When I returned to India in January, the first thing in my loosely held plan was a trip to Kerala with an old school friend, who happened to be in India for a month. Two girls, headed for the beach . . . sort of. Being more of the intellectual hippy persuasion than the wide-eyed, bring-on-the-party, beach bunny persuasion, we decided on Kerala over Goa, because although both have beautiful beaches, Kerala has far more to see and remains somewhat less commercialized. Part of the appeal of Kerala, in fact, was its famous backwaters, lovely rides down old canal-like waterways, and witnessing the ancient ritual dancing that is purported to be seen everywhere. (I do sometimes wonder who writes the travel guides - as the gap between reality and the books is often . . . .well . . . significant).
Our trip started with the plane ride from Delhi - we discovered mid-flight that we had a brief stop in Kochi, and as we hadn't really started planning the contents of our trip until we were in the air . . . we decided to try and get off the plane there instead of going through to Trivandrum - that would enable us to essentially start at the top of Kerala, and work our way south. Unfortunately, despite all evidence that India is a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of place . . . . it turns out this airline wasn't; they wouldn't let us off the plane before our ticketed destination. And we did try . . . So we continued on to Trivandrum where we emerged into the heat and humidity of Southern India. ( with our luggage intact - I wonder, if they had let us out in Kochi - would our luggage would have joined us or would it have traveled on to Trivandrum and waited for us there?)
Once in the airport, we spent about half an hour at the tourist booth getting information on where we were, where to go, what to do. We almost missed collecting our baggage we took so long with the tourist booth guy. So after collecting our luggage and a scary trip to the bathroom, we headed out into the muggy air and I had my first chance to witness my travel partner in action: negotiating with the tuk tuk driver. Damn, she's good. I owe much of my current ease negotiating transportation in India to that week with her. We headed for the train station to begin our adventure .. . . which, that afternoon, entailed an hour long search (with two very heavy packs) for lunch. Turns out our driver had dropped us at the back of the train station, not that we realized that until we had walked in circles for almost an hour - and then had to walk the long way around, up hill and over the tracks, to the front of the station to find our place for lunch. I think I might have whined most of the way about the weight of my pack. I had forgotten how heavy those things are when you're out of practice (and out of shape again??? shhhhh).
Lunch, however, turned out to be (almost) worth it. We had traditional South India tali: 4 curries, rice and papad, along with the usual chutneys. What made it amazing was the presentation. The tables are set with banana leaves as people sit down, and there are several guys that walk around carrying the various components of the meal. One guy walks around with a huge bowl of rice, and drops a big pile on your banana leaf as he comes by; another walks around with the super cool server thing that has 4 deep tiffins, each with a different curry, and he heaps some of each of them on your banana leaf. Another guy walks around offering papads. Essentially, it's all you can eat, but the buffet comes to you.
Perhaps because we were white tourists, they also included some cutlery on our table - no one else used them . . . and mostly I didn't either. The South Indian way is to eat with your fingers - right hand only, of course. Surprisingly, it takes some practice, having been admonished for so many years not to play with our food! But it is an art form - to scoop up rice and dal or curry into a form that the fingers will pick up and carry to the mouth. It was fun and satisfying; and really, really, good.
Once we were stuffed to the gills, we were pretty much pushed out of our spot at the table so that it could seat the next in line. I've noticed this is pretty typical of South Indian restaurants - even in Delhi. They are busy, high turnover, and there is no dawdling over the end of your meal . . . and the food is always amazing.
After lunch we waddled back to the train station where we parked ourselves, first for a cup of tea, and then on the platform to wait for our train. And wait. and wait . . . and wait. Ahhh, India, how she likes to remind me that plans are such folly. Our 'plan' was to head down to watch the sun set in Kunyakumari. Of course, somewhere on a schedule, it also said that the train's plan was to be on time. Neither plan unfolded quite like that.
Our trip started with the plane ride from Delhi - we discovered mid-flight that we had a brief stop in Kochi, and as we hadn't really started planning the contents of our trip until we were in the air . . . we decided to try and get off the plane there instead of going through to Trivandrum - that would enable us to essentially start at the top of Kerala, and work our way south. Unfortunately, despite all evidence that India is a by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of place . . . . it turns out this airline wasn't; they wouldn't let us off the plane before our ticketed destination. And we did try . . . So we continued on to Trivandrum where we emerged into the heat and humidity of Southern India. ( with our luggage intact - I wonder, if they had let us out in Kochi - would our luggage would have joined us or would it have traveled on to Trivandrum and waited for us there?)
Once in the airport, we spent about half an hour at the tourist booth getting information on where we were, where to go, what to do. We almost missed collecting our baggage we took so long with the tourist booth guy. So after collecting our luggage and a scary trip to the bathroom, we headed out into the muggy air and I had my first chance to witness my travel partner in action: negotiating with the tuk tuk driver. Damn, she's good. I owe much of my current ease negotiating transportation in India to that week with her. We headed for the train station to begin our adventure .. . . which, that afternoon, entailed an hour long search (with two very heavy packs) for lunch. Turns out our driver had dropped us at the back of the train station, not that we realized that until we had walked in circles for almost an hour - and then had to walk the long way around, up hill and over the tracks, to the front of the station to find our place for lunch. I think I might have whined most of the way about the weight of my pack. I had forgotten how heavy those things are when you're out of practice (and out of shape again??? shhhhh).
Lunch, however, turned out to be (almost) worth it. We had traditional South India tali: 4 curries, rice and papad, along with the usual chutneys. What made it amazing was the presentation. The tables are set with banana leaves as people sit down, and there are several guys that walk around carrying the various components of the meal. One guy walks around with a huge bowl of rice, and drops a big pile on your banana leaf as he comes by; another walks around with the super cool server thing that has 4 deep tiffins, each with a different curry, and he heaps some of each of them on your banana leaf. Another guy walks around offering papads. Essentially, it's all you can eat, but the buffet comes to you.
Perhaps because we were white tourists, they also included some cutlery on our table - no one else used them . . . and mostly I didn't either. The South Indian way is to eat with your fingers - right hand only, of course. Surprisingly, it takes some practice, having been admonished for so many years not to play with our food! But it is an art form - to scoop up rice and dal or curry into a form that the fingers will pick up and carry to the mouth. It was fun and satisfying; and really, really, good.
Once we were stuffed to the gills, we were pretty much pushed out of our spot at the table so that it could seat the next in line. I've noticed this is pretty typical of South Indian restaurants - even in Delhi. They are busy, high turnover, and there is no dawdling over the end of your meal . . . and the food is always amazing.
After lunch we waddled back to the train station where we parked ourselves, first for a cup of tea, and then on the platform to wait for our train. And wait. and wait . . . and wait. Ahhh, India, how she likes to remind me that plans are such folly. Our 'plan' was to head down to watch the sun set in Kunyakumari. Of course, somewhere on a schedule, it also said that the train's plan was to be on time. Neither plan unfolded quite like that.
