries of both names yield nothing until I stumble upon two bewildered ancient ladies who are out wood collecting. The senior granny spots the opportunity and offers to guide me to safety/the falls for a dollar. Deal, and she carries my bag. Eventually out of mud, I go through a small ravine and then scorching boulders.
Finally the unmistakable sound of gushing water, only it’s not falls, it’s … rapids. Which is not the same thing at all. I need to write to Lonely Planet and correct this misassumption. I would not have made this pilgrimage for some mere rapids. As it happens in these parts there is always someone set up to sell you a sugared tea or coffee and eventually the naked torso of Badger appears into view. He claims he got lost too when I pout about being abandoned. We can’t swim in the rapids, but I wet my feet and slip off a rock and nearly lose digi camera etc. Not a great outing. But as suspected there is a quicker and easier way back. As we wander back and make jokes about make up (his ex used to cover his tracks on his arms with concealer – well he worked in a sandwich shop and it was best not to advertise that an addict made your sandwich - I ask him why he won’t wash his hair (though I like the Bobby Gillespie look) and he tells me it’s because he has the Arabian sea in it, from their time on the coast in Kerala, and wants to keep it in for as long as possible. Aahhhh. I love guys in their twenties. In fact I adore them. No forty-something I know has any poetry left.

Later back at the Shanti, I wash our mud strewn clothes grape stomping away (large bucket on shower floor, mad dancing on clothes, very therapeutic) and when they’re dry I fold them nicely and leave them outside their door, hotel maid style. I do wonder how anyone can wear half a sock or unstitched trousers or no underpants for that matter, but it’s rock ‘n’ roll. I get rewarded with my own bottle of Old Monk!