Writing on the Malabar Coast

The Ironing Room

2008-02-14T20:52:00.000-08:00

All the workers in the place, the scrubber/thwackers and the ironers, were male. I wondered why.

When we first entered the premises, we passed through the ironing building, to the walkways between the washing booths. I felt more comfortable outside, not quite such an intruder as I felt passing through the quiet of the ironing area. But by the time we came back through, it seemed our presence was part of the place, that they had accepted us there and maybe were as quietly curious about us, as we were about them.

In contrast to the athletic thwacking of the washers, the ironing room was a place of precise, almost serene movements. We stood and watched while the huge electric irons glided back and forth, making precise folds in the shirtsleeves and panels of the shirts. The finished ones in a pile were sculpture-like, beautiful in their curves and crisp lines.

Perhaps accounting somewhat for the tranquil atmosphere of the place was the shrine, high on the end wall, where a small light bulb took the place of a candle, and Hindu icons reminded workers of the presence of their deities.

In the midst of this, a tall thin fellow scurried in on his spindly legs carrying an impossibly large bundle of laundry on his shoulder, and depositing it in the room opposite the ironing, where sorting took place.

At the Laundry - Part 2

2008-02-10T20:46:00.000-08:00

Walk out through the passage to the area outside the washing booths. There you will find row upon row of laundry, hung out to dry. Amazingly, there are no clothes pegs, but the sheets and shirts are hung from ropes by twisting their edges between the ply of the ropes. I try to imagine someone doing this and don’t quite get it. No one is hanging things at the moment, just washing, rinsing and wringing.

We writers sit here and there and scribble on our pads, feeling a little self-conscious. How come we get to sit around and write while these guys are literally working their butts off? It doesn’t seem fair, which of course it isn’t. But they are probably glad to have the work. One of the big problems around these parts is unemployment. I try not to think about the serious cases of prune-foot these fellows must have at the end of their work day.

At the Laundry

2008-02-08T21:56:00.000-08:00

He works in booth #16 – a cubicle of cement with foot-thick walls about eight feet apart, a cement wall at back and open in front. He stands in water up to his ankles. Against the back wall is another vat of water at the height of his thighs. Here is the method he uses over and over:

He picks up the towel (or whatever article) from the pile. They have been pre-soaked, wrung out and lie in a pile ready for the next phase. He flops it in the water at his feet and plops it on the knee-high slant board folded in half. Now he rubs it quickly with a bar of soap and scrubs it lightly with a hand-sized brush; flips it over and does the same on the other side, putting a little muscle behind it. Next he swishes it lightly in the water at his feet, and now the fun begins. He swings it over his head and thwacks it against the slant-board repeatedly, with great force, exhaling audibly.

Finally he swishes it in the upper vat and folds it in half lengthwise, then presses the cloth into a ball against the slant, as if kneading a ball of clay. He holds it up and folds it lengthwise, making a thick rope which he will twist and twist till it is semi-dry.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 10

2008-02-04T15:57:00.000-08:00

During this meal Smitta taught me the effective method of eating with the hands, which I have always wanted to learn. In the past I have been mystified by the fact that Ethiopian people can eat so gracefully with their hands, while I feel like an uncoordinated baby. This method eliminates the indignity of opening your mouth and tilting your head back like a kid trying to catch snowflakes.

Here’s the trick:
1- Pack the food together into a little pyramid on your plate (or, in this case, leaf)
2- Pick it up with your fingers and thumb, then turn your hand palm up, with your fingers still cupped
3- Now – move your thumb back behind the little pile of food on your fingers and use it to shove the food into your mouth – BRILLIANT! Your thumb is a little pusher. It really works for this kind of food. Thankfully we had spoons for our delicious vermicelli with creamy sauce, flavored with cardamom and nutmeg, our dessert.

Later:
On the shore of the lake, a man and woman untangle the fishing net together. Below them a beautiful ebony-skinned woman in scarlet and gold dress sits in a gondola-like boat, waiting. Our boat slips silently along. Other tourists behind me murmur quietly among themselves. The water sparkles in a path of sunlight; I am mesmerized by the gentle rocking of the boat, the dancing ripple of the waves, the occasional splash of the pole as the valakaren lifts if from the water. I am rocked in my cradle and have returned to babyhood. I hardly have a thought in my head, let alone a care.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 9

2008-02-03T21:01:00.001-08:00

After a while the larger boat on the other shore started moving towards us, and we were amazed to see that just one man poled it all the way to our shore. We piled on with our fellow tourists and were soon deposited on the opposite shore, where we enjoyed my favorite meal while in India. I think one reason I enjoyed it so much (aside from the fact that it was delicious) was because this was what most people in the villages eat – well, maybe on a feast day.

We sat on plastic stools and took turns washing our hands in a basin (while lovely Smitta poured water over our hands). Next, a beautiful section of banana leaf was placed on the narrow table in front of us, where we sat on three sides of a square. The roof overhead sheltered us from the sun, but the sides of the building were open. The temperature was perfect due to a high cloud cover and a slight breeze off the water.

The above photo has refused to lie horizontally, so for the moment I am letting it have its own way. To get the true effect you willl have to have a laptop and turn it on end:)
In the photo you see the succession of dishes: fat white rice that had the largest grains I have ever seen, spicy hot chutney, vegetable curry poured over the rice, and then thoren, a cabbage, coconut and mustard-seed dish, followed by aviyal, a delicious wonder which was a combination of the following: drumstick (not chicken, this is a vegetable), snake gourd, ash gourd, brinjol (eggplant), elephant foot yam, plantain (not sweet), cucumber, potato and finally carrot. Also there was the crunchy papadam - YUM! Of course I found all this out later by interrogating Thampi, who was a jack-of-all-trades and one of the people serving the food.

Here you see a shot I took from our dining area of our awaiting boat with the European contingent already on board.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 8

2008-01-31T16:34:00.000-08:00

On our arrival back at the wide lagoon area it was time to pile back into our bus and head for the next leg of our journey. After a ten-minute ride, we were deposited near a wide body of water that is part of the network of backwaters. Across the way we could see a larger boat than the ones that had taken us down the narrow channels; this one had a roof covering made of bamboo with little open windows on the sides.

While we waited there we were fascinated to watch an operation that could have been taking place in almost any century. Men were poling long-boats, similar to the ones we had ridden earlier, filled to the gunnels with sand. They brought these boats up to shore where a crew worked together.

A couple of men shoveled sand into huge bowls, which were then hoisted onto the heads of three extremely muscular young men. With their burdens expertly balanced, these incredibly strong fellows walked up the bank to the place where they dumped the sand. Hopefully this is a career guys don’t pursue for too many years – I cringed to think about what this does to the vertebrae in their necks! (see below)

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 7

2008-01-28T20:11:00.000-08:00

While in this spot, which was a slightly wider portion of the channel, we were passed by a couple of boatloads of Indian tourists, which was rather comforting. It wasn’t just us foreigners who came to gawk at this amazing treasure trove of flora and fauna. These boats were furnished with red plastic chairs, which were a nice complement to the bright saris and salwar kameezs worn by the women. Every one of them smiled and greeted us with a friendly hello.

As we traveled the length of this portion of the channel we saw people going about their normal, everyday chores and activities, and tried to discreetly take photos of things that were charming or fascinating to us. We joked about having one of them come to America to photograph one of us mowing the lawn or washing the dishes in the sink so we could wash them again in the dishwasher. Most everything here of a washing nature happens in the channels, including goats, humans, laundry and dishes.

We came to a wider area of the backwaters and there was room for us to do a three-point turn and head the other direction. Along the way we saw various exotic birds, bright turquoise amazing somethingerother, a “fish eagle”, cormorant, an elegant white bird that looked like a crane relative (my godfather is a bird zealot – where is he when I need him?) – anyway, of the 500 species around here, we saw quite a few.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 6

2008-01-27T07:55:00.000-08:00

"I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear
The king of Spain's daughter came to visit me
And all for the sake of my little nut tree"

Anyone remember that verse from childhood? Well, we didn't see any silver nutmegs, but golden ones, yes. So I guess we should change the verse:)

As you see from Thampi's pointing, nutmeg does grow on a tree. The nutmeg produces three useful things: Chutney is made from one of the outer layers, mace from an inner, orangey layer, and the inner seed is the nutmeg that is so popular in our eggnog lattes and pumpkin pies.

Thampi showed us the super-fragrant bay leaf and then we moved on to the cinnamon tree from which he removed a little chunk to pass around. Ahhh! This was a world of enchantment. All the spices I had tasted and loved, and that I had seen dried and stored in the huge warehouse in Kochi, I was now seeing in their live state. Not far away was a thatched building, and the owner’s laundry strung between the coconut palms.

After we had wandered back to our boats, Thampi’s friends brought coconuts for us and, chopping the ends, supplied us with straws to drink the milk, then split them open so we could eat some of the fresh coconut meat. Now I know why the Thai ice cream that is made with fresh coconut is so heavenly. A couple of curious young men stood on the bank to watch us enjoy the coconuts.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 5

2008-01-12T22:11:00.000-08:00

Apologies for my lapse - the 60 degree difference in temperature between Kerala and Portland caught up with me in the form of larygitis and other upper respiratory symptoms - but thankfully, those have disappeared.

This brings me to our next stop on the journey, which was a spice farm owned by a Christian family. They also owned a goat and a cow, each of which greeted us on our way up the path from the water.

Thampi first showed us the local version of home-brew: the flower of a certain kind of coconut is bruised and a clay pot is placed over it to catch the ooze it begins to produce. After about a day this produces a “toddy” which is enjoyed, perhaps too regularly, by members of the villages. I guess the name of this drink is another of the many gifts which of British Imperialism, not the least of which is a penchant for unending red tape (but more on that later as well). In the photo you see the coconuts (yellow-orange) and the larger brown clay pot which is there to catch and store the liquor.

The next thing we saw was black pepper, which Thampi told us comes from the same plant as green, red and white pepper. It’s just that they are harvested at different times in the plant’s growth cycle. The black pepper is a vine and needs something sturdy to climb on so that it can be properly harvested. Here you see the green peppercorns growing on the vines.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 4

2008-01-08T19:30:00.000-08:00

One of the most charming accessories to this experience was the gathering of daughters of the people whose home we were visiting. My guesses of their ages: 12, 8, 6 and 3. Bronwen quickly made their acquaintance and joined them on the steps of their home. The smallest one was a scamp and blocked the door when Thampi tried to go in to his friend’s home for a drink of water.

You also see in the photo, a real live spice grinder, and every household has one in this land where all our spices come from and where the “spice trade” that we have all heard about in our history classes (if we were lucky enough to have history classes about something other than the wars America has engaged in). The history of this area is fascinating, but more on that later; much of it derives from the fact that many spices are endemic to this area. Smitta was knowledgeable about the spice grinder and gave us a short demonstration of how the thing works – basically a huge mortar and pestle with the pestle in the prone position.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 3

2008-01-08T19:13:00.000-08:00

Our first stop was at a home of coir-rope producers. We climbed ashore and came upon three women working together. One sat at a wheel, which she turned by hand. The wheel was rigged so that it turned metal loops, through which were attached the beginnings of the ropes. The other two women carried bags stuffed with the prepared coconut hair. To begin the procedure, they pulled out enough of the coconut hair to attach to the metal loops. It naturally adheres to itself in a way that is similar to wool after it has been carded.

Once the ends were attached to the loops, the two women pulled out two threads each, feeding it towards the twisting wheel, which was turned by the woman in red. (Thank God I have some photos to illustrate this – am I making any sense?) The turning of the loops twists the coir as it is being paid out by the two that walked backwards as they were creating the rope. When they had gone as far back as their arrangement allowed, they twisted their two strands together to make a two-ply rope. The final product was about 3/8 inch thick.

When Thampi explained the process, he did a personal little demonstration of the whole thing, just using his hands. When his ten-inch-long sample was finished, he challenged anyone to break it with his hands. A couple of volunteers gave it a whirl but, of course, were unsuccessful.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 2

2008-01-08T19:00:00.000-08:00

After finding our spots in the boat, we were launched by our valakaren, Sabu, who was younger than Thampi, tall, handsome and muscular without a scrap of chub to be seen on him. After watching his poling technique and realizing that this is something he does for many hours a day, no explanation for his fat-to-muscle ratio was necessary. We started off in a lagoon like area, bordered with water hyacinth and a species of water lily that had a delicate fluffy white flower about the size of a fifty-cent piece.

Soon we were funneled into one of the narrow channels, which was about three times as wide as the boat. There were points at which it was necessary for us to duck our heads to pass under an overhanging branch, or lean forward so as not to be scratched on the back or side by the “screw pineapple”.

As you can see from the photos, Thampi was a bean-pole of a man, with a charming smile. When he addressed the larger group as we gathered around him on shore, he began each talk with “Sir!” thus getting our attention whether we were sirs or not. He was very animated, using hand gestures to point out details we would otherwise have missed.

Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 1

2008-01-08T16:59:00.001-08:00

I'll be reporting on things out of order, which won't matter to most of you, but just in case members of the group read some of this, I don't want them to be confused:)

This was one of my favorite parts of our India experience. I will be giving it to you in installments.

The day began in typical interesting fashion. We boarded our small bus excited about our trip to Kottayam where we would begin our exploration. This area is composed of various islands and peninsulas, all of which supports incredible bio-diversity typical of the state of Kerala which boasts more than 500 species of birds and 17,000 species of flowering plants. We started off and, after a 10-minute drive, picked up fellow tourists of the European variety. After another 10-15-minute drive we noticed that we were right back in our neighborhood. Logic: forget about it.

The drive to Kottayam took an hour and a half, so by the time we got there the ladies were ready to use the facilities. See said facilities in two photos here, outside and inside. (Above please note initial view of facilities - yes, it's that yellow blob). This project was to be approached very carefully, so as not to repeat errors made in China:

#1 – check to see that you have TP or some equivalent in your hand or pocket
#2 – remember to roll up pant cuffs and tuck all clothing carefully out of the line of fire
#3 – don’t start off too enthusiastically, since taking aim is an unfamiliar activity for females
#4 – have your friend stand guard so a European man doesn’t catch you unawares
#5 – advise said European men to walk around back and relieve themselves, sans facilities, since they are equipped for this and it will speed up the line
There – now you know how to approach the project, whether you are male or female.

Once this necessity had been dispensed with, we were ready for our adventure. The boats were made of Jack Tree wood, apparently these are not native to the area, but were brought here by the Brits, along with mahogany. The boards had been drilled and lashed together with coir rope, the production of which is a cottage industry in this area. The boats, about four and a half feet wide and forty feet long, are slathered with a kind of fish oil, which helps preserve the wood and rope.

The main seats were thick boards fastened to the gunnels, and were supplemented by a couple of plastic chairs placed at the one third and two thirds positions. Our group filled one boat and the other tourists (mostly Europeans) filled two others. I had one of the plastic thrones, which worked fine for me – people with a greater desire for stability preferred the solid planks. The craft was propelled along by a boatman (valakaren) in the stern who used his long bamboo pole to move us peacefully along. Our guide, Thampi, (the thin fellow in photo above) stood or sat near the front and instructed us about the plants, birds, and other aspects of life in the area.

Here you see Bronwen, comfortable and ready to enjoy her Safari into the backwaters.

Kaleidoscopic India

2008-01-04T08:18:00.000-08:00

How does a kaleidoscope work? Many pieces of colored glass or plastic fall against the mirrors inside the tube. I look through the peephole in one end and twist the cylinder to the right or left. The pieces fall into ever-changing patterns but their essential nature remains the same.

Why do I say India is kaleidoscopic in nature? First of all, I see it through my very limited perspective. All that has shaped me affects my perception, binding and focusing it - limiting my understanding. I see through the narrow channel of my western mind.

Rich saffron, cerise, electric royal blue, chartreuse - each color as intense as the next in saris, salwar kameez, children's school uniforms, buildings painted marigold and bubble-gum pink, black and gold bumblebee rickshaws on three wheels. All these fall together and separate in undulating, organic fashion.

Here time is not segmented into chunks but is a tide on which we rise and fall. The kaleidoscope of India turns smoothly, without the rigid jerkiness of regimentation. All the elements are here, and seemingly will remain so as long as time exists.

(Sorry - no photos yet to illustrate. Perhaps tomorrow the internet connection will be kind)

Kathakali Theater

2008-01-03T08:32:00.000-08:00

On New Year's Eve we attended a theater performance of 17th century plays which originated as part of Hindu worship. Kathakali is a combination of two Malayalam words: "Katha" which means "story" and "Kali" which means "play". It is a story acted out and contains mime, drama, and music. The stories are taken from Hindu mythology.

Kathakali was developed mainly from one of the oldest classic dance forms of Kerala known as "Ramanattam" which was conducted only in royal places. The decline of royal society also threatened this great art form, which is now experiencing a revival.

We went to the theater early, since the actors sit on stage while applying their make-up, which is fascinating. The movements are highly stylized and there is very little talking. Most of the story is acted out Charlie Chaplin style, through mime. Before the actual story began, and after the make-up had been applied, the oldest actor came on stage and did demonstrations of the miming of all the various emotions. His facial muscles were amazingly well developed and he did things with his eyes that I didn't know were possible.

Here you see a few photos of the make-up session and some of the play itself. Also one of Bronie and me, armed with knitting so as not to waste a precious moment.

Apologies

2008-01-02T08:16:00.000-08:00

Christian fisherman uses the protection of the cross for his boat

Women gather to make a fish decision

Huge cargo ships enter port to load spices that once rode the "Trade Winds" on clipper ships, en route to their destinations

I'm sorry, friendly readers. Due to an unreliable internet connection and a lack of time, you have not heard a thing from the Malabar Coast for days. Not to worry - I will continue to write after I return to Portland - at least continue to upload photos of this amazing part of the world. I will give you a short recap of what we did today and then I will upload a few more photos of the fishermen's market down by the water. You will see photos and hear about the following things later.

Today we:
-went to "the laundry" where everything is washed by hand
-visited an ancient castle
-visited a Jain temple
-ate lunch at the Mattencherry Cafe
-visited the only remaining synagogue in the area
-haggled with Kashmiri traders
-visited the spice warehouse where there are gunny sacks and huge bundles of spices
-wrote periodically through all of the above activities
-came home and had class/workshop
-went to a local restaurant for dinner

And now it's time to crash!

Today was a little more intense than normal, but we have been moving along at a clip.

Ancient Traditions

2007-12-30T09:04:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we went down to the water where the Chinese-style fishing nets are set up. As you see from the photo, they use a cantilever system that is quite ingenious. We haven’t seen them in operation yet, but hope to one of these mornings when we have recovered completely from jet-lag.

The scene is very lively in this fishermen’s enclave. They pull their long black boats up on shore and lay a tarp on the sand. Then they work together to untangle the net into a huge puffy pile while removing the shrimp and small fish from the netting and throwing them onto the tarp. Some of the fishermen worked on their boats. Others carried fish in huge plastic containers filled with ice – taking them to the market area.

Makeshift tents provide some shade for the fish vendors and their catch. I recognized some of the fish (red snapper, shark, prawns, octopus) but many were new to me. Lots of haggling was going on and people roamed around checking out their options. It seemed like the bulk of the buying may have happened earlier, since not much money was exchanged for fish while I was there.

We writers straggled along the shore with our notebooks, finding shady spots in which to write down a few impressions, reflections, thoughts.

We're in Kochi!

2007-12-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

Hats off to those who prayed for smooth flights and a safe journey for us! There wasn’t one moment of turbulence in the air and the only hitch was a little extra time spent at the airport in Mumbai, waiting for our delayed flight to Kochi. No problem there. We enjoyed talking to the chatty Dr. Kathryn Robson, an Oxford medical researcher who is now studying achromatopsia.

What made our 38 hours of travel bearable was the 9 hour layover in London, most of which was spent in a prone position at the Heathrow Sheraton. That’s where we took our first malarone pills, for prevention of malaria. You can see from Bronwen’s expression that we weren’t too thrilled about the possible side effects. But, not to worry – there haven’t been any. We took a cab back to the airport after our nap and shower, feeling ready to brave the next 9-hour flight to Mumbai.

A peek out the window about an hour away from the giant city revealed miles and miles of brown desert – not sure which one, but I’ll have to check a map. There was a distinct line between the pale blue of the sky and the brown smudge that announced the presence of the thirteen million residents of Mumbai. As we got closer to the ground my heart lurched at the sight of the patchwork of dark brown roofs, wedged together, helter-skelter, with seemingly no room between them. I imagined narrow alleyways between the overhanging eaves, where people find their way to the homes of their neighbors. Above you see the boundary of one of these neighborhoods that hugs the edge of the airport. Below you see Bronwen patiently enduring our circuitous route from the international to the domestic side of the Mumbai airport. SpiceJet was my favorite airline of the day:)

As appears to be the rule of thumb in developing or third world countries, the scariest part of travel is riding in taxis. The trip from the Kochi airport to our home at Chiramel Residency was no exception. Here there are no traffic rules other than the fact that you are supposed to drive on the left hand side of the road – at least 50% of the time, if there is on-coming traffic. There is a white line down the middle of some of the roads, but this must be for decoration only. Playing chicken with the oncoming traffic is the sport of the day, made more cheerful by the constant use of the horn, which, as in China, means everything from “watch out,” to “I hope you’re having a good day”. It may also mean, “Sorry I knocked your mirror off, but you should have moved over.”

Competition for highest adrenaline rush on the ride back from the airport was shared by a particular game of chicken after the sun had gone down - the oncoming lights were blinding – and the time we competed for part of the road with a moped and he lost. Fortunately, we were going slowly at this point, but the poor guy and his ride tipped over against the bank at the side of the road and a pedestrian had to help them right the bike. Unlike a similar American scene, where there would have been fists shaken and four-letter words shouted, this all happened in a most gracious manner, apologies all round. I leaned out the window to ask: “Are you all right??” and the driver smiled and gestured: no biggie.

Bronwen and I did our best to ignore the traffic patterns (read, lack thereof) and enjoy the exotic sights. For now I will just tell you my favorite sign: “Digital Shoppy” – and tell you about the mixture of smells. American air is very antiseptic and boring by comparison. Here we have a marvelous combination of, let me see, smoke of various kinds, spices, that tropical humid air smell, barnyard smells, nasty human odors, tropical flower fragrance, gas and oil traffic smells, and other as yet unidentifiable ones.

Soon after arrival we went with our group to a restaurant just a couple of doors from our place (which I will describe later) for a delicious meal (more about food later, as well).

Ouch!

2007-12-11T15:15:00.000-08:00

OK, I'm not sure which hurts more - the shots or how much they cost! My arms were sore for a couple of days after the Hep A, Typhoid and Polio shots. The cost, which included some super-duper mosquito repellent, was almost $300, and I haven't yet paid for the Malarone pills which will help prevent me from getting malaria:) All of this is worth the price of course, when you consider the fact that some of these dread diseases are still alive and kicking in India.

Once again I was dealing with the ideal suitcase issue when I decided I'd better check the specs for British Airways. ARG! As it turns out, those who fly into and out of UK airports are only allowed ONE, and I repeat, ONE carry-on piece. Purse? Stuff it into your suitcase. Computer? Stuff it into large front pocket of your suitcase. The computer issue brought on the need to protect said valuable in a different way, since I won't have my handy dandy Samsonite computer bag (shoulder-style). Instead I had to purchase the little zipper case they sell at the Apple Store, especially for the 13" MacBook (see above - love it). So - that will slip nicely into the front pocket of my regulation-size rolling suitcase. This is going to be a "pack lightly" trip, since we don't want to mess with trying to find luggage in Mumbai, where we only have an hour and a half between flights.

Besides, we will be purchasing salwar kameez when we get there, so we can make a lame attempt at blending with the locals:)

Getting Ready

2007-12-08T22:07:00.001-08:00

Getting ready to go to India for a mere ten-day stint is something I never expected to do. In fact, I had given up on the idea that I would ever make it to India, until my writing teacher, Martha, sent out an intriguing invitation. She would be leading a workshop in Kochi – on the Malabar Coast. This is the southwestern coast of India, near the southern tip, and it is where the spice trade route that we have all heard about originated. My friend, Susan, taught me a song about a beautiful maiden that lived on the coast of Malabar, but I didn’t know where it was. I’m somewhat amazed that I am actually going there, to the place where pepper and cardamom grow.

So – what to take? The women there wear lovely salwar kameez, long pants with a long tunic to match and sometimes a shawl that goes around the shoulders and head. Forget the sporty capris that I wore in China, or short skirts and other garb that reveals too much of the female form. My daughter, Bronwen, is going with me, so we are mulling this. Should we try to find salwar kameez here in Portland, or just take a couple of longish skirts or loose pants – then buy them there? More on that later. I’m including a photo here of they kind I prefer: pants not baggy, tunic with short sleeves for hot weather. Forget the high heels! Below you see the more baggy variety and more traditional cover-up. Still, the colors are lovely, don't you think?

There will be 9 women in our group: 7 writers plus our teacher, and a friend of Martha’s named Smita, who will guide us on some tours. We will write in the mornings and evenings and have the afternoons to do as we please: shop, nap, explore, write some more.

We are leaving the day after Christmas and will come back January 8th - in time to return to school. I have the blessing of my boss to miss a few days - one to recover from wicked jet-lag. Bronwen and I will be flying through London where we have a long layover, to Mumbai on British Airways (thanks for the frequent flyer miles, Matthew!) and then from Mumbai, we will fly to Kochi. On the way home we will fly across the country to Chennai (used to be Madras) and back through London.

Will we learn how to say thank you in Malayalam?