So what is a ‘Dolly bird’ (Glaswegian term for a lady that never steps out without being fully made up and kitted out, usually a little over the top...) with a limited practical capsule wardrobe and 9 months on the road to do? Many of my good friends were visibly shaken at the thought, understandably doubting my ability to rise to the challenge. My entire beloved wardrobe had been packed up and carted off to climate controlled storage, I was left standing beside a humble back pack containing nothing but the bare minimum for sartorial survival.

A mere few days into our decompression in Fort Kochi, I realised I was already tiring of my practical, yet dull attire. Looking around at the local tourist trap emporiums I could see little more than the standard gear adopted by many a hippy westerner, sporting dreadlocks and in need of a wash. Recalling the words of one style sage as we discussed my impending departure from daily fashion fixes “Darling, you don’t have to go to the dogs completely...you can always buy yourself a pretty skirt and a sparkly pair of sandals”, I summoned up the strength to wade through the plethora of tourist tat, and find something suitably stylish.

During one of our initial recces to Jew Town, a chilled slightly more sophisticated tourist trap, I happened to spot a twinkle of hope in the form of an antique Sari shop. The Saris were hung tantalizingly within my reach and they beckoned me in with a wave in the warm summer wind. Sadly we were at our limit for shopping that day, we were suffering wildly from a case of ‘post-purchase-guilt’ after having blown not an insubstantial sum on a very beautiful carpet. I however made a mental note to return and peruse said Saris at my leisure. And return I did. Once Rich was ensconced in the relative safety of a book shop, I went, well...a little nuts. That said they were a snip and quite irresistible. The helpful proprietor did show me how to wrap and wear a Sari, however I decided against this option, feeling it would be a little like a tourist visiting Scotland assuming they could pull off a kilt.

Armed with yards of textile history, I headed back to our ‘Home-stay’ to seek the advice of our landlady, Usha. She recommended her personal seamstress and reminded me to mention her referral to secure both a speedy service and fair price. Off I trotted to the good lady seamstress with a length of Sari and a kaftan to copy. The kaftan had previously been purchased in a moment of weakness and desperation at one of the above mentioned tourist tat traps. While it is a perfectly decent garment, it is somewhat unremarkable compared with the gilt edged Sari treasures. Most obligingly the good lady seamstress squeezed my request into her obviously overloaded workforce’s task list. Two days later and I am the proud and delighted owner of a very practical, yet truly gorgeous unique kaftan in which I can float about stylishly. All for 100Rupees (about 2 quid), I winced at the ridiculousness of the sum and tried to offer more, this was rejected with what appeared to be mild offense. So it would seem that I got a fair price, and speedy service. Result.

Second on my list of mild discomforts was the matter of my ‘prematurely’ greying locks. Before departing Hong Kong I had made a wildly foolish pact with myself that I would just go with the flow and see how the ‘Greys’ suited me. They do not. Perhaps in 20-30 years I shall reconsider, but at 33 years old, not a good look. Maybe if my head were turning shock white with a streak of charcoal a la Cruella I could pass it off as a statement, however the wiry specimens are coming through sporadically giving my head a ‘salt & pepper’ look that is nothing short of bland, and embarrassing. Remembering more wise words from my sage “…...and you are in India darling, there is always Henna”, I make it my business to find the first local salon that can treat my locks to a dose of the herbal dye.
I had my first treatment during our second week in Fort Kochi, it was quite passable. My greys were now varying shades of honey and auburn. Not bad, and my hair did not feel like straw as it does after chemical dyes. The real discovery though was happening to bump into Usha as she was administering her own Henna concoction. She explained that she makes her own from the plant in her garden “much better for hair fall” this seems a good thing from her enthusiasm. Keen to share the benefits of her natural recipe she kindly offers to make me up a potion. We set a date in advance to give her time to prepare the mixture. Early this morning she passed an ominous looking dish of what looked like the mulch you clear from your garden path after weeks of January rain have congregated many a dead leaf. Unlike the simple paste the local salon had previously applied, this mix was organic and homegrown. I was excited about sharing Usha’s secret recipe. That said, the application was a lot less simple to apply than the salon’s paste. Imagine spreading that soggy mulch from your garden onto your head. Not easy. There was something reminiscent of making mud pies and rose petal ‘perfume’ to sell to your aunties, which actually smelled of stagnant ponds, in the whole procedure. However, I persevered with Usha’s mix and am happy to report a fabulous result. The only down side to the whole Henna experience is that it has turned my cheap ‘H Samuel’ gold hoop earings a rotten shade of copper.

Another delight I have enjoyed exploring are the vast array of natural perfume oils on offer. You can’t throw a stone in Fort Kochi without hitting some pavement signage offering wood, flower and herb oils. Hold me back. Along with shoes and handbags, perfume is a particular weakness for me. I do believe you have to go quite far to out do the timeless elegance of No.5, but give me a whiff of Otto Rose, Dark Musk, Light Musk and Oudh and I am sent. The latter ‘Oudh’ is a new discovery for me. I am told it is from a very rare wood from Cambodia and Vietnam, and therefore very expensive…...go figure. However, expensive by Indian economy, to westerners who would shell out upwards of 30 quid a bottle, a fiver for a vial of pure oil is practically cost saving. I wonder why this hasn’t taken off back home.

As Rich’s last entry has told, we are off soon heading North. While I am very excited about the adventures that lie ahead for us, I believe I shall be heavy of heart in leaving Fort Kochi. The mixture of smells, both pungent and delightful will hang in my scent memory bank. The chaotic madness of the street that has become our own stomping ground, the deafening tooting of horns as all vehicles seem to drive at you, the random wandering goats and cows and the cheshire cat grins of the local stall holders from whom we buy our supplies. We are now a fixture and they shout their hellos as we pass by, even the auto-rickshaw drivers don’t try to do us with a daft fair, they sense we are practically locals and accept no nonsense. What will stay with me the most though is the unbelievable warmth and kindness of the people here. I have been completely overwhelmed and charmed by it. I have long stood by my patriotic belief that Glaswegians are amongst some of the friendliest folks you could find, back to the drawing boards guys, Keralans have got it squared away, and we have a long way to go.

One final note which is worth a mention to serve as a caveat to my lady friends, remember to pack a swimming costume when coming to India. Perhaps other parts cater better for western needs, but Kerala is sadly lacking. A foolish oversight in the packing stages left me without one. When we visited the beach last week I made do with a long t-shirt and modest hipster knickers (hidden by the t-shirt). It would seem immodest to don a bikini, quite apart from there being no other local women in the water. However, during a trip to the nearest big town I set about finding a suitable costume. This turned out to be a regular ‘Challenge Annika’. The limited supply we did find after much searching was choice to say the least. If you are brave enough to sport a full body suit finishing at the knees, or the more ‘fancy’ option which includes an 80’s ‘Ra-ra’ skirt of sorts, then you are sorted. Don’t even get me started on the fabrics, the floral prints were out of date, which is not to say they could pass as ‘Vintage’ by anyones’ imagination. So, after much rummaging I managed to find a happy medium...it does not quite finish at the knees, it is black and is only a little baggy on me. Hopefully those pictures will never surface.

Kochi Kulture

We now have less than 4 days remaining in Fort Cochin. On the 1st of Febuary we have tickets for the 8am train from Ernakulum to Kozhikode. From there we will take a bus up to Sultanbatheri, a town on the edge of Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary. Apart from being renowned for it’s spectacular beauty Wayanad also provides a good chance of seeing wild Elephant and a very slim chance of seeing a Tiger. We hope to spend a couple of days up there so finger crossed.

Fort Cochin really has been the perfect place to decompress. From what I have previously seen, heard and read about India Cochin and Kerala are not the usual fare, we expect much more hassle as we head north. Here however, even the limited hassle we do get is done in good sport and with a smile.

So what’s the story here, will the real Cochin please stand up. First up, we weren’t the first here, not even close. The first tourists came as long ago as 1000BC and may well have been the Chinese, who promptly swapped their cantilever fishing nets (see earlier photos) for some Elephant tusks and a sackful of curry powder. They perhaps exchanged knowing glances in the streets with Arabs and Romans, I guess the Lonely Planet Guide back then was less comprehensive than it is today so I imagine they probably shared tips on where to get the best deals on crafts and curios and how much they should pay for a Tuk Tuk to Mattancherry.

Given we are about to embark on a journey along the Silk Road it seems fitting that we have started here, at a staging post on perhaps the first route that Chinese ideas and knowledge made there way to the west.

The Europeans, led by Vasco De Gama, rocked up late to the party in 1498. They had put the Chinese fireworks they had bought off the Arab middlemen to good use however and gone and invented muskets and cannons. In true European fashion however, no sooner had they kicked the Arabs out than they started fighting each other. At one time or another the Portuguese, Dutch and British all held sway here and the town of Fort Cochin is a hotch potch of Dutch Palaces and Cemeteries, Portuguese Basilicas and of course perhaps the biggest give away to British influence is the fact that, like the rest of India, they drive on the left side of the road… except when they drive in the middle, or on the right, or at right angles to the rest of the traffic…

Pistols at dawn in those days however was not for control of the evil oil, no, the all consuming vice then was cinnamon sticks… a product worth fighting and dying for, after all, just imagine Apple Crumble without it! In all seriousness however, spices were big money and big money meant big power.

Kerala was spared the worst of the turmoil and horrific bloodshed that accompanied the British departure after World War II as communities in places like Bengal and the Punjab were ripped apart by brutal and widespread sectarian violence that claimed over half a million lives. Whilst other parts of India and Pakistan retain the mutual distrust and even hatred amongst different religions, Kerala seems blessed with blissful tolerance. Hindu’s, Muslim’s, Christian’s, Sikh’s, Jain’s and Jew’s all have places of worship in these parts and live side by side in apparent harmony. A lesson perhaps for others to consider.

The first freely elected communist government in the world came to power here in 1957 and the Che Guevara iconography and hammer and sickle graffiti are testament to it’s continued presence in local politics. The narrower poverty gap here might well be a result of these Marxist ideals and has certainly benefitted from a large and well educated Keralan expat community living and working for good money in the Arab states.

Keralan identity is not just a product of it’s influences however, traditional art forms and philosophies remain and provide undoubtedly the best of the cultural immersion to be had. Two nights ago we returned to the Keralan Kathakali Centre, where we had previously seen the Sitar Tabla (see earlier post). The main event was a Kathakali performance, all be it one dramatically shortened from it’s full 9 hours, to a foreigner friendly 45 minutes. The actual performance was preceded by a Kathakali for beginners briefing where we were given a demonstration of the subtleties of the art. There is no speaking by the actors during performances and all ‘dialogue’ is in the form of complex sign language and exaggerated facial expressions and eye movements that must require spectacular muscle gymnastics to pull off, it is not surprising that training for Kathakali takes 5 years!



Before this we were treated to watching the players put on their makeup, a process that took about 1 hour. This is a mesmerising metamorphosis however as the individual characters are revealed. If what happens on the stage during this time is not enough for you however, endless fun can be had watching the audience whose push and shove cut throat behaviour to secure the best photo vantage points like a paparazzi scrum is only matched by their incompetence behind the lens. I’m not bitter, honest, I just wish that some of them would invest as much time into learning how to use their cameras as they do money into buying the things in the first place. Either that or buy a point and shoot and donate the L series lenses to me instead;-)



Before all of that however is the best part of the night in my opinion, sadly watched by only a fraction of those that turned up for the Kathakali.

Kalarippayat is the local martial art, practiced and kept alive by only a small handful of individuals who are taught by their 60 year old master. In the past it was taught to all teenagers, both girls and boys, to maintain health and fitness, and to provide for defence of the self and defence of the state when required. With moves inspired by animals it combines a series of brutal holds, locks, kicks, punches, jumps and falls; the exploitation of agonising pressure points and a variety of serious weaponry including a vicious 3m long flail that looks like the offspring of a sword and a whip.

The demonstrations are blisteringly fast and we have been forewarned that the weapons are indeed real, any slight mistiming of the choreography and a hospital trip might well be in order. Whilst Yoga is not practised by any of the young adepts showing us their moves, the physical flexibility of it is surprisingly similar in many respects. Being bendy certainly has its advantages when the martial art itself is so raw. No pads or protection here, just hard grit and obvious but well endured pain. Talk about a school of hard knocks, these guys are seriously tough customers and being able to take a kicking seems like a prerequisite.

This little known martial art is however in desperate need of a break to ensure its survival. An endangered species of cultural tradition. Perhaps a Bollywood director, or an enlightened director from the west will chance upon this goldmine of exhilarating entertainment and the next Jet Li or Tony Jaa might well be a Keralan Fisherman by trade.

Charming indeed!

I could wax lyrical about what we saw this morning but I think the photos do it justice enough without words so I leave you with them only.

Vypeen Island

They say a change is as good as a rest. Well, all we have been doing is resting, so in our case a change was a very good thing indeed. For Jude’s birthday we decided to head north to Vypeen Island and Cherai Beach. This involved a short ferry crossing from Fort Cochin and a crazy 45 minute auto-rickshaw ride with lunatic overtaking manoeuvres and single lane bridge first to flinch shenanigans.

Cherai Beach is billed in Lonely Planet as ‘Kochi’s best-kept secret’, cue high expectations and inevitable initial disappointment. Lot’s of rubbish, especially plastic bottles, and a handful of overpriced, distinctly average, resort type accommodation litter a strip of sand whose only remarkable feature seems to be it’s truly remarkable length. Those of you who have been to Tai Long Wan in Hong Kong will understand why we felt so robbed. When you have had your own personal slice of paradise complete with gourmet noodle shacks and ice cold Tsing Dao’s a stones throw from your house your yard stick for beach quality becomes skewed towards the perfect. Like a couple grumbling spoilt brats we ambled up and the down the strip before settling on “Baywatch Restaurant” for lunch. It was at this point, or perhaps a little later... after the four Kingfisher Premiums had taken effect… that we began to slip into the right gear. Joseph, our affable waiter, had that uncanny knack of making you feel like it would be rude not to accept ‘one more beer’, even though we were paying for them.

The following morning we felt much better about the world, aside from the slight hangovers that is. After breakfast we wandered bare foot down the beach before taking a side road across the backwater lagoons that separate the sand from the rest of the island. Kingfishers, cormorants, egrets, herons and the local people were all busy catching fish in the rising heat of the day. We caught a couple of “Thums Up” lemonades at a roadside store instead and then a helpful gent gave us good beta on the village restaurant scene, result. We devoured parotta, popadums, beef curry and other tasty yet unknown spicy things as Joysen, our friendly guide who had worked as a refrigeration engineer in the fish industry in Uganda for 7 years, gave us the lowdown on all the local festivals and much needed tips on the correct way to wear a Lungi, the garment of choice for all the dapper chaps of Kerala. We opted for an auto-rickshaw instead of the walk back and once again fell into a lazy and beery afternoon session in Baywatch whose elevated, open sided, beach view restaurant with super comfy chairs catches the finest sea breeze in the world, why bother thinking about doing anything else when that combination is so unbeatable, yes please Joseph, one more Fingkisher thanks...

As it was Jude’s birthday we decided to head to the Cherai Beach Resort for dinner. This swanky place would have cost us the same for two nights stay as our flat costs for the entire month, but the Tandoor BBQ was not to be missed. Sadly, places that try this hard to be this nice usually end up missing out some crucial details. First up, no alcohol (something of a norm in Kerala but certainly a surprise in a hotel catering for tourists), second up, Nescafe?! There should be regulations about this sort of thing, I mean, honestly, forget the exquisitely folded napkins and picture perfect palm leaf thatched restaurant roof and sort out the freeze dried, instantly unsatisfying situation that is Nescafe. Despite having to gulp down the sickly, creamy filth they even have the audacity to serve in a coffee pot however, it has been a magnificent day. Especially after a couple more moonlit Kingfishers back at Baywatch;-)

p.s. One of the pictures is a close up of the hull of a fishing boat. Notice how the planks are stitched together! No nails used at all.

Ulsavam Festival

Here is a short clip of the Ulsavam Festival complete with... well, you can make your own mind up about the relative merits of the music involved.

5.45AM Alarm call. Many of the stall holders on our street have encouraged us to visit a local temple, which opens at 6.30AM of a morning. Rich is keen to get some ‘good light’ for his photos, so this seems ideal. After a rude awakening we make a coffee, dress and head out to investigate. Sadly the temple is not all ‘bells and whistles’ as we had hoped, it appears to be just a humble place for worship and prayer……..a vast contrast to the ornate and ostentatious temples we have been used to in Asia so far. Taking advantage of the early morning quiet, we set off on a gentle stroll around the back streets of our new neighbourhood.

From the main Amaravathy Road we turn left down ‘Sree Gopala Krishna’ where we stumble across another Hindu temple, of which the street is named after. Peering through the gates we happen to spy a solitary elephant skilfully stripping a coconut palm of its leaves. Wondering if this is the norm for local temples, we spot a poster with a picture of the elephant advertising some event. A curious local introduces himself as Satish, after the customary ‘Where are you coming from?’ he explains that today is the 8th and final day of the ‘Ulsavam’ festival for his God Krishna, and that there will be an elephant parade to celebrate. Admiring the delicate street paintings of powdered chalk he proudly explains that his son, Sanjay, is the artist. He ushers us further down the street to meet him. We watch as Sanjay effortlessly constructs another pattern outside the gate of his family home. He tells us he is in his 3rd year of studying Animation at Ernakulum college. Encouraged by our interest he rushes inside to get his drawings, most of which depict imagined scenes of animals and landscapes, one however is a representation of his God Krishna drawn in the Japanese ‘Manga’ style…...apparently this was a brief set from his college. He also tells us that he teaches some of the local children art classes. He explains that we should come back around 9.00AM to watch the elephants being dressed for the parade. We tell him we will.

We arrive back just in time to witness the now familiar elephant bathing. At only elephant number one we realise this could take some time….we head off to get some breakfast at ‘Febina Family Restaurant’. We discovered this treasure last night, for a snip we feasted on Butter Chicken and freshly made Porottas, it is very local and quite ‘spit and sawdust’ but so far we seem to have avoided any nasty repercussions. This morning we order omelettes, Chai and more Porottas. Rich takes the chance to capture the Porotta maker in full swing. Bellies full for about HKD15 we wander back to see how the elephants are getting on. Just in time, all 3 elephants are fully kitted out in ornate head-dresses, necklaces and silk piping ankle bracelets. A band of drummers and horn players have gathered and begin to play in front of the obedient chilled out creatures. The occasional blast of gunpowder leaves us and the ground shaken, but not so the elephants. This continues for some time, and sad to say was rather tuneless and repetitive to our untrained ears. At each crescendo the men atop the elephants stand and wave the parasols, raw wool pompoms and lollypop-like decorated discs. We make a note to find out the significance later. This display is repeated at each corner of the temple. Our friend Sanjay finds us again and with his glorious beaming smile explains that the street procession will begin some time later. Ears ringing we head off for another tea break.

Back at the temple for the start of the procession, a curious band of young boys make their introductions. The ubiquitous ‘Where are you coming from?’, to which I replied ‘the UK’. To their information hungry minds they continued probing with ‘England?’ ….now not one for splitting hairs, but since they asked, I reply ‘Scotland’. This is met with what I can only describe as the most obscure of statements, ‘Ah, Scotland, the land of cakes’. I wonder if I have misheard, but no it seems this really is true according to their General Studies class and their ‘Miss’ told them so. Some of the boys wander off to find more adventures elsewhere, but ten year old Ashwin and Adhul remain. They want to know ‘How do you like our land, our Kerala?’ I tell them I love their land, their Kerala. Their proud smiles tell me they like this response. It seems we are firm friends now. During the procession they return often with more anecdotes and questions. They are keen to strike a deal, Adhul offers me a 5 rupee coin in his outstretched hand. He wants to exchange it for a Scottish coin. I am genuinely disappointed I cannot meet their offer. I do however explain about Hong Kong and present him with some HKD2.00 coins. He seems pleased. I thank him but decline the exchange for his 5 rupee coin.

It seems lucky to touch and ride on the elephant. We watch in amazement as the now stationary creature instinctively raises his right rear leg to a 90 degree angle acting as a ‘stair lift’ in bringing the passengers to his mighty back. Unfazed by more drumming and the constant change of riders, his devoted handlers periodically pass him full hands of bananas.

Only 10 or so days into our stay, I am constantly amazed and humbled by the warmth and kindness of the Keralan people. As we spectate from the sidelines we are offered refreshing cups of lemon squash and mini bananas, just as the local neighbours are enjoying. Whilst we finish our drinks, Adhul and Ashwin appear at my side once again. Ashwin presses the 5 rupee coin into my hand, I feel ashamed they are giving this to me. Adhul sees my face trying to resist, and he gently encourages me ‘Take it, it may come in handy’ I laugh with relief and agree that yes, I shall take it, it may well come in handy. The boys walk back towards the temple with us, keen to practise their already fine grasp of English. I am truly pleased each time they return to my side.They are questioning us and offering useful pieces of information for our digestion. I am feeling quite overwhelmed and emotional and glad of my sunglasses to cover my welling eyes. Halfway back to the temple grounds the boys shake my hand and tell me they must be going home for now. They will be back for the procession later this evening, and want to know if we will return for it? We assure them that we will. Before they disappear down a narrow lane to their homes, Ashwin comes to my ear again and reminds me that we are very lucky to be visiting during January/February as this is their festival season. As I say my cheerios for now, I agree with him that yes we are lucky, very lucky indeed.

Elephant Training Centre

The festival season is hotting up in Kerala and where on earth do all the Hindu Temples go to get the sacred Elephants they need to paint and decorate to take part in all of the action? As it so happens they can pop down to their local Elephant dealership where for a suitable sum they can hire them for the day, a bit like a car, only with more poo.

We took a tour out to the Elephant Training Centre where young Elephants are taught the finer skills of being involved in a festival procession. Well, in actual fact only the male Elephants take part in festivals, the females are used for logging instead. In the Elephant world, as in the human world, it is the vain guys who swan about the place trying to look good whilst the girls do all the hard work!

A very early start and a long drive is required to fit in with the Elephants busy schedule. They take their baths early in the morning and this is the highlight of their day, and ours.

It is sad to see them in chains, their back legs tethered to each other. I could get all sentimental and judgmental about it but refrain from doing so. This is hundreds of years of cultural tradition at play here and who am I to question a different way of life, besides, if one of the Elephants did decide to have a temper tantrum it is reassuring to know that they will have a hard time catching me...

Later on this month I hope to be able to show you some pictures of an actual festival, for now you will just have to be content with the action taking place in the makeup room as they get themselves ready for the big day.

A Close Shave

The laziness continues as we mooch from home, to a cafe, to the internet place, to the grocery store and back home again. The fruit and veg stall owner nearby now recognises us and gives us a cheery wave as we pass by. It is all too easy to settle into this place and this lifestyle. It is important not to let yourself go however. There is no excuse for looking like a crusty dreadlocked hippy just because Goa is a mere stones throw away. There is also no need to with a good selection of “Gent’s Beauty Parlours” on offer.

I settle into the 100 year old leather barbers chair, ask for a trim and tidy and hand my welfare over to the friendly proprietor. This is the third time in my life I have had a cut throat razor shave and despite what you may think I find there is something profoundly relaxing about letting a perfect stranger near your jugular with a fresh blade. No Mach 3 technical wizardry can get you as close as this and let’s be fair, shaving is a metaphorical and quite often literal pain in the neck when I do it myself. In the hands of a consummate professional however it is a treat to be savoured, and one I intend to indulge in regularly over the next 9 months. Perhaps I should write a book… 80 Shaves Around The World!?

Sitar Video

A bit late but here are some clips of the Sitarfest.

Easing on in to a laid back lifestyle. We are gradually getting our new pad sorted so that it is more comfortable. Have found a Yoga place nearby so intend to go there for a couple of hours of torture tomorrow...

Along the shore of Fort Cochin are some "Chinese" fishing nets. Apparently brought here by Kublai Khan... thought that would make them Mongolian but there you go. They must have been a mission to build but once up they seem to make fishing pretty easy. That said, modern fishing methods and the effects of the Tsunami have apparently ruined the business. Luckily for them however they are pretty good at getting tourists to pay for the chance to do some fishing of their own. I bet that makes more money than selling fish.

Jude and I managed to catch a couple of White Mullet, which we then had to pay for(!) which we then took to a local eatery who grilled them up with garlic, lemon and ginger... and a side order of fries. Not very traditional I guess but tasty none the less.

It’s the first day of approximately 270 days or more… It still doesn’t feel real. 6 years of work, stress, long hours, deadlines and responsibility begin to fall away leaving me slightly numb and confused. I am suffering from culture shock, not from being in India, but from not being in Hong Kong, from not having a job or any thing to plan or do for the next month or so…

After a spectacular lie in we are drunk on sleep. In a daze we stumble through the streets of Fort Cochin to the Kashi Art Cafe, a peaceful haven of strong coffee and smokey Parisienne Jazz. With blood sugar and caffeine levels back to normal we are ready to take on the challenge of finding a flat to live in.

For the bargain price of 10000 Rupees (2000HKD or 150 pounds) per month we secure our pad. Central location, fully furnished, all mod cons, bed, kitchen, lounge, and clean toilet. Kovil Home-stay will indeed be our home rather than just a place to crash.






With all the chores done we go in search of some culture and follow the street side posters to a Sitar Tabla evening at the Kerala Kathakali Centre. The Sitar Guru wears his required beard with suitable panache. He is playing a 20 string Sitar and is accompanied by a young Tabla protege with the fastest fingers in the East keeping time on two small and simple drums from which he is able to extract an amazing variety of sounds.

Along with perhaps the scent of incense nothing is more evocative of the spirit of India as the transcendental sound of the Sitar. It is not difficult to imagine why George Harrison became so enraptured by it.

The intensity and spiritual connection with the music is evident in the posture and faces of the performers. The Sitar player’s eyes roll back to white in his skull and he lifts his head to the ceiling as if he is entering a meditative state. Perhaps it is the spiritual side of Indian music like this that separates it from the decidedly material and capitalist roots of modern western music. This is music of the past, historical and yet also contemporary, timeless, eternal.

The concentration of the Tabla player is belied by his closed eyes. It is an act of muscle memory; his hands feeling their way around the skins as he is caught in a frenzy of rhythm and ever increasing pace as the session hurtles to its beguiling climax. As the advert claims, so it is true, “Incredible India”.

Post One

Just a quick post to let you all know that we are now in Fort Cochin, Kerala, India. We have rented a flat for a month and are settling into a relaxing lifestyle of cruising around and not doing a great deal. Tomorrow I will be updating some of the photos and experiences of the last few days. Until then then...