Getting Here and Acclimatizing

Before talking about Kochi I will describe my journey and my first few days in India.  The flight seemed to take forever but then, geography can be pretty harsh in terms of distance!  I dare anyone to  make sense of THAT brilliant statement!  The worst part of the entire trip had to be the 'food' they serve vegetarians on Air Canada.  Hogslop is a complimentary description  although the regular meals looked fine.  NEVER order  vegetarian on Air Canada!  Thank heavens Emirates foods were wonderfully tasty!  Now that airline is a class act from takeoff to landing!

I did not sleep from leaving Victoria until reaching my rooms in Kochi.  There was just too much to see and take in.  Heathrow is a monstrously large airport, a tad on the shabby side.  No air con!  Dubai, on the other hand, is an airport that resembles a castle/mall.  I swear it is clean enough to eat off the floors, certainly enough people were sleeping on the rugs between flights. Palm trees, huge fiery sconces, magnificent shops, elegant and modern.

When I stepped out of the plane in Dubai, my first thought was, 'Why are they blowing hot air on us?"  It was, after all, midnight!  Then I realized, it was the night air!  I do not think I could survive in such heat.  Even the lime milkshake the smiling lad at the Baskin Robbins stand made for me was sour tasting.  What fascinated me was the amazing technicolour of humanity in all its forms.  By far, this airport is the most intriguing place I have ever found for watching people. The people and their dress, their customs, fascinated me.  Who were they and where were they going.  Long thin Ethiopian beauties swaying gracefully.  So many women in graceful hijab of many styles, their children, their white-robed husbands.  As these fashionable women passed, on the arm of their husbands or not, one could catch glimpses of elegant footwear as their robes swirled about them.  Dubai Airport  was a feast, eye candy that kept me mesmerized, provincial Canadian girl that I am!  I managed a few moments in the Ladies' Masjid to say a few prayers, a beautful room with fine carpets and interesting woodwork.

Somehow I managed to leave a few things behind in Dubai.  I was so hot, when I swiped my face dry I managed to dislodge my nose jewellery and it went flying into the distance!  No more pierced nose.   And I hope whoever found my lovely green silk fan enjoys its breezes as much as I did!

By the time our plane landed in Kochi, I was exhausted but eager to meet my friend and start our adventure!  The sea of Indian faces confused me and I could not make him out in the crowd.  Then, there was his smile, his voice and I knew I was indeed at the right airport!  He drove me to my hotel room, made sure I had a meal, then left me to rest for a few hours.  To my great relief, there is air con and fans in my suite.  The moment one steps outside, one feels one's pores exploding with moisture, like a thousand tiny pinpricks. I cannot say I was ever fond of breaking into a sweat, but this is quite different, an immediate reaction to the suffocating heat and humidy of the humid tropics.

A few hours later,  he collected me and drove me to an ayurvedic clinic and shooed me in to a room where I spoke with a young doctor for a few moments.  After a short consultation,  I was taken to a small hut and handed over to two lovely young ladies who inquired shyly of me, "Your honourable name, please, Madame?"  Such quaint English never fails to charm someone like me who loves grammar and correct speech.  It must be one of the most delightful gifts left behind by the Raj!

What followed was an hour and a half of the most unusual massage I have ever enjoyed.  They removed my clothing, sat me on a bench and proceeded to pour cups of warm scented oil over my head,  back and torso.  Then began a deep massage, much effleurage and tapotement as they massaged my arms and back in tandem with their hands.  I began to drift, not too difficult to imagine considering the surreality of it all.  They bade me lie spread-eagled on a mat on the floor, face up.  Thus began the most unusual massage I could have imagined.  Above the mat swung a rope from which the masseuse held her balance as she massaged me with her feet.  Her powerful deep long strokes.. .from wrist to ankle and then back, soon had me in heaven.  It was amazing how the contours of her full foot blended into me, how well she could do deep work with her big toes!  When her companion began to work on my other side it was marvelous.  All the while, my first monsoon deafened me as the wild rains thundered upon the red tile roof.  So there I was, naked, on the floor of a delightful rosewood cabin with beautiful tiled ceiling, being deeply massaged as the soothing sounds of rain filled my ears. Ahhhhh what a way to go!

After the massage, I was put in a steam box for a few minutes, then massaged more, primarily feet and back.  This was followed by a treatment with a burning smoke through a banana leaf cone into the nose and ears.  I was also given a rather interesting herbal tea to gargle with.  By the time they were done, I was an oily ball of putty.  The one girl helped me wash some of the oil from my hair but I still felt pretty slippery!  When I went to tip her upon leaving, she looked down and kept pushing my hand away much to the amusement of the male staff watching.  It was a dance of courtesy and I insisted, she refused, so finally I just boldly stuffed it down the front of her uniform and smiled and turned quickly away!  I slept well that night and awoke in INDIA!

Apparently, since my host, a native Keralan,  paid for my treatment, it was about one fifth of the cost if I had been paying for myself.  So, stand forewarned, this Indian or visitor price difference is everywhere and rather significant.  However, when I think what such a thing might have cost at home, it was still a deal by Canadian  standards if I had paid the tourist rate.

Where can one begin when describing India for the first time.  I hear of people being struck by the poverty, the pace, the unexpected everywhere, the spirituality, the dirt, the cows, goodness knows what else! My first impressions of India are so varied I do not know where to begin.  Perhaps by the time I am done in my journal I will not be so struck by the difference of it all.  I get a feeling part of the timelessness of India is simply the casual attitude here.  People bobble their head, say "No trouble, no trouble" and just pray that all works out well.  Often it does!

As for driving, the roads are shared with everything and everyone.  There are motorcycles carrying full families as well as couples.  It is common to see a family of 4 on a little bike.  Noisy too! Every vehicle has a polite invitation to Sound Horn Please.  Indians must be very polite, because they ALL honk!  The general rule seems to be the loudest horn and the most aggressive driver gets right of way.  I have already had a few minor heart attacks.  My daughter is right, I would love driving here once I was accustomed to the fact they drive on the wrong side of the road and our SKODA is stick shift!  People must pray before they get out on to the road!  The trucks and buses are beautifully painted and everywhere are auto-rickshaws.  I will take my first rickshaw ride home when I am done here in this hot little attic of a cafe.  They are very cute and I can see how wonderful an idea they could be in other places of the world.

There are no sidewalks here so people walk the road. Makes the shops so in your face!  Not too many cows in Kochi that I have seen so far.  The dogs make me sad though, so neglected unlike the beloved pets we have back home.  No wonder people here do not like dogs, these poor wild creatures are fighting to survive and not friendly at all. I would imagine, this being primarily vegetarian country, they do not find too many scraps to feed on. My companion tends to place himself protectively between me and all such beasties. As a Muslim, he is not exactly a fan of canines and does not comprehend my love of dogs.  Now that I see the type of beasts he is familiar with, I understand his position more.  These creatures are far removed from the pampered pets of the West.

Gold is the most advertised thing around.  There are scads of poster boards and signs for huge emporiums advertising everywhere.  I have watched tv and it is amusing to see many Western style products altered to Indian standards.  These range from women's products to Tide detergent. Whether she be wearing a sari, speaking Urdu and cleaning up her childrens soccer soiled clothing, or in shorts speaking English cleaning up a similar mess, all mothers seem to adapt the same tones and words!  Not many blondes on television  but many of the usual international stations are here.   Tonight I will watch ALexander ... in English!  There seem to be some stations available everywhere.  (Even Suze Oman... ugh!)  IF I can keep my eyes open that long, the heat truly drains one.

It has taken my host a few days to finish up his business here but tomorrow we should be out of here and into the hills.  He has suggested Munnar as our next destination, cooler and greener.  But he did hint at a watery surprise first.  I wonder what he has in mind......

Yesterday he took me down into Fort Cochin where he bought me my first fresh coconut.  Every street vendor of trash to treats was trying to sell "Madame" something but "Madame" was not buying. I was too hot and thirsty and we had weeks ahead of us to shop so I would not be pushed to buy off-season leftovers, no matter the bargain I could have struck.  It is at these times having a local companion comes inespecially  handy!  He fought them off and we sat on a cement wall to enjoy our refreshment. The vendor whacked off the top with his trusty machete, stuck in a straw, and handed it over.  The clear sweet liquid was refreshing. Once you have finished the water, out comes the machete again and the nut is halved to give one access to the delicious white pulp or meat of the nut.  At this point, my host disappeared to our car and returned with gold spoons for us to dig out the meat.  He had grabbed them from his kitchen as he walked out the door.  Do I remember the spoons or the coconut?  His consideration and foresight. No matter, because forever I will remember my first drinking coconut, in the dusk, smelling the fresh fish being cooked by a nearby vendor as we watched the tide roll in and the Chinese fishermen pulled in their nets.  I saw one couple speaking German, otherwise, I was the only white woman in Kochi I am sure.

To be honest, the Fort was very run down to my still fresh Western standards. I was not terribly impressed but we did enjoy the walk along the sea wall watching the tide race in.  Families were out in droves.  North Americans rarely are seen out like this, families all intertwined to together walking and enjoying the cooler night air.  Indian families are very solid it seems, a lovely thing.

I have lost all appetite for food since arriving here.  I have to remember to eat and would kill for a slice of good Canadian well ripened cheddar on a whole wheat cracker!  I will be somewhat slimmer by the time I get home, Insh'allah.

Another interesting thing is the fact that, this being monsoon season, there are no tourists.  I have only seen two other white people since arriving here.  I stand out like a sore thumb but this is no problem to me at all.  It is an unusual situation and makes for understanding more clearly how a person of another race would feel when visiting my very white part of the world. I am stared at a lot and no one looks away, the looks are almost blinkless at times.  The women usually return my smile, but I dare not look twice at the males.  They do not look away and can be rather intense.  Because I am with a companion I am spared the advances of the many interested looking males.

There is another thing in India I have failed to mention.  I have discovered FRUIT!  Oh goodness but the fruit is beyond amazing.  Mangos are everywhere, on every corner, and a mango juice is just that, strained and pureed mango!  No additives, no water, just MANGO in a glass.  Pineapple juice is no more than pureed pineapple. You point at your chosen fruit and a moment later you are drinking it. I see many fruits I am unfamiliar with but I hope to rectify this before I head home next month.  There are no paper take-away cups, your drink comes in a glass, with a straw, you stay to drink.  I must have seen 25 different varieties of banana in one stand.  The pomegranates are the size of large grapefruit and I have not seen a single apple or orange since arriving.  The local fruits are just so succulent they defy description.

Anyhow, the day grows late and it is a bit of a distance to my rooms.  I need some lunch!  Two mango drinks is truly not enough considering how much effort it takes to move in this heat.  I hope to continue writing next time I am near a cafe.  I am sorry, no photos yet.  Silly me forgot to pack my batteries for my empty camera.  Inshallah, that will be remedied soon! I packed so many things I did not need, but the important things, for my camera, duh!  Contrary to what they say, it is not easy to find someone who speaks English at times, so I have had my host write directions to my hotel, in Malayalam so that I can just show the driver my destination.  Ohhhhh I need to find some coooool and dry off!