Island life the Andaman way

With the festive season and another birthday out the way, the way ahead is almost clear of such encumberances. Because it is specific dates that ring clearest in our minds, the birthdays of loved ones, family celebrations, religious festivals (if you’re that way inclined), all bring our hearts to bear on that which is important to us. Which is my way of getting to the point of Cai’s birthday again. My head always goes into a spin approaching February 20^th, I never know whether I should be grieving or celebrating, and invariably do plenty of each, just to be on the safe side. Admittedly the celebration is as much losing myself into inebriation as feeling genuinely happy about the day. I wish it were as simple as enjoying the memories without feeling the loss, but I’m not a simple person. I like the idea of celebrating his life, I just can’t do it without feeling desperately lonely. Maybe we should have a National Grieving Day, a day for us all to grieve our losses. Bring it out into the open, don’t keep it closeted, then we could realise we are not alone. Maybe that would clear the air, leave us free to continue with everyday existence. (Photo: My favourite photo of Cai, the young man with the world at his fingertips)

I’ve had another six weeks on Little Andaman, and still haven’t fully relaxed into the place. It is time to move on, it’s only complacency that’s kept me here so long. The book has received attention, but there’s been too much attention and too few words for me. Progress has been in fits and starts, spending hours wracking my brain for the words to come out. It’s different than the first book, I need to slim down the information from the journey. There’s too much to work from in many ways, I can’t fit it all in. The first book came together succinctly, there wasn’t any massive reworks. If I continue writing as descriptive in this one it will be an epic, unwieldy tome. At the moment I’ve written about 25% of the words I’m allowing, for a 400 page book, but have only covered the initial journey by bike. So it is coming together, which is good, I need to get cracking though. (Photo: Giving me the eye - From my hut in Jina guesthouse, Little Andaman)

Spilling hot coffee over the keyboard didn’t help, I failed to ruin my laptop, but now cope with sticky keys and slower typing. There are advantages to having a computer with no moving parts, and that is one I’m extremely grateful for. The biggest distraction has been the number of tourists though, I thought this island was meant to be the quietest. It is in fact the latest magnet for the Island chain and fast becoming a surf hotspot. The clientele are young, free and single, they tend to come in groups and, unlike this boring old git, stay up drinking late into the night. For reasons of clarity I try not to, which has caused me to become a little more detached from the communal onslaught each evening. Temptation is the problem, and I don’t want to get stoned and pissed every night, I never work well on a muggy head. So I’ve been keeping a bit of a distance, but not to be a social reject. Of course I haven’t done so, I am after all a sociable animal, so have had my share of late nights with the crowd. (Photo: Just a small distraction - From my hut in Jina guesthouse, Little Andaman)

Travelling in our modern day and age seems to be largely a repetitive series of people, places, transport and hotels. I say repetitive because there is little that changes, only now and again do I find myself in a place that is actually different from all the others. Accommodation doesn’t vary much, conversations with fellow travellers don’t seem to vary much either. Now and again there’ll be someone who stands out from the crowd, but all too often this will only be because they are loud and proud of it. So when I met a couple of Mumbai girls, footloose and fancy free, it was very different. I got an insight into a more modern India, from a female perspective. They scoffed at the idea that Indian women are subservient and submissive, claiming this is more the impression the Indian men want foreigners to have. In their minds the women do all those things they shouldn’t, smoking, drinking, having illicit sex, but they do it behind closed doors. It was nice to hear this side, though I do think that they were out of touch with an older India. The modern world tends to emerge with the younger generations, it’s hard to change the ways of the older folks. (Photo: Salt-water crocodile - Along the coast road, Little Andaman)

A recent killing frenzy left me questioning people’s purpose for travelling. I’ve nothing against people fishing, if that’s what floats your boat why not. Spearfishing I think is unnecessary, but concede that catching your own food can’t be conceived as immoral. Catching more than you can eat in a week, is questionable, unless your livelihood depends on it. There isn’t any need to catch your own food here, not as a tourist. The locals fish to feed themselves and their families, they rely on selling their catch. I guess I’m saying that tourists coming with fancy gear is an unfair advantage, and regularly catching the better fish are not only depleting fish stocks, they’re also taking money out the fisherman’s pocket. But what I couldn’t understand was a group killing a stingray, or the staff battering a snake to death because tourists felt threatened by it. They have a terrible time appreciating wildlife in India, they don’t need tourists encouraging them to kill outright anything that freaks them out. (Photo: Before they battered the poor thing to death - From the hut next door in Jina guesthouse, Little Andaman)

OK, put the stingray down to western youths playing fearless hunters. But they killed it because it lay where they wanted to swim, and having a spear gun they could. Why they couldn’t chase it off was beyond me, but they were obviously scared to approach it. The hero with the spear took aim from a safe distance and let fly, bullseye. Only after did they give thought to whether they could actually eat it. But even that paled into insignificance compared to the resident snake being bludgeoned to death because it frightened an Italian couple. Sorry, but I question the presence of the type of people who combat their fear by mindlessly killing. Why don’t they stay at home, where it’s safe? You’d also not contribute to the mounds of non-degradable waste that chokes the developing world, the empty water bottles discarded by a constant stream of tourists. It’s about time tourism became responsible for the effects it has on the world. The locals don’t give a damn, they’ll happily despoil their own backyard if you make it worth their while. (Photo: Supposedly a very sweet tasting marine crab - Lighthouse beach, Little Andaman)

And so I sit, discontent with the world I find myself in, and trying to come to terms with it. I’ve not found my creative ideal, and have let it get to me rather than make the most of where I am. I’m after peace and quiet, a hidey-hole with fewer distractions. That’s what it comes to here, too many distractions, and too few alternatives. If I’d have allowed myself a mix of business and pleasure maybe I could have been more focussed. Instead I’ve tried forcing myself to concentrate on writing, getting frustrated when the words don’t flow. Is this writer’s block? Must mean I qualify as a writer then, though how I manage that when I’m not writing puzzles me. It must mean I’m also a brain surgeon, because my mind goes blank when I think of that too. Anyway, there’s only so much I can do, if the words aren’t flowing they’ll just have to come out in dribs and drabs. What I have written I’m quite pleased with, thank God for small mercies! (Photo: What goes round comes round - Inside the lighthouse, Little Andaman)