Hello!

Greetings from Alleppey, in southern India.

I hope you're all doing well and making the most of the busy season. It's been another incredibly hectic week here in India, working flat out and barely getting any sleep. I'll explain why in a moment…

Last week, I told you how we found ourselves caught up in historic protests and the bureaucratic nightmare Indian artisans are facing with the EU.

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Well, we've finally arrived somewhere peaceful. Our hotel sits beside Kerala's famous backwaters, and I'm beginning to remember what silence sounds like. But India and noise… oh my goodness!!

After the trade fair, we flew to Ahmedabad, in Gujarat, before heading by road to Khambhat, India's famous "Crystal City".

Regular readers may remember the accommodation we stayed in last time near Khambhat: a rather basic roadside motel, complete with bedbugs, cockroaches and mysterious red stains on the walls. The sort of place where you sleep fully dressed and try not to investigate anything too closely.

This time, one of our contacts in the gemstone trade recommended staying in Anand, about 40 minutes away, at the "H" Hotel. I checked the reviews. They were bad. Very bad.

But our contact insisted, and thankfully, he was right. Spacious, clean rooms and friendly staff. Lovely staff, in fact. Beware of fake negative reviews; they're surprisingly common in India. We were delighted to have found somewhere comfortable to rest, something we desperately needed.

There was just one small problem.

We had arrived right in the middle of Navratri, Gujarat's great festival of music and dance. And when I say "dance", I don't mean a couple of people gently swaying about before heading off to bed.

The entire city looked as though it was dressed for a wedding. Beautiful outfits, whole families heading out together, enormous groups gathering to dance garba in the streets and at specially organised celebration venues. Several of these venues were conveniently located near our hotel.

Very near.

At around ten o'clock in the evening, the music really kicked in. Imagine a rave where someone has removed the volume control, complete with lasers and constant fireworks. Huge crowds everywhere.

ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

And remember, Gujarat is a "dry" state, where alcohol is prohibited. These people were partying on milkshakes and mango juice. Whatever they're putting in that mango juice deserves further investigation.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… every single night of our stay, the city was in full party mode. Meanwhile, we were holding meetings with gemstone suppliers who had apparently been attending those very same celebrations. Yet somehow, they turned up bright-eyed, sharp-minded and ready to do business.

We, on the other hand, could barely remember which pocket we'd put our glasses in.

Still, between yawns, we managed to make some excellent progress with our exciting gemstone projects. There's something about Khambhat — its knowledge, its craftsmanship, its possibilities — that keeps drawing us back.

Although next time, I think I'll check the festival calendar before checking the hotel reviews.

Then came our little adventure buying a drink.

Mr Chatterjee wanted to buy some whisky. Near the hotel was a licensed liquor shop serving visitors with the necessary permits. So Toni and I went along with him, thinking we might pick up a beer while we were there.

First, however, we needed a personal alcohol permit. Three gentlemen sat behind a desk, handling the paperwork with the sort of leisurely pace that suggests nobody has ever successfully hurried them.

We had our photographs taken. We signed documents — I counted twelve places where I had to put my signature. Then, at the appropriate moment, we had to sit in front of a video camera and move our heads from side to side. Somewhere, presumably, somebody was checking that I really was David and genuinely intended to drink a beer.

Nothing seemed to be moving forward.

We chatted with the other customers, several of whom were carrying American passports — mostly Indians working in the tech industry who had returned home for the festivities. Every now and then, the gentleman on the left would open a storeroom door, revealing tantalising pallets of beer, disappear inside and eventually return with a bulging brown paper bag.

It all felt wonderfully clandestine, considering the extraordinary amount of official paperwork involved.

As time passed, my enthusiasm for that beer began to fade.

"Well, gentlemen," I announced rather loudly. "Let's go. I'm losing interest in the beer. I'm not waiting any longer."

At that precise moment, the third gentleman suddenly sprang to life. I suspect he'd been partying all night.

"Yes, Mr David! Please don't go!"

A few words were exchanged, the first gentleman dashed into the storeroom, and shortly afterwards, the whisky and beer appeared.

By then, I'd signed so many declarations that it was abundantly clear everything was strictly for personal consumption inside my hotel room. I paid, and off we went.

Toni remarked that applying for a mortgage involved less paperwork.

After our stay in Khambhat, we returned to Ahmedabad Airport and said goodbye to Toni. It was quite an emotional moment. After weeks of travelling, working, developing products and surviving the occasional highly questionable hotel together, it feels strange when the team starts going its separate ways.

He flew to Mumbai and continued from there to Spain. We caught a flight south to Kochi to visit factories producing coir doormats.

And now here we are, in Alleppey, beside the backwaters.

Finally, a little peace. Water, greenery, a chance to catch our breath… and, with any luck, a night when the only thing going round and round is the ceiling fan.

Next week, I'll tell you more about this charming corner of India.

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Take care!