Holiday in Kerala, Pt. 2

Welcome back after the commercial break, during which I took a trip to Udaipur with Amy - where we stayed at what has got to be the most romantic room in the most romantic hotel (Jagat Niwas Palace, Room 106) in a very romantic city. All this for $50 a night. And that's my travel tip of the month for all of you romantics, whether in a romance or not. Here we are, the three "romantics," Amy, yours truly, and Sarah (who stayed in Room 107 and coveted our room, so don't reserve 107 when you go), showing off the impressive tomes we were reading. Extra credit to anyone who can read the titles.



And this was the alternate view from our dining table, looking up at the City Palace, which was lit up at night.




Meanwhile, school starts on Monday here in the City of Fog, and memories of Kerala are already fading, but here goes . . . .

While we were in Munnar, the site of the infamous elephant ride, we dared to walk into town on our own several times. Though it was only about 1/2 mile, the traffic made it more like the experience of Disney World's ride "Space Mountain," during which rumor has it that I yelled "Mommmm-my" (I was only 33). One night, on the way back from the knot of intersections known as Munnar, I was making a speech to Amy about how smart Sarah is to carry a flashlight - in fact, my exact words were, "I really should get a flashlight," just before I moved out of the way of an oncoming car and fell into the sewage ditch.

My primary emotion was embarrassment, as the lights of the oncoming car were still shining on the parts of me not in the ditch: an elbow, my head - I hardly even remember the experience of the ditch itself: the lovely smells, the damp "soil?" - because I jumped up so quickly. Later I wondered how I managed to hit my right hip, my left knee, and scrape my right elbow - without pain elsewhere - another medical miracle. Back at the hotel, we realized that my elbow looked "gross." I envisioned all of the bacteria that could possibly live in an Indian sewage ditch rapidly crossing into my bloodstream, traveling to my neck, and strangling me (isn't that what they do?). The hotel clerks seemed dutifully concerned, and produced a package of bandaids, offering me half a dozen or so. I'm sure this had nothing to do with wanting to get a woman with a disgusting elbow injury away from the reception desk. But, just to ease the suspense, I survived. The elbow injury even gave me an excuse to avoid the yoga class we were "all" going to take at the last place where we stayed, the "Sometheeram Ayurvedic Resort," though the girls were suspicious of my motives (they of little faith).

Japanese encephalitis is always possible
The trip from Munnar to Kovalam, our final destination in the State of Kerala, is about 9 hours, so we stayed for a night in Kerala's famous "backwaters," at a hotel where our cabin stood perched over a canal. Now, could someone please explain to me why, in a country where malaria is endemic, people actually WANT to spend holiday time in the midst of large pools of standing or very slow-moving water. In fact, spending several nights on a houseboat, drifting along prime mosquito breeding grounds, is considered de rigueur. Instead, we stayed in a hotel on the edge of a misty lake, waving from the pool to houseboat-goers passing by, and we waved a lot, because the frequently-promised pool towels did not appear for a very long time. After we had been there for an hour, and three groups of swimmers had traveled to the reception desk or begged a passing employee to get some towels, two towels arrived. What followed looked like the evolutionary period when amphibians crawled onto land (maybe they wanted towels, too).

By the way, the picture is of one of the canals by our cabin, not the hotel pool.

Amy, who had been advised against a shot for Japanese encephalitis (carried by mosquitoes, of course), spent time reading about it in order to assuage her worries, and learned (whew, relief) that the disease-carrying mosquitoes exist in areas of rice paddies. Hey, this is India - not Vietnam - no problem, right? But then on our way to the backwaters resort, Mr. Rishi pointed out the many rice paddies in the area. As a result, there was a lot of rapid door-shutting and use of "Ultrathon" mosquito repellent, with a DEET level that probably kills most life forms within 5 feet. Just try not to think too much about the fact that it takes only one bite . . . .

Our last day with Mr. Rishi
In the morning, we went to the adjoining bird sanctuary, named by the Lonely Planet guide as a worthy destination. What we saw were lots of discarded plastic bottles and two crows, until we were out of the sanctuary and in the hotel parking lot and saw two birds with white feathers and big wingspans. I don't think the Audubon Society would appreciate our effort.

Mr. Rishi had gone back to his home in Cochin for Christmas the night before, and he apparently had another night of festivities ahead of him on the 26th, because he was a man on a mission when he promptly picked us up that morning. He is a Hindu, by the way, but he informed us that "everyone in India celebrates Christmas." The celebrations seem to involve a lot of pretty cardboard stars (placed over light bulbs), plum cake, colored lights, and fireworks, making the holiday a lot like the Fall holiday of Divali, a wedding celebration, or New Year's Eve. On the road, we witnessed auto rickshaws carrying 10 or more people (with seating capacity for 3 plus a driver) and food and baggage on top. Really adds some imagery to the "Over the River and through the Woods" lyrics.

As we sped along on our last day, Mr. Rishi asked if we could stop at his sister's "shop," and I thought - uh-oh, this has been too good to be true - he's going to try to get us to buy stuff. But no, Mr. Rishi lived up to his loveable reputation - his sister lives in a small village and runs the ration shop - a place where the poor can buy government-subsidized staples. He asked if we could take our picture with her - then one with him in it. The entire time, his sister looked like she was in shock at the scene of an accident. She shook our hands and, I think, smiled briefly. But after we left, Mr. Rishi told us that "she was SO happy." Judge for yourself - does this woman look thrilled?
We agreed to send the pictures to Mr. Rishi and he repeated "This will make her so happy." We then got into a discussion of how she had been widowed at a relatively young age but would never remarry because "it's against our religion" for both men and women to do so - a good reason to take care of each other, I guess.

Mr. Rishi looked at his watch frequently, and seemed to be passing more large buses, so I asked him what time we would get to Kovalam and he said, "5 o'clock." He was focused so intently on driving that he frequently wiped sweat from his chin, and the amount of mumbling increased as we got closer to our next hotel. Towards the end of the drive, his wife called twice, turning the thumb screws even further. When we arrived at the hotel, we bid a fond farewell and he looked happy and relieved - it would be another 7 hours or so before he got home again. Half an hour later, as we sat drinking from coconuts and wearing leis, Amy said, "I miss Mr. Rishi." Somehow I think that was a one-way longing.

OK, this is long enough for Part 2; Part 3, I promise, will focus completely on life on the healing farm, aka Somatheeram Ayurvedic Resort (NOT to be confused with Sometheeram Ayurvedic Health Resort or Somatheeram Ayurvedic Resort Annex, since each of these have separate beach areas, strictly enforced by the "life guards" who spend almost all of their time chatting, seated under an umbrella, facing away from the water).

But first, some photo illusions:
1. Where was this photo taken?

Looks like . . . .(guess before scrolling, or you're cheating)






the Taj Mahal, doesn't it?
But actually, it's a monument right here in Delhi, (Mughal emperor) Humayun's Tomb, which allegedly served as the model for the Taj Mahal.
The "real" Taj Mahal entry fee? $15. The entry fee to this lovely building and gardens? about 25 cents. Hence the motto (that I just made up), "It's better in Delhi."

2. Congratulations if you got that one right. Here's an even bigger challenge. Where was THIS picture taken?




Looks like . . . .




the Great Wall of China, doesn't it? In fact, it's the second longest "Great Wall" in the world, after the one in China. The Rough Guide to India says that you can walk the circumference of this wall, surrounding the Kumbalgarh Fort high in the hills of Rajasthan, in "just" two days (sleeping somewhat uncomfortably on the stone, I suppose). Here's the fort where the Maharana lived ("Maharana" means a ruler who has never been conquered; while "Maharajah" may have a failure or two under his belt; and "Rajah" is barely hanging on to his title). However, there are troubling technicalities, as Emperor Akbar the Great (my students better remember this guy) poisoned the water supply and officially "took" this fort for two days from the big "M."
The sad thing about Rajasthan, with its beautiful "Pink City" of Jaipur, "Blue City" of Jodhpur, and "Lake City" of Udaipur, is that most of the state is drying up. We passed countless dry riverbeds, dams built that no longer serve a purpose, and old men driving cattle around in a circle to pull water up from deep wells via a waterwheel. Lake Pichola, the one in front of our Udaipur hotel, is one of the few lakes that still has water. Even the cab driver who took us to the fort talked about how global warming is changing the weather. Once the topic came up, he gave as evidence the earlier-than-usual mango tree flowering this year. And every single time we passed a mango tree (>100 times), he slowed to check for flowers and excitedly pointed them out when he saw them.

Tomorrow is Amy's last day here and she has only 700 pages to go in the book she's borrowing from me here, A Suitable Boy. Any wagers on whether she'll finish?