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.

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...

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.

Oh, no -- that's right: there were those two retirees in Trivandrum, celebrating their 30th anniversary. They said we must go for air conditioning; at night, the windows are closed to keep out the mozzies, and all a fan does is push around hot air. For air con, we should expect Rs14,000 - 22,000 for a 22 hour trip, I'm told. Although, some rudimentary research online just now suggests there are options available at half that. I dunno, we'll soon see. I can feel the "centerpiece" of our trip moving slightly uphill, to the wildlife preserves in the Western Ghats, perhaps. Or maybe we're in it right now! My sunburn is pretty well healed -- I think I'll head back to the beach this afternoon, take a dip in the waves, and watch the yoga people do their synchronized salutations to the sunset... from the right angle, that could be the picture of Kerala that stays with me. I don't think so, though. We've got a lot of winners already. I just wish I could post a few more.

Odds & Ends

The breakfast nook at Villa Anamika

A few small things I wanted to note before I forget:

All 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

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

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

Oh yeah, this is why we're in south India...

9:30 am, Puthanthope, outside Trivandrum -- What I'd thought were gulls turned out to be crows, hanging around to pick stray fish from the nets the locals are pulling from the sea. They've been at it since first light. I don't know if they'll keep at it all day, but each net requires a few dozen men tugging on both ends to retrieve the loop from where a big wooden dinghy has towed it out. Most of what they end up with are little sardines. There are some squid and some bigger fish. Pomfret. Once they dump the net on the beach and consolidate the bounty, apparently they auction it off to the women who've assembled with tin basins to collect them. But we haven't seen that yet. We went in for breakfast after the haul out. One of the other couples here, some retirees from England, told us about the auction when they came to the dining room. It's not so long into day one, and I'm beginning to appreciate why we're in southern India: I'm writing from a hammock strung between 2 coconut palms in a tropical oasis, and all the wacky, inscrutable mystery and history of India is just outside the gate. On one side, a horde of dark men in dhotis are pulling fish from the sea, and inland, there are a half dozen churches between here and the airport sporting illuminated sculptures out front, of Christian saints in all the colors & accoutrements of the Hindu pantheon.

I'm nodding off. As little sleep as I got last night (and in the past week), there's nowhere I need to be today, and I think I'll catch up on the deficit rather soon. I'm on vacation!!!

So, here we are. Turns out we came up with a few things to do today. We rode a rickshaw into the city to shop for odds and ends and try out a restaurant who's thali lunch had been raved about. We discovered that ATMs dispense rupees as easily here as they dispense dollars at home. We learned that we've chosen a very quiet (except for the crows), idyllic, remote guesthouse to kick off our stay here. We're pretty happy so far.

Damon snoozes as the sun rises over Singapore

The flight out was uneventful. I watched four movies trying to force myself into the Indian time zone sleep pattern, not altogether successfully: Atonement, Michael Clayton, 3:10 to Yuma, and Gone Baby Gone. I started to watch Ratatouille, but it didn't grab my interest before sleep did. The rest of the movies were quite good. Except for Atonement: it had its moments of cinematic grace, and an appealing habit of repeating scenes from differing points of view, but overall, didn't feature very compelling characters or performances, and relied too heavily on typewriter percussion to pound into our heads that "ALL THIS IS BEING WRITTEN DOWN!" Whatever. Dunno what all the fuss is about. But Casey Affleck rocks, and brother Ben crafted a fine complex morality tale in Gone Baby Gone. I nodded off too much during Michael Clayton to make sense of what was driving the decisions the various characters made. I guess it all worked out for Clooney in the end, in that he didn't get blowed up, so we're happy. And the bad guys got busted. There was a lot of extra business about a kid's fantasy book, a failed restaurant, and a gambling habit, that, I guess, established that Clooney likes to play the odds, and Wilkinson's fantasy life is charming and childlike in its innocence. Well played, but all these people are living in some kind of high-stakes fantasy world that doesn't resonate much with my own. 3:10 to Yuma was a hard, cold western, well made, well played, with lots of bad asses, and their classic bad ass moments in the sun. But those characters resonated about as much with me as Michael Clayton's, i.e. not much. But they were both solid entertainments. Is that, maybe, all I need to understand?

Singapore was cloudy, and thus about 20 degrees cooler than expected, but still muggy. We went to Pivdofr restaurant, on which I'd painted a mural eight years ago. Unfortunately, it was in the process of becoming a Korean BBQ. I got pictures of what little of my mural remained. We started to walk toward Little India, but thirst and hunger got the better of me, and we sat for lunch in an A/C sit-down restaurant, rather than delving straight into the questionable street food before we'd even set foot in India. Instead, we spent the rest of the afternoon milling through assorted malls, which, in my view, epitomizes Singapore. Everywhere, there is a mall, and there is a new one on the way. In between are lots of orchids and gardened landscapes.

We flew into Trivandrum at about 9:30 last night. I was struck first by how it differed from flying into Calcutta ten years ago, the last time I came to India. Everywhere, this time, there were little galaxies of light on the ground, and pinpoint trails between them; even the geometric grids of parking lots laid out in light -- in short, everything you'd expect to see flying in to any city at night. Ten years ago, outside Calcutta, there was an occasional bonfire breaking up the black. In Trivandrum, we deplaned onto the tarmac and boarded busses to the terminal. In Calcutta, we'd deplaned onto the tarmac and started a footrace. Both times, we'd had a 20-30 minute taxi ride to our destination. This time, we'd called ahead and had a man waiting, with our names on a sign. Back then, we'd waded through a phalanx of taxi touts, to get picked up by a one-armed man who smoked as he drove. The rides on both occasions were similar, except this time we were heading progressively more rural, down well lit roads. Ten years ago, the roads leading into one of the largest urban agglomerations of the day were unlit at night, and the driver didn't even use his own headlights, preferring the horn instead. I suspect some of the differences are due to the changes in India's finance in the past decade, others due to the differences between north and south here. One thing I do know is, ten years ago, I missed whatever palm lined beaches they have up north.

--Damon