...and in a flash, we're home - as though we'd never been away. Cat's on the bed, the usual pile of unopened bills in a pile on the table, just a little bigger. I'm hungry for a burrito.
The trip passed in a haze. Neither of us slept. Watched a bunch of movies, but I can't remember any of them. Some big fat Indian guy had the window seat in our row. He kept the shade down the whole ride from Singapore to Seoul to San Fran (not that there's much to see over the sea, but I wanna know), and never once got up to use the toilet. I think he'd developed the ability to expel waste through snoring, which he was doing about 80% of the way.
We flew out of Kochin at 11:30 Saturday night, got to Singapore at 6:30 Sunday morning and left 3 hours later. We had a brief layover in Seoul around 4:30 Sunday afternoon, crossed the International Dateline and landed in SF just before noon on the same day.
Deb and I took a shower and opened the wedding gifts that came in our absence, registering names and addresses for thank you notes. I'm waiting for the camera to upload it's pictures to iPhoto as I write this. Then, I'll get a burrito and maybe make some semi-conscious effort to post some photos online. That might not happen 'til later in the week, when I'll also try to cull together some memories of the final week. The overriding atmosphere was RAIN. It rained a lot for the last week and a half. Leelu said she's 52, and in all her life she'd never seen rain in Kerala in March. Delhi has pledged Rs 35 crore (about $9 million) in emergency funds for the rice farmers in these backwater paddies whose crops have drowned this week.
We both gained a little weight in India, which we weren't expecting; but we know thanks to the bathroom scale we received as a gift, and we aren't surprised, because we ate a lot a lotta good food all over. Actually, Deb might have a different take on that. She finally reached her limit on Indian food yesterday afternoon, and was dismayed to find the only veg options on the flights home were Indian curry dishes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That said, the only time either of us got ill at all was one morning earlier in the week, when dehydration, and a big smelly dog, and the sight of a cat retching conspired to make Deb nauseous. Neither of us had any hint of food borne illness. Somehow we inoculated ourselves effectively. Maybe it was the wedding dinner.
Nonetheless, I want a burrito.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Not appropriate honeymoon fare
We've been in Cochin (Kochi) since the evening of 15 Mar. That morning, we didn't put enough pep in our step before discovering the last morning bus to Munnar was leaving about an hour earlier than we were prepared to board it. So, we weighed our options (stay in Kumily or leave) and decided to skip town for Kochi. This way, we're done with all our long distance bussing and can dawdle around here until departure.
Kochi is at the northern tip of a peninsula, like San Francisco. It's a rather quiet, tourist centric burg, for having been the center of the Malabar coast spice trade and pursuant duelling empire drama for much of the last five centuries. Its position at the inlet of a bay made it suitable for a fort in those days. But Ernakulam, the Oakland to its SF, and more directly accessible from the spice, rubber, and coconut plantations, has taken over its business responsibilities. And much of the shipping is loaded and unloaded from Willingdon Island, built like Treasure Island on landfill dredged up from the bay around it. So, it's a little like stepping into an alternate universe, wherein, among other differences, the ferry across the bay only costs five cents.
We'd called ahead from Mickey's Cottage to Alice's friend, Sheeba, at Greenwoods Bethlehem Homestay. She said she had a room open, but only a small one. Turns out, on the roof of their three story home, they've built a thatch-roofed pavilion; and within that, they've built a row of thatch bedrooms, with a thatch WC at the end. Looking out from our thatch "hut", the view was almost entirely of surrounding treetops and birds, as though this place were a jungle -- and it's a pretty dense little residential area, so that was cool. But less cool was that the walls were as thick as a sheet of woven palm leaves (oh, that reminds me: we bussed down from Kumily on Palm Sunday and passed a lot of families walking home from church brandishing palm leaves). Also, we'd had about all we needed on this honeymoon of non-en suite bathrooms in Kumily. So, although Sheeba and her husband Ashley seemed like exactly the friendly hosts we'd like to spend a week in Kochi with, we had to move. They're very busy there, even now in the "off" season. Apparently, they have a good write-up in the Lonely Planet South India guide, but as Sheeba pointed out, "there are over 300 homestays in Kochi". So, we decided to find ourselves a more honeymoon-suitable abode.
And so we've moved into Leelu Roy's homestay, a little closer to the travelers' action center of Fort Cochin proper. She reminds me a little, maybe, of my mental picture of Mama Celeste -- a big, opinionated Italian woman who likes to cook. She teaches a nightly cooking class, anyway, which always seems to be full. We're taking it tonight, so we'll see how dinner goes with Mama Leelu. Anyway, we're happy to wind up our days in India upstairs from her.
Despite the comforts of our new home, we both had trouble sleeping the night before last. Deb thinks it might've had to do with the few sips of Coke she had in the afternoon. Maybe she's right for the both of us: I drank the rest of the bottle, but I haven't ever noticed caffeine having too pronounced an effect on me. Also, I went to sleep pretty quickly when we turned in, around 10. It was only when I woke up around 2 that I thought I might be up for the night. My mind was whirring through the run of the mill set of frets: love, money, growing old. Maybe it was kicked in by the creeping awareness of the impending end of our vacation. Prob'ly a little by flipping through nbsigns gmail the night before, and looking at checking account balances. Not appropriate honeymoon fare.
I'm not especially worrisome about love of late, but on the busride down from Kumily, Deb and I split up the iPod headphones and shared a listen to the Valentine's Day episode of This American Life. They spent the hour with couples who'd been together for many years, investigating the qualities of love long, long past its "falling in" date. The first story was from Richard Bausch, about a man on his 70th birthday, whose 45+ year marriage had lately become argumentative, testy, distant. He tries to grasp (and explain and assert) that the memories of the early highs of love are worth everything that ensues; that had he been given foreknowledge of the antipathy he and his wife are in now, he still would have chosen the whole package. So, in the middle of our first night at Leelu's, I began imagining a future of antipathy with Deb. Not a recipe for sound sleep. And absolutely, not appropriate honeymoon fare!
The antidote to this line of thinking wasn't making itself apparent in the shadows cast by the moon across the spinning ceiling fan blades. I suppose now it's to be present in the present with the comfort and security and passion that we have, as much as I can. That awareness certainly isn't permanently "on", but it's not likely to ever be more frequently on than it is right now. So, dig it, brother. Richard Bausch seems to suggest that being mindful of this, here, now, is going to make our later troubles worth it.
But as I say, I opted on this night for worry.
I noticed on a couple of occasions I was lying on my left side, unusual in its novelty. Not only haven't I been lying on my left side for the past couple of months while my broken arm's been in a brace; I haven't been laying on that side much for... well, since spring of '06, when I came back from an afternoon of surfing with some pain in my shoulder that I never got diagnosed, but which never really went away; at least not until I broke my wrists and stopped noticing it. Now, lying on my left side, I notice I'm not completely comfortable per se, but I think I can sleep there: in fact, I think I did eventually fall asleep there. I mean, my upper arm is in its brace, which has to be placed just right if it's gonna tolerate me laying on it. And the outside of my forearm is a little sensitive and/or numb (I can't tell!) due to radial nerve damage from the humerus fracture, ha ha. Maybe that'll have some bearing on how aware I am of the screws and plate in that wrist in years to come. And that's how I started thinking: if I just keep breaking things, it'll help diminish the pain of older things broken. And thus shall I age... NOT APPROPRIATE HONEYMOON FARE!
We took the ferry to Ernakulam earlier that day and visited a tailor, to have a suit made. Alice and Thomas had recommended this place, Raymond's, on Marine Drive. I was anticipating an odd experience. It turned out to be less exotic for being in India than for being a trip to a tailor to have a suit made.
Deb and I talked out in advance how much I was willing to spend on a suit. It's a tough proposition. I've got two suits I'm happy with. One, that fits me perfectly (I think), I bought at a vintage store on Haight Street for $40. But it's a sharkskin, and therefore not suitable for more dour or professional occasions. The other suit, a charcoal pinstripe wool 3-piece by Saks, I bought at Goodwill for $15. A few sizes too large, it sat in a pile in a bedroom corner for a couple years before I had need of it. I think it was Amber and Colin's wedding. Nothing dour or professional, but as I recall close enough to some other besuited occasion at which there was sufficient crowd overlap to warrant a change of suit. So, I took it to the Chinese lady on Mission at 18th, with my sharkskin over the other arm, and said "Make that suit the same size as this suit." And she did, for $70. So, two used suits that fit well and look good, for $125. What's a new one worth?
Nothing, if it's not what I want. The key item for me to bear in mind during the process was to be clear I was getting what I wanted, in every detail. I know I'm prone to compromise, and to diminish the value of my wishes. So, I had to struggle to remain assured that the points on which I was willing to compromise weren't worthy of defending, and vice versa. And frankly, there are a lot of things I'm not sure about in a suit. Like, I was pretty sure I wanted it double breasted, but then part of me was also leaning toward 1964 Hard Day's Night. I let Deb talk me out of double breasted, and I dropped the Beatles look, too, because both are a little too uncommon, and I'm already treading unstable ground for me. I want something that looks good and right for suity things. Not too attention grabbing.
And blah, blah, ble-argh -- I'm boring myself to tears with suit talk. Three button, side slits, flat front, wool/poly blend, brace buttons, no belt loops, pocket flaps, lapel notches, boutonniere hole, extra pockets here, here, and here -- it all got worked out. But not before they had me try a dozen off the rack suits; and Henry, the Scot who we'd met in Alleppey, came in to influence what I want with what he wants (linen!); and I very nearly settled for less; and ultimately: I got something that might be too flashy -- I can't tell anymore. I'm bored with it. What was my point?
Walking back to the ferry from Raymond's after my big purchase, I was a little more cognizant of people asking for handouts. There aren't many, although maybe more per square mile in Ernakulam than in other places we've been. It's a bigger city. Still, less than in SF. Nonetheless, the poverty and disfigurement is often more dire, or at least apparent. And I began to wonder that night, what a suit is worth on a global economic scale. I'd just established its value to me. I didn't even try haggling (I'm no good at it anyway) when they told me my suit would cost Rs 7613. Rs 2500 is for labor, the rest is fabric. I met Stanley, the man who would be sewing it. I don't know how little of the Rs 2500 is his in the end. I know Rs 2500 is not much less than I paid the Chinese lady to alter my suit a couple years ago. She was the boss there, and her seamstress was very appreciative of the $10 tip I gave her (which reminds me: I've got to have a decent tip on hand for Stanley when I go try it on -- it's a very tip-centric economy here). I'm sure the boss at Raymond's must haggle much harder for the fabric when he buys it, than I did for the suit. So, somewhere, Mr. Raymond is tipping his chauffeur with the profit he made on the fabric for my suit, maybe even buying his family dinner as well. And Stanley may put a little extra in the plate on Good Friday, time off for which he took into account in determining whether or not he could get the suit to me before our flight out. How much further down does the suit money trickle? Indeed, even had I bought a suit at Nordstrom's, in SF, instead, some portion of that money might tickle the palm of a rickshaw wallah somewhere on the subcontinent before it's through.
The day we left SF, we stopped at Get Lost travel store so Deb could get a small bag to carry valuables. Looking at their book collection, I decided on a whim to pick up Mike Davis' Planet of Slums. NOT APPROPRIATE HONEYMOON FARE! I've been slogging through its litany of horrors and bleak prognoses for the future of city life for billions and billions of us. We haven't been anywhere near a slum, or even a sizable city on this trip. Yet, when I see how tenuously the infrastructures for water, electricity, waste management, and transit hang together in these more rural areas, five years into a regional economic surge, amidst a much longer national boom, and without any of the pressures of overpopulation, it's all too obvious how it plays out in a "maximum city" like Mumbai, or in Bangalore, and in cities all over south Asia, east Asia, sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, and so on.
It's enough to keep one up at night. So, I've decided not to read it anymore, for the remainder of the holiday. I'll stick to the other book I brought along and have been neglecting: Norman Fischer's Opening to You: Zen Inspired Translations of the Psalms. Parts of it read like Rumi's love poems, or like the readings we included in the wedding. Much more appropriate honeymoon fare.
Kochi is at the northern tip of a peninsula, like San Francisco. It's a rather quiet, tourist centric burg, for having been the center of the Malabar coast spice trade and pursuant duelling empire drama for much of the last five centuries. Its position at the inlet of a bay made it suitable for a fort in those days. But Ernakulam, the Oakland to its SF, and more directly accessible from the spice, rubber, and coconut plantations, has taken over its business responsibilities. And much of the shipping is loaded and unloaded from Willingdon Island, built like Treasure Island on landfill dredged up from the bay around it. So, it's a little like stepping into an alternate universe, wherein, among other differences, the ferry across the bay only costs five cents.
We'd called ahead from Mickey's Cottage to Alice's friend, Sheeba, at Greenwoods Bethlehem Homestay. She said she had a room open, but only a small one. Turns out, on the roof of their three story home, they've built a thatch-roofed pavilion; and within that, they've built a row of thatch bedrooms, with a thatch WC at the end. Looking out from our thatch "hut", the view was almost entirely of surrounding treetops and birds, as though this place were a jungle -- and it's a pretty dense little residential area, so that was cool. But less cool was that the walls were as thick as a sheet of woven palm leaves (oh, that reminds me: we bussed down from Kumily on Palm Sunday and passed a lot of families walking home from church brandishing palm leaves). Also, we'd had about all we needed on this honeymoon of non-en suite bathrooms in Kumily. So, although Sheeba and her husband Ashley seemed like exactly the friendly hosts we'd like to spend a week in Kochi with, we had to move. They're very busy there, even now in the "off" season. Apparently, they have a good write-up in the Lonely Planet South India guide, but as Sheeba pointed out, "there are over 300 homestays in Kochi". So, we decided to find ourselves a more honeymoon-suitable abode.
And so we've moved into Leelu Roy's homestay, a little closer to the travelers' action center of Fort Cochin proper. She reminds me a little, maybe, of my mental picture of Mama Celeste -- a big, opinionated Italian woman who likes to cook. She teaches a nightly cooking class, anyway, which always seems to be full. We're taking it tonight, so we'll see how dinner goes with Mama Leelu. Anyway, we're happy to wind up our days in India upstairs from her.
Despite the comforts of our new home, we both had trouble sleeping the night before last. Deb thinks it might've had to do with the few sips of Coke she had in the afternoon. Maybe she's right for the both of us: I drank the rest of the bottle, but I haven't ever noticed caffeine having too pronounced an effect on me. Also, I went to sleep pretty quickly when we turned in, around 10. It was only when I woke up around 2 that I thought I might be up for the night. My mind was whirring through the run of the mill set of frets: love, money, growing old. Maybe it was kicked in by the creeping awareness of the impending end of our vacation. Prob'ly a little by flipping through nbsigns gmail the night before, and looking at checking account balances. Not appropriate honeymoon fare.
I'm not especially worrisome about love of late, but on the busride down from Kumily, Deb and I split up the iPod headphones and shared a listen to the Valentine's Day episode of This American Life. They spent the hour with couples who'd been together for many years, investigating the qualities of love long, long past its "falling in" date. The first story was from Richard Bausch, about a man on his 70th birthday, whose 45+ year marriage had lately become argumentative, testy, distant. He tries to grasp (and explain and assert) that the memories of the early highs of love are worth everything that ensues; that had he been given foreknowledge of the antipathy he and his wife are in now, he still would have chosen the whole package. So, in the middle of our first night at Leelu's, I began imagining a future of antipathy with Deb. Not a recipe for sound sleep. And absolutely, not appropriate honeymoon fare!
The antidote to this line of thinking wasn't making itself apparent in the shadows cast by the moon across the spinning ceiling fan blades. I suppose now it's to be present in the present with the comfort and security and passion that we have, as much as I can. That awareness certainly isn't permanently "on", but it's not likely to ever be more frequently on than it is right now. So, dig it, brother. Richard Bausch seems to suggest that being mindful of this, here, now, is going to make our later troubles worth it.
But as I say, I opted on this night for worry.
I noticed on a couple of occasions I was lying on my left side, unusual in its novelty. Not only haven't I been lying on my left side for the past couple of months while my broken arm's been in a brace; I haven't been laying on that side much for... well, since spring of '06, when I came back from an afternoon of surfing with some pain in my shoulder that I never got diagnosed, but which never really went away; at least not until I broke my wrists and stopped noticing it. Now, lying on my left side, I notice I'm not completely comfortable per se, but I think I can sleep there: in fact, I think I did eventually fall asleep there. I mean, my upper arm is in its brace, which has to be placed just right if it's gonna tolerate me laying on it. And the outside of my forearm is a little sensitive and/or numb (I can't tell!) due to radial nerve damage from the humerus fracture, ha ha. Maybe that'll have some bearing on how aware I am of the screws and plate in that wrist in years to come. And that's how I started thinking: if I just keep breaking things, it'll help diminish the pain of older things broken. And thus shall I age... NOT APPROPRIATE HONEYMOON FARE!
We took the ferry to Ernakulam earlier that day and visited a tailor, to have a suit made. Alice and Thomas had recommended this place, Raymond's, on Marine Drive. I was anticipating an odd experience. It turned out to be less exotic for being in India than for being a trip to a tailor to have a suit made.
Deb and I talked out in advance how much I was willing to spend on a suit. It's a tough proposition. I've got two suits I'm happy with. One, that fits me perfectly (I think), I bought at a vintage store on Haight Street for $40. But it's a sharkskin, and therefore not suitable for more dour or professional occasions. The other suit, a charcoal pinstripe wool 3-piece by Saks, I bought at Goodwill for $15. A few sizes too large, it sat in a pile in a bedroom corner for a couple years before I had need of it. I think it was Amber and Colin's wedding. Nothing dour or professional, but as I recall close enough to some other besuited occasion at which there was sufficient crowd overlap to warrant a change of suit. So, I took it to the Chinese lady on Mission at 18th, with my sharkskin over the other arm, and said "Make that suit the same size as this suit." And she did, for $70. So, two used suits that fit well and look good, for $125. What's a new one worth?
Nothing, if it's not what I want. The key item for me to bear in mind during the process was to be clear I was getting what I wanted, in every detail. I know I'm prone to compromise, and to diminish the value of my wishes. So, I had to struggle to remain assured that the points on which I was willing to compromise weren't worthy of defending, and vice versa. And frankly, there are a lot of things I'm not sure about in a suit. Like, I was pretty sure I wanted it double breasted, but then part of me was also leaning toward 1964 Hard Day's Night. I let Deb talk me out of double breasted, and I dropped the Beatles look, too, because both are a little too uncommon, and I'm already treading unstable ground for me. I want something that looks good and right for suity things. Not too attention grabbing.
And blah, blah, ble-argh -- I'm boring myself to tears with suit talk. Three button, side slits, flat front, wool/poly blend, brace buttons, no belt loops, pocket flaps, lapel notches, boutonniere hole, extra pockets here, here, and here -- it all got worked out. But not before they had me try a dozen off the rack suits; and Henry, the Scot who we'd met in Alleppey, came in to influence what I want with what he wants (linen!); and I very nearly settled for less; and ultimately: I got something that might be too flashy -- I can't tell anymore. I'm bored with it. What was my point?
Walking back to the ferry from Raymond's after my big purchase, I was a little more cognizant of people asking for handouts. There aren't many, although maybe more per square mile in Ernakulam than in other places we've been. It's a bigger city. Still, less than in SF. Nonetheless, the poverty and disfigurement is often more dire, or at least apparent. And I began to wonder that night, what a suit is worth on a global economic scale. I'd just established its value to me. I didn't even try haggling (I'm no good at it anyway) when they told me my suit would cost Rs 7613. Rs 2500 is for labor, the rest is fabric. I met Stanley, the man who would be sewing it. I don't know how little of the Rs 2500 is his in the end. I know Rs 2500 is not much less than I paid the Chinese lady to alter my suit a couple years ago. She was the boss there, and her seamstress was very appreciative of the $10 tip I gave her (which reminds me: I've got to have a decent tip on hand for Stanley when I go try it on -- it's a very tip-centric economy here). I'm sure the boss at Raymond's must haggle much harder for the fabric when he buys it, than I did for the suit. So, somewhere, Mr. Raymond is tipping his chauffeur with the profit he made on the fabric for my suit, maybe even buying his family dinner as well. And Stanley may put a little extra in the plate on Good Friday, time off for which he took into account in determining whether or not he could get the suit to me before our flight out. How much further down does the suit money trickle? Indeed, even had I bought a suit at Nordstrom's, in SF, instead, some portion of that money might tickle the palm of a rickshaw wallah somewhere on the subcontinent before it's through.
The day we left SF, we stopped at Get Lost travel store so Deb could get a small bag to carry valuables. Looking at their book collection, I decided on a whim to pick up Mike Davis' Planet of Slums. NOT APPROPRIATE HONEYMOON FARE! I've been slogging through its litany of horrors and bleak prognoses for the future of city life for billions and billions of us. We haven't been anywhere near a slum, or even a sizable city on this trip. Yet, when I see how tenuously the infrastructures for water, electricity, waste management, and transit hang together in these more rural areas, five years into a regional economic surge, amidst a much longer national boom, and without any of the pressures of overpopulation, it's all too obvious how it plays out in a "maximum city" like Mumbai, or in Bangalore, and in cities all over south Asia, east Asia, sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, and so on.
It's enough to keep one up at night. So, I've decided not to read it anymore, for the remainder of the holiday. I'll stick to the other book I brought along and have been neglecting: Norman Fischer's Opening to You: Zen Inspired Translations of the Psalms. Parts of it read like Rumi's love poems, or like the readings we included in the wedding. Much more appropriate honeymoon fare.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Jungle Story (Who wants to see a macaque?)
We're set up at Mickey's Cottage, in Kumily, on the north end of the Periyar Tiger Reserve. Our host, Sujatha, sent a guy from next door, Bobby, up to our room to organize our tour and trekking schedule. To my surprise, Deb opted for a morning walk at 6 the next morning (!!!), and we chose to take a cruise on the lake later in the afternoon.I was even more surprised that I woke up at 5:50 to get ready, particularly because the night before, we'd stayed in a hut in Kottayam and gotten bombarded with flying insects through the night. But I must have been raring to hit the jungle. Bobby knocked at 6 and we scrambled out the door.
We'd heard that the park entry permit wasn't good for ins 'n' outs, so we'd considered staying in the park for the day, to keep the same permit for the boat trip later. Not that it's a big deal: entry into the tiger reserve costs less than a movie at home. Nevertheless, Bobby said we were entering from the Tamil Nadu side this morning, and that no permits were needed from that approach.
As we pulled in by rickshaw at about 6:30, after a chai, what little light there was in the sky was filtering through a dense morning fog. Thus, all the jungle sounds were even more mysterious, and the haze held all manner of curious shapes and mystical beasts. Unfortunately, they remained mostly mystical and curious. We glimpsed what we're old was a grey hornbill amidst the grey, and some other bird with pendulous tail feathers flitted by. But for the most part we had only the atmosphere to sustain us in our thirst for the wild and exotic.
Then, Forest Guard Karunan showed up with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Turns out we'd illegally crossed into Kerala without permit, and had to follow him down an old logging road to the station. A troop of black nilgiri langurs assembled in the branches overhead to hoot as we started our march to, presumably, jail. We 
came to a bungalow in the woods, where we sat while a jeep was summoned and Bobby answered some questions in Malayalam. Then, we all got carted in to Project Tiger's local HQ, in Kumily. There at the station, a troop of common grey langurs was hopping from the trees and taunting the station's dog -- by far our best wildlife experience to that point in the hike.All in all, since our "arrest", maybe 2 hours had transpired, during which Deb and I were mostly sitting on one porch or another, listening to languages we don't understand, and watching nothing happen. Eventually, Bobby was taken into a building and the door locked behind him. My stomach was starting to grumble, so I finally stood up and asked who the "boss" was, what was going on, how likely were we to get any lunch anytime soon? I was pointed to Forest Guard Karunan, our captor, and we commiserated over hunger: he'd been on duty since 5:30 the previous evening without a meal. Deb and I hadn't eaten since about 7pm. So, we got the ball rolling.
They needed us to write a statement, and dictated more or less what it had to say; specifically that our guide "misled" us, and that we "request release from punishment". I tried to phrase it as non-accusatorially toward Bobby as possible, and without including any of the ultimately inconsequential lies that Bobby had urged us to corroborate (that we were staying at his guesthouse, Blue Mangoes, and that he'd only asked Rs 400 for the both of us, not the Rs 400 each, that he'd actually asked -- neither of those points ever came up in our questioning).After we wrote and signed our statement, and provided our fathers' names (I guess you can expect a call, guys), it was submitted and deliberated over for another half hour or so, in front of the DDPT (the Deputy Director of Project Tiger), we were told, and then -- POOF! We were free to go.
Forest Guard Karunan reminded us that he hadn't eaten since 5:30 yesterday, but not in such a way that clearly implied he was asking for a food bribe or anything, so we hoofed it back to the cottage for breakfast.
Later, we met Mickey, Sujatha's husband, who took his name from the cottage rather than the other way around. He poured us some chai, listened to our tale, and hailed a rickshaw to take us to our boat ride. He also called ahead to book boat tickets for us, as it was getting late in the day.
Our cruise on Lake Periyar yielded some distant elephant sitings, and a herd or two of bison, a couple of turtles and an eagle or two. Some deer. All from rather far away. When we got back to shore and into our rickshaw, we'd barely driven fifty yards before we were beneath a troop of nilgiri langurs and a giant grizzled squirrel. Then, before we'd left the park, we passed a sambal deer and a smaller barking deer alongside the road.
So, as with much of life, maybe, our best experiences have been at or beyond the periphery of their expected locations.
Bobby came to our door when we got back that night to make sure we (as in "he and we") were alright, i.e. were we likely to want more tours with him. He'd been detained all day and had to press family members somewhere in the legal system for help to avoid a further two days in jail. Sujatha and Mickey are sure he'll be alright, but it seems almost like he's being made an example of. Just the same, we booked our spice plantation and tea factory tour through Sujatha's nephew, Vinood. There probably aren't many illegal ways we're likely to get into a tea factory in broad daylight, but I wasn't interested in stumbling onto one.
Damon
It's a jungle out here
We arrived in the town of Kumily a few days ago. What a difference. We are high in the mountains surrounded by spice gardens and tea plantations. It is also about 20 degrees cooler here and it feels amazing. No sweating. What a relief.
Our primary reason for being here was to go to the Periyar Animal Reserve. So far in India we have only seen farm animals such as cows and goats. It is nice to see, but I've gotten quite used to the fact I have to watch out for wayward cows in the road as I try dodge rickshaws and trucks in traffic...
Anyway, we are in the jungle here. So far, we went on a small trek(Damon will tell you all about that adventure) and took a boat ride around the animal reserves lake. I was beautiful. We saw all types of bison and strange deer and many more birds. Our best find was a family of elephants that let us watch them from our boat. It is a very strange experience with these boats. First of all there must be about 5 to 10 different languages spoken on the boat and we are all playing, "I Spy" as we cruise past animals hiding in the bushes and trees all around us. But everyone gets excited when we see soething and we get out our cameras and try to get a good shot of something 200-300 feet away, in the rain. This boat ride kills all camera talent.
As usual, the best animals showed up in the parking lot of the boat station. There were many monkeys in the trees looking down on us and they were almost close enough to touch...almost.
We also saw this thing referred to as a giant squirrel, well not only is he about 4 times the usual size but he also looks kinda punk with blue and red tufts of fur on his back and his head. No tattoos though.
The next day we went on a tour of a tea plantation and factory, Connemara Tea. It was amazing to see how much work goes into tea. Women do all the picking of the leaves and the men work the machines. As with a lot of things in India I ask, what year is it? I was told women have more nimble hands... Anyway, there were many machines in the factory to cut, dry and roast the tea. This place made all the tea into different grades of tea powder. It takes about 22 hours from picked tea to turn into drinkable tea.
Next was on to the spice tour. I have to admit I'm pretty ignorant to how all this stuff grows, so the tour was very informative. We saw pepper plants, cardamon, vanilla pods, coffee, pineapple, cocoa, cinnamon, coconut, curry leaves, nutmeg trees, etc. There was a lot to learn. One of coolest things we saw was land crabs that aerate the earth around the plants. They were hiding in holes all over the place. They were about the size of hermit crabs. Who knew these things existed? After the tour, there was a elephant we got to visit to outside the spice farm. Our guide also told us that in India there were many hermaphrodite elephants which could get a female elephant pregnant or get pregnant themselves, which I also never heard of. So strange. All in all, a good tour. After that we went out to dinner, ate a lot, went back to the guesthouse and waited for the rain. We were not disappointed. The thunder and lightning was intense and it poured all night.
This morning we got up, and went for breakfast. We tried to write some emails but the power went off again. And we found ourselves in our guides spice shop were we bought many spices to bring home. Tonight, we are off to watch Kerala martial arts. Hopefully we will make it out of there alive. Pray for the power to stay on.
Debbie
Our primary reason for being here was to go to the Periyar Animal Reserve. So far in India we have only seen farm animals such as cows and goats. It is nice to see, but I've gotten quite used to the fact I have to watch out for wayward cows in the road as I try dodge rickshaws and trucks in traffic...
Anyway, we are in the jungle here. So far, we went on a small trek(Damon will tell you all about that adventure) and took a boat ride around the animal reserves lake. I was beautiful. We saw all types of bison and strange deer and many more birds. Our best find was a family of elephants that let us watch them from our boat. It is a very strange experience with these boats. First of all there must be about 5 to 10 different languages spoken on the boat and we are all playing, "I Spy" as we cruise past animals hiding in the bushes and trees all around us. But everyone gets excited when we see soething and we get out our cameras and try to get a good shot of something 200-300 feet away, in the rain. This boat ride kills all camera talent.
As usual, the best animals showed up in the parking lot of the boat station. There were many monkeys in the trees looking down on us and they were almost close enough to touch...almost.
We also saw this thing referred to as a giant squirrel, well not only is he about 4 times the usual size but he also looks kinda punk with blue and red tufts of fur on his back and his head. No tattoos though.
The next day we went on a tour of a tea plantation and factory, Connemara Tea. It was amazing to see how much work goes into tea. Women do all the picking of the leaves and the men work the machines. As with a lot of things in India I ask, what year is it? I was told women have more nimble hands... Anyway, there were many machines in the factory to cut, dry and roast the tea. This place made all the tea into different grades of tea powder. It takes about 22 hours from picked tea to turn into drinkable tea.
Next was on to the spice tour. I have to admit I'm pretty ignorant to how all this stuff grows, so the tour was very informative. We saw pepper plants, cardamon, vanilla pods, coffee, pineapple, cocoa, cinnamon, coconut, curry leaves, nutmeg trees, etc. There was a lot to learn. One of coolest things we saw was land crabs that aerate the earth around the plants. They were hiding in holes all over the place. They were about the size of hermit crabs. Who knew these things existed? After the tour, there was a elephant we got to visit to outside the spice farm. Our guide also told us that in India there were many hermaphrodite elephants which could get a female elephant pregnant or get pregnant themselves, which I also never heard of. So strange. All in all, a good tour. After that we went out to dinner, ate a lot, went back to the guesthouse and waited for the rain. We were not disappointed. The thunder and lightning was intense and it poured all night.
This morning we got up, and went for breakfast. We tried to write some emails but the power went off again. And we found ourselves in our guides spice shop were we bought many spices to bring home. Tonight, we are off to watch Kerala martial arts. Hopefully we will make it out of there alive. Pray for the power to stay on.
Debbie
Monday, March 10, 2008
Back in the city
Damon and I just returned from our lovely romantic boat trip and my head is still spinning a bit. There was so much to watch as we cruised through the canals. It gave us a little break from the crazy city life in which you fear for your life crossing the streets.
Our crew were really sweet guys and they wanted to keep things romantic for Damon and I. We had excellent candlelight dinners under the stars. They picked me fresh flowers. It was very comfortable and we were well taken care of. We even had a portrait of Jesus over the honeymoon suite just to make sure we were feeling super safe.
The canals were so incredible. There people swimming and bathing all around us. Hundreds of birds flying by and enjoying the water around us. Goats and cows everywhere laying in the sun, a smattering of chickens and many, many ducks. Women washing clothes by beating them loudly on rocks. We cruised by many fruit trees, rice fields, schools and churchs. Kids played and waved at us as we went on by asking the inevitable question of, "One pen?".
I think this is the new hello for kids in India. It is screamed across the river at us. Off the boat, as soon as they see a western face they begin to follow us. It is very strange to be thought of as being rich. It is so hard to see how some of these people and live and work so hard for so little really got to me after a while. It really makes me appreciate San Francisco and how easy life is there, even when my life doesn't seem so easy.
Even though it makes me sad sometimes, the people here have been really nice to us and there is so much beauty all around them. Something money can not buy.
Debbie
Our crew were really sweet guys and they wanted to keep things romantic for Damon and I. We had excellent candlelight dinners under the stars. They picked me fresh flowers. It was very comfortable and we were well taken care of. We even had a portrait of Jesus over the honeymoon suite just to make sure we were feeling super safe.
The canals were so incredible. There people swimming and bathing all around us. Hundreds of birds flying by and enjoying the water around us. Goats and cows everywhere laying in the sun, a smattering of chickens and many, many ducks. Women washing clothes by beating them loudly on rocks. We cruised by many fruit trees, rice fields, schools and churchs. Kids played and waved at us as we went on by asking the inevitable question of, "One pen?".
I think this is the new hello for kids in India. It is screamed across the river at us. Off the boat, as soon as they see a western face they begin to follow us. It is very strange to be thought of as being rich. It is so hard to see how some of these people and live and work so hard for so little really got to me after a while. It really makes me appreciate San Francisco and how easy life is there, even when my life doesn't seem so easy.
Even though it makes me sad sometimes, the people here have been really nice to us and there is so much beauty all around them. Something money can not buy.
Debbie
Toddy
The guidebook we're carrying says, "if you learn to read one word in Malayalam, it'll probably be the one for toddy shops (kallishoppu)". Toddy is the fermented coconut juice that the farmers in the backwaters drink in lieu of beer. I've got a much clearer picture of to just whom this guidebook is being marketed. I guess it's me.
We pulled over to shore after a couple hours cruising on our first day so Moncy, our engineer, could stock up on paan to chew on. When he returned from his errand, I said, "Oh, I thought maybe we were at a kallishoppu..." Moncy's face lit up.
"Toddy?! You want toddy??" He and Cap'n Thomas had a short conversation in Malayalam, then nothing more was said about it by anyone.
The next day we stopped at a fish market to pick up some karimeen ("black fish") for lunch. Back on the boat again, I asked whether karimeen would taste good with toddy. Yes, they said, it would, and then there was some questioning to discern whether or not I really wanted it. I made clear that I didn't want the sort laced with elephant tranquilizer, but that otherwise, yes.
At some point further along the river, we passed the 500 year old church at Champakulam. Moncy pointed into the village nearby and said "toddy shop". We tied up and disembarked. I was getting excited. After some shuffling, it looked like the Captain would take us over to the shop. I gestured toward Deb and asked if it was alright for her to come, too, "Will she be safe?" Oh, yes, we were assured. So, we crossed a small footbridge, and headed through a row of commercial stalls along the canal. A few shopkeepers came out to lure us into theirs, "come in, just looking?", but we pressed on. Eventually, we came to the church, an impressive structure; a whole complex, in fact, of schools & plazas & auditoria. I read that the church itself was built in 1579 by the Portuguese, on the site of one of seven chapels in Kerala supposedly established by Doubting Thomas the Apostle. The Captain crossed himself and entered. He knelt in front of the altar. Deb and I glanced at one another and knelt behind him. I was wondering if he was taking us here to repent of the sin of wanting some toddy. Raising my head as if to do so (or in exasperation?), my gaze met a ceiling covered with iconography, all sorts of colorful gilded scenes, some recognizable, some not. Above the center of the room, someone (presumably Christ) stood in the middle of a row of six man-sized candles, wielding a sword in one hand and juggling seven stars with the other. It was kinda like drinking toddy, perhaps -- I could only guess. I plugged a few rupees into the charity box, we snapped some pix and left. Outside, by a 25 foot tall concrete mound, moulded and painted to resemble a stone "grotto", with a statue of Mary in a glass cabinet on its face, Captain ran into an old Sunday school teacher of his. They had a chat while Deb & I inspected a nearby sculpture under a pavilion, of a large dinghy, donated by some charitable organization according to an adjacent plaque, and currently being filled to the rim with water by a long hose snaking over from the church. We left whatever questions it raises in the air.
Captain led us back down the row of shops, and this time seemed more inclined to coax us into one. We passed on offers of a shirt or two, a cookbook, some sculptures, a coffee-table volume on the beauties of the backwaters. Eventually we came to a place that seemed a little less tourist oriented -- at least there was no merchandise on display -- and I thought for sure we're now at the toddy shop. But the shopkeep brought out a couple of enormous freshwater prawns.
Vijay, our cook, had been talking about these the day before, calling them "exporting quality", but I kept hearing "sporting quality", which I couldn't decipher. I pictured a man with a rod on the back of a yacht, raving about the fight that last prawn gave him before it broke the line. Anyway, I don't think I'd ever seen a prawn with claws before, but the largest of these had arms about a foot and a half long, with pincers at the end. Not a lot of meat on the claw, but the rest of it looked enough like a lobster. Even a spiny ridge between its eyes.
We got five, for us and the crew. I asked how much, and he said Rs1000, at which I should have balked and haggled, but didn't. I'm guessing this came out to roughly $10/lb.; exorbitant by Indian standards, but more than fair for monster prawn at the Safeway seafood counter.
And soon after, we were back on the boat. We took some pix of everyone holding the catch. I didn't wait long to remind them, "I thought we were going to a toddy shop". Moncy and Captain got into a conversation. I asked if it goes well with prawn. They and Vijay all thought it would be good, and that we wouldn't end up with elephant tranquilizer. They sorted out a place a little further downstream, and across the canal from Champakulam, and off we went.
As we pushed off from shore, we passed a fleet of houseboats heading in, all of them of the three of four bedroom variety, with satellite TV, and a smattering of silver-haired passengers on deck. "Package tour", Captain said. And the shopkeepers outside the church rejoiced.
Finally, a few hundred meters later, we hitched up outside a little tile-roofed hut, painted white, but dingy with the mildew that quickly takes over any wall in these parts, and with a patina of fingersmudges along the doorjambs, from all the men who work in the mud and come here to cut loose. Inside was dark and basic -- a few small rooms, each with a bare table and benches; and the backside, where I could hear a ladle dipping repeatedly into a reservoir of some sort.
I walked in with Moncy and let him do the talking, of course. Then, Deb popped in behind, which had me a little nervous, as this was unmistakably a man's abode, and there was every likelihood I may have to fight for her honor. But other than relentless staring, of which I was served plenty myself, she escaped unscathed.
The barkeep poured a sample for us into a glass, sloppily rinsed in questionable water, and I thought, well, here's the dysentery I've been looking for. We've gone the entire trip without evidence of food borne illness thus far. I'm sure to have asked for it now. Deb & I each had a sip, and passed the glass over to Moncy, who cleverly poured it into his mouth without lip touching rim -- why didn't I think of that?!
Thumbs up all around, on the taste. I was surprised to find it tasted exactly as it should: a little like coconut juice, and a little like home-made hard cider. It was a thin, milky color. We approved the purchase and indicated to Moncy it was for the five of us. He put in the order.
Deb and I sat at a bench, and almost immediately, a man leaned across the table and leered, about an inch and a half from my nose. It took him some time to speak, which he did slowly, in hushed tones.
"Where... from?"
We've taken to answering this question, "California". No one has heard of San Francisco, and we're not in the biggest rush to say "USA". But everyone, even this guy, glows, as they repeat, "Cal-ee-fornia!" It occupies a golden place in the imagination, all over the world.
"What isss... your name, sir?"
"Damon. And yours?"
Pause.
"What is your name?
Pause.
"Dee Dee.... What isss... your work?"
"I'm a sign writer. How about you? What do you do?"
"Rice!"
He got a little animated at this point. It was clear he had a lot of strong feelings about the rice, and seemed to be calling out to the rest of the bar to get his back on this one. I was glad when Moncy turned around with a 1 liter plastic water bottle refilled with toddy, and we retreated. I got no beef with the rice farmers. I know they're having a hard go of it in Kerala these days. Still, we saw a lot of lush, ripe rice paddies, and we passed a couple of rice cutting machines riding out toward the farms, each straddling a pair of canoes. Nonetheless, our host, Alice, back in Alleppey, says they're getting all their household rice nowadays from Andhra Pradesh. It could drive a local rice man to toddy. And has.
We cruised another hour or so before tying up for the night. Deb and I went for a walk along the canal, as we did the night before, while Vijay prepared dinner. That first night's hitching post was very bucolic. We just ambled along the narrow spit of land that serves as a dike between the canals and rice paddies and lakes. Every so often, there's a little knuckle in the dike, and a small hut, with some people, and a few animals. Sometimes, beyond the hut, there's a coconut farm, or a fish farm. Somewhere in the unseen distance, a Hindu temple had taken on the task of public radio address. Until about 8:30pm we were serenaded by Tamil or Malayalam pop tunes that echoed across the canals, and even, at times, seemed to be picked up and rebroadcast further down. The location kept changing, but always kept its haunting reverberant quality. For some time, a woman in the nearest hut was chanting some other music concurrently; and briefly, across the canal, a drum troupe started up. So, it was a bit of a chaotic soundtrack to our candle-lit dinner, but it all let up for the frogs and crickets by bedtime.
The second night, we were closer to a village, which oddly enough, was quieter. I imagine everyone in town has a TV or radio, and doesn't need their entertainment blasted across the paddies.
Vijay roasted and skewered our prawns, and served them with another helping of karimeen, some carrot/coconut slaw, a cheesy potato curry, some boiled veg, a spicy stew, fried bread, okra curry, and Keralan rice. About as many courses as all our meals have been, each day on the boat.
Oh, yes: and a mug full of toddy. We all had a glass and toasted our terrific crew and enjoyed our final night on the kettuvallam.
We pulled over to shore after a couple hours cruising on our first day so Moncy, our engineer, could stock up on paan to chew on. When he returned from his errand, I said, "Oh, I thought maybe we were at a kallishoppu..." Moncy's face lit up.
"Toddy?! You want toddy??" He and Cap'n Thomas had a short conversation in Malayalam, then nothing more was said about it by anyone.
The next day we stopped at a fish market to pick up some karimeen ("black fish") for lunch. Back on the boat again, I asked whether karimeen would taste good with toddy. Yes, they said, it would, and then there was some questioning to discern whether or not I really wanted it. I made clear that I didn't want the sort laced with elephant tranquilizer, but that otherwise, yes.
At some point further along the river, we passed the 500 year old church at Champakulam. Moncy pointed into the village nearby and said "toddy shop". We tied up and disembarked. I was getting excited. After some shuffling, it looked like the Captain would take us over to the shop. I gestured toward Deb and asked if it was alright for her to come, too, "Will she be safe?" Oh, yes, we were assured. So, we crossed a small footbridge, and headed through a row of commercial stalls along the canal. A few shopkeepers came out to lure us into theirs, "come in, just looking?", but we pressed on. Eventually, we came to the church, an impressive structure; a whole complex, in fact, of schools & plazas & auditoria. I read that the church itself was built in 1579 by the Portuguese, on the site of one of seven chapels in Kerala supposedly established by Doubting Thomas the Apostle. The Captain crossed himself and entered. He knelt in front of the altar. Deb and I glanced at one another and knelt behind him. I was wondering if he was taking us here to repent of the sin of wanting some toddy. Raising my head as if to do so (or in exasperation?), my gaze met a ceiling covered with iconography, all sorts of colorful gilded scenes, some recognizable, some not. Above the center of the room, someone (presumably Christ) stood in the middle of a row of six man-sized candles, wielding a sword in one hand and juggling seven stars with the other. It was kinda like drinking toddy, perhaps -- I could only guess. I plugged a few rupees into the charity box, we snapped some pix and left. Outside, by a 25 foot tall concrete mound, moulded and painted to resemble a stone "grotto", with a statue of Mary in a glass cabinet on its face, Captain ran into an old Sunday school teacher of his. They had a chat while Deb & I inspected a nearby sculpture under a pavilion, of a large dinghy, donated by some charitable organization according to an adjacent plaque, and currently being filled to the rim with water by a long hose snaking over from the church. We left whatever questions it raises in the air.
Captain led us back down the row of shops, and this time seemed more inclined to coax us into one. We passed on offers of a shirt or two, a cookbook, some sculptures, a coffee-table volume on the beauties of the backwaters. Eventually we came to a place that seemed a little less tourist oriented -- at least there was no merchandise on display -- and I thought for sure we're now at the toddy shop. But the shopkeep brought out a couple of enormous freshwater prawns.
Vijay, our cook, had been talking about these the day before, calling them "exporting quality", but I kept hearing "sporting quality", which I couldn't decipher. I pictured a man with a rod on the back of a yacht, raving about the fight that last prawn gave him before it broke the line. Anyway, I don't think I'd ever seen a prawn with claws before, but the largest of these had arms about a foot and a half long, with pincers at the end. Not a lot of meat on the claw, but the rest of it looked enough like a lobster. Even a spiny ridge between its eyes.
We got five, for us and the crew. I asked how much, and he said Rs1000, at which I should have balked and haggled, but didn't. I'm guessing this came out to roughly $10/lb.; exorbitant by Indian standards, but more than fair for monster prawn at the Safeway seafood counter.
And soon after, we were back on the boat. We took some pix of everyone holding the catch. I didn't wait long to remind them, "I thought we were going to a toddy shop". Moncy and Captain got into a conversation. I asked if it goes well with prawn. They and Vijay all thought it would be good, and that we wouldn't end up with elephant tranquilizer. They sorted out a place a little further downstream, and across the canal from Champakulam, and off we went.
As we pushed off from shore, we passed a fleet of houseboats heading in, all of them of the three of four bedroom variety, with satellite TV, and a smattering of silver-haired passengers on deck. "Package tour", Captain said. And the shopkeepers outside the church rejoiced.
Finally, a few hundred meters later, we hitched up outside a little tile-roofed hut, painted white, but dingy with the mildew that quickly takes over any wall in these parts, and with a patina of fingersmudges along the doorjambs, from all the men who work in the mud and come here to cut loose. Inside was dark and basic -- a few small rooms, each with a bare table and benches; and the backside, where I could hear a ladle dipping repeatedly into a reservoir of some sort.
I walked in with Moncy and let him do the talking, of course. Then, Deb popped in behind, which had me a little nervous, as this was unmistakably a man's abode, and there was every likelihood I may have to fight for her honor. But other than relentless staring, of which I was served plenty myself, she escaped unscathed.
The barkeep poured a sample for us into a glass, sloppily rinsed in questionable water, and I thought, well, here's the dysentery I've been looking for. We've gone the entire trip without evidence of food borne illness thus far. I'm sure to have asked for it now. Deb & I each had a sip, and passed the glass over to Moncy, who cleverly poured it into his mouth without lip touching rim -- why didn't I think of that?!
Thumbs up all around, on the taste. I was surprised to find it tasted exactly as it should: a little like coconut juice, and a little like home-made hard cider. It was a thin, milky color. We approved the purchase and indicated to Moncy it was for the five of us. He put in the order.
Deb and I sat at a bench, and almost immediately, a man leaned across the table and leered, about an inch and a half from my nose. It took him some time to speak, which he did slowly, in hushed tones.
"Where... from?"
We've taken to answering this question, "California". No one has heard of San Francisco, and we're not in the biggest rush to say "USA". But everyone, even this guy, glows, as they repeat, "Cal-ee-fornia!" It occupies a golden place in the imagination, all over the world.
"What isss... your name, sir?"
"Damon. And yours?"
Pause.
"What is your name?
Pause.
"Dee Dee.... What isss... your work?"
"I'm a sign writer. How about you? What do you do?"
"Rice!"
He got a little animated at this point. It was clear he had a lot of strong feelings about the rice, and seemed to be calling out to the rest of the bar to get his back on this one. I was glad when Moncy turned around with a 1 liter plastic water bottle refilled with toddy, and we retreated. I got no beef with the rice farmers. I know they're having a hard go of it in Kerala these days. Still, we saw a lot of lush, ripe rice paddies, and we passed a couple of rice cutting machines riding out toward the farms, each straddling a pair of canoes. Nonetheless, our host, Alice, back in Alleppey, says they're getting all their household rice nowadays from Andhra Pradesh. It could drive a local rice man to toddy. And has.
We cruised another hour or so before tying up for the night. Deb and I went for a walk along the canal, as we did the night before, while Vijay prepared dinner. That first night's hitching post was very bucolic. We just ambled along the narrow spit of land that serves as a dike between the canals and rice paddies and lakes. Every so often, there's a little knuckle in the dike, and a small hut, with some people, and a few animals. Sometimes, beyond the hut, there's a coconut farm, or a fish farm. Somewhere in the unseen distance, a Hindu temple had taken on the task of public radio address. Until about 8:30pm we were serenaded by Tamil or Malayalam pop tunes that echoed across the canals, and even, at times, seemed to be picked up and rebroadcast further down. The location kept changing, but always kept its haunting reverberant quality. For some time, a woman in the nearest hut was chanting some other music concurrently; and briefly, across the canal, a drum troupe started up. So, it was a bit of a chaotic soundtrack to our candle-lit dinner, but it all let up for the frogs and crickets by bedtime.
The second night, we were closer to a village, which oddly enough, was quieter. I imagine everyone in town has a TV or radio, and doesn't need their entertainment blasted across the paddies.
Vijay roasted and skewered our prawns, and served them with another helping of karimeen, some carrot/coconut slaw, a cheesy potato curry, some boiled veg, a spicy stew, fried bread, okra curry, and Keralan rice. About as many courses as all our meals have been, each day on the boat.
Oh, yes: and a mug full of toddy. We all had a glass and toasted our terrific crew and enjoyed our final night on the kettuvallam.
Friday, March 7, 2008
On to Alleppey
Things are looking much brighter on the houseboat front since our arrival in Alleppey this afternoon. Chicku, our host in Varkala, called ahead to her friend, Alice, who rents out rooms in her large colonial home in a quiet western residential area of this "Venice of the East". Alice had a man, Chaco, meet us at the rail station, and now we're staying in her beautiful house -- but shortly after we got in, Chaco set us up with an air conditioned houseboat at Rs 6000/night, sailing tomorrow. We booked two nights. And Alice has already called ahead to a friend in Kottayam, our next stop on the road to Periyar Wildlife Refuge. She also has friends with whom we can stay in Periyar; and then in Munnar, high among the tea plantations; and in Cochin, from where we're flying home. So, a lot of planning has taken care of itself in the last two hours. We went into Alleppey for a thali lunch, and to an ATM to pay the next installment on the Honeymoon. We're taking a chance by not having inspected the boat before booking, so we'll see how I feel reporting back in a few days, but if it's anywhere near as comfortable as their home, it bodes well for the rest of our accommodations on the trip. We've been graced with some excellent inexpensive rooms. We've had only one off night, when Chicku had a full house of RSVPs that squeezed us out one night. She sent us to a nearby spot, Bamboo Haven. I guess the manager is a friend of hers, but I had to tell her it was not a place worth recommending, or associating oneself with. It was infested with ants, and had no protection from mosquitoes. I asked 4 times during the day for a mosquito net, and each time was assured they'd put one up soon. When it came time in the evening to close the windows, the ceiling fan began pushing increasingly hot air around and became quickly unbearable. I went back to the office, and instead of providing the net, the guy upsold us to air conditioning for Rs 300 more. When we came back from dinner and cranked up the air con, we found we were sharing the space with two gigantic wolf spiders. Non-toxic, maybe, in the sense of venom, but extremely toxic to comfort and relaxation. Anyway, long story short, we were glad to find the next morning, that Chicku's RSVPs had bailed and she had rooms available again.
We've gained, in the past week, great appreciation for the miracles of velcro and plastic fly screens, in halting the advance of disease-spreading pests, and for the miracle of the ceiling fan. Air conditioning has really proven unnecessary in a room with a fan and open windows. I'm sure, however, we'll be grateful for it after a day lounging on the deck in the sun. Oh, that reminds me: we need to get more sunscreen...
We've gained, in the past week, great appreciation for the miracles of velcro and plastic fly screens, in halting the advance of disease-spreading pests, and for the miracle of the ceiling fan. Air conditioning has really proven unnecessary in a room with a fan and open windows. I'm sure, however, we'll be grateful for it after a day lounging on the deck in the sun. Oh, that reminds me: we need to get more sunscreen...
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Posting photos
After 2 hours yesterday, and another half hour or so today, I've only managed to post 4 photos of fishermen to one of the posts below. The pix come off the camera easily and onto a folder on the desktop, but it takes forever to upload to Blogger, so I don't know if I'm gonna try again on this trip. I think we'll just start throwing 'em up on Flickr after we get back, and maybe retroactively illustrate the blog then.
You can see our Flickr set from Laos 2 years ago here, if you like.
It looks like we may leave Varkala tomorrow morning and head for Alleppey. We've been talked out of trying to rent a houseboat from Kollam for the journey to Alleppey, and instead to take a train there, then tool around the canals of the immediate area by boat from there. It also seems very difficult to get a houseboat for longer than a single night. The impression I'm being given is that a lot of locals have been coming back from temp jobs in the Persian Gulf, construction in the Emirates; and besides building enormous McMansions here (of which we hope to post a photo or two), they have been renting up all the houseboats without the faintest quibble over price. Thus, they're exorbitant, even in the off season, or so we're told. We've yet to actually meet anyone who's been on one.
Something you might do with Persian Gulf money.Monday, March 3, 2008
Odds & Ends
The breakfast nook at Villa AnamikaAll the fishing boats out across the Arabian Sea, invisible all day, light up the horizon like cities on the opposite shore at night. You can almost see hills rising behind them (there are no hills -- the opposite shore from here, I think, might be Somalia or Kenya... you can't see it, anyway).
A mongoose scampered like a long, sleek squirrel across the garden at breakfast yesterday.
We brought a purifier for emergencies, but most of our water comes from plastic bottles, of which there are dozens of brands, all named to express some kind of purity and preciousness. Favorite brand so far: Golden Stream
FYI: I've changed the default settings on here so that anyone can comment -- you needn't have a Google account or anything.
--Damon
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Here I am...
Yesterday was one of those moments where I had to ask myself, how did I get here? Damon and I decided to have a Ayurvedic Treatment. We didn't really know what to expect but I figured these places are all around Varkala, what the hell. So we went the center and talked to the doctor. Damon talked mostly about his broken arm and having a scratchy throat, and me, I wanted to relax and I mentioned my hurt tail bone. So what, you ask, is an Ayurveda Treatment? Here it goes.
We were sent off into two separate rooms. When I walked in I was greeted by two really sweet girls that immediately told me to strip. "All of it?" Yes they say. No bra, no underwear, just a little teeny strip of cloth tied between my legs. So there I am totally naked with strangers and they tell me to sit while they pour hot oil down my back. One of the starts to rub my back in a circular fashion. I think to draw out all my impurities. They pour hot oil on my head and give me a head rub pulling and tugging at my hair. Very invigorating. This is all well and good. After this they point to the bed. I'm a bit more nervous now.
Now I am a open minded person but being completely naked with strangers is a bit bizarre. I lay on my stomach. They are looking at places that even I never see. Then the dance began. They girls were amazing. Again I was rubbed down hot oil and the both in rhythm did the circular rub down of my body. They started on the back then between the butt cheeks and down the legs. Over and over again. It is very quick and they use sweeping motions. Weirdly enough, I am relaxed. Then I am flipped over where the put on more hot oil rub down my boobs down the stomach and down the legs. All why they are asking me. "How old are you?", "Do you have a job?", and " Do you have husband?" Which was wonderful to answer with a yes.
The last bit was sticking a boiling hot wrap between my butt cheeks and on my tail bone. It was shockingly hot. But like all of this I took it and smiled.
When the treatment was over(about 1.5 hour) I was brought in the bathroom where I was soaped up and bathed. It was kind if a reminder of being a child. Very sweet and loving.
As strange as all of it was I was happy I did it. There is just something so wonderful about forcing yourself to go beyond what you know. A true spiritual happening... Something that I expect to have happen many a time on this India adventure.
Debbie
We were sent off into two separate rooms. When I walked in I was greeted by two really sweet girls that immediately told me to strip. "All of it?" Yes they say. No bra, no underwear, just a little teeny strip of cloth tied between my legs. So there I am totally naked with strangers and they tell me to sit while they pour hot oil down my back. One of the starts to rub my back in a circular fashion. I think to draw out all my impurities. They pour hot oil on my head and give me a head rub pulling and tugging at my hair. Very invigorating. This is all well and good. After this they point to the bed. I'm a bit more nervous now.
Now I am a open minded person but being completely naked with strangers is a bit bizarre. I lay on my stomach. They are looking at places that even I never see. Then the dance began. They girls were amazing. Again I was rubbed down hot oil and the both in rhythm did the circular rub down of my body. They started on the back then between the butt cheeks and down the legs. Over and over again. It is very quick and they use sweeping motions. Weirdly enough, I am relaxed. Then I am flipped over where the put on more hot oil rub down my boobs down the stomach and down the legs. All why they are asking me. "How old are you?", "Do you have a job?", and " Do you have husband?" Which was wonderful to answer with a yes.
The last bit was sticking a boiling hot wrap between my butt cheeks and on my tail bone. It was shockingly hot. But like all of this I took it and smiled.
When the treatment was over(about 1.5 hour) I was brought in the bathroom where I was soaped up and bathed. It was kind if a reminder of being a child. Very sweet and loving.
As strange as all of it was I was happy I did it. There is just something so wonderful about forcing yourself to go beyond what you know. A true spiritual happening... Something that I expect to have happen many a time on this India adventure.
Debbie
The water in Kerala, nearly as light as the air
It's a good thing I'm not here to surf: the waves have next to no substance. They stand up close to the shore and form beautiful tubes, 3 to 6 feet high, that collapse on themselves in the next 10 yards, and dissipate to ripples soon after. The shoulders have no girth. Even if they crash on your head, they pass through you almost like ghosts. It helps that the water is nearly body temperature. It might make a good sensory deprivation chamber, except it looks so beautiful all around, you don't really want to close your eyes much.
We're in Varkala, a little backpacker haven, that's currently holding the mantle of budget beach paradise in these parts. There's a thicket of huts and hotels and giftshops arrayed along a mile or so of red cliffs with a few steps cut into the face leading down to the beach. The atmosphere here reminds me a lot of Ko Tao in the Gulf of Thailand, and the way Vang Vieng, in central Laos has developed over the last decade: similar bars, similar food options similarly mis-spelled on the menus, similar bamboo huts to stay in, and all delightful, relaxing, delicious.
I've been having trouble getting up the interest and energy for writing, of for much of anything these last couple of days. The heat & humidity may not be quite as oppressive as anticipated, but something no Wal-Borne or Zenergize Immunity drink could prevent has crept down my throat and settled in a gloppy puddle in my chest. And I'm not sure, but I think, back in Trivandrum on day 2, when a canvas lounge I was reclining in ripped and collapsed, I jolted something loose in my broken arm. It's been slightly more swollen and achey than in the previous couple of weeks. I just noticed that I'm able to pull off my wedding band. It's been trapped (trapped I tell you!) behind my swollen knuckles for most of the week, so I must be on the mend. Maybe I should credit that to yesterday's hot oily double-team rub down... oh, I haven't mentioned anything about that. Deb and I got ayurvedic massages yesterday. I'll get her to post something about it. Suffice it here to say I'm not sure if or when I'd choose again to let 2 men strip me down and rub hot oil all over me -- prob'ly no time soon -- but then again, given today's improvement in my arm situation... what happens in Varkala, stays in Varkala.
For dinner last night, we had a couple of fat yellow fin tuna steaks carved from the side of a fish & tandoori roasted. The day's catch is arrayed on a metal tray in front of every third restaurant along the clifftop here. Marlin are the showpiece, often with a tomato jabbed onto the end of their sword, and there's usually a basin full of squid, some barracuda, lots of smaller fish that get roasted whole; and each of the last two nights, one restaurant has had a fat tuna. So, last night, we sought it out. We got too much, and couldn't finish, but what we had was delish. I was too beat afterward to do much but head to bed, so we missed the Bollywood dance party at another place further along the strip. I may be at the age now where I can only take in one of those a month.
This morning we had masala dosa at the place we're staying, Villa Anamika. It's a home-turned-guesthouse, run by an Indian woman, Chicku, who has been a wonderful host; and her German husband, who we haven't seen. Chicku spends much of her day oil painting, in a vaguely post-impressionist style. Her paintings are in all the rooms. When we got here, she was working on a Demoiselles d'Avignon-looking picture of some local cleaning women. Today she's painting a scene of the Ponte Vecchio. She's full of gossip about the nearby shopkeepers, and advice about where to get massaged and where to shop for clothes. We had breakfast with another guest, Sumithra (aka Sue), a woman from Bangalore who did most of the talking. She's the last of 7 kids; hasn't seen much of India outside Bangalore and Mumbai; has been to San Francisco; drove to the Grand Canyon and back from there, and flew to NY and Disneyworld with her kids who are now Ph.D.s; doesn't read the newspapers (too depressing); not fond of all the modernizing/westernizing going on in Bangalore; is on vacation in Kerala alone awaiting details from her doctor after some harrowing medical news. We bumped into her later in the day and she gave Deb an anklet and a charm necklace of (we think) Shiva & Parvati, in honor of our first weekiversary.After breakfast, we asked Chicku where I might find some cough syrup, and she had the cook brew me up what she said was a good remedy he makes, of coffee with ginger and other spices. I felt much looser in the chest soon after, enough so that I felt like putting my recovery to the test with a splash in the sea. I'm glad to say the sea went pretty easy on me.
UPDATE: Not so easy -- we didn't re-apply enough sunscreen, and we're red as lobsters now. Looks like we'll be relaxing in the shade for a few days.
--Damon
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