Kerala, Pt. 1

Beef Fry, Dry, in Kochi

Twice in my life, I’ve had a friend show up bleeding after a two-wheeled accident. This time, it was my sweet friend Ann(e), who I met at Orange Bakery in Angamaly because we had a few overlapping hours in Kochi. We met in Peru in 2023, and I hadn’t seen her since then. Even though she’d been hit and mildly bloodied on the scooter with her cousin, we enjoyed some dry beef fry and parotta, an egg and veg puff, and the sheer wonder of running into a friend on another continent.

The beef fry was simply perfect, and I’ll be missing it when I head north. My sweet friend was as beautiful as ever, and what a treat to see someone in their homeland. She said she has toddler-level grammar in Malayalam, but I certainly couldn’t tell. We walked across the street to buy some jewelry before parting ways. Here’s hoping that it won’t be another three years before we see each other again!

This is a Treatment Center

After saying our goodbyes at the jewelry store, I headed to the hotel where I’d spend the next three nights before beginning the tour I had scheduled. The first people I met were an older couple named Shiva and Maemuna. They asked what I was there for, and when I said I was just spending a night, Maemuna eagerly whispered, “This is a treatment center,” with a nod and a smirk, like it was some kind of secret between the two of us. It turned out that almost everyone there was living out their own kind of Tanya McQoid treatment fantasy, which left me feeling a bit disconnected.

I’m not one to turn down a treatment, especially not a massage, but there’s nothing so wrong with me that I feel the need to be beaten with a hot bag of herbs for an hour. Lucky me, I guess.

I’ve had a few experiences at retreat centers, sought out healing, clarity, direction, you name it. I guess I got what I needed, because while everyone else marveled at how aligned it was to meet the other folks there and how much everyone had in common, I was quietly grateful that I didn’t relate to them anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m across the world from both of the places I’ve called home to do some soul searching myself. Although maybe it would be better described as blowing off steam, because I simply don’t feel that there’s anything really missing from my life.

Worst of all, this Ayurvedic treatment center had painfully boring food. Maybe that contributes to healing the body, but it did nothing for the soul.

Fort Kochi

After one last beating before departure, a driver came for my traveling companion (let’s call her TC for short) and me. I wanted to tour Kerala, but didn’t want to pay the price for a fully private experience. She wanted to do the same, but was more worried about being alone than the price. She seemed nice, she is nice. It’s fine.

The guide in Kochi was great. I’m not sure what exactly happened at the beginning of the tour (I was starving because the hotel breakfast was lackluster at best), so it felt like we were just picking a random man up off the street. Some conversation occurred between my companion and this new character that prompted him to have the driver pull over, and we took a quick detour to walk down to the Koonan Kurishu Pilgrim.

My companion grew up an atheist but had a strange fascination with the orthodox church due to her ex-husband. St. George was his, and later their, family protector, so they would celebrate the saint every year to stay a part of the community despite not practicing. She was in atheist orthodox heaven, and I was looking for samosas when the priest showed up. My companion was simply beside herself with joy. The priest thought she was a pilgrim and didn’t know what to make of my presence, but I guess it was clear enough that I was not a pilgrom. Feel free to make your own assumptions about why that may be. He asked TC some questions about her family and religious practices that she couldn’t answer, but the tour guide saved the day by interrupting and suggesting a photo. My traveling companion did not wish to be posted, so below I’ve attempted to anonymize her with a cross.

After our brief pilgrimage, we went to see the Chinese fishing nets. Still hungry, I asked our guide what he recommended for a quick bite, but TC is wary of street food and insisted on a restaurant or cafe. We made a big loop trying to find something suitable, and as a result, missed out on seeing much of the area.

We visited the Jew Town, which has no more than one remaining Jewish person, according to our guide. Where have they all gone? Israel.. Great shops in the area but no time for shopping. Cemetery was off limits.

The last activity in Kochi was a Kathakali show. I think it was a good performance, but it was hard to tell while watching it through at least three dozen cell phone screens. I can only imagine how few of those videos will ever be watched again, and I can confidently say that the quality of most of them sucked.

On our ride home, TC made a disparaging remark about Trump (a-ok) followed by “but, he makes a lot sense on immigration”. I wanted to pull my hair out. She continued to talk about how they, immigrants, are not assimilating and that it’s not right for them to celebrate their own holidays and that they should celebrate the holidays of their new country instead. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s the responsibility of the host to be welcoming. Who wants to celebrate the 4th of July at all when we have ICE on the streets? Let’s all agree to leave the immigrants alone and let them have their holidays.

Munnar - No Pity for the Brits

The drive from Kochi to Munnar was a bit dull, with TC complaining about the skies and lack of tea plantations for the first part of the trip. We hit all the tourist standards, like a “spice plantation,” chocolate factory, “live weaving demonstration,” and “good shop local prices”. The chocolate factory was the only stop that was as advertised, and the weaving demonstration was one of the more depressing moments of the trip. We just walked past three old men sitting at their looms on the ground in the heat as we entered yet another gift shop.

We stopped for lunch at our driver’s choice of restaurant, and despite the large number of gringos eating there, TC was in a panic about how she was going to eat food because she didn’t think they were washing the cutlery with filtered water. So she sprayed the utensils with hand sanitizer, scrubbed them with a napkin, and rinsed them off with bottled water. I didn’t bother to mention that the dishes and utensils are likely cleaned the same way. I heard nothing more of Trump and immigration, but TC could not get the British off her mind. How it must have been so hard for them to travel to India, how smart they were to start planting tea here, how sad it was that people were getting cholera and malaria and dying back then, how much they suffered. I think I annoyed her when I mentioned that they wouldn’t have had clean water at home either, which was the idea.

At the hotel, we finally had a satisfactory view of the tea plantations. It was a cute place. I’ve been happy with how firm the beds are in most places here, so I looked forward to a good night of sleep. As I was getting out of the shower and opening the bathroom door, TC asked what I thought of the mattress. I said I think it’s great, and she said, “Well, I’m going to go complain,” and left the room. To be fair, they were on the thinner side and probably about 8 inches thick at most.

TC returned in a tizzy, talking about how she went to the retreat to fix her hip, and while it was better, sleeping on this bed would ruin the progress. The front desk was supposed to send someone up to help, which they did, but the language barrier was significant and the kid was unenthused. TC told him to take the mattress away and bring another. The first replacement offered was a folding floor mattress with a massive crease down the middle. TC was offended, and the attendant annoyed. She left again to go back to the front desk, and while she was gone, he returned with what I can best describe as a vinyl-coated crib mattress. Not unlike what you sleep on when you go to the Amazon. I got a laugh and sent him away, knowing that the present offering was enough to cause a total meltdown.

The hotel’s internet was also not working in our room, so I served as the go-between for TC and the travel agency. My already limited affection for them dwindled every time they mentioned being happy about the “strong bond” between me and TC, when I just wanted to go to sleep and was more than happy with my mattress. Ultimately, we had 3 or 4 attendants in and out of the room, bringing all the extra comforters they could round up in order to satisfy TC, but it was an impossible task. The best part of the ordeal was the lone full-sized mattress propped up against the wall that TC touched every time we passed - it wouldn’t have fit in our room.

Day two in Munnar included a visit to a tea museum that showed us a great documentary or potentially propaganda film (additional research required) about the history of the tea industry in India and how at least one company became primarily employee-owned. TC bought a bag of instant coffee in the gift shop, then ordered a cup of tea from the counter. It came with a tea bag, presumably needing a minute to steep, but she said it left a bad taste in her mouth and threw it away. She had also developed a phantom pain in her mouth that she was convinced came from the straw in a coconut she’d had the day prior, which she hadn’t seen the origin of. The pain disappeared by lunchtime.

Our next stop was a “rose garden,” which in this context meant a nursery with an entrance fee and some photo ops. I didn’t care to go in, but TC insisted. It was the highlight of her trip, she said. Anyway, she did snap a few cute pictures of me, and they had pretty flowers.

Our driver then took us to see a lake where you had to pay 10 rupees to walk to the shore. I skipped it, but it was another hit with TC. We learned that they grow particularly delicious carrots in the region, but only got a photo and didn’t try any.

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