As we mournfully left the stunning beaches of Varkala we were beginning to wonder whether we should have gotten "stuck" there just a smidgeon longer. At a godawful hour in the dingy morning we hopped on a local train to Kerala's main city, Kochi. Bobby chattered to a pair of identical Indian twin MBA students sharing his booth (with whom Dimity and I made the obliging twin introductions) while I sipped a watered-down chai, stuffed it into the mesh pocket in front of me, and unhappily watched a small army of miniature cockroach-type insects crawl into the cup. Reminding me of Kafka's Metamorphorsis, I was unable to doze off again on this disturbing note. In Kochi we were met with waves of overpowering heat and filth. Our first city experience was a vast change from Mumbai's scenic and comparatively clean atmosphere. So we sought out Fort Kochi, an island segment of the city, where we were found a much calmer and scenic haven.
We were unloaded from the ferry into a very pleasant, but still hot, town rambling with Dutch, Portuguese, and British architectue. An auto-rickshaw driver scooped us up for a 100 rupee tour of the city by which we visited Jewtown (yes, it is called Jewtown) where Bobby made many friends. The driver also took us to a ginger factory which was unbelievable. Neat piles of drying ginger filled the courtyard of a colonial building, where men carried massive sacks of ginger to the port or to upstairs rooms and corridors where a delicious array of ginger/mango/garlic/lemon chutneys and teas were made. Of course, we sampled them all.
Back to the train station where we hopped on our first overnight train to Chennai in scrappy condition. Hot and overtired, we anticipated a peaceful sleep, but were rudely dissapointed. My narrow berth was slightly tilted to one side and consisted of two separate seats which were joined to form one long bed, but in fact formed a large bump over which I was meant to lie. I spent the night clutching my valuables while struggling not to fall into the aisle as the train teetered on the tracks, all the while cursing the damn bump.
We arrived in Chennai in an even more scrappy condition and were greeted by the host of our four day homestay, Krishnan. My friend Colby did a homestay with Krishnan during a semester at sea "port stop", and introduced us through email. So with such a faint connection, we were astonished at how welcoming and amazing his family was towards us. For four days, Krisnan gave us a tour of the city's finest restaurants, local markets, invited us to join in his early morning yoga practice, and drove us to Mamallapuram to see fabulous shore temples. Usha, his aunt fed us incredible home-cooked meals; in fact overfed us. Whatever people say about Italians overfeeding can be multiplied by ten according to this family's Indian customs. Nonetheless, the food and the family members were unbelievable and we felt very fortunate to have this experience. If anyone is going to India, Krishnan will always host friends of friends, old friends, new friends, and any one else you might pick up on the street!
Dimity and I spent one day pampering ourselves with a pedicure (which was mostly a foot cleaning and massage, they did nothing to our nails!), a small henna lotus flower on the inside of our wrists, and an ayurvedic massage. The massage is well worth elaborating on. Dimity went first. When it was my turn, I was led upstairs to a spartan room with a large wooden table in the center and a cabinet containing ayurvedic oils. The masseuse, a petite girl probably about twenty years old, told me to strip naked (not quite in those words) after which she strapped a loin cloth on me. Slightly awkward, I sat on a chair while she poured oil on my head and gave me quite a hearty head massage. I then climbed onto the massive table and she proceeded to pour hot oil all over my body and rub vigorously almost everywhere. This went on four about an hour or so and then it was time to shower! More awkwardly but slightly dazed from the massage, I slid on the oily tiles towards the bathroom where she held out a dish of exfoliating scrub for me to wash off the oil. So I began scrubbing myself away, and so did she which was now very awkward but obviously normal protocol, I hope. Then I dried myself off, of course with her help, slid my clothes back on and thanked her for the, um, interesting experience. I pranced down the stairs where Dimity waited for me with a cheeky grin which said "I told you so!"
Another highlight worth noting is the India vs. Bermuda World Cup cricket match we were privilaged to watch at a swanky city bar on a big screen. For those who don't know, "Indians enjoy two hobbies: cricket and bollywood movies." Now folks, that is a direct quote. For a country fanatic about cricket, we were quite surprised by the fans reactions to India's performance in this game. India scored a World Cup record high number of points to which local spectators politely and quietly clapped. So the foreigners in the bar thought they'd mark this victory with a bit more UMPH. The TV channel company that hosted the game screening at the bar offered the audience a challenge. Two couples would compete; the first couple to finish a large bottle of Kingfisher beer and a bag of masala Cheetos would win a miniature cricket bat and ball, key ring, and bottle opener. Wooooh! First to compete were a large, bald British man and his shy, unwilling-to-participate British girlfriend vs. a reserved Indian couple. As the host yelled "GO" the bald Brit crushed his bag of chips dumped it into his beer and chugged the concoction in seconds. The spectators were amazed and slightly baffled by this very foreign, frat-tastic performance. We cheered vigorously. Next, Bobby and I challenged Dimity and one of Krishnan's friends who had joined us for the game. Our battle was much closer and perhaps in fact tied, but Bobby and I claimed the victory (with unswallowed cheetos hidden in our cheeks).
Fond memories of Chennai...
Peace and smiles,
Emma
