Time to relax- Southern Style
Tomorrow was going to be our first day of vacation, I was thinking. In the morning, just a few hours away, we would be on a domestic flight down to Cochin, Kerela. The flight took four hours, because of a stopover in Hydrabad, and we were given a choice between vege masala, and chicken biriyani, neither of which looked appetizing. I did however sit next to a gentleman who worked for ICICI Bank in their commercial lending departement. He explained to me that in India, much like in the US, everyone was buying real estate, and home ownership was at record levels. It occured to me that he was quite right. On every street corner there seemed to be a sign promoting a new highrise, or single family home in a quiet and safe residential neighborhood. However, the prospect of the majority of people putting together 5,000,000 rupees (roughly 100,000 dollars) in their lifetime at a salery rate of 300 rupees per day, seemed unlikely.
Kerela, is a province/state located next to Tamil Nadu on the southern (left side) tip of India. It has been at the center of the spice/commodity/people trade since Marco Polo and Vasco de Gama wrote themselves into history. The Portugese were here, the Dutch, the Chinese, the Persians, and even a few Jews who built their synagouge right next to the Maharaja’s Fort. People spoke of Kerala landscape like a holy person speaks of the lapping waters on heaven’s shores. It’s heaven on earth, they said. So, we had to go.
Cochin, is a old fort city on the coast 200km north of Trivandrum (the tip). It is well known for its old european and oriental architecture. There are a number of five star boutique hotels, and several top notch restaurants. Travel and Leisure just did a piece on this place. I recommend it fully.
Upon arrival, we found what ended up being the best hotel for the money. The Raintree inn, owned by Edgar, a cool Indian guy who worked for Dennis Kozlowski’s Tyco for a dozen years. With five rooms, each bearing the traditional accents of Keralan design, and the cleanliness that Adam required, I was quite pleased. Edgar introduced us to his friend Sanjay, who had just put up a brand new Tea house and brunch type cafe, and as they say in Hebrew, “a si new chaim”, we made a life.
The next morning I woke up and decided that I had to try the traditional Aryvidic massage of Kerela. Its known by many people around the world, and I met several people who had come down for several months, to treat a variety of ailments. It is based on some meathod involving chakras, mantras, and basic eating. I just wanted the hot oil lathered on my body and dripped down my forehead. So I went next door and met a young guy who told me to come back in a half an hour after he had finnished up with a guy from St. Louis, USA.
I paid my 500 rupees, and stepped into a stripped down room with a concrete floor and some sort of vinyl covered massage table. The guy handed me tatters of was seemed to be woman’s bikini bottoms. I was shocked.
-Would you like help putting them on, he asked?
Oh…, don’t worry, I think that I can figure this one out, I replied.
Is this normal, was this guy checking me out, what the hell was I supposed to do, there was no place for me to fit in. Without the privacy a westerner is used to, I tied on my loin cloth and tried to relax myself on the table. Scented oil was applied over my skin and he began rubbing my arms and legs. I was thinking, “when are you actually going to massage my back, neck, anything besides shooting blood to my fingertips.”
Done. He told me I had finished. I was standing with glistening oil cascading down my every limb. He handed me a bar of soap and a small washcloth. Go, shower, washup.
Not as easy as it sounds. Kind of like cleaning a dirty bike chain with a paper towel or pulling gum out of your hair. People all day noticed that I had gotten “treatment”, by the way my hair seemed to reflect their image when they walked past. I think that i’ll stick to Biotherm under eye moisturizer next time.
Anyway, our days continued to be fruitful with activities. We met a half dozen intersting people from around the world who accompanied us on various excursions. The best of which was Jew Town.
Yes, my friends, like China Town, Little Tokyo, and Mexican Village, there is a Town called “Jew”. The story of how the jews arrived is depicted in twelve paintings hung in the salon of the 500 year old synagouge. The burning of the second temple led to mass diaspora, which led to Portuguese Jews, which ended in the inquisition, which ended up sending the black hatters to India, and beyond. The Jews coming off the boats being greeted by the Maharaja’s court was earily similar to the picture of Columbus exchanging gifts with Pocahontas and Chief Kicking foot on the beachfront of Massachusettes (or wherever the hell it was- excuse the ignorance). Yet, this relationship truly ended happily. The Jewish people did quite well in these woods, and only fifty year ago did the majority of families pick up and move to Israel at the time of Independence. The synagouge is now a relic of the past, as well as the Dutch Fort that was built for the Maharaja which sits neatly beside the other. It looks like the two were destined for replacement by democratic institutions a world apart.
Sanjay told me that the only jews left are the furniture jockeys that although not of the faith or skin color, have the same nack for buying and selling, as their predecessors did! He was joking obviously. Yes, this is also the place to buy hand made beds, armours, chairs, tables, etc. The Kerelan design is a beautiful blend of European and Southern Indian motifs and everyperson seems to know exactly where and how to send it.
For the last three days of the trip, Adam and I decided to make our way even further south, to catch some waves on the palm fringed beaches. Kovalam beach is to India what Laguna beach would be to California. Small, touristy, and beautiful when you dont happen to come when its storming, has high winds, and full of stark white middle age British tourist. I hope you, Tom and Claire are not reading this!. The six hour train trip brought us right into the eye of the storm. The one day we had, was marred by what we had never come to expect.
Much to your surprise, the best part for me was getting down there. First, I bought the wrong class of train ticket. I thought that sleeper was good. I forgot to ask for A.C. Even my Indian friends have told me to upgrade whenever possible. Good god, I thought. And we only had 50 cents in Indian currency remaining. I opened my back pocket up and voila, five hundred more rupees. The conducter took every last penny until I was left with a 30 U.S. cents. Oh the thrill of travel!
A group of men ate with their hands, mixing the rice with gravy as Adam looked on with surprise. There were two toilets on the train, one that said “western style” the other “Indian Style Latrine” How to decide, how to decide. I left Adam in the compartment as I ventured toward the exit of the train. Although a little irresponsible at 50 mph, I put on my headphones, turned up Cat Steven’s Peace Train and held myself out the open door like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. Small children laughed, and I smiled as we passed small towns and beautiful open stretches of land and water. Rain drizzled from above and I was in bliss for twenty memorable minutes.
The way back was more experiential, less blissfull. The express bus back to Cochin from Trivandrum (Kovalum) two days later made me question the girth and depth of my gluteous maximus. Instead of two seats on either side of the isle, there were three. Within an hours time, the blood flow to my legs was severly restricted. I told the man standing in the isle that I would be happy to replace him. I stood on the bus for two and a half hours, and I gotta tell you, that was the smartest move I could have ever made. I turned to the guy next to me and asked what he did.
I’m studying genetic engineering, he replied.
Ah, of course, a true dichotomy of culture and intellect. A bus with no room, full of bright students and business people possibly studying physics and conducting import/export trade. If you were to ask me what India was really about, those few seconds staring into the eyes of that young man said it all. How do we move ourselves forward while living in a population time bomb, and poorly managed socioeconomic system. As Jaypal said whenever our eyes lit up.
This is India my friend, anything is possible
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