April 11, Frankfurt Airport
I’m sitting here alone in the Frankfurt airport waiting for my flight to Chicago and it’s finally occuring to me that this is over. When I decided to take this trip, two months seemed like such a long time, but it has passed in the blink of an eye. When I boarded the plane in Bangalore this morning it was as if I had just arrived. I’m feeling a lot of different emotions; sadness that my time in India is gone, gratitude for all I’ve experienced and learned, longing for the places and people I so desperately miss – on both sides of the ocean, anticipation of the great unknown that lies at the end of this journey, excitement at the thought of seeing all of my family, friends and collegues; but mostly a nagging worry that they way I feel right now is fleeting. I’ve gained so much through this adventure and come to a lot of profound and not-so-profound realizations and I don’t want them to be erased by the mundane, day-to-day things that make up my normal life. I hope I can hold onto the sense of wonder I feel; to the openess and fullness of my heart; to the deep appreciation I’ve come to have for this earth. I know that these experiences are mine always and no one can take them away from me, but it is natural for life to slowly slough away the newness and tangibility of what right now seems to be my whole world.
I pray that I remember. I want to remember the feeling of Yesashwini taking my hand and telling me how much she will miss me. I want to remember the wind rushing through my hair as I gaze out onto the Indian countryside whooshing by out the window of an early morning train. I want to remember how exhilarating it is to have a monkey take a banana out of my hand and to watch him eat it. I want to remember how proud I felt, watching my students brilliantly perform something we created together. I want to remember the feel of the Indian Ocean washing over me as I lay in the sand, looking up at the clear blue sky. I want to remember the feeling of peace and anticipation I had every day when I started up the path to begin my day at Shanti Bhavan. I want to remember the joy it brought me to sing with and for the students. I want to remember how much we laughed, trying to fit eight people – new friends – into a tiny rickshaw for a ride through the crazy, death-defying streets. I want to remember the feeling of being crushed uder the weight of twenty-five children, all trying their hardest to hug and kiss me and give me their love. I want to remember how amazing it was to find something as simple as a hot shower or a comfortable mattress. I want to remember how little we actually need in this life to be perfectly, blissfully happy; a bit of food, a safe place to sleep, a companion to share a laugh with…
I hope I remember.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Row, row, row your boat...
April 8, Chennamkary
I have two new friends and roommates! Let’s rewind a bit. As soon as I saw the porch, I threw my bags to the ground and plunked my sweaty, barely breathing butt down on a chair to catch my breath. The two girls sitting there laughed at my total state of disarray and gave me a couple of minutes to rest before introducing themselves. They are both named Julia and they were both wearing the same shirt. They are also both German medical students (what is with all the Germans?) who just completed a month long internship in Vellore and had bookended their stay there with travel. They helped me bring my bags into the house where I met Lolly, the wife of the owner of the homestay. She was very pretty, about my age, and dressed in a red muumuu. She told me her husband was asleep, but assured me there were rooms available. I didn’t want to disturb Thomas, so the Julias let me put my stuff in their room and we went out for a little walk before tea. The backwater region of Kerala is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but I guess you can sort of equate it to Venice or the bayou in Louisiana. People live and work and farm on small, mostly man-made islands (of course they were man-made a few centuries ago, so they seem pretty natural now) that sit in the middle of winding canals and open stretches of river that lie below the level of the Arabian Sea. Inland of many of the islands are rice paddies that provide the major source or employment and revenue for the people living there. It’s a fascinating way of life and I got a small taste of it as we walked along the tiny dirt path between the houses and the water. It was late afternoon, so lots of people were out, having their afternoon bath in the river, washing clothes, and just playing. All of the children in the village came out and demanded photos of themselves and we had fun talking to them and their mothers. We had to turn around pretty soon, as teatime was approaching and I was starving. Lolly makes her chai with lots of cardamom and ginger and it is absolutely delicious. We had a few cups and some cookies and Thomas came out from his nap and introduced himself. The Lonely Planet book described him as being “erudite and helpful” and I can’t think of a better description for him. He is small and attractive with glasses and a beard. He speaks perfect English, although he seemed to have a bit of trouble understanding me sometimes – maybe I talk too fast. Side note – Kerala has a 97% literacy rate throughout the state… thank you Christian missionaries. Thomas told us later though that the increasing amount of extremely educated people is leading to a decrease in the numbers of people who want to do the essential jobs of farming, mud-digging, and other manual labor that keep the way of life in the backwaters intact. It’s an interesting social problem to have. But I digress…
While we all had tea, Thomas asked us about our plans and suggested a few activities for the evening and tomorrow. He arranged a sunset canoe trip through the canals for us and a guided walk around the island for the early morning. After we finished our chai, he gave me the key to my room and we went out to the canoe that was conveniently parked right in front of the house. The three of us were seated, rather luxuriously, I thought, in our own little wooden chairs in the canoe. We had two local men as rowers (we weren’t to pay them directly , Thomas instructed, because one of them had a drinking problem, so the money was to be given to his wife). The trip was so peaceful and beautiful. All of the huge commercial houseboats that usually fill the waterways were docked for the evening, so we had an open canal to drift around on and enjoy. The Julias and I talked and got to know each other and I knew right away that I really liked them. I have been running a little low on rupees, and this homestay is the most expensive place I will have stayed in India, and I noticed earlier that they had three beds in their room. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I half-jokingly suggested that the three of us share their room and cut the price way down for all of us. They discussed in German for a few minutes and said yes! I was so relieved and I also think it will be nice to have some company at night.
After a couple of hours, we returned home for dinner. What delicious food we ate! Thomas’s mother cooks and she is really good. We had – brace yourselves – vegetable curry, but this one was rich with all kinds of veggies and not too spicy, a cucumber and tomato salad with cilantro and herbs (yummy!), and poori, which is a fried poufy bread that is indescribable. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the shower. While I waited for my turn, I played with Anne and Anina, the two scrumptious daughters of Thomas and Lolly. We did a little dancing, a little singing, and some hand-clap games. We had so much fun! They are just the cutest little girls, Anne is six and Anina is four. You can tell that they are used to new people because they warm up to you right away. I think we are going to be good friends… they remind me of the first graders at Shanti Bhavan. After about a half hour, Anne climbed up onto my lap and whispered “I like you.” What a darling! After that, I got into the warm shower to clean off my disgustingness and now I’m sitting here practically falling asleep. I can’t wait to see more of this captivating place tomorrow.
April 9, Chennamkary
I woke up this morning in a panic. Where is my cell phone? I remembered putting into my pocket during my trudge up to the house, but I didn’t remember seeing it after that. It was about 6:30 and we were supposed to leave on our morning walk at 7:15, so I jumped out of bed and went out to retrace my steps back to the ferry dock to see if my phone was still there. My phone is pink, with a pink and white striped case, so I knew that it would be pretty easy to find if it was lying on the path. I didn’t see it, but I did come across bunches of neighbors out at the water’s edge doing their morning bathing and washing. I guess a white girl walking around staring at the ground is a fairly conspicuous sight in such a tiny village, so, of course, they all got involved in the search. I did my best to convey that I had lost a pink mobile and they did their best to assure me that if it was located, they would bring it to Thomas’ house. I guess because of the steady stream of mostly Western guests, Thomas is something of a local celebrity and everyone knows who he is and where he lives. I gave up after a few more minutes and went back to the homestay to have my morning tea. At tea, I told Thomas of my loss and he agreed to spread the word to the rest of the village and try to start a little grassroots effort to find my phone, but he suggested that I check my bags again to make sure it wasn’t there… it was. I don’t know how I missed it, but there it was, pink and reassuring in the small pocket of my backpack. I must have put it there on my walk and forgotten about it in my exhaustion. Yay!
We began our walk around the little island and Thomas told us all about the fascinating history of the backwaters, showed us local plants, took us to the rice paddy that his family owns and farms, and basically introduced us to all a typical backwaters village has to offer. Instead of eating breakfast at his family’s home, we stopped about three-quarters of the way through our tour to eat at the home of a local family that also lets out rooms for visitors. Thomas had arranged a very nice breakfast for us – duck eggs, curry, rice pancakes, tea, and cardamom cake. It was way more than we could eat, but the food was good and the husband and wife who owned the house were very gracious. On the way back, we met one of Thomas’ friends who is a toddy tapper. I think I may have talked about toddy in my entry from Munnar, but if I didn’t, toddy is a locally made spirit that comes from palm trees. Men climb up the tree and tap one of the flower shoots (this is a very loose description of this – I’m still not totally clear on how it happens). I think this involves beating the shoot of an immature flower with some sort of bone and then somehow the sap begins to flow out of the tree through the shoot and into a jug that the toddy tapper places underneath it… The morning toddy is supposed to be the sweetest and best and then it continues to ferment throughout the day. In the morning it has about the same alcohol content as beer, and by evening it has as much as wine. I tried some of the evening toddy in Munnar and I can say with complete confidence that you have to be desperate to drink that stuff. It’s thick and has a really weird, musty smell and the taste is not much better. I thought maybe the morning toddy would be better, but I tried a little that had just been taken down from the tree and it was still barely tolerable. I guess it’s an acquired taste.
The day had gotten extremely hot and humid by the end of our walk and so we were grateful to have the chance to go home, shower, and lay down for a bit. While we were lounging, people kept coming by the house to ask Thomas if I had found my phone. He hadn’t even put the word out, but those few people I met in the morning had, and the news spread like wildfire around the small town. It was really cute and endearing, knowing that I was in a place where one person’s lost property was local news. The Julias and I had intended on watching Thomas’ mother prepare lunch, but by the time we were out of the shower, she had finished. We sat down to a feast and got to know Nikki and Lottie, two British girls who had shown up while we were gone. They weren’t traveling together – Nikki was alone and Lottie was with her sister Lucy, who was taking a nap. After lunch, I had to go in search of an ATM, as I had forgotten to do so when I was in Alleppey yesterday and had no money to pay for the hotel. Thomas arranged for a rickshaw to meet me on the other side of the river and take me to the ATM that was nearby… but this is India, so of course that’s not what actually happened. I “woo-hoo”-ed for the little commuter canoe that goes back and forth between the two riverbanks and waited for it to come. Then the operator tried to shake me down for five rupees instead of the two I knew I should be paying. I met my rickshaw driver and we set out for the ATM. The one we went to was a bank that only accepted Visa debit cards, and mine is MasterCard (I had run into this problem before). There was a State Bank a few km away, but we were informed by the security guard that it was broken… I still don’t know if this was true or if he was trying to help my auto driver earn more money, but I don’t really care. We had to go to Alleppey. The first bank we saw didn’t take MC either. Then the State Bank there was out of order. The next one worked though, thank God! I had originally planned on using the internet for a bit after my bank trip, but it had gotten so late that I told him to forget it and just take me home. It was nearing tea-time when I got back to Greempalm and I sat down for a much needed refreshment. The Julias, Nikki, Lottie and I had all arranged to go on an evening canoe trip with Michael, Thomas’ younger brother and some of his friends. It was Holy Thursday, so Thomas and his family were going to be at church for the evening. We started out with a short walk around the island (Michael wanted to avoid the church because technically he was supposed to be there attending a service). He gave us some more history of the backwaters and took us along sort of the same route we had gone with Thomas that morning. It was beautiful at sunset and as the night began to descend, we made our way to a small canal where two of Michael’s friends were waiting with the canoe. We all piled in and set off along the canals. One of the main reasons we decided to go on this canoe trip was that we had been promised that Michael and his friends would sing some traditional music for us. He told us that before everyone in the region became educated and stopped wanting to do basic, traditional jobs like mud-digging and working in the rice paddies, the women who worked in the rice fields used to sing beautiful call-and-response songs similar to the slave songs that were sung in the American South. Now that things are becoming more mechanized and less dependent on people, the songs and traditions are quickly disappearing. While it is a good thing that people are educated and more able to pursue careers in more white-collar professions, it is of particular concern to Thomas and Michael that they preserve their way of life so that it is not lost. They have asked some of the older women in the village to teach them the songs they used to sing in the fields so they can pass them down to younger generations. As we drifted along the canals, taking in the beauty of the evening light and watching the local people going about their evening activities, Michael and his two friends, who were also rowing the boat, sang the songs for us. It was incredible how completely I felt transported to another place in time. It was so peaceful. After they sang a few songs, he asked if any of us had songs to share, so Lottie and I sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and the Julias sang a German song. It was fun to feel so free and to be all singing and enjoying music together. All too soon we were back at the homestay and back to the present day. I had seen an Ayurvedic massage place down the road a bit from the house, and I decided to see if it would be possible to get a massage before dinner. I figured it was my last night in India (try not to panic) and I should take advantage of every opportunity I could. Of course, they were willing to stay open late for me, so I hurried down to their small shop and enjoyed a very oily massage from the warm, motherly wife of the Ayurvedic doctor. She was so gentle, and I was taken back to being a little kid, having my mom wash my hair and scrub me down after a bath. It was a nice sensation. After the massage, I was instructed to go to the bathroom and take a bath with the bucket of hot water they had prepared for me. I washed my hair and soaped up my body and marveled at how quickly all of these completely foreign things had become normal. I started feeling sad, knowing that tomorrow I would be getting on a plane, going back to the world of sanitized, hot showers and four dollar cups of coffee. After I finished my bath, I dressed and headed to the front of the shop to pay. The doctor told me that Thomas had called him and asked him to walk me back to the homestay. It warmed my heart to know that I had someone looking out for my safety and making sure I was taken care of. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but I accepted the walk home and had a nice conversation with both the doctor and his wife as raindrops started to fall on the path. By the time I got home and sat down at the table to eat the dinner that had been saved for me, the rain was coming down in sheets. I hadn’t seen a storm like this the whole time I was in India. I ate with Lolly and Anne sitting with me and watching. They are so sweet and funny. I really feel like they are family now. I sat up and watched the rain for a while and then reluctantly started repacking my stuff for the impending trip tomorrow. I can’t believe I have to leave.
I have two new friends and roommates! Let’s rewind a bit. As soon as I saw the porch, I threw my bags to the ground and plunked my sweaty, barely breathing butt down on a chair to catch my breath. The two girls sitting there laughed at my total state of disarray and gave me a couple of minutes to rest before introducing themselves. They are both named Julia and they were both wearing the same shirt. They are also both German medical students (what is with all the Germans?) who just completed a month long internship in Vellore and had bookended their stay there with travel. They helped me bring my bags into the house where I met Lolly, the wife of the owner of the homestay. She was very pretty, about my age, and dressed in a red muumuu. She told me her husband was asleep, but assured me there were rooms available. I didn’t want to disturb Thomas, so the Julias let me put my stuff in their room and we went out for a little walk before tea. The backwater region of Kerala is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but I guess you can sort of equate it to Venice or the bayou in Louisiana. People live and work and farm on small, mostly man-made islands (of course they were man-made a few centuries ago, so they seem pretty natural now) that sit in the middle of winding canals and open stretches of river that lie below the level of the Arabian Sea. Inland of many of the islands are rice paddies that provide the major source or employment and revenue for the people living there. It’s a fascinating way of life and I got a small taste of it as we walked along the tiny dirt path between the houses and the water. It was late afternoon, so lots of people were out, having their afternoon bath in the river, washing clothes, and just playing. All of the children in the village came out and demanded photos of themselves and we had fun talking to them and their mothers. We had to turn around pretty soon, as teatime was approaching and I was starving. Lolly makes her chai with lots of cardamom and ginger and it is absolutely delicious. We had a few cups and some cookies and Thomas came out from his nap and introduced himself. The Lonely Planet book described him as being “erudite and helpful” and I can’t think of a better description for him. He is small and attractive with glasses and a beard. He speaks perfect English, although he seemed to have a bit of trouble understanding me sometimes – maybe I talk too fast. Side note – Kerala has a 97% literacy rate throughout the state… thank you Christian missionaries. Thomas told us later though that the increasing amount of extremely educated people is leading to a decrease in the numbers of people who want to do the essential jobs of farming, mud-digging, and other manual labor that keep the way of life in the backwaters intact. It’s an interesting social problem to have. But I digress…
While we all had tea, Thomas asked us about our plans and suggested a few activities for the evening and tomorrow. He arranged a sunset canoe trip through the canals for us and a guided walk around the island for the early morning. After we finished our chai, he gave me the key to my room and we went out to the canoe that was conveniently parked right in front of the house. The three of us were seated, rather luxuriously, I thought, in our own little wooden chairs in the canoe. We had two local men as rowers (we weren’t to pay them directly , Thomas instructed, because one of them had a drinking problem, so the money was to be given to his wife). The trip was so peaceful and beautiful. All of the huge commercial houseboats that usually fill the waterways were docked for the evening, so we had an open canal to drift around on and enjoy. The Julias and I talked and got to know each other and I knew right away that I really liked them. I have been running a little low on rupees, and this homestay is the most expensive place I will have stayed in India, and I noticed earlier that they had three beds in their room. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I half-jokingly suggested that the three of us share their room and cut the price way down for all of us. They discussed in German for a few minutes and said yes! I was so relieved and I also think it will be nice to have some company at night.
After a couple of hours, we returned home for dinner. What delicious food we ate! Thomas’s mother cooks and she is really good. We had – brace yourselves – vegetable curry, but this one was rich with all kinds of veggies and not too spicy, a cucumber and tomato salad with cilantro and herbs (yummy!), and poori, which is a fried poufy bread that is indescribable. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the shower. While I waited for my turn, I played with Anne and Anina, the two scrumptious daughters of Thomas and Lolly. We did a little dancing, a little singing, and some hand-clap games. We had so much fun! They are just the cutest little girls, Anne is six and Anina is four. You can tell that they are used to new people because they warm up to you right away. I think we are going to be good friends… they remind me of the first graders at Shanti Bhavan. After about a half hour, Anne climbed up onto my lap and whispered “I like you.” What a darling! After that, I got into the warm shower to clean off my disgustingness and now I’m sitting here practically falling asleep. I can’t wait to see more of this captivating place tomorrow.
April 9, Chennamkary
I woke up this morning in a panic. Where is my cell phone? I remembered putting into my pocket during my trudge up to the house, but I didn’t remember seeing it after that. It was about 6:30 and we were supposed to leave on our morning walk at 7:15, so I jumped out of bed and went out to retrace my steps back to the ferry dock to see if my phone was still there. My phone is pink, with a pink and white striped case, so I knew that it would be pretty easy to find if it was lying on the path. I didn’t see it, but I did come across bunches of neighbors out at the water’s edge doing their morning bathing and washing. I guess a white girl walking around staring at the ground is a fairly conspicuous sight in such a tiny village, so, of course, they all got involved in the search. I did my best to convey that I had lost a pink mobile and they did their best to assure me that if it was located, they would bring it to Thomas’ house. I guess because of the steady stream of mostly Western guests, Thomas is something of a local celebrity and everyone knows who he is and where he lives. I gave up after a few more minutes and went back to the homestay to have my morning tea. At tea, I told Thomas of my loss and he agreed to spread the word to the rest of the village and try to start a little grassroots effort to find my phone, but he suggested that I check my bags again to make sure it wasn’t there… it was. I don’t know how I missed it, but there it was, pink and reassuring in the small pocket of my backpack. I must have put it there on my walk and forgotten about it in my exhaustion. Yay!
We began our walk around the little island and Thomas told us all about the fascinating history of the backwaters, showed us local plants, took us to the rice paddy that his family owns and farms, and basically introduced us to all a typical backwaters village has to offer. Instead of eating breakfast at his family’s home, we stopped about three-quarters of the way through our tour to eat at the home of a local family that also lets out rooms for visitors. Thomas had arranged a very nice breakfast for us – duck eggs, curry, rice pancakes, tea, and cardamom cake. It was way more than we could eat, but the food was good and the husband and wife who owned the house were very gracious. On the way back, we met one of Thomas’ friends who is a toddy tapper. I think I may have talked about toddy in my entry from Munnar, but if I didn’t, toddy is a locally made spirit that comes from palm trees. Men climb up the tree and tap one of the flower shoots (this is a very loose description of this – I’m still not totally clear on how it happens). I think this involves beating the shoot of an immature flower with some sort of bone and then somehow the sap begins to flow out of the tree through the shoot and into a jug that the toddy tapper places underneath it… The morning toddy is supposed to be the sweetest and best and then it continues to ferment throughout the day. In the morning it has about the same alcohol content as beer, and by evening it has as much as wine. I tried some of the evening toddy in Munnar and I can say with complete confidence that you have to be desperate to drink that stuff. It’s thick and has a really weird, musty smell and the taste is not much better. I thought maybe the morning toddy would be better, but I tried a little that had just been taken down from the tree and it was still barely tolerable. I guess it’s an acquired taste.
The day had gotten extremely hot and humid by the end of our walk and so we were grateful to have the chance to go home, shower, and lay down for a bit. While we were lounging, people kept coming by the house to ask Thomas if I had found my phone. He hadn’t even put the word out, but those few people I met in the morning had, and the news spread like wildfire around the small town. It was really cute and endearing, knowing that I was in a place where one person’s lost property was local news. The Julias and I had intended on watching Thomas’ mother prepare lunch, but by the time we were out of the shower, she had finished. We sat down to a feast and got to know Nikki and Lottie, two British girls who had shown up while we were gone. They weren’t traveling together – Nikki was alone and Lottie was with her sister Lucy, who was taking a nap. After lunch, I had to go in search of an ATM, as I had forgotten to do so when I was in Alleppey yesterday and had no money to pay for the hotel. Thomas arranged for a rickshaw to meet me on the other side of the river and take me to the ATM that was nearby… but this is India, so of course that’s not what actually happened. I “woo-hoo”-ed for the little commuter canoe that goes back and forth between the two riverbanks and waited for it to come. Then the operator tried to shake me down for five rupees instead of the two I knew I should be paying. I met my rickshaw driver and we set out for the ATM. The one we went to was a bank that only accepted Visa debit cards, and mine is MasterCard (I had run into this problem before). There was a State Bank a few km away, but we were informed by the security guard that it was broken… I still don’t know if this was true or if he was trying to help my auto driver earn more money, but I don’t really care. We had to go to Alleppey. The first bank we saw didn’t take MC either. Then the State Bank there was out of order. The next one worked though, thank God! I had originally planned on using the internet for a bit after my bank trip, but it had gotten so late that I told him to forget it and just take me home. It was nearing tea-time when I got back to Greempalm and I sat down for a much needed refreshment. The Julias, Nikki, Lottie and I had all arranged to go on an evening canoe trip with Michael, Thomas’ younger brother and some of his friends. It was Holy Thursday, so Thomas and his family were going to be at church for the evening. We started out with a short walk around the island (Michael wanted to avoid the church because technically he was supposed to be there attending a service). He gave us some more history of the backwaters and took us along sort of the same route we had gone with Thomas that morning. It was beautiful at sunset and as the night began to descend, we made our way to a small canal where two of Michael’s friends were waiting with the canoe. We all piled in and set off along the canals. One of the main reasons we decided to go on this canoe trip was that we had been promised that Michael and his friends would sing some traditional music for us. He told us that before everyone in the region became educated and stopped wanting to do basic, traditional jobs like mud-digging and working in the rice paddies, the women who worked in the rice fields used to sing beautiful call-and-response songs similar to the slave songs that were sung in the American South. Now that things are becoming more mechanized and less dependent on people, the songs and traditions are quickly disappearing. While it is a good thing that people are educated and more able to pursue careers in more white-collar professions, it is of particular concern to Thomas and Michael that they preserve their way of life so that it is not lost. They have asked some of the older women in the village to teach them the songs they used to sing in the fields so they can pass them down to younger generations. As we drifted along the canals, taking in the beauty of the evening light and watching the local people going about their evening activities, Michael and his two friends, who were also rowing the boat, sang the songs for us. It was incredible how completely I felt transported to another place in time. It was so peaceful. After they sang a few songs, he asked if any of us had songs to share, so Lottie and I sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and the Julias sang a German song. It was fun to feel so free and to be all singing and enjoying music together. All too soon we were back at the homestay and back to the present day. I had seen an Ayurvedic massage place down the road a bit from the house, and I decided to see if it would be possible to get a massage before dinner. I figured it was my last night in India (try not to panic) and I should take advantage of every opportunity I could. Of course, they were willing to stay open late for me, so I hurried down to their small shop and enjoyed a very oily massage from the warm, motherly wife of the Ayurvedic doctor. She was so gentle, and I was taken back to being a little kid, having my mom wash my hair and scrub me down after a bath. It was a nice sensation. After the massage, I was instructed to go to the bathroom and take a bath with the bucket of hot water they had prepared for me. I washed my hair and soaped up my body and marveled at how quickly all of these completely foreign things had become normal. I started feeling sad, knowing that tomorrow I would be getting on a plane, going back to the world of sanitized, hot showers and four dollar cups of coffee. After I finished my bath, I dressed and headed to the front of the shop to pay. The doctor told me that Thomas had called him and asked him to walk me back to the homestay. It warmed my heart to know that I had someone looking out for my safety and making sure I was taken care of. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but I accepted the walk home and had a nice conversation with both the doctor and his wife as raindrops started to fall on the path. By the time I got home and sat down at the table to eat the dinner that had been saved for me, the rain was coming down in sheets. I hadn’t seen a storm like this the whole time I was in India. I ate with Lolly and Anne sitting with me and watching. They are so sweet and funny. I really feel like they are family now. I sat up and watched the rain for a while and then reluctantly started repacking my stuff for the impending trip tomorrow. I can’t believe I have to leave.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Home is where the heart is.
April 8, Chennamkary
I have two new friends and roommates! Let’s rewind a bit. As soon as I saw the porch, I threw my bags to the ground and plunked my sweaty, barely breathing butt down on a chair to catch my breath. The two girls sitting there laughed at my total state of disarray and gave me a couple of minutes to rest before introducing themselves. They are both named Julia and they were both wearing the same shirt. They are also both German medical students (what is with all the Germans?) who just completed a month long internship in Vellore and had bookended their stay there with travel. They helped me bring my bags into the house where I met Lolly, the wife of the owner of the homestay. She was very pretty, about my age, and dressed in a red muumuu. She told me her husband was asleep, but assured me there were rooms available. I didn’t want to disturb Thomas, so the Julias let me put my stuff in their room and we went out for a little walk before tea. The backwater region of Kerala is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but I guess you can sort of equate it to Venice or the bayou in Louisiana. People live and work and farm on small, mostly man-made islands (of course they were man-made a few centuries ago, so they seem pretty natural now) that sit in the middle of winding canals and open stretches of river that lie below the level of the Arabian Sea. Inland of many of the islands are rice paddies that provide the major source or employment and revenue for the people living there. It’s a fascinating way of life and I got a small taste of it as we walked along the tiny dirt path between the houses and the water. It was late afternoon, so lots of people were out, having their afternoon bath in the river, washing clothes, and just playing. All of the children in the village came out and demanded photos of themselves and we had fun talking to them and their mothers. We had to turn around pretty soon, as teatime was approaching and I was starving. Lolly makes her chai with lots of cardamom and ginger and it is absolutely delicious. We had a few cups and some cookies and Thomas came out from his nap and introduced himself. The Lonely Planet book described him as being “erudite and helpful” and I can’t think of a better description for him. He is small and attractive with glasses and a beard. He speaks perfect English, although he seemed to have a bit of trouble understanding me sometimes – maybe I talk too fast. Side note – Kerala has a 97% literacy rate throughout the state… thank you Christian missionaries. Thomas told us later though that the increasing amount of extremely educated people is leading to a decrease in the numbers of people who want to do the essential jobs of farming, mud-digging, and other manual labor that keep the way of life in the backwaters intact. It’s an interesting social problem to have. But I digress…
While we all had tea, Thomas asked us about our plans and suggested a few activities for the evening and tomorrow. He arranged a sunset canoe trip through the canals for us and a guided walk around the island for the early morning. After we finished our chai, he gave me the key to my room and we went out to the canoe that was conveniently parked right in front of the house. The three of us were seated, rather luxuriously, I thought, in our own little wooden chairs in the canoe. We had two local men as rowers (we weren’t to pay them directly , Thomas instructed, because one of them had a drinking problem, so the money was to be given to his wife). The trip was so peaceful and beautiful. All of the huge commercial houseboats that usually fill the waterways were docked for the evening, so we had an open canal to drift around on and enjoy. The Julias and I talked and got to know each other and I knew right away that I really liked them. I have been running a little low on rupees, and this homestay is the most expensive place I will have stayed in India, and I noticed earlier that they had three beds in their room. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I half-jokingly suggested that the three of us share their room and cut the price way down for all of us. They discussed in German for a few minutes and said yes! I was so relieved and I also think it will be nice to have some company at night.
After a couple of hours, we returned home for dinner. What delicious food we ate! Thomas’s mother cooks and she is really good. We had – brace yourselves – vegetable curry, but this one was rich with all kinds of veggies and not too spicy, a cucumber and tomato salad with cilantro and herbs (yummy!), and poori, which is a fried poufy bread that is indescribable. It was so nice to feel like I was in a real home after so long of being in hotels and dorms. It was comforting to have a family around and to be really taken care of. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the shower. While I waited for my turn, I played with Anne and Anina, the two scrumptious daughters of Thomas and Lolly. We did a little dancing, a little singing, and some hand-clap games. We had so much fun! They are just the cutest little girls, Anne is six and Anina is four. You can tell that they are used to new people because they warm up to you right away. I think we are going to be good friends… they remind me of the first graders at Shanti Bhavan. After about a half hour, Anne climbed up onto my lap and whispered “I like you.” What a darling! After that, I got into the warm shower to clean off my disgustingness and now I’m sitting here practically falling asleep. I can’t wait to see more of this captivating place tomorrow.
I have two new friends and roommates! Let’s rewind a bit. As soon as I saw the porch, I threw my bags to the ground and plunked my sweaty, barely breathing butt down on a chair to catch my breath. The two girls sitting there laughed at my total state of disarray and gave me a couple of minutes to rest before introducing themselves. They are both named Julia and they were both wearing the same shirt. They are also both German medical students (what is with all the Germans?) who just completed a month long internship in Vellore and had bookended their stay there with travel. They helped me bring my bags into the house where I met Lolly, the wife of the owner of the homestay. She was very pretty, about my age, and dressed in a red muumuu. She told me her husband was asleep, but assured me there were rooms available. I didn’t want to disturb Thomas, so the Julias let me put my stuff in their room and we went out for a little walk before tea. The backwater region of Kerala is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, but I guess you can sort of equate it to Venice or the bayou in Louisiana. People live and work and farm on small, mostly man-made islands (of course they were man-made a few centuries ago, so they seem pretty natural now) that sit in the middle of winding canals and open stretches of river that lie below the level of the Arabian Sea. Inland of many of the islands are rice paddies that provide the major source or employment and revenue for the people living there. It’s a fascinating way of life and I got a small taste of it as we walked along the tiny dirt path between the houses and the water. It was late afternoon, so lots of people were out, having their afternoon bath in the river, washing clothes, and just playing. All of the children in the village came out and demanded photos of themselves and we had fun talking to them and their mothers. We had to turn around pretty soon, as teatime was approaching and I was starving. Lolly makes her chai with lots of cardamom and ginger and it is absolutely delicious. We had a few cups and some cookies and Thomas came out from his nap and introduced himself. The Lonely Planet book described him as being “erudite and helpful” and I can’t think of a better description for him. He is small and attractive with glasses and a beard. He speaks perfect English, although he seemed to have a bit of trouble understanding me sometimes – maybe I talk too fast. Side note – Kerala has a 97% literacy rate throughout the state… thank you Christian missionaries. Thomas told us later though that the increasing amount of extremely educated people is leading to a decrease in the numbers of people who want to do the essential jobs of farming, mud-digging, and other manual labor that keep the way of life in the backwaters intact. It’s an interesting social problem to have. But I digress…
While we all had tea, Thomas asked us about our plans and suggested a few activities for the evening and tomorrow. He arranged a sunset canoe trip through the canals for us and a guided walk around the island for the early morning. After we finished our chai, he gave me the key to my room and we went out to the canoe that was conveniently parked right in front of the house. The three of us were seated, rather luxuriously, I thought, in our own little wooden chairs in the canoe. We had two local men as rowers (we weren’t to pay them directly , Thomas instructed, because one of them had a drinking problem, so the money was to be given to his wife). The trip was so peaceful and beautiful. All of the huge commercial houseboats that usually fill the waterways were docked for the evening, so we had an open canal to drift around on and enjoy. The Julias and I talked and got to know each other and I knew right away that I really liked them. I have been running a little low on rupees, and this homestay is the most expensive place I will have stayed in India, and I noticed earlier that they had three beds in their room. I figured I didn’t have anything to lose, so I half-jokingly suggested that the three of us share their room and cut the price way down for all of us. They discussed in German for a few minutes and said yes! I was so relieved and I also think it will be nice to have some company at night.
After a couple of hours, we returned home for dinner. What delicious food we ate! Thomas’s mother cooks and she is really good. We had – brace yourselves – vegetable curry, but this one was rich with all kinds of veggies and not too spicy, a cucumber and tomato salad with cilantro and herbs (yummy!), and poori, which is a fried poufy bread that is indescribable. It was so nice to feel like I was in a real home after so long of being in hotels and dorms. It was comforting to have a family around and to be really taken care of. After stuffing ourselves, we took turns in the shower. While I waited for my turn, I played with Anne and Anina, the two scrumptious daughters of Thomas and Lolly. We did a little dancing, a little singing, and some hand-clap games. We had so much fun! They are just the cutest little girls, Anne is six and Anina is four. You can tell that they are used to new people because they warm up to you right away. I think we are going to be good friends… they remind me of the first graders at Shanti Bhavan. After about a half hour, Anne climbed up onto my lap and whispered “I like you.” What a darling! After that, I got into the warm shower to clean off my disgustingness and now I’m sitting here practically falling asleep. I can’t wait to see more of this captivating place tomorrow.
Monday, April 13, 2009
"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there."
April 8, Chennamkary
I’m exhausted. Today my day began with the realization that my cell phone, which I had used to set my alarm on, had died in the night and I had slept way longer than I was supposed to. I jumped up, with five minutes to go before Nithin was scheduled to come and help me take my bags down to wait for the bus. I had a freezing cold shower, threw my clothes on, and somehow made it with enough time. Thank God for my morning aerobics classes at Shanti Bhavan – my body’s clock was set for 6:25 a.m. In a rare moment of something happening conveniently in India, the bus I was catching back to Cochin (to catch the bus to Alleppey to catch the ferry to Chennamkary), stopped at the bottom of the Dew Drops driveway. We flagged it down and Nithin jumped on with me in order to help me get a seat, settle my bags, and to tell the conductor where I was getting off. Don’t worry, I gave him a large tip and a grateful good-bye. I had a primo seat right behind the driver and my bags had been placed where they didn’t take up seats, but where I could keep my eye on them. I was extremely happy with the arrangement, until I noticed my seatmate, Hacking-Coughing Woman. HCW was a wrinkled brown raisin of a person, with a green saree and bare feet. She seemed to be asleep, and she was clutching a dirty white plastic box. I wondered what the box was for, and moments later my questions were answered when she opened her eyes, coughed directly in my face (no covering of the mouth, of course), and then opened her box to spit a large glop of yellow mucus into it. Perfect.
There was nowhere else to sit, and I was not about to stand for five hours, so I turned my head away and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. HCW, however, was determined to remain a part of my bus experience. She had now fallen back asleep, but instead of leaning against the side of the bus, or putting her head on the bag she had on the seat next to her, she leaned on me. The bus was swerving from side to side on some particularly curvy mountain roads and so I had some opportunities to slyly push her off of me when the bus went to the right, but as soon as it veered back, she was on me like curry on rice. I don’t think it was accidental, she was trying to lay her head on my shoulder. I’m sure I have now contracted a vast number of communicable diseases. This power struggle lasted for about a half hour, and by the grace of Krishna, she got off the bus and I miraculously had the seat to myself for a few hours. I did, however, smear hand sanitizer all over my arm, the seat, and the side of my head. Irrational, I know, but it made me feel a little better.
The rest of the ride was pretty unremarkable, with the exception of about an hour when I had a Muslim woman’s butt in my face. I was let off at the bus station in Cochin and somehow immediately found the right bus that would take me to Alleppey. I got a seat there too and the ride was blissfully short – only about two hours. Phase Three of the journey involved the public ferry to the tiny village where I would be spending the final days of my trip (oh God, try not to freak out…pretend you’re not going home soon). After being stopped about forty times by men trying to get me to take their houseboats or stay at the hotels that would give them commission, I got to the ferry station, where no one knew what I was talking about. I kept asking which ferry went to Chennamkary, and they all tried to tell me where the boat to Kumarakom, a popular tourist destination, was. I finally found the one man in India who could understand me and he pointed to the boat directly in front of me and said it was leaving. Now.
In a panic, I threw my bags onto it and jumped on just as it was about to pull away. Now, by this point, I was in a really rotten mood. I had been on buses and rickshaws and lugging my now extremely heavy and unwieldy bags around for the last seven hours and I was sweaty and hungry and hating travel. I was in no state to be nice to anyone, but I had to smile at the ferry conductor when I handed him my 5 rupees (ten cents) for the hour and fifteen minute ride and ask him to pretty please tell me when Chennamkary came up because there was no signage of any kind on any of the tiny docks we approached.
During this time, I was trying to call my homestay to find out where I went when I was dumped off the boat in the middle of nowhere, but I discovered that I was unable to dial an Indian number on my cell phone. I stuck it in my pocket and figured I would keep trying when I got there. The conductor gave me the signal and I moved up to the front of the boat to get off at what I thought would look like a small village. All I saw when I stepped off the dock was a dirt path along the water and a ramshackle little house covered with trees. I started to panic. I sat down for a few minutes to re-group and try to call Thomas (the owner of the Homestay) again. When it became clear that my cell phone plan hadn’t changed in the last ten minutes, I stuck the phone back in my pocket and saddled up my bags, and headed down the path. Another guy who got off the ferry with me had gone that way, so figured there must be something there. I dragged myself for about a hundred feet and nothing was appearing. I began to contemplate walking into someone’s house and asking them, when a tiny old woman came out of her front door and stared at me. I must have looked ridiculous, sweaty, covered with luggage (next time I’m getting one of those giant backpacks), and breathing like a fat man after a flight of stairs. I mustered up all my verbal skills and asked, “English?” She shook her head, but I didn’t want to give up on the one human contact I had, so I persevered. “Greenpalm Homestay? Thomas?” She smiled and pointed up the path. “Fie minute.” Hooray! It existed and I was close. A few minutes later I saw the sign and turned into a lovely little complex where I saw two white girls sitting on a front porch. I was home!
I’m exhausted. Today my day began with the realization that my cell phone, which I had used to set my alarm on, had died in the night and I had slept way longer than I was supposed to. I jumped up, with five minutes to go before Nithin was scheduled to come and help me take my bags down to wait for the bus. I had a freezing cold shower, threw my clothes on, and somehow made it with enough time. Thank God for my morning aerobics classes at Shanti Bhavan – my body’s clock was set for 6:25 a.m. In a rare moment of something happening conveniently in India, the bus I was catching back to Cochin (to catch the bus to Alleppey to catch the ferry to Chennamkary), stopped at the bottom of the Dew Drops driveway. We flagged it down and Nithin jumped on with me in order to help me get a seat, settle my bags, and to tell the conductor where I was getting off. Don’t worry, I gave him a large tip and a grateful good-bye. I had a primo seat right behind the driver and my bags had been placed where they didn’t take up seats, but where I could keep my eye on them. I was extremely happy with the arrangement, until I noticed my seatmate, Hacking-Coughing Woman. HCW was a wrinkled brown raisin of a person, with a green saree and bare feet. She seemed to be asleep, and she was clutching a dirty white plastic box. I wondered what the box was for, and moments later my questions were answered when she opened her eyes, coughed directly in my face (no covering of the mouth, of course), and then opened her box to spit a large glop of yellow mucus into it. Perfect.
There was nowhere else to sit, and I was not about to stand for five hours, so I turned my head away and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. HCW, however, was determined to remain a part of my bus experience. She had now fallen back asleep, but instead of leaning against the side of the bus, or putting her head on the bag she had on the seat next to her, she leaned on me. The bus was swerving from side to side on some particularly curvy mountain roads and so I had some opportunities to slyly push her off of me when the bus went to the right, but as soon as it veered back, she was on me like curry on rice. I don’t think it was accidental, she was trying to lay her head on my shoulder. I’m sure I have now contracted a vast number of communicable diseases. This power struggle lasted for about a half hour, and by the grace of Krishna, she got off the bus and I miraculously had the seat to myself for a few hours. I did, however, smear hand sanitizer all over my arm, the seat, and the side of my head. Irrational, I know, but it made me feel a little better.
The rest of the ride was pretty unremarkable, with the exception of about an hour when I had a Muslim woman’s butt in my face. I was let off at the bus station in Cochin and somehow immediately found the right bus that would take me to Alleppey. I got a seat there too and the ride was blissfully short – only about two hours. Phase Three of the journey involved the public ferry to the tiny village where I would be spending the final days of my trip (oh God, try not to freak out…pretend you’re not going home soon). After being stopped about forty times by men trying to get me to take their houseboats or stay at the hotels that would give them commission, I got to the ferry station, where no one knew what I was talking about. I kept asking which ferry went to Chennamkary, and they all tried to tell me where the boat to Kumarakom, a popular tourist destination, was. I finally found the one man in India who could understand me and he pointed to the boat directly in front of me and said it was leaving. Now.
In a panic, I threw my bags onto it and jumped on just as it was about to pull away. Now, by this point, I was in a really rotten mood. I had been on buses and rickshaws and lugging my now extremely heavy and unwieldy bags around for the last seven hours and I was sweaty and hungry and hating travel. I was in no state to be nice to anyone, but I had to smile at the ferry conductor when I handed him my 5 rupees (ten cents) for the hour and fifteen minute ride and ask him to pretty please tell me when Chennamkary came up because there was no signage of any kind on any of the tiny docks we approached.
During this time, I was trying to call my homestay to find out where I went when I was dumped off the boat in the middle of nowhere, but I discovered that I was unable to dial an Indian number on my cell phone. I stuck it in my pocket and figured I would keep trying when I got there. The conductor gave me the signal and I moved up to the front of the boat to get off at what I thought would look like a small village. All I saw when I stepped off the dock was a dirt path along the water and a ramshackle little house covered with trees. I started to panic. I sat down for a few minutes to re-group and try to call Thomas (the owner of the Homestay) again. When it became clear that my cell phone plan hadn’t changed in the last ten minutes, I stuck the phone back in my pocket and saddled up my bags, and headed down the path. Another guy who got off the ferry with me had gone that way, so figured there must be something there. I dragged myself for about a hundred feet and nothing was appearing. I began to contemplate walking into someone’s house and asking them, when a tiny old woman came out of her front door and stared at me. I must have looked ridiculous, sweaty, covered with luggage (next time I’m getting one of those giant backpacks), and breathing like a fat man after a flight of stairs. I mustered up all my verbal skills and asked, “English?” She shook her head, but I didn’t want to give up on the one human contact I had, so I persevered. “Greenpalm Homestay? Thomas?” She smiled and pointed up the path. “Fie minute.” Hooray! It existed and I was close. A few minutes later I saw the sign and turned into a lovely little complex where I saw two white girls sitting on a front porch. I was home!
"Do drop in at the Dew Drop Inn..."
April 6, Kallar
Well, some big changes in plans over the last couple of days, but everything seems to be turning out quite well. I’ll start from where I left off the other night. I got up early to do a bit of sightseeing before I went to my dance lesson. One of the most emblematic sights in Kerala are the Chinese fishing nets that line the waterways of Kochi and the backwater regions. I needed to see these for myself, so I walked down to the water for some photo ops. I got sort of lucky, because as I was setting up a good shot, I noticed the men operating the net beckoning to me. They invited me up onto their contraption and one of them took my camera and started directing me around the thing, snapping pictures all the while. I got to help pull the net out of the water, I held a fish, and I sat and looked out onto the water. I think some of the shots came out pretty nice. Anyway, after this, of course, they hit me up for some money – their way of fishing is dying due to a combination of the effects of the Tsunami and mechanized fishing methods. I gave them a few rupees and escaped before they could get any more off me. I popped into an internet café while I was waiting for the breakfast place I wanted to go to to open and tried unsuccessfully to upload my blog. It’s so frustrating to depend on technology that consistently fails you. I’d rather not deal with it at all.
After I got over that irritation, I sat down and had some fresh squeezed pineapple juice and a lovely veggie omelet. The Swedish couple at the table next to me started laughing at my attempts to eat while at the same time waving away and killing the tons of mosquitoes that were trying to eat me. We had a brief chat and then I headed off to my lesson. There was another girl taking the class with me who had been coming for a few days in a row, but she was not a dancer, so the class actually moved at a good pace for me. The style we learned was called Mohiniattam and it was hard! For most of the hour and a half long lesson, I was in a full squat position. My legs were burning by the end – especially since I haven’t been doing too much rigorous physical activity since I’ve been here – and I was soaked through with sweat. The movements are so precise and require you to not only use your hands independently of each other, doing different hand positions with each one, but each movement has eye choreography as well. I could blame my lack of ability in that department of my contact lenses, but I have to admit that I’m just not that good at it! One thing I really noticed while doing this new style of dance was how much influence choreographers like Jack Cole and Bob Fosse drew from Indian dance. I swear, some of the movements felt exactly like things I had learned in college or in classes I’ve taken in the style of those choreographers. It was really interesting.
After class, I did a bit more sightseeing, but the day had gotten so hot that I had to go back to my hotel room and lay down for a while. It’s one thing to stay out during the middle of the day in a beach area, but in a city there’s just no relief from the sweltering humidity and sun. I woke up in time to go to the 5 o’clock cooking class I had signed up for earlier. A plump, jolly lady named Leelu Roy does two hour long classes out of her house and she tells you the recipes while she demonstrates five dishes and then you eat! She was great and I learned how to make chapatti, fish curry, lentil curry, and a couple of others. (Dad, we’re cooking when I get home.) It was great to be in someone’s home, making food and learning about what really goes into the food I’ve been eating for the last two months. I also had the great fortune of meeting some really wonderful people in the class. Matt, Sally, and Lucy were all taking the class with me and they seemed very nice, so I invited them out for a drink after the class was over. We headed to a little bar that was filled with Westerners and I got to know more about them. Lucy was from the Czech Republic and she had been traveling alone for about two months (she was supposed to have come here with a friend who then bailed on her and she came anyway) until she met up with Matt and Sally about a week ago. Matt and Sally were a couple from the UK who were on the last month of their pre-wedding eight month world tour. They had been all over Canada, South and Central America, Asia and were finishing their trip in India. It was incredible to hear their stories and see their pictures. What an amazing luxury to have that time together and to make all of those memories before embarking on married life… Sally invited me to a yoga class she had been taking for the last few days in the morning and we parted ways, agreeing to meet at 7:30 the next morning.
I met Lucy and Sally at the Ayurvedic center the next morning and we walked with the yoga teacher to a house where he had been given an open rooftop to teach his classes. There were two other women in the class and it was fantastic to have such a small number of people – usually yoga classes in New York can have up to thirty people in one studio! It felt so good to move and really exercise my body after a fairly long time of not doing a whole lot of physical activity. The class was intense and included chanting and meditation as well as some very strenuous poses. I happen to still be very flexible, so the teacher was impressed with me and really pushed me. I did some poses I had never even attempted before – including the Scorpion, which is a very difficult position that involves standing on your head while bending your body backwards into a C shape. Needless to say, I am very sore. After that two and a half hour class, we went to our respective hotels for a shower and met up again at this little restaurant called the Teapot for a nice breakfast. They had seen a sign the day before inviting visitors to an orphanage nearby, and we had decided to make a visit to the children and also to donate some clothes and supplies. I brought a bag of clothes that I hadn’t left at Shanti Bhavan, but wanted to get rid of, and after we ate, we jumped in a rickshaw and went. Unfortunately, we weren’t aware that there were designated visiting hours and we arrived during lunchtime, but they let us in anyway and we had a look around. The orphanage was an off-shoot of Mother Theresa’s homes in Calcutta and it was a place for mentally and physically disabled children. It was rough. The kids all seemed to have very severe Cerebral Palsy and they were not very aware or able to do anything at all. The patience and dedication of the smiling, friendly women who were their caretakers is something that I don’t think I will ever be able to attain. It seemed like such thankless work, and so difficult. I had an easy time at Shanti Bhavan – the children gave me back tenfold what I offered them – but to work with kids that can’t even speak or play… that is an entirely different story. We didn’t want to interrupt lunch, so we stayed for a short time, gave our donations, and went back to Fort Cochin.
By this point in the day, it had reached hell temperature, so we sought out the one air-conditioned coffee shop in the area and parked ourselves there for a while. We were able to use the internet and chat and that was very nice. The three of them were such nice people and had a lot of interesting experiences and thoughts to share. Now, I had originally planned to leave for Alleppey and the backwaters that afternoon, but after speaking to the owner of my hotel, I had been convinced to stay one more night and leave instead for Munnar the next morning. This seemed like a much better plan, and also gave me the chance to see a performance of Kathakali dance in the evening. Matt and Sally had already seen a performance somewhere else, but Lucy said she would like to come with me, so we set a time to meet for dinner, and Lucy and I went to the Kathakali Center to watch the performers apply their make-up before the show. As I said before, the make-up is a lot like Chinese opera; each stock character has its own base color and all of the facial features are extremely exaggerated with black contouring. The make-up took about an hour and then there was an explanation of the art form and a demonstration of the various aspects of the performance before the actual play took place. Each dancer, musician, and singer in Kathakali trains for a minimum of six years in order to become a professional. The dancer don’t sing or speak, but their faces and hands are trained to do things that I have never seen before. As in the other forms of Indian dance, eye movements are one of the most important things. I don’t know if I can even describe how fast and intricately they move their eyes. It looks like something out of The Exorcist! Their facial movements are also crazy – they twitch their cheek muscles and furrow their eyebrows and quiver their lips and all of the various “looks” and moves convey different emotions and states of being. They also do a series of 26 hand positions called Mudras that mean different things, although I’m not really sure what. The performance was strange, but so interesting. I’m really glad I didn’t miss it.
After the show, I had a lovely dinner with my three new friends and then went back to my hotel to pack and get to sleep so I could be up at 6:30 to catch the ferry to the bus to Munnar. Unfortunately, I didn’t do much sleeping since it had reached around 90 degrees in my room (I know this because my alarm clock has a thermometer on it). I woke up in a pool of my own sweat at around 2 a.m. and went into the main area of the house where I proceeded to try everything to cool myself down a bit – including sticking my head in the freezer. The staff member on duty came out and saw me sitting at the table with my head down, trying to sleep in the slightly cooler spot. He took pity on me and turned on the A.C. in my room for a few hours free of charge. I was finally able to sleep. The rickshaw driver picked me up in front of my hotel and took me to the bus station, where I found out that I had gotten wrong information about my bus time. I had to wait for about an hour and a half, but hey – this is India. I was sad to leave Cochin. I had many wonderful experiences there and learned a lot. I really felt that I got to be a part of some very exciting Indian culture and that brought me even closer to understanding this country.
So, Wilson, the owner of the Spencer Tourist Home where I stayed in Cochin, had arranged a stay for me at his other property in Kallar, a small village about 15 km from Munnar (he gave me “the good price”). Munnar is known for its huge tea plantations, mountainous terrain, and cool climate. The city itself is not so great, so I didn’t feel bad about not staying there. After a hot, sweaty, aggravating, four and a half hour bus ride (which cost about $2.00, so I can’t really complain), I arrived at the Dew Drops Homestay. Once I saw the gorgeous place and met the happy, attentive staff of three, I certainly didn’t feel bad about not staying in Munnar. The thing about traveling by bus in India is that, unless you are getting off at the last stop, you really have no way of knowing where you are supposed to disembark. There aren’t any announcements, and there aren’t any signs, and when you ask people to help you, they have no idea what you are saying. I knew I had to get off at Kallar, and I knew it would be before Munnar, but I didn’t know anything else. So, when the bus sped through a tiny string of shops and I saw the word “Kallar,” I screamed at the bus driver to stop, pushed over a bunch of people to get my bags off the bus, and fell out onto the side of the road. I then dragged my stuff over to a group of rickshaw drivers and hoped one of them would know the Dew Drops. One did, and I threw my bags in and we started up a long, winding road that lead about 7 km into a forest.
I was met at the driveway by Nithin – the head staff member – and two other young men. They put my things in a beautiful, clean, modern, red-tiled room and assured me that Wilson and told them I was coming and I was to get “the good price.” Nithin, it turned out, was a 23 year old guy studying to be an airline worker. He told me that for the last month he had be the only person at the hotel and that the other guys had just arrived yesterday. He said there hadn’t been any guests for a week, but that when there were people there, he cleaned, cooked, and guided them around. A lot of responsibility for one kid. I settled my stuff in the room took a short nap while Nithin prepared my lunch. It was heaven, laying on the clean, sheet-covered bed and feeling the blissfully cool breeze blowing through my open window. A welcome change from the stifling heat of Cochin. I got up an hour later and ate my vegetable curry (how unexpected!) and then Nithin suggested we set out on a little walk to the estate’s dairy farm. Let me just try to describe to you how beautiful it was there. The hills were filled with embarrassingly green trees, coffee, cardamom and pepper plants, flowers, birds, ducks, cows, goats, bugs, you name it. It was lush and wild and absolutely breathtaking. We followed a small path to a tiny little farm on the crest of a hill. There were rabbits and goats in little pens on the way up, and then we came to a small open barn with about twenty cows lined up, all munching on fresh grasses. No corn, no hormones, no meat – just grass, the way cows are supposed to eat! There was one huge bull and a few little calves running around. One man owns and runs the farm and he tends the animals, milks the cows, and creates bio-gas fuel from the manure. Pretty cool. After the farm tour, we were going back to the hotel when Nithin said that he had to go to the nearby village to get a chicken and some veggies for dinner. He asked if I wanted to join him and of course I agreed. The village consisted of about ten shops lining both sides of a dirt road and a little church. Now, I didn’t really think that “getting a chicken” would mean going to the Stop’n’Shop and picking one out of the refrigerated section, but I also didn’t consider that we would be going to pick out a live one, either. We did. We went to the shop, Nithin asked for a chicken, and the shop owner took a squawking, screeching bird out of a small pen and slapped it onto a scale. We then went next door for tea and fried banana while the poor little clucker was dispatched, plucked and cleaned. I felt a bit guilty, but I guess it’s important to think about where your food comes from.
When we got back to the hotel, we found that two more guests had shown up. Barbara and Pavlos were a middle-aged Greek couple who were on a two-week vacation through Southern India. They were very nice and Barbara was quite a talker. We had dinner together and shared a beer, and then I crashed in my room and fell into a lovely sleep.
Then next morning I woke up early and sat on my little front porch to write a bit and enjoy the view. I had a small breakfast and then Nithin took me on a walk to a small waterfall about 2 km away from the hotel. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular specimen, but the walk was gorgeous and it was nice to hear the rushing water and get my feet a bit wet. When we got back, Barbara and Pavlos were up and wanting to go to the waterfall, so I took an afternoon rest and waited for them to come back, since we had arranged to take a trip into Munnar and see the tea museum and tea plantations later that day. At around 3 o’clock, the rickshaw came to pick us up and we left on one of the coolest rides I’d seen so far. The tea plantations are enormous, set on the sides of steep mountains, and the most brilliant shades of green. The bushes are low and flat on the top and they look a little bit fake – like something you’d see in a video game or cartoon. It’s amazing to think that one of India’s largest crops – and one if its most emblematic products, tea, was something that is left over from British occupation. Some Brits needed their tea, and they brought some plants with them, made the Indian workers cultivate it, and left them with a lifelong habit and a major export. I guess not all results of colonization are bad. Anyway, we drove through Munnar (a real dump, thank God I didn’t stay there!) and came to the Tata Tea Museum, the only place around that you can still see how tea is processed. It was pretty interesting, despite the fact that the guy giving the description of the process was speaking barely decipherable English. I was able to glean that all types of leaf tea (herbal is different) - white, green, black, and tea that goes into tea bags – are made from the same plant, but processed differently. I didn’t know that before. We got to see some of the machinery, which looked like it was a relic from days gone by, and watch how tea gets dried, smooshed, oxidized, dried, and sorted. We also got a nice little sample of some chai at the end. Then it was time for a little internet (in the tiniest internet café in India) and then back on the rickshaw and home to lovely, clean, peaceful Dew Drops Homestay.
Barbara and I had agreed that last night’s dinner was a little on the bland side, and we were also facing an evening free of any possibility for activity, so we asked Nithin if he would let us help with dinner. He enthusiastically agreed and told us to give him twenty minutes to cut veggies before we came down to help. We made our way down to the kitchen – a very big, clean, nicely outfitted one – and rolled up our sleeves. We helped make vegetable curry (shocking, I know), lentil curry, chapatti, and rice. It was fun to be cooking and I really impressed everyone with my Food- Network-stolen technique of smashing the garlic with the back of my knife to get the skin off. It’s the simple things.
Oh! I forgot to mention that Rinjo, the smiley driver who picked me up from the airport in Cochin, was the guy who drove the Greek couple from Cochin to Munnar. We had a very happy reunion when he came with them, and then he showed up again with another couple as we were cooking. It was sort of nice to feel like I had a little friend in India. He greeted me as if we were long lost siblings and every time we parted, it was with hugs and promises that he would be contacting me on my e-mail. We had a very nice dinner with such a strange combination of people. Me, Barbara, Pavlos, and Rinjo… Very cute.
By the time we finished eating, it was time for me to tuck myself in, since I was catching the 7 a.m. bus the next day for my journey to Alleppey.
Well, some big changes in plans over the last couple of days, but everything seems to be turning out quite well. I’ll start from where I left off the other night. I got up early to do a bit of sightseeing before I went to my dance lesson. One of the most emblematic sights in Kerala are the Chinese fishing nets that line the waterways of Kochi and the backwater regions. I needed to see these for myself, so I walked down to the water for some photo ops. I got sort of lucky, because as I was setting up a good shot, I noticed the men operating the net beckoning to me. They invited me up onto their contraption and one of them took my camera and started directing me around the thing, snapping pictures all the while. I got to help pull the net out of the water, I held a fish, and I sat and looked out onto the water. I think some of the shots came out pretty nice. Anyway, after this, of course, they hit me up for some money – their way of fishing is dying due to a combination of the effects of the Tsunami and mechanized fishing methods. I gave them a few rupees and escaped before they could get any more off me. I popped into an internet café while I was waiting for the breakfast place I wanted to go to to open and tried unsuccessfully to upload my blog. It’s so frustrating to depend on technology that consistently fails you. I’d rather not deal with it at all.
After I got over that irritation, I sat down and had some fresh squeezed pineapple juice and a lovely veggie omelet. The Swedish couple at the table next to me started laughing at my attempts to eat while at the same time waving away and killing the tons of mosquitoes that were trying to eat me. We had a brief chat and then I headed off to my lesson. There was another girl taking the class with me who had been coming for a few days in a row, but she was not a dancer, so the class actually moved at a good pace for me. The style we learned was called Mohiniattam and it was hard! For most of the hour and a half long lesson, I was in a full squat position. My legs were burning by the end – especially since I haven’t been doing too much rigorous physical activity since I’ve been here – and I was soaked through with sweat. The movements are so precise and require you to not only use your hands independently of each other, doing different hand positions with each one, but each movement has eye choreography as well. I could blame my lack of ability in that department of my contact lenses, but I have to admit that I’m just not that good at it! One thing I really noticed while doing this new style of dance was how much influence choreographers like Jack Cole and Bob Fosse drew from Indian dance. I swear, some of the movements felt exactly like things I had learned in college or in classes I’ve taken in the style of those choreographers. It was really interesting.
After class, I did a bit more sightseeing, but the day had gotten so hot that I had to go back to my hotel room and lay down for a while. It’s one thing to stay out during the middle of the day in a beach area, but in a city there’s just no relief from the sweltering humidity and sun. I woke up in time to go to the 5 o’clock cooking class I had signed up for earlier. A plump, jolly lady named Leelu Roy does two hour long classes out of her house and she tells you the recipes while she demonstrates five dishes and then you eat! She was great and I learned how to make chapatti, fish curry, lentil curry, and a couple of others. (Dad, we’re cooking when I get home.) It was great to be in someone’s home, making food and learning about what really goes into the food I’ve been eating for the last two months. I also had the great fortune of meeting some really wonderful people in the class. Matt, Sally, and Lucy were all taking the class with me and they seemed very nice, so I invited them out for a drink after the class was over. We headed to a little bar that was filled with Westerners and I got to know more about them. Lucy was from the Czech Republic and she had been traveling alone for about two months (she was supposed to have come here with a friend who then bailed on her and she came anyway) until she met up with Matt and Sally about a week ago. Matt and Sally were a couple from the UK who were on the last month of their pre-wedding eight month world tour. They had been all over Canada, South and Central America, Asia and were finishing their trip in India. It was incredible to hear their stories and see their pictures. What an amazing luxury to have that time together and to make all of those memories before embarking on married life… Sally invited me to a yoga class she had been taking for the last few days in the morning and we parted ways, agreeing to meet at 7:30 the next morning.
I met Lucy and Sally at the Ayurvedic center the next morning and we walked with the yoga teacher to a house where he had been given an open rooftop to teach his classes. There were two other women in the class and it was fantastic to have such a small number of people – usually yoga classes in New York can have up to thirty people in one studio! It felt so good to move and really exercise my body after a fairly long time of not doing a whole lot of physical activity. The class was intense and included chanting and meditation as well as some very strenuous poses. I happen to still be very flexible, so the teacher was impressed with me and really pushed me. I did some poses I had never even attempted before – including the Scorpion, which is a very difficult position that involves standing on your head while bending your body backwards into a C shape. Needless to say, I am very sore. After that two and a half hour class, we went to our respective hotels for a shower and met up again at this little restaurant called the Teapot for a nice breakfast. They had seen a sign the day before inviting visitors to an orphanage nearby, and we had decided to make a visit to the children and also to donate some clothes and supplies. I brought a bag of clothes that I hadn’t left at Shanti Bhavan, but wanted to get rid of, and after we ate, we jumped in a rickshaw and went. Unfortunately, we weren’t aware that there were designated visiting hours and we arrived during lunchtime, but they let us in anyway and we had a look around. The orphanage was an off-shoot of Mother Theresa’s homes in Calcutta and it was a place for mentally and physically disabled children. It was rough. The kids all seemed to have very severe Cerebral Palsy and they were not very aware or able to do anything at all. The patience and dedication of the smiling, friendly women who were their caretakers is something that I don’t think I will ever be able to attain. It seemed like such thankless work, and so difficult. I had an easy time at Shanti Bhavan – the children gave me back tenfold what I offered them – but to work with kids that can’t even speak or play… that is an entirely different story. We didn’t want to interrupt lunch, so we stayed for a short time, gave our donations, and went back to Fort Cochin.
By this point in the day, it had reached hell temperature, so we sought out the one air-conditioned coffee shop in the area and parked ourselves there for a while. We were able to use the internet and chat and that was very nice. The three of them were such nice people and had a lot of interesting experiences and thoughts to share. Now, I had originally planned to leave for Alleppey and the backwaters that afternoon, but after speaking to the owner of my hotel, I had been convinced to stay one more night and leave instead for Munnar the next morning. This seemed like a much better plan, and also gave me the chance to see a performance of Kathakali dance in the evening. Matt and Sally had already seen a performance somewhere else, but Lucy said she would like to come with me, so we set a time to meet for dinner, and Lucy and I went to the Kathakali Center to watch the performers apply their make-up before the show. As I said before, the make-up is a lot like Chinese opera; each stock character has its own base color and all of the facial features are extremely exaggerated with black contouring. The make-up took about an hour and then there was an explanation of the art form and a demonstration of the various aspects of the performance before the actual play took place. Each dancer, musician, and singer in Kathakali trains for a minimum of six years in order to become a professional. The dancer don’t sing or speak, but their faces and hands are trained to do things that I have never seen before. As in the other forms of Indian dance, eye movements are one of the most important things. I don’t know if I can even describe how fast and intricately they move their eyes. It looks like something out of The Exorcist! Their facial movements are also crazy – they twitch their cheek muscles and furrow their eyebrows and quiver their lips and all of the various “looks” and moves convey different emotions and states of being. They also do a series of 26 hand positions called Mudras that mean different things, although I’m not really sure what. The performance was strange, but so interesting. I’m really glad I didn’t miss it.
After the show, I had a lovely dinner with my three new friends and then went back to my hotel to pack and get to sleep so I could be up at 6:30 to catch the ferry to the bus to Munnar. Unfortunately, I didn’t do much sleeping since it had reached around 90 degrees in my room (I know this because my alarm clock has a thermometer on it). I woke up in a pool of my own sweat at around 2 a.m. and went into the main area of the house where I proceeded to try everything to cool myself down a bit – including sticking my head in the freezer. The staff member on duty came out and saw me sitting at the table with my head down, trying to sleep in the slightly cooler spot. He took pity on me and turned on the A.C. in my room for a few hours free of charge. I was finally able to sleep. The rickshaw driver picked me up in front of my hotel and took me to the bus station, where I found out that I had gotten wrong information about my bus time. I had to wait for about an hour and a half, but hey – this is India. I was sad to leave Cochin. I had many wonderful experiences there and learned a lot. I really felt that I got to be a part of some very exciting Indian culture and that brought me even closer to understanding this country.
So, Wilson, the owner of the Spencer Tourist Home where I stayed in Cochin, had arranged a stay for me at his other property in Kallar, a small village about 15 km from Munnar (he gave me “the good price”). Munnar is known for its huge tea plantations, mountainous terrain, and cool climate. The city itself is not so great, so I didn’t feel bad about not staying there. After a hot, sweaty, aggravating, four and a half hour bus ride (which cost about $2.00, so I can’t really complain), I arrived at the Dew Drops Homestay. Once I saw the gorgeous place and met the happy, attentive staff of three, I certainly didn’t feel bad about not staying in Munnar. The thing about traveling by bus in India is that, unless you are getting off at the last stop, you really have no way of knowing where you are supposed to disembark. There aren’t any announcements, and there aren’t any signs, and when you ask people to help you, they have no idea what you are saying. I knew I had to get off at Kallar, and I knew it would be before Munnar, but I didn’t know anything else. So, when the bus sped through a tiny string of shops and I saw the word “Kallar,” I screamed at the bus driver to stop, pushed over a bunch of people to get my bags off the bus, and fell out onto the side of the road. I then dragged my stuff over to a group of rickshaw drivers and hoped one of them would know the Dew Drops. One did, and I threw my bags in and we started up a long, winding road that lead about 7 km into a forest.
I was met at the driveway by Nithin – the head staff member – and two other young men. They put my things in a beautiful, clean, modern, red-tiled room and assured me that Wilson and told them I was coming and I was to get “the good price.” Nithin, it turned out, was a 23 year old guy studying to be an airline worker. He told me that for the last month he had be the only person at the hotel and that the other guys had just arrived yesterday. He said there hadn’t been any guests for a week, but that when there were people there, he cleaned, cooked, and guided them around. A lot of responsibility for one kid. I settled my stuff in the room took a short nap while Nithin prepared my lunch. It was heaven, laying on the clean, sheet-covered bed and feeling the blissfully cool breeze blowing through my open window. A welcome change from the stifling heat of Cochin. I got up an hour later and ate my vegetable curry (how unexpected!) and then Nithin suggested we set out on a little walk to the estate’s dairy farm. Let me just try to describe to you how beautiful it was there. The hills were filled with embarrassingly green trees, coffee, cardamom and pepper plants, flowers, birds, ducks, cows, goats, bugs, you name it. It was lush and wild and absolutely breathtaking. We followed a small path to a tiny little farm on the crest of a hill. There were rabbits and goats in little pens on the way up, and then we came to a small open barn with about twenty cows lined up, all munching on fresh grasses. No corn, no hormones, no meat – just grass, the way cows are supposed to eat! There was one huge bull and a few little calves running around. One man owns and runs the farm and he tends the animals, milks the cows, and creates bio-gas fuel from the manure. Pretty cool. After the farm tour, we were going back to the hotel when Nithin said that he had to go to the nearby village to get a chicken and some veggies for dinner. He asked if I wanted to join him and of course I agreed. The village consisted of about ten shops lining both sides of a dirt road and a little church. Now, I didn’t really think that “getting a chicken” would mean going to the Stop’n’Shop and picking one out of the refrigerated section, but I also didn’t consider that we would be going to pick out a live one, either. We did. We went to the shop, Nithin asked for a chicken, and the shop owner took a squawking, screeching bird out of a small pen and slapped it onto a scale. We then went next door for tea and fried banana while the poor little clucker was dispatched, plucked and cleaned. I felt a bit guilty, but I guess it’s important to think about where your food comes from.
When we got back to the hotel, we found that two more guests had shown up. Barbara and Pavlos were a middle-aged Greek couple who were on a two-week vacation through Southern India. They were very nice and Barbara was quite a talker. We had dinner together and shared a beer, and then I crashed in my room and fell into a lovely sleep.
Then next morning I woke up early and sat on my little front porch to write a bit and enjoy the view. I had a small breakfast and then Nithin took me on a walk to a small waterfall about 2 km away from the hotel. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular specimen, but the walk was gorgeous and it was nice to hear the rushing water and get my feet a bit wet. When we got back, Barbara and Pavlos were up and wanting to go to the waterfall, so I took an afternoon rest and waited for them to come back, since we had arranged to take a trip into Munnar and see the tea museum and tea plantations later that day. At around 3 o’clock, the rickshaw came to pick us up and we left on one of the coolest rides I’d seen so far. The tea plantations are enormous, set on the sides of steep mountains, and the most brilliant shades of green. The bushes are low and flat on the top and they look a little bit fake – like something you’d see in a video game or cartoon. It’s amazing to think that one of India’s largest crops – and one if its most emblematic products, tea, was something that is left over from British occupation. Some Brits needed their tea, and they brought some plants with them, made the Indian workers cultivate it, and left them with a lifelong habit and a major export. I guess not all results of colonization are bad. Anyway, we drove through Munnar (a real dump, thank God I didn’t stay there!) and came to the Tata Tea Museum, the only place around that you can still see how tea is processed. It was pretty interesting, despite the fact that the guy giving the description of the process was speaking barely decipherable English. I was able to glean that all types of leaf tea (herbal is different) - white, green, black, and tea that goes into tea bags – are made from the same plant, but processed differently. I didn’t know that before. We got to see some of the machinery, which looked like it was a relic from days gone by, and watch how tea gets dried, smooshed, oxidized, dried, and sorted. We also got a nice little sample of some chai at the end. Then it was time for a little internet (in the tiniest internet café in India) and then back on the rickshaw and home to lovely, clean, peaceful Dew Drops Homestay.
Barbara and I had agreed that last night’s dinner was a little on the bland side, and we were also facing an evening free of any possibility for activity, so we asked Nithin if he would let us help with dinner. He enthusiastically agreed and told us to give him twenty minutes to cut veggies before we came down to help. We made our way down to the kitchen – a very big, clean, nicely outfitted one – and rolled up our sleeves. We helped make vegetable curry (shocking, I know), lentil curry, chapatti, and rice. It was fun to be cooking and I really impressed everyone with my Food- Network-stolen technique of smashing the garlic with the back of my knife to get the skin off. It’s the simple things.
Oh! I forgot to mention that Rinjo, the smiley driver who picked me up from the airport in Cochin, was the guy who drove the Greek couple from Cochin to Munnar. We had a very happy reunion when he came with them, and then he showed up again with another couple as we were cooking. It was sort of nice to feel like I had a little friend in India. He greeted me as if we were long lost siblings and every time we parted, it was with hugs and promises that he would be contacting me on my e-mail. We had a very nice dinner with such a strange combination of people. Me, Barbara, Pavlos, and Rinjo… Very cute.
By the time we finished eating, it was time for me to tuck myself in, since I was catching the 7 a.m. bus the next day for my journey to Alleppey.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Cochi Cochi Coo
April 3, Cochin/Kochi
I woke up this morning in Goa and went down to the beach. I had a great swim and headed back to the hotel to pack up and say auf wiedersein to my new German friends. I was planning to take a taxi alone to the airport, but it turned out that Juan Carlos, a fifty year old Argentinean living in Italy and another guest at Couthino’s Nest, was going at around the same time. If I keep getting lucky like that, I won’t have to pay full price for anything.
It turns out that Paramount, the airline I was flying from Goa to Cochi, is an all business class airline. I got the royal treatment; fresh lime juice and a cool wet towel before takeoff, a full lunch with the works, and cloth covered pillows. I don’t usually get into that sort of thing, but it was pretty nice.
A very smiley driver met me at the airport. He had been sent from Spencer Home, my hotel here, and he was very confused when Elizabeth and Daniel didn’t show up together. He kept asking me “Only you?” and I had to explain about my last name. He was very cute and played all kinds of his favorite Bollywood songs for me on the way to the hotel. My room is really nice here, with an attached bathroom and a big bed. I was supposed to have a smaller, cheaper room, but I think they gave it away or something because I’m getting this room at the cheaper price, which is 1/3 what it should cost. I’m not complaining.
Once I settled my stuff in, I set out to get a feel for the town. Cochi is actually made up of several parts; Fort Cochi, where I’m staying, the adjacent Mattancherry, and Eurukalam. The two former areas are the historic parts – quiet, atmospheric, and filled with remnants from prior Dutch, Portuguese, and British colonization. The other part is your typical loud, dirty, crowded Indian city. Anyway, it was dark, but from what I could see, this is a charming and very intriguing place. I was just wandering when I spotted a sign for a tabla and sitar concert going on immediately at the Kerala Kathakali Center. I quickly hurried over and got a ticket. It was very different than other music I’ve heard here, but it was cool to see a truly classical art form being maintained. The tabla (drums that not only act as percussion, but have melody too) are such a cool instrument. I’ve heard they are very hard to play skillfully and the musician who was playing them was incredible. The Kathakali Center is where they perform and teach Kathakali - an ancient form of ritual dance that is, from what I can tell, sort of like the Chinese opera with heavy make-up and men playing all of the parts. I’m going to attend a performance tomorrow night, but what I was most interested in is that they also offer classes there. I arranged to have a classical Indian dance lesson tomorrow morning and I’m really excited.
I miss Shanti Bhavan so much. I’ve been thinking about the kids all day. I don’t think I’ve really been able to talk about how special that place is – and I don’t know if I can convey it now- but every moment I spent there was such a gift. I called Amanda tonight to see how the fourth graders are doing and she said they were asking about me, so I feel good that they haven’t forgotten our time together. It’s great to be out traveling and seeing more of this country that I’ve come to love, but part of me wishes I was back there right now, getting to bed so I could get up at 6 to teach aerobics. I know I’ll be back there someday, but right now someday doesn’t seem soon enough.
I woke up this morning in Goa and went down to the beach. I had a great swim and headed back to the hotel to pack up and say auf wiedersein to my new German friends. I was planning to take a taxi alone to the airport, but it turned out that Juan Carlos, a fifty year old Argentinean living in Italy and another guest at Couthino’s Nest, was going at around the same time. If I keep getting lucky like that, I won’t have to pay full price for anything.
It turns out that Paramount, the airline I was flying from Goa to Cochi, is an all business class airline. I got the royal treatment; fresh lime juice and a cool wet towel before takeoff, a full lunch with the works, and cloth covered pillows. I don’t usually get into that sort of thing, but it was pretty nice.
A very smiley driver met me at the airport. He had been sent from Spencer Home, my hotel here, and he was very confused when Elizabeth and Daniel didn’t show up together. He kept asking me “Only you?” and I had to explain about my last name. He was very cute and played all kinds of his favorite Bollywood songs for me on the way to the hotel. My room is really nice here, with an attached bathroom and a big bed. I was supposed to have a smaller, cheaper room, but I think they gave it away or something because I’m getting this room at the cheaper price, which is 1/3 what it should cost. I’m not complaining.
Once I settled my stuff in, I set out to get a feel for the town. Cochi is actually made up of several parts; Fort Cochi, where I’m staying, the adjacent Mattancherry, and Eurukalam. The two former areas are the historic parts – quiet, atmospheric, and filled with remnants from prior Dutch, Portuguese, and British colonization. The other part is your typical loud, dirty, crowded Indian city. Anyway, it was dark, but from what I could see, this is a charming and very intriguing place. I was just wandering when I spotted a sign for a tabla and sitar concert going on immediately at the Kerala Kathakali Center. I quickly hurried over and got a ticket. It was very different than other music I’ve heard here, but it was cool to see a truly classical art form being maintained. The tabla (drums that not only act as percussion, but have melody too) are such a cool instrument. I’ve heard they are very hard to play skillfully and the musician who was playing them was incredible. The Kathakali Center is where they perform and teach Kathakali - an ancient form of ritual dance that is, from what I can tell, sort of like the Chinese opera with heavy make-up and men playing all of the parts. I’m going to attend a performance tomorrow night, but what I was most interested in is that they also offer classes there. I arranged to have a classical Indian dance lesson tomorrow morning and I’m really excited.
I miss Shanti Bhavan so much. I’ve been thinking about the kids all day. I don’t think I’ve really been able to talk about how special that place is – and I don’t know if I can convey it now- but every moment I spent there was such a gift. I called Amanda tonight to see how the fourth graders are doing and she said they were asking about me, so I feel good that they haven’t forgotten our time together. It’s great to be out traveling and seeing more of this country that I’ve come to love, but part of me wishes I was back there right now, getting to bed so I could get up at 6 to teach aerobics. I know I’ll be back there someday, but right now someday doesn’t seem soon enough.
Jesus is the Bom
April 2, Goa
Today has been a great day so far. I got up this morning to some nice phone calls from home and then sat outside in the little courtyard of my hotel and had a coffee and wrote in my journal. I was going to leave earlier, but I wanted to make sure I had something to post, because people have been asking me what happened to my blog. I’m glad I stuck around because my two German friends came out of their rooms to have breakfast and we were soon joined by two more Germans, Wolf and Rene - brothers here on vacation. They were very nice and it turned out that they were also planning to go to explore Panaji and old Goa today, so we decided to team up and go together. We were waiting for the first of three buses we were going to have to take to get there when Agatha came out of our hotel and told us her friend was going that direction and would drive us in his jeep if we just bought him a few beers later. Sounded like a good plan, so we jumped in and headed off. Both places were very nice – sort of like Pondicherry, European settlements in the middle of India. We saw a bunch of churches including the Basilica of Bom Jesus (I just love that name) where the body of St. Francis Xavier is kept. There was a mass going on there and it was so interesting to hear all of the familiar responses in English at a church in India. “Lift up you hearts.” “We lift them up to the Lord…” Anyway, the day was getting hotter and hotter and it was almost unbearable, so we decided to get in a taxi and go to the beach. On the way, I asked the driver to stop so I could buy some feni, which is a spirit that they make only in Goa. There are two varieties, cashew and coconut, and I bought one bottle of each… someone is getting a good present when I get home…
We changed at the hotel and the guys had rented scooters, so we scooted down to the beach and found Lena and Johanna in the same spot I had been with them yesterday. We all hung out, swimming and sunbathing and eating at one of the little shacks on the beach. It was fantastic! When we all felt sufficiently sunburned, we headed back to the hotel room to shower and change because we were supposed to be attending that festival at the local temple. We met in the courtyard and started out. It occurred to me as we were walking along that I was the only American with four Germans in a Portuguese colony going to a Hindi festival in India… very international. Anyway, it turned out to be a bust because when we got there they were still setting up – apparently it wasn’t starting until 10:30 and it was 7:30 at the moment. We went to dinner – I had fish cooked in parchment with herbs and mashed potatoes! And by the end of the meal I was so tired that I went back to the hotel to go to sleep. I think the two girls and Rene went back, so I’ll have to ask them tomorrow how it was. I was a little disappointed in myself that I couldn’t stay up for the dancing, but hey – this is my vacation and I can do whatever I want! Tomorrow I fly to Kochin. I’m really looking forward to it, but I will miss Goa, my little beach paradise.
Today has been a great day so far. I got up this morning to some nice phone calls from home and then sat outside in the little courtyard of my hotel and had a coffee and wrote in my journal. I was going to leave earlier, but I wanted to make sure I had something to post, because people have been asking me what happened to my blog. I’m glad I stuck around because my two German friends came out of their rooms to have breakfast and we were soon joined by two more Germans, Wolf and Rene - brothers here on vacation. They were very nice and it turned out that they were also planning to go to explore Panaji and old Goa today, so we decided to team up and go together. We were waiting for the first of three buses we were going to have to take to get there when Agatha came out of our hotel and told us her friend was going that direction and would drive us in his jeep if we just bought him a few beers later. Sounded like a good plan, so we jumped in and headed off. Both places were very nice – sort of like Pondicherry, European settlements in the middle of India. We saw a bunch of churches including the Basilica of Bom Jesus (I just love that name) where the body of St. Francis Xavier is kept. There was a mass going on there and it was so interesting to hear all of the familiar responses in English at a church in India. “Lift up you hearts.” “We lift them up to the Lord…” Anyway, the day was getting hotter and hotter and it was almost unbearable, so we decided to get in a taxi and go to the beach. On the way, I asked the driver to stop so I could buy some feni, which is a spirit that they make only in Goa. There are two varieties, cashew and coconut, and I bought one bottle of each… someone is getting a good present when I get home…
We changed at the hotel and the guys had rented scooters, so we scooted down to the beach and found Lena and Johanna in the same spot I had been with them yesterday. We all hung out, swimming and sunbathing and eating at one of the little shacks on the beach. It was fantastic! When we all felt sufficiently sunburned, we headed back to the hotel room to shower and change because we were supposed to be attending that festival at the local temple. We met in the courtyard and started out. It occurred to me as we were walking along that I was the only American with four Germans in a Portuguese colony going to a Hindi festival in India… very international. Anyway, it turned out to be a bust because when we got there they were still setting up – apparently it wasn’t starting until 10:30 and it was 7:30 at the moment. We went to dinner – I had fish cooked in parchment with herbs and mashed potatoes! And by the end of the meal I was so tired that I went back to the hotel to go to sleep. I think the two girls and Rene went back, so I’ll have to ask them tomorrow how it was. I was a little disappointed in myself that I couldn’t stay up for the dancing, but hey – this is my vacation and I can do whatever I want! Tomorrow I fly to Kochin. I’m really looking forward to it, but I will miss Goa, my little beach paradise.
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