17 hours

The sun beat down hard. Paint has flecked away from most of the visible surfaces leaving dark reddish brown patches. I don't want to think about where I am. Seventeen hours on this bus. No road with bumps or holes of the same size. I'm getting tired of this. And her voice, filling all the available space with its peircing strength. I have to be careful anger doesn't come over me, I don't want to hurt anyone. Its been like this for too long. I don't like her. She is not my type of person or friend. Skinny farm muscle hiding insecurity with an obnoxious siren.

Uncountable light beams bounce off the tapestry of Kerala's green kaleidoscope landscape. We walk down the muddy path to the waiting boat. It is long with an iron pointed tip protecting its wooden nose. Covering it is a wicker mesh supported by bamboo struts. I take one of the light brown wicker chairs and wait with the others, talking softly. After a few minutes a small man with dense muscles takes the 5 meter bamboo pole and pushes us away into the murky green water. The only sound comes from the lapping of the water and the beating of the sun on our protective roof. The boatman walks backwards, pushing the boat forwards. We all relax into deeper states of contentment as our minds release the tension of the Indian cacophony. I look into the water and see small fish following us hoping for small bits of bread. A small indian boy next to me throws them their desire. We slide into a green island. A large pile of half coconuts withers to our right. The boatman walks over to one of the palm trees leaning over the water, ties short lengths of rope to his feet and hands, then climbs the tree, raining coconuts down on us for a few minutes. After he comes down again he takes a short sickle blade and cuts off the top of each coconut and gives each of us our own fresh coconut milk. The clear milk slides down my throat, cooling my insides while avoiding my dislike for other coconut products. The milk keeps me awake for the rest of the day.