Kerala
We flew from Goa to Kochi (Cochin) via Bangalore. I am sorry we did not have time to roam around Bangalore as it is the IT cap of India. We just had a two-hour layover; new airport and it had lots of shops and food options.
Once we arrived in Kochi, we were met at the airport by our driver Manoj. He is a lot of fun and a real wheeler-dealer. He is kind of a cross between Ricky Martin and Daniel Craig, if that makes any sense??? Soon as we got in the car, he asked if we wanted to take the bypass road (much faster) or the route through town and see the villages. We opted for the town. He was quite pleased and pointed out all the sites and rivers along the way. He described how Kochi was divided by bridges into three parts: the new city, the middle island (which houses the navy), and the old town. He also told us that the next day’s sightseeing tour with the guide would end around 12:00PM and if we wanted, he would take over and show us the real Kerala before the Kathakali dance performance that evening, which he did not believe was any good. We told him we were game and he then stopped by a local temple that was having an elephant festival the next day. He gathered the times of the events and continued the 1 hour drive to the hotel. He told us to tell the guide that we would not need his services after the tour and that was had asked Manoj to take us into town. His private tour would be our secret.
By the time we got to the hotel, the travel agent waiting to greet us was pissed. He kept going on about how he had waited 2 hours for us and how he could not understand why it took us so long. It was kind of funny being scolded for being naughty and taking the long way to the hotel. Our bad boy driver chuckled when we told him what had happened with the agent.
The next morning we toured the old part of town: small palace, Portuguese architecture, and a synagogue. The synagogue was in an area called “Jew Town.” There are only 10 Jews left (the others moved to Israel years ago), 4 of which are men. They cannot hold services because they need 10 men in order to do so. When Jewish male tourists come to town, the remaining Jews encourage them to come to the temple for services. The area is supported and funded by a synagogue in NYC.
We took some photos in front of the spice exchange (think of a tiny NY Stock Exchange trading spices) and the oil exchange. When the tour was completed, we hopped in the car and Manoj took over.
We went to lunch at a local place called Sarovaram, which served only vegetarian dishes. A large banana leaf was set in front of each of us to serve as our plates. Then a server with various vegetable and fruit pickle spooned some on our leaves. Another server came and dished a mound of rice on our leaves. The final server ladled hot vegetables. We also received a vegetable broth in a tin cup to drink. To eat, we used our hands mixing rice with the various hot and cold vegetables, forming a small ball at the tips of the fingers and popping it into the mouth with the thumb. Veta did not like eating with her hands so she asked for a fork. It was not her favorite meal. I, on the other hand, threw down like a local. Manoj took a heeheelarious photo of me chowing down; I look like a drunken sailor inhaling food instead of liquor. The food was very fresh and flavorful. My favorite was a spicy yam and coconut dish. When finished eating, I just folded my banana leaf in half, which signaled to the server to take it away. Dessert was a warm, sweet lentil soup served in a tin cup with a tiny spoon. The food was great and cheap: 350 rupees for 3 people, including tip, which comes to approximately $8.00.
After lunch, we did a bit of shopping and then to the temple for the festival. The elephants had just arrived and were feeding. The temple was setting up for the events which were to begin the next morning.
Later that evening we saw a Kathakali dance performance, similar concept as Kabuki theatre, lots of makeup and symbolic movement. What we saw was just a short section of a story for tourists. A full performance starts in the morning and ends in the evening.
The next morning, we met Manoj and he took us to a local lender to exchange money so we could get a better rate than at the hotel or a bank. He took us to the festival and we were just in time for all the music. About twenty musicians formed a tight circle, half playing drums with a pulsating and ever changing rhythmic beat while the others blew horns that were shaped life a large semi-circle that arched over their heads. About 30 feet away were a line of seven male elephants adorned with a headdress of multi-colored materials woven with brass balls. Sitting on top of each were three men dressed in dotis; at certain points when the drums grew louder, the men would stand on the elephant’s back waving huge fans and stomping to the beat of the drums. When the music ended the musicians and the elephants left the temple. The people then went to different statues and made offerings, similar to the Stations of the Cross in the Catholic religion.
The drive to Kumarakom, our next destination, is about a 1.5 hr drive. Manoj is quite a talker and we had lots of laughs along the way. But then he told us that he grew up in an orphanage because his parents died in a car crash when he was three. He said he was a very unlucky boy. Because his parents had a mixed marriage (Hindu & Christian), they had been disowned by their families. As a result, no one would claim him so he was sent to live in an orphanage. Most of the children in the orphanage had a family so at the holidays, they would go home. Since he had no family to claim him, he had to stay at the orphanage and grew to hate all holidays. He does not practice any religion and was pleased to hear that we did not believe in any organized religions. He had a pretty tough life, but it all changed with the birth of his daughter Lakshmi. He and his wife are also a mixed couple so his daughter only has them. His wife’s Hindu family wants nothing to do with them. He has taken out a lot of insurance on himself so if anything should happen while driving, his wife and daughter will be supported. He has bought his own home near the river and they live a quiet happy existence. He wants to educate his daughter so he saves for private schools so she can have a better life. During the drive his wife and daughter called and he gave us the phone to say hello. We saw pictures of them. He has a beautiful family.
Kumarakom is in the backwaters of Kerala and is a very slow and peaceful area. We drove through villages and saw local temples and schools. The children look so cute in their uniforms. It’s a very quiet and simple life. The backwaters are simply breathtaking – very lush, green, and overgrown. The water calmly flows and meanders by supporting life on the banks. Clothes are washed by the river; fields are plowed with the help of cattle, fruit and crops are harvested by hand. Every part of a tree or plant is used whether it’s the leaves for a roof or the coconut shell for a bowl or carved into an instrument. It really makes me think of how much I waste in my life.
The hotel, the Coconut Lagoon is a wonderful property. We had to take a short boat ride to the hotel. As we entered the canal leading to the reception area we were greeted by the most beautiful and vibrant yellow trumpet flowers. At reception the staff welcomed us with leis, blessings, wet towels, and fresh coconuts with straws to drink the refreshing milk. We were given a tour and the place is just magical and eco-friendly. Each hut has a beautiful outdoor bathroom. It was fun and a little bit scary going out there at night because I never knew who or what creature I might encounter when I turned on the light.
The Ayurveda treatments were terrific. I was first stripped by an attendant who then put a paper loin cloth on me that was attached with twine. I had a two-person massage with hot oils poured on different body points and then ended with a steam bath in a small cabinet with my head sticking out of the top. It was a little strange, but I practiced my Kathakali eye movements (rolling them in circles and then from left to right) and made faces to pass the time. Then I was taken to the outdoor shower and scrubbed and dried by one of the attendants. It’s humbling being scrubbed, washed, and dried in an outside shower by a complete stranger.
In the middle of the night, I jumped up like a crazy person thinking I had overslept. I turned on the lights and realized it was 2:30AM. Crazy…earlier in the trip when we were in Jaipur, I woke up screaming thinking something was clawing and biting my hands. I threw the covers off and saw nothing, but I kept looking at my hands to check for nonexistent scratches…very weird.
The next morning, I had the Sirodhara treatment (oil and butter milk poured on the forehead) to relieve tension, insomnia, and insanity – just what I need. I was only expecting the head treatment, but I was again stripped and rubbed with oil by a two-person massage team. Then while lying on my back, the attendant positioned my head under a brown teak bowl with a hole in the center that had a thick cord through it. The end of the cord was just above my forehead. The attendant wrapped a long, thin strip of muslin tightly around my head just above the brows. Into the bowl, she poured warm ghee and buttermilk that trickled down the cord to provide a gentle stream. The bowls was swayed back and forth so that the liquid would trace a straight-line between my temples. It was quite relaxing. I will let you know if my insanity or insomnia is cured. Afterwards, I was washed and dried and sent on my merry way.
We checked out and Monoj drove us to Allepey to board our house boat—an old converted rice boat with teak wood flooring and a barrel-shaped roof made of woven bamboo, rattan, and coconut wood, all held together with coya (rope made from boiled coconut shells). It was outfitted with electricity, a full bathroom, and modern conveniences including air conditioning, a flat screen television, and a DVD player. The captain sat in the front under an umbrella to protect himself from the sun. I could feel a gentle breeze as the boat slowly and smoothly floated down the backwaters barely making a ripple in the water. The gentle purr and rumble from the engine was quite soothing. I am sitting and typing this while enjoying the view. We are now anchoring to have a lunch break.
Lunch was great: seasoned and pan fried Kingfish steak served with green beans, coconut and carrot salad, curry vegetables, Kerala rice, and fresh fruit for dessert.
We will float some more and dock in Kalloorkad for the evening. I cannot express adequately how lovely and relaxing this journey is. I was given a jasmine lei upon entering the boat and the smell adds an intoxicating scent to the ride. If only I had brought a few Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan CDs to play and enhance the journey even more.
This entire section of the trip in southern India has made me think how I don’t enjoy life because I am always looking for something else, often not even knowing what. When I was little, I always wanted and pretended to be someone…anyone else. If I saw a movie or read a book, I’d start acting like the characters. In grade school, I became fixated with Tammy Terrell (a singer) and Malcolm X. I used to go to Muslim Bazaars and wear head scarves pretending I was Muslim. In high school, I pretended to be a grad student writing my thesis on high school behavioral problems and carried a briefcase and called some teachers by their first names as proof. I bought every fashion magazine and tried to transform myself into someone interesting. In college, I just wanted to be anyone hipper and cooler than the chubby girl with two long braids and glasses that I saw every time I looked in the mirror. The girl who spent all her time studying and writing weird stories, but too afraid to talk to people for fear of being considered boring or stupid. I’d rather dance around and make an ass out of myself if it will get a laugh.
I can’t say I’ve been carefree, but I can say I have been careless with my life, with people…I am never satisfied with what I have because I am too concerned with looking over my shoulder or over someone else’s to see if there is something/someone newer, shinier, or more exciting just a few steps away. I never wanted children because I viewed them as an anchor or didn’t want the responsibility of fucking up their lives. I switch careers because I can’t focus on one thing for long; I end relationships because it’s easier to end them than it is to work on them. I always wanted to be able to make a quick escape, but watching these people on the river banks I realize there is a beauty to being connected. The devil is in the details, which made me want to avoid the details like the plague, but the details and the messiness is what grounds you. How would you ever truly know great joy without feeling pain? It’s a shame my life is almost over and it took me this long to realize it, but I feel too imbedded to change.
The death of my mother this year really submerged me into a world of feelings from which I usually run. As I stood by her bedside as she was dying, I went back to an old Strasberg theatre exercise of private moment. I did not focus on the emotion, but only on what I saw, heard, smelled, tasted. Funny it was kind of a backward way of doing the exercise. First you are supposed to live it, but when recounting it for the exercise, only describe the details, not the emotions. But I was too afraid to let myself feel so instead I focused on the time; the smell of the room, the beeping machines, her face, her eyes, her hair, how she looked so small and twisted in the bed, the sheets, the sound of the respirator, her hands, how her skin felt. I haven’t fully allowed myself to process it all. I am not sure if I ever will.
Now I am really rambling and should save this crap for my analyst. I guess the head treatment did something to my brain after all. It did not cure me, but it did fine tune the chaos if only for this day.

I saw a small girl in a red dress on the riverbank. She was staring off and flapping her arms. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, dreaming. I wonder what life has in store for her; I hope it will be all right.
We drove to the airport with Manoj. On the way he entertained us with stories of his daughter. She is a little terror: she peed on his mobile; threw milk on her mother’s laptop; and ripped the tray out of the CD player. He also shared how little drivers are paid: 300 Rupees ($7.50) per day and 150 ($3.25) for overnight trips. He sleeps in the car because a room is at least 500 Rupees per night and that would take up his salary plus some. It’s a very difficult life. When Satyajit told me in Goa that guides and drivers live by tips, he wasn’t exaggerating. When we got to the airport, we said our goodbyes and exchanged contact information. He was a great guy. I’d like to keep in touch to hear how he and his family are doing and stories of his naughty daughter Lakshmi.
Next stop Mumbai…I am in search of Helen (a dancer from 60s Bollywood films, famous for her dance on a typewriter – I understand she is still alive and living in Mumbai).

P.S. If you ever decide to take one of these houseboats, be aware that at night the boat is docked very close to other boats. You can see and hear other tourists, which isn’t the best. Also at night they turn on a generator and the fumes from all the generators is not very pleasant. Possibly, you should work out in advance that to have the boat anchored in the middle of the river to avoid this problem.