Washing away the Year

The beach at Kannur, the last day of the year.  

Beach feet, flat sand, warm water and hermit crabs.

Whom else would I rather spend the end of the year with.  The Genetic Envelope looking all Bollywood.

And the geezer.  Not so Bollywood.

Last Day of the World

 Smoke, ruin and Tuk-Tuks on the last day of the year.

 The modern and the not.  Para sailing and traditional dress on the beach at sunset

Kannur

St. Angelos Fort, Kannur, playing tag with the noonday sun, mad dogs and Englishmen, everyone.

What the local armies, armed with spears and swords, faced when messing with the Portuguese.

Death spared not the Dutch.  This commander lost his entire family.

Cricket

Even the nearness of the colonial long-dead cannot stop a pickup cricket game.

The Colonial Dead

In a lonely cemetery, near and Anglican church, between the fort and the Arabian Sea, civil servants and their families rest their bones far from home.

Alas for Scotland, she never made it back to the green turf.

Fortress and Cleanliness

The Colonial Fort at Thelicherry.  It's the same list of Colonial players and local rulers.  

 Below the fort is the local laundry.

From the back of the bus

The bus from Wayanad down the steep switchbacks of the Ghat, was an open sided "Ordinary", our usual means of transport.  We decided that the great thing about sitting at the far back of the bus is that "There is a long way to fly, and a lot of shit to hit, before the dying starts."

This is considered a normal and well secured load here in Kerala.  Remember the women in the village making the coir rope?  See the rope on the truck?

A New Year

It is already the New Year here in Kerala.  I know that many of you have yet to cross into 2013, so The Kid and I wish you a Happy New Year.

Midnight came and went in a cacophony of Indian fireworks.

We spent the last day of the year touring about Kannur.  After a frustrating attempt with the tourist desk and the the train information desk, we discovered, on our own, how to get to the weaver's co-op that we had wanted to visit.  Directions and information in Southern India seem to fall into two categories.  The first is a mish-mash of Indio-English that accomplishes nothing for either party.  This is usually associated with vague waves in the general direction of somewhere else.  All of this is usually accomplished while the other person is hovering over one of the super-secret lined ledger books that every official person seems to be writing in every waking moment.

The second category of help comes from some Indian gentleman standing nearby, who speaks the King's and solves problems like the PG Wodehouse character Jeeves.

Either way, we continue on.  We found the weaver's co-op, a fairyland of arcane looms and spinning devices in a rambling and ramshackle series of buildings far fro the city center.  We had a lovely private tour and then bought a ridiculous amount of textile things from the co-op store for a pittance.  Oh, and if you think that an Indian size 42 will equate to an American size 42, you would be vastly mistaken (as well as squeezed a bit tight).

We trekked about St. Angelo's fort, a Portuguese, then Dutch, then English, then Indian fort.  If you add in the Arab traders, you have a good picture of the local colonial battles that went on form even before Vasco De Gama landed here in the late 1400's.  Spice.  Like "Dune", in this part of the world, spice was the driving force behind everything.  Spice made rich men of some traders and killed many more.  Vasco De Gama left Lisboa with 28 ships and arrived here with 8.  This was not an unusual attrition rate during those days.  Yet a single load of cardamom, Mace, or malabar pepper, successfully delivered to London or Amsterdam of Lisboa, could make a captain a very rich man.

Sunset on the last day of the year found us wading in the Arabian sea at the local beach.  We found hundreds of hermit crabs, a type of small predatory moon snail, clams and nudibranches.  There is nothing quite like watching women in Burkas on the beach for realizing that one is not at Alki in West Seattle.

I will have to find another computer from which to post pictures.  This one is problematic.  Suffice the words for now.  Be well, be happy, and avoid silly resolutions if you possibly can.  Liam asked me what my resolution for next year was and I replied "To Travel More."  After a second we both cracked up laughing.

Ciao!

The Cusp of the Year

Greetings Friends, Neighbors and fellow Citizens of the World.

This evening, almost upon the cusp of the year, The Kid and I are in the Keralan town of Kannur, formerly known as Cannanore.  Many of the cities in India have two names, the older colonial names and the newer (or older, depending on how you look at it) Indian names, thanks to The Great Soul.

Today, the GE and I journeyed Northward from Thalassery (Tellicherry) to Kannur via the Indian rail system.  For the princely sum of 8 rupees, we chugged along in style for 45 kilometers.  Eight rupees for two people.  That's sixteen cents US.  For two.  We love the trains.

While waiting at the station and trying to decode the cryptic ciphers on the ticket, we met three very lovely young Indian student girls on their way to Bangelore, heading home for the holidays.  They shared some Keralan sweets with us, gave us a quick lesson on train travel and, after some giggling on their part, informed Liam that he looked very much like a Bollywood film star.  This admission from them led to The Kid saying things to me like "Not a single word, not one word or I will throw you on the tracks."  Of course, I was smirking like a madman, so perhaps it was deserved.  At 6'-3" and with his partially blue punk do, he does have a presence here.

We will be exploring the regions around Kannur for the next three days or so.  This is an area almost completely off the tourist trail, a land of Theyyem Rituals that pre-date Hinduism, pristine beaches, and the Northern Backwaters, a delta of four rivers that can be crossed by local ferries.

It is late and I cannot post pictures from this computer, so I bid you a fond good evening.  We have had our dosa and our tea, so now it is time to retire to our secluded little hide-away tucked back in a leafy and quiet part of town.  When it is quiet in India, it is deafening and wonderful.

The walk out

Here almost the entire Foreigner contingency in Southern Wayanad.
Marcel and Florian, both Swiss, Gabreille, Sicilian and Florian the Second, who is German.
The other two are the American group of yours truly and The kid.

Chembra

The Kid on top

Chembra Pics

Chembra Peak

Yesterday, The GE and I climbed Chembra peak.  It was wonderful to be out in the country without benefit of jeep or anything else.
The climb was steep, strenuous and worth it.  We clambered after our hired guide, Ferguson the Goat Boy, guides being a requirement and means of keeping locals employed.

We were in a group with four other foreigners, two of whom we had met at Muthanga. 

It was a glorious day, with a long walk through the tea plantations until we reached a town where we could catch an amazingly crowded bus home to Kalpeta.

More Pics

My Indian Computer can handle two pictures at a time.  These photos go with the Wayanad Post

Wayanad Pics

More ics to make the slow computer happy

Southern Wayanad Safari

Our first day in Wayanad was a serious day of trekking around the south, including the Muthanga wildlife sanctuary, a Jain temple, Edakkal Caves and, att the end of a hot afternoon, a wonderful waterful.

We started at 5:30 AM so as to be in time for the two hour queue and confusion at the wildlife sanctuary.  This is a National Park which only allows forty jeeps in each morning.  It was chaos.  Our driver had a ringer in the line, which was barely explained to us, and in the end, we were allowed in with two other foreigners and a naturalist guide.  Our ranger friend proved to be amazingly sharp eyed.  We spotted deer,  peacocks, spectacular woodpeckers, huge termite mounds and the most amazing wild bee hives far above us in the tree canopy.  I felt deep camera envy as our new friend, Marcel, snapped pictures of the actual bees with his huge telephoto lens.

We did not see any wild elephants, which seemed to greatly disappoint our driver, but we were totally fine with that.

In the late morning we were off for a stop at a Jain temple, a quiet oasis from the heat and noise.  It was small and peaceful.  Unlike thailand, where visitors are welcomed at Wats (temples), most Hindu temples in Kerela are off limits to Non-Hindus, so this was the first temple that we were able to explore.

Our next stop, after a well earned breakfast of Dosa and curry, was the Edakkal Caves.  This grotto, not really a cave, has walls covered with neolithic carvings.  More interesting was the scrum of Indians climbing the very steep stairs and rock scrambles in their Sunday best.  Liam and I were busy helping old ladies in saris and being completely entranced by the sheer mass of humanity interacting with each other.  A great opportunity for the young anthropology student.

Tea plantations, waterfalls, and the afternoon got lazier and hotter.  At the waterfalls, like everything "One Kilometer" from the gate, I was lucky enough to save a young Indian girl from a nasty fall.  As we waded on the slippery rocks in the wonderfully cool spray, her feet literally shot out from under her.  I was able to snatch her under the arm and gently set here back down.  This spread goodwill amongst the parents present and all was well.

Kalpeta

Kalpeta is the Gateway to Southern Wayanad, a region of mountains, forest, wildlife sanctuaries and plantations of every sort.  Here in Wayanad the Keralans grow tea, coffee, mulberry, oranges, bananas, cardamom, latex rubber and many other spices and foodstuffs.  It is a place of busy transport towns surrounded by lush, green plantations.

Sales of alcohol are strictly restricted in Kerela.  Every evening, near our room at the aryuvedic hospital, here is a huge queue of Indian men at the local booze sales point.  Like all Indian queues, it is good to start early and as a young man, because you may age significantly in the process.

As in the rest of Kerela, there is a signficant Muslim population.  Here is the local Mosque, neat as a pin amongst the chaos of Indian traffic.

Calicut

Hello Friends and Neighbors, from Kalpeta, Wayanad province, Kerala State, India.

We spent our Christmas holidays on the shores of the Arabian Sea, in Calicut.

The Promenade, in front of our hotel, was a marvel of people and food, including Camel Rides and Hot Pickled Pineapple, sold from a street stand.

This is the first opportunity I have had, in awhile, to sit at a computer so we are trying to catch up on a few posts.

Our Oasis

The fort in Palakkad was built in by Haider Ali in the mid 1700's. The British eventually took it over,as they did everything else.

Nowadays it is the center of the circle for morning runners and evening promenaders. For us, it was a quiet and green oasis from the constant tooting horns of Indian traffic.

Almost every vehicle here has "Sound Horn" painted on the back. Drivers toot their horns as proximity warnings, overtaking alerts, thank you's for allowances to overtake and, I think, when they are lonely. The result is an almost constant cachophony on any road or street.

This is normal Keralian life, this the blessing of finding a quiet space.

Sure transport

Like the Chao Praya ferries in Bangkok, the only easy way to get around Ernakulam and Fort Kochi is by the frequent and ancient ferries. Like every other transport in Kerela, it both takes you somewhere and illustrates the tenuous nature of existing anywhere. These are perhaps the least seaworthy crafts used for public travel that I have ever seen.

Backwaters

Kerela is famous for its Backwaters, where the slow moving coastal rivers create lazy deltas emptying into the Arabian Sea.

The Backwaters are popular destinations where travelers can float through the South Asian heat in converted rice barges, archaic ferries and even canoes.

They let almost anyone in, even giant teenagers with sardonic smirks.

Halal

When you are lucky enough to stay in a Muslim neighborhood in Kerela, you will probably find a little place like Swadesi. Inside lurk wonderful, and amazingly cheap, halal meals. This was our favorite brekkie place in Ernakulam, the busy "main" city that Fort Cochin is apart of.

Tying the Knot

If one judged the desires of Indians by their advertising, one would have to conclude that they are a people obsessed with insanely over the top jewelry, silk saris and weddings. Multi-story billboards show the same four or five models, most looking very western, bedecked in gold and diamonds that would cause the Queen to blush.

The wedding industry here seems to be immensely important. At breakfast this morning we saw a family (our Indian brothers and sisters travel in family packs) with four beautiful young daughters. Poor Bastard, we said to ourselves.

At this moment, there is just such an extravaganza below our windows.

Truths and Lies

Most of what I have heard about India is not true, and most of what I thought is a lie. In fact, I know nothing of "India" and only a very little about Kerala, it's Southwestern tip, from whence I am writing this.

This place is all contrast and contradiction; beauty and squalor, opulence and need, insufferable noise and quiet, incredibly frenetic movement and stillness.

One thing that is true is that there are cows wandering around. When we climbed to the top of Pomondory Dam there were even cows there.

Dam cows.

Banana Leaves

Keralan food often comes served upon banana leaves. This snack is a spicy mixture of fresh water mussels and local plants that was served to us in one of the backwaters of Central Kerela.

Other

In Kerela, The Kid and I have become the Other. Once outside of Cochin, we are without the company of any Westerners.

In Palakkad, wherever we went, people would come up to us to be introduced. Little children giggle and smile, mothers and fathers smiling and head wobbling, that most universal of Indian facial expressions.

Teenaged boys and students stop what they are doing, turning motorcycles around to come back to where we are and be introduced. People ask to pose for pictures with us, throwing their arms around us and smiling away with their new photos as if with a prize

In Calicut, amongst the thousand people out for promenade, we were minor celebrities. It is a unique experience, unequalled even in small villages in Lao. We have decided that it is a case of being unique, whether or not we deserve the uniqueness.

In the space of one cigar on the grounds of our hotel, I was introduced to at least thirty of the citizens of this fair city. I almost feel the responsibility of a goodwill ambassador. and The Kid, at 6'-3" and with his blue hair and five finger shoes, is almost more "Other" than the locals can deal with.

Nelliampathy

We had planned to head further into the Western Ghat from Palakkad, but no one ever answered the phone at Parambikulam National Park. We decided the travel gods were speaking and we listened.

We spent Christmas Eve day traveling to the hill station of Nelliampathy, far above the coastal plane. The last leg involved a bone jarring jeep ride up a rocky track. The fresh air, cool breezes and fine views made it all worth while.

Merry Christmas

It is Christmas Day in Calicut on the shores of the Arabian Sea. We have just done the beach promenade with the mass of Indian families out for the breeze before sunset.

We arrived in Calicut (Kozekode) today, and lucked into a room at the Beach Heritage, a faded remnant of colonial days which had seen the likes of Somerset Maugham and Neru as guests.

One of the few improvement is wifi so I can try to catch up the blog.

Meanwhile here is the view from our balcony sitting room.

Neliampathi

Monkey-ing around on the road to Nelliampathy, a hill station in the Western Ghat

 The Kid at the top.  It's cool and breezy up here.

 The Western Ghat.  It just gets steeper from here.