Day 15. Chennai-Mumbai-Home.

Spent the day shopping for appeasement gifts for the family. May have failed in my quest.

Will write my reflections on the trip later; in the meantime will be looking out for KP on the plane. If he blags my free upgrade I'll be livid.

_______

Later thoughts:

I’m in the airport in Chennai. Due to the efficiency of the local train service, I’m here early and so have time to start collecting my thoughts about the trip.

Overly efficient local Chennai train

What have I learned about India? I’ve learned that it is growing up fast, sometimes in a good way, other times not so good. India is a country that has evolved at a slow pace for all of its existence, but now it’s having a major growth spurt. For the traveler, this is largely a good thing. I have felt completely safe (but then, I always have here); generally un-fleeced (this hasn’t always been the case); I feel almost insulted by how few times people have come up to me asking for “my good name” or to have my photo taken with them; and getting around is easier than ever.

There is a much larger Indian middle class than I’ve noticed before, who work in the many Western companies who are now outsourcing over here. These are a large group people who are being exposed to Western culture, not just on TV, but on a day-to-day basis. Women are wearing clothes now that would have been frowned upon five years ago. I even met a man today who was openly gay. This is significant change.

I got the local train to the airport today, despite a kind offer from my amazing host at my hotel (Samatha at Samayah Inn) to get her driver to take me to the airport. We compromised in the end I got a lift to the train station. I didn’t want my last trip on this adventure to be in an aircon car. I wanted to see what the outskirts of Chennai were like and I wanted one last chance to see normal Indian people up close and personal.

I went to the platform with my second class ticket and soon realised that I wasn’t going to fit into the carriage with my rucksack on my back (imagine the Victoria line on a Monday morning at 8.30, then multiply it by three). I went back up and bought a first class ticket instead, which allowed me into a carriage that I could stand comfortably in.

The train whizzed through the outskirts of town, and I was given a grim reminder of the worst side of this country. People live in such poverty here. Badly built corragated iron houses, in wasteland, next to large stagnant pools of what was once water but is now anything but…then a bit further out, you see worse. But at least those people have roofs over there heads, many millions in this country sleep on the streets every night. People so frail, often disabled beyond anything you can imagine,  and so helpless you wonder if anyone’s life could be more awful.

This, people, is what you get without a welfare state.

It shouldn’t be like this. India boasts of its wealth. Its ‘I’ve got a bigger one than you’ arms fight with Pakistan is a tragic and dangerous joke, with disastrous consequences for it’s people who live in squalor, and potentially catastrophic consequences for the World.

India is acquiring new money. It has a chance to build an infrastructure to support its wild growth. I’ve seen a little evidence of this admittedly but it’s not enough. Bangalore is building a metro for instance, but only with one line, which according to my man in the city, is going from the airport to the posh bit of town via the commercial hub, presumably via the local mayor’s house.

India’s problems are by no means unique in the world, and for a country is as ramshackle as this (and I mean that nicely), building new infrastructure isn’t easy. London hasn’t got half the issues Bangalore has and it hasn’t built a new Underground line from scratch since the 60s.

But as I saw all these new corporate call centres/offices popping up in remote parts of Chennai, I’d just wished someone had thought about how they could be part of something, as opposed to just a smart office surrounded by wasteland.

What have I learned about me?

That although parenthood is hard, and it does stop you doing a lot of the things you loved doing before, having a family is amazing. I miss them all madly.

I’m lucky too to have a wife who let me go and do this trip, and parents who are such good and doting grandparents.

Thanks and endless love to them all.

Yesterday’s cricket was amazing. I have lucked out with the two England matches. Two better games of cricket I couldn’t have wished for.

And although the rest of the tournament hasn’t lived up to England’s four games, it’s not been too bad. None of the TVs here (I’m in Mumbai airport now) are showing Canada v Kenya, maybe the game is already over. I can’t quite be bothered to check.

But apart from today, most days have had some interest. The five weeks of drudge that everyone was expecting from the group stages hasn’t quite happened. Let’s hope it can maintain this.

England transformed themselves from a team who looked like they were probably ready to fly home with me today, into a team who look like they could win the tournament in the space of a few overs. Beating that Saffer team is no mean feat. Eoin Morgan coming back into the team is no bad thing.

My beloved Windies too look a good outside bet. If only Edwards and Taylor were fit.

The Aussies, India, Sri Lanka, the Saffers and even Pakistan all have a chance too. The perfect World Cup.

In India, it’s everywhere though. You are in a cricket bubble. All the News Channels lead with cricket for most of the hour. In other news, Libya goes to war with itself and many killed and thousands left homeless in huge Mumbai slum fire.

Back home, it will be different.

At least the Beeb are showing highlights. At least England’s games have been wildly exciting so people might be talking about it a bit.

I’m going to sign off now. Thanks for reading. Thanks to all the nice people I’ve met out here. It’s been a great two weeks.

I coming home.

Day 14. Chennai. England lose again - wait - they win!!

5.25pm update.

Wow, what a win! The perfect end to my trip. 

I just did not see that coming. When the Saffers were 124 for 3, England looked so flat. Kevin Pietersen's four overthrows; Michael Yardy bowling crap; there was no life in the field at all.

Now they're in the dressing room opposite celebrating.

No-one can complain that England have been boring this tournament. I'm heading home tomorrow a happy man.

________________________________________________________


1pm.

It had been a bit of a faff getting into the ground. Not a massive one, but still enough to ensure I’d missed the first few balls of the innings. There had been a roar, but with Indian crowds you never quite know what that means. I looked at the scoredboard. Oh dear, 3-1. England had lost a wicket already.

I looked at the action. Petersen to Pietersen.

One black South African was about to bowl to a white South African who left his homeland for England because he, the rich white man, felt that odds were stacked against him.

Petersen bowled, Pietersen edged to slip, out! England 3-2.

South Africa, with their representative team of blacks, whites and Asians, were living up to their billing as tournament favourites. They’re a seriously good team and I can’t see a weak link.

I’m feeling a little narky today. Partly because drunken South Africans rocked up drunk at my hotel last night at four in the morning and woke me, and probably the rest of Chennai, up. I couldn’t get back to sleep.

But my shackles were raised much earlier in the evening. I was chatting to a South African lad in the bar last night. He was alright, until he went into one about how the quota system had ruined South African cricket. He saw no irony at all when he complained about white players “being wronged”.

Despite the quota policy being rescinded in 2007, he argued it was still unofficially going on now.

I asked him which of Hashim Amla or JP Duminy, two of the tournament’s most dangerous players, were in the team because of their colour? He didn’t answer.

I could have asked him whether Imran Tahir, their leading wicket taker in the tournament, was in the team to keep up the quota. In fact, I might well have done.

I tried to be reasonable. I wish I’d had my computer with me, because I would have made him read this article by the excellent Telford Vice (whose name sounds like a low budget West Midlands police show.)

As for white players being wronged, the talent pool can’t have been that big if Boeta Dippenaar played 38 tests. If anything, the continued presence of mediocre players like him during the Saffer team in the 90s, (players who are now clogging up the English county game as Kolpaks), suggests that as a white man, your face was much more likely to fit than if you were a ‘man of colour’.

I take no happiness from watching England be hammered by the Saffers – as it appears we are at the moment – but when Petersen ripped the heart out of the England line-up with a spell of three for four, I hoped it made that lad last night think.

And if this team go on to win the cup, as they should, I hope the important role played by the quota system is recognised.

Michael Yardy. What’s the point?

There must be a unofficial quota system in the England team ensuring the presence of at least one man who can neither bat, bowl nor field.

Is Yardy really a better option than Adil Rashid?

Two lads in front of me are holding hands.

This is without doubt one of my favourite things about India, but admittedly one I’ve seen far less often this trip. On previous trips, I’ve even seen Policemen holding hands. It’s so sweet.

As India grows up and its customs become diluted by western influences, I hope holding hands continues.

Day 13. Chennai.

Nothing much to report today. Chennai is big and growing bigger all the time. The bus ride through the city took us through the fast growing outskirts, the city swelling in size as more and more large western companies outsource various parts of their business to India.

The tragedy is there is no infrastructure to support it. So, while you see plush new offices for Ebay and Paypal for instance, they're in the middle of nowhere, the road outside is gridlocked, the pavement outside is non existent, and there are no cafes or anything nearby. So everyone has to drive to and from work, equalling more traffic, more congestion, more pollution, more chaos. Private affluence, public squalor.

The bus dropped as off at the ground so I had a peek around. It is unrecognisable from two years ago, my last visit, and apparently unrecognisable from a few months ago when it was still a crumbling concrete bowl. Now, three quarters of it has been completely rebuilt, and it looks most impressive.

I'm still slightly suspicious about how it could have been built so quickly. As one person near me commented, I hope the fans don't jump up and down too much during the game.

Watched a little bit of England's training session too. They dropped at least half of the catches, with the main culprits being those who you would normally say had the safest hands. It doesn't bode well for a game they really need to win.

Day 12. Mahabilipuram.

Mahabilipuram never ceases to surprise and delight. I wasn’t expecting great things from this leg of the trip, but I have loved it.

This is a small town, with everything within walking distance, so that’s a plus for a start. India isn’t a great country to walk in normally, pavements can be awful or non-existent, you have to be extremely patient or very brave to get across roads so more often than not it’s easier just to jump in a rickshaw. No need here, you can get about on foot.

Mahabs beach, north

So today I went down to the other beach for a spot of lunch, then wandered up to the Mandapas. Built at the same time as the shore temple (in the seventh century), these are a collection of sandstone buildings built into and on top of a very clamber-able rocky landscape. If you’ve been to Hampi in India, it’s very similar except on a smaller scale and not full of stoned, rude Israelis.

A mandapa

Two things really stood out. Firstly it was free to get in. Now, nothing is free to get into in India. Even when I was halfway up the first big rock, I was expecting a man to appear from behind a stone to say “ticket, ticket” and remove 250 r/s from my hand. It didn’t happen.

Lighthouse

Secondly was the joy of being allowed to scramble all over the rocks and get into and on top of many of the structures. In England, they would all be fenced off, no doubt and the rocks would have been deemed unsafe for scrambling by the Health and Safety Executive.

Slap bang in the middle of this crazy, Bedrock-esque landscape is a working lighthouse, but that too is open to the public in the day. I’m awful with heights but determined to overcome my fear, so paid 40 r/s and climbed the narrow winding staircase to the top. It was horrendously high, and with only a small barrier at the top, I couldn’t take more than a minute up there. I somehow took a photo, which was difficult to do while clinging on to the wall with both hands, and got down again as quickly as I could.

Bees eye up hippies

When I got down, I noticed two of the biggest bee-nests (hives?) you could imagine, just below the ledge where I’d been clinging on earlier. Even from 50 feet blow you could see them moving. Swarms of bees not being my favourite thing either, I was especially pleased to be back at sea level.

It took me about two hours to wander around, up and down the various rocks, and in and out of the various different temples and structures. It was yet another brilliant experience on this trip.

Mr Ganguly was soon to bat

To put the cherry on the cake, I not only found a game of cricket going on, on the site, but was actively encourage to get involved too. “Saurav Ganguly,” the boys excitedly shouted, hopefully because of my left-handedness and exciting range of off-side strokes, but equally possibly because I’m a snooty fat lad, and I ripped of my shirt and waved it above my head at the end of the match.

As I was eating my lunch, I noticed a picture of the bar, titled “Beachside bar, before Tsunami”.

This coast was the part of India that was worst hit on Boxing Day 2004, and according to my guidebook, over 8000 people were killed in Tamil Nadu.

We’ve all seen the pictures in the news, and I have a million questions I want to ask the locals. But, I don’t think I will. It must have been the most horrendous experience, and I doubt there’s anyone in the town who didn’t lose a friend or a relative. The town has rebuilt itself and has clearly moved on.

Apparently, Mahabilipuram escaped the worst. The Shore Temple, which sticks out into the sea, was largely untouched, while towns just a short distance down the coast were utterly decimated.

As I wandered around, genuinely lapping up the Mahabs experience today, it was strange to think that seven years ago, this great little town was part of the worst natural disaster, hopefully, of our lifetime.

Got back to my hotel room to see the West Indies 58-1. Slow start, I thought, but at least Gayle’s still in. We’ll kick on and hopefully set Bangladesh a decent target.

I then saw that it was only the 12^th over. It must have rained in Mirpur, I thought, late start.

Then the commentator said, “ One to win”.

Eh?

For the second match in a row, the unlikely new ball pair of Kemar Roach and Sulieman Benn had skittled the opposition, and the Windies had romped to a commanding win.

There are signs the good times are coming back.

I hooked up with my friend Phil last night. He’s out here for the whole tournament, with a few of his mates. He shares a love of cricket, India, Indian trains, curry, and lower league football so it was good last night to catch up over a beer.

But the beer we ended up drinking was possibly the rankest ever. Golden Eagle (or “Golden Shower” as it became known) was actually undrinkable. Luckily, it was Skype time for me, so I made my excuses and left leaving Phil and chums with my half bottle of Shower.

I’ll find out later whether Phil managed to finish it, or whether it finished him.

Day 11. Mahaballapurum.

Didn't really sleep on the train last night. The lady who burped became the lady who farted in her sleep. The first few times, it was funny, but as someone who has never farted, I was horrified.

Chengalpattu must be the most picturesque train station in the world. It sits on the edge of a lake, and as the train pulled in, the sun was rising over the water creating the most amazing light.

Although I could have spent hours watching the sunrise, my only reason to be in Chengalpattu was to get a bus to Mahaballipuram (there are so many different spellings, I have no idea which is the right one). Being in the mood for public transport, I turned down three rickshaw drivers (300 rupees) and found myself the 108b bus.

It was a classic Indian boneshaker, rattling furiously as it careered through the Tamil Nadu countryside picking up a mixture of workers and school kids. The 29km journey cost me 9 rupees, or 12 pence.

I’ve treated myself to a reasonably nice room in Mahabs. The hotel has got a pool, there’s WIFI and my room’s got a TV.

Mahabs is a coastal town, about 40 miles south of Chennai. It’s claim to fame is that it’s the home of stone carvings, so every other shop is creaking at the seams with small Hindu stone trinkets. That’s obviously not the reason I’m here.

It’s also got a number of large stone carved monuments, including the Sea Shore Temple which I went to visit today. I’m struggling to upload any photos at the moment, but if one appears of a tall pointy temple with a neat garden, perfect blue sky and a choppy sea, that’s it.

Afterwards I took a stroll down to the beach, which was brilliant. The crashing of the sea was easily drowned out by the loud chatter of sari-wearing ladies having a gossip. Chuck in the noise of excited kids badgering their parents to let them go on one of the least safe looking merry-go-rounds I've ever seen, and the odd trader trying to sell you horse rides, it was just an amazing scene. Verkala was great, don't get me wrong, but this was India being India and I loved it.

Other than that excursion though, I've done little. I've lounged by the pool, had a shave (well, paid someone to shave me), bought a toothbrush, bought a drum from a hawker at the beach for the kids, and had a kulfi (ice cream) that's making my stomach make unusual noises. I'm now writing this watching Canada make a game of it against Pakistan. 

______________________________________________________________________

There was a misprint in all of the newspapers here today that said Ireland beat England, by chasing down nearly 330? I mean, for one paper to get it wrong is bad, but for all of them...?

______________________________________________________________________

I was going to go to yesterday's game on version 1.0 to version 3.7 of my oft changed itinerary, but once the England vs India match got switched to Bangalore, the thought of spending five days in a nice but ultimately dull city was too much to bare. 

But all of those previous itineraries involved me leaving the Ireland match after around 40 overs of the second innings, in order to get a late night train to Kerala. My reasoning? England would have won easily by that point. Can you imagine if I'd been at the match and missed that ending?

It's hard to see England winning the World Cup while they persist with batsmen who can't hit sixes, and Yardy, who can't take wickets. Time for a rethink for my second team.

That result has also completely changed the dynamics of the group. It was always the more competitive of the two groups, with - I thought - five teams going for four qualifying places. Now Ireland are definitely in the mix too, while England's run rate is terrible, having only scraped past Holland in the first game too.

Maybe the endless group stages may prove interesting after all.

Day 10. Varkala-Mahabilipuram

Phoned home last night and my son wouldn't talk to me. Missing Daddy has now turned into extremely cross with Daddy. Would have flown home there and then if I could. I feel sick in the pit of my stomach.

-----

The deep clean of the beach happened today. I got involved.

The group of volunteers, a mix of locals and tourists, set about clearing the bottles, the bags, the paan packets, the crisp packets, from around the  spring at the north end of the beach.  Before long, 30 large bags of rubbish had been collected up. At which point, we ran out of bags and the operation ground to a halt.

So, what happens next? Hopefully, the gesture of unity and community will inspire locals and tourists alike to not throw their crap over the cliff and around the beach.

Sadly, what is more likely is the bags of rubbish will end up thrown over the cliff and around the beach.

----------

The 16724 Anantapuri Express is anything but express but it’s proving an excellent Indian train experience. Unlike the trains to and from Jaipur, which were fairly grimy and full of crawling or scurrying creatures, this one is spotlessly clean, well lit, and vermin-free (inshallah). This is good news as I’ve got 16 hours on this badboy.

The presence of a tourist on the train is not uncommon, but clearly doesn’t happen every day and I am being well looked after by my fellow carriage folk. Everyone is desperate to offer advice on where to go and what to do in and around Chennai, which is very useful. And, as always, when I reveal my son’s name is the same as that of an Indian cricketer, the hospitality cranks up a notch.

The drawback with the 16724 is that there is no onboard catering. So far, there’s no real evidence of many traders peddling edible wares either. With a rumbling tummy (I’ve been pretty good at sticking to a two-meal-a-day policy), this could be a problem.

Hari is a well to do young lad travelling to Chennai to see his brother. There’s a nice elderly couple, the fella works for MRF, (“Former sponsors of Sachin’s bat” he tells me, proudly) and the woman is lovely but burps loudly everytime she drinks her 7-up. Opposite is a young lad who looks like Rahul Dravid. They’re all good and amusing company.

I could have done this journey by plane in about an hour, but to do that is to miss out on that real Indian travel experience. As the train snakes through parts of Kerala I haven’t seen before and the sun sets behind the mountains that poke through a forest of coconut trees, I’m pleased I stuck to my “must do an overnight train trip” pledge.

Bang on cue, snacks arrive. Idli, steamed round rice cakes served with a brutally hot chilli and coconut chutney arrive, I hand over my 15 rupees (20p) and tuck in. This is the life.

Skyped home today and caught the family at home and in a good mood. I have cheered up no end. And I’ll be home in well under a week. Can’t wait to see them all.

 

Day Nine. Varkala beach. Did not bat, did not bowl, one catch.

It was an unmistakable noise. I could make it out just about the crashing of the sea, the chatter of Eastern Europeans frying slowly in the sun, and the hum of hippies complaining about how there was litter on their paradise beach (while stubbing out their roll-ups in the sand).

<Thwack> <Excited shouts in Hindi (or Malayalam - the local dialect)>. The game of cricket I craved. I slapped some factor 10 on my back and wandered over. Traditionally, you don’t ask to join in beach cricket, you merge into it. So over the next hours or so, I positioned myself at various points between short third man and cow corner and awaited some cross-batted slogs from the locals to come flying my way. It didn’t take long. A few flew over my head and into the sea, a couple went to my left, a couple to my right, I chased a few down to long leg. Then one went up, miles up, and started coming down in my direction. Despite the waves crashing into my ankles, and two other fielders converging on me, I caught it. (I know a number of people who read this have seen me field and won’t believe I caught it, but I did).

I milked the applause and tentatively wandered towards the crease. The laws of the game clearly state that in beach cricket, he who catches it, bats next. These were certainly the laws they had been playing for the previous hour while I’d been watching…

Not to be. A chunky man with a moustache ran over from cover, picked up the bat before I could, and took guard.

I was miffed but my disappointment didn’t last long. The new bowler and the Cliff End was right-arm rapid and hurled (more of that in a minute) a series of brutish bouncers at his friend, the heavy rubber ball crunching into various parts of moustachio’s anatomy.

No other chances came my way; the offer to bowl didn’t come either (given how far the only slow bowler was hit in his few overs, this may not have been a bad thing either). So, I gave up, wandered off to get my camera, and took some snaps.

Chucking. Cricket’s biggest taboo.

Of the six or seven bowlers on the beach today, I’d say three were genuine, bonafide chuckers. Two could argue that their action was no worse than Johann Botha’s, and one had a definite kink. Leaving one really, really quick lad in the clear.

In the game I played in Jaipur on day two, the bowler was a chucker.

Most games you watch at street/beach level in India, it’s the same story.

Now this isn’t malicious, scandalous or cheating. It’s a necessity. Most games in the sub-continent are played with tennis balls or bouncy rubber balls on sand or tarmac. When I try and bowl my loopy left arm stuff out here, it either floats up in the air and gets whacked, or bounces so stupidly high the batsman can’t reach it. The batsmen probably prefer it when the bowlers chuck because the bounce is more ‘normal’; for the bowlers it actually means they have a chance of hitting the stumps.

It’s only when youngsters join cricket clubs out here that they get to bat on proper grass wickets and use real cricket balls. Cricket clubs, like most things in India, are priced at a level that tends to keep out kids who play on the street or beach. Damn, if you think Britain has class divides, you ain’t seen nothing until you see what goes on out here.

So a lot of the kids chuck. I probably would in beach cricket too if I could. But it’s the magic they chuck that got me excited. One spinner was getting so much loop and turn (the things that turn a slow bowler from batting-fodder into a demon) I couldn’t take my eyes off him. But his action would have the purists spitting.

Which leads me nicely to today’s World Cup action. Sri Lanka’s Lasith Malinga learned to play cricket on the beaches south of Colombo. He earned a living, so the tale goes, by betting Australian tourists he could bowl them out. His action is horrendous, his arm must brush the umpires ear as it comes round at a right angle to his body. (This by the way is not illegal, it’s just unusual and incredibly difficult to master). But if you think about it, if you are trying to hit stumps with a rubber ball on a bouncy beach, the lower your arm, the less bounce you get, the less like the ball is to balloon over the stumps.

Malinga took six wickets today with six searing yorkers, and the poor Kenyan team had no answer. I doubt Sachin Tendulkar would have kept out all six.

Beach cricket can and does produce freaky geniuses.

Away from the cricket, I did my first exercise in a week today, jogging the length of the beach and back. I’m now burning it off with a Tandoori Paneer and a beer.

Varkala is beautiful as long as you don’t look too closely at the edges. Like all things in India, it’s naturally beautiful. The sun shines, there’s a beautiful golden sandy beach, blue sea, a dramatic cliff, at it’s all lined by palm trees that sway in the wind.

The bars, beach huts and hotels are generally nicely presented. But, sadly, also like most things in India, behind the private affluence, there’s public squalor. The cliff is littered with rubbish. Look behind the hotels’ nice facades, and there are piles of junk everywhere.

This is what happens I guess in a country where the rich manage to dodge paying taxes while the poor don’t have wages to tax. Tory Britain beware.

A local man in the bar last night said he was organising a deep clean day, where tourists and locals would join up to clear the crap. Despite sounding a bit like a David Cameron “big society”-esque idea, I’m genuinely disappointed to not be here next weekend to help out.

It will help, definitely but until the Indian/local government sorts out infrastructure, like rubbish collection, you wonder how much real difference it will make.

Off to Tamil Nadu on a 16-hour overnight train tomorrow, and so will miss all of England’s game against Ireland. Not sure what cricket I will get to see, might have to dust down the “owzat’ again.