Cochin was our gateway into the state of Kerala, self-proclaimed God’s Own Country. Until this point, we had made our own travel arrangements. But as we reviewed the guide books in advance of our trip, we were overwhelmed by the details and sought help.
Enter Jenny — a resident of Cochin who has a spare home that she’s opened up to travelers in search of an authentic home-stay experience. She’s a college professor by day and a mother of 4 and travel advisor by night. With the help of her husband, Jose, and a staff, she provides travel advice, arranges drivers and accommodations and plans itineraries. She put together the plans for the rest or our trip. We could just enjoy the ride.
As we exited Ernakulam Junction station from our overnight train, we were greeted by Sulfi who would be our driver for the next week. Dressed in clean white shirt and pants that stood out among the crowd, he was quiet, but we’d soon learn very conscientious. He pulled around in a 4WD Toyota Qualis (6 seater SUV suitable for off-road), happily handled our bags and we were on our way.
Arriving at Jenny’s house — Le Royale — it seemed like a small scale palace more than a house. Sulfi honked signaling the gatekeeper to open the intricate wrought-iron gate. Inside, the floors were covered in granite and marble, intricate woodwork and stained glass adorned the walls, and of course included all the modern conveniences. The staff whisked our bags away to our room as we enjoyed chilled, fresh coconut water straight from the shell and discussed our travel plans with Jenny and Jose.
While some people dream of expensive sports cars when they are rich, we often joke that we’d want a driver. And, of course, as you go about your daily chores, it’s easy to think that having a maid and chef would be dreamy. But, in practice I found it quite difficult. While most other mid- and upper-class tourists and locals happily commanded their servants, I asked how they were, complimented their thoughtfulness, insisted that they do not get up to make us tea, quickly opened my car door before they could and asked if they needed help with dinner. Growing up in an American working-class family, I just couldn’t get used to having so much help. Surely, I was the focus of many strange looks and a few jokes during our stay due to my reluctance to accept help!
The downtown area, called Fort Cochin, includes a number of interesting sites such as St. Francis Church where Vasco de Gama was first laid to rest in 1524. It appears quite typical from the outside, but once inside you realize the niceties that make it livable for India’s extremely warm weather. Rope operated ceiling fans, thick stucco walls and stone floors help to keep the interior cool.
A highlight is the local fish market where large, manually operated Chinese fishing nets are lowered into the bay and raised by rope to retrieve the fish and other sealife captured within. I don’t think you can get fresher seafood anywhere. Here, it’s taken straight from the net or boat and auctioned on the edge of the shore to the merchants which turn around and sell it in their stalls just meters away.
A group of happy fisherman welcomed us over to their net to give it a try. Most notably, we caught tiger prawns, a puffer fish and what looked like blue crabs. Looking at the stalls, it’s amazing what’s brought up and brought in from so near shore. I even had a photo with a baby shark…
We also paid a visit to the Jewish synagogue. Unfortunately, photos weren’t allowed (this photo courtesy of Jenny’s site). Upon entry, you’re struck by the floors lined with delph blue tiles and the haphazard mix of beautiful European light fixtures. It appeared as if the designer installed a few chandeliers upon construction and that the locals decided more light was necessary — installing another 20 odd light fixtures of all colors and styles to augment. But the combination was striking.
Many of India’s buildings seem a bit plain from the outside, but once you’re inside it all changes. This was the case with Mattancherry Palace (aka The Dutch Palace). Originally built by the Portuguese and later expanded by the Dutch, it boasts walls adorned with striking murals depicting popular scenes from local folk stories — stories that form the basis of the region’s Kathakali theater. We loved this local artistic style so impressive that we decided to buy a couple smaller, but similarly styled works as our souvenir from the trip.
Kathakali theater is to Kerala what Kabuki theater is to Japan. Or, perhaps what Disney stories are to the Western world. The stories are fairytales deep rooted into local culture. During our stay in Cochin, we had a short taste of this treat. Traditional Kathakali performances start at around 10pm and last until sunrise. They’re often hosted by local temples and the actors often go off to theater school in childhood to prepare for their roles and to develop their talent. Folks take this art form very seriously.
The performers don’t speak, but convey their feelings and emotions through elaborate facial expressions and hand gestures — perfected with many years’ practice. We were only able to see a short 30-minute tourist rendition, but we’ve vowed to see a real performance during our next visit to the area.
Then, an ayurvedic massage. We like to do what the locals do. And apparently, upper-class Southern Indian folks get these massages regularly to “clear their bodies of toxins”. I can’t say if they work, but I will attempt to paint a picture of the experience. From the exterior, the massage parlor looks like a hospital. And this feeling of sterility follows you into the entrance. Unlike typical US or UK spas where cushy chairs, water music, low light and candles greet day-spa clients, shelves and shelves of large brown bottles of medicinal massage oils adorned the front hall. This hospital-like ambience is likely due to the way that the locals perceive the treatments.
We were taken back, individually, to treatment rooms which included metal embalming tables (don’t panic), a bathroom with shower and a changing area. After taking off everything, you’re asked to lay face-down on the table and 2 people pour the ayurvedic oil on you, massaging it in with great effort and rapid repetitive motions. You rotate on the table from time to time. First to one side, then the other and finally face up. As you lay on the table, you can’t help but let your mind wander to the smell of the oil. At the end of the process you’re are completely (head to toe–including your hair) covered in oil that makes you smell of a grilled cheese sandwich. The team then leaves you to shower and remove the oil before you leave the premises.
[An aside: I’m growing to find the ways in which massage is practiced fascinating. In Jamaica, we nearly fell asleep during our relaxing treatment atop padded tables with holes for head comfort. In Poland, I was pounded much like a flank steak atop a padded table, left with heavy bruises that lasted for up to a month afterward. And, India? Laid upon an embalming table and marinated in oil. I’m hesitant to try again, clearly we’re trending down :)]
We were clean, rested and fully marinated for our next destination, Munnar — home to Tata Tea Plantation. Look back tomorrow (or the next day) for our next installment. This is the fourth post in our series on India that started with Mumbai and Goa.
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