It is Monday morning and canals are alive with traffic. Ferries are transporting children to schools while men prefer independence of their private boats. Large fright boats are passing loaded with building material. Such a unique place, these backwaters!

Waiting for the school ferry.

We return to the starting point in Allepey well before noon. Our driver is already there and we are soon on our way to Kochi, where we have just enough time to get some food and refreshments before we catch our next train. Next destination is Palolem, the most idyllic beach in Goa, according to the Lonely Planet guide. Not without certain dose of nostalgia, they also call it “paradise lost”, due to its growing popularity and new development caused by it. Ironically, that is pretty much destiny of any “paradise” once it gets listed in the Lonely Planet.

Next stop Goa!

We leave Kochi in company of Sreekumar, a 28-year old train driver from Allepey. He lives in the backwaters and now he is on the way to his job in Goa. From him we get a detailed account of Keralan and Indian history and politics. Kerala has been governed by the Communist Party of India (Marxists) (as opposed to more radical and militant Maoists) for the most of India's post-independence history and Sreekumar explains its success in education, public health and standard of living by combination of leftist politics and democratic elections, something that communists are hardly famous for.

We also learn about background of the Ayodhya case, one of the hottest points of contention between Hindu nationalists and Muslims. Ayodhya is a place in North India, where an old mosque was demolished by angry mob in riots in 1992, under pretext that the mosque had been built on top of an even older Hindu temple. The case had been resting for a long time thanks to the Supreme Court ruling that had put the site off limits for construction of a new temple. Pandora box was reopened when Rajiv Gandhi, prime minister at the time, empowered by parliament majority sufficient for constitutional changes, decided to give a separate, Sheriat based, family legislation to Muslims. This move, while showing an exceptional amount of religious tolerance, was very questionable from the perspective of constitutional law. Needless to say, many people didn't welcome such changes, but Hindu nationalists were among the loudest in protest. In order to please them, the Supreme Court's ruling about Ayodhya was changed and some restrictions were lifted.

Another bizarre turn in Indian politics made by Rajiv Gandhi happened when he ceased to support Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka, who had enjoyed support of his mother Indira Gandhi for a long time. Fearing presence of the Americans, whom Sri Lankan government asked for help in fighting the rebels, he sent Indian troops to the island. This was seen as a treason of the highest order and Rajiv Gandhi was killed soon after in a most gruesome way by explosive placed in the garland of flowers that was hung around his neck during a visit to Tamil Nadu.

It is bed time. We have to wake up around five in the morning if we don't want to miss our station.

Today is one of the most anticipated events of the tour: a 24-hour houseboat cruise of the Kerala backwaters. The backwaters is the name for a system of lakes and canals that stretches along one part of Kerala's coast. Its population consists mostly of farmers and fishermen who built their houses on narrow stretches of land that separate adjacent bodies of water. In addition to its role in fishing, prawn farming and irrigation, the water is pretty much the only mode of transportation and it is used for most of the household needs. Even though the area is not densely populated, its infrastructure is on a respectable level: water and sewage, electrical power, schools, public transportation, temples and churches.

The navigator.

The rain is pouring as we climb onto the boat. Two crew members and a cook welcome us and show us around. Our living space consists of two bedrooms with bathrooms and a large covered deck, where we will be spending most of our time. The boat is made out of wood in a traditional way, and we like its natural and authentic feel (even though there is not much authentic here, at least not to Kerala: this kind of boats has its origin in Kashmir.) The navigator sits on the bow and the other guy, who controls a small engine, is on the stern. Since there is no line of sight between them, they communicate through a little bell hung on a string that they stretched along one side of the boat. We start the cruise and the cook serves coffee as we are navigating between rows of houses. It is early afternoon, just after lunch time and women are doing dishes in the canal. One is washing her hair and a little farther a fisherman is pulling out his net. It is raining and a guy in a small boat is holding his umbrella between his chin and his shoulder while paddling. It feels as if we are in a different world.

Canal as a kitchen sink.


Or a bathroom.


A convertible in monsoon season.


Fisherman.

It is time for our lunch too. Our cook turns out to be a master of Kerala cuisine: fried fish, cabbage with coconut, ladyfingers, some pickled beet and mandatory, at least in the south India, rice and sambar. Everything is delicious, as well as eye pleasing. We notice that coconut is much more popular than in Tamil Nadu, which gives dishes a sweet flavor. They are are also less generous with chili powder, our taste buds get a welcome break. The only thing one can possibly do after a lunch like this is to take afternoon siesta and that is exactly what we do.

Our cook just served lunch.

In the evening we find a spot on a side of a large lake in one of the less populated areas, where we would spend the night. The choir of frogs from the adjacent paddy field just started their concert. Soon after another house boat arrives and a Dutch family from it comes over thinking that we are a Dutch group they met a few days ago. We are obviously not, but we still spend an hour or two in conversation with them. They tell us how they got tired of their summers in Italy and a few years ago decided to start spending their vacation time in more distant parts of the world. So far they love it. He teaches Latin and Greek to, what he jokingly calls, the most expensive class in the world. His subject is not a part of mandatory curriculum and he currently has only one student.

The rest of the evening passes rather uneventfully and we go to bed early.

We arrive to Varkala around noon. It's cloudy and you can tell it was raining recently. The usual drill with a cab driver. We tell him the place and ask how much. He tells us the price, and we guess whether he's ripping us off or not. It sounds reasonable this time. Then we convince him that we really want to go to the place we told him about and not to another one, of which we hear from him for the first time and which is 'very nice'. And we are on our way. We like what we see from the cab. A lot of tropical greenery and some colorful houses.

Eden Garden

When the cab stops, we can't really see anything that we would call Eden Garden (not that we would call anything Eden Garden, for that matter, except for Tiho, who used the name of the Biblical place to refer to his favorite juice bar in Chennai), but the driver points to the other end of a rice field where a small compound is hidden behind palm trees. It is built around a rectangular pond, which features some lotus, big orange frogs and three dinning platforms. The hotel doubles as a center for Ayurvedic medicine and massage and the couple that serves lunch to us in the afternoon, gives us massage in the evening. The Garden is very peaceful and occasional rain shower provides a dramatic rhythm. I already love monsoons.

Veranda in Eden Garden.

After everybody got fed, massaged, and rested, we all meet on top of the cliff which walls a long beach. Drama is visual this time. Among several open restaurants and bars that line the cliff top we find a pleasant place and get excited talking about the first day and tomorrow's cruise. The background is Bob Marley, grilled sea food and mandatory Kingfisher.

Holly beach in Varkala.

The day of our trip finally came. Dijana and Tiho have been here for almost two weeks now and they already adapted well. Maja arrived five days ago and we are all eager to start the journey. The plan is to start by crossing the subcontinent, to the southern part of its west coast. The town is Varkala, the state Kerala. Then we will follow the coast toward the North, stopping in Goa and Mumbai (a.k.a. Bombay.) We also plan to see Taj Mahal and go to a popular pilgrimage town Haridwar at the Himalaya foothills, but the second part of the plan still needs some brushing up.

Let the tour begin!

Chennai Central station is very busy, as it is mostly the case on Friday nights, when thousands of Chennaites leave the city to visit their families in rural areas. The train is punctual and we easily find our wagon. Our names are on the list of passengers glued next to the wagon door and we are impressed by the organization of Indian Railways, a company that moves more than 15 million people a day.

We get in and we are less impressed by their minimalistic approach to the interior design. It reminds us very much on the socialist industry of our former homeland and we are quick to draw conclusions about the Russian influence (which are not entirely unfounded, I must add.) One section consists of two benches facing each other, that seat three persons each, and another pair of seats by the other window, separated by the passage. Luggage shelves are where one would expect luggage shelves to be, three fans hang from the ceiling and a small foldable table is mounted on the wall below the window. The neat thing about this setup is that it can easily be transformed into eight beds, one for each passenger. Pretty clever and not completely uncomfortable. Especially for a 15 hour journey, during which any horizontal surface large enough to host a human being in a lying position, becomes extremely valuable. There are more people than seats and when passengers with reservations decide to go to bed, the rest of them find their spots on the floor.

Not so uncomfortable either.

And the floor is not the place where you want to be. Probably ever, but especially this night. In the middle of the night, while crossing Western Ghat mountain range, we went through some heavy rains and open doors and windows were not very helpful in keeping water out. Our bags are lying in water, but there is not much we can do, because in the night shift the floor works as a luggage shelf. Our first contact with monsoon rains, which will follow us during the whole trip.

Upper levels.

I don't read newspapers much these days. Every morning when I go to yoga I bring Rs 3.50, which is the price of the Hindu. Only if I don't meet any beggars on the way I get morning news.

Truly global corporation.

The "iron man" from my street.

“Sir, Your Head Too Big”

Today I stopped by a helmet shop, by which I pass every day on my way to work, to get myself a helmet. I decided I should wear one, even if it is unbearably hot as it is, and even if vast majority of bikers in Chennai don't wear one. I should value my head, I thought. A young clerk approached me and offered his help. After a few questions he pulled out one helmet, stacked it on top of my head and pulled it down pretty forcefully. It wouldn't come all the way down. Then he brought another one and repeated the action, this time with more success. The helmet felt good on my head and its look was giving some confidence. Not that I actually imagined my head in it hitting a concrete wall at 80km/h and staying intact, but, you know, it looked good. Price was also acceptable and I wouldn't have anything against buying it, but being used to always having choice I asked him to show me a few other models, so that I can compare them and then make a decision. He just shook his head, “No Sir, your head too big!”

“Definitely Male”

I bought a motorcycle today! It is a Bajaj Pulsar, which probably doesn't mean much to anybody outside of India, but anybody here will know that it is “definitely male”, which is Bajaj's sales pitch for the bike.

This morning in newspapers there was a photograph from demonstrations against the closure of dance-bars in Mombay. Almost all bar dancers had their heads covered, and some of them left only their eyes visible. I wonder whether this is just traditional clothes or an attempt to stay anonymous?

The rest of the weekend was surprisingly eventful. In the afternoon I went with Thiru and Pachai to a motorcycle dealership to inquire about the bike I am planning to by. I have a deal with Thiru: I will buy the bike, ride it while I am here and then sell it to him. We saw the bike and we both liked it, but the process of getting it is not so simple and we have to come back on Monday. Mandatory “what now” is answered before it was spoken: Thiru suggests trip to Pondichery, and Pachai and I readily accept it.

Pondichery is a city on the coast some 150km south of Chennai. It is in the middle of Tamil Nadu state, but because of its history as a French colony, it was granted a status of a special territory. And special it is. Being surrounded by a state with some of the strictest liquor laws in the country, Pondichery, with its laid back attitude and relaxed laws is a popular weekend gateway for young Chennaiites in search for some fun.

Before we head south, we try to find another guy who would join us: there is an available seat in the car and it would be a waste not to use it, explains Pachai. It sounds reasonable to me and soon we find a friend of his who is just finishing his shift at a press for one of the major Indian newspapers and would like to joins us. We pick him up and off we go. The road toward Pondichery is in a pretty good shape for Indian standards, but road-side activities, animals, style of driving of Indian drivers and night make the ride fairly adventurous and long. We finally arrive half an hour after midnight, after two and a half hours of driving. The city is surprisingly alive at this time of night: couples and families are walking along the sea front, moviegoers are coming out of a movie theater, food vendors are still busy. To add to the atmosphere, tomorrow is Mayday and streets are being decorated with red flags and covered with big paintings of the international worker's symbol, sickle and hammer.

Mayday preparations in Pondichery.

My friends are not really sure which place is open this late, but they know that something “must be”. We ask a group of young men about most probable place to score a drink at this hour and they all agree that hotel “Mass” is the place. It is located on the other side of the town so it takes us a while to reach it. When we finally do, all we get is a closed gate and gatekeeper's assurance about a place that really is open. So we follow his advice and find ourselves in a similar situation again. I start having certain doubts about our prospects, but my friends are still pretty enthusiastic, so we drive around Pondichery, from one bar to another, asking advice from auto-riksha drivers, passers-by, homeless people, party activists that are painting the streets, etc. A common thing to all of them is that everybody has a ready advice to offer and everybody is very positive about it. And we follow each one of them. After two hours of driving around Pondichery, we were tired and hungry and we decided that we had enough night life for the night. Fortunately, there was still a good place to eat ready for those more fortunate than us, who were now coming from the bars. After a nice meal we find a hotel and crash into beds.

We start next day with coffee in the room and then search for food around town. It is already noon, so we are not sure whether to look for breakfast or lunch. Practical Americans invented brunch for this purpose, but that concept still didn't reach this part of the world. After few unsuccessful attempts we decide to try “Le Club”, a French restaurant that also serves food from all the colonies France ever had in Asia. We enter a beautiful garden with tropical plants and a spacious patio covered with dry palm leaves. In the back of the garden there is a white stone building from the colonial era, which was made into a hotel. The menu is distinctively French, and after a month or so of asking my friends for food recommendations, I found myself being asked for help in selecting dishes. The trouble is that for Indian taste, which is used to variety of very strong spices, Western food tastes very plane. Grilled fish that I had, prepared with salt, pepper and a touch of herbs, is completely tasteless when compared to fried fish Indian way. They didn't enjoy their food as much as found it peculiar.

"Le Club"

After lunch we go to the waterfront and get some ice cream, and then head out of town to find a beach good for swimming. When we arrive at one it is unbearably hot, and there is no shadow anywhere near. Even the ocean is hot and it helps little to cool one down. After a little while we head back to our room for a more reliable way of cooling: cold beer and A/C. We watch some Indian movies and Thiru translates some dialogs to me.

The whole thing is pretty funny. As most other Indian movies, it is a combo of action, romance, musical and comedy mixed in very improbable ways. Plot of the one we are watching revolves around a marriage arrangement between an Indian guy who lives in the U.S.A. and a girl who lives in India. Their families agreed, and the date was set, but in the meantime another guy, who is an old college mate of the groom, takes advantage of the situation and falsely represent himself as the groom. When the real groom arrives, the lie is uncovered, but damage is already done: the bride has fallen for the lier. That of course poses a big moral dilemma for her: go with the heart and take a lier, or take the “prearranged” guy. This dilemma is also being resolved between the two rivals in a more physical manner. The heart wins at the end, unlike most of the times in Indian reality, and this is probably one of the biggest reasons for tremendous popularity of the movie (Pachai's friend Kadil saw this movie seven times only in theater, and countless times on his VCR.)

Pachai and Thiru in front of our hotel.

I learn from a magazine that chacku is a pocket knife, whose blade is operated by a button. Town of its origin is Rampuri in state Uttar Pradesh. The only reason I am mentioning this is unmistakable similarity between chacku and Bosnian name for a pocket knife: cakija.

While having breakfast this morning I was watching a man, possibly in his fifties, climbing the coconut tree in front of my building and removing dry leaves and coconuts. I took a few snapshots.

Cool job

Tonight I had a lesson in Indian cuisine! Kausalya and Hema, two girls from the office, offered to teach me how to make a few popular dishes after I showed interest in preparing Indian food. After work we took Kausalya's car and on the way to my apartment stopped by a few places to get necessary ingredients. First stop was a sea food store. The shop is located by the sidewalk and it consists of a small room where the fish is being packaged and sold, a back room where it is cut, and a covered customer area, which is separated from the rest by a counter with a glass shield. The shop is not the cleanest place I have ever seen and it is swarmed with flies. Obviously, nothing unusual for anybody else, so I decide to go along. We get some fish called seer, cut into fillets for frying, and some prawn. Chicken is next. Hygiene at the chicken place is a notch or two down from the sea food shop. It is a small and completely open store on the sidewalk of one of the busiest streets. A chicken is hanging from the ceiling surrounded by a swarm of flies. This will push my stomach to its limits. Next stop is my neighborhood store and then we go to my place.

My teachers don't waste their time: washing, cutting, chopping, preparation of spices. Kausalya is making chicken biryani, a rice dish with chicken and vegetables. Hema will demonstrate how to make prawn masala and fried fish. As far as ingredients go the dishes are not very complex, but list of spices is astonishing: chili powder, coriander (aka. cilantro, it is used in form of powder, seeds, and leaves), turmeric, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, coconut, several kinds of seeds. It is a delight watching them balancing all these spices without a single measurement. Hema is only twenty five, but she is giving away a lot of experience in the kitchen. She tells us that she has cooked since she was fourteen, which explains a few things.

Hema and Kausalya in action

Dinner is ready and we sit to eat. Everything is very delicious. It is difficult to say which dish is my favorite but if hard pressed I would go for the prawn. Biryani is also very rich, and the fish is simple but tasty. We enjoy the food and talk. I feel bad because after the meal they don't even allow me to wash the dishes. It is already getting late and they must leave. I walk them out and thank them. What a wonderful treat that was!

I rode a motorcycle in Chennai! Anybody who visited a big city in India will know that that is something to write home about. Suresh Kumar was going to give me a ride home from the office last night, but then he made a mistake of offering me to drive. I accepted it wholeheartedly, had a great time and actually managed to take us home. Although, I must admit that streets were half empty, and we didn't encounter any of the horror situations that are common part of driving here.

But then today another opportunity arose to try myself exactly in that kind driving. I was planning a weekend trip to Bangalore, aka Indian Silicon Valley, located some six train-hours north-west of Chennai. I was actually attracted by Coorg, a hilly area a couple of hundred kilometers west of Bangalore. Muthukumar recommended the place for hiking, and I couldn't imagine anything better to escape city heat for a day or two. In order to get train tickets I had to go to the train station and Pachai kindly offered to give me a ride and accompany me on this not so simple task. He also offered me to drive the bike and I don't refuse that kind of offer. But this time situation was different. It was two o'clock, and while not exactly a rush hour, streets were pretty crowded. Surprisingly, what looks like chaos of the highest magnitude from a pedestrian perspective, started showing certain rules once I became a part of it. These are not to be confused with traffic rules one learns in traffic school. They should more appropriately be called traffic customs, but even that is hardly visible from outside. In any case I am considering buying a bike.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the tickets because foreign tourist quota for which tickets were only available doesn't apply to my business visa. Still it was fun to learn the process of buying train tickets in India and useful as a lesson for planning ahead next time.

Everybody liked my ladyfingers! Or so they said, at least.

I woke up early and went for a run. The produce guy with his cart-cycle was in front of the building as I was leaving it so I buy some fresh vegetables because I am planning more cooking today. After the run I get newspaper and go home for a long breakfast and coffee. Then I finish a few blog entries from the last week, read a bit and start browsing through my cookbook. I decide that my first serious attempt in South Indian cuisine will be ladyfingers in tamarind gravy. I saw and tasted ladyfingers for the first time a few days ago. It is a green vegetable, size of a finger, pointed at one end, with cross-section similar to jalapenos. Tamarind is similar to dates, and it is used as a spice because of its strong sweet and sour flavor. It is sold as a large sticky lump and usually only a small piece is needed for a dish. I soak a piece of it in hot water. I also cook some lentil, which is used as a base for many Indian dishes. Then stir all that on heated oil with some mustard seeds and turmeric powder and my lunch is ready. I like the taste, but even after a month of Indian food it is a little unusual. I don't want to make any conclusions. I will bring leftovers tomorrow to work and let my native friends make the judgment.