I was kind of worried about this past weekend. Monday and Tuesday were holidays for which the college would be closed, leaving me with a four-day weekend; normally a cause for celebration, but given the straits of some of my recent weekends, I was not looking forward to an extended amount of time with little to nothing to do.
So I undertook to actively find something to do; something I could only do in India. I can sit in my room and read, write, nap, and play guitar pretty much anywhere I happen to be for the rest of my life. Since I'm going to be spending the year in India, though, I think it can only enrich my experience if I try to use some of my free time to do things that I can only do while I'm here.
A number of people suggested that I visit Mattanchery and Fort Kochi. These are the "touristy" areas of the city of Cochin, replete with museums, historical landmarks, and shops, where European visitors go to soak up Indian history, culture, and life. And to buy things that commemorate this soaking. And while I was a bit apprehensive about having to get to, around, and back from the city by myself, I knew that the change of scenery and the opportunity to "get out of the house" would do me good.
The bus rides to and from Cochin, while long (about an hour and a half for a trip of 20 km), were simple-- a bus runs directly from the bus stand in Aluva to that in Mattanchery or Ft. Kochi. The only trick was figuring out which series of squiggles meant "Mattanchery" or "Aluva" (although I'm starting to be able to recognize this one pretty well). Malayalam is even tougher to read than it is to speak. But by asking enough people, I managed to end up on the right busses to and fro. So all was well.
I went to Mattanchery first, since geographically that made more sense. Mattanchery is the site of Cochin's Jew Town, a maybe-three-square-block area that is home to the very small population of Indian Jews, and houses a plethora of "antiques" and "handicrafts" (read: overpriced souvenirs) shops, and an old synagogue and an 18th century palace, both of which have been turned into museums of sorts. I arrived around noon only to find that the synagogue is closed between 12 and 3 pm. So I wandered the streets a bit, poking into some of the shops. I hate to admit it, but some of the souvenir crap these shops offer (and one shop's inventory really doesn't differ that much from the one next to it) is pretty nice. The wood-crafts, textiles, and jewlery especially would make nice gifts and, well, souvenirs.
OK, so they're not "really" Indian (I hate to tell you, but you don't find ornate wooden elephants or statues of Hindu deities or Bodhisattvas outside of tourist gift shops, just like you won't find miniature Statues of Liberty in a "normal" American store-- although the US is pretty good at making any sort of retail establishment into a tourist gift shop. But I digress...) and the items are way overpriced in order to empty American and European pockets, but I wouldn't feel too bad about returning home with some of this junk.
The problem with "shopping" (which I'm none too good at anyway) is the aggressiveness of the shopkeepers. These guys line the street outside their stores, and when they see a saipu coming, the little dollar (er... rupee) signs pop up in their eyes. Walking down the street was like running the gauntlet. Every one of these guys would at the very least call out to me, "Hey, my friend! Come look in my shop!" Most would race toward me, throw an arm around my shoulder and try to forcibly drag me into the store. More often than not, I had three or four guys hanging off of me, all pulling me in different directions. It felt like I was being drawn and quartered. The stores I ended up going into were the ones where no one tried to entice or force me in. Even in these places, however, as soon as I was in the door, the shopkeeper would be right at my shoulder, brandishing elephants and gods and shawls and necklaces at me, explaining why I should buy each item in the store; heading off my path so as to herd me toward the more expensive items, and promising me a good price. Given the figure I cut, what with my disheveled hair, shabby clothes, and scruffy beard, I can't imagine where these guys got the idea that I would have any money on me at all, but there we were.
When I couldn't handle the entrepeneurial hectoring anymore, I headed over to Mattanchery Palace, a palace gifted by the Dutch to the Rajas of Travancore in the 1700's as recompense for the razing of several Hindu temples in the vicinity. The Palace now operates as a small museum that houses portraits of the Rajas, old weapons, litters, and palanquins. But the highlights of the palace are its several murals that depict scenes from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. The murals are in diverse states of decay and disintegration, but were still striking. Visiting the museum was a nice opportunity to step back and just be a tourist for a while; to disengage myself from real life here for a bit and get to romanticize India a little.
Leaving the Palace, I walked next door to the Idiom Book Shop, which is well-respected for its collection of books pertaining to all things Indian. I hung out in there for a little while (it was air conditioned-- a rare luxury here!) and browsed Kerala cookbooks (it's nice to know they exist, just in case I can't find anybody willing to teach me to cook), photo books, travelogues, and social and political analyses. Bibliophile that I am, this is definitely a place I'll end up making several more trips to.
When I was finished there, I hopped in an autorickshaw and headed the 2.5km to Fort Kochi. I got off at the waterfront, which is sort of the Middle of Everything. The waterfront is lined by what amounts to a large outdoor market. Various stalls line the street, selling food, fish, coconut water, more souvenirs, books, jewelery, paintings, postcards, and clothes. I wandered the marketplace, again being chased down the street by overzealous salesmen. And when it, again, became too much to handle, I headed over to the beach to have a look at the famous Chinese fishing nets. If you've ever seen pictures of Kerala, you've seen these huge nets. They operate on a system of pulleys and counterweights (huge rocks) and get dropped and raised by hand every few minutes.
If you're white (again, dollar signs in the eyes), the fishermen call you over to one of the nets and invite you to help them work it. They take your picture and tell you the sad story of how commercial overfishing and ecological degradation are depleting the aquatic life, so now they often go for days at a time barely catching anything and can't manage to make ends meet, and they explain how far just a few hundred rupees can go towards feeding their families. So you give them a few hundred rupees. I'm sure this is all true and that theirs is a legitimate plight. In fact, I know it is. I don't want to sound cynical, but these guys are basically actors who are out to cash in on the tourist season in a no-less-shameless way than the shop owners. The only difference is that the fishermen are selling tourists an experience and the opportunity to feel like they're doing Something Good, rather than little wooden elephants. But I understand that they really do have to make a living and feed their families, just like the shopkeepers (and teachers, cobblers, tailors, and farmers) do. Just like everyone everywhere does. So in short, I'm aware of how manipulative what they're doing is, but I also realize that it probably does stem from a universal need to survive.
So I bought into it and went over to one of the nets and worked and talked with the guys there for about an hour and, yes, gave them some money. But rather than letting that be the end of the transaction like most tourists, I'm hoping that I can go back there fairly regularly and spend whole days working and talking with these guys, and really get to experience what life is like for them. Really understand (as much as a middle-class American who knows he will be returning to middle-class America can) the problems and struggles they face, and build relationships that can possibly be transformative for me and for them.
After my time working on the net (those things are heavy, man!), I was pretty hungry so I went in search of something to eat. It was late for lunch (about 3:00), so most of the stalls along the waterfront were closed. What you can do is buy some fish from a fishmonger behind the nets on the beach and then take it to one of the stalls where they'll cook it for you. That's what I wanted to do, but I guess it was time for the afternoon siesta and they were all closed. So I just walked until I found a reasonably clean-looking outdoor restaurant. I was the only customer, so the whole staff of the restaurant crowded around my table and hung out while I was waiting for my food. They're so used to just dealing with tourists, that they were completely blown away by the fact that I'll be living here for a year and that I'm learning Malayalam and am genuinely interested in the life and culture of Kerala. I had a fairly simple meal of fresh red snapper (served whole, eyes included) with a red curry sauce and some Kerala rice. The food was very fresh and really good, so I boarded the bus back to Aluva quite satisfied.
Like I said before, this little outing was probably the best thing I could've done for myself at the time. I really needed the change of scenery and the change of psychological space. The process of adjusting to life here is so exhausting and emotionally draining that it was really nice to be able to step out of that for an afternoon and just be a tourist. At the same time though, as my experience with the fishermen shows, it's satisfying to know that my experiences and interactions (or transactions, as the case may be) here are much deeper than just tourism. I feel very blessed to have the oportunity to really engage the life and people of Kerala and enter into mutually transformative relationships with the life here and the people who live it.
So I undertook to actively find something to do; something I could only do in India. I can sit in my room and read, write, nap, and play guitar pretty much anywhere I happen to be for the rest of my life. Since I'm going to be spending the year in India, though, I think it can only enrich my experience if I try to use some of my free time to do things that I can only do while I'm here.
A number of people suggested that I visit Mattanchery and Fort Kochi. These are the "touristy" areas of the city of Cochin, replete with museums, historical landmarks, and shops, where European visitors go to soak up Indian history, culture, and life. And to buy things that commemorate this soaking. And while I was a bit apprehensive about having to get to, around, and back from the city by myself, I knew that the change of scenery and the opportunity to "get out of the house" would do me good.
The bus rides to and from Cochin, while long (about an hour and a half for a trip of 20 km), were simple-- a bus runs directly from the bus stand in Aluva to that in Mattanchery or Ft. Kochi. The only trick was figuring out which series of squiggles meant "Mattanchery" or "Aluva" (although I'm starting to be able to recognize this one pretty well). Malayalam is even tougher to read than it is to speak. But by asking enough people, I managed to end up on the right busses to and fro. So all was well.
I went to Mattanchery first, since geographically that made more sense. Mattanchery is the site of Cochin's Jew Town, a maybe-three-square-block area that is home to the very small population of Indian Jews, and houses a plethora of "antiques" and "handicrafts" (read: overpriced souvenirs) shops, and an old synagogue and an 18th century palace, both of which have been turned into museums of sorts. I arrived around noon only to find that the synagogue is closed between 12 and 3 pm. So I wandered the streets a bit, poking into some of the shops. I hate to admit it, but some of the souvenir crap these shops offer (and one shop's inventory really doesn't differ that much from the one next to it) is pretty nice. The wood-crafts, textiles, and jewlery especially would make nice gifts and, well, souvenirs.
OK, so they're not "really" Indian (I hate to tell you, but you don't find ornate wooden elephants or statues of Hindu deities or Bodhisattvas outside of tourist gift shops, just like you won't find miniature Statues of Liberty in a "normal" American store-- although the US is pretty good at making any sort of retail establishment into a tourist gift shop. But I digress...) and the items are way overpriced in order to empty American and European pockets, but I wouldn't feel too bad about returning home with some of this junk.
The problem with "shopping" (which I'm none too good at anyway) is the aggressiveness of the shopkeepers. These guys line the street outside their stores, and when they see a saipu coming, the little dollar (er... rupee) signs pop up in their eyes. Walking down the street was like running the gauntlet. Every one of these guys would at the very least call out to me, "Hey, my friend! Come look in my shop!" Most would race toward me, throw an arm around my shoulder and try to forcibly drag me into the store. More often than not, I had three or four guys hanging off of me, all pulling me in different directions. It felt like I was being drawn and quartered. The stores I ended up going into were the ones where no one tried to entice or force me in. Even in these places, however, as soon as I was in the door, the shopkeeper would be right at my shoulder, brandishing elephants and gods and shawls and necklaces at me, explaining why I should buy each item in the store; heading off my path so as to herd me toward the more expensive items, and promising me a good price. Given the figure I cut, what with my disheveled hair, shabby clothes, and scruffy beard, I can't imagine where these guys got the idea that I would have any money on me at all, but there we were.
When I couldn't handle the entrepeneurial hectoring anymore, I headed over to Mattanchery Palace, a palace gifted by the Dutch to the Rajas of Travancore in the 1700's as recompense for the razing of several Hindu temples in the vicinity. The Palace now operates as a small museum that houses portraits of the Rajas, old weapons, litters, and palanquins. But the highlights of the palace are its several murals that depict scenes from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. The murals are in diverse states of decay and disintegration, but were still striking. Visiting the museum was a nice opportunity to step back and just be a tourist for a while; to disengage myself from real life here for a bit and get to romanticize India a little.
Leaving the Palace, I walked next door to the Idiom Book Shop, which is well-respected for its collection of books pertaining to all things Indian. I hung out in there for a little while (it was air conditioned-- a rare luxury here!) and browsed Kerala cookbooks (it's nice to know they exist, just in case I can't find anybody willing to teach me to cook), photo books, travelogues, and social and political analyses. Bibliophile that I am, this is definitely a place I'll end up making several more trips to.
When I was finished there, I hopped in an autorickshaw and headed the 2.5km to Fort Kochi. I got off at the waterfront, which is sort of the Middle of Everything. The waterfront is lined by what amounts to a large outdoor market. Various stalls line the street, selling food, fish, coconut water, more souvenirs, books, jewelery, paintings, postcards, and clothes. I wandered the marketplace, again being chased down the street by overzealous salesmen. And when it, again, became too much to handle, I headed over to the beach to have a look at the famous Chinese fishing nets. If you've ever seen pictures of Kerala, you've seen these huge nets. They operate on a system of pulleys and counterweights (huge rocks) and get dropped and raised by hand every few minutes.
If you're white (again, dollar signs in the eyes), the fishermen call you over to one of the nets and invite you to help them work it. They take your picture and tell you the sad story of how commercial overfishing and ecological degradation are depleting the aquatic life, so now they often go for days at a time barely catching anything and can't manage to make ends meet, and they explain how far just a few hundred rupees can go towards feeding their families. So you give them a few hundred rupees. I'm sure this is all true and that theirs is a legitimate plight. In fact, I know it is. I don't want to sound cynical, but these guys are basically actors who are out to cash in on the tourist season in a no-less-shameless way than the shop owners. The only difference is that the fishermen are selling tourists an experience and the opportunity to feel like they're doing Something Good, rather than little wooden elephants. But I understand that they really do have to make a living and feed their families, just like the shopkeepers (and teachers, cobblers, tailors, and farmers) do. Just like everyone everywhere does. So in short, I'm aware of how manipulative what they're doing is, but I also realize that it probably does stem from a universal need to survive.
So I bought into it and went over to one of the nets and worked and talked with the guys there for about an hour and, yes, gave them some money. But rather than letting that be the end of the transaction like most tourists, I'm hoping that I can go back there fairly regularly and spend whole days working and talking with these guys, and really get to experience what life is like for them. Really understand (as much as a middle-class American who knows he will be returning to middle-class America can) the problems and struggles they face, and build relationships that can possibly be transformative for me and for them.
After my time working on the net (those things are heavy, man!), I was pretty hungry so I went in search of something to eat. It was late for lunch (about 3:00), so most of the stalls along the waterfront were closed. What you can do is buy some fish from a fishmonger behind the nets on the beach and then take it to one of the stalls where they'll cook it for you. That's what I wanted to do, but I guess it was time for the afternoon siesta and they were all closed. So I just walked until I found a reasonably clean-looking outdoor restaurant. I was the only customer, so the whole staff of the restaurant crowded around my table and hung out while I was waiting for my food. They're so used to just dealing with tourists, that they were completely blown away by the fact that I'll be living here for a year and that I'm learning Malayalam and am genuinely interested in the life and culture of Kerala. I had a fairly simple meal of fresh red snapper (served whole, eyes included) with a red curry sauce and some Kerala rice. The food was very fresh and really good, so I boarded the bus back to Aluva quite satisfied.
Like I said before, this little outing was probably the best thing I could've done for myself at the time. I really needed the change of scenery and the change of psychological space. The process of adjusting to life here is so exhausting and emotionally draining that it was really nice to be able to step out of that for an afternoon and just be a tourist. At the same time though, as my experience with the fishermen shows, it's satisfying to know that my experiences and interactions (or transactions, as the case may be) here are much deeper than just tourism. I feel very blessed to have the oportunity to really engage the life and people of Kerala and enter into mutually transformative relationships with the life here and the people who live it.
posted by Andy at 9:06 AM
2 Comments:
I can't wait to hear in a few months how odd you think it is that you once thought getting to Forth Kochi was hard!!! :)
I happened across your blog...hope you don't mind...but I see Charlotte has already caught up on it too, so I don't feel so bad...but while i'm here and you are there - I have a favor to ask of you. While you are in Fort Kochi next time can you stop by the guy who sells all those amazing pirated DVD's (well, VCD's) and get his card and give me his information? I think it is the only shop of the kind around there...but if you don't no hard feelings. it is just impossible to find malayalam/hindi/etc films here in the US.
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