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.

And The Winner Is…

Let’s start with who the winner isn’t.

Greetings from Hampi, a mystical place of strange yet natural rock formations and ancient stone temples, the former seat of the Vijayanagara Empire, the largest Hindu realm ever to rule South India. The zenith of their power was in the 16th century, but eventually the Mughals swept down from Afghanistan and showed them what for.

Hampi is in the state of Karnataka, the capital of which is hi-tech Bangalore. But the two places may as well be in parallel universes. The Hampi region has perhaps the most crushing poverty I’ve seen so far in India. And for all its natural beauty and the structural wonders, the place is filthy and quite very much the one-horse town. The food is uniformly disappointing, to the point that I lost my appetite and only ate the minimum necessary not to starve. There is garbage everywhere, no shortage of skinny cows, mangy dogs and scraggly children. All varieties of animal droppings can be found at every step. It stinks in many places.

I promised myself to stay in India until I had achieved stimulus satiation. And truly, there could be no better place to end my sojourn in this enigmatic country than Hampi. It has all the wondrous beauty and the wretched third world underbelly in plain and unavoidable sight. I’ve had the least fun here (OK, I was also sick). I’m ready to go. I’ve had enough.

And of all the places I’ve been to, almost all brilliant adventures, the winner would have to be Kovalam, with MANAM, Nina and my birthdays, gin and tonic sunsets, the sun tanning competition, fabulous food, and happiness all around.

Now I return to Indonesia, to take the trip I never had the chance to take when I lived there in 1994-95. But first, a bit of the first world, in the form of Singapore, The Mall With a Government. Safety, order, the best food in Asia and nonstop shopping await Mikael and I. Stand back: I have a Gold Visa card, and I’m just crazy enough to use it!

Mosquitoes are in Heaven, Too

Kanyakumari was actually a stopover for MANAM on our way to Madurai (the Sri Meenakshi temple surrounded by an archetypal Indian heaving mass of filth and chaos), also in Tamil Nadu. Mikael had a mission. And we wanted to be there for him. And so it was. Certainly not easy, but best expressed in his own words.

And then, as previously planned, Nina and I headed to the Kerala backwaters for a four-day houseboat cruise, while Mikael made his way alone in various places in Tamil Nadu. We all planned to meet up in Hampi, which would be my final destination in India.

As it turns out, Mikael wants to keep traveling with me. And who am I to say no?! If all goes according to plan, we will do a grand tour of Southeast Asia together, starting in Singapore, and proceeding to Indonesia, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia. Needless to say, I am rather looking forward to it.

But back to the houseboat. For starters, it was small, or at least our quarters were. Notwithstanding being a tad cramped, for four days we cruised along the most spectacular natural scenery you can possibly imagine, with our crew. Siju was the cook, and the one with the most English. What raw culinary talent! All day long we were just fed, and the local delicacies were nothing short of scrumptious. Shaji was our captain, who piloted us expertly across rivers, canals, lakes and even out to the ocean. And Sabu was the engineer, always helpful.

Palm trees, with coconuts, bananas, rice paddies galore, on the calmest of waterways, all instilled an unbreakable sense of serenity from the moment we boarded. It was truly heaven. The only thing is that mosquitoes abound in heaven. And not just here. I recall a similar experience in the Andamans. The two seem to go together. I guess you have to take the bitter with the sweet. Conveniently, I have run out of anti-malaria medication, so let’s just hope for the best from here on in.

Moored by a rice paddy, eating from the crop of shucked short-grain red rice was a particular treat. I can’t recall ever having this type of rice anywhere else. We had fish once a day and a vegetarian meal at dinner, except for the day when the fishermen pulled up right alongside us and sold us river tiger prawns – who could resist? There was fresh fruit in abundance. Curries with potatoes, beans, okra, fresh salads, grated coconut of course in all manner of things, garlic and lime pickles, all graced our meals. In between, there was a constant flow of masala chai, strong southern coffee, biscuits, fruit and yoghurt, and well, you get the idea. Our most memorable breakfast was of idly, a southern specialty. Normally, you eat two, or perhaps three if you are feeling particularly ambitious that morning. Well, Siju brings out a stack, not unlike hotcakes. There must have been at least twenty. We ate all except three. I was a little embarrassed at my own gluttony, but then I realized that we were also making Siju very happy. There is no greater compliment to a cook than an empty plate. And I sort of suspected that many of the Western tourists he hosts are not used to the food, and it must be nice to cook for folks that so enjoy his own mother’s down-home recipes.

Every day there was an onshore activity. On one day, we went out to a beach literally where the river spills into the ocean. It was a most fetching beach. On the river side, it got deep very quickly. On the ocean side, the waves were high, but crested quite close to shore, so it was very pleasant to be out a bit further. And to be sure, the water wasn’t as salty as one would expect in the ocean.

As it turns out, there was a festival at the time of our little cruise, and we passed by a temple playing devotional music. Now this wasn’t the crap I was most cruelly subjected to in Rishikesh (or in Madurai for that matter). This was beautiful. It was catchy. I want to remember it as our backwater soundtrack. In any case, they took us to a temple onshore to see elephants all dolled up for the occasion, and we witnessed a procession around the temple grounds. It was truly a National Geographic moment.

The following day, we saw a traditional Kerala wedding ceremony at another temple. Up until that time, I had only ever seen Indian weddings in movies. To that end, let me state for the record that the most beautiful bride I have ever seen on the silver screen was Rani Mukerji in Chori Chori. Aishwarya is also a lovely bride. But this was the Real McCoy, and we enjoyed the experience immeasurably.

I had expected there to be at least one electrical outlet on the boat, but alas it wasn’t the type that I could charge all my toys with. But once I started playing music on the computer, Uncle André’s Great Box of Wonders became an instant hit with the crew, and they made every effort to find locals onshore who were willing to let me charge the computer and external battery, sometimes twice a day. Once I even waded through a small river flood to get to a house. A few evenings we screened movies, to all of our enjoyment. And if you’re thinking that such a device ruins the rustic experience, you couldn’t be more incorrect. There is absolutely nothing more pleasing than cruising down the waterways with the soundtracks of Om Shanti Om and Bhool Bhulaiyaa as accompaniment.

I’m really glad that this is my penultimate activity in India. It’s almost like saving the best for last. Spending it with Nina only amplified the magic. To my chagrin, MANAM will part ways in Hampi, our next destination, and my last in India. It has been eight months. It really is time to move on.

Ends of the Earth

Sitting for ten plus hours a day in front of my computer, slogging away as a technical writer, my favorite escape fantasy used to be the perfect beach with the perfect boy, in the perfect state of mind. I often mused how long I could hypothetically go on in such a situation. I scoffed at people that said it would become boring eventually. But indeed, there is a limit to everything, and the one for the above-mentioned scenario can even be quantified: three weeks.

Oh yes, Kovalam was paradise. Every single evening, we had our ritual of putting gin in partially emptied tonic water bottles and climbing up to our lookout point for spectacular sunsets and our most moving conversations. This would be followed by sumptuous seafood dinners and plenty more to drink. We’d stay up late using the computer, listening to music, reading, and enjoying each other. I would get up earlier each morning to have breakfast with Nina at the German Bakery, sometimes over some good Kerala Gold. Then we would hit the beach.

I was intent on a tanning competition. I tan well, after a few initial days. That Mikael had two head starts (Andean origin and a week in Goa) didn’t deter me. At first I burned. Then even Nina pulled ahead, leaving me in third place. Undaunted, I realized that the goalposts had to be shifted slightly. I would be darker than Mikael’s original color. And at this, I verily succeeded.

For my birthday I was fêted in grand style at the German Bakery, with catch-of-the-day swordfish in three different preparations, a series of salads, and lemon sugar crêpes for dessert. I got a silver bracelet, which I still haven’t taken off, as well as another beaded bracelet, and the feeling from Mikael and Nina that I was dearly and truly loved. We partied into the wee hours until Mikael simply passed out.

The festivities went a long way in assuaging my distress at having my credit card number phished. Yes, I have been a victim of identity theft, and it was only brought to my attention when Fidelity called my Mom to alert her that my card was being invalidated on suspicion of fraudulent use by third parties. Well, good on them for catching it so quickly and not charging me a single penny, but in the ensuing three weeks, I have been without access to my money, and supported financially by Mikael. He’s been a great sport. But the question remained as to whether we would wait for the replacement card in Kovalam, or move on to Madurai, in Tamil Nadu, where Mikael had a Mission.

As it turns out, Fedex does not deliver to these parts. At all. DHL does, but it takes six business days. Upon hearing this, Mikael had a meltdown. We decided to have the card sent ahead of us to Madurai.

The next day, while walking on the boardwalk, we saw a postcard in a shop window of a beautiful scene in Kanyakumari. As a point of information, Kanyakumari is the southernmost tip on the Indian subcontinent, and for that reason alone, I was curious about discovering it. We were only 100 km away. We could go to Madurai via the one of the true Ends of the Earth. So we bought the train tickets.

Nina’s birthday rolled around right at this time, so it was only fitting that our last night in Kovalam be celebrated in the grandest of styles. Happy Birthday Dunce Caps were donned, presents were procured, and a most decadent dinner consisting entirely of tiger prawns in various preparations was downed with much gusto. This time we didn’t drink to (too much) excess, and on the morrow, we left.

Nevertheless, on that last night, I had my own emotional meltdown with the realization that not only was I leaving Paradise, but it was also one step closer to eventually parting ways. At the time of writing, I’ve been on the road, as it were, for eight months. Although a bit of a ways off, the end is in sight.

Mikael’s and his knapsack are really a sight to see. The bag weighs an astonishing 70 kg. He weighs 55. At one point in Trivandrum station, he keeled over backwards, just like a tortoise. It took both Nina and I, similarly laden, to get him back up. The boy is strong. On the train, he just crashed. I dozed for a while until a conversation in Hindi just below me caught my attention. Our Malayali compartment partner was talking to a Gujarati schoolgirl, and not only was it clear that both had learned the language in school, but I was able to understand almost everything. I got up.

You may have had enough of me patting myself on the back for this accomplishment or that, but I really must commend myself on having a level of Hindi that is not negligible. I can do introductions and quickly get the conversation onto movies (always a crowd pleaser). With some help and patience from my interlocutors, I can definitely hold my own. Most interestingly, this was not to be my last conversation in this way-cool language with reversed word order. And the great irony of it all was that it was occurring in Tamil Nadu of all places.

And so we arrived at Kanyakumari, where hoards and hoards of Hindu pilgrims, mainly from the North, congregated to see a monument built in honor of Vivek Ananda, a Bengali guru in the Shiva cult who walked from the Himalayas down to this point to meditate at the place where, in one of her incarnations, Parvati wooed Shiva. Then he started a multimillion dollar ashram.

Alongside this monument stands a gigantic statue of Thiruvalluvar, the great Tamil philosopher, who produced his moral code, the Thirukkural, in 31 BC. That the Tamils are uppity about their language and culture has always gotten my goat a little, being the Hindi devotee that I am. I mean, come on. I grew up in Canada. What’s the point of having an official language if you can’t force people to speak it? And yet, the oldest modern literary traditions in Europe hail from France and Portugal, clocking in at around 800 years. The Tamils can claim an unbroken chain of over 2000. That is something to crow about. In Europe, only the Greeks can assert anything similar. And here I was, with ample opportunity to speak Hindi, yet with a newfound respect for Tamils and Tamil Nadu.

And while Kovalam is now behind MANAM, it is the best documented relationship I’ve ever had. We have our home movies, the official soundtracks and playlists, endless photo slideshows, mine and Mikael’s corresponding blogs, and of course the memories. We still have Madurai ahead of us as well. Admittedly, it’s hard to do this with eyes wide open. But then again, that’s travel. That’s India. And that’s life itself.

Birthday Pictures

We knew Nina was drunk when she started singing patriotic American songs.... in Yiddish! The entire following day was dedicated to quiet recovery. Ten million thanks to MANAM for making it so special!

Click here to see the collateral damage.

Happy Birthday Skye Frontier

Birthdays are a time for reflection, as well as getting cool presents. Most years, I'm kind of sheepish about announcing and celebrating. Strange as it may seem to the readers of these pages, I feel a bit uncomfortable with that kind of spotlight on me.

Not this year. Perhaps it is because India 2007 has been a crowning achievement for me, and has boosted my self confidence immeasurably, as it was meant to. All of this has been an incubation period, to be ready for the next stage in life. So this year, in Kovalam, Skye Frontier is letting MANAM go the whole nine yards.

As for recapping, which I have done at various junctures, I look back again at the last seven months (!!) and see Bombay for loss of passports and a new start, and to be a minor Bollywood dancing star.

Then there was unwinding and finding the first real peace in a long time in the Andaman Islands.

Bangalore gave me a taste of hi-tech consulting. Pondicherry bored me to tears.

Rishikesh ended solitary travel with the coming together of the Schedule Sisters, who continued with me to Bhag Aviv.

Then it was Thailand with Francois, at which point, my journey really started; the Vipassana meditation course brought about a seismic shift in my thinking, and in Bangkok I acquired the Hi-Tech Knapsack.

Where most people try to escape Delhi as quickly as they can, I spent three wonderful weeks in Delicious Delhi having the love affair of the decade.

Next came Pushkar, the Enigma Café, being stoned for four weeks, and meeting Mikael in the fifth, and celebrating the Jewish High Holidays at Beit Chabad along the way.

Back to Bombay for two weeks, the second of which was spent with Mikael.

And on to Cochin to meet Nina, reconnect again with Mikael after a week's break, and inaugurate the official formation of MANAM.

Finally we reach Black Sand Kovalam, where Skye Frontier turns 37, on the same day that my great hero Shah Rukh Khan turns 42.

Incidentally, the President of India, that stupid Gujarati woman, has also come to celebrate, basically turning Trivandrum and Kovalam into Yom Kippur. But it was great for getting around by scooter - no traffic!

And it ain't over yet. We have the Kerala Backwaters, Madurai, Cochin yet again to look forward to with MANAM. And then, it's Singapore, Indonesia and in the New Year, on to the coronation of the Sultan of San Francisco. Stay tuned.

MANAM

Mikael, André, Nina. And then André and Mikael again. A fitting name for our gang in a number of ways. For starters, traveling in Kerala, the local language is Malayalam. The locals are quick and proud to point out that it is the only language in the world whose name is the same whether you spell it forward or backward. Mikael is from Sweden, just like ABBA, another such palindrome.

And we’re all sort of from somewhere. Mikael arrived at the age of two months in Sweden from Chile, whence he was adopted by salt-of-the-earth Swedish parents. I find it fascinating to see the South American and Northern European traits in tandem. Nina was originally from Cleveland, but that was before even I was born. She is my adoptive mother all the way from Kibbutz Yotvata, and she has bestowed upon me the honor of spending her sojourn in India with us.

Mikael and I met up in Pushkar. Then we went in different directions. And then we missed each other. A lot. So we met up again in Bombay, and had a whale of a time. Once again, we chose differing onward paths, with Mikael going to Goa, and I making my way down to Cochin in anticipation of Nina’s arrival. But we missed each other. This time quite seriously. A reunion was essential. And this is how the three of us linked up and became MANAM in Kerala.

I had already been in Cochin for two weeks, and for as lovely as that place is, MANAM reached a consensus that it was high time to head for the beach. Nina had the good sense to pack light. I have no such sense. And Mikael, in an endearingly Northern European attribute of being a master of organized packing, was finally, at long last, on hand to ensure that my knapsack would indeed close this time. Until now, it has only been by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth that I’ve been able to fit all my gear into the available and feasible baggage.

In the event, when he saw the state of affairs, he nearly had a breakdown. Before he could start, he poured himself a stiff gin and tonic, after which he expelled me from the room. It was his good luck that there was any gin left, as MANAM has taken to downing a bottle almost every night. Blue Ribbond is the local brew, and I gotta tell you that it is basically rubbing alcohol with artificial flavors. But it leaves no hangover, and we don’t get too messed up or irrational, so it has become MANAM’s cocktail of choice.

Nina and I went to a local tea house to bid farewell to Chaim, an American Jew resident in South India, who coincidentally, was also sort of from Cleveland. Upon my return, two hours later, having arranged for late checkout, since there was absolutely no possibility of our getting our acts together by the requisite noon hour, I found my big knapsack two thirds full, containing every article of clothing rolled up neatly, and tied with a rubber band. All the white clothes had been stored together, separate from the rest. The books had been carefully arranged to balance out the weight and volume in the framework of the bag’s other contents. And I was met with a stare of stupefaction as to how I could have kept myself on the road for six whole months in this state of affairs.

Destination: Kovalam, some 15 km from Kerala’s state capital of Trivandrum. A beach, so we are told, to behold in its beauty. And tourist season hasn’t even started, so we’ll more or less have the place to ourselves. The main goal: a tanning competition. Mikael doesn’t believe me, but I reckon I can give him a run for his money and end up the darker between the two of us. Gin and tonic, sunsets, fresh fish for lunch and dinner, and lots of sunscreen: this is MANAM’s formula for Kovalam.

Cochin Aventures

My Cochin Adventures with Mikael and Nina are best narrated by the pictures we took.

Click here to view.

Cochin, again

Six years ago I visited Cochin. Foolishly leaving after too short a time, to Chennai of all places, it has ever since then retained the status of Best Place to Visit in India. Admittedly, Bhagsu shares this distinction, and was ironically also left too soon. So you see, when something is good, I come back for more, even if it takes a while.

Urban, yet lush, green and sumptuously tropical, Fort Cochin is a little piece of paradise. The more reserved Southerners are a most welcome change to being harangued as a foreigner at every corner in Bombay, and indeed pretty much most of North India. The restaurants serve a wide variety of fare at very reasonable prices. There is a splendid boardwalk, along which you can stroll and view fishing boats, the Chinese fishing nets that typify this place, as well as fish hawkers who sell their fresh wares, that you can have cooked up for you on the spot. And although I haven’t tried it (yet), the State of Kerala is famed for its ganja.

My biggest challenge here is to find cinema halls that are playing the latest Hindi releases. Most movies seen here are in the language of Kerala, Malayalam. Now basically conversant in Hindi, I sort of miss the opportunity to use it. While there are a number of Hindi channels on cable TV in the Hotel Park Avenue (where incidentally I stayed the last time around as well), the idiot box is not my favored medium.

In the coming days, Nina is finally arriving from Yotvata, Israel. Mikael, who decided to take a detour through Goa is now on his way, too. And I will sniff out cinema halls in Ernakulam on the mainland for some good Hindi movie fare for the Dream Factory. Time to get some Kerala Gold, too. So if you think it has been fun up till now, you ain’t seen nothing yet, baby!