Cochin (pronounced COO-chin and sometimes often also called Kochi (CO-chee)) is quite a way south on the western coast of India and is a major port. It is sometimes called the “Venice of the East” because it consists of a bunch of islands and much of the transport is by boat. In general, everywhere I looked there was lush, tropical vegetation and the air was filled with bird calls and scented with frangipani flowers. It is clearly a thriving city (well over a million people live here) with new, modern apartment buildings interspersed with old, small buildings, small shops, and market stalls. 18% Christian, 24% Muslim, and the rest Hindu so there are lots of churches, mosques, and temples. Today was Sunday so many shops were closed and lots of families were strolling along, somehow dancing in between the motorbikes (countless numbers of them, often with a family of four piled onto one motorbike), the tuk tuks (I think I mistakenly said these were 2-wheel vehicles in an earlier post but they are 3-wheelers with room for 2 passengers in the back and given the potholes and uneven pavement on the roads, it can be a teeth-jarring, wild ride), trucks, and of course busses (regular busses and our tourist busses -- the difference being that the regular busses were without windows so they were open air and the tourist busses were all closed up with air conditioning).
Cochin is clearly doing much better than Goa, which still seems to be living in a past, premodern era, whereas Cochin is clearly modern even though its fishing and agricultural industries harken back to older times. Less rubbish about than Goa although not nearly as clean and pristine as Aqaba.
OK, so about my day. After going through the immigration dance (see my rant in the previous post) we finally got off the boat and stepped onto the dock -- 8:30 AM in the full sun and it was hot and very humid. About 30 minutes earlier it had poured rain so everything was wet and the steam was rising into the air turning the whole outdoors into a steambath (remember this because I have a comment about this later).
I found our assigned bus and my sister and I settled in. Let me comment here that Indian busses are built for small Indian people not big American butts like mine. Most fancy tourist busses have 2 seats, an aisle, and 2 seats in each row. Our bus had 2 seats, an aisle, and 3 seats -- which gives you an idea of how narrow the seats were. My sister and I sat on the 2-seat side, which meant that I had half a butt-cheek hanging over -- not a pretty sight, I’m sure, and not comfortable. Not to mention that the head rest came to just between my shoulder blades, which meant that I couldn’t sit back and relax. On the other hand, this is just one of the interesting things about traveling.
Our first stop was at a boat dock where we took an hour-long tour of the harbor (to board our boat, we had to step down steep steps into a boat, cross the boat, step up steep steps onto the deck on the other side and step over to the next boat, then step down steep steps into the boat, cross the boat, and climb a ladder to get to the top deck, which was covered, thank goodness). The tour was very nice, around a few islands, past wonderfully colorful fishing boats (all docked because it was Sunday -- I especially loved the name of one, which was Om Jesus), past the Chinese fishing nets (more about that in a bit), with lots and lots of beautiful, tropical vegetation -- banana trees, silk mimosa trees, acacia trees with flaming orange flowers, palms, mangroves, and mangos. The breeze was very welcome.
After that, we walked along the shore, past market stalls. There were many people selling souvenirs and although they were diligent in offering their wares, they accepted my “No, thank you” with grace. It was nice to see all the people walking about. I wanted to do a bit of shopping but the tour guide kept walking and I didn’t want to get lost, so I passed up some interesting items.
We continued walking along and reached the Chinese fish nets. It is hard to describe what these are like without a photo, but here’s my sister’s description: “The shore is lined with a series of fishing nets of a remarkable design from the Chinese. A framework of long poles extends like spider forelegs over the water, operated by counterweights of ropes strung with watermelon-sized stones. Strung between a wishbone of poles is a fishing net. By use of the counterweights (hauled hand-over-hand by 5-6 men), the net is dipped, parallel, into the water. The men wait about 5 minutes, raise the framework, and see what is in the net. Two men pole-walk out to grab the suitable fish found in the net and toss the little ones back before the net is lowered again.”
Further along the shore were the fish stalls and a lively fish auction. The fish was clearly fresh -- some of the fish were still flapping around. Very interesting to see all the different kinds of fish. We continued strolling, in and out of the shade (which didn’t seem to feel much different in temperature) and I hauled out my umbrella because the sun felt like it was burning my skin.
We piled back into the bus and drove for a few minutes to a famous Catholic church built by the Portuguese for St. Francis Xavier and was the site where the explorer Vasco de Gama was first buried (he was later dug up and moved to Portugal). BUT, although the interior was supposed to be lovely, they were conducting church services so we couldn’t go in. Personally, I think the tour company should have known the church service schedule and arranged the tour so that we would be there at a more opportune time.
The next stop was at a folkart center, where we watched a fabulously interesting performance of Kathakali (kata-KALL-ee) dancing (an emotive and narrative style of dance that tells a story). There were 2 dancers, both men (my assumption is that all the dancers in this style are men), who wore very heavy and elaborate costumes and makeup. One artist first did a demonstration of the basic eye movements used in this dance style (although that might sound boring, it was an amazing demonstration of ability and control), then the basic facial expressions, then the “alphabet” of hand movements. We watched the artist demonstrate a bee sucking nectar from a lotus -- delicate and realistic and movements only, yet also stylized. Wonderful. Like western ballet, every single movement of every single muscle in the body is carefully trained and used in the dancing. Like Japanese kabuki, which makes more use of the facial muscles, the dance tells a story -- not just evokes the story, but clearly narrates every detail of the story. The artists have obviously trained for many years.
Then both artists, accompanied by a singer (who I assume was telling the story) and two drummers, danced part of a traditional story about the hindu gods. I was spell-bound for the entire hour-long performance, despite the fact that it was quite hot in the theater.
Then it was back in the bus to go back to the ship. But wait -- as if on an impulse, the tour guide asked if anyone wanted to buy organic spices and several people said yes, so the bus pulled over, turned off the engine, and a few people got out. After a couple of minutes, we asked the driver to turn on the air conditioning -- and he did try. He had trouble starting the engine, it took several tries, and when that got revved up, he turned on the air -- which lasted for about 2 minutes and then everything shut down again. He repeated that sequence several times and then the air just wouldn’t come on at all. So we sat there getting hotter and hotter.
The spice shoppers came back and the bus took off for the ship, but it was about a 30 minute ride in a closed bus (the windows could not be opened) with no air conditioning, at about 1:00 PM on a hot and humid day. My sister and I were flapping our fans and drinking room-temperature water, trying to remain calm. Passengers began to loudly complain but there really wasn’t anything the driver or tour guide could do and if we stopped it was just going to delay our arrival at the ship. I started to get nauseous (which seems to be my body’s response to heat-stress) so I ate a cookie that I had packed with me (despite the many warnings that we were not allowed to take food off the ship) and my sister had some crackers. We drank more water and kept flapping our fans. The bus got stuck in traffic. Then, at the immigration paperwork checkpoint, the bus had to wait in line. I started to get worried -- by this time it must have been close to 115 F in the bus. Really -- I don’t think I am exaggerating.
We finally arrived back at the ship and when I stepped out of the bus onto the dock, standing there in the full sun, it actually felt cool (helped by the mild breeze, I’m sure). When we boarded the ship, the cold air that they had blasting almost felt like a shock and then felt like heaven. We quickly got something to eat and collapsed for a nap, exhausted.
Later, after a nap and a shower, we leaned on the railing of our balcony and listened to the muslim call to prayer wafting over the tropical trees in the sunset -- almost magical. Even with the heat, I think that seeing the Chinese nets and the dancing was worth it.
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