So we are nearing the end of our trip, Patrick and I. I have been under the weather for a while but am now quite recovered. My attempts to meet with and participate with schools have not been very successful. But I wanted to describe a little bit a wonderful experience for us yesterday. We managed to be offered an audience - darshan - with the Jadaguru of the North who is staying in Varanasi while he is recovering from pneumaonia. We offered him fruit which he received very graciously before returning a piece to each of us as prasad - blessing. He is an older man with flowing grey hair and beard - stronly build and a radiant and warm but strong face. He immediately made us feel comfortable by talkinfg of spirirtual matters which would be familiar to us. He then repeated several times that man is not God but when the light of God shines through hime he is not other than God. Two of his disciples tried to rephrase this to make sure that we understood. I ventured that it was similar to Jesus saying "Why callest thou me good ...and they immediately concurred finishing the biblical quotation for me. The Sage, whose name I do not know even yet, invited us to have breakfast which was received from the hands of one of his chief disciples. It was a simple dish of rice balls mixed in rice with herbs and spices. After this encounter and bidding farewell to the Spanish Gentleman who had effected the introduction we retraced our steps down beside a temple and onto the ghats - the bathing steps which form thethe city side of the river Ganges. It was still early morning anfd a huge amount of activity with people bathing, chanting, teaching, and vendors setting up for the days business - also children going to school.
Today we have just gotten back from a visit to the Deer Park where the Buddha gave his first sermons just 8 miles from Varanasi. It is a Peaceful spot which was as well after the hectic drive throught the noise and dirt and chaos of the traffic. It appears the the two strams of opposite moving traffic are like streams of water which spread out and run together and one has to remind oneself that these streams are composed of steel and flesh and blodd.
Matthew Signing off
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Linda, Fort Cochin (Kochi): A Walk into Medieval Europe
Fort Cochin (Kochi) – A Walk into Medieval Europe
Our last days in Kerala are spent here in the old trading port of Fort Cochin, the old part of the modern city of Kochi. It reminds me a little of the layout of Istanbul, where the old part of town is relatively intact and the modern city farther away - in this case, over a bridge away. Visitors can stay in lovely, restored homes or mansions and visit all the old places of interest, along windy streets small enough that only bicycles and autorickshaw and small cars are seen, all within a few blocks. It really is a walk in old Europe, just wandering the streets. Each boutique or café is an example of the old architecture and woodwork from centuries ago, different doors holding a different surprise inside. It doesn’t feel much like India, except for the saris of the local people and despite seeing a Bollywood film being recorded on the streets – and there are many tourists (and many sellers of things – again, having the sari is saving us a lot of "selling"). The city actually has two older parts, nearby Mattancherry, with its old Jewish section and synagogue as well as a Jain temple and Fort Cochin. Another unique feature of Fort Cochin are the old Chinese fishing nets still in daily use along the sea side - Eleanor and Matthew had the opportunity to help lower one of these nets!. These have many arched poles (like and octopus) operated by weights and levers and are efficient means for gathering fish, requiring at least four men to operate. It is said that the idea came with trading with Kubla Khan in the 1400’s. At 5:00 in the evening, the streets are lined with lovely fish, octopus, squid, all sizes and shapes, packed in ice and ready for sale.
Our first area of exploration was around our hotel. We stayed in a lovely room on Princess Street, the oldest street in the city. Shoes were left at the door, and the proprietor was a kind and gracious gentleman of great dignity. We are treated with such kindness and respect, partly because the people here are so kind and gracious and partly out of appreciation for our dress. We could only stay there one night and moved next door to the home of Walton and his family. Again, a wonderful family of Anglo-Indian descent and a Christian. Walton has been very helpful in getting a violin for Eleanor. He called a friend of his who teaches classical Western music who put us in touch with a good shop via our first trip on the local, city buses. Then, once at the shop, we called the music teacher who spoke to the clerks to make sure we were given good choices and prices. Truly, I am being given many, many lessons in the art of giving. Eleanor and I are invited, violin in hand, to meet the music teacher this evening. He was very excited to know that Eleanor had an extensive background. SO, our first real invitation to an Indian home!
Kochi was founded in 1341 when a flood created a natural safe port. In 1405, the royal family made it their new base, after which the city expanded rapidly, attracting Christian, Jewish, and Arab settlers. It was here, in the early 1500’s, that Vasco de Gama landed in his historic voyage from Portugal. He was buried here in 1524 for 14 years in the Church of St. Francis, the oldest church in India and built in 1503, and the title deeds, written on palm leaf, are still kept inside. The church’s original wood structure was replaced by stone in mid 1500’s. The façade, with its multi-curved sides became the model for most Christian churches in India. After 14 years, de Gama's remains were taken to Portugal, where they are to this day. The tombstone showing his place of rest is still to be seen in the church, as are many, many old tombstones, going back well into the 1500’s. The tombstones, like tombstones everywhere, reflect the history of this interesting area. The oldest tombstones have shields engraved on top with the heraldic devices of the knight the stone was commemorating. The words are chiseled in Latin, in the large, clear letters of the medieval period. Then, in 1663, the Dutch East India Company took over the area. All the churches and convents, with the exception of St. Francis, were destroyed. New tombstones were laid in the church – now in Dutch and with rounder script. The church became Anglican in 1795 and since 1949 has been attached to the Church of South India. The church is a simple and beautiful structure, with a lovely alter area and cross in stained glass above.
The other main church here in Old Fort Cochin is the Santa Cruz Cathedral. It is a Catholic Church, newly built in 1902 on the site of an old church. For me, it was an interesting surprise, as the church has retained its Portuguese flavor, including a shrine to Our Lady of Fatima, a miraculous apparition of the Blessed Virgin in Portugal around 1917. It is this area from which my family came and the church I attended as a small child was also dedicated to her. Many, many of the old people in my neighborhood in Massachusetts had either seen, or had family who saw, this apparition, so she was a very important part of our community. And here she was again! It was a little like going home, and my childhood swelled up and gushed forth. Eleanor handed me a candle, and a prayer was said for our loved ones at home, especially those in great need. The church is done in pastel colors in a Indo-Romano-Rococo style of decoration, with the whirling sun of the apparition behind the altar. The church has a convent school attached. As we entered the courtyard of the church, the children were at lunch and several girls waved and greeted us in their sing-song voices. When we left, I heard them doing group recitation of rote lessons, something quite different from the way we teach in America now. The church schools are one of the better educational establishments in India, outside of the expensive, elite schools (1000 rupee spending money each day – about $25 in US) also available. The government schools, as mentioned earlier, tend to be very poor in quality and families will do all they can to scrape together the money to send their children to school. Hearing the voices of the children added to the sense of homesickness – I’m certainly missing my little ones back home! Eleanor, too, is relishing in the wonder, but also feels the loss of the company of those dear to her. Travel gives much, and one thing is a sense of the beauty and love that is one’s home.
The other area near Fort Cochin is Mattancherry. This is where the old Jewish quarter is, already discussed a little earlier, and again, reminiscent of the Jewish quarter in Istanbul. I remember seeing some of the little screened balconies in Chennai, and wonder if that was once part of a Jewish quarter there. The Jewish Synagogue was founded in 1568 and rebuilt in 1664. Unfortunately, our visit corresponded to Sabbath so we were not able to see the inside. The floor is said to have hand-painted 18th century blue and white tiles from Canton, each antique, and depicting a love affair between a mandarin’s daughter and a commoner. One wonders what the story was behind this, as I am sure there is one. The Mattancherry Palace is also near this area. It is known locally as the Dutch Palace and was erected by the Portuguese as a gift to the Cochin raja in 1537 (after the Portuguese had plundered the nearby temple), though the Dutch did add onto the building. The squat exterior is not striking, but the interior is adorned with murals, some of the finest examples of Kerala’s school of painting, illustrating stories from the Ramayana on the first floor (16th century). These are very detailed and rich in color and is never strictly naturalistic, with facial features pared down to the simplest of lines for the mouths and aquiline noses. Naturalistic painting of sacred things takes away from the mystery and majesty of the sacred, something medieval Christian art knew well and was more or less lost during the Renaissance. The paintings are the highlight of the palace, but the collection also include old maps (I love maps), coronation robes, royal palanquins, weapons, and furniture. Photography prohibited. I was interested in looking at some of the black and white photographs of the family from the early 1800's to the mid 1900's. Except for the raja, the rest of the family (brothers, sisters, mother, aunts, uncles) were dressed in very simple white doti's. The women's was pulled up over the breasts - I think as a concession to the Western photographer. Eleanor heard a guide say that wearing clothing above the waist was "outlawed" (or not done) until 1858 when the Victorian British government took over India. In this hot climate with its accent on beauty and dignity, it's not at all surprising that simplicity in dress was a norm.
Also nearby is a Jain temple, very peaceful except at noon, when a loud bell rings to announce the daily feeding of the local pigeons. Anyone around is encouraged to help dish out grain to the hungry birds. The Jain religion began at about the same time as Buddhism (same century) and has a strong code of non-violence. Leather articles remain outside the temple. It had closed at 12:30, which we had not realized, and we were not even able to take a photograph.
Next stop: a few hours in Delhi as we indulge in a plane flight to Varanasi. 3 days on a train did not seem like a good use of time for Matthew and Patrick, who will leave in 10 days AND have another 2 day train ride from Varanasi back to Chennai. So… train travel delayed … again. But coming!
Our last days in Kerala are spent here in the old trading port of Fort Cochin, the old part of the modern city of Kochi. It reminds me a little of the layout of Istanbul, where the old part of town is relatively intact and the modern city farther away - in this case, over a bridge away. Visitors can stay in lovely, restored homes or mansions and visit all the old places of interest, along windy streets small enough that only bicycles and autorickshaw and small cars are seen, all within a few blocks. It really is a walk in old Europe, just wandering the streets. Each boutique or café is an example of the old architecture and woodwork from centuries ago, different doors holding a different surprise inside. It doesn’t feel much like India, except for the saris of the local people and despite seeing a Bollywood film being recorded on the streets – and there are many tourists (and many sellers of things – again, having the sari is saving us a lot of "selling"). The city actually has two older parts, nearby Mattancherry, with its old Jewish section and synagogue as well as a Jain temple and Fort Cochin. Another unique feature of Fort Cochin are the old Chinese fishing nets still in daily use along the sea side - Eleanor and Matthew had the opportunity to help lower one of these nets!. These have many arched poles (like and octopus) operated by weights and levers and are efficient means for gathering fish, requiring at least four men to operate. It is said that the idea came with trading with Kubla Khan in the 1400’s. At 5:00 in the evening, the streets are lined with lovely fish, octopus, squid, all sizes and shapes, packed in ice and ready for sale.
Our first area of exploration was around our hotel. We stayed in a lovely room on Princess Street, the oldest street in the city. Shoes were left at the door, and the proprietor was a kind and gracious gentleman of great dignity. We are treated with such kindness and respect, partly because the people here are so kind and gracious and partly out of appreciation for our dress. We could only stay there one night and moved next door to the home of Walton and his family. Again, a wonderful family of Anglo-Indian descent and a Christian. Walton has been very helpful in getting a violin for Eleanor. He called a friend of his who teaches classical Western music who put us in touch with a good shop via our first trip on the local, city buses. Then, once at the shop, we called the music teacher who spoke to the clerks to make sure we were given good choices and prices. Truly, I am being given many, many lessons in the art of giving. Eleanor and I are invited, violin in hand, to meet the music teacher this evening. He was very excited to know that Eleanor had an extensive background. SO, our first real invitation to an Indian home!
Kochi was founded in 1341 when a flood created a natural safe port. In 1405, the royal family made it their new base, after which the city expanded rapidly, attracting Christian, Jewish, and Arab settlers. It was here, in the early 1500’s, that Vasco de Gama landed in his historic voyage from Portugal. He was buried here in 1524 for 14 years in the Church of St. Francis, the oldest church in India and built in 1503, and the title deeds, written on palm leaf, are still kept inside. The church’s original wood structure was replaced by stone in mid 1500’s. The façade, with its multi-curved sides became the model for most Christian churches in India. After 14 years, de Gama's remains were taken to Portugal, where they are to this day. The tombstone showing his place of rest is still to be seen in the church, as are many, many old tombstones, going back well into the 1500’s. The tombstones, like tombstones everywhere, reflect the history of this interesting area. The oldest tombstones have shields engraved on top with the heraldic devices of the knight the stone was commemorating. The words are chiseled in Latin, in the large, clear letters of the medieval period. Then, in 1663, the Dutch East India Company took over the area. All the churches and convents, with the exception of St. Francis, were destroyed. New tombstones were laid in the church – now in Dutch and with rounder script. The church became Anglican in 1795 and since 1949 has been attached to the Church of South India. The church is a simple and beautiful structure, with a lovely alter area and cross in stained glass above.
The other main church here in Old Fort Cochin is the Santa Cruz Cathedral. It is a Catholic Church, newly built in 1902 on the site of an old church. For me, it was an interesting surprise, as the church has retained its Portuguese flavor, including a shrine to Our Lady of Fatima, a miraculous apparition of the Blessed Virgin in Portugal around 1917. It is this area from which my family came and the church I attended as a small child was also dedicated to her. Many, many of the old people in my neighborhood in Massachusetts had either seen, or had family who saw, this apparition, so she was a very important part of our community. And here she was again! It was a little like going home, and my childhood swelled up and gushed forth. Eleanor handed me a candle, and a prayer was said for our loved ones at home, especially those in great need. The church is done in pastel colors in a Indo-Romano-Rococo style of decoration, with the whirling sun of the apparition behind the altar. The church has a convent school attached. As we entered the courtyard of the church, the children were at lunch and several girls waved and greeted us in their sing-song voices. When we left, I heard them doing group recitation of rote lessons, something quite different from the way we teach in America now. The church schools are one of the better educational establishments in India, outside of the expensive, elite schools (1000 rupee spending money each day – about $25 in US) also available. The government schools, as mentioned earlier, tend to be very poor in quality and families will do all they can to scrape together the money to send their children to school. Hearing the voices of the children added to the sense of homesickness – I’m certainly missing my little ones back home! Eleanor, too, is relishing in the wonder, but also feels the loss of the company of those dear to her. Travel gives much, and one thing is a sense of the beauty and love that is one’s home.
The other area near Fort Cochin is Mattancherry. This is where the old Jewish quarter is, already discussed a little earlier, and again, reminiscent of the Jewish quarter in Istanbul. I remember seeing some of the little screened balconies in Chennai, and wonder if that was once part of a Jewish quarter there. The Jewish Synagogue was founded in 1568 and rebuilt in 1664. Unfortunately, our visit corresponded to Sabbath so we were not able to see the inside. The floor is said to have hand-painted 18th century blue and white tiles from Canton, each antique, and depicting a love affair between a mandarin’s daughter and a commoner. One wonders what the story was behind this, as I am sure there is one. The Mattancherry Palace is also near this area. It is known locally as the Dutch Palace and was erected by the Portuguese as a gift to the Cochin raja in 1537 (after the Portuguese had plundered the nearby temple), though the Dutch did add onto the building. The squat exterior is not striking, but the interior is adorned with murals, some of the finest examples of Kerala’s school of painting, illustrating stories from the Ramayana on the first floor (16th century). These are very detailed and rich in color and is never strictly naturalistic, with facial features pared down to the simplest of lines for the mouths and aquiline noses. Naturalistic painting of sacred things takes away from the mystery and majesty of the sacred, something medieval Christian art knew well and was more or less lost during the Renaissance. The paintings are the highlight of the palace, but the collection also include old maps (I love maps), coronation robes, royal palanquins, weapons, and furniture. Photography prohibited. I was interested in looking at some of the black and white photographs of the family from the early 1800's to the mid 1900's. Except for the raja, the rest of the family (brothers, sisters, mother, aunts, uncles) were dressed in very simple white doti's. The women's was pulled up over the breasts - I think as a concession to the Western photographer. Eleanor heard a guide say that wearing clothing above the waist was "outlawed" (or not done) until 1858 when the Victorian British government took over India. In this hot climate with its accent on beauty and dignity, it's not at all surprising that simplicity in dress was a norm.
Also nearby is a Jain temple, very peaceful except at noon, when a loud bell rings to announce the daily feeding of the local pigeons. Anyone around is encouraged to help dish out grain to the hungry birds. The Jain religion began at about the same time as Buddhism (same century) and has a strong code of non-violence. Leather articles remain outside the temple. It had closed at 12:30, which we had not realized, and we were not even able to take a photograph.
Next stop: a few hours in Delhi as we indulge in a plane flight to Varanasi. 3 days on a train did not seem like a good use of time for Matthew and Patrick, who will leave in 10 days AND have another 2 day train ride from Varanasi back to Chennai. So… train travel delayed … again. But coming!
1-22-09 The Beach Incident
We arose around 7:30, which seems to be becoming part of our routine, and had a lovely, large breakfast before returning our houseboat to the dock. There were so many boats that there was no space on the dock itself. We had to pass through two other boats before we reached dry land. I wasn’t feeling too well at this point, an unfortunate combination of eating something that didn’t agree with me and stuffing my face. But we decided to go to the beach anyway. Luckily, we were allowed to leave ou luggage at the Vrunsdavanam Hotel even though we’d already checked out.
The beach was extraordinary. Dad made a few comments about how good an investment it would be to buy some real estate and build up some resort, but mom did not approve. Patrick said that someone at the hotel had said this was likely to happen in the next few years, which is too bad. The entire beach was almost deserted. I really wanted to go for a swim but had not brought a swimsuit because they are not considered decent. This forethought, however, had unfortunate results.
I decided to wear just the tunic of my Shalwar Kamees and my underwear - no bra because they take forever to dry – and that was I would still have dry pants when I was finished and could dry off a bit with my shawl. I happily ran into the water. It was sheer bliss. There was a slight undertow but nothing unmanageable. The water was warm, the waves perfect, and I was having a grand time. My queasy stomach was completely forgotten for a time. Mom and Patrick were still on dry land, so I tried to convince them to join me and Dad, but to no avail.
I ran back to the water, intent on trying to body surf. This was my undoing. It went well the first few times, but then I caught a wave wrong and got absolutely pounded into the sand. Being pounded is a very unpleasant experience and I don’t recommend it. I landed on my head - which could have been dangerous but I got lucky – and scraped up my face, knees and shoulders. It only took half a second to assess the damage as I struggled to get up out of the continuous roll of waves. I was virtually unhurt, but my clothes were ruined. The tunic had ripped all the way up the right side, from bottom hem to sleeve, and I was lying on a beach in India in all my glory with small wavelets still tugging gently on my ruined clothes.
Dad had seen my failed attempt at body surfing and my accidental flashing of the whole beach (I was VERY glad at this point for whatever inexplicable reason made this beach unpopular. You must remember – no bra) I told him I was fine, but explained to him the clothes situation, all the while holding my ruined tunic around me. He handed me a safety pin he had in his pocket and I tried to place it in the most discreet position possible so I could climb, humiliated, out of the water to my bag, where more safety pins awaited. But I was still standing in the exact wrong spot of the ocean. Just as I almost had the pin fixed, Dad yelled at me to look out. I pulled the pin out just in time to avoid getting stuck as I, once again, tumbled into the sand, forced down by the crushing weight of water. I then merely wrapped my tunic around me and trudged, defeated, back up the beach to our camp under the shady palm trees, where I fixed my clothes as well as I could.
I spent the next hour sitting and standing in the sun, making sand castles, and staring jealously at my brother, who had finally ventured into the warm waves. Still, all in all it was a fantastic two hours at the beach. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and have, more or less, given up my original mortification in favor of the obvious humor of the situation.
After the beach incident, we went back to the hotel, had some coffee, got our bags, and rode to the bus station in two rickshaws. (I got changed too, but no one else did.) We had some difficulty in finding the correct bus, but did eventually. They leave every 20 minutes for Kochi, so even though we missed at least one, there were plenty of others. The bus ride was rather unpleasant for me because my stomach began to bother me again.
The beach was extraordinary. Dad made a few comments about how good an investment it would be to buy some real estate and build up some resort, but mom did not approve. Patrick said that someone at the hotel had said this was likely to happen in the next few years, which is too bad. The entire beach was almost deserted. I really wanted to go for a swim but had not brought a swimsuit because they are not considered decent. This forethought, however, had unfortunate results.
I decided to wear just the tunic of my Shalwar Kamees and my underwear - no bra because they take forever to dry – and that was I would still have dry pants when I was finished and could dry off a bit with my shawl. I happily ran into the water. It was sheer bliss. There was a slight undertow but nothing unmanageable. The water was warm, the waves perfect, and I was having a grand time. My queasy stomach was completely forgotten for a time. Mom and Patrick were still on dry land, so I tried to convince them to join me and Dad, but to no avail.
I ran back to the water, intent on trying to body surf. This was my undoing. It went well the first few times, but then I caught a wave wrong and got absolutely pounded into the sand. Being pounded is a very unpleasant experience and I don’t recommend it. I landed on my head - which could have been dangerous but I got lucky – and scraped up my face, knees and shoulders. It only took half a second to assess the damage as I struggled to get up out of the continuous roll of waves. I was virtually unhurt, but my clothes were ruined. The tunic had ripped all the way up the right side, from bottom hem to sleeve, and I was lying on a beach in India in all my glory with small wavelets still tugging gently on my ruined clothes.
Dad had seen my failed attempt at body surfing and my accidental flashing of the whole beach (I was VERY glad at this point for whatever inexplicable reason made this beach unpopular. You must remember – no bra) I told him I was fine, but explained to him the clothes situation, all the while holding my ruined tunic around me. He handed me a safety pin he had in his pocket and I tried to place it in the most discreet position possible so I could climb, humiliated, out of the water to my bag, where more safety pins awaited. But I was still standing in the exact wrong spot of the ocean. Just as I almost had the pin fixed, Dad yelled at me to look out. I pulled the pin out just in time to avoid getting stuck as I, once again, tumbled into the sand, forced down by the crushing weight of water. I then merely wrapped my tunic around me and trudged, defeated, back up the beach to our camp under the shady palm trees, where I fixed my clothes as well as I could.
I spent the next hour sitting and standing in the sun, making sand castles, and staring jealously at my brother, who had finally ventured into the warm waves. Still, all in all it was a fantastic two hours at the beach. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and have, more or less, given up my original mortification in favor of the obvious humor of the situation.
After the beach incident, we went back to the hotel, had some coffee, got our bags, and rode to the bus station in two rickshaws. (I got changed too, but no one else did.) We had some difficulty in finding the correct bus, but did eventually. They leave every 20 minutes for Kochi, so even though we missed at least one, there were plenty of others. The bus ride was rather unpleasant for me because my stomach began to bother me again.
1-21-09
In the late morning, we set off on a houseboat. This was the real reason we came to Aleppi – to travel the backwaters of Kerala in a houseboat. It was wonderful. It is clean, comfortable, and totally relaxing. I got in some quality sunbathing on the top deck. The food was incredible and there was lots of it. I was stuffed at the end of every meal.
After we had docked in the evening, but before dinner was served, Dad and I went on a canoe tour of a village. Canoes are really the way to get around here. We saw a group of kids taking the school boat to school, rather than the school bus. The village was simple, but nice. We passed by women doing their washing in the river, children playing, men working. Once we got out of the main canal, the small canal we were on was so overhung with trees that it was quite shady. There were parts that were so covered in water plants that it became extremely difficult to row.
Sunset was extraordinary. I went a little crazy trying to capture on camera the line of palm trees and picturesque houseboats separating the bright, warm colors streaking the sky and the same colors reflected in the still waters of the canal. It was beautiful.
The boat that had docked next to us, unfortunately, left its generator running for a large part of the night. Mom and I drowned out the noise with a fan, which was necessary anyway because it can be so stuffy inside mosquito nets.
After we had docked in the evening, but before dinner was served, Dad and I went on a canoe tour of a village. Canoes are really the way to get around here. We saw a group of kids taking the school boat to school, rather than the school bus. The village was simple, but nice. We passed by women doing their washing in the river, children playing, men working. Once we got out of the main canal, the small canal we were on was so overhung with trees that it was quite shady. There were parts that were so covered in water plants that it became extremely difficult to row.
Sunset was extraordinary. I went a little crazy trying to capture on camera the line of palm trees and picturesque houseboats separating the bright, warm colors streaking the sky and the same colors reflected in the still waters of the canal. It was beautiful.
The boat that had docked next to us, unfortunately, left its generator running for a large part of the night. Mom and I drowned out the noise with a fan, which was necessary anyway because it can be so stuffy inside mosquito nets.
1-20-09
We took a taxi from Kumily to Aleppi today. I am sorry to see this city go. It was the first place I could really feel at home. Ah well, moving on. Aleppi is nice as far as cities go. It is, however, at a much lower elevation than Kumily and near a bunch of canals. It’s also the first place to provide mosquito nets. This was worrying, but it isn’t so bad. (Coming from me, this means a lot. I am plagued by mosquitoes wherever I go.) Our hotel room is enormous- it is the family special. There is one giant room with a couch, a bed, and a table with chairs, plus lots of space to spare. There’s another room attached with another bed. At first glance, it looked lovely. After we really looked around though, Patrick decided somebody had been murdered there (I’m not quite sure why), Mom admitted that it was a bit creepy, and I was rather afraid of the massive amounts of dust. However, I hardly got allergies and I had no asthma whatsoever! Hooray, that homeopathy seems to be working! I think it was just our room that was bad. The other ones seemed fine, but we had already moved in. It was more expensive to get two small rooms than this suite, anyway. It was fine for one night.
There is a pet eagle in the garden. It is beautiful. When it preened itself, a few feathers fell out, so I picked them up and stuck them between the pages of my journal as a memento. I can’t bring them home, though, because it is illegal to own eagle feathers in the US. We asked one of the employees how they came to get a pet eagle. He said that when the eagle was young it flew into their garden, pursued by a flock of crows. They protected it, sheltered it, and fed it, so it stayed.
There is a pet eagle in the garden. It is beautiful. When it preened itself, a few feathers fell out, so I picked them up and stuck them between the pages of my journal as a memento. I can’t bring them home, though, because it is illegal to own eagle feathers in the US. We asked one of the employees how they came to get a pet eagle. He said that when the eagle was young it flew into their garden, pursued by a flock of crows. They protected it, sheltered it, and fed it, so it stayed.
1-19-09
Today is a rest day for all of us, except Patrick who is getting in some work. Mom and I went to a tailor to get sari blouses made, so we fit in more, but they were closed because Mondays are holidays in this part of Kerela. However, they said that one tailor was still open and gave us directions. So we walked to the new place, got measured, and the head tailor said we could return at 5:00. I am very excited about getting my very own sari blouse. None of Mom’s fit me. We saw an internet café, so we decided to spend an hour there, reading emails and checking up on things at home. I was feeling homesick, so I looked at a bunch of photos of Matteo, Sofia, and Zachu, some children I babysit. This only made it worse – much worse. By the time we left the café (we actually got locked in for awhile) I was a wreck. I had no idea I would miss them so much! I definitely miss them more than anyone else back home. (Sorry, no offense to anyone) I think it is because, in every other relationship I have, I am on equal footing with the other person or they are in a more maternal/paternal position, but with these three, I am the caretaker. I have also known each one of them since they were born and have watched them grow and change since that time. I was surprised to realize how completely I love them. I don’t suppose I can explain this to anyone who hasn’t already felt something similar. All I can say is that, although I already knew before this that I loved them, this was the point of no return, and I will feel the same way about them till the day I die.
I have now, officially, decided to go to IU instead of Notre Dame!! You can blame it on the three children mentioned above. (Among other things)
Mom wanted to get a sari ironed before lunch, so we stopped by a roadside ironing stall. The iron was old-fashioned (as in, not electric), but it was not heated on a stove like the typical old European iron. The inside was hollow and coals were placed inside. Mom and I decided that this is a better way of doing things. I is more efficient, the heating is more even, and no ash gets on the clothes. These irons also work better than electric irons, although they’re probably harder to use. But they certainly straitened out crinkles much more quickly.
After we ate lunch, Mom and I went to a spice plantation. Mom stole my journal to take notes, but I suppose that’s alright. She thoroughly enjoyed herself. Being the herbalist, Mom understood and absorbed much more than I did. But I do remember that the Pepper is called the King of spices and that the three types of pepper – green, white, and black – come from the same plant, but are prepared differently. Green pepper is pickled in brine, white pepper is soaked in water and has the husk removed before being dried in the sun, and black pepper is simply dried in the sun after it is picked. Cardamom is the Queen of spices and vanilla is the Prince, but there is no Princess. I also discovered a new plant to devour. It is called Stevia and its leaves are as sweet as sugar. It’s delicious.
I have now, officially, decided to go to IU instead of Notre Dame!! You can blame it on the three children mentioned above. (Among other things)
Mom wanted to get a sari ironed before lunch, so we stopped by a roadside ironing stall. The iron was old-fashioned (as in, not electric), but it was not heated on a stove like the typical old European iron. The inside was hollow and coals were placed inside. Mom and I decided that this is a better way of doing things. I is more efficient, the heating is more even, and no ash gets on the clothes. These irons also work better than electric irons, although they’re probably harder to use. But they certainly straitened out crinkles much more quickly.
After we ate lunch, Mom and I went to a spice plantation. Mom stole my journal to take notes, but I suppose that’s alright. She thoroughly enjoyed herself. Being the herbalist, Mom understood and absorbed much more than I did. But I do remember that the Pepper is called the King of spices and that the three types of pepper – green, white, and black – come from the same plant, but are prepared differently. Green pepper is pickled in brine, white pepper is soaked in water and has the husk removed before being dried in the sun, and black pepper is simply dried in the sun after it is picked. Cardamom is the Queen of spices and vanilla is the Prince, but there is no Princess. I also discovered a new plant to devour. It is called Stevia and its leaves are as sweet as sugar. It’s delicious.
1-18-09
Today, we went on the bamboo rafting tour. It lasted all day and involved a short hike, breakfast, a ride in a bamboo raft, more hiking, lunch, more rafting, and more hiking. I really enjoyed myself, despite the sunburn I (amazingly) acquired. I generally tan without burning, but Mom says a slight burn is quite becoming on me. It was very nice to relax on the raft, gliding across the lake while the guides did all the work paddling. We saw quite a lot of animals, from squirrels to elephants. One of the guides said we had a lucky day for sightings. Mom went crazy looking at the tracks in the dried mud – there were perfect conditions. There was one guide who was excellent at identifying animal tracks, scat, etc. I enjoyed looking at tracks and seeing who had been there before me as well. We even got to see a few tiger tracks but, unfortunately or fortunately, not the tiger who made them. I think we came quite close to seeing a tiger, though. We heard something growling behind the treeline, which the guide said was probably a tiger, but could also be a wild boar or a bear. It was probably only 30 feet away, at the most (I don’t know how well tiger roars carry through jungles) but some of the people made way too much noise and moved around a lot which is, of course, the last thing that will earn you an animal sighting. I was furious and frustrated because I’d really been hoping to see a tiger. To vent my fury, I spent the next 45 minutes or so thinking up all the evil things I could say on this blog. But they are quite rude and my temper has cooled somewhat so I won’t say anything. ( I actually typed out an “except that” end to the previous sentence, but deleted it. This was very difficult for me.)
To make up for not seeing a tiger in the “Periyar Tiger Reserve”, we did see lots of other wildlife. There were several pigs, both a number of lone ones and a large family. There was also a herd of buffalo, many varieties of birds, two squirrels (which are much larger than those in the US), and possibly 10 wild elephants. I especially enjoyed the elephants. Animals aside, however, it was a lovely day, with beautiful countryside to be traversed and excellent weather.
The tour ended at around 6:00 and I was both tird and ravenous, which is a bad combination. I also wanted a chance to take a nap before Patrick and I went on a night hike, so I was trying to organize everyone and hurry them along. We told the rickshaw driver to take us to Chrissy’s café because it’s close to our rooms and we knew what it was called, but when we got there, it was a bit outside our price range. I was a bit disappointed because I’d been craving lasagna, so when Dad said we had to find somewhere else to go, I said (a bit nastily, I’ll admit) could we pick quickly because I was hungry. HE lost his temper and marched off home, followed by Patrcik. Mom came out of Chrissy’s at this point, to see Patrick storming off and me fuming, rather loudly. It wasn’t until the next morning that I discovered that Dad’s heart had been troubling him and that he had to take a nitrite and rest when he got home. I felt terrible.
In the night, from 10-1, Patrick and I went on a night tour. I expected there to be at least a few people besides us, but it was just the two of us, our guide, and the guard who didn’t appear to be particularly competent with the rifle he carried. I can’t really talk though, because I have yet to shoot anything more powerful than a BB gun. It is very different in the jungle at night – it was beautiful, but I would not have wanted to be there alone. We saw lots of deer, probably around fifteen. There are three kinds of deer in these parts and we saw two of them. One was the Samba deer, I think, but the guide’s accent was quite thick and it was hard to understand more than “deer” or “cat” or “here is somebody, see?” Besides the deer, we saw a wild cat; it was about the size of a bobcat, but more than that I couldn’t tell. Of course, when we first spotted it I got over-excited and managed to convince myself that it was probably a baby tiger, but it wasn’t and that’s probably a good thing. Tigers are most likely to bears in that, where there’s a baby, there’s a mama nearby and if you mess with that baby or get too close, the mama is likely to get a mite touchy - to put it nicely. We also saw a few cast off king cobra skins and two porcupines. The porcupines were enormous. My first thought was that if Aunt Kathryn or Uncle Bill were here, they would have a heyday. (If you don’t know them, they both do quillwork.) I would say they were probably a good 2 ½’ - 3’ long and 1’-1½’ tall. And FAT: these were obviously well fed porcupines. Mom saw the tracks of some and was very impressed as well. By the end of the hike I was exhausted and was quite glad to flop into my bed, although I was still happy enough to describe the porcupines and the other animals to Mom. All in all, I think it was a good day
To make up for not seeing a tiger in the “Periyar Tiger Reserve”, we did see lots of other wildlife. There were several pigs, both a number of lone ones and a large family. There was also a herd of buffalo, many varieties of birds, two squirrels (which are much larger than those in the US), and possibly 10 wild elephants. I especially enjoyed the elephants. Animals aside, however, it was a lovely day, with beautiful countryside to be traversed and excellent weather.
The tour ended at around 6:00 and I was both tird and ravenous, which is a bad combination. I also wanted a chance to take a nap before Patrick and I went on a night hike, so I was trying to organize everyone and hurry them along. We told the rickshaw driver to take us to Chrissy’s café because it’s close to our rooms and we knew what it was called, but when we got there, it was a bit outside our price range. I was a bit disappointed because I’d been craving lasagna, so when Dad said we had to find somewhere else to go, I said (a bit nastily, I’ll admit) could we pick quickly because I was hungry. HE lost his temper and marched off home, followed by Patrcik. Mom came out of Chrissy’s at this point, to see Patrick storming off and me fuming, rather loudly. It wasn’t until the next morning that I discovered that Dad’s heart had been troubling him and that he had to take a nitrite and rest when he got home. I felt terrible.
In the night, from 10-1, Patrick and I went on a night tour. I expected there to be at least a few people besides us, but it was just the two of us, our guide, and the guard who didn’t appear to be particularly competent with the rifle he carried. I can’t really talk though, because I have yet to shoot anything more powerful than a BB gun. It is very different in the jungle at night – it was beautiful, but I would not have wanted to be there alone. We saw lots of deer, probably around fifteen. There are three kinds of deer in these parts and we saw two of them. One was the Samba deer, I think, but the guide’s accent was quite thick and it was hard to understand more than “deer” or “cat” or “here is somebody, see?” Besides the deer, we saw a wild cat; it was about the size of a bobcat, but more than that I couldn’t tell. Of course, when we first spotted it I got over-excited and managed to convince myself that it was probably a baby tiger, but it wasn’t and that’s probably a good thing. Tigers are most likely to bears in that, where there’s a baby, there’s a mama nearby and if you mess with that baby or get too close, the mama is likely to get a mite touchy - to put it nicely. We also saw a few cast off king cobra skins and two porcupines. The porcupines were enormous. My first thought was that if Aunt Kathryn or Uncle Bill were here, they would have a heyday. (If you don’t know them, they both do quillwork.) I would say they were probably a good 2 ½’ - 3’ long and 1’-1½’ tall. And FAT: these were obviously well fed porcupines. Mom saw the tracks of some and was very impressed as well. By the end of the hike I was exhausted and was quite glad to flop into my bed, although I was still happy enough to describe the porcupines and the other animals to Mom. All in all, I think it was a good day
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