Following our (in retrospect, cruisy) trip to the south of India two years ago, hubby was keen to introduce me to the craziness of the north – the real India.
And I was prepared. I really was. But it still hits you hard.
Southern India is not as hard core as northern India – it’s slower, safer, friendlier – the poverty is not as confronting – the dogs and cows are better cared for. Naturally there’s rubbish everywhere, the hygiene and toilets can be questionable and the feeling of being unclean never seems to quite leave – covered in sweat, sunscreen, mosquito repellent and just the humidity that clings to the air like a limpet.
From last week’s post I’m continuing my southern India posts with some more details of our adventure.
Southern India is a hot, sticky mess. Houses slant huddled together, hacked into sharp edges, snuggled by the encroaching jungle and its mess of fronds, tangles and branches. Sand seeps relentlessly through bare earth and discarded rubbish litters the landscape like moon rocks.