Richard's Travel Blog

There comes a time when resting becomes vegetating. that time has come for me. There’s little I want to do here. I’ve read a lot, walked around, met a few very nice people, and had some great food. I hope that continues, but it’s time to do it in a different place. I’m off to Varkala, farther down the coast on Kerala, in 2-3 days.

Meanwhile, I’ve uploaded many photos to this website. Again, they are pictures of things I’m doing and everyday sights around town.

I suppose the “sight” I see most often is the view down the main tourst street in this part of Cochi. I turn this corner a few times a day. This is at 10:30 in the morning, before anything is really happening around here.

Just to the right of where I was standing is Vasco de Gama Park. There is exactly one bench with a back there, and if it’s in the shade and vacant, I sometimes read there.

You’ve seen the inconspicuous entry to the Kashi Arts Cafe. where I probably eat most breakfasts. Here is the inside. Ah, real French press coffee. I’m going to miss that. This is the Carmel, California of India.

A few times in the evening, I’ve had a beer at this place. The food’s okay too.

Most of the time for dinner I buy a fish, some oysters or squid at a stand like this. These stands are behind the Chinese fishing nets. And behind them are open retaurants which cook it up for a little under a buck. Last night I had 1/2 kilo of oysters sauteed with garlic, salt and pepper for a whopping $2 altogether.

After that I went where I usually go, to listen to music at the Kerala Kathakali Center. That comes on at 8:45, after the Kathakali performance.

There is a different performance every night. Sometimes it’s sitar, sometimes flute (like tonight’s program), sometimes vocal, sometimes violin (which India has adopted as it’s own and created music you’d never think would come out of a violin), and I don’t know what else. So far, the featured instrument or singer was accompanied by tabla (drums) and other drums. I haven’t been here long enough to see what all they present over the course of the year. Last night was the best.

The veena is an ancient lute with seven strings, four for melody and three for rhythm. It is at least 3000 years old, though this particular one was only 100 years old. If you’ve seen pictures of a goddess playing lute, it’s this she is playing.

That horse’s head is brilliant.

The number of people who can play it is dwindling. There is one master left in Kerala. One of his best students performed last night.

The tabla player has been there every night that I have.

Well. here is the last one I’ve uploaded into my blog storage. It sure is blurry. It was dark in there. He is obviously playing the flute. There’s flute music tonight. Maybe it will be the same guy, though the sitar players have been different.

So, there you have it for now. It wasn’t art, but it is what I’m looking at.

Be well, all of you.

I went for a walk today. Most of there pictures are typical street scenes and sights, such as they are. Most of this is on Bazaar Street, Spice Street and in the old Jewish section. First, though, is a picture of Appu, the guy who has the internet business where I usually do this and email. He was minding another tourist’s kid while she was on the net.

Here’s the synagogue. There aren’t many Jews left here, but this place is a registered historical monument, so it will remain and kept from crumbling.

Here’s a Catholic church, one of many here, and some of the parish school kids.

Here’s a typical row of businesses.

A lot of every Indian town is crumbling, but still used. Here is a guy who just got water from the well behind him.

Here’ a guy unloading a truck.

 

This is not a homeless guy. “Respectable” people nap wherever they want during the heat of the afternoon.This is not a homeless guy. “Respectable” people nap wherever they want during the heat of the afternoon.

Always there are the kids. If you walk down the street anywhere, you have a good chance of a gaggle of kids running up to have you take a photo of them. It’s great to have a digital camera. They have instant gratification of seeing themselves, and you can delete what you don’t want. I’ve deleted hundreds of kid pics after showing them.

Here’s a canal. Duh.

Here’s just an artsy picture.

Here’s one of the more modest art galleries. Cochi has dozens of galleries. Little one’s like this are some artist or two’s shot at living their dream, living by their art.

Here is the lane behind my hotel. On the left is the Kashi Arts Cafe, one of my usual digs here.

Finally, a typical scene in Cochi, tourist fresh of the ferry from Ernaculam, at the jetty, talking with a rickshaw driver about where they might find a room.

When I was about 13 years old, I started doing some soul searching. It’s what adolescents do, isn’t it? I gained inspiration from a Peanuts poster I had. Lucy is sitting in her 5 cent advice booth with her chin in her hand and thinking out loud, “Whoever said you had to accomplish anything? I thought you were just supposed to keep busy.” When I got older, and had accomplished all anyone would expect of me and become respectible in the eyes of my dead mother or somebody (Sister Alma?), I remembered that poster again. It seemed like all I was doing was keeping busy. As a nurse, life was easy. Money was easy. I had time to travel and did so, money to have a good time wherever I went or lived, no kids to put through college, a girlfriend much of the time, some friends, a few interests. Then my dad got old and his wife got demented, so I had to accomplish something for a while. Then I obtained inherited wealth and decided to not only not accomplish anything, but to not be even busy.

That has proven a little more challenging than I thought it would be. I have always liked to travel, so I’m on the road again. This time is different, though, because I don’t have to go back to work. When traveling before, whether it was for a few weeks or  many months, I was doing something. There were places to go, people to see, in the time I had before I would have to go back to work to accumulate more money to travel again or to have for another purpose. Retirement is way different.

We get to go through these “passages”, as the bestseller described them. Each new one brings with it age old questions, dilemmas, joys, sorrows and pleasures. It’s come time for me to go through this one. I not only don’t have to accomplish anything or prove anything to anyone, I don’t have to be busy.

But wait a minute, I still haven’t gotten as used to the idea as I thought I was. Entrenched thought processes are telling me to do something. Travelling is supposed to be doing something. I’ll have a plan. Today I’ll do this, tomorrow that. There’s so much to see. I’m young for a retiree, so I can see the whole world. Or I can still see an estimable part of it, anyway. I can be accomplished again, this time as a traveler. I haven’t learned to stop needing to do something.

Something needs to be done. I barely make it one day at a time sometimes, and this is one of those times. Here’s the plan, Stan. I’m going to make a temporary practice of not doing much. Fake it till I make it, as they say. I plan to park it here in Cochi till I get bored. If I feel like I need to see another place because that will increase my worldly knowledge but 0.01%, I’m going to shelve that idea just because I can.

I’m going to read to my hearts content. I’m going to write in my notebook. I already filled one and promptly lost it. Good thing, that. I’m going to hang out in this mini-Berkeley (more about that later), have western food if I like, have lattes, watch the fisherman, see the galleries and music performances, and just have what would be a normal life if I could afford such in the US on my retirement income. Maybe I’m destined to be at least a little bit in motion in retirement, but that would be okay.

That said, I reserve the right to satisfy my curiosities.

It’s nice to be free. It’d just also be nice to have walked the path before. You could say that about any “passage”, huh? Maybe I’ll stumble into some precocious wisdom, as I did with the help of Charles Schultz 40 years ago.

This central part of Kerala is famous for Kathakali. Kathakali is a performance art where actors reenact episodes of the Hindu classics, the Mabaharata, the Ramayana, and the Puranas. Each segment lasts about an hour. There are 606 segments in Kathakali. Every night in Cochi, and most nights in a couple other nearby locations, a segment is presented, mostly for the tourists. We’re encouraged to show up early and watch them put on their make up.

This story is about virtue maintained and honor restored. A woman’s husband loses her to a demon (with the winged face)in a dice game. The wife refuses the advances of the demon and vows to not wash her hair, her clothes or herself until the demon is killed and her husband washes her hair with the demon’s blood. Krishna (with the green face), impressed with her honor, makes it so no matter how long the demon pulls on her sari, it will never run out of material and come off. Round and round she spins until the demon gives up. Her husband performs 12 years of penance to seek assisstance from Krisna, and is given the power to overcome the demon. Only a true love could want her by then, but he does so, eating out the demon’s heart and washing his wife’s hair with the blood. They live happily ever after.

There is much yelling, especially by the demon who is thoroughly unlikable. There is music onstage. Though a lot about the very many hand gestures and body movements was quickly gone over by the host explaining all this, it was impossible to remember a fraction of what he said. Basically, the performers can say enough that way, that spoken word is unnecessary.

Here’s Krishna

Here’s the repentant husband.

Here’s the husband duking it out with the demon, who looks a little like Longhorn Leghorn to me. I say I say I say, boy, you need more light to take pictures inside from a distance.

Cochi is a great town to hang out in and absorb culture. This is on every night. There are galleries all over. There are other performances of music and theater here and nearby. The locals are very proud, and the foreigners eat it up.  Oh, today was cute. There are a couple of places that try to be art coffee houses/cafes. One does it perfectly. It’s called the Kashi Art Cafe. You go in and there was a Brit with his framed photos from around India on the brick walls. He’s sitting at a card table with his coffee table book for sale, hoping to sell a signed copy. He sold four yesterday. Today he sold four of his framed pictures. He was real pleased about that. You can go to http://www.waswoxwaswo.net/ if you want to look at his stuff. The gallery music was Dan Ackroyd’s House of Blues Radio Hour off satellite radio. It is 10:30 Saturday night on the west coast. In the garden was the coffee house with a few good coffee drinks made with freshly ground arrabica, some teas and other drinks, and a fixed lunch of perfectly acceptible, by California cuisine standards, chicken salad sandwich on fresh thick sliced dark toast and cream of tomato soup. I felt like I was back in a nice place of that style in Mendocino. I just hung out there after lunch with a limeade and listened to the blues. You can go Indian all you want here, but it was nice to get anything I wanted at Alice’s Restaurant. Actually, if you wanted ANYTHING, you’d have to ask any of the rickshaw guys outside.

For no good reason, here is a picture of my hotel. It’s pretty typical of my nicer urban digs.

  As I said in my last blog, I’m going to chill here for a while, if for no other reason than I’m seeing a lot of cultural things I’ve been meaning to see. I’ll be in touch.

There is an exotic Hindu ritual in northern Kerala called theyyam. It’s thought to have origins predating Hinduism, which originated about 3500 years ago. It’s part music, part community and cultural celebration, part costumed ecstatic dance, and part prayer. Traditionally, it lasts about 15 hours. To find this event, I asked a policeman ,who asked another, who asked a rickshaw driver, who hunted up another rickshaw driver who was a devotee of this sect. The one I attended in Kannur started at about 7 PM. It was going to end about noon the next day, but I flagged at about 9 AM, after about 14 hours.

It started with drumming and a man in a headdress offering prayers. There were, at that time, about 300 people there. Here is one of the drummers who pounded their hearts out for hours.

Most of these pictures are dark because most of it was at night and I couldn’t just walk right into their midst with a flash camera.

There followed a parade of children in flowers, and then a parade of umbrellas. I don’t know the significance of the umbrellas.

  Then came an elephant who circled the altars and had been trained to bow before them.

There are theyyams every night somewhere in northern Kerala. Each place has it’s particular deities they venerate. It is believed that the performers, after appropriate fasting, prayer, and other preparation become the deities. All are male. All are of lower castes, although there are other participants of other castes. The ones allowed to touch and worship right around them are brahmins. The make up artists would be of a paticular caste. It has been highly regimented since time immemorial. Even the temples themselves have been passed down through generations.

Here is a guy getting made up and in his finished look.

Here’s a female deity. He was an amazing dancer. They are so strong, they remind my of sufis.

Lastly, here are a couple of the other deities. I wish I had decent pictures, but my snapshooter and I are not cut out for duty at 4 AM.

There were breaks during the night. One was from about 12:30-1:30, them another from about 3:00-4:00. Other than those times, something was going on. There were frequent times where the deities sat and administered blessings to the faithful. Except in the wee hours, when there were as few as maybe 20 of us in attendance, these gatherings sometimes took a little while. Common people could talk with them and finally get some yellow powder splashed on their heads.

It seemed to me that they were just about done with the more entertaining parts by about 9, so I left.  Here is a last shot taken in the morning after sun up.

I left Kannur and went south to Ernakulam/Cochi. Cochi is what most people will recognize, as it’s the tourist destination across the bay from the real city of Ernaculam. I was bushed after the crowded third class train ride, and spent the first two nights in Ernaculam where the train station is. That was fine. I went on a day long boat ride on some canals and on the big part of the river. It was okay, not memorable. The first evening, I checked out Cochi. It’s touristy, but not too bad. I can relax here, and think I will do so until I feel like moving on.

There are some cute lanes here, plenty of multicuisine restaurants, and entertainment. I went to an abbreviated Kathikali performance the night I got to Ernaculam. Tonight I think I’ll take in some Indian classical music. Kathikali is a presentation in costume and music of stories from the Mahabarata, Ramayana and the Puranas. I’ll write on that later, along with theyam, the 15 hour religious ceremony I saw in Kannur.

Right now, I’m for just lazing for at least a couple of days. I did go out this morning and watch the fishermen who use ancient technology they learned from the Chinese in the 13th century to net fish near the shore.

The nets are spread out over the water at the end of long poles. With counterweights, four guys then hoist it out and collect the fish. About 8 of these rigs are spread out along the beach.

The fishmongers wholesale that and ocean catch to anybody who comes up. Behind the beach are some shacks. You ccan select a fish, or prawns, or these great fresh water mussels they have around here. They cook whatever you select for about 50 cents, and you sit on plastic or bamboo patio furniture for your meal. Two people can get, say, a sizeable rockfish meal for about a buck and a half while the sun sets over the water. Very romantic. Alas…

Like I say, I think I’ll stay here a while. so I’ll have time to keep blogging along. I’m not that busy.

I’ve been in the forests of Kerala’s western mountains. I’ve got fast internet connection again, so here are some pictures. The first is actually from a bird sanctary near Mysore, Karnataka. It’s a 3 meter crocodile. Sorry. I’ll never be a photgrapher for National Geographic.

 

I had an exciting experience when an elephant in Wayanad near Muthanga got mad at us for being between between where she and her young one were to where they wanted to go. She charged twice. We had to peel out twice. No good pictures then, with all the bouncing. Here’s better elephant pictures from Wayanad near Thonpetty.

Here’s an Indian bison. They are tame, like cows, unlike American bison.Â

 

Here’s me by the jeep.

There’s a less wild area near there where anyone can drive and hike or have a picnic. My driver and I spent the afternoon there before going on our morning and afternood jeep “safaris”.

Here’s the food court kitchen there.

And just because I’m vain….

Saddam Hussein was hanged between when I took my early morning jeep “safari” into the Wayanad Wildlife Refuge near Thonpetty and my return in the late afternoon for another. This was erected in front of the entrance.

Under the black protest flag hangs an effigy of George Bush. The sign in English says, “Killer Bush. You never escape”. The other side reads. “You’re next”. I hope they don’t mean me.

The main highway between Mysore and Kalpetta, where I was staying, was blockaded. Another blockade was at the junction where that road meets the one to Thonpetty and becomes the main street in Kalpetta. It’s a good thing I decided to hire a jeep rather than patch together local bus rides. The road was not only blocked, but buses were being emptied of passengers. What for? Looking for foreigners? There were no reports of violence against foreigners anywhere in the morning papers or on TV. My driver took me back to Kalpetta on backwoods roads in the 4-wheel drive jeep. There was a small demonstation amidst the crowd piled up at the blockade at the beginning of town, and a march later down main street. Police were guarding the big hotels and supervising the loud but nonviolent protesters. I did not take pictures, but went straight into the hotel.

A general strike was called for the rest of the day in this left-leaning state of Kerala, the only state in India with a communist government. The park was open, as the government did not participate in the strike. The hotels were open, of course, but that’s about it.

Reactions in the press vary. you’ve probably seen reports, though what is on CNN is pablum about the disposition of Saddam’s body and other weak material. Other reactions vary from the Vatican calling the execution “tragic”, to calls for Bush and his handlers to face a war crimes tribunal, to Arab TV which I got in my room with a 1/4 of a screen banner under the reporting, “SADDAM ATTAINS MARTYRDOM”. They report cheers of approval in Kurdestan and in greater Iran, the area west of Iran proper which used to be southern Iraq. The largest English language newspaper in South India, The Deccan Chronicle, reported it in a subdued, professional way. It also had reports on the protests around India, as well as Bush calling it a “milestone”. Typo, I guess. They must have meant “millstone”. Commentary was critical but not scathing. They encouraged peaceful reaction, while reminding people, basically, “What did you expect? The trial, outcome and execution were orchestrated in Washington.”  There was a picture of the Citibank in Cochi being stoned and spray painted. There was another of demonstators being subdued in Kannur. I know the garbage on US TV alleges that the rump government toadies in the Green Zone are responsible. That is a matter for debate in the US because it’s framed that way by the privately sponsered media. It’s also a matter of debate there whether the oil company, auto and beer sponsers control content. Right.

I think that was the worst of it. Yesterday I took two long bus rides to Kannur, and things look pretty cool here. Yesterday was Sunday, and the second day of an important Muslim holy period, and it was new year’s eve. So people have other things to do, besides not working, as usual on Sundays. The quiet was no doubt good for everybody. If the guys in Washington did anything right, it was time the hanging when they did. Now it’s new year’s day. People have counted to 10 and breathed a little.

I’m here to attend a thayyam. That’s an ancient rite probably predating Hinduism, practiced in north Kerala. It involves prayers, dance, spectacular costumes and music. It lasts 15 hours, and one starts tonight at 9 in a place near here. I hunted up a guy to take me and grease it so I can attend and maybe pictures. I should be a zombie by the timeIi drag myself back to my room about this time tomorrow. More on that when I revive.

Happy New Year to you all.

   For the last couple of days, I’ve had very fast internet connections, so here are are a bunch of pictures. I was thinking, perhaps you’d like to see more everyday stuff. So here it is. First, here’s a working class neighborhood on the outskirts of Mysore.

   Here are some people at work in that village. A butcher…

   This girl is making incense sticks. She moistens charcoal and forms a soft ball which she rolls onto the bamboo sticks. then she rolls that, in this case, in sandlewood sandlewood dust. Sandlewood is prevalent around this part of Karnataka state.

A guy making beedis, the thin cigarettes many Indians smoke…

   The next few are at the big temple on the hill in Mysore. As I said in the last blog, people get dressed up nice to go there on a nice Sunday afternoon.

  And there are vendors aplenty. Here are bangles for sale…

  It’s customary to present flowers to the deity inside the temple. Many vendors are there to sell you flowers.

   You can get something to eat. Fruit sellers like this are ubiquitous anywhere in India, anywhere in the developing world really…

   Holy men are all around to give you a blessing and put a tikka on your forehead. Note the devotional flame on his tray…

   Next are some pics of people at work in Mysore. Here is the shoemaker at the corner by my hotel repairing my pack. Shoemakers are the ones to go to for any heavy stitching.

  Here’s a tailor…

Here are scribes. Many people in India are illiterate or don’t have the means to write and send a post, or need to send a formal typewritten letter.

Here is a rice vendor. If you can afford it, you can buy a bag. If not, you can buy a small amount like you see in the trays. This might especially be the case if you want a high quality rice like jasmine. He has many kinds for sale.

Here is a sculptor of sandlewood. This is a valuable section of sandlewood trunk.

Here is a sight you see several times in the length of a block, or by the road, or anywhee. It’s a paan stand. You can get fresh paan, but most buy a packet from the selection hanging there from a guy like this for 1 rupee, about 2 cents. Paan is a mixture of betel nut, spices, sugar and lime paste, wrapped in a paan leaf. Sometimes it contains tobacco. I think it’s disgusting, but many men love it. I just can’t stand the amount of juice you have to spit out. Red splashes are everywhere on the ground and in the street in India. Also in this picture are a guy selling lottery tickets and a paper boy.

This man is doing a horoscope for a passerby. Indians are big believers in astrology. Weddings have been called off because it’s not in the stars.

Here are monkeys grubbing in some coconut hulls. Monkeys are everywhere inside and outside the towns.

 

And last but not least… The street boy bangs his drum. Bangbangbangbangbang. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present for your enjoyment and AMAZEMENT… bangbangbangbangbangbang… the LOVELY and ASTONISHING…. bangbangbangbangbang…. U-U-U-U-Uma, the WORLD’S STRONGEST 8 year old! She will now before your very eyes break this two inch thick slab of 2 inch concret with her BARE FOREARM! Just look at her muscles!

 She did it after about 8 whacks at it, then sat on the curb behind a street cart, rocking, and cradling her very black and blue arm. 15 minutes later she was back out in front of a new batch of passersby, doing it again.

Usually the maharajah’s palace night lights are turned on on Sundays. On Christmas, it is lit up with 97,000 light bulbs. He is the palace on Christmas Eve and on Christmas.

Crowds gathered to look before fanning out to the various restaurants, dhabas and street carts to eat. For the second night in a row, I went to the Parklane Hotel for dinner. It’s a little upscale for me, but the food is good and there is live music every night.

75% of India’s 25 million Christians live in the south. In Mysore they are a significant fraction of the population. The Parklane, like other places frequented by westerners, put up a Christmas tree and lighted paper star lamps. I got there on Christmas at about 7:30, an hour before the music starts because the night before I arrived a half hour early and there were few tables free. Fortunately, I was dining alone, and four choice tables were vacant right in front of the musicians platform.  They were available because singles are something of a rarity in India in a nice restaurant. Even most travelers travel with someone. Tonight, however, the place didn’t fill up till about 9.

A young Canadian asked if he could sit with me. His story is that he’d finished his freshman year in college and was unsure of his direction, so he hit the road a few months ago. We chitchatted about our lives and had beers. He had tummy trouble and ordered fried eggs. I mention that because he got the best sunny side up eggs I’ve seen since I got to India. Nice and soft, with runny yolks. Usually they cook them to death on too hot a frying surface. They cook them on the same ones they cook chapattis on. I almost wanted that to eat but, I don’t know, for me fried eggs is dinner food only in an emergency. Probably it was an emergency for him. I ordered the fried rice with mutton, chicken and fish from the Chinese column. Chinese is traditional on Christmas in some Jewish circles. Maybe with the Chinese too.

Around 8:30, the music started. What a hoot! On Christmas Eve there was the very authentic Indian music of a kind of mandolin and tabla.

This night, the mandolin player switched to tabla and this kid about the age of my dinner partner came in, put his motorcycle helmet on the platform in front of him and whipped out a Casio keyboard. “This is going to suck”, I said to myself. It did. But it was funky in it’s own little way. Here’s a place about 1/4 filled with tourists wanting a taste of India. Mysore is having a huge international conference of anesthesiologists now, and most of the patrons looked like doc types. Wife-of-doc types have been all over town alone during the day. Now they are together. So what do we get? Electronic pulp folk. At one point they did “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”. Wry smiles and head shakes everywhere. The Indians don’t generally have a fond impression of the British. The history books don’t treat the colonial period as much more than a time of suppression, corruption of a magnificent ancient civilization, exploitation of India’s resources, people, and artwork theft. Never mind the complexities of history. I expected Christmas carols but, after that, it was back to the corruption of ancient magnificent music. Irony can be fun.

On Christmas Eve, I hired an autorickshaw to take me around for the day. He took me too the big temple on the hill. Being Sunday, it was a swarm of humanity. There was no going in for me, as the line was about an hour long and I’ve seen a lot of nice temples in the past 3 1/2 months. I amused myself people watching. Except for the poorest, who barely have anything to wear at all, people show up for an outing like this in their best clothes. The women are especially good looking in their saris and jewelry. Their hair is perfect. The Muslim women who, like me, are sightseers at this Hindu temple, have on their finest pashmina shawls.

There are always vendors of every sort at these places like this. It’s like a little bazaar. Indians really like kitch. They will handle and haggle over the cheapest Chinese bauble you ever saw. Remember Silly Putty? Remember the plastic eggs it came in? I saw a family getting excited over some of these eggs, so the oldest guy, presumably dad, negotiated for about five minutes and proudly presented them to his family. Mom loved it. She beamed like the kids. Indians love to shop. Sometimes they haven’t got the money for much, but they love what they can get. I think it doesn’t matter what for. It’s the experience.

Boy, I’m on a roll. I better knock it off. Most of you haven’t gotten this far. If you have, don’t you have something better to do? Just kidding. Thanks for reading it.