kannur

"Floor it" I yelled at the tuktuk driver, but awkwardness descended when we trundled off at a pace slower than an arthritic snail without a foot. It was possibly the worst race-against-the-clock-car-scene ever, with 7 minutes to make our crucial train, when we'd taken the wrong train to a station 10 minutes away. Who were we trying to kid being all dramatic? Timetables in the South are not so much rules as guidelines, and soon enough we were rolling towards Kannur on the coast.

Our hotel, KK heritage, was a comfortable distance outside grubby Kannur, right on the northern backwaters and next to the incredible Thottady beach. The beaches in the area were the best yet, but one could tell that within 2 years they'll be bustling and built up.

Feeling the effects of excessive sun-worship, I almost chunned everywhaa at the communal dinner: this may have been fitting given that our fellow diners were talking about the intensive meditation they'd undergone - one woman had paif to spend a month in silent meditation at the Ashram of Amma. I couldn't help but draw similarities to telling a group of children to play "sleeping lions", whilst asking them to pay me.

I don't think I've mentioned Amma yet - she is a world-famous Hindu teacher, who tours the world giving her reputedly healing hugs to up to 30,000 people a day! Rather incredible, and it always transpires that we miss her by a couple of days in each town - perhaps a sign pointing to our imminent spiritual enlightenment.

The second day I was back on my usual, hilarious form, which was put to good use conversing with the local youths - a dialogue achingly reminiscent of a gcse oral as we were asked "what did you do last weekend/do you have sisters/what do the English teenagers do for hobbies?" Regarding the last question, we were embarrassingly confounded in trying to decide what the English do these days. A safe bet, we settled for "drinking". Bleak.

The rest of the day was spent chilling on la playa, before an early night in anticipation of the next day's venture.

4.15am. Waking in order to see the Theyyam festival, Jack is lying in bed trying to muster the energy. Lissy screams and sprints out of the bathroom. Jack enters the bathroom. Jack sees Shelob, the mother of all spiders. The battle begins.

I don't exaggerate when I say this was the largest spider I've seen outside the zoo, and at 4.15 it seemed all the more massive. It charged towards the bedroom door, and I slung it back with my plastic travel folder. Adrenaline pumping, and thinking back to my heroics at the rifle range, I found enlightenment: I grab the butt-hose-toilet-thing and try to spray it down the plug hole. Too large. Water cannoning this 8-legged freak, I call on Lissy to trap it under a bucket. On her own agenda, she hurls the bucket at it and we both flee the room.

Soon after 4.30 we arrive at a nearby temple, where preparations are underway for the Theyyam performance. One of the oldest Keralan traditions, Theyyam is a ritual in which the participants dress as, and resultantly become possessed by, the gods.

It was an incredible sight, with one participant - painted like a zebra and with a 20-foot-tall palm structure strapped to his back - dancing increasingly vigorously to the drums, whilst on stilts! We left at around 7.30am, after the incarnate gods had been clothed and painted in the costumes the photos can only come close to describing. What was most fascinating and crucial was the truth that it wasn't simply a spectacle, but was an intensely sacred festival - as was clear from the large amounts of locals who turned up at such an ungodly hour!

With love