3 women & Mr Baby

Anyone who travels to India simply has to get a Mr Baby.

He was our unruffled, courteous, careful and immaculately dressed driver and the only person on our eight-day tour in ‘God’s Own Country’ to be consistently punctual.

There is time, and then there is Indian Standard Time. All over the world Indians admit there is an unwritten code to never be on time and in Kerala, to never stick rigidly to any given plan. However this intrigue, this uncertainty, contributed towards making our tour in Kerala so fascinating.

Paddy fields

Whoever labelled Kerala ‘God’s Own Country’ (the Internet debate on that subject has narrowed it down to a creative director of a local advertising company) was spot on because the region really is rather like I imagined the Garden of Eden of biblical fame to be. Keralites, or Malayali people, can literally pick the fruits of the forests and survive if they have to. Bananas, paw paws (papayas), jackfruits, coconuts literally fall from the trees, while pineapples, strawberries, sugar cane, tapioca and a multitude of spices can be sourced around every corner.

Credit must go to our tour organisers Tern Trips, not your regular travel agents but rather off-beat travel-planners with second-to-none insider knowledge about their home state. They are off-the radar (an Internet search will reveal nothing). I found them via a personal recommendation.

Hubre in a tuk tuk 

As a first-timer to India I had a rough outline of the type of experience desired (not excessive driving, nature-based, budget but not too budget, etc) and Tern Trips planned the rest. It was not without hiccups of course, but we experienced a very varied taste of Kerala with a perfect concoction of activities, sights and destinations. 

Departure Dubai

So on 12 November Janee and I met Hubre (who flew in that day from South Africa) at Dubai International Airport’s gate to Cochin (now Kochi). Emirates delivered us to the modern, squeaky-clean Cochin International Airport on India’s south west coast 3½ hours later. This was the first of many surprises. Despite all the research I still imagined my arrival in India would be similar to the chaotic scenes in City of Joy, Lion, Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Slumdog Millionaire.  

[Another preconceived idea quashed was that snakes would fall out of cupboards when you opened them; some snakes had indeed been displaced by the recent devastating floods and had found refuge in dark places in private homes. The only serpents I saw were plastic.]

Brunton Boatyard from the ferry

Mr Baby from Intersight Tours & Travels waited with a placard bearing my name and soon enough we were in a Toyota Innova Crysta bowling through the port city studded with colonial architecture - Portuguese palaces, Dutch mansions, British warehouses; past huge shipping structures via the Goshree Road to Vypin and on to the ferry to Fort Kochi.

Mr Baby (he had a much finer name of Abraham Ochelekal but the nickname is so much more memorable) bought Janee some herbal oil for her knee as she was limping. She twisted it while sitting cross-legged in an economy seat, not something I would ever attempt… 
On the 20 minute ferry journey we saw where the seawater from the Arabian Sea met the freshwater of the Vembanad Lake.

The Ambassador & I

The Ambassador

Thomas Tharian, deferential proprietor of homestay Fort Garden Residency, offered basic clean and comfy accommodation, drinking water and good advice about Cochin such as where to eat (another preconception was to contract a ghastly Delhi belly the moment we ate anything. Note: we didn't get sick once). Hotel Seagull's casual restaurant with its view over the harbour was such a place, presenting superb seafood and a memorable thick spicy vegetable soup.

Parked under a huge tree near our homestay was a white Ambassador, you know that one manufactured by Hindustan Motors. It was one of the world’s most iconic sedans that started production in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) in the 1950s. I saw quite a few in Cochin and was tempted to ask their owners for a ride but never did.

Steam boilers

Willingdon
On the promenade by a litter-festooned beach there were two rather curious tourist attractions that had a connection to my sister in Willingdon, East Sussex. The plaque read: “Steam boilers of the cranes used in Cochin dry dock for 20 years from 1956. It used coke, coal, and firewood as fuels. Notable use of these cranes included attending annual repairs of dredger Lord Willingdon and Lady Willingdon”.

I discovered later that Lord Willingdon (once plain Mr Freeman-Thomas) was India’s 22nd Viceroy and Governor-General from 1931 to 1936; the large dredger named after him was built by a Scottish company; and his family once owned Ratton Manor and Estate in the Willingdon region near Eastbourne.

The Lady Willingdon was a small bucket dredger that helped in the building of the port. The real live Lady Willingdon was Marie Adelaide Freeman-Thomas (née Brassey).

Chinese fishing nets

Kingfisher time

Of less significance to me were the cantilevered Chinese fishing nets, a feature of Cochin that I had yearned to see. These nets supported on huge arced frames and operated by levers and counterweights were not as special as I had imagined. Perhaps it would have been better to have seen them in action at sunset but by then we were quaffing a few Kingfisher beers.

Chendamangalam Synagogue's ceiling

The synagogue
Next day Mr Baby propelled us to Kodungallur where we peeked at the Cheraman Juma Masjid (mosque), passed Paliyam Palace (closed for renovation) and stopped at the Muziris Heritage Project, although I am now doubting where we actually were as the Internet descriptions and photos of the place we went to aren't remotely similar. We saw some ruins, plastic sheeting, saw ant-lion craters in the dirt; spoke to a woman who told us about the legendary port of Muziris and the Portuguese in the late 1500s but there was nothing too inspiring to report here. 

Ant-lion homes

                                                          Chendamangalam Synagogue further on was more interesting particularly for Jewish Hubre. The synagogue has a brightly coloured chequered pattern with flowers in relief on its high ceiling. A spiral wooden staircase leads to a balcony with beautifully carved balusters and railings, and behind that is the women’s partition.

It was surprising to hear how few Jews are left in Cochin (26 at last count according to an article in Haaretz) since they arrived in the region around the 12th Century; most seemed to have headed off to Israel after 1948.

Cheeyappara Waterfalls 

By afternoon we were weaving towards Munnar in the Western Ghats some 1,600m upwards, winding through towns, rubber plantations, lush forests, past some chained up buffaloes (an abbatoir), elaborate houses belonging to Middle East-based Indians, shacks belonging to local Keralites, spice plantations and more. We stopped at Cheeyappara Waterfalls that flow down in seven tiers apparently. Most other tourists en route to Munnar stop here too.

The road twists and climbs, narrows alarmingly in some places “…where everything looks like an accident about to happen,” said Hubre. There were signs of the damage caused by the terrific floods that affected Kerala in August 2018; fallen trees and branches, churned up roads and gouged out hillslopes revealing raw earth.

Not too sure why Chandy’s Windy Woods was the hotel chosen for us (Chandy or chandi means ass i.e. bum in Malayalam) but who cares, it was magnificent and a destination in itself. Their chenda mellam welcoming committee of bare-chested drummers was Wow!  - incredibly loud and vibrant in the cool night air. This hotel was another magnificent surprise for we were expecting something far more modest. The higgledy-piggledy design of the hotel held, in a central atrium over two or three floor levels, an enormous artificial Banyan tree (ficus benghalensis) dripping with aerial roots and tendrils. Perhaps there are restrictions to growing a real one for it is a holy tree for many religions and also the National tree of India.

A view to wake up to 

Tea plantations
Dawn brought a spectacular view from our balcony – lush greenery, artistically contoured tea plantations, flowering plants, spread out below as we breathed in the fresh air and listened to gentle bird song as the hills slowly awakened. Perennially cool, Munnar was a favoured summer resort for one-time British government officials who also relished the serenity - acre upon acre of tea, coffee, cardamon, pepper, clove, cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg and more.

CSI Christ Church, Munnar

Chandy’s breakfast was spectacular; from coconut curries to boiled eggs. After that we went to watch a hand-weaver create material on a loom, then in Munnar town visited CSI Christ Church (CSI abbreviation is Church of South India NOT Crime Scene Investigation) built in 1910 by the British. It has exquisite stained glass windows and on the walls are engraved brass plaques dedicated to tea planters. Pioneer planter Eric H Francis and his wife Marjorie Innes who did a lot of good works here, had a rather sad note at the end of their plaque: “….and Godfrey H Francis, Ph. their only son born Pullivasal in 1928, killed by lightning while climbing an English hill, 1960. I WILL LIFT UP MY EYES TO THE HILLS”.  I thought that particularly poignant.

Confusion reigned this day for between us 3, our travel planners and Mr Baby plans for the day were lost in translation. There was just an unfathomable disconnect, none of us were in synch! 

[Note to self: buy a map of Kerala before you leave home! Often we had no idea where or in what direction we were going, and we kinda felt we needed to know that. Mr Baby eventually found us a little store which had just the ticket.]                                                           

We drove past a huge billboard indicating UN World Toilet Day was imminent, in fact on 19th November. The day is marked to encourage all to take action to ensure that everyone has a safe toilet by 2030. It was an apt reminder to ask our travel planners how to politely ask Mr Baby to “stop the car I need a pee like NOW”. And it is easy enough – just hold up the pinky and wiggle it. A universal sign apparently.

After some time we finally met our travel gurus Srijith Sridharan, Aswathi Gopinath (Achu) and her cousin Appu (Rajasekhar Vishnu Das). They had driven by car from Cochin to meet us, which had taken longer than anticipated. Or had left late. Or hadn’t actually left from there but from another destination, we never really understood. But whatever, we were here together in the Western Ghats, a biodiversity hot-spot that contains loads of the country's plant and animal species. 
The scenery is something else. Trees heavy with blossom including spathodea, cassia and pointsettia, plus jacaranda trees, were all so familiar to me that it was like coming home to Africa. Angel’s trumpet (a bell-shaped flower), morning glory, orchid, fuschia, bougainvillea, rose and jasmine clung to the roadsides for dear life as we rumbled by. Dotted randomly among the tea plantations covering the hillslopes were silver birch trees, grown to protect the young tea plants as well as to absorb excess water.

About 15 kilometres from Munnar is the Eravikulam National Park of shola forests where prime attractions are the Nilgiri Tahr, an endangered species of mountain goat, and Neelakurunji (Strobilanthes kunthianus) a blue coloured shrub that blooms every 12 years - and 2018 was its year to bloom. We were lucky enough to find a few still visible on the plants.

The park was jam-packed with large buses, cars and locals. We all piled into the feeder bus that takes you up the mountain to a certain point from which there’s a comfortable walk to the top for the view of a mosaic of green hues from shrubs, stunted evergreen trees, moss and grassland. 
Half-way to the top were the country’s first automated e-toilets, a scheme from Eram Scientific of Thiruvananthapuram, a company that aims to solve the issue of India’s many unhygienic public loos. The occupant is guided by audio commands, it flushes automatically and the next user doesn’t get access until it is clean.

Tea museum

Tata Tea Museum

After a superb lunch at a hotel Issacs Residency back in Munnar, the six of us toured the Tata Tea Museum. The entrance walls studded with trophy animal heads seemed rather incongruous to me, and the selection of ‘vintage’ office equipment - much that I could well have had in my own house - showed just how old I am. The tea processing was interesting, explained by an enthusiastic guide.
       The onward journey to a remote village somewhere produced some stunning vistas of shiny-leaved tea plantations, shimmering Mattupatti Dam and near Kundala Lake we spotted four wild elephants in the distance.  Just beyond the Nature Education Centre (yet another pee stop negotiated for us by Mr Baby) in the Papadum Shola National Park we drove around a sharp bend and suddenly came upon three enormous bisons with horns - so close we couldn’t even get a photo.

Mattupatti Dam

Zoom in for elephants!

At a check boom into the Vattavada Grama Panchayath       (Winter Vegetable Village) a guard and Mr Baby appeared to have had a heated discussion but eventually we were waved through to reach Kottakamboor, a village of about 250 families. Water has to be fetched from a central tap, electricity is in short supply and they depend on agriculture for their livelihood.

Kottakamboor  village

Wattle and daub
Us six and our large suitcases crammed into and onto a 4x4 jeep and we clung onto anything in the back as it buckled and bounced for two kilometres over very rough rocky terrain. By now it was twilight so I really did wonder what on earth we were doing, totally clueless as to where we would end up. Plus our safety blanket Mr Baby stayed behind in the village.

Worry I need not have, for the occupants of a charmingly rustic wattle and daub house B’Leaf Inn, sitting upon a hillslope, welcomed us with open arms. Proprietors Shah and Razook show guests exactly what it is like to live in this peaceful, remote part of the world. Multi-coloured vegetable fields of fennel, strawberries, cabbages, tomatoes, potatoes, garlic, fruit of every description, sit on terraced slopes and valleys; patches of forests hold eucalyptus and conifers.

Chef and owner of the land is Murthi, who uses as much of the ingredients grown on site as is possible while creating local dishes such as dinner that night, naadan chicken curry with coconut milk, chillis and spices, served with chapattis and salad.

B'Leaf Inn

After some tulsi tea (Ocimum tenuiflorum, commonly known as holy basil, which has therapeutic properties) it was time for bed. There are three en suite double bedrooms each with a shower and a western loo, a jute carpet, woollen blanket and pillows. We didn’t know to bring our own sheets or sleeping bags but I did bring the loo paper. Because it was so cold we slept wearing all of our clothing, and the three of us spent it in one double bed (there had been a hiccup with the booking system). I had a surprisingly good sleep (don’t know about the others!)

Morning walk

Chef & owner Murthi

In the morning it was chilly as we strolled to a waterfall, passed a dam and through forests. We met a local farmer cultivating cauliflowers, garlic, potatoes, carrots and beans. Via Achu’s interpretation we heard that he inherited the land from his parents who had died young. He came from the bordering state of Tamil Nadu. He said that from time to time wild elephants, tigers and wolves passed through right where we were walking. Once he came across a pack of wolves near the road, so all the villagers came with fire torches to scare the wolves away.

Breakfast at B’Leaf Inn 
was an amazing creation of puttu, steamed rice flour layered in coconut and pushed into a long cylindrical stainless steel vessel. Accompanying this was spicy kadala curry with black chickpeas, plus there was a fresh fruit salad, all laid out on the main verandah.

Walking back the two kilometres to the village we met stunningly beautiful neat and well-groomed young women carrying goods on their heads on their way to the fields. To witness daily uncomplicated life was such a privilege. 
Hubre popped into the local school and they welcomed us all with great beaming smiles.

Hubre meets the school children

Kumarakom

Coconut Creek homestay

We said goodbye to our travel organisers and with Mr Baby went through Munnar again (this is why a map is useful) and on to Kumarakom some seven hours’ away. It was a long drive...... 
Halfway there we stopped at a roadside restaurant for masala dosa (long very thin and fat crispy rice pancakes with fillings of potato, mustard seeds, onion, ginger, garlic etc served with chutney and a lentil-based vegetable stew). 
We also stopped at a supermarket to find tonic and lime…..

The roads were busy but moving, mostly single lane traffic. We passed mosques and temples and hundreds of churches, some crammed to overflowing with worshippers. 

It was a joy to reach Coconut Creek homestay just before nightfall, where host Ullas Babu (or his representative, not too sure who was who) greeted all. Communication wasn’t great but we gathered we were welcome to have a complementary vegetarian curry dinner with chapattis that night – perfect, after some pre-dinner gins and tonics. Here we each had an en suite private room, where a quiet fan lulled us to sleep and shooed away the mosquitoes.

The backwaters

From across a canal at the end of the homestay the soft melodious peal of church bells woke me around 0600, a comforting sound I had not heard since I lived in Ardingly, West Sussex some 16 years ago. Gentle warm rain pattered down as we sat for breakfast of omelette, rice pancakes in coconut milk, toast and jam.

In the dripping rain we took a Village Life Experience operated by Kerala Responsible Tourism, which embraces community-based tourism. Guide Sabu, previously of the Indian army, loaned us hat umbrellas that grip onto the head as we boarded a rickety traditional canoe and slipped into the canal water. Parting the clumps of invasive but pretty pinky-purple flowered water hyacinth (Kariba weed) we felt more in tune with nature on our rocky canoe than I’m sure those in the motorised boats that occasionally puttered by did.

White-throated and common kingfisher, Indian pond heron, black ibis, palm swift, brown kite, whiskered tern, Indian roller, blue tailed bee-eater, cormorant, black drongo,you name it, Sabu knew it so Hubre didn’t have to haul out the Indian bird book she bought in Cochin.

As Sabu slowly paddled everyday village life unfolded on the banks– it’s where everyone scrubs themselves, swims, where women wash pots and men fish. 
On dry land, a woman holds a clump of coconut fibre that has been soaked for six months in water then extracted from the shell. She makes coir rope using a basic but brilliant mechanism tied up to a tree; motorised hooks twist the tufted coconut fibre pulled from inside a coconut into long threads. An agile farmer scampered up a coconut tree to extract toddy from the leaf. We certainly didn’t scamper, but tried to climb a coconut tree using a device that felt like cumbersome leg callipers; we watched a woman make mats by weaving coconut leaves together; and saw how to make foamy hair 

 

shampoo by crushing hibiscus leaves just plucked from the hedge. We examined rice and tapioca plants growing in the ground, tamarind and cinnamon trees, unusual spiky looking plants, herbs and more.

Hubre lost count of the number of single shoes she had seen abandoned in just about every place visited. Was it due to the floods? Are shoes cheap in India? Nobody had an answer.

Three hours later we were at Alleppey (Alappuzha) on the top deck of a houseboat, looking across the famous backwaters of Vembanad Lake and wondering what on earth had hit us.

Gokul Cruise’s luxurious floating palace had a four-poster bed, jacuzzi in the bathroom, upper deck with sun loungers and sofas and three unobtrusive staff dedicated to just ourselves. Manager Muthus (also a bird expert) ran a tight ship, while captain Sanish steered and Justin cooked delicious traditional food like sadhya - various vegetarian dishes served on a banana leaf.

“I do not envy anyone today, except me,” said Janee.

Good to learn that waste matter is not discharged into the lake but stored in bio-tanks on the boat where it is treated and then

emptied once back on shore. There’s surprisingly little litter considering the number of houseboats and rice barges that come here.

Sadya

And it didn’t matter that it rained the whole afternoon, in fact poured at one stage; when it’s warm rain it’s wonderful. The cyclone we were in the thick of caused our captain to change the plan as to where to moor overnight. Considering we had no idea where we actually were in this maze of lagoons, lakes and canals, it made no difference to us.

Back to Alleppey

Dawn was a rosy sky dotted with black ibis flying above the coconut palm-fringed shore. The rain had gone. Bird chirrups and faint singing from one of the pink Catholic churches way off in the distance wafted across the water. Slowly our houseboat sailed back to Alleppey, past islands peppered with coconut trees and little houses behind which green paddy fields stretched out, past serene women washing clothes, past feeder canoes anxious to give us a ride.  
We were sad to say goodbye to the backwaters.

Mr Baby drove us to a Hindu temple where we felt as if we were intruders so didn’t linger long. 
Another temple stop was the Mannarasala Sree Nagaraja Temple, a shrine dedicated to the Serpent God Nagaraja. Devotees believe the serpents have miraculous powers.

Here Srijith joined us again, arriving a few hours later than expected because of a state-wide dawn to dusk strike that also affected public transport. As we drove towards Mararikulam we met a large band of locals in the road protesting about the government’s decision to lift an age-old ban on women of menstruating age (10 to 50) from entering the Sabarimala temple in another part of Kerala, one of the holiest Hindu sites. It was a peaceful demonstration but hard for us to fathom why they should have been banned in the first place.

We then had a lovely chat and lunch at the very comfortable home of Srijith’s mother, who later took us on a short walk to her favourite place, the Mararikulam Sree Mahadeva Temple.

Xandari Pearl swimming pool area

Mararikulam

Then on to the beach to a spacious, secluded white bungalow at the Xandari Pearl resort in Mararikulam. It had a small garden, hammock under a coconut tree (with nets atop to catch falling fruit) and an outside bathroom. How magical it was to be looking at the moon and being totally surrounded by nature when taking a shower. Simply gorgeous! 
Our bungalow was five minutes’ walk from the sea with strong waves that pounded onto the shore.
                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Shower open to the elements

Reception

In the morning from the open bathroom, choral singing wafted over the bungalow’s wall from three different directions. It was Sunday after all. 
We returned to Cochin, passing paddy fields, colourful boats, more churches, tree-lined roads then checked into our hotel opposite Cochin harbour. 

Colonial charm

It’s like entering a history book when you get to the Brunton Boatyard with its lofty ceiling, punkhas and elegant teak furniture in the reception area reminiscent of the days of the Raj.  Re-built about 10 years ago from the remnants of a 19^th century shipbuilding yard when the pepper trade was at its peak, the hotel retains its colonial charm while offering modern facilities. English, Portuguese and Dutch influences are reflected in the hotel’s décor and architecture, including huge portraits of dominant figures in Cochin’s history adorning the walls.

 Sanjeev K.R. & son

Local guide Sanjeev K.R. with his young son took us on a tour of Cochin, once an important trading post with its commanding position at the mouth of the Periyar River. 
Starting at the market in Jew Town, we visited 16th-century Paradesi Synagogue, a small Kappiri Muthappan shrine dedicated to African slaves brought in by the Portuguese, then St. Francis Church where Vasco da Gama was first buried (his remains are in Lisbon now) and which has particularly long punkahs cooling the congregation in the pews. 
Rain trees (Mimosaceae family) with their umbrella-like canopy of evergreen, feathery foliage and puffs of pink flowers, trunks festooned with ferns and moss, kept the avenues relatively shady. 

It was hard to leave the Brunton Boatyard’s elegant bedroom with a fabulous view of the port but leave we had to, and early the next morning, complete with breakfast of fruit and chicken sandwiches all neatly packaged in recycled bags made of newspaper, we left ‘God’s Own Country’ for the airport.

Our room with a view

Recycled breakfast bag