In early March, I was happily touring around southern India with my hubby when I noticed my lower back was sore. Nothing out of the ordinary, I thought – the bumpy roads, the beds – it makes sense. That evening I headed for a massage, hoping to find relief. But when I, grimacing, crawled onto the massage bed, my masseur promptly advised me to see a doctor.
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.
My husband loves cooking, and he loves India… what a great combination! When I first moved to Austria we started a tradition of Indian curry afternoons. Sometimes it’s just the two of us, filling the apartment with sweet and spicy aromas and eating on the balcony, and sometimes it involves the whole family, all bustling around my in-laws kitchen, drinking wine and tasting multiple dishes in an afternoon that ends with us fully stuffed and goes long into the evening.