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Published: January 19th 2007
This blog entry is being written in the middle of Vembanadu Lake, the largest lake in Kerala. Ok, the houseboat we're on hasn't actually got broadband connection, but we have got a notebook and a pen with us and we'll post this on the net as soon as we can.
Half an hour later now, and we're moored up on Martandu Island, just having finished our lunch of okra stew and other vegetarian curries. The island is full of paddy fields actually lower than the water we're on, being held back by just a narrow pathway lined with coconut trees and being kept at the right saturation by an occasional pump house. As we sit here, women are returning from the fields, some wearing umbrella topped hats against the sun, changing from their work clothes into bright saris and waiting in the shade of the houseboat ahead of us for the canoe home.
We've been away from Goa now for four days. On Friday (5th Jan) we caught the overnight Mangala Lakshadweep Express for the 16 hour journey south to Cochin (or Kochi). We travelled second class sleeper again, a bargain at Rs 708 (about 8 pounds) for the
two of us. We shared our 6 berth compartment with two old ladies straight out of Kumars at No 42 on their way home from one of their daughters in Goa, and a young couple with a tuberculous cough and a beautiful and smiling 14 month old little girl who stayed giggling and smiling for the entire journey.
After a two hour late start we called at Margao for one of our trips most bizarre experiences. I stood up to look out of the door and passed a theatrically camp bloke wearing a sari who minced into our compartment and announced his arrival with a loud double clap of his hands.
Called Chakka or Hirja, these people are usually though of as either eunuchs, or a third sex. We'd come across some before in Goa and Mumbai. Indians regard them with equal measures of respect and fear, and there are many rumours and superstitions surrounding them. They survive by begging, but some people believe they can bring good luck and they are often called to the opening of new businesses and given large donations by even sometimes extremely wealthy and sucessful buisnessmen.
I looked back into the
compartment to see the embarressed but strangely quiet father of the baby being aggressively groped by the chakka. Another bloke trying to open your flies, however pretty his sari, would normally elicit some sort of response, but he pretty much just sat there and let him. After the Chakka had left, without a donation, another passenger explained that they normally come in packs, and if you try to fight back the abuse becomes more and more sexual with them sometimes even hitching their sari up and trying to rub their genitals in your face, and then all join in and attack you. He said that they have supernatural strength. When he was younger, with eleven friends he tried to beat one up, after 45 minutes and four of his friends needing hospital treatment, they gave up.
In Mumbai, apparently, when a baby is born a Chakka turns up on their doorstep demanding to see the child. They check the sex of the child and if indeterminate, take the child away and bring it up as a Chakka. Their funeral arrangements are secret, nobady even knows if they are buried or cremated. Anyone who sees a Chakka funeral is allegedly
likely to go mad.
However unlikely many of the stories about them, the Chakkas certainly use peoples very real fear of them to their benefit. Many Indians who might normally not give to beggars will give to them, and the Chakka on the train only went after Indian men, leaving us westerners well alone. Thankfully!
Anyway, after a long night with little sleep - partly for fear that the Chakka might come back, and partly because unlike our previous journey to Mumbai, this train didn't offer any bedding for hire, we arrived at the port town of Cochin.
Cochin never really existed until 1341 when a flood created a natural safe port, and its name derives from Kocchazhi, meaning new harbour. It consists of the city of Ernakulam on the mainland, and several islands linked by a crisscross of small ferries, and increasingly new road bridges. Its still a major port serving massive container ships and one of the main stops on many cruise liner itineries. Ernakulum is a large characterless city with nothing that we found to distinguish it from any other large characterless city.
The island of Fort Cochin still plays a large role
in the rice and spice trade, and many of the buildings were built by British and Dutch traders giving it a very european feel. Many of the buildings still house traders who sit behind tables covered with bowls of various samples. One of the main tourist attractions of Fort Cochin are the massive chinese fishing nets along one side of the island. They take four men to work, and rely on a complicated system of weights and pulleys. We arrived after they had knocked off for the day, so didn't see them in operation, but in the morning it is possible to buy fish directly from the fishermen and take them to the adjacent stalls who will cook them for you.
Fort Cochin probably merited another couple of days wandering round, but it never really floated our boat, and the next day we moved on, another 57km by train south to the town of Alleppey.
Also known as Alappuzha, Alleppey was formerly known as "Venice of the East" (along with several other towns in Asia) because of the large network of interconnecting canals, mostly now covered with weeds. It is still a major manufacturing area for coir, which
is rope made from coconut fibre, either used in the fishing industry or made into matting. Alleppey is also the main gateway into Kerala's backwaters, an area called Kuttanad, which stretches for 75km from Kochi down to Kollam - a sort of Norfolk Broads with palm trees - sandwiched between the sea and the hills of the Western Ghats.
We stayed at Johnson's "The Nest" guesthouse, a lovely house with a steady stream of backpackers and tourists moving through. Ice Cream the dog took rather too much a liking to us, and tore and ruined both Claire's dress, and my shirt, which we thought might have resulted in some sort of apology from Johnson, but barely did. Johnson arranged for his auto-rickshaw driver Madhu to take us round and show us the town, and we travelled about an hour to a couple of temples. The first was a large Krishna Temple where after looking round we were sat at a table and asked what donation we wanted to make. "1000, 500, 250 or 100 - thats too little - 250 rupees will be ok, yes?" Er, no. We're all for making charitable donations, but when we choose to and
for the amount we decide, not being forced to make one, so we left.
The next temple was also a large complex and was a snake temple. Everywhere you look there are pictures or carvings of snakes. Madhu told us that in the evening live cobras move through the compound, never biting anyone. As long as they've made a 250 rupee donation we presume. Claire proudly showed off her faint scars from her viper bite in Ghana, only to be trumped by Madhu - who turns out to be a wildlife expert in his spare time - who showed us his unsightly scars on his leg from a much more venomous cobra.
We live in Goa next to an ayurvedic massage centre. Sony, one of the guys there heard that we were going to be visiting Kerala, where they all come from, and excitedly called his brother-in-law and instructed him to meet us and show us round, actually the reason we ended up in Alleppey that previously we'd not heard of. Sijo and his friend Ben met us at The Nest and took us to Sony's house to meet his wife and children. Not far away, we were
told, which actually meant about a hour and a half car journey through the paddy fields out into the sticks. The journey ended with a drive down a tow path to Sony's house where we were greeted by his wife Sini, his two children, his mother and father, brother, neighbour, neighbour's friend and anyone else who happened to be wandering past. We were treated like long lost friends, and everyone wanted to hear about our experiences in India, and what Sony had been getting up to while away working. Just as we thought we were about to leave, the food came out and we were treated to a delicious duck curry, something we'd never heard of before. On the way home, we went a slightly different route which took us across a river on a car ferry, actually three boats tied together with rope and a few wooden boards across the two smallest barges to make a deck for a couple of cars at a time. It was a shame that a new road bridge was nearly completed next to us, and this mode of transport was soon to vanish.
Johnson arranged for us to spend a night on
a houseboat, quite expensive at Rs 6500 - about 80 pounds, but in the end worth every penny. The boats are known as Kettu Vallam - Tied Boats - and are made entirely without any nails or screws, the jackwood boards making up the hull being tied together and then covered with a black resin made from boiled cashew nut kernals. Traditionally moved by punting, now they are nearly all motorised. Every year, after the monsoon, the cabins are rebuilt using bamboo. There are about 250 of these boats on the backwaters, most just taking a couple of passengers at a time, but some are absolutely massive with an upper deck. One we saw, we don't think was made in the traditional way, but had ten bedrooms and resembled a floating hotel, pushing all life on the river almost into the bank.
Ours was more modest, although did have two bedrooms - incase Claire and me had a row I expect - and came with a crew of three: Joy, Shibu and Rejeesh. As well as keeping us away from floating Hiltons they also kept us well fed with fish and vegetarian curries. We spent 22 hours altogether on
Coir Factory
These two guys weave 50 metres of floor matting in an 8 hour shift. This is sold for 1000 rupees, and they receive just Rs 100 each - about 1 pound 30.the boat. Overnight we moored up just along from Shibu's village which suited him as he got to spend a night in his own bed, or somebody's anyway, and it suited us as otherwise we would have to take our place with the other dozen or so boats on the opposite bank, the houseboats not normally being allowed on his village's side.
It was fascinating seeing how life revolves round the water. Peering into one canoe we saw that it was the paperboy on his rounds, another was practically a floating supermarket. We saw a bloke in a boat hearding a large flock of ducks, another was skimming his punting pole across the surface of the water making a farting noise, scaring fish into the nearby nets. We stopped to stock up on beer for the evening, and saw a couple of guys hearding, we were told, about five thousand ducks into the water.
We sadly left the boat and were picked up by Madhu to take us back to Johnson's. One of the other attractions that Johnson recommends is the "Secret Beach", it turns out about 20 minutes north in Kattoor. It is billed as being a
deserted stunning beach, like being in the middle of the Bounty advert. His friend, Joseph, runs a guesthouse there, called Vallis Villa. We decided to spend our last night before moving south, there.
Johnson's The Nest is an ok place to stay, but we wouldn't recommend the guest house at the secret beach. We arrived about half eleven and asked Joseph is there was any chance of some food. He said yes, but that it would take about an hour. It actually took two and a half hours, which he knew it would when we ordered as we were just tacked onto a family's lunch order prebooked for two o'clock. If he'd told us that we'd have been able to check out the beach before lunch rather than sitting kicking our heels in the lounge.
The secret beach was certainly deserted, but nothing special apart from that. Johnson had gone on about a freshwater lagoon behind the beach, this was manky and green. It probably wouldn't rate in our top ten beaches we'd seen previously.
Although these were minor points, what disgusted us with Joseph's guesthouse, was his poor black labrador, imprisoned in a concrete cage outside
the front. Behing bars without any food or water, and laying on a bare concrete floor, it came over to us obviously friendly but was gasping for water. I asked Joseph who just shrugged and said that he has a woman who would come in later in the day to see to the dog. I ended up cutting the bottom off a water bottle to use as a bowl, and pushing it through the bars. Speaking to other guests, they said that the dog always seemed to be locked away in the cage. We realise that animals don't always get the attention in India that they would at home, but this was just cruel.
We weren't sorry to leave before six the next morning for the journey down to Varkala.
Varkala is one of the main beach destinations in Kerala. The bars and restaurants are located ontop of a high cliff with steps down to the main beach. The sea here is really rough though, with more people apparently drowning from this beach than any other in India. Certainly there was a very strong pull and we only stayed in for a few minutes. A few minutes walk
The "Secret Beach"
Like being in the Bounty advert? We don't think so... further north there is another beach, locally known as Black Beach because of the volcanic sand, where we found the sea to be much calmer. Like Goa, Varkala is a package tour destination and was quite busy, although again like Goa not as busy as would be expected for this time of the season, people being put off by the terrorist warnings.
Several of the bars had posters up advertising a film called "Five Days in Varkala", apparently something along the lines of The Da Vinci Code but allegedly true. There are also a couple of books called "Little Book - Big Secret" that many of the shops were selling. Everyone seemed quite secretive about it, saying that they wouldn't really comment on it, but that we should see the film and make up our own minds. So, we thought we'd find out what it was all about, and went for a coffee and to watch the DVD in a cafe. The film was actually put on by the author of the books, Ross Kelly, who also features in the film, which just turns out to be him talking and making words out of a set of upword letters.
Poor dog at guest house at Kattoor "Secret Beach"
Vallis Villa guesthouse in Kattoor. We put the water bowl in the cage, the poor dog was left with no food or water all the time we were there. So, just to briefly summarise the film, and our two hour conversation with Mr Kelly after the viewing: Ross believes that he is a messenger from God, who is actually female and called Ana. He has decoded the Ana Code which is warning that all the world leaders need to sort the world out and stop all the corruption or else the world will be destroyed by seven asteroids. As a warning, very shortly Oban in Scotland and Bowan in Australia will be hit by asteroids. Then the final strike will occur, which to survive you need to buy a copy of his books and join him on a mountain top in Tamil Nadu. Thinking that he needed to pass this information on to others, initially he wrote letters to Mother Theresa, Princess Diana, and Jill Dando. All of which were then assassinated because of their knowledge. On at least ten occasions he has come close to being killed himself, but - wait for it - time travelled to avoid the bullet. On one occasion he ended up on Billericay railway station in 1963 where he met his six year old classmate, who he remembers as a child coming
Early morning at Varkala
These guys are pulling two ends of a net in into school talking about some weird people she met on the station. He "proves" his points by rearranging a selection of particular letters to make various, disjointed, sentances. As an example, to prove who killed Princess Diana - "DIANA SPENCER KILLERS - TONY - MI6 - BOTH TOADS". Another example is " OCH AYE THE NOO - LAMB LIST - RK SENDS RANDI IT".
What the fu....???
Who says care in the community doesn't work...
It was actually quite interesting talking to him from a mental health point of view, and we bought a copy of his books which came with a DVD, to show our friend who is a forensic psychologist. The thing that struck us is that in India, anything is possible if you've got the money. In England, I'm sure that he'd just be another nutter rocking himself on the tube, but here he's been able to produce a couple of pretty high quality books and an hour and a half film.
Anyway, if Oban does get hit by a meteorite "OBAN HAS STORM DATE - R KELLY PINS IT IN CODE", then we're off to Tamil Nadu.
So, after four nights
in Varkala, we returned to Goa. We tried to get him to time travel us there, but he declined our request, so we had to take a 23 hour train instead. Before leaving the UK, we raised a little money for the school in Anjuna that we visited last year. Yesterday (Thurs 18th) we popped over there and saw Suzie the Deputy Head, and Father Pascoal, but the new Headmistress wasn't there, so we're going back next week to find out what they want the money spent on.
We meant to collect a sample of newspaper articles to copy onto here to show how bizarre India can be. We'll get a few for the next blog. Our favorite in the last couple of weeks relates a woman who had her petrol pump licence taking away because she was adulterating the fuel, so to protest she tipped a bottle of petrol over her head and tried to strike a match, at which point the authorities relented, and gave her licence back to her!
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Khalil
non-member comment
The dog's called Molly
As a good friend of Joseph and Molly,Lloyd,Jackie,Laloo, and all his other dogs I would like to point out to you that they get let out at night and they get food and water and cleaned. I stay there every year for many weeks and I don't like your comments and I hope you won't ever say them again. Thankyou! Khalil Aged 7 Liverpool, England.