Third Time's the Charm in Cochin

Two weeks of Varanasi was far too much. In something of a stupor, it took me an inordinately long time to decide what to do and where to go next. Uncertainty about the Austrian Labor Ministry's final ruling on our visa case didn't help.

Varanasi was mostly alright as long as I could remain in a poo-free exclusion zone. Never have I seen (or smelled) so much excrement. Varanasi must be the poo capital of the universe. Herds of buffalo wandering through the slum close to my guest house only made matters worse. Around Assi Ghat and nearby temples, the situation was no better.

One fine morning the wholly uninspiring cookery of the guest house laid waste to the poo-free exclusion zone within the guest house. At 2:00 AM, I awoke with stomach pains, and didn't quite make it to the toilet on time. It was at that point that I realized that I needed to make a decision regarding departure quite soon.

Several ideas were bandied about in my feverish mind. Josh-bhai suggested Kathmandu. I thought of Goa or Kovalam. Eventually I settled on Cochin, maybe to revisit the lanes of MANAM, mostly because Kerala is clean and the food is wonderful, and the South indeed marks a clear departure.

For some reason, no matter how hard I scoured, it was impossible to find a listing or even a phone number for the hilariously misnamed Park Avenue Hotel in Fort Cochin. In any case, I booked something else for one night, with the intention of coming personally to check things out on Princess Street.

Booking a trip on Air India, reckoning that if the first plane was delayed, they would still be obliged to get me all the way to Kerala, my fears in this regard were borne out. We were delayed an hour out of Varanasi. I did indeed make it to the connecting flight, which lasted a whole three hours (India is a big country). In my meal, there was a scratch card for prizes. One such prize was an induction-compatible set of pots and even an electric induction burner. That was the one that seemed the most practical, and to be sure, over my airplane chicken curry rice, I began to covet it. Eventually I scratched the card. And won!! 

Of course every silver lining has a cloud, and our flight landed in the wrong terminal for me to be able to collect the prize. So I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I won't willingly fly Air India again any time soon.

The morning after my late night arrival, I duly went down to Princess Street to seek out the Park Avenue Hotel. Why? Well Cochin is kind of a special place for me. I only ever experienced happiness in this place. 

The first time was in 2001, on my first trip to India. And it was wonderful enough that I was ultimately rather regretful to have left it for Chennai. That required corrective action, which came at long last in 2007. That second visit coincided with the formation of MANAM which was a happy enough occurrence that I still feel a certain nostalgia five years later.

This is Trip #3. The Park Avenue Hotel was never in the greatest state of repair. At the time of writing, it had closed down for renovations, that were probably necessary ten years ago as well. I found something cheap, good, cozy and quiet just around the corner. And as soon as I had unpacked my backpack, the receptionist asked me if I wanted to be in a Malayali movie. Without even a nanosecond of hesitation, I promptly agreed. What's more, wages for extras had gone up significantly since last I was in the never-released Har Pal. Back then, it was 500-600 rupees a day. Now it is 1000. So we shall see how this Malayali movie pans out.

In the meantime, I'm filled with a present-tense positive nostalgia when walking along Fort Cochin's renowned seaside boardwalk. It features the Chinese fishing nets for which the place is famous, as well as relics from Portuguese, Dutch and British colonial endeavors on the Malabar Coast. It's like having a personal history in this place as well; although it has been five years since my last visit, it is all so wonderfully familiar.  

I can also say that I enjoy the company of the locals. In 1957, in a stroke of historical foresight, the people of Kerala elected the world's first parliamentary Communist government. One legacy of that fateful decision was the highest literacy rate in all of India (not quite 100%, but nearly). Another is the least caste-conscious society within the country, although  that Kerala is home to half of India's Christians may also have some bearing on this issue. The people I meet time and again are educated, articulate, cultured, and generally very engaging. Also of interest is the historical Jewish community, of which only a remnant remains. Nevertheless, Jew Town, as it is known, still houses a 400 year-old synagogue, which is still somewhat in use, and seems to be in a better state of repair than what is left of its much younger counterpart in Yangon.

Kerala is also known as the Land of Coconuts. These figure prominently in the local cuisine, which by any measure, is delectable. Indeed, I had practically stopped eating in Varanasi, and came down south to get the mojo back into my appetite. This verily succeeded.

I am also working on the assumption that this will be the final destination in my Back for More adventure in India. I expect the Austrian Labor Ministry to pronounce itself shortly regarding our case, and once it does, regardless of outcome, I will head back to Bangkok for the next phase in my traveller's life. But for now, grilled fish and prawns in coconut curry beckon.

Death and Rebirth Along the Ganges

As soon as I got to Varanasi, it was immediately clear to me that the blog entry would practically write itself. In all the years I have been coming to India, that is since 2001, I have studiously avoided the Shiva City. In my mind, the cult of Shiva goes some way in explaining the acceptance of chaos in the world. Wherever one sees destruction, it can be explained by Shiv-shakti. The old city of Varanasi is a series of ghats, or stairways leading down to the river Ganges. Hindus come hear for death and funerals. It is considered the most auspicious place to pass away, as doing so in Varanasi finally releases one from the endless cycle of death and rebirth. Funeral cremations are held along the banks as well. The rich can afford enough wood for a decent pyre and oil to light it properly. Their funerals are, well, clean burning, as it were. They are the minority. More humble funerals end rather less completely on the river. 

Scores of people live along the riverbank. Some housing is decent. A lot of it is slums. Not public housing in disrepair, no. Authentic favelas and shanties, with mud bricks, corrugated metal, plastic sheeting, and the like. And they eat, drink, bathe and relieve themselves in this river, along with hoards of pilgrims. The resulting water quality is less than inspiring. And with herds of cows, ox, pigs, donkeys and other livestock roaming freely, there is shit absolutely everywhere. Most of the time it is just shit. Sometimes though it is shit mixed with garbage.

Having known about all this beforehand, you might think my reticence about coming to this place was understandable. But I found a quiet little piece of paradise along the river, some two or so kilometers after Assi Ghat, the southernmost one in the old city. There we have Rahul Guest House, in a little cul-de-sac, on the Ganges to be sure, with quiet, swept walkways, and a rooftop restaurant featuring a view to die for, plus free wi-fi. There's something more to complete the picture. Just by the ghat, there's a wonderful little lassi stall, where I am a regular customer. They make every kind of lassi to order. Every kind. I go for my daily quota. And it is a happy affair, let me assure you.

Soon after arriving, I had a strange experience. It was like I felt all the crowding of souls in this city. So many being released. So many ambling about, in no a hurry to move on, or not quite sure which direction to take.

Trying as I do to maintain a slight distance between myself and the heaving mass of filth and foulness, understanding this as a place of death, I also felt a strong urge toward rebirth. Some souls come initially to escape the curse of constant reincarnation; it seemed like a portion of them changed their minds and in the midst of the crowd of spirits, struggle to reassert themselves in order to return. Maybe their work on this plane isn't yet done. 

I am now traveling alone. Adam went back to spend some time with his family before we move to Austria. It has been nearly four months since we submitted our visa application. The Immigration Authorities have hounded us with unending demands for new documents and clarifications. They have dithered in the decision regarding permanent or provisional status. They have made me spin plates while leaping through flaming hoops. But it seems now that a decision may actually be near. Part of my motivation in coming to Varanasi was to experience all the horror of India in order to better appreciate the material virtues of Europe. And emerging from this place, finally triumphant, I now feel will almost be akin to a rebirth. Not just a new job in a new place. A new life. A new start. 

That may sound a bit cliché, and the truth of the matter is that I originally saw this move as the next sector on a logical continuum. It may well of been conceived that way, but now, in Varanasi, I am inclined to see it as a clean break to something completely new, different and unpredictable. The joys will be different joys and the challenges will be different challenges. Indeed, looking back, every five years seems to have brought such vast changes that even my fertile imagination would have been hard pressed to dream up such scenarios. So there is openness and acceptance and a surrender to my destiny. 

Laid Back Leh

On the roof of the world, at over 3500 m, abutting the Chinese and Pakistani borders, you have Western Tibet, officially part of the Indian State of Jammu & Kashmir. It is far more like Central rather than South Asia in many aspects. The climate is desert-like. The region only gets 55 mm of rain a year. Altitude sickness affected me slightly for a few days. 

Kashmir is a remote outpost if ever there was one. Our mobiles stopped working as soon as we disembarked, not be see a signal again until Delhi. The electricity worked for less than half the time. Internet service was barely available, and when it was, at excruciatingly slow speeds.

But the physical topography defies all description, what with the majesty of the Himalayas. And speaking of majesty, the Dalai Lama was in town, and we went to hear a sermon by him. Interestingly, for a religious figure, the day's lesson was about not accepting any religious doctrine that does not stand up to logical or scientific scrutiny. He even gave an example of a Tibetan astrological text that clearly implied the world was flat. He had rejected it.

Leh also seems to attract a very interesting sort of backpacker. And friendly, too. Even though our previous destination had been Delhi, and it was indeed a 10-day long social encounter, Leh was with new people who were genuinely curious about all sorts. There was a French guy who managed to bag a 5-year visa to India, such the veteran that he was. There were two amazing Polish Indologists, with whom we struck up a friendship and hope to meet again in Cracow. Toward the end we met a Croatian medical student who was developing an incipient interest in oriental carpets. I could go on. 

Despite having a stuffed nose, little appetite, and being rather unable to exert oneself as one runs out of breath very easily, we had a wonderful time enjoying the place, the people and the visitors. We went on three field trips. The first was a series of monasteries, some ancient, others less so, around the Leh area. The humbler the monastery, the more beautiful the setting. We went up to Pangong-tso lake, at over 4000 m, and even stayed overnight in an uncomfortable tent. We also did a day trip on the World's Highest Motorable Road (I dispute the 'motorable' label), at over 5600 m, featuring quite the panoramic view. 

Throughout the sojourn, and indeed before, in Delhi, I was dealing with the Austrian Immigration authorities regarding a slew of form filling, document sending, and otherwise seemingly pointless clarification exercises. I'd like to think that at the time of writing they finally have everything they need and can make a decision in short course. Fun as India always is, it does seem high time to get to Europe and get back to work. 

Realizing that the visa is coming, Adam decided that he needed to spend a few weeks of quality time with his family before we well and truly depart. After Leh, I took him to Delhi and put him on a plane for Bangkok, before departing myself to  Varanasi. In coming to the Shiva City, I have now fulfilled the great pledge of this trip: to visit all the places I had previously refused. Sometimes it's good to prove yourself wrong.