Bekal Fort

Not another fort.  Our farthest North base in Kerala was Nileshwaram, north of the Northern Backwaters.  One of the days we did not find the backwaters was the day that The Kid had a touch of the traveler's dread.  Being young and strong, however, we managed to venture even further North to Bekal Fort.  All of the locals talk about this place and we felt like we should be doing something so they guilted us into it.

Bekal fort had all of the usual suspects as tenants during the colonial era.  What is unusual about the place is that it, like the fort in Palakkad, was built by local rulers, not by the British or Portuguese or Dutch.  And, the locals kicked some serious colonial ass from this base for a good long time before inevitably succumbing to the might of the Europeans.  The fort is huge, its really cool and it juts out into the Arabian sea, providing stupendous views and amazing sunsets.

The sunsets over the Arabian Sea as we gaze towards Africa.

 A geezer on the walls.  The kids in the red shirts, playing on the beach, were part of a massive bike ride to Bekal Fort.  More than a thousand kids on really crappy bikes were dodging the deadly traffic along the coastal road.

The brave, red-shirted cyclists, apres' death ride.

Treasures

When the brain and body battle for supremacy in the war of Jet Lag, sometimes its best to just give in.  And at 4:30 in the morning, blogging is an outlet.

On our last day in Kannur, while trying to book a fancy bus for the long haul to Bangalore, we stumbled into one man's treasure trove.  We were not, however, able to book the bus.  Indians travel on Sundays. Just a word to the wise for future reference.

We did come across a funny little garage building whose contents stopped me in my tracks.   Inside were a 1937 Fiat and an Austin Seven, both looking like they had just rolled in from a jaunt around colonial India.  

As a matter of fact, that is what each of these classic automobiles used to do.  Our host, pictured with the GE, had photos of each of these machines out and about in pre-WWII India.  Amazing history!

 Like Gear heads everywhere, when someone starts admiring the object of your obsession, you invite them in for some hang time and a closer look.  Our Indian friend was no different.  Turns out, both of these rolling beauties belonged to our host's father, a portrait of whom was venerated at the back of the garage.  These cars had been in the family since their original purchase.  The Austin had a battery charger on it when we arrived and it was only removed and the bonnet lowered to allow for photos.  Both of these bits of history are completely road-worthy.

Like the rest of our experiences in Kerala, when the foreigners show up, the locals are not far behind.  Our friend in the foreground of the Fiat picture is just a passerby hamming it up.

Joyce in the Tropics

I have been told that there are two kinds of people in the world.  There are those who have read "Ulysses" and those who have not.  Despite some past attempts at Joyce's stream-of consciousness classic of modernist literature, I have remained one of the latter types of reader, much to my chagrin.

My first attempt at reading "Ulysses" came after the somewhat smug success of reading "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" when I was, well, a young man.  Thinking to myself that the one Joyce novel was a springboard to any other Joyce novel, I fell too it, not realizing that the difference between "Portrait.." and "Ulysses" is much akin to the difference between jumping an orange crate with your childhood bike, and trying to ride a rocket powered moto on a leap across the Grand Canyon, a' la Evel Knievel.  The second is a mite further to fly than the first.

In all honesty, my first serious attempt to read the Irish tome came to naught from a more-than-passing acquaintance with heroin and scotch, rather than from anything to do with the novel itself.

My second attempt, in my early sobriety, saw me pioneering my way about two hundred pages into Leopold Bloom's day in the mind of the author, or a little less than a quarter of the way through.  I was then side-tracked by something else; another, perhaps more accessible, work, and Bloom faltered and took not another step.

Now, in the twilight of my middle-age, with geezer-hood staring me impishly in the eye, I have once more picked up the cudgels, only to find the joy in Joyce.  Perhaps the chaos of India has acted as my Rosetta Stone for "Ulysses," or perhaps it is just the right time in my life, but for the last three weeks and more, Leopold Bloom has been my traveling companion, his long day unfolding across Dublin as our travels roll across the Subcontinent and back to these United States.

So, as my receding jet-lag tells me it is time for sleep, I will retire to my lovely bed, my own bed of home.  Before I sleep, I will see what Leopold is up to until I drift off and dream of the next journey, be it Dublin, Bangkok or whither unknown.

Transitory

As I have said a few times in this blog, every time one steps on any form of transport in India, one is likely to have a dramatic demonstration of the transitory nature of existence.

As The Kid and I left Kannur, and began the climb towards the Western Ghat and the state of Karnataka, he suddenly started saying "Grab the camera, grad the camera!"  He was pointing forward and as I looked, I saw our maniacal bus driver bearing down on a propane truck.  Even more impressive than the closing speed was the hand painted "Danger" and skull and cross bones.

Despite the tight, twisty road, oncoming traffic, scooters on both shoulders, a steep uphill grade and an incredible lack of horsepower, we eventually careened past this truck.

In the ongoing game that The Kid and I played, the gag after this event was:  "So, what ever happened to Mark and Liam?  Well, they were on a bus in India.  The maniac driver collided with a light propane truck and everyone within a quarter mile radius was vaporized.  There wasn't even a fingertip left of either one of them."  

Then we laugh like maniacs.  

The Myth of the Ferry

The Ayitti Ferry Dock, the mythical place that required three days of searching, finally becomes a reality.

Even if you had searched for three days for this boat, would you step aboard once you got a good look at it?

Like every other mode of transportation in India, there are no guarantees you will survive the trip.

The back water views are just another example of the incredible fecundity of this landscape.

Bekal Fort

Cricket

Chembra Peak Video

Crazy Indians in a Jeep, Nelliampathi

Rope Making in the Backwaters

Nelliampathi Video

Edakkal Cave Scrum Video

Redemption

On the final day, there was redemption.  Looking ahead, there is hard travel in the near future.  It is all the same.

The Kid and I had tried three times to explore the Vallyaparamba Backwaters, North of Kannur.  We had tried on our way North, finding two of the government ferry jetties, each at the end of the small point of nowhere.  Neither time could we scare up a boat, ferry or otherwise.  You may remember that we journeyed North to Nileshwaram and had some fine times, but no backwaters.

We walked the rural pathways, meeting fishermen, teachers, and our local Ferguson guides.  We interacted with folks at a level that I have not experienced, until now, even in some of the Lao villages that I have stayed in.  But no backwaters except those we walked along.

Friday, The Genetic Envelope awoke with a touch of the traveler's dread, thus ending any hope of sojourning out in search of the now almost mythical ferry system, which seems unknown to any of the local people.  By mid-day, the GE  felt rejuvenated and we ventured North, via the most crowded buses ever, to Bekal Fort.  This Fort juts out into the Arabian sea and was well worth the trouble.  We walked the walls, the turrets and the amazing beaches, pictures of which will follow.  But still no backwaters.

Today, our last day traveling in Kerala, we decided to explore on the way back South to Kannur.  We bused to Payyannur and then tried one more time to convince the Auto-rickshaw drivers that this ferry system existed and could they please take us there.  The guide book said East, 8 kilometers, lay the boat jetty at Ayitty.  Discussion, passing around of the paper with the information, more discussion, pointing and commenting and a general hub-bub of debate.  This is what ten tuk-tuk drivers do when faced with something out of the ordinary.

Finally, we all agreed that our driver knew exactly where we wanted to go.  Everyone was convinced with the exception of Liam and myself.  And so we headed off, West.  Well, the worst that could happen was that we ended up back in Payyannur, which had happened before.  And yet, and yet, after ten kilometers West, I saw the sign for Ayitty, that mythical paradise where ferry boats are said to roam.  Ferry Boats!  You will laugh when you see the pictures.  Yes!  We had found it.

Almost two hours later we proudly chugged south.  For an hour and a half we chugged through the backwaters, a series of barrier islands and the deltas of four rivers that make up the aquatic tangle of palm shores and channels.  People live on the islands and depend on the boats, though less and less as bridges are built.  But there we were.

At the end, they put us off at the lonely jetty that we had found on the first day.  But now, there were people and a little bus and all was well with the world.  But it only happens three or four times a day and otherwise, it is as if it were some sort of bizarre, Indian Brigadoon.

We came full circle today.  In fact, circles within circles. We are back in Kannur, having done a great loop North and back.  We have looped from a lonely jetty in the Indian backwaters to the same jetty, arriving both from the land and from the water.  And in one day we traveled slowly, and primitively, from Payyannur back to exactly the same spot in Payyannur.

Tomorrow is a twelve hour bus ride to Bangelore.  The next day is a 24 hour flight to Seattle.  Hard traveling ahead, but that is the price of the journey.  Unless we bump into some wifi, a rarity here, the rest of my post will be apres' arrival in Seattle, but I have some great pictures still to share and videos as well.

I am heartened by all of the page views that these humble posts have received.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Namaste, be well, travel often and much love.

Marco

Openness

Above all, the Travel Gods require openness.  This is my fervent belief.  Plans will go awry, trasport will fall through or rooms will be all booked up.  It will happen.  And the Travel Gods require that you deal, period.  And, inevitably, when one is open to what is being revealed, rather than to what one expected, really interesting surprises may follow.

Such was the day.  So, from Northern Kerala, The Kid and I wish you a Honey-Bunny sort of day.

Be well, travel more.

Much Love, m.

Local Politics

Around these parts, local sentiment on politics leans more towards the working folks point of view.

Walking Pics

 The far terminus of our walk was a small fishing harbor, which we were guided to by some local Ferguson kids.  A beautiful destination where we shared cold drinks with some of the fishermen.

Fishing

One way to get fish around here is to get a 50 meter net, have a buddy hold onto one end of it, and then wade around in the river dragging the net between yourselves.

Kerela Hospitality

One of the most remarkable things about Kerela is the hospitality of its people.  Everywhere we go, we are meeting people and having people ask us for photos.

What we have experienced in the past weeks has paled compared to our forays into the countryside in the last days.  Sometimes, Liam feels like the Pied Piper, leading groups of kids who all want to know our names and where we are from.

Yesterday evening, at the far terminus of our walk, we met a local school teacher.  He invited us to sit on the porch and have cool drinks while we chatted.  Curious kids patrolled the periphery.  We talked of this and that, met the owners of the house who were, of course, extended family.  Our new friend then invited us to his house, an offer which we felt incumbent to accept.  

We toured the village and arrived at his beautiful home.  Tea was prepared by his wife and we sat down to Masala Chai and banana fritters, pressed upon us with great insistence by our host's wife.

As the sun was setting low, we finally headed back towards town, guided back to the main road by our new friend.  He had invited us to stay at his house when we return to Kerela.  I invited his family to do the same in Seattle.  He asked if I could help him with getting a tourist visa and I assured him I would try.  It is difficult, it seems, for Indian Muslims to gain entry to our fair shores.

As we were returning along our shaded path, we were discussing the visa restrictions and how I might help the folks we had met.  Liam turned to me and said, with a straight face, "Welcome top the FBI Watch List."  Then we laughed ourselves silly.

Local Crops

As we walked our paths, we discovered more about the village and rural life here in the delta regions of Kerela.  Many of the local folks grow coconuts in their yards.  It is the main forest tree around here.  In decades past, this area was more predominantly a rice growing region, but that has changed.  The coconuts are harvested, then split open and removed from the outer husks.  The husks will be used for coir productio, mostly for rope and fibre matting.

The inner meat and skin of the coconut are split into halves and dried in the sun.  Once dried, the coconut, now called copra, is sold to a local buyer.  It will be shipped to a processing plant and made into coconut oil.  This is solid and reliable source of income for the locals.  Coconuts, rice and fishing are the mainstays here.

Give

Yesterday, The Kid and I had a lazy morning sitting by the river and watching India wake up.  We had all manner of birds, to keep us company, but none of the giant fruit bats we have been seeing in the evening.  At the river's edge, there are pipe fish, fishing eagles, crabs and myriad swimming and floating creatures.

After second shower, a regular event each day, we headed out across the local countryside, striking out on a rural path to a nearby island.  Our tourist destination was to have been Bekal Fort, which everyone here talks about, but we have seen forts.  We needed to be away from traffic and buses and honking horns.

Our path did not disappoint.  It was a glorious afternoon and the evening would bring yet more surprises.

Give and Take

After the Travel Gods (may their names be praised) sent us on other paths than those we had planned, we discovered ourselves in Nileshwara.  That afternoon, we headed out down a small local road to find the house boat people.  Our intent was to book a house boat for Friday, which would be today, and then journey back to Kannur on Saturday.

We found the house boat, booked the small craft for a 24 hour trip, and then continued walking.  We found this 300 meter bridge over one of the brackish rivers that make up this delta area.  On the river was an Indian pile driving rig, setting in caissons for a new bridge.  The pile guys were happy to find out that I worked with caissons in America and we were invited aboard, much to the amusement and astonishment of the folks on shore.

This is the way pile driving barges look in Kerela.  Not quite so modern, but they work.

One of the deck hands on the rig.

Our Host on the barge.  It was a great exchange, even though it was shop talk.  We had the common tongue of "concrete", "slurry", "pumping" and other pile driver jargon.  Tres' cool!!

The Test

 Sometimes the Gods test you.  Leaving Kannur, we had a plan.  A short train ride to Payyanur, which would lead us to the boat jetty, whence we would take the Kerala state ferry up through the Northern Backwaters to a remote homestay.  It was a good plan.

We caught the right train, found the boat dock, and then found that the ferry schedule had been changed and the boat had just left and would not be back for six hours.

Re-group, have some tea (the cure for everything here) and a new plan.  We took a Tuk-tuk to the remote guest house, so remote that the driver had no real idea where it was an we ended up at a beautiful, but abandoned jetty.  The picture show Liam exploring while I come up with Plan C.

"C" ended up being another Tuk-tuk ride to the bus, a bus North to Nileshwara, then a Tuk-tuk to the Oyster Opera, a magic place tucked back in the Backwaters.  We found it without any trouble.  And so did the min-bus of Swedes who had just booked every bungalow.  Damn Swedes.

Plan "D" was back to Nileshwara where we found a simple little resort and Liam popped back out of registration with the Two Thumb Up sign.  Yeah, no more Tuk-tuks for the day.

Be open, keep your sense of humour, Adapt, Improvise, Overcome.  The Kid is a real asset, keeps his smile and rolls with it.

The Looms

More pictures from the magic weaving place.  It was great!!

Che

Che is alive and well, at least in spirit.

And so is Che's ghost

Looms

Liam, loose in the fairy land of the Weaver's Cooperative

Tragedy

The biggest news story in India, and ongoing tragedy, is the gang rape and death of a young student in Dehli.

We have seen several protest, here in Kannur, in Wayanad and elsewhere.  It is a horrible event and one that the people and government of India are wrestling with.

Abuse

If you are feeling bad about yourself, India has the official place to deal with it. 

Sharks

One of the truly amazing sight in Thellicherry was the fish market.  A table full of small hammerheads was a show stopper.  I was intrigued and horrified at the same time.

Totem

Here is our good luck totem in Thellicherry.  There were a pair of these owls living in the alley.  I suppose hunting is good there.

Kannur

One of the things that we do best is chilling during the heat of the day.  Liam has been a great teacher in the art of slowing down.  I am catching on.

 Here is Liam, the Chill-Master, doing what he does best.

Our balcony in Kannur was a thing of beauty!!

Mopilla

At one time, most of the mosques in Kerela were of the old style wooden Mopilla mosques, as pictured here.  As more workers have gone to the Arab states and then returned here, there has been a shift over the past few decades to the more modern concrete mosques of Arabia with minarets.  

This is one of the very famous old style mosques, located in Thellicherry.

Meals Ready

Our favorite lunch here in Kerela is the local standby, Thalli, which is available wherever one sees the sign "Meals Ready".

The chutney, masala, daal and rice are a constant refill until you physically cover your platter with your hands.  And it will set you back 50 rupees, almost a $1 USD.

Plus, its the messiest finger food ever!!