Twenty five hours, one detoured flight, and five time zones later Kerri and I arrive in Kerala India. Kerala is a patchwork of coconut groves, spice plantations and murky canals nestled against white sand beaches. The aroma of burning trash, a daily Kerala ritual, is everywhere. The smell is not entirely unpleasant. It smells like a bonfire, only instead of chocolaty smores its roasted trash.
Our driver eagerly whisks us off to Soul and Surf home-stay in a stylish Hindustan Ambassador modeled after the British Morris Oxford III.
He swerves past several potholes, squeezing in between rickshaws and motorcycles. If the dashboard ornament of the Ganesh isn't indication enough, the game of chicken our driver plays on the road is a clear indication of Hindu’s belief in predetermined death.
Soul and Surf home-stay
Kumari, a local woman who teaches Indian culinary skills to tourists and locals invites us to have dinner at her house. This woman can make one mean Indian meal. Kerri and I booked a three our cooking lesson with her. In her pantry sized kitchen, Kumari instructed us how to make Dahl, Garam masala over potatoes and sweet banana curry.
The next day, Ed took us out to the beach, a five minute drive from Soul and Surf. The waves were small but quick.
After the morning surf we strolled the row of shops along the Northern Cliffs. Kerri and I cannot avoid the high tide during one beach walk.
7AM Tuesday morning we took the four hour train into Cochi. Then we hired a motorized rickshaw to take us to Fort Chocin, a small fishing town most notable for the massive cantilevered nets cast over the shoreline. Fort Cochin is a mix match of cultural influence. Chinese red tile roofs, medieval European storefronts, and colorful Hindu style murals painted over the town.
We walked Bazzar Street which funnels into a small town called Jew Town consisting mostly of antique curio shops. Goats and dogs dart across the road as the tuk tuks honk and ramble by.
After a tasty organic style lunch at the Solar Café, Kerri and I viewed Mattancherry Palace, built by the Portuguese but renovated by the Dutch in seventeenth century. The palace houses some spectacular aged Hindu murals and intricately carved carriages.
Next we indulged by ordering coffee and chocolate cream pie at Kashi Art Gallery and Café. The gallery consists of a studio in front with black and white mixed media photography and in the back was a trendy café. Kerri pointed out that the bathroom mirror was actually a toilet seat cover.
For the evening we booked two seats for a Kathakali performance. Based on the Hindu epics, the performance dramatizes the ideology of good and evil. The stoic drummer tapped out the beats as the actors who move along the stage dressed in an elaborate second century Hindu costumes. The actors’ faces are painted with brightly colored makeup, accentuating their facial expressions, the key aspect of the performance.
The dance was mesmerizing until forty or so non-English speaking German tourists began conversing over the English narration, making it impossible for us to hear the essential plot line of the dance. One member of the tour group proceeded to drag his camera straps across my face and over Kerri’s head.
After our last meal in Cochin, Kerri and I tracked down the only rickshaw we could find to take us back to the train station in Ernakulum. The driver appeared more interested in eating than obtaining a fare; He began quoting us a fare that was comparable to an air-conditioned cab ride. Once we agreed on a fare we headed out on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.
All tuk tuks are equipped with lights so they can operate at night. For some reason our driver refused to use his headlight, which became glaringly evident on the pitch black side streets of Fort Cochin. Perhaps it was a retaliatory gesture because we pulled him away from his dinner, or simply because the headlight was inoperable, but our driver laughed when we asked to turn on his lights. He flexed the thumbs-up sign as oncoming traffic swerved around our unlit vehicle.
“I have twenty years of driving experience,” he yelled over the putting engine. I didn’t doubt his years of experience since his rickshaw appeared to at least twenty years old. Every bump was accentuated by the deflated padding in the back seat.
Miraculously we arrived at the train station unscathed. As we jumped from the tuk tuk, our driver turned, grinned and asked "no tip?" Our response was "No lights?"
We wondered why train patrons were clamoring up the steps of the train, then we saw the chaos inside. People lying across the benches, up on the luggage racks and even under the seats. Some people stretched out across the walkway floors. Even though we held valid receipt for a seat, it was obvious we weren’t going to get one. We flashed our train tickets to the ticket checker who simple eyed our paperwork and shrugged, like “good luck finding a seat!”
Kerri and I selected some floor space next to one of the train doors. We snagged a spot on the floor and forced ourselves to stay awake for the four hour ride so that we wouldn’t miss our stop. Who needs seats when you can have urine trekked floor space for the four hour train ride?
Between holidays and wedding celebrations Indian holidays occur every month of the year. In fact festivals are so frequent here, Ed and Sophie didn't know the name or significance of the festival Kerri and I attended. At the festival we witnessed giant floats featuring painted sculptures of the Hindu deities Shiva, Vinishu and Brahma. Dancers dressed in elaborate makeup and costume twirled around the floats. Elephants adorned in colorful headdresses marched in the procession.
After the first week of surf and relaxation, Kerri and I were ready to go to Mumbai. Since it was everyone's last night at Soul and Surf Ed and Sofie hosted a proper goodbye dinner.
We'll miss the beaches and everyone we met, but we wont miss the bugs. That gigantic spider was chilling in our room. MUMBAI
Mumbai's skyline looks dirtier than Dan Akroid's St. Nick beard in the movie Trading Places. As the plane descends the smoggy sky, we can barely make out the buildings below. The Lonely Planet India guide book states "pollution is so bad that being in India's biggest cities for a day is the equivalent of smoking twenty cigarettes."
Kerri and I stayed in Mumbai's tourist-friendly district Colaba where Gothic style architecture intercepts the Mumbai's shantytown outskirts. Our neighborhood is a cultural intermingle of museums, restaurants and street vendors.
Our driver Gufran lives in the slums, and offered to take us into his neighborhood. According to the India Lonely Planet travel book "60% of Mumbai's population live in the slums."
Gufran's uncle, friend Allem, and Gufran sit invite Kerri and I to have a look inside Gufran's humble home.
From inside, the slum is a labyrinth of concrete walled corridors roofed by corrugated metal. Gufran informed us that up until two years ago his neighborhood had no electricity. Electrical boxes were installed two years ago in his shantytown.
After visiting Gufran's neighborhood, Kerri and I viewed the Gandhi Museum.
Comprised of photographs, letters and a replica of Gandhi's living quarters during his residence from 1917 to 1934, the museum also included some amazing shadow box displays.
If you are a lover of art avoid the National Gallery of Modern Art. The 1980's are alive and well. Whitewashed shades of peach and teal are splashed all over the gallery's white walls, offending the laws of taste and design.
However down the street from the National Gallery is the Jehangir Art Gallery. Kerri and I perused the exhibit.
While on the topic of cutting edge art. Kerri and I went to see a show at the Blue Frog cafe, both a music venue and art gallery. This was one of the most creative displays of art. An Ipod and earphones dangled below each comic strip style painting to provide the viewer with a soundtrack to the art.
More pictures of India here
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