Kochi (1-2 MAR)

Helping haul in the catch in the local fishing nets.

The characters prepare their make up for the Kathakali Dance

A row of fishing nets which were introduced by the Chinese

Kochi is India's largest port city. However, the smaller, old Fort Kochi area is the most popular for tourists and has a history of influence from abroad. It was home to a large Jewish population for a time and still has an old synagogue, though the Jewish population has dwindled.

The Portuguese controlled the port for a time and built up the Fort area to include a palace for the local rulers. The palace was later renamed the Dutch Palace, when they took control of the area from the Portuguese. The banks are lined with fishing nets that were introduced by the Chinese. 

According to our guide, the area was considered one of the top 50 places to visit by national geographic, and the synagogue is a world heritage site. However, my initial impression was that the whole place was over rated, poorly maintained and more of run down city than tourist attraction.

On our second day, Ross and I rented bikes and pedaled around the narrow streets, and I began to see a little more of the charm hidden under a layer of dirt and debris. Many of the old buildings were quite nice, but were so run down and dirty the you could easily overlook their charm and architectural merit.

 During the outing we also helped the fishermen pull in one of the Chinese fishing nets, but had little fish to show for our efforts. In classic Indian style, they had invited us to help, we did their job, and then they asked us for a donation to supplement their incomes since the fishing season has been poor.

Also while we were in town we attended a Kathakali dance, which is a traditional folk dance that was used to tell the stories about Hindu gods. It was an interesting performance and the cast and host seemed a little crazy. However, this is understandable because they have been doing performances every night for over 20 years. And, I believe the MC has been hosting the dance and explaining the make-up application, hand and facial movements, and religious stories behind the performance for 40 years!  That is about ten times longer than I have held any single job.  I can only hope he loves what he does.  

Backwaters (28FEB)

Our group preparing to depart on a evening boat tour.  Our guide is the one person wearing a life vest... should we have been concerned?

Islands of palms among the seas of rice fields.

One of several churches in the area.  Kerala is 20% Christian, while nationwide they only make up 2% of the population.

A row of houseboats, which are popular for vacationers, and necessary to house the local population bursting from the island banks. 

The backwaters are a huge area of reclaimed land off the coast of Kerala. It is a rich river delta region, which is used primarily for rice farming. However, many travelers also come here for a romantic escape in houseboats that fill the canals and in some places look like trailer parks at sea. Some locals live on the houseboats as well, but out of necessity due to the limited amount of land for building communities.

Our stay was short and fairly activity packed, but it was still a relaxing break from the hustle of cities and land transport. We took a train up the coast from Varkala, but then transferred to boats and drifted through the canals that divide the rice fields and island communities. The rice fields stretched out like seas of green dotted by islands of palm trees. Along the banks of the canals people were busy with daily life: washing laundry on rocks they used to beat garments clean, bathing, fishing, and waiting for ferries to move about the community.

During our stay here, we vacationed in other peoples lives, by staying with local families for this part of our journey. The families we stayed with run a kind of bed and breakfast to supplement their rice farming incomes.  I would think having awe struck guests like us, has to make them appreciate the beauty of the land that they work and call home.

Our families also acted as our guides in the area and told us about the land reclamation, local boat making and repair, and even took us out on an evening canal tour in narrow canoes.  During the tour they sang us local folk songs as the dusk light dimmed and stars filled the night sky above the palm lined canal. One of the songs must have been a local favorite because we could here people joining in on the chorus from the banks.

The area has a 20% Christian community, which is ten times greater than the percent of Christians nationwide, and the difference is noticeable with the number of churches along the banks. However, you can also see the Hindu influence in the churches, which have lotus flowers under the cross and flag poles similar to the ones you find in Hindu temples.

Varkala (26/27FEB)

I'm way behind so here are some of the highlights and photos from Varkala.

Varkala is a beach resort town set on red cliffs. It is a beautiful setting but is sadly spoiled by trash. Each business seemed to have a dumping point along the cliffs where a white glacier of of plastic bags, bottles and paper slid down the cliffs and choked out the green vegetation that was trying to hold back the tide of trash. It was sad to see the trash and it boggled my mind since the setting was what brought in the tourists and tourism was probably the foundation of the economy followed by fishing, which was also supported by the tourism.

Ross and I continue to be weak Indian shoppers and now own even more items we had no intention to buy and often purchased at prices well above the local going rates. In Varkala we ended up with shirts, pens and bracelets, which we bought from cute kids that don't take no for an answer, but made the swindle fun.

Our two days were spent walking the cliff-edge boardwalk, dining at the many inviting restaurants along the way and soaking up the views, and spending time on the beach, where we did some boogie boarding and body surfing. The last of which left me with chipped teeth when I bounced off the bottom of the ocean on my chin.

Shirt shopping India style

Ahmed and I on the rooftop viewing platform of his families shop, with the Madurai Temple as a backdrop.


Prior to catching our night train, my roommate Ross and I went out with the intent of window shopping around Madurai's famous tailor markets.

We never made it, because as soon as we stepped out the door of our hotel, we found ourselves in the web of a charismatic, fast-talking tailor who wanted to show us his shirt shop. In a passionate plea he told us about his family history in the business, and ensured us his shop was right across the street, so he wouldn't take us out of our way.  We decided we could take a look and as we walked, he waved his hand saying the shop was 'right here.' We told him great and we wanted to stop in the neighboring shop as well, which he was happy to let us do.

We walked into a shop, and were greeted by yet another friendly salesman. He led us to the section of the shop with shirts our size and we began browsing, but everything was wrapped in plastic and we didn't want to start tearing them open and committing to a purchase. Our salesman took the initiative and pulled one out of the plastic and held the top up to my shoulder and pulled the bottom down and tapped my groin saying "Right size, right size." I was a little shocked but took it as a tailor thing, acknowledged the proper size and moved on. He then noted my friend Ross' nose ring and introduced himself to Ross, limp wristed and giggly... this was not a tailor thing. Next, he squeezed my arm while I was looking at another shirt and that marked time to move on and we headed for the door.

Our tailor friend was waiting outside with a charismatic smile, ready to bring us to his shop. Instead of going into a neighboring shop like we expected, he continued to lead us down the block still saying it was 'right here.' Finally, about a block further down the road we arrived at a door that actually led into a narrow hall lined with shops and dimly lit for what was sure to be our abduction and sale into human trafficking. Much to our relief, we were never bagged and gagged, but our wallets were ransomed for our freedom.

He sat us down at his shop, which consisted of a counter in front of a closet size room with enough room behind the counter for him to stand between the wall of shelves filled with fabrics behind him. At the end of the counter in the far corner of the 'closet' sat a sewing machine and several 'tailors,' old heavyset men with yesterday's five o'clock shadow and a look that suggested they had been beaten by the heat, cramped space and lack luster sales.  In front of the counter, we sat on two stools that hung out into the narrow hall and the other merchants and customers were observing the deal as it went down, surely in awe of this man's skill of luring tourist into his shop. Despite the fact that we entered the situation with no intent to buy, we now were in too deep, he was pushing the sale with passion and zeal and tent revival evangelist, and we were unable to muster the strength to turn it down or even to barter. We left paying about 500 rupees a shirt, about double a decent rate, and then got suckered into the next most popular scam in town.

Our new friend, now happy with his sale, wanted to 'thank us' by showing us a 'special' view of the temple, from a 'government building,' which at other times he called a bank. He explained in vague terms the importance of the momentous timing of our viewing and hustled us down the road. Having read about the scams to get you into shops with promises of panoramas, and Ross having already been pulled into one, we asked specifically if it was a shop. "No, no, government building" was the insistent reply.

We arrived, disappointed, at a shop to be handed off to the next contestant in the 'Scam a Tourist' fiasco. We reluctantly entered and hustled through the shop, past the salesmen without making eye contact, and stated the fact that we had said we didn't want to go to a shop, hoping the shop owners would here us and let us go easy. We continued straight through the shop without resistance, hit the stairs and charged for the roof to see this momentous event we had been promised. A salesman followed and waited in the corner of the 'viewing platform.' 

The view was less than spectacular and we noted the fact that the trees were already blocking the view and in a few years he'd be out of business.  He acknowledged with a smile, and said they had tried to cut them down, but they where not allowed.  He went on to explain that another viewpoint was about to open at the opposite end of the temple square and would likely put them out of business all together.

It was refreshing to just shoot the breeze with someone, without a turn to the sale, so we continued to chat about his life, business and anything else under the fading sun. Ahmed was from Kashmir, and did a good job of selling it as the next destination we needed to book. He also talked about how the rick shaw drivers and other business men benefit from bringing people to his shop, from both him and the temple. Ahmed said his shop gave gifts and monetary assistance to families and kids for bring in customers. And, to our benefit, he said our tailor was 'the best' at bringing people into the shop.

We would have stayed longer to talk with Ahmed, but needed to get back and meet our group for check out and dinner before heading for the train station. We bid him farewell and he led us back downstairs. As we passed the second floor he turned to us with a grin and said, "I'm sure you don't want to stop to look at the rugs." We agreed with a chuckle, and continued down the stairs. Before we left he said, "Perhaps you and your group could return later, even if it is just for tea." The whole experience was such a refreshing change of pace from the constant sales pitch that it would have been nice to return for tea, but we didn't have the time.

After returning to the hotel to meet our group, we headed out for dinner.  We ate at a roof top restaurant with a great view of the temple towers rising into the dusk lit sky. With their scaffolding of wood and banana leaves, which has probably been used for thousands of years, they looked like a piece of the past rising up from the present. A piece of old India among a modern concrete jungle filled with neon signs, bustling traffic and a people torn between the two worlds. Their culture steeped in a long history of Hinduism, crashing headlong into the global cyber present, where call centers and fast food chains connect them to the western world that is rapidly encroaching on the local traditions.

 

Train to Madurai

From Mamallapuram, we headed for the train station via bus. Committing to travel on India's highways is an act of faith, as much as it is an act of a desperate tourist. An early morning mist covered the landscape, basking everything in the creamy orange glow of the rising sun. We bobbed, swerved, and braked our way through the countryside and villages, watching it all race by outside our windows. On a hill, I saw a temple of gleaming white pillars catching the first rays of the morning sun above the mist. It was perched on the precipice of a cliff and looked as though it could tumble over the edge at any moment.

We arrived at the train station, which was a great example of the contrast that I have found to be a theme in India. The station itself was an older building faded by the sun and stained by the dust from the local roads. The platforms were dirty and covered by rusting corrugated metal, but the backdrop was amazing. The station was set on the edge of a lake with ghosts of mountains rising up from the morning mist on the left and right limits. A lone fisherman was standing on a long wooden canoe, which was powered by a long pole used to troll the bottom of the lake, as he broke the calm along the shore of lush dark green growth. He was headed north, and we boarded a train heading south for Madurai.

At each station the train approached, the air would come alive like a forest full of songbirds. Each with its own song: "Tea, Tea, Tea," "Coffee, Coffee, Coffee." Breads, CD's, Meals, Books, Drinks. Each being sold by a different vendor. Each vendor singing his sale with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some like songbirds, some like auctioneers, and others like frogs, croaking as if they may not be able to bear another day of poor sales. Some climbed aboard and chirped down the isles loud enough to overcome both the melodic click clack of the rails and any slumber the passengers hoped to smuggle aboard.

Trash is a constant fixture on the landscape in India, and train windows double as trash receptacles for Indian travelers. It is a shame to see the litter along the tracks. However, like Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs, the litter holds testament to what the vendors are selling along any given portion of the journey. At one stop, that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, I noticed that there must be a coconut salesmen nearby, because the scene outside the window looked like the mass grave site of a vegetarian genocide, scattered with coconut carcasses in varying stages of decay.

Outside the open windows, a patchwork of every shade of green rolls by, sewn together by dusty red clay roads and black top that criss-cross and chase the tracks as we sail between cities and villages that interrupt the scenery. Our trip began with the morning cool waning, but the breeze through the windows felt refreshing. However, as we rolled into the late afternoon, the heat continued to build, and soon the breeze was more like the hot wind that brushes your face as you open the oven. As the temperature climbed, time slowed, and my interest in the scenery waned. On the downward slope of the days peak temperature, we finally arrived in Madurai.