The Indian holiday calendar strikes gold again, awarding me with a Monday office closure in February. Plans are quickly laid and made to visit the mysterious Andaman Islands... mysterious simply by virtue of my complete ignorance of their existence until very recently. Air India began running direct flights from Bhubaneswar to the islands in November, and myself, Laura and Marcus are lucky enough to book return flights for a mere €100 each. Arrangements made way back in November, we all get on with things until February finally rolls around... then the tropical adventures begin.
I am a firm believer in starting your holiday the day before it starts... don't wait until the day of your flight to start enjoying yourself, get stuck in the night before! I think this is a trait I have inherited from my parents, who are partial to an iced G&T of an evening. In this vein, I cook up a Massaman curry (the secret ingredient is Knorr beef stock!) for myself, Laura and Marcus on Thursday night. The train Marcus has taken from Berhampur is inevitably late, and he arrives sometime around 10pm. I go out of the apartment complex to meet him and bring him in through the gate, initially completely oblivious to the scandal I have just caused. I see the shocked looks of disgust on the faces of the caretaker and his brother and realise I have just committed a serious sin in Orissa... inviting a lone male into my home who is not my husband! The shame! I find it difficult to feel guilty about DOING NOTHING WRONG WHATSOEVER and so try to shrug away their shocked glances with a giggle. Not my problem!
Some dinner and beer later, it's bedtime, as I hurriedly double check I've packed the essentials... passport, money, malaria pills, bikini. Everything else I can do without if my brain has fallen out and I have managed to forget everything.
Early on Friday morning we head to the airport and encounter the joy that is Indian inefficiency and bureaucracy; we have our tickets checked 7 times before we are allowed on the flight. Yes, 7 times, by 7 different people. Ticket checks when entering the airport building, entering the departure area, getting baggage screened, checking in, entering security check area, going through the gate and finally again when getting on the plane. Despite this ridiculous nonsensery, we have a very pleasant flight with Air India and they even give us cake. Cake! Michael O'Leary would declare them socialist maniacs, no doubt. I, however, think them wonderful. Jojo likes cake.
Arriving in Port Blair, everything goes smoothly until our ferry ticket agent tries to extort a pile of extra money from us. We point blank refuse and get suitably angry; after a brief argument he disappears and reemerges with three ferry tickets for us with no extra charge. Success! That is until I read my ticket which declares my name to be "Joneso" and my age to be 40. 40? Come on!
The MV Bambooka, our ferry to Havelock island
Snoozy sleepy boring ferry journey later we arrive at our magical destination of Havelock island, where we will stay for a couple of days. The ferry chugs lazily into the jetty just before sunset, and we speculate if we can make a mad dash to the resort and be there in time for a cold beer on the beach to watch the sun go down. How wonderfully naive of us - there is first the small matter of Indian immigration to get through which consists of dozens of handwritten entries into a tired-looking ledger. With the bureaucrats satiated and permits stamped, we stop off to get some beers and head to Emerald Gecko, our chosen resort. This place can be summed up in the following three words:
Wowza jaykers almighty.
This place is ridiculously wonderful. We check in and I nab hut number 1, which is the closest to the beach and only about 20 feet from the shore. If there's a tsunami I'll be the first to go, but otherwise I'm super lucky here.
After a seriously quick peek around our accommodations, we regroup for the icy cold beer we have been dreaming of all day. It has been HOT HOT HOT and the first sip of Kingfisher makes my shoulders relax into a lovely shuddery chair-sinky ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Cold beer on the beach in the middle of the Indian Ocean; how bloody fortunate am I? The evening continues in a similar fashion with tiger prawns the size of my face and a clear sky dotted with sparkling stars above swaying coconut trees. The evening cannot end without a mandatory Spider Check, and Marcus is kind enough to indulge my idiotic phobia and checks my whole hut for the rascals. None to be found, much to my delight, and I can sleep well in the knowledge there won't be spider babies in my ear when I wake up. (That's what happens, dontcha know).
Not a bad auld way to wake up in the morning
On Saturday I rouse at 7am and spend some quality time basking somewhat smugly in the stunning views from my wee balcony. It's hard to feel anything but pure joy when the place is so beautiful and unspoilt. We meet for breakfast at 8am and devour simple but delicious plates of fruit and eggs before heading out to the main road to catch an auto-rickshaw to beach number 7. Radhanagar beach, as it is also known, is famed for allegedly being "The Most Beautiful Beach in Asia". Now there's a name to live up to. Will it simply be a hype to lure silly tourists? The answer is an unequivocal NO.
Lovely knarley twisted rocks on Beach no. 7
Man alive, this place is beautiful, and relatively deserted. Long and wide expanses of clean white sand are lapped by tiny teasing turquoise waves, all flanked by beautiful boughs of green-laden trees. No imposing buildings here; no buildings at all in fact. Really simple and peaceful and wonderful.
Sun, sea, sand... and hardly any tourists
We while away a few blissful hours, strolling the shore and swimming in the calmest, clearest sea I've ever known. I am conscious that an unfortunate tourist was killed on this beach a few years ago by a crocodile that has taken up residence here. I'm confident the water is clear enough that I'll see it before it eats me, but luckily there are no crocodile sightings and no need for alarm.
We spent a wildly giggly ten minutes watching an Indian couple pose shamelessly and flamboyantly for photographs; I think the Mother Teresa pose was my ultimate favourite.
The joys of watching Indian photography
Despite the 'no alcohol' signs, we indulge our bold sides and sneakily swig a beer in the shade. It may only be 12 noon but somehow the beer seems entirely appropriate. Such is the joy of holidays.
Beer me! It may be the morning, but I need a beer.
Before we leave the beach we see an elephant - I feckin KNEW there was one around here somewhere and I'm so thrilled to see it I'm like a giddy child at the zoo. It's relatively small (for an elephant - giant for me) and I'm saddened to see metal chains around its feet and tourists tethered to its back. I have no interest in taking an elephant ride, so a few photos and an open mouthed gawp are sufficient.
Squee! Elephant! My heart jumped a mile with glee.
The next port of call is the jetty. Port of call, get it? Port? Jetty? I'll get my coat. We make our way to the government ferry ticket office which transpires to be a complete bloody joke. The exchange pretty much goes like this:
Me: Can we buy tickets for tomorrow's 4pm ferry please?
Man in office: No.
Me: Erm... why not?
Man in office: We are not issuing those tickets now. Come back tomorrow morning.
Me: Can we not just buy them now? We have money.
Man in office: NO.
Marcus has a bash at getting tickets as well and is told the same thing. Fair enough, we'll come back tomorrow. It'll be easy tomorrow right? Oh, how foolish we were! More details on that presently.
We find a place for lunch with a fiercely promising name; "B3 Bar and Brasserie". A bar? Wowza; jackpot! We see they have tonic water on their drinks menu (ridiculously hard to find in India) and are practically salivating at the prospect of a cold G&T with lunch. They'll have gin, right? This is a bar, of course they will. No, no... this is a strictly alcohol-free bar. Yes, you heard me. An alcohol-free bar. No, I don't know know why. They even had Jack Daniels posters up behind the BAR which had BAR STOOLS and looked all BARLIKE. For shame.
We stuff ourselves with pizza and lassi instead and have a bit of a wander about before plonking down at tea stall to while away the 20 minutes until the wine shop opens.
It's the only off licence on the island and we need some stocks for this evening. Two cups of tea later, Mr. Abdul opens his modest off licence and we are amazed to see a bottle of gin on the shelf. Just one bottle, all on its lonesome. Sure we couldn't leave it there all lonely like that, it wouldn't be right. The whole bottle is only 200 rupees (about €3) and this should have rung alarm bells... I think we were too excited at the idea of G&Ts on the beach at our resort to worry about practicalities.
The gin that started the party
Before we head back to Emerald Gecko I meet this little fellow, who is darling and cute as can be. He shows his macho side by successfully chasing a fully-grown man all the way down the street, to much laughter and shrieks of hilarity from the locals.
Arriving back at the Gecko, we are delighted to see three of our friends have appeared in the bar and have been sipping beers waiting for us to turn up. Two of them, Juliet and Orla, work as volunteers in Bhubaneswar; the third, Becky, is a friend of Juliet's from the UK on a visit to India.
We crack open the gin in a most celebratory fashion and the bartender puts some music on for us, and we catch up between many raucous guffaws and giggles. The girls decide to head back to their hotel to clean up before dinner, and myself, Laura & Marcus potter down to sit on a tree by the shore to enjoy another sip of gin. The sun is just about to go down, the water is remarkably warm and there are wafts of laughter on the gentle breeze. I have a bit of an EXTREMELY HAPPY MOMENT and really cannot believe I am here. Simply beautiful.
Super happy almost tearful joy joy
In the evening the others return and sit down to dinner to celebrate Laura's birthday; what an incredible place to have a birthday. I have brought some goodies from the mainland including party poppers, colourful banners, candles and champagne. Dinner is marked by hilarity and laughter, and rounded off by a beautifully decadent fudgy chocolate cake kindly made by the chef.
I've said it before and I'll say it again; I love cake.
The drinking continues into the night, and it seems appropriate and logical to have a wander into the sea while it's dark to do some exploring. We make friends with some sea cucumbers that look suspiciously like turds and generally make silly talk as we plink and plonk our way through the shallows. When the booze is gone, so is my brain, and bedtime follows at some time or another.
Sea cucumbers! Lovely wee fellas.
Sunday starts with an OW MY HEAD followed by an instant OOOH, SUNSHINE. I figure the best cure for a hangover is right outside my hut, so I slip into my bikini and throw myself into the sea. Jaysus that feels good. Today myself and Marcus have to return to Port Blair, so we pack up our things and check out. There is an early morning attempt to yet again buy ferry tickets, and we are yet again told NO - come back later. This is not helping my delicate state.
Beach no. 5, right outside my hut at Emerald Gecko
Right, the last ferry leaves at 4.30pm so we really really need to get some ticket action. We find ourselves yet again at the infuriating ticket office by the jetty at 2pm. I am told the 3pm ferry is now sold out and they are not issuing tickets for the 4.30 ferry yet. I try to reason with the man, telling him if I come back at 4pm as he is requesting then he will simply tell me that the 4.30pm ferry is now sold out. He looks at me as if I am an idiot and tells me to go away, come back later. I well and truly lose my patience and shout AH FOR FUCKS SAKE and storm off. Shouting helps me relax a bit, but it doesn't get us ferry tickets.
We get very very lucky as we find the office for a private ferry company which has a boat leaving at 4pm... at 3pm we manage to buy 2 of the last remaining tickets available. It is three times the price of the government ferry but the man never once tells me to go away and come back later and I instantly love him for it. Thank you, slightly-more-efficient-than-the-government man.
Goodbyes are fondly issued to Laura, who is staying on for another couple of days, and we board the ferry. It's far more comfortable than the government boat, with proper air conditioning and even a movie screen. Success.
The harbour at Havelock island
I watch Havelock island sail forlornly out of view as we move away from the jetty towards Port Blair. I am sad to be leaving and kicking myself for not arranging to spend another couple of days there. Silly Jojo. In Port Blair, we head straight to our hotel, which is home to cracked sinks, dark wood panelling, red lightbulbs, atrocious plumbing, zero mosquito netting and no privacy. Quite the change from my own beach hut! Dinner is dosa with spicy spicy sides, though hungover belly says NO and I sip on some water instead. I am in bed and asleep by 9pm, totally knackered.
The airport the next day outdoes its Bhubaneswar counterpart for bureacracy; here our tickets are checked 10 times. 10 bloody times! Entering the building, entering departure area, getting baggage screened, checking in, immigration desk, entering security section, getting frisked, going through the departure gate, another check at departure gate and boarding the plane. Unreal. We get on the plane and bid farewell to our incredible journey to the paradise islands. It has gone far too quickly but I've enjoyed it so much. Next time I go there will be one rule - no bloody cheap gin!
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