And so to the final segment of this particular escapade, our last stop is Kerela, famed for its spices and fishing (hence Kerela fish curry). Everywhere you turn is one delicious smelling spice market or another…
Unlike the do-it-yourself organisation we have applied to all other elements of this trip, mr. Lee has arranged an itinerary for the next seven days, including…. a driver. Yey.
I’m not normally one for taking the easy way/ copping out when it comes to travel, but I feel the last few weeks (queuing in Delhi station for four hours, 15 hours on a bus, etc..) have earned us a bit of the easy life, besides which, mr. Lee’s avid research has advised him that travelling without a driver here would be tres difficult. (When we see the hills, we realise why).
We arrive late in Cochin and make our way to Ann’s residency
in the fort – perhaps the best place we have stayed so far. The family homestay is run by Ann, and a man I presume to be her husband, in one of their immaculate and lovely rooms which all face a serene interior courtyard. In the morning, a huge breakfast of fruit salad, eggs, toast, bacon (let’s not question the source of this contraband item, let us just enjoy) and fresh coffee. Completely spectacular coffee, which is surprise given our next stop is the tea plantations of Munar.
Fort Cochin is a small town, even more laid back than Goa and maybe even more colourful too. We venture to the docks to see the Chinese fishing nets, a technique from Chinese fisher man Zheng He. We’re invited to the nets to take a closer look and pull the nets up ourselves but sadly no catch. We are promptly fleeced for 100 rupees,. It seems our invite came with conditions. But alas, says Mr. Lee’s mum, we must support the local economy…
On our stroll, we spot a spin off from a local art exhibition – ‘slow street art’ in the form of charcoal on paper. Large posters boast sketchings of faces, ” like religious portraits they are looking at us with a blend of compassion and earnestness in order to make a sacred space for reflection on people who make up our communities, our connectedness, and us”.
This day of sauntering is finished off with a nice cuz in Ann’s Garden as we are introduced to the fry- new favourite thing. Aloo (potatoes) gobi (cauliflower) or ladies fingers (okra) are “dry fried” with garlic, ginger, masala, onion, no curry sauce- or gravy as its called here. Carbs con carbs. Mmmm.
En route to Munar the next day, we pass some impromptu loveliness. Dozens of women line the entrance to the local hindu temple.
Laid out before each one of them is the same thing; clay pots bubbling up rice on a fire fuelled by burning banana leaves; Green banana leaf with a pile of colourful flower petals, presumably for garnishing; and ornate gold incense burners to their right. The air is thick with smoke and the dry perfume of sandalwood from the incense. According to our driver, Mr.Billy, they are celebrating the Hindu festival of Pongal.
As we whiz along, beeping and weaving up the rapidly inclining and winding roads, we see houses that look like liquorice all sorts. Reds, pinks, blues, lime green, pink with green, orange and pink, white with blue trimmings. I think of Caroline and Warden’s little blue house with envy. It’s previous owner must have visited India.
We stop off for an elephant ride, and help bathe the Elephants. It seems the elephants are treat well, and when we arrive they are eating leaves and just moseying about. The elephant dutifully carry us down to a bath, where we scrub and water a 23 year old male who seems to enjoy the wash. I wonder how many times a day the elephant does this, and if he is happy as his masters say? We climb on him and he squirts us with water from his trunk which is hilariously enjoyable. I wish little Theo was here as he absolutely loves animals, most particularly the big tropical kind so i’ll be sending his mum all the pictures!
Next stop (it’s a heavy schedule Mr.Billy has us on) is a spice plantation, where our guide talks us through all the flowers, trees, and their Ayurvedic uses. We pick cardamon, pepper and admire the ant colonies, made of chewed leaves.
If Mr.Lee could be arsed to write any architectural musings this, so very functional and spectacular structure, would surely be worth spending some words over. We also realise the Kerelans are coffee growers, and chocolate too. A few thousand rupees are dropped at the spice plantation shop, where the most delicious chocolate is discovered.
At sunset, we go to see a traditional Kerelan dance show.We’re joined by many tourists, most of whom now are Indians, who whoop and cheer as our ears bleed. I can practically feel Lee writhing with pain next to me as he slowly dies inside.
I think to myself that Delia would rather enjoy one of these outfits…
Empanada Escapdes 