The flight was routine, SFO to Taipei, arriving early morning. Flemming and Josefina had a more exciting flight on this route the previous September, landing in Taipei three hours after the earthquake at a darked airport - their plane didn't have enough fuel to go anywhere else. Everything looked ordinary now, I saw no signs of earthquake damage from the air.
Taipei is one of the world's most boring airports, trapped in the 1950's. I had some bad food, and a mercifully short layover. Another routine flight to Singapore, noticing how ordinary it is to travel across the Pacific, in sharp contrast with the novelty of my first trip to Asia.
Singapore has one of the world's most exciting airports. And the people are soooo nice. My schedule was to spend the night in town and fly on to Chennai the next morning. The woman at the information booth volunteered actual information - an Air India flight was delayed and just leaving now. She phoned, they had just one seat left. I ran the length of the airport, not even taking time to shop.
Once aboard, I took a middle seat, the only pale face in an Airbus jammed with Indian men. Singapore worker bees, headed home to families. Very polite, too, considering I'd delayed their homecoming another fifteen minutes - fortunately for me, Air India doesn't like empty seats.
The stewardess served me three cups of orange juice. I told her that was more than I needed, but she said, "The flight was delayed. Already everyone else has had orange juice, three times! You must take this!". Ah yes, India.
We landed in Chennai just before sunset. Where's Chennai, you may ask? It's on the east coast, about halfway down. It used to be called Madras, but they changed the name. Bombay's now Mumbai. Something about throwing off the colonial past, like changing Army Street to Cesar Chavez. Good for the stationary-wallahs.
My backpack didn't make the plane.
 |
I passed through customs, then outside, among the taxi
drivers. One of them brought me to the five star Trident Hotel to check
my e-mail. On the way, I saw my first cow.
Not much to do, waiting skeptically for my luggage to arrive on the 9 pm flight. Anticlimactically enough, it did. Consulting Lonely Planet, I found my way to the aptly named Hotel Mars, the only option by the airport between the flophouses and the five stars. A shower was great, the bedbugs weren't. |
In the morning I reached for my hiking boot. The mouse inside went "Squeek!". I went "Aaaaaaahhh!" Scared us both, that did.
I checked out of the Hotel Mars, mildly enriching a small army of bellhops, drivers, guards and a few random other guys I'd never seen before, all standing around in the baksheeh line. Everyone smiled nicely, so it must have been enough.
Luck shined on me again, and I found a seat on the morning flight to Thiruvananthapuram, which used to be called Trivandrum before the anti-colonial name lengthening. On our approach, I could see the red and white striped lighthouse of Kovalam next to the beach, warm and tropical.
An hour later I was there. The auto-rickshaw left me just uphill from the Visit India travel agency, our designated contact place. I picked up my Christmas present from Flemming and Josefina (a boat trip voucher! Thanks, guys!). Then the travel agent pointed me back up the hill to the Mini Hotel where Steve and Karlin were staying.
They were out. I left my pack and wandered around town. I saw Karlin by a shop, casually walked up and said hi, surprised the hell out of her. Getting somewhere a day early hardly ever happens in India. They had planned to show up at the airport for my arrival the next day, waving "Life is good!" signs. I spoiled the plan.
Steve was off on a day trip to Kanyakumari, the southernmost point of India nearby in Tamil Nadu. An auspicious place, with a temple devoted to Deva Kanya, an incarnation of Parvati, wife of Shiva, and a memorial to Swami Vivekananda just offshore (Hey, I read my Lonely Planet!). Never made it there myself, but it sounded cool when Steve talked about it.
We went for dinner to an outdoor restaurant overlooking the sea. Steve and Karlin had arrived in Kovalam a week before me. Already, they'd made friends - Carmel from Israel, Renata from Wisconsin, Etienne from Belgium. Not to mention the two Swedish musicians, Tony and Nicholas, already bonded with Karlin.
As we talked, we reassessed our plan for New Year's Eve in Kovalam. Word on the beach was, it was gonna be crazy. Lots of drunken locals, making life difficult for the drunken tourists. A spiritual experience, maybe not.
Conversation turned to houseboats. North of Kovalam were the backwaters, calm and lined with simple villages, rice fields and palm trees. One could hire a traditional boat, complete with boat guys and cooks, to float around, for not too money. Hmm. Worth investigating.
The next day we found lots of fish, no barcodes.
 |
 |
Walking on the beach the morning, Steve and I came upon the original netcasters. No technology involved, just haul that sucker up the beach. It was so auspicious.
Much of the day we devoted to organizing the houseboat, trying to encourage competition between the guy at the Visit India travel agency and another guy at our hotel, who just happened to arrange houseboats, too (imagine that!).
It was December 29. There were no bargains. The hotel guy won out, probably due to proximity. We booked a three bedroom houseboat for 11,500 rupees, about $40 each divided eight ways. 24 hours, including meals, beer extra. Sounded fine. We could have arranged a two bedroom houseboat for 6,500 rupees, but hey, it was New Years Eve of the New Millennium! Why be cheap?
 |
With that out of the way, it was time to get to the
beach and start my tan. Steve met his favorite
lawnchair-wallah, V.J., and in a moment we were happy tourists,
planted under an umbrella munching on a fruit plate provided by
Steve's favorite fruit lady.
You get to know people quickly in India. Mostly because they're never shy about coming up and selling you something. It's easy to get jaded, avoid eye contact and grumble. Sometimes you miss out that way. These guys were okay, and life was good. |
|
|
Locals and tourists mixed on Kovalam beach. Most of the locals were men, strolling in groups, eyeing blondes in bikinis. A few Indian women ventured into the water, no bikinis, just saris.. I just don't get it. Guys, guys guys: you've got some religious whoop-de-doo about female modesty, so what's with the staring? Find something to do on your day off besides dragging tongue through the sand like you never left junior high! Bikinis are either good, or they're not! Figure it out! Or go play golf, fer Chrissake! Had to get that out...applies equally to Southern Baptists, by the way... |
At four o'clock I went for my traditional Keralan massage with Mr. Gigi, on Steve's recommendation. It was different.
The massage rooms faced a courtyard off a small alley near the beach. After exchanging pleasantries, I took off my clothes, ready for my massage..
Mr. Gigi entered the room. He indicated I should stand beside the massage table. He knelt before me, touching my feet as he spoke a small prayer. Then I relaxed on the table, and he dumped enough coconut oil on my body to sink the Exxon Valdez.
Besides its allure for pasty European tourists, the area around Kovalam is a center for Ayurvedic medicine, similar to Chinese and Thai medical practices. Steve the acupuncturist was with me, which was cool - exploring all this was part of his agenda. Most Indians show up during the monsoons for treatment. We were there in the dry season, but it was still okay.
Steve had tracked down various local practitioners, finding out about their use of herbs and massage for healing. His best massage recommendation was The Rope Guy - a local master with a special technique. Hanging from the ceiling suspended from ropes, he used only his feet and body weight. The Rope Guy was completely booked up by the time I got there, but Mr. Gigi was very good, too.
For two hours, he worked on every part of my body. And I do mean every part, including one part I wasn't prepared for. It wasn't sexual, just, well, surprising. All part of the service. Trying to suppress that cultural imperialist thing, I just went with the flow. Lots more coconut oil, serious elbow action, he definitely did a great job. It ended with a herbal steam, in one of those boxes where just your head sticks out. Topped it off, that did.
I slept great that night. Life in India was good.
