Day 13,  15^thJan day                             Last post.

How can it be the last day already? All the preparation, booking, foolish anxieties, looking forward to seeing the family, setting off on the adventure, going across Kerala, all coming to an end.  I have very special memories about this item on my bucket list. Bucket list? is this right thinking I wonder.

The morning is sunny and warm. I meet Kieran and my new tour guide, another George. He is middle aged and knowledgeable. First, a few minutes’ walk to the Chinese fishing nets. They are impressive the ideal type photo opportunity. Very heavy, weighted they sink gracefully into the water and are pulled back up by manpower. We are expected. George whispers, ‘you will tip them.’ I whisper back, ‘how much?’ He giggles and says rupees 100 is good.’ ‘OK.’

I am gathered up, shown the net and help let it down into the water. It is heavy. It rests for a minute then we pull it up again and I have caught a mini fish. Photos are taken and we all laugh. I fumble through my rucksack to offer 200R (£2.80.) That brings out more smiles... good.

Next, the Museum. Although we go to the head of the queue, it's busy. We push and get jostled in the doorway. It's in the Matancherry palace, built by the Portuguese in the 16C and given to the Raja of Kochi - generous of them. Small, crowded dark rooms are full of portraits of his relations. One painting turns to watch as you walk by. No kidding, the feet and the face appear to turn from right to left and the eyes follow you. If you don’t believe me go and see it. There are claustrophobic heavy carved wooden palanquins with curtains to transport Ranis about. They must have been very hot and uncomfortable. The crowd gathers round and I am aware of the increasing temperature and our body smells, warm hippos, fish and pee. George takes me into every room. Beautiful wall paintings illustrate the life of Vishnu, his avataras and incarnations. Oh I get it ‘Avatar,’ durr that’s why they were blue.  I begin to hope the next room is the last one. George leaps at some backpackers who are taking photos in total disregard of all the sign stating we MUST not.

We visit the St Francis Xavier's catholic church another present from the Portuguese in 1503 together with their religion. Very hot outside, nice and cool inside.

The morning moves on and the next stop is the laundry. George says the government has ruled that dhobi people, who come from the Harijan caste an unlawful label now, must be paid a good wage. The workers therefore like to stay. The fishermen though are paid very badly and are poor. 

We go out to the washing hanging on the lines. I turn as George carefully unfolds a spotless white hanky which he puts on his head. He loses none of his dignity insisting I notice how washing is fixed in a twisted double line - no pegs. My brain begins to boil.

Inside again the iron is heated on a charcoal box. He invites me to try it and true to my home practice I burn myself, ouch. We both giggle.

As the morning progresses we visit the ancient Paradisi Synagogue in Jew town. I meet Sarah a very elderly Jew who sits embroidering by a shop door. I could do that in Sandgate. A local tourist attraction, Dorcas the elderly ...... (insert your own word.)  

The heat grows and grows beginning to weigh me down. I walk more slowly.  ‘George, I am getting very hot now.’ He looks at me closely and makes a management decision about his timetable. ‘OK Mem, you go in here and see the dragon boat, I am calling the car.’ I walk into the shade and he calls Kieran on his mobile. Thank goodness I don’t have to wait for a palanquin.

Parp, parp, Kieran’s here, we fall into the cool car and guzzle water. I have had enough sightseeing so we return to the hotel. George giggles with delight at his tip. Kieran says, ‘I will be ready at 4.30 tomorrow morning to take you to the airport.’ OK fine, I walk into the restaurant, flop into a chair and order a big bottle of cold water and another of cold strong beer. It tastes like iced Barley Wine. Fried fish in banana leaves, coconut rice and to follow flambéed pineapple in syrup with ice cream makes me feel a lot better. Although it all takes about two hours to  complete it is worth it.

Time to pack and have a swim.

A late dinner in the evening and last half bottle of ‘Sula’ to help me sleep. The restaurant is full. They have run out of tables but do not turn business away. Gradually the spare chairs at my table are politely taken and put up against coffee tables and collapsible tables brought in from the poolside and squeezed in the aisles. All nationalities are talking and enjoying the food which takes even longer because there are only 2 chefs. Wonderful.

Early morning day 14, 16th Jan 2013

I get up at 3.30am and have to wake Kieran up sleeping in the car outside. We drive off through the warm empty streets arriving well early at Cochin Airport. We hug modestly, say goodbye and go our separate ways. I turn towards home.

Goodbye Kerala I have loved seeing you.

Day 12 The Kathakali Dancers.

I was late for the dancers but Kieran said it was OK because the first hour is make-up and it’s boring. They went from this:

to this dramatic make up and costumes.

There is a full audience and I told Kieran I could walk back by myself, he needn't wait. The culture centre is next door to the bus station and as long as I don’t take a short cut past the bit overlooked by my windows, the men’s pee place, I knew I would be OK.  The dancing is good the female role played by a middle aged man. A young couple on their honeymoon sit next to me. Afterwards I stroll back to the hotel in the warm, bustling evening air going in through the restaurant which opens onto the pavement. I have a pleasant meal people watching and then to bed ready for the last day tomorrow. I will be sorry to leave Kerala.

Day 12 continued:                    The hard sell.

Kieran turns round from the front of the car to make his point seriously.

‘Mem, I will take you to the Government Museum shop. You go in, see what you want to buy and look at the price. Don’t buy and I will take you to my cousin’s shop where he will give you a better price for the same things.’

I already know what I want but am happy to follow his instructions and see what else there is. 

I go into an air craft hangar of an emporium. It has everything Kerala makes for tourists and they are very good quality. A number of rooms are overstocked with different goods, three men sit in the shade inside the door chatting to each other. I smile and say, ‘just looking.’ They wave me towards the interior.

I start with wooden carvings, beautiful intricate Buddhas and Ganeshas in different dark and light woods. Sandalwood is now protected but there is a heavy fragrance coming from the room. Turning I notice a smiling man shadowing me. He is tall, mid thirties with melted caramel eyes.

He offers me a cup of scented sweet tea and we talk about the carpets in the next room.

‘Who makes them, not children I hope?’

‘No Mem, I can make carpets.’ He shows me a book of photos full of carpet weavers. ‘They are hand stitched by experts. Just feel the carpet.’ He unfurls one and its colours shimmer on the floor. I bend down to feel, mmm silky.

He kneels in front of me and looks up, ‘kneel down Mem to see closer.’

I laugh, ‘my knees won’t kneel down sorry.’

He pats the carpet, ‘sit down.’

More laughter, ‘I wouldn't be able to get up again.’

‘Please Mem; take off your shoes to feel with your feet.’ I slip off my sandals and it is a lovely soft carpet.

‘Excuse Mem,’ he takes my feet and gently puts my shoes back on managing to quietly squeeze my calf at the same time. I think, he’s flirting with me but I'm 70 years old. This is interesting.

We move on to the next room. Lovely jewellery, lots of intricate gold and silver. Some marcasite set with turquoise, bracelets, necklaces and ear rings. Again fascinating but I don’t want to buy any.

‘Try them on Mem.’ ‘No thank you.’ ‘But you are so beautiful they will make you happy.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Yes Mem, beautiful smile and very young on the inside, this necklace is right for you.’ I can’t help laughing and he laughs too, enjoying himself.

He looks down at me, ‘I love your smiling eyes; I wish you would come to my house.’ There’s no polite answer to that so I move into the next room. It is full of silks, saris and pashminas.’

‘Try one on Mem.’ 

‘I am going back by plane, no room in my suitcase.’ 

‘We will post it to you. We can send carpets as well by post.’ ‘They will remind you of me and Kerala, I can see you have been happy here.’

‘I have, it is a lovely country.’

‘And me, I am charming.’ 

‘Yes you certainly are charming.’ I walk towards the door.

‘Mem, Mem you haven’t seen upstairs there is more.’ I hesitate. Oh what harm can it do?

We go up the wooden stairs to another room full of small stone sculptures.

 And there they are. The complete set of Hindu positions from the Karma Sutra, fascinating. Inside my head I would like to go forward and inspect them closely but my 70 years hold back, time to go really.

I smile at him. He says, ‘People enjoying touching,’

I feel like a memsahib out of a 'Passage to India.' 'Well I'm sorry, I must go. I'm going to think about what to buy and come back tomorrow.’

I walk down slowly and towards the door.

‘You will come back?’

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

He takes my hand as we emerge into the afternoon sun. ‘You will come back tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because Mem, if you don’t come back my charm hasn't been working.’

‘Oh yes your charm has definitely been working, until tomorrow then.’ I jump into the car and heave a sigh.

‘Kieran, that man could sell the water from his Grannie’s well even if it was dry.’

Kieran doesn’t understand and I have to explain. He laughs. ‘Did you buy anything?’ ‘No.’

Actually, I didn't buy any of it............. but it was tempting. 

We go to the cousin’s shop and after a lot of negotiation I buy two pashminas and some jewellery. He knocks off zillions from his first price and everyone’s honour is satisfied. As Kieran takes me back to the hotel I say, ‘you deserve a big pay off from your cousin, I spent loads of money.’ He grins and agrees. ‘He gives me free shirts and trousers.’ ‘Well so he should.’

Day 12              14^th Jan 13        Down the mountains to Cochin.

We set off for Cochin early. At the start of the journey we bump down a mountain track. Kieran says reassuringly we are taking a short cut to the main road. Oh oh.

At a fork he asks which way from three men and they point ‘Gari, gari, on, on, down, down.’

We arrive at the main road safely. It is similar to our ‘B’ roads after the electricity board has finished repairs,   lumpy, pitted tarmac. No real edge or pavement means we can stray onto the dusty verge among pedestrians if we have to get past something filling up the roadspace. Through villages where grey square houses and small colourful shops form strips on each side. I think unjustifiably, hope they don’t exchange all this for supermarkets and shopping malls, shiny chrome and glass.  I'm enjoying the bustle and colour but then I'm a daft, romantic tourist in an air conditioned car – not trying to make a living – so probably misguided. Tin shacks half hidden beneath coconut palms, watch over fields of pineapples, bananas, rubber trees and groves of little oranges. The stalls are piled high with produce. Billboards paddling in plastic chuckaway rubbish advertise plum cake, political parties and motor bikes. Huge seductive photographs flash red lips, kohl eyes and filigree bindis, in silk saris embellished with gold jewellery.

We stop; a cup of tea for Kieran and a wee for me. The restaurant on rickety scaffolding overlooks some fields and has a polluted stream circling suspiciously underneath. It makes me rub my hands obsessively with protector before using the toilet as well as afterwards. I see another European woman emerge tucking her toilet kit away while rubbing her hands too. 

As we move towards the outskirts of Cochin all kinds of churches and shrines interweave along the road. Some saints in their towers have been wrapped in white cloth to wait for the next festival. Traffic soon becomes congested and the cacophony increases. Boys and girls proudly sport bright school uniforms.  They love to wave and smile at me, giggling as we edge by.

Making good time, we turn into my last hotel and receive the usual welcome, improvised salutes from the guard, prompt attention from the porters. I go up to my room and it is as clean and cool as all the others. Lunch then shopping, then a performance of Kathakali dance in the culture centre next door. I draw some heavy net curtains back and find I am overlooking the bus station. Oh and there’s a man relieving himself towards me down a bank. A great view of Cochin, I close them again and chuckle.

Day 11              13^th Jan 13        Munnar.           Made it Ma - top of the world.

Across the lower jungly covered hills up, up, the road becomes one car wide. It’s Sunday and everyone is out in coaches and buses, tin traps to air conditioned luxury, not forgetting the three and four up bikes and tenacious Tuk Tuks. How do they get up here? Rattle, bang, slow for the potholes, speed up as soon as a gap is spotted, whahoo.

The hills are covered in tea plantations and turn into green felt dumplings. Cardamom farms with electric fences line the roads. Is there a smugglers’ market in cardamom? ‘No Mem it’s to keep the elephants out.’  The fences must carry quite a high charge then, I won’t get too close. I can’t associate the beautiful plump green tea leaves with the T bags I buy at home. Here the tea is made in pots and is delicious, a good brown colour. It is drunk sweet with no milk.

Crowds pass by waving and smiling, especially the children. Sunday saris are bright colours with as much glittery bling as can be afforded. Men in shirts and lungis – not many western trousers because I suppose they would be uncomfortably hot. We keep climbing and the Ghats are stunning, stretching away in the distance, misty like Japanese prints. The road cracks at the edges and becomes steep. Everyone drives in the middle and it can get complicated. A truck has become stuck across the road and a jam seems inevitable but drivers are patient as well and reverse to give it space to turn back into the queue. I wonder if Europeans have something to learn. Yes it’s dangerous but so are the M25, the Périphérique, Barcelona, and Rome in the rush hour.

We turn a corner and there is the Casa del Fauna sitting, waiting for us. What a place:

what a view:

I'm coming back here too.

We roll down the drive and wander into the bungalow. No-one there. Birds and whispering bamboos mingle with sounds of far away cars. A man in a woolly beanie sweeping the leaves from the grass runs off and comes back with another smiley man who is embarrassed not to have been here to welcome us. He takes me inside and shows me a lovely room.

I sit outside for a sandwich lunch and a cold beer. The label on the bottle says, ‘drunken driving is punishable.’

The view from Casa del Fauna. 

The road outside shows they really haven't got their heads round rubbish disposal. There is a fortune waiting to be made by someone inventing bin men.

Only three rooms in the Casa and we all eat together but at separate tables. A very personal service. The man looking after us asks me if I would like to go for a short walk in the jungle – why not?

We walk down into the undergrowth 

I ask if there are tigers? ‘ No Mem. ‘ ‘Elephants?’ ‘ Yes wild elephants.’ ‘ Will we see them?’ ‘ If we do we will be running quickly back to the bungalow, Mem, they are very dangerous.’ ‘OK.’

We see a banyan tree but no Buddha. It is a pleasant walk, cooler here on top of the mountains.

An English couple arrive. We talk. They paid to take a tour of the Delhi slums and were horrified to witness the deprivation. Money earned from these tours goes towards helping slum dwellers. I cannot rationalise the necessity to witness first hand something we all know exists. But then maybe we don’t all know it. Perhaps seeing it does make a difference. I think of London at the time of Hogarth. We had deprivation but over time and with investment we moved away from such chronic poverty. Perhaps India is in its Georgian era. Certainly Kerala doesn’t suffer the same kind of poverty as Mumbai and Delhi. India is a big, big country, full of contradictions and fascinations.

I retire quite early and sleep deeply. Off to Cochin tomorrow for the final two days.

Day 10  12^th Jan 13        The boat trip and ‘activities with elephants.’

No visible bites, the anti stuff is good.

For breakfast the menu says I could have;

‘smashed cheese on grilled toast – or -  smashed cheese and chicken on grilled toast.’

Blue skies and warm sun, outside very tall slender palm trees sway in the breeze; they look as if the tops will bend down to the ground and spring back. Another boat trip instead of a nature walk, a sitting down more comfortable way to view wild life in the Periyar Sanctuary. As a protected tiger reserve the book says, ‘don’t wonder if you see a lone tiger gently walking in the woods.’ Yes please. We drive to the car park and all the plaster saints in their shrines by the road have been polished, their strange pink faces smile down on us benignly. I walk to the boats with other sightseers. It is a holiday and festival day. My guide ushers me to the front of the queue and onto the ferry.

The boats are full of people but I have a numbered seat upstairs. A young man and two boys smile and I sit next to them. He is a physiotherapist employed as an aid worker in Tamil Nadu a large adjacent state North East of Kerala. He tells me it is a poor area and he has brought the two village boys on a day out as a reward for good work in school. It reminds me of Barnardos. He was adopted by an American couple as a child and when he grew up wanted to come back and help the community where he was born. It is interesting talking to him as the boat chugs slowly round the lake. We see a few buffalo, some wild boar and a bird feeding her young in a nest at the top of a dead tree stump but no tigers or elephants for me to 'wonder' at. I am hoping the boat doesn't capsize because the compulsory life jackets are so cumbersome I think they would drown us if we fell in the water.

We reach the end and turn round.

Disembarking I get caught up with a large family and we walk up together. A young woman smiles, puts a strong arm round my shoulders and hugs me. She smells of garlic. I smile and she says something to her family. They take a photo. That does it, everyone wants a photo with the short white haired woman on her own. They gather round and take turns, children and wives hugging, men modestly standing next to me. I enjoy a moment of fame. If you don't see tigers and elephants - photograph the next best example of wildlife - me. I return to Kieran with my new friends clustered around me.

Back to the hotel for lunch and a siesta to sit by the pool with a cup of sweet Marsala tea and a swim. I remember not to get my own towel or umbrella and here is George, waiting attendance.

Later Kieran and I go for 'activities' with the elephants. He says, 'so sorry Mem I am not wearing trousers but I have a bad leg.' He shows me a painful looking abscess on his shin. He says he has seen a Doctor.

'I am having one injection here (bum) one here (arm) and antibiotics to take.' Poor Kieran trousers would just irritate it. He is wearing a lungi the Keralan version of a dhoti and a T shirt. Good idea.

The lungi is a popular garment and worn by the majority of men here. They wear it tucked up if it's hot and down round the ankles for modesty when talking to a woman or in church. I know this because when I approach they untuck them. At first it gave me a start. A middle aged man near to me suddenly flapped his arms and took hold of the corners of his lungi to untuck it and cover his legs. I wondered briefly what he was going to do. All in the mind........  

I suggest to Kieran because of his bad leg he sits in the back tomorrow and drinks water while I take over the driving. I know how to drive, I've been watching. It is just beep, beep, beep and rush rush in between vehicles. I was sure we'd be fine. He looks bemused and unconvinced although my mime of driving in India makes him laugh. 'Well' I say, 'then take your antibiotics and get a good  nights sleep. No going out with your friends in Kumarakom tonight drinking cold beers. This is what I would tell my son.'

'OK Mummi' he chuckles and for the rest of the trip my new name sticks. I can't believe he will be comfortable. I know he sleeps in the car but he's at least six foot. He keeps his clean shirts (a new white one every day) hanging in the back. There is no other evidence that he is living in the car this week except that I have already asked him. All the drivers do it.

We set off for the elephants and turn into a dusty car park with a few sheds. Some people are waiting on a wooden platform and sure enough the elephant I saw at the spice garden comes plodding up the path. It is a seriously BIG animal. I don't want to ride it but have to have photos standing next to it - trunk up and trunk down.

They tell me the bull elephants are at the festival. This one appeared fed up, tired and bored. I looked into her eyes but they were far away lost in her past, detached from here. I wondered why she co-operated. She had a chain wound round her ankle. It wasn't chafing but a symbol of her compliance with the diminutive animals that wanted to train, touch, ride on, marvel at and photograph her. I think it was her massive passivity that touched my heart. 

She enjoyed a good shower and long drink but I was sorry to see her like this. I knew I wouldn't like the activities with elephants.

Tomorrow the Western Ghats and tea plantations.