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Wednesday, February 9: Three Perfect Days February 7 Some days are just perfect. Only an hour from Varkala to Kollam, that is, if you don't get lost, but I worked that into my schedule, as always. Leaving Varkala at 7 a.m. wasn't difficult. I was pretty antsy to get out of there. Yeah, great beach, but India it's not. I said good-bye to Ido and Lily next door, who had bought an Enfield upon arrival in India and have been happily touring somewhat aimlessly for about 6 weeks. "Except sometimes I think that we're taking a tour of Enfield mechanics instead of a tour of India," said Lily. They gave me the scoop on the process of buying a bike in India. "For a foreigner, it's not so simple," Ido told me, showing me a little book and a stack of papers about an inch high that looked pretty intimidating. Turns out foreigners can't just go and buy an Enfield, we have to have a letter from our embassy that says we're really who we say we are and that we're not felons, etc., etc., etc. Ido has promised to document the process for me for publication on this site, after he gets home. He's also said he'd try to list the kinds of common repairs that needed to be made and the cost of certain common parts and labor, and what you should do when having it repaired, i.e., stay with the mechanic every minute!. He's been ripped off a few times, including once when the clutch plate was "replaced" -- replaced with another worn-out clutch plate, that is. Almost irresistible, I guess, for a mechanic, when presented with a customer who is guaranteed to never return. "India is the most corrupt country in the world," I was told by a woman later that day, on the backwaters ferry from Kollam to Allepy. She's been investigating fair trade opportunities here. But more on that later. Ido and Lily ended up getting their Enfield illegally. "There are guys hanging outside of the bureau, you know, who come up after you've been turned down to get registration, and they say 'give me the papers and X amount of money and your problem is solved." But then I'll let Ido write about that... I haven't had any mechanical problems yet, but I know that these machines are not totally hands-off creatures. The head does leak oil and I think the tappets sound a little loose, so I'll check that out soon, at the dealership in Cochin (Kochi). But this morning I just topped off the oil and took off. I'm not a morning person, but I LOVE riding in the early morning. The sun and the humidity doesn't weigh down on my shoulders too heavily, and the truck and bus drivers haven't revved up to their adrenaline-supplied gotta get there at all costs hysteria quite yet. The disadvantage is that the villagers are all out bathing in the rivers and ponds, walking back across the street to their homes and brushing their teeth and not paying much attention to anything smaller than an Ambassador. Really, these people will just walk out into the highway without looking. Of course it's they're front yard, I keep trying to remember, but really, don't they have any sense of self-preservation? I guess that's the rule about beeping. Beeping isn't offensive here. It means "here I come so get your lazy butt out of the road quick!" Just a courtesy, you know, so nobody has to look up. Eric, the Dutchman I met in Mallapuram so long ago, told me "Indians respond to sound and not sight," and in my experience that's pretty true. I have come barreling down the highway to have an adult person just step in front of me like I'm not there. He sees me, yes, but he doesn't respond. If I come with horn bleep bleeping, though, he'll wait. If I blast my horn the entire way through a village, nobody will cross the street. I mean, this is what happens: I will be behind a bus, a truck and a car, and another car will be behind me, and we'll all be pretty close together -- and even though the car behind me can only gain a car's length by passing me he will be trying to pass me and beeping at me constantly until I let him pass. But that's aside the fact. This is what happens: the car in front of me will pass the potential pedestrian roadkill victim, and said victim will wait for the car to pass and he will actually step in front of me. Now, I've had a lot of time to think this out, and here's what I have concluded. I'm a two-wheeler, and since 95% of the two-wheelers people see coming at them are coming at them pretty slowly -- they're Yamaha or Honda 100's or scooters, all with about the horsepower of a bumblebee on steroids. But I have it all over them and the big white diesel-eating Ambassador automobiles in terms of horsepower, and even some of the medium-sized trucks you see on the road here. But the fact is, the average pedestrian sees me as a bumblebee. Even if I'm on the car's butt somebody will make a move to step out, every time. So the beeping thing -- If I beep like hell -- I'd be shot for this in the US -- all the way through the town, I'm okay. I don't even have to brake. Better yet, if I shift so the engine is straining like those guys with bumblebee engines AND I beep, well, that's even better. So here are the beeping rules. Beep all the
way through villages. footnotes *Men under thirty they're immortal. Apparently, until a man is about 30 he believes that he can step out in front of a truck and live through it. Men over 30, more often than not, tend to look before they step into the road. This rule of nature is, of course, overridden by the rule of lungi. A lungi is the ankle-length cloth that men here wear tied around their waists. Of course they can't just leave it at that. They must always be adjusting the lungi, because the lungi is at any time uncomfortable. Now tell me, if you're a grown man and you've got a piece of cloth wrapped about one and a half times around your waist and legs do you think you might be uncomfortable? So you'd be messing with it all the time. Here's what you do. You pull the bottom of it from your ankles and fold it up and tuck it under what's tied around your waist, so now you are wearing a mini-lungi which allows your knees to be freed so you can walk. But still, maybe it's not really practical, maybe you want to bend over and do some work or ride a bicycle or something and don't want it all to hang out. So you'd pull the ends of the lungi around and pass them between your legs and tuck them up into the part that's tied around your waist, making a kind of balloony shorts. But that kind of gets uncomfortable, too, and will eventually need to be adjusted. Personally, I think that if men here started wearing pants a lot more would get done. Like, they could pay attention to the road, work, walk, talk, eat, and take a pee without having to be majorly adjusting their lungies. It's a common sight to see a grown man walking down the street holding the ends of his skirt up, absently trying on different tie-styles, open and closing it, tucking it, hitching it, tying it, pulling at it... It talks a lot of time, this lungi thing. ** Many bicyclists are quite competent, but many are boys under 16 carrying boys under 16 and the front wheel of his bicycle is wavering wildly, indicating either a desire to turn in front of you or a complete loss of control. I haven't yet figured out which, but at any rate, the effect is the same. Accident. ***Motorcyclists carrying wife, sidesaddle in a sari no less, who is, in turn, cradling a few-months old baby in her arms seemingly quite unconcerned that her husband is taking turns at a 45 degree angle. These people absolutely must be beeped at. This is a courtesy beep, just so he knows you're there, not that he would make any squirrely moves or anything. **** I'm sorry, but girls just don't tend to do the nutsy things that boys do, like just run out into the road without warning, carry more than two other kids on a bicycle that's too large to handle, or pretend to throw things at you as you pass. I do not remember even once having to beep at a female person of any age here in India, or for a matter of fact, in any other country I've visited. What's up with that? I mean, could it really be chromosomes? The left thumb of my leather glove is worn so thin that it's about to tear. I have a great idea. I want to invent a little device that will beep the horn in random intervals so you don't have to bother half the time. It wouldn't disable the beeping if you wanted to actually beep by hand, but it would save a lot of effort. So anyway, I'm on my way to Kollam to take the backwaters tour to Allepy and I only get 8 km out of town before somebody (after the 10 people I've already asked) tells me that I'm 8 km out of town and I have to go back. Sure enough, exactly 8 km back there's a sign to the BOAT DOCK and when I turn down it I am faced with two choices. Take the official government boat or take the boat of this shady character who is telling me that his boat is better than the official government boat. After taking a poll of all the pink people in the vicinity, I decide to take the character's boat, mostly though because the motorcycle doesn't look like it's going to really fit very well in the official boat. In these cases I figure go with the desperate private citizens. It was a tough choice, and I ruminated on it from 9 a.m to 10:15 over my milk coffee and poori breakfast before I bought the two tickets to ride to Allepy, one for me and one for Patience, and rode the shady character pillion to the boat. It was a good thing, too. This boat only had about a dozen people on it while the official government boat was filled to the gills. I found out later that the official government boat kind of has a monopoly in Kollam/Quilon with the local booking services and that my boat has a monopoly in Allepy, so on the way north the government boat is crowded and on the way south the other is crowded. So if you're going that way, heed these words and take the less traveled route. My ticket says ATDC Alleppy Quilon Allepy Back Water Cruise. The fare is rs. 150, and it leaves at 10:30 am and arrives at sunset. The cruise was exactly what the doctor ordered. It took absolutely no effort on my part to travel a distance. It was on water, and every one of the dozen people on this boat were interesting, positive people. Kelli and Sharon met in San Francisco during a Global Exchange internship, Ralph is a professional photographer and webmaster from Germany/South Africa, there were two Swiss boarding school girls from England, a French/Swiss man on a volunteer vacation, a heavily tattooed hipster couple from Sweden going to the hugging guru ashram, and others. Even the "shady character" turned out to be okay, just a bit overzealous in his salesmanship, and was extremely knowledgeable about the backwaters and was also willing to talk with us about Indian customs like arranged marriages and how things are changing these days. The 8 hours went by like nothing. The ferryboat chugged along the rivers, canals, and lakes, giving us a peaceful view of life on the water. A 10 year old girl doing dishes in the river (my nieces and nephews would love that!), people bathing, a shallow wooden canoe being poled along by a man standing up! A duck farm, water buffalo, bright blue kingfisher birds, herons, lilies, small houses with colorful laundry hung to dry. Fishermen using Chinese fishing nets, boats hauling bricks, wood, rebar, bananas, all pushed through the shallow waters with poles. We stopped for lunch, a traditional Keralan thali on a banana leaf: red rice, fish, mixed vegetables, sauces, then tea and sweets: coffee or tea, fried bananas, a little spicy cake made with nuts, anise, cardamom. By the time it ended we had all made very good friends, and decided to have dinner together. I will know a few of these people for a long time. February 8 After a quick night's sleep at the Arcadia Lodge right next to the ferry boat landing and bus station in Allepy, I took off early for Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary. Immediately I was in beautiful motorcycling countryside -- long straight roads following canals, where I saw much of the same kinds of things I'd seen the previous day on the water, and then up into the hills which soon turned to mountains covered in wildlife and then acres of tea plantations. As we climbed it got cooler but the jungle became thicker. The traffic was more sparse -- I'd taken the small road to Changassy/Changacherry to Kumily, which is the town name for the Thekkady/Periyar area. It was truly beautiful, ranging from real jungle to small villages and towns to stark empty mountain that reminded me of the American Smoky's, complete with haze and pockets of clouds and rocky outcroppings. The road is small but I found that most of the time the buses and other oncoming traffic stayed to their own side of the road, and didn't cut off the inside corner, as I had feared. But then, I did beep hysterically at every blind curve. Patience got a bit warm before we hit the cool weather up higher, but otherwise pulled up those hills like a champ. She's got a lot of power. Too much for Indian roads. Kevin Mahoney at Enfield had told me that a 350cc would be adequate for India, and he was right. There's really no reason to have a 500cc machine here. I parked at a lookout point for a banana and a coffee, enjoying the cool weather and the moments of silence between heavily laden buses. In the valleys, far far below the road, villages, marked by the imposing heights of small Portuguese cathedrals, are tucked into the trees. Women in saris and flip flops, and children in blue and white school uniforms, walked from nowhere to nowhere, disappearing down trails leading off from the road. They will be able to tell their children: "Stop complaining! When I was a kid I had to walk straight uphill 5 miles through the jungle every day to school." When I arrived in Thekkady I just had time to decide on a room in the reserve at the Periyar House, take a hot shower and walk the 10 minutes to the lake to catch the 4:00 boat ride around Periyar Lake, to hopefully see some animals getting water at the shoreline. The Periyar House is the quietest place I've stayed in India. It's more like a trekking lodge. Well, it IS a trekking lodge. There are all kinds of Europeans staying here, all in kakhis and hiking boots, with binoculars slung around their necks and saying things like " Oh I say, have you really taken a good look at the underbelly of a Racket-tailed Drongo." Quoting from a little book I bought on Periyar (the ONLY book on it at the moment, but the bookshop cashier promised that an author has written one that will be published within a few months): "The varied habitat in the sanctuary supports a number of species of terrestrial, aquatic, and arboreal animals. Elephant behavior can be watched in such absolute comfort and safety. The wildlife population consists of estimated 600 elephants, 450 sambar der, 550 wild boar, 180 troops of Nilgiri langur monkeys, 26 troops of bonnet and lion-tailed Macaques, 400 Porcupin, 100 Guar, 50 Mouse deer and a number of Bears, Wild dogs, Jackals, Civets, Flying squirrels, Mongoose, Pangolin cobra and otters. Nilgiri Tahr is also reported to be seen in this area. There are now an estimated number of 45 Tigers and 15 Leopards in Periyar sanctuary. The lucky tourist may even see a tiger."
I think not. One 20 year veteran ranger has sighted a tiger only three times during his tenure, one swimming in the lake right next to one of the three hotels here. I saw blue-eared Kingfisher, cormorants (lots), an otter, black monkeys (lots - and one who threw down a green papaya at us on the jungle walk this morning, on purpose!), gray monkeys, wild boar (lots), Sambar deer (lots), Mouse deer, a pack of wild dogs stalking a Sambar deer baby but the mother and the stag stood between and they skulked off (this seen from the boat ride, some drama!), a redheaded iguana, a sort of bluish/purplish sloth/squirrel thing I can't get the name of (photo below), who was attached upside-down flat against a tree calmly eating a nut of some sort while hoards of tourists were going wild about it just a couple of meters down on the ground, and finally, the shadows of two elephants going through tall grass. I also saw lots (lots) of elephant dung and this morning we heard two on the trail, very close to us, but couldn't see them. Turns out they can move absolutely silently through the forest. Hard to believe considering the mess they make, snapping twigs, trampling grass, and leaving dung and big round footprints all over the place.
Oh, on the way here on the motorcycle I also saw a cobra, nearly hit it on the road. It was crossing just around a blind curve (silly thing), and I came around, saw it and put my leg up instinctively as it recoiled. Gave me a little adrenaline rush for the rest of the ride. And then I got peed on by a cow. She was grazing on the cliffside, her butt hanging out into the road. I had plenty of clearance, but I never knew that cows could pee straight out backwards, and with such force! Nothing to be done about it though, but to give my pants leg a wash at the next water source.
February 9 The next morning's jungle walk was just the beginning of an very rewarding day. Riding into town for lunch (Periyar House provides lodging plus breakfast and dinner but no lunch for 500 single/700 double), I stopped at a bookstore and picked up "The God of Small Things," a novel by Keralan author Arundhati Roy which one the 1997 Booker Prize; and a translation of the Mahabharata. The cashier recommended the Revathy Hotel for a good Keralan "meal" and I followed his advice. It looked a bit pricey, and I was the only customer at one o'clock, but it turned out to be only 30 rupees for a meal. Matthew Samuel, the restaurant captain, was very nice and spoke English very well, and took the time to explain the entire meal to me. Just a note, this is the same kind of meal I've been getting in Tamil Nadu and in other places in Kerala that is normally served on a banana leaf. Here, though, there were plates, even forks and spoons, seeing as there are so many Europeans visiting because of Periyar. Some Indian tourists who came in later used the sinks provided for hand-washing and used their hands to eat. So here it is, one plate is the main plate, and the other is a small sauce plate. Most of this stuff is to be put into the rice, which gets replenished as you finish.
Traditional Keralan Fish Curry Meal Hotel Revathy International, Kumily, Kerala drink: Geera Water (Choodu Vellan, which literally means "hot water" and is also called "medicine water" and can have any of several ingredients. This contained Geera or Pathyarkun ) Rice (Red Rice) this is fatter and softer than "normal" rice found in other parts of India from left of center, clockwise: Fish Curry (Meen Curry) Buttermilk (Morun Vellam) Spicy Mixed Vegetables (Sambar) Spicy Mulligutwany Soup (Rasan)
from dry chili, clockwise: Dry Chili (Unakka Mulaku) No Spicy (Pachady) Banana Thoran (Vazhakka Ulntahnathu) [the above, by the way, is the Ayruvedic substitute for insulin injections for diabetics] Cabbage Thoran Mixed Vegetables (Koottukarry) Pickles - Lime or Mango Pappad's (Pappadam) Payasan sweet (either Samiya, Palada, Paruppu, or Pradamon) [not in photo but normally included] After lunch my big mission for the day was to find some SuperGlue for repairing my helmet visor - it's been broken since the accident and I haven't been successful in finding glue, frustratingly. (These small things are most amazingly difficult when one is traveling in a strange country, and can provide all kinds of adventures.) Finally I found that they call glue "gum" - the British word for it, or "quick-fix" which must be a brand name. Saying "quick-fix" to a cashier brought the SuperGlue into my hands toute suite, and I went back to the man who told me that to thank him. Turns out he's a tour guide for spice plantations. I told him I had an hour, what could he do? So he zipped me 4 km away in an autorickshaw and we were in a small plantation that grows pepper and cardamom, cinnamon, and various other small spice crops. At the entrance was a palm tree hosting a betelnut plant. Betelnut is a vile reddish nut that a lot of people chew for its slightly caffinated quality, but turns their mouths horribly red and even black in some cases.
Then he led me into a forest of cardamom plants.
The cardamom spice is the seed that grows at the base of the stem in the shade of its many thick leaves.
It is picked in February and March, dried, and then sorted by hand.
The pepper plant is a vine that grows on giant bamboo planted just for that purpose.
The pepper plant is called "The King of Spices" because it yields four kinds of pepper: black, which is our table-pepper; white, which is black pepper in a later picking with the husks peeled off; red, which is an earlier picking; and green, which is a yet earlier harvesting of the seed. Cinnamon comes from tree bark, he showed me, and must be carefully managed, the bark taken off in stages as to not kill the tree. We walked through the plantation and a lot of women went by, either carrying big white bags of spices on their heads or just going somewhere, fast. I like the picture below because it's the image one has of women in India, always moving, always something to do, somewhere to go, but always ready to smile. We happened to meet the owner, then, at the drying sheds, where the cardamom is dried on a rack in a brick building that is kept at a certain temperature. He wanted to show us something, a leaf-bug he'd found. Then my hour was up, and I had to get back into Thekkady before the sanctuary closed at 6pm. I had dinner with the English couple and Swedish family who'd all been on the jungle walk this morning, and we compared leech bites on our ankles. I'd had five, the Englishwoman had three, but bigger ones, and her boyfriend had none, and he'd been the only one wearing shorts! But he also had the thickest socks. So if you go, bring thick socks! The Swedish couple has two children, a girl of 3 and a boy of only 11 months. They are so blond and fair here, they are terribly noticeable. I asked them if they were worried about illness here in India, and they told me that no, they had been staying in a village for a week and only ate Indian food, not the tourist food. They brought a lot of preventive and emergency medicines with them, and they also had arranged a contact with a doctor in the region in case of emergency, because even though the risk is not great, if children become sick they become sick very quickly. "They're healthier than we are," Biorg told me. "They were used to the heat immediately, and we were lethargic for a few days." At any rate, they're having a wonderful time. Ellika works at a travel agency in Stockholm that specializes in India and arranges these trips for families in villages. Normally they recommend that the children are above four years old, but they've broken all the rules and are quite happy with their vacation so far. She's promised to send me more information via e-mail one they're home again, which I will publish on this site. Now I am awfully tired, and will get up very early in the morning to travel north to Munnar and I don't know where after that, either more hills or to Kochi/Cochin. I need to be in Goa by the 15th or so, to visit a special goddess temple with three of my girlfriends I’m meeting there. One will stay with me for the rest of the trip, to Hampi, Mysore and Bangalore and Chennai/Madras.
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