it's finished. finished. FINISHED.

OHHHHH EMMMM GEEEE. It is finished! Our palace on the hill-side, our best ever egg farm in the history of Kerala, our main frustration for the last two months...it. is. finished.  

This is what we were thinking when we began this project (now I think about it I really don't know what we were thinking). We were thinking 'a big chicken coop, easy, should be done in two weeks tops.' We were thinking 'well, obviously we need to make some kind of snazzy laying-boxes-poking-out-of-the-back-of-the-fence situation, for ease of collection and all.' We were thinking 'oh, and why don't we make the front walls lever up so we can clean it easily and I think the floor should be split in two, and have some kind of ridiculously over-complicated lowering system for some reason that I can't even recall right now'.

What we ended up with, two months later (!!), is a fairly simple hutch made almost entirely out of bamboo and coconut rope, with your basic floor and walls and nesting boxes strewn thoughtfully about, a snake/eagle/rat/dog proof yard for our hens to peck about in and a design that is so un-Keralan that everybody keeps asking us when we will be putting the tin roof on, concreting the floor and installing the light. And we keep telling them that our chickens don't need those things. Our chickens are going to be happy, earthworm digging hippy chickens. Our chickens are going to be the happiest in the land. And they accepted that (sort of). But then we bought rice-sifting baskets for laying boxes...

Here is our last two months in pictures. The satisfying digging and planting of the poles, the kind of frustrating kind of hilarious days when the kids were helping, the tedium of stitching together 60 metres of netting for eagle protection, the triumph of putting the roof on.

A moment when we were so sick of roping together bamboo to make walls that we had a quick 'look at how pensive and meaningful I am, staring into the distance, sitting in a chicken coop' photo shoot.

The painting of the hen-house. The time we were having a cup of tea and a sit down and we heard coconuts falling form the neighbour's trees...

And finally, the Arrival Of The Hens. We drove for half an hour with thirty hens cowering in terrified clumps under our feet in the back of the jeep. Then we arrived home and I handed them out, one by one, as you would with lolly bags at a birthday party, so the kids could take them up the hill and plonk them into their new home. As you can imagine there was much squealing and giggling.

And some very happy hens. Thank freaking god.

fifteen months.

Today was my fifteen month 'awayaversary'. Which means 15 months of no Saturday morning coffees with my BFF, 15 months of amazing new people and places and experiences and 15 months of wearing variations of the same 10 or 12 items of clothing that I have stuffed in my backpack (so they smell bad too). Seriously, I hardly even notice what I put on in the mornings now- if it is hole-free and doesn't have stains on it, it is my outfit for the day. So you can imagine the excited anticipation with which I await the arrival of a care package from home containing cheese, knitting needles (Will has a beanie to finish) and different clothes! And possibly even better than the thought that soon I will have a new selection of clean, rumple-free fancies to dress up in is the fact that they are being delivered personally by my mum. New clothes and a family reunion- what could be better? 

In my giddy excitement I decided that I shouldn't be the only one who gets to dress up in something new and gave wander with me her first makeover in...ever. I hope you like it. 

Other than blogstyling and planning Indian coffee dates with my mum, Will and I have been living the high life in the Indian jungle ever since leaving the farm a couple of weeks ago. We were couchsurfing/volunteering (but not really because we did nothing) with an incredibly hospitable English expat who lives in a tiger reserve in Tamil Nadu. 

 This was the view from the left side of the roof on his wonderfully airy house...

and this was the view from the right. Pretty nice spot he has there.

Apart from admiring the view we did (some) other things at Johnnie's place. Like cancel out all the physical work we did at the farm by scoffing so much home-made pasta, freshly baked bread, date-banana bread and entirely-home-made-even-the-cheese passionfruit cheesecake (I may have got a little over-excited at the presence of an oven) and drinking so many rum and cokes. And we swam in the pool and chatted to  Johnnie's elderly parents about living in India. 

And on a trip to the shops one day we saw twelve wild elephants. This little guy was just outside the car window, about a metre away. You would not want to be caught walking alone on this road...

And, most importantly, this is where we did our relaxing. Relaxing is a very important part of life you know.

We occasionally roused ourselves from catatonia to go into the nearby town for supplies. We saw this and decided the amazing packaging was well worth the $4 the packet cost. I'll give you a million dollars if you can guess what's inside...

We went for a wander one day and stumbled upon this colourful little temple. We couldn't decide if it was a tree growing around a temple or a temple built around a tree. Though considering the size of the tree, I would be inclined to go with the latter. Will walked along this path alone one afternoon- I was baking or sleeping or secretly eating cheesecake- and  eventually found himself in the forest. The forest that we had very recently been told hides an enormous wild elephant population, at least 100 Bengal tigers and bison and panthers and probably lots of other jungle creatures. Because of this, Will thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to get up close and nearly dead with some wild animals without a jeep, a guide or a cautious girlfriend. He thought it would be fine, as he told me sheepishly later: 

"I figured that I would keep walking til I saw an elephant, then turn around and go back. I forgot they aren't stationary." 

He lived to eat another slice of cheesecake, obviously, but it could have turned out very differently. When he came wandering back to the house hours after he left, he  told me the story of his walk. Of how he spooked a wild boar then came face to face with a bison (like a bull on steroids with horns the length of arms that could gore you to death with a single manouvre) and had to scramble to safety in a nearby Bodhi tree. Of how when he climbed back down the tree he followed the path to the river and saw an elephant bathing and just as he decided he was satisfied with this show and turned to leave he heard an ominous trumpet in the jungle behind him and realised he was stuck between two wild elephants and he really liked living. Of how he tried several times to get out of the jungle but he kept running into the elephants and subsequently clambering up his Bodhi tree in terror. And of how he finally escaped, by slowly walking up behind the elephant then briskly marching past, his face averted, pretending he couldn't see it- as you might do in the street when walking towards an acquaintance you really don't want to chat with. He told me this and I realised I would never be taking him on safari in Africa...in fact even Monarto may be unwise.

On a lighter, less my-boyfriend-came-very-close-to-being-trampled-to-death-in-the-jungle note, these are some of the very fine products you can purchase in India:

Your eyes do not deceive you; it is indeed a padlock and a firework endorsed by the biggest Nazi of them all. And a sanctimonious box of incense, just for good measure. 

Oh India, you crazy thang.

p.s. the beautifully packaged package contains 400 handrolled Indian cigarettes, wrapped in leaf and tied in thread, called beedis. Did you guess it?

our adventures with mowgli...

 

 

I wish we had adventures with Mowgli. Walking through the intense green of the jungle to a soundtrack of eternally chirpy birds and chatty cicadas it is easy to picture Shere Khan and Kaa plotting and Bagheera and Baloo watching over us from a distance. But I think they know we couldn't hack the jungle, these white folks who go back and sleep in their barn every night, and so they stay hidden. I know they are out there though.
And before we left we did actually meet two of them...Colonel Hathi and Hathi Junior. Remember who they are?

Have a guess and I'll tell you later.

As I said, we had a simple existence in the jungle. Our mornings were spent digging and planting usually, and fighting the curse of the lantana- an Australian plant that has found the subcontinent much to its liking and has invaded every single free space that there ever was ever. Which makes the coffee harvest impossible without vigorous slashing. So sometimes we would head out into the weeds, jungle knives wielded high above our heads, to do battle, and we would return an hour or two later, covered in scratches and disbelief that we had only cleared 20 square metres.

More satisfying was to wander around the garden beds in the cool of the evening and watch the beans climbing up their posts (which is only a teeny exaggeration- after a night of rain and a day of sun their curly little tendrils would have stretched at least another centimetre or two) and the corn sprouts tentatively peeping out of the soil, and picking beans and tomatoes and beetroots and parsley for dinner. One day while we were clearing weeds to dig some new beds we stumbled upon a patch of wild ginger that had sprouted in amongst the chaos.

There is an abundance of fruit trees scattered through the jungle aswell. Every few days somebody would go for a walk and come back with armfuls of green skinned Indian oranges or local sweet limes, or clutching a bulging shirt filled with little berries- an as yet unidentified fruit that is bright red and tastes of sour cherry, or very occasionally a guava or two. Or perhaps a rose apple, which looks nothing like an apple and tastes kind of like Turkish delight. There are also papaya and jackfruit and mango trees, baby banana trees and a tree in the corner of the veggie garden that was drooping with little green starfruits that were so sour they tasted like warheads dipped in lemon juice.  

With all the fruit we harvested we made jam over a campfire. We tried so many times to make oven-less bread...flat-bread over the stove (so much rolling), damper in the fire (we were thwarted by impatience and monsoonal rains), and a lovely looking loaf that we left at the mercy of a "pizza oven" built by termites. We ate a lot of bread that was simultaniously charcoal black and uncooked dough. How did we possibly eat it, I hear you ask? With enough jam, anything is possible.

And when all the work for the day was done, we wandered downriver and washed off all the dirt in a pool under a little waterfall. On Sundays we clambered over rocks and through undergrowth to find our way to the second waterfall, deep, deep in the jungle. And it was one on of our last afternoons at the farm that we encountered two of Kipling's creatures. As we were drying off on the rocks, after our swim, somebody gasped a four-letter word and pointed just downstream, about fifty metres from us. And there, in the water, were two wild elephants, mother and baby, having a bath. It was an incredible sight. And despite the potential danger of the situation- wild elephants can run very fast and they are very huge and strong- we watched transfixed, until they slowly glided into the invisibility of the jungle. Then we climbed the steep hill back to the top of the waterfall quite quickly, lest the elephants changed their peaceful minds.

 

 And now we know what we want to do when we grow up. So if you meet a little farm who is looking for a couple of grubby youngsters to take good care of it, please let us know.

    

delhi. lucknow. bikaner. gokarna. kodaikanal.

Sooooooo. It's been a while. We have been following the path less internetted. And since it as been so long since we were where these pictures are, I will keep it brief. 

We spent one day in between trains in Delhi and most of that day we hid in cafes and restaurants, but we did go walking and this is what we saw... 

And then we went to Lucknow. This was a mistake. These two photos show the city in the best possible light. Otherwise it is your standard loud, dirty, expensive, un-endearing Indian city. We left quicksmart.

And went to Bikaner. A relatively small town on the edge of the Thar desert in Rajhastan. We helped in a guesthouse and learnt that owning a guesthouse is not something we really aspire to. We did much dusting and sweeping and ever so many dishes. We also watched a boy fill the rusted out bottom of a van with water in order to clean the sand out. What he actually did was make a muddy pool of sandy water on the floor. And add another layer of rust. I did lots of painting for the matriarch of the hotel; a wonderful smiley woman who plied me with sweets and ice coffee and lassi as I painted flowers for her and we tried to chat.

These pigeons lived outside (and sometimes inside) our room. Every step out the door excited a burst of feathers and flapping.

And we went to the rat temple. Which is not actually what it was called but it is a temple that houses thousands of rats so it makes sense. I don't know what we were expecting but it was not what we saw when we arrived...thousand of rats, sick looking rats, scurrying across the floor and dying in the corners. And poop everywhere. You aren't allowed to wear shoes in an Indian temple.  

But we saw the white rat. We have luck forevermore. 

And then there was the kite festival. A celebration of the the founding of Bikaner, thousands of kites and fireworks. Will practised all week but in the end he couldn't find the knack, and so kept his kite flying private, on the roof of our room.

We went to see how the Indians did it and found a sky filled wit colourful fluttering and streets all tied up in kite strings. We got invited onto somebody's roof, listened to his friend go mad with a loudspeaker to the hundreds of people spread across the roof tops, got our picture taken for the local paper and saw many, many kites.

And along the way Will picked up a new hobby. He still needs the uniform though.

And then we escaped from the heat of Bikaner; ran away to the beach like the coastal people we are. And spent five days on a near deserted beach, eating fruit and doing nothing. 

Now we are deep in the jungle, where elephants roam (though they have wandered down to the plains now, for the rainy season) with bison, monkeys steal fruit from the farm and peacocks sing in the distance. We play in the dirt and watch our planted seeds sprout and make cherry jam over the campfire. We sleep in a barn with a bat and stress about nothing.  

a misadventure and a slaughtered sheep.

It is a very tired and weary couple of Will and Jordans that greet you from blog world today. Turns out, after two months in genteel Europe we've gone soft and are having trouble re-adjusting to the crafty "sales techniques" of those who live in the not so lucky world. But. Take it back about a fortnight.

We ended up staying on at the finca in Spain for an extra week, not really for any particular reason, just because we liked it and both decided it would be stupid to cut our time there short. And it is a good thing we did. We gained two anecdotes to add to our repetoire from that week.

After finishing work one afternoon- and after our afternoon nap- we decided to walk out to an old monastery, set in the hills behind the finca. We set off at about 5, and it was quite a pleasant walk, through the valley, up along the ridge, down through olive and carob groves...then we realised we had been walking for more than an hour and the monstery was still a mirage in the distance. Being sensible, we thought, 'we should go back, don't want to get stuck out here in the dark'. Hahahaha...oh how we laugh. Now. It was most definitely not funny when we were running around like panicky idiots on the top of a mountain at dusk, staring at a wall of impenetrable, prickly shrub that stood between us and a delicious pizza dinner. (Actually, it would have looked quite funny...we were in no mood for frivolity though, you understand.) Anyway, we were on the ridge because we knew we could walk down a slip in between two of the hills. We just didn't know that by the time we found the slip it would be dark. So there we were, panicking our way down a rocky, prickly, slippery, ankle-breaky "path", in the dark, with only the thought of the wild boars that would surely snuggle up to us if we didn't make it home to keep us going. We made it home. Scratched up legs, huge appetites and a story and we were home.

Then the week went on. We went for a couple more walks- strolls really, safely along flat ground. Visited another old English couple who fed us a huge roast dinner with banana split chasers. Saw more charming villages. Hung out with the dogs. Painted a bit. Then it was our last day- for real this time- and we were ending it with a memory that will last forever. Our first sheep slaughter. That's right, we are well on our way to becoming real country people, who can kill and chop up a sheep for many a future dinners (I say well on our way...that may be an exaggeration. We were in fact giggling hysterically through most of the "operation", and I may, at one point, have had my photo taken holding a knife and fork next to a dangling sheep carcass...). But it's a start. I know what bit loin is know. And I know I will never be a vegatarian- seeing all the neatly cut up joints on the table set my stomach a-rumbling, even as the dog was licking up sheep's blood off the floor.

So, we knew we stayed for a reason. But then we really did have to leave (it was getting to the point that we probably would have adopted the finca as our second home and Cathy and James would have found themselves with two new grown-up children). We took our cue from the ducks and headed to Granada.

A wonderful city is Granada. And not only- though this is probably a large part of it- because of the 'free tapas with every drink' thing they have going on. Seriously, 2 or 3 euro (that's $3 or $4) and you can have a beer or wine or sangria and you will also get a little dish of stew or a piece of pizza or some meatballs. These Spaniards, they know a thing or two about the good life (you know, except in regard to the economy and running the country smoothly; food, drink and sleep though- they have it down!) But Granada is also a very wanderable city. The Arabic area climbs up a hill in all its whitewashed, tiled charm to several fantastic panoramic city views (edit out all the ipad-wielding tourists). The main city centre is walkable and dotted with little plazas of fountains and trees. There is the majesty of the Sierra Neveda mountain range in the background. There is a river and watching, steadily and serenely over the city, the Alhambra. An Islamic complex comprising palaces, unimaginably beautiful gardens, and everything else needed in a royal complex back in the day. It is a relic from the days of the Moors and (I'm sure) a world heritage sight. It would be a huge mistake to come to Granada and miss it (and we nearly did). But we lined up from 7am, in the rain, to get a ticket and it was truly worth it.

And for now, that is the end of our European adventure. I do, however, get the feeling we will be back on its welcoming soil before too long. Morocco is a little more difficult than we'd like at the moment and it is, after all, just a short hop across the water. Those Portuguese tarts are calling to us...

(Also P.S. no photos again, back to the imaginations I'm afraid, at least for now).

paco's retreat.

We've been at the little farm of Cathy and James (from Blackpool, near Liverpool and Manchester, so they speak English- yay!) for almost three weeks now...and we haven't even noticed the time slip by. Clearly we are feeling very at home here.

The farm...

It's a little hobby farm in a valley between two mountains- both of which we've climbed, of course- surrounded by olive trees. Also some carob trees (carob is the stuff that health food shops try to sell as 'healthy chocolate'), which we have relieved of all their fruit in order to feed it to the livestock. It's a little hobby farm; it's also a little zoo...there are six dogs (there were 5 when we arrived but another has joined the gang since), around 30 cats, 8 sheep, 4 pigs, chickens, a goat, a pony and a donkey called Paco.

A selfie with Paco

For the past (almost) 3 weeks we have been learning a little about running a tiny farm in the Spanish countryside- everything from building shelves, pruning olive trees and repairing terrace walls to how to go about fixing mechanical problems with machinery when you can't trust the local mechanics not to rip you off horrendously because you are a foreigner (this bit involves not a small amount of swearing)- and immersing ourselves in the layers of history that are everywhere. Those terrace walls we were repairing? About two hundred years old. A patch of olive trees down the valley? One thousand years old. As we walked up one of the surrounding hills today we passed trees and walls that were (speculatively) hundreds of years old and discovered fossilized sea shells from when this valley was the domain of the creatures of the deep. On top of one of the mountains we so effortlessly scaled with all our climbing know-how and general excellence, we found the remains of a village that looks as though it has been abandoned well over 100 years ago but was in fact inhabited until the 1950's, when Franco decided he didn't like the idea of people living in inaccessible communities. There is history in these here hills.

As well as beach visits, a kayaking trip down the river, an ill-fated bike ride during which one of the tyres on Will's bike popped and I spent the majority of the time sulkily walking my bike up and down hills (I love to ride a bike...my only non-negotiable condition is that the terrain be flat), a trip to a beautiful and huge lake where we jumped off a bridge and did a spot more kayaking and lots of baked goods- I have been binging on baking while I have the chance-, we have also had a lot of long discussions with James about the state of politics, capitalism, immigration, clean energy, the running of Spain and England and just the world in general, which inevitably end up with us all sitting there shaking our heads and saying "But why? WHY?". Then we usually change the subject to our favourite books or movies or stories from ill-spent youth.

In our spare time we have visited the nearby town of Tortosa, which has seen both Roman and Muslim rule and still has some Roman ruins dotted about. Unfortunately the day we visited was one of the only 2 days it has rained since we've been here so we spent most of our time sitting at a café...but that was also nice. The other day we ventured further afield and caught the train up to Tarragona (just quickly, I know we told everyone we were at a farm in Tarragona- we aren't actually. We are an hour south by train and the nearest useful town is called Amposta) and had a lovely day wandering around more Roman ruins and Roman still-standing buildings. The city itself was founded in the 5th century BC and the ruins have been world heritage listed, so it was well worth a good wander around. We were a little disappointed that we didn't get to visit the market though- when we arrived at 9.30 (am) it wasn't open yet and when we came back at 2.30 it was already closed...I suppose you can't stay open too long otherwise how would you fit in your afternoon nap?

Snapshots of Tarragona.

Sleepy, empty Tortosa

Out of everything we've seen and done since we've been here there is still one thing that stand out as the most amazing...during our first week here Cathy and James had some friends from England over and we all went out for dinner...to an all you can eat, seafood buffet for 9 euro each (it's sounding bad, isn't it?)...and as well as none of us getting food poisoning, the food was delicious! The things you see eh?

Will let me cut his hair...also amazing.

Son of a bee sting...Will got stung in the eye by a bee

 Anyway, as I said, we've been here nearly 3 weeks and are reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that soon we will have to move on. Next week some time I think we will be in Morocco- not that we have really done anything towards getting there apart from decide that's what we might like to do-, enjoying tagine and baklava and lots of glasses of mint tea. But for now there are 6 dogs to pat and a few episodes of Black Books to watch. And some dressing up to do...