Cruising in Kerala

Kerala is a state strung out along the southwest Indian coast with only about 50% Hindus (25% Muslin, 25% Christian). Literacy rates and public health indicators are the best in the country. The state has the largest proportion of native population working overseas and sending remittances home. Ironically, this has attracted a large population of migrant workers from other Indian states.

Kochi (formerly Cochin) was the first Christian settlement. Founded by Portuguese traders and missionaries who arrived in 1500, it is now the commercial capital of Kerala. 

Not unique to Kerala, visual pollution levels everywhere are very high. Coming from Vermont I find the onsite and offsite advertising overwhelming. I would probably have a hard time in Tokyo too! A striking feature of a lot of the advertising is the use of "white" models. Indian models are consistently used in jewelry ads and some clothing ads. Political posters (think campaign posters) are pasted everywhere. Those with several faces could be an ad for mustache cream.  

Our wooden houseboat was purpose-built but resembles an old rice barge. It is beautifully crafted in rattan and wood, a seeming paean to colonial splendor. The ceilings are highly polished carved  wood; there are nine cabins, all en-suite but quite small. 

The backwaters of Kerala --covering about 900 square miles with hundreds of miles of waterways --are brackish and produce a wide variety of fish. Bananas, coconut, and cashews are big commercial crops and figure prominently in the cuisine. 

British established rubber plantations. Coconut fiber (we know it as coir, as in Pottery Barn floor coverings) is a major industry. We have also seen duck and shrimp farming along the waterways. Behind the waterway boundary of trees and flowers one can glimpse large rice farms. Just at sunset I saw 4 large pieces of farming equipment lined up at the end of the work day. Wondering if there is a Kubota or John Deere dealer close by.

Away from the bumpy roads and cacophony of traffic, we found peaceful waters, with families living along and near the waterways. From the water it is difficult to

Imagine there are villages and cottage industries (twine making from coconut fibers that goes into floor mats). We took a village walk and saw regular bus service, shops, Western Union banks (where women line up for remittances), the local metal engineer, and a fair amount of construction of new (perhaps second) homes. The temp and humidity were high enough that we were all dripping (despite lots of water) when we returned to the boat. This is very tropical country--it seems like plants are growing as you watch. Mold too, on roof tiles, walls, steps. There is a water tap every 4-5 houses and along the water a set of steps at each house for bathing, washing dishes, and pounding the laundry on a granite slab. All the "mod cons," as the Brits might say, including satellite dishes for the TV. 

Back on land and heading to a synagogue and palace in Kochi. The former promises Portuguese tiles from the 16th C and the latter wall murals from about the same time.  

Mysore Palace

Mysore Palace

Okay, a palace is not temple but this palace has four temples inside it. Mysore Palace, where some members of the historical Wodeyar (their name) maharajahs still live, is nothing short of spectacular.

Designed by English architect Henry Irwin, the palace was built in 15 years. The maharani (queen) gave explicitly detailed decor directions. The finest materials from around the world were used and the detailed work (carved granite, carved rosewood doors, etc.) was done by Indian artisans. 

The crowds are huge because of the Dasara holiday. Imagine Sunday night after Thanksgiving in the Newark airport. Worse. We continue to be objects of fascination and photo-taking. Children are held up for us to shake hands and then photos follow. Peter is the biggest person in our group so he is often approached first.

We saw the palace in the daylight and  our guide decided we would go back to the hotel rather than wait 45 minutes for the full illumination. So we boarded the bus and discovered all traffic patterns had been changed. Some roads were made one-way. Others were closed. 

Our poor driver drove around at least 45 minutes trying to get back to the hotel. We knew we were going in circles when we went through a big square with the same pavilion and statue a second time. When our guide realized the palace had been illuminated by then, she told the driver to return to the palace.  We ended up back in the same parking lot and proceeded through the same big crowds back into the grounds for endless, most unsuccessful picture-taking. 

For us it was an extraordinary experience. For the driver, I don't know. He managed to get us back to the hotel with dispatch as traffic had cleared some. But before we left the parking lot we witnessed an occasion of road rage Indian style in a contretemps between two drivers who were undoubtedly exhausted. As we all were. 

Nevertheless, it was a highlight of the trip so far. Off to Bangalore tomorrow, which is ten times the size of Mysore. Traffic reports to follow.

Templed Out

Templed Out

There comes a moment when I've had one too many temples. That is now, with the final one being a temple to commerce--the Mysore Mall, adjacent to our hotel. 

The biggest and most important temple we have seen is the Chamundi Temple here in Mysore (recently voted the cleanest city in India). We went there late afternoon and into sunset and found burgeoning crowds, along with many sellers of anything imaginable, edible and souvenir. Also cows. We checked our shoes and got into a queue that quickly became a moving mass deep in the temple.

Yes, it occurred to me how one could easily die in an innocent crowd crush, especially if panic set in. I had to focus on putting one socked foot in front of another to stop thinking about stampedes. I felt intrigued both by the spectacle and the very prayerful behavior of most people. The customary offerings of flower and coconuts, supplemented by cash offerings in front of the goddess were abundant. 

Attendants tried mostly successfully to move the crowd along by yelling something to that effect every minute or so.  But some lingered, held their hands over a flame, sprinkled themselves with water, or even got to

present their offerings and prayers directly to a priest. 

Eventually once we were past the goddess the crowd seemed to have more space and it was less worrisome. We made our way back to the shoes. The socks are history. 

Our group guide has quite a challenge to keep us herded together in situations like this. Peter tends to wander or get waylaid because he engages people in conversation (not limited to India). Also we get waylaid by Indians just as curious about us and who want their photos taken with us.

Today I had an experience that my then eight-year old daughter had many times in India. A woman came up to me, pinched my left cheek and said, "Sweetie!" I hope I was as graceful as Stro always was. We then met the whole family and they took pictures with us. The Mysore family consisted of a young male engineer, his wife, mother-in-law, the wife's aunt (the pincher), and his own mother. Like most families present they were dressed in their finest for the occasion.

The mall temple stands 4 stories high and contains a movie, bowling, game room, food court, as well as a grocery store and the usual mix of shoe, clothing, cellphone stores we see in our own malls. Holiday decorations and multi-story banners abound and loud music (a little goes a long way) plays incessantly. 

As soon as Peter secured the costume he was bent on getting and I found more baby powder for my rash, we escaped to 90 minutes of blessed cool and quiet in the hotel. I think we are done with temples now and moving on to palaces. 

After this respite we will visit a food market and see the famous Mysore Palace, which is only lit up on Sunday. We feel lucky. 

Tomorrow is an early departure for Bangalore, the only place we will spend one night and, of course, the one place I wish we could stay longer. 

Kabini - elephants

Kabini - elephants

We traveled east of the western ghats and down 300 meters in altitude to a fertile area producing cotton, bananas, sugar cane, and assorted vegetables. Today was the 9th day of Dasara, the 10-day holiday honoring the goddesses. Buildings, houses, and vehicles of all sorts--even our safari boat--had been decorated with flowers and banana palms and elaborate parades and light shows typically take place in the evening. The holiday atmosphere and new natural surroundings made for an intriguing bus ride this morning, at least until we started hearing a loud scraping sound from under the bus.

We were still 10 km from our destination, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, and our bladders were full. Great timing. As soon as several of us marched to something called a hospital (auyervedic treatment center) and were able to use the facilities, we were fine with this asterisk on our adventure. We even got to see a herd of cows marching down the road. Locals came out to satisfy their curiosity and offer opinions. Turned out the bus problem was only a bus air-conditioning problem. Some bearings from the AC had fallen out to cause the worrisome scraping sounds. So we propped up the roof vents (the ones you use to escape in a rollover) and rolled on into the next Orange County Resort, recently named one of the world's top 25 eco-lodges.

The resort borders two national parks where wildlife is seriously protected. The tiger population is growing, which apparently says the whole system is working well. The larger area here is known as a biodiversity hot spot, the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve. On a boat safari late in the afternoon of day one we saw many, many wild animals and gorgeous birds--including a total of about 17 elephants-- feeding on the grass and enjoying the water's edge of the Kabini Reservoir/River. The crocodiles made me the most nervous--especially with people telling alligator disaster stories-- and the snakebird was the most intriguing. This is not to suggest those elephants were chump change. As the sun started to set the water turned to glass and the guide cut the engines so we could spend a few minutes without artificial sounds. I thought about how thrilling it would be to paddle my kayak here, until I remembered the crocodile.

Day 2 started with a misty dawn departure by boat to the Nagarahole National Park. This was once the private hunting reserve of the Mysore royalty (we will see their palace in a few days). We boarded an open-sided safari truck and drove around to see the birds and animals away from the water, back in the forest. Alas, the tigers and leopards eluded us. But we saw two species of monkey, elephants, mongoose, wild boar, tons of spotted deer, and small herds of gaur, the largest wild cattle in the world.

During both safaris I had moments of complete confusion about where I was. It seemed as if we were in Africa. Maybe that's one too many viewings of "Out of Africa" speaking. it was wonderful and eerie. Very serene.

Our accommodation here is a one bedroom house with a private jacuzzi, a back porch, and a hammock, in a style known in these parts as "rustic chic." The decor leans toward heavy handmade wood pieces with finer touches reflecting the symbols used by the forest and hill tribes who have lived here for centuries. 

We took a very informative visit to a nearby village--another one adopted by the Orange County Resort. They have built a primary school and provide teachers. About 40% of the staff here come from this village or local area and they are trying to get that above 50%. We stopped and visited with a family who served us jaggery coffee, which is mostly ginger. Imagine a sweet, sharp ginger flavor with a coffee overtone. I loved it. One of the daughters-in-la, only 20 years old and he month of a sleeping 7 month old baby girl, served the coffee. The mistress of the house and two of her grandsons were also present. They kindly answered many personal questions with the help of a translator. These included everything from who chooses the name of the baby (usually the mother) and who announces the name to the world at the Naming Ceremony (usually the maternal uncle). Peter enticed the ten-yr old boy, Raju, to sing some songs on video to show the grandkids at home.

This time of year we are seeing chilies drying, pumpkins growing on roofs, millet straw stacked and shaped into what looks like a round house in the fields. We will see more of that and also the detritus of the big Dasara celebrations on our way to Mysore today. This segment of the trip returns to urban sight-seeing, including the fabled Mysore Palace. We're told the hotel adjoins a big modern mall. Hmmm....

Kabini -The Spa

Kabini - the spa

I had to do it, if only to compare my experience today with my memory of my first-ever massage in 1980 at a resort in Cape Comorin. It came to be known in the family as the Crisco Massage because afterwards I felt like I'd been slathered in grease and against all advice I promptly went to my room and shampooed and washed it all off. The treatment was done in a thatched hut of some kind with a curtain for a door. Very simple, not spic 'n span, no English spoken. What an adventure. It led to me a lifetime of seeking out the perfect spa treatment, not a bad hobby for international travel.

Today I was greeted in a lovely Vaidyashala (treatment center) by the manager, who has a tidy desk complete with computer. My welcome drink was a glass of something they called apple juice, which was refreshing, if not appley. The treatment suite itself was quite spacious with a large wooden table in the center and a large wooden steam box in the corner. French doors opened onto a walled lily pond. My two beautiful female attendants managed to give me instructions that I eventually understood.

The treatment started with me swabbing my ears with something healthful. Then as I sat in a chair wrapped in a big towel, one attendant poured oil poured by the handful onto my head and then massaged my head and neck and shoulders. This was just the warm up and I already felt like jello. Next they escorted me to the wooden table where, using a lot more hot oil, they proceeded in tandem to give me a full body massage. Not just back and front but sides also.  I happily gave myself up to the sensation of four hands at work and even quit worrying about the spreading and very itchy rash I developed in the last 24 hours on the trunk of my body. (No idea what caused it, doctors on the trip mystified but wondering about a side effect of my anti-malarial med, and I have Zyrtec thanks to a fellow traveler).

At the point when I am starting to feel like a thoroughly greased pig, my attendant escorted me into a large wooden steam box. I begin to worry about the rash again. She closed the big slanted front door, leaving only my head showing and said something like "Tell me if it is too hot." Now I think what she said/meant was "Tell me when it is hot." Big difference. In any event it got very hot and just as I was about to yell uncle she asked if it was hot and then changed some setting for me to simply sit in the steam without additional heat. The point of the whole treatment called, Abhyanga, is to get your body to shed toxins. In my case surely this meant the excess calories worth of vada and idli I have been consuming. Improved complexion and vitality were he promised benefits.

I was relieved when she proclaimed me done because the head hold wasn't at a good height for a short person and my neck felt cramped. Now I feel like a sweating greased pig and my shower instructions are to rinse under warm water and use the shampoo once only on my hair only. I disobeyed the shampoo rule by doing it twice. Patted dry with a big towel I then got dressed, no longer feeling greasy, and sat at a dressing table where the attendant combed my snarly wet hair, asked me to reswab my ears, and applied some powder with special properties in a dot to my center part. This would help maintain my body temperature as I was going from warm treatment room to "cool" outside. I also got cotton balls for my ears for the same reason that were to stay in place for 30 minutes so the temp change would not shock my body. To me it was all warm, inside and out. I dumped the cotton balls before I got back to my cottage. The final part of the treatment was to send me home with two pills labeled Veda-lax, to be taken at bedtime with a glass of warm water to complete the toxin shedding. I decided to skip that part of the treatment since the last thing most travelers need in South India is what had to be a laxative. Besides, I already felt vitalized and my skin was glowing.

As I enjoy my morning coffee today I am blissfully reviewing all the weird and wonderful body treatments I have enjoyed around the world. This one gave me a new appreciation of the auyervedic approach, but I still have the rash and it seems to be spreading. Now off to wifi to try to figure out if this might be a side effect of medication and just how often I can take a Zyrtec. In the meantime, baby powder helps.

Coorg - in the hills

Coorg

For two nights and one day we have been in the highlands of Karnataka, a large state in South India, at the Orange County Resort. This is at an altitude of about 2700 to 3000 feet in what is known as the Western Ghats (ghat=mountain), a range that runs along the western edge of India. Once a British-owned plantation, it is now in its third generation of Indian ownership. Few American or British groups come to Coorg. It is not easy to get to, but the five-hour very curvy, very hilly bus ride was worth it (easy for me to say since I did not get carsick).

The resort is set in a 300 acre coffee plantation that is at enough altitude to also produce commercial crops of ginger, black peppercorns, cardamom, and cinnamon. We're told coffee grows at altitudes of 800-1200 ft and tea at higher altitudes). The lush tropical surroundings and birdsong here may be the ultimate contrast with Mumbai's urban buzz. Everything here calls to me to chill out. Our quarters are a thatch-roofed cottage with a large living room and small kitchen/dining area. There is a large bedroom (complete with AC, ceiling fan, and mosquito net) and huge bathroom. All of that is bordered on one side by a wall of French doors to a private immersion pool (with jacuzzi option) and a walled veranda with lounge chairs and chaises. The pool is not heated but this time of year it feels refreshing midday. The place is stocked with snacks, fruit, a mini-bar and fab coffee.

So why leave the house? Well, there are attractive opportunities to learn the coffee- growing process, go birding, attend performances of local dance troupes and other cultural activities, visit a village, learn about responsible eco-tourism, and eat far too many excellent South Indian dishes. The all-veg breakfast option at The Plaintain Leaf invited such excess I chose to skip lunch today.

My only excuse is that my appetite built up on a pre-breakfast walk with the resort naturalist to a village within the plantation. The resort subsidizes the village by providing potentially lifetime employment (with opportunities to improve in skills and knowledge and earn more money). Both men and women work on the plantation, though not all the employees reside in the village. One month out of every year the village floods when the Chauvery River rises as much as 30 feet due to monsoon rains. The resort provides temporary shelter and helps the families to repair and return to their homes for the remainder of the year. This brings to mind the old Japanese movie, "Woman In The Sand" and I wonder, why don't people move away from predictable disaster? I suppose I could ask the same question of people who keep rebuilding on the Gulf Coast.

My favorite factoids from this afternoon's talk are total "Milkys," a term my family will understand. They are like a big DUH. First, all those expensive red, green, white, and black peppercorns are from the same plant. The difference in taste among them, for those with discerning palettes, is how they are processed. Second, "shade-grown" coffee does not involve tents over the coffee plants. It involves planting trees like the Australian silver oak (imported for this purpose) or the rosewood tree, both of which grow tall and offer filtered light for the coffee and a place for the pepper vine to grow. Two mysteries solved by one naturalist.

The only downside of this place is that the auyervedic spa had no, that is NO, openings today. Spa Rule #1: Book ahead. I suppose this is just as well because after reading the entire spa menu several times in detail I still could not decide among the various outrageous bundles of benefits claimed for each and every treatment (including weight reduction). Maybe I will have better luck at the next resort, both making a choice and securing an appointment. Back into the pool before the next hike

Mumbai II

Day two on the tour provided an incomparable experience. We made a two-hour visit to Dharavi, Mumbai's largest slum and one of the locations where the movie, "Slumdog Millionaire" was made. Let's take that item first. People here were insulted by the film because they felt it did not portray Dharavi accurately. It was seen as a Hollywood confection that put them in a bad light.

Our visit was designed in part to correct that impression and to provide more factual information about the area. We heard from several people that Dharavi should not be considered a slum, certainly not the worst slum, because it is an entrepreneurial hive focused on four industries: recycling, leather, pottery, and textiles. People are working hard, they said, and making important contributions to Mumbai's economy, both in the industries operated within and in services provided (domestic work, for example) outside. In keeping with this we were asked not to take pictures and not to make faces if we came upon strong unpleasant smells or sights. The tour was informative and respectful. We had lots of chances to ask questions as we walked the unpaved and very uneven narrow alleys and dodged vehicles and goats in the bigger streets.

Our guides were two young men who are Dharavi residents and graduate students in physics and commerce. They are part of an all-male group of about 15 who are working to change perceptions about the area. I asked if there were young women in this group. No, because they really cannot socialize with young women as friends, even university students. And besides the young women shouldn't be doing this kind of work per traditional customs, one said.

We divided into two groups of 4-5 each with a guide and visited all four industries. What we saw were mostly illiterate young men who have come to Mumbai from other parts of Maharashtra as well as Gujarat and Bihar, in search of  a better life. They can earn between $3 and $10/day. Some are quite skilled and others are limited to sorting plastic by color and quality. Some send remittances back to their village families and most live together in dorm facilities with a communal toilet. Each shop gets two barrels of water a day which is used in part for what we might call sponge baths.

The entrepreneurs behind the predominant industries are not Dharavi residents. They are savvy business owners who have a source of inexpensive labor and an inexhaustible market for their goods and services. The workers work in mostly dark spaces with no safe work provisions or protections against environmental hazards. They are understandably clothed in shorts and undershirts, if any shirt. Most sit barefoot on the floor to work--cutting pieces of Samsonite luggage, beating hides, burning paint off old paint cans, reconstructing cardboard boxes, sorting plastic, running very noisy machines that chop the plastic, or melting aluminum into heavy bricks for reuse. There are many unspecified chemicals in use for cleaning plastic, processing leather, etc. most textile workers sat in dark spaces running sewing machines for clothing construction. Two guys who seemed to have it pretty good worked in a lighted space with a fan, running a Chinese-made computerized embroidery program on a machine as wide as the room. With the exception of one small leather goods shop most of these industries are wholesale.

Between one and two million people live here. There are biological families (some multiple generations) and families of choice (workers from rural areas looking for a better life). The area is quite large, has two public hospitals and many dispensaries and dental clinics. Redevelopment efforts have led to the construction of high rise, Cabrini-Green kinds of buildings, which prohibit families from operating a business in a store front below or in front of their living quarters.

For all its lacks, Dharavi is also a community with a political structure and elected representatives. Basic services, such as dry cleaners and clothes pressers, bank transfer services, movie theaters, food and clothing sellers, school children in uniform (mostly male) are all there. It sits next to a suburban train line and a main road with buses. Some residents serve as domestic servants or in other service jobs throughout the metropolitan area.

I was haunted during our visit by the stories of Thrity Umrigar (The Space Between Us) and Katherine Boo (Behind the Beautiful Forevers) about life in a Mumbai slum in the larger context of a vibrant city with an increasing disparity in wealth. It was a five-star experience I will be processing for a long time, probably coming to contradictory conclusions, wishing I could return and hear more and see more and ask more questions. But for now we are headed to a hill station known for over 300 species of birds, forest, and auyervedic spa treatments.