 |
| Typical sight in Kerala - man wearing a dhoti, with an umbrella |
Kochi is a melting pot of colonial history. Due to the spice trade the Portuguese arrived first and colonised it, then the Dutch came and kicked them out. The British then waded in waving a big stick and took over for a hundred years or so, before India finally took it back as their own in the forties, meaning the old town known as Fort Cochin is not your typical Indian concrete jungle, and is all the more interesting for it. It may be interesting, but it was pretty uncomfortable such was the 35° heat and high humidity, meaning I spent the whole time a sweaty mess. Even a few seconds after a cold shower I was sweating again, and by night the only way to deal with it, was sleeping with no bedsheets and the fan spinning constantly. The locals didn't seem to mind though, taking it all in their stride with not even a sheen of perspiration on most of their foreheads.
Jew Town
 |
The more modern Ernakule,
across the river |
After arriving on the night train and getting settled into a place in the less touristy area of Ernakulam, I went for a little stroll around, finding it to be pleasant enough as Indian cities go but a little dull. I stopped for a fresh sugarcane juice, a new favourite of mine, whereby the guy peels the skin from a length of sugarcane before repeatedly putting it through a motorised mangle to squeeze out the juice, squeezing in a little lime then finally filtering through a sieve it into a cup - refreshing and tasty without being as overwhelmingly sweet as you'd expect.
 |
Colonial buildings on
Fort Kochi coastline |
I took the local ferry across the estuary to explore Fort Kochi itself. On the boat a Canadian girl started talking away to me at lightspeed - Cara, a pleasant but slightly irritating twentysomething, and a stereotypical 'blender' - a westerner wearing Indian clothing to try and blend in. After asking about my trip, she told me about the Ayurvedic residency she's doing in India. I asked what on earth it was and she wasn't even sure herself, describing living in some sort of commune where people practiced ancient Indian medical techniques, and put you through all sorts of weird treatments. I eventually got the impression she was looking for something without knowing what it was. I also didn't know what I was looking for - I had no plans for Fort Kochi, so agreed to walk with her and also-strange Indian friend to look around the racist-sounding-yet-innocent ancient area of Jew Town.
After a odd diversion into a shop for her to smell some essential oils, we stopped for a quick look at the Dutch Palace on the way; a fairly plain building on the outside but beautifully crafted within during the Dutch era of the city, before reaching the centre of the old Jewish area. There's no Jewish community in India to speak of now, now nor has there ever been on a large scale, but at some point in the sixteenth century a small group of traders arrived and formed a small one, leaving quite possibly the only Synagogue in India. I had a wander about, finding it crudely speaking a little like a Methodist chapel with the furniture rearranged, some different pictures on the walls, and a whole lot of glass chandeliers. An interesting site, yet with only a handful of Jews left locally; soon to become a museum it seems.
 |
| What's left of colonial buildings |
The other two guys wanted to stop for a drink, so finding them a bit too odd and irritating for my liking, I made my excuses and headed off to the other old part of town. The humidity was too high, the distance larger than I thought, and the local shopping streets less than interesting for once. The only relief being an escape into an air-conditioned, old-fashioned ice cream parlour for a few minutes. The day was disappearing and I was getting no-where fast, so I called it quits and headed for the ferry after a bit of a drab day at the office.
Fort Cochin by bike
A big dump of rain in the night did nothing to cool the air, and by 8am it had already evaporated completely. Another sweaty day beckoned. The heat wasn't the only grind that morning. A young waiter in the cafe forgot to pass my breakfast order to the kitchen for twenty minutes before I checked, this, just after he carefully picked up all the napkins that the fan had blown all over the floor and neatly placed them back in the holder on my table. An Internet cafe I then used, asked me to write down my full name and address 'to help prevent terrorism' but didn't actually check I wasn't making it up, which as always felt pointless. I went to leave the hotel only to realise my camera battery was dead flat. Then finally I hired a bike, to find the wheels wobbling like drunk Russians, brakes that needed ten minutes notice, and a seat designed as a medieval torture device. But thankfully with all the nonsense out the way early, the day soon got better.
 |
Chinese fishing nets - The whole device
tips into thewater to catch fish, then
lifts them out in one |
Fort Kochi turned out to be nicer to cycle round than walk. I had a leisurely cruise around it's quiet streets for a couple of hours, past various buildings which are a legacy of the colonial period - mostly old warehouses, offices, homes and social clubs In a range of styles designing on who built it. Many were quite nice, but looked a little worse for wear these days. One really interesting sight, an icon of the city in fact, was the very unique and historical Chinese fishing nets. These are huge old contraptions built along the shoreline which look a bit like trebuchets. The fishermen pull rope to tilt them, so that one end with a huge net drops into the water, then is lifted out a few minutes later at least partly full of fish to be sold along the shore. They caught a real mixed bag of fish, including some huge metre long ones, which they proudly carried along the pavement, laid in a basket in their heads.
 |
| 16th century house built by Dutch colonialists |
I escaped the tourist area on the bike for a couple of hours, heading into the real world nearby. I saw a burial service starting for an Indian at a packed Christian cemetery, with the coffin dropped off by ambulance. Goats wandering all over the town, but for once no cows to be seen. Boy racer style rickshaws parked up, and a loud air raid siren going off - apparently the tea break alarm in a big local factory. I stopped and looked around what is said to be South India's biggest antique shop; a fascinating place with stock such as old wooden sculptures from temples, carved granite pillars and huge elephant-proof doors, which all seemed to have been stolen from historical site around the country. It was more like a museum than a shop, a museum where everything is for sale.
At late dusk I took the ferry back across the estuary. Whilst queuing, a couple of guys started arguing about something, which soon turned into a full on fight with each other. It was the first act of violence I'd seen anywhere in nearly four months in India, and they fought like a pair of children, just pushing and grabbing each other. Others intervened, and a few minutes later all was well again. Indian people seem to generally have a very calm and unthreatening nature to them, one of the things I like about the nation, so this was definitely a rarity.
The Mad Professor
As I got off the boat in Ernakulam, an Indian guy of around sixty started politely making conversation, and when I asked, told me he was Professor of Philosophy at Mysore University. He wore a smart shirt, was polite and astute, and had a gentle nervous laugh. He talked away about philosophy for a few minutes, then said he'd tell me a bit more over a quick beer 'in a bar just over there' if I was interested. I was a bit reluctant as I had plans, but am open minded and always keen to learn, so went with it saying 'just half an hour'. After four months in India I've got a nose like a dog for scammers, and the scent told me this was fine. I tactfully checked he didn't want any money from me anyway - he said no, but suggested I buy the beers. Errr, OK I guess.
The bar turned out to be not across the road, nor 'just round this corner' as he promised, but half a mile away; a plain upstairs room full of after work drinkers, with plastic tables and chairs, and not a woman in sight. He ordered two large beers, despite my insistence that we just have a small beer, and started telling me more about philosophy. His first glassful disappeared quicker than I expected. It turned out to be traditional Indian type rather than the worldly type that we know, instead based around ancient scriptures and Hinduism - not really of that much interest to me to be honest, but I listened on. He went on to discuss Ayurveda - the traditional Indian form of medicine I mentioned earlier, which judges the balance of your body as a whole rather than individual ailments, saying it was part of Indian philosophy. I then inadvertently found myself being assessed, since he told me he was also an 'Ayurvedic doctor' - a skill passed through generations rather than being a true doctor.
His assessment of my general condition was bizarre, contradicting what I'd been told by another one of these supposed ayurvedic doctors before. He said I was about 20kg overweight, which he based just on my age without asking my height (I'd be anorexic if that really were the case). He measured my blood pressure by placing his fingers on my wrist, much to the amusement of two other customers, saying it was 'way too low' and 'dangerous' (it isn't, I know). Then he finally told me my 'dosha was out of balance' and I 'needed some Ayurvedic drugs to balance' me, which he went on to say was 'the reason you're 31 and not married'. It had all turned a bit weird, or more weirder should I say.. I smiled, and politely told him I didn't really agree with his assessment but thanked him anyway, and as we'd been well over an hour now drew the evening to a close. After I paid the bar bill, he then surprised me with a request - asking money for the 'medical assessment'. It was only £1 (100 rupees), but in disbelief having checked earlier, and at no point agreeing to this bogus assessment, I said no way on principle. He was a professor, supposedly, so why would he want such a small amount from me? I was now angry, feeling a bit cheated but not knowing exactly how, though restrained from really showing it. He persisted, and I stuck to my guns. The friendly mood changed. Finally, I told him he'd wasted my evening and really annoyed me, and walked out. I stood at the street corner fifty metres from the bar and looked back. He walked out a minute later, head down, and headed the other way, off into the night.
The whole thing was most bizarre, and I still can't work it out. He wasn't just your typical scammer from the streets, as he clearly had knowledge. He was clever and insightful yes, but a professor? If he was a scammer, why would be try to get so little money from me? If he was lonely or a drunk, why would he spend so long just to get someone to buy him one beer? Or was everything genuinely true, and demanding £1 just his unusual manner of working?
I guess I'll never know.
 |
| Portuguese Catholic Church at Fort Cochi |
 |
| Typical Kerala state bus with no windows |
 |
| Dutch colonial house |
 |
| Fishing boats |
 |
| Nice spot for an afternoon drink! |
No comments:
Post a Comment