Trip to the Backwaters near Kottayam - Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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).