The Grande Dame of the South

AAh, dear reader. Fort Cochin - the grand dame of the spicy nutty South (cashews are cheap!!). Her faded beauty legendary, her old world charm irresistible.

Oh yes this grande dame, dear reader has her charms. Even in my khaki standards i lifted up on her bohemian breeze and was taken to wafting through her backstreets like a women cocooned in silk and seductively spiced in saffron.

Many have courted and tried to conquer her and perhaps she let them think they did. She allowed Vasco and his crew to explore her coastline for a while before she tired of his philandering ways (always the new horizons caught his fancy).

Perhaps she decided the Dutch were a safer bet(it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind...and then let the man think it was his idea) for her they would churn butter from beans. For their efforts, an entire cemetery was set aside. And from what i could tell, from my view in my rickshaw, very few people ever come to pay their respects. (perhaps they tried to inflict their clogs on the locals).

But to be fair their conquests were successful. The Dutch's courting gave rise to a few notable erections around town. And yes both the Portuguese and English have greatly contributed to the colonial spunk that permeates every curvaceous corner and sultry street.

But let me tell you, dear reader, that history has had the last laugh. Because for all their trading and tarting, cajoling and cavorting, no matter how many architectural feats came of their passion for this grande dame, it is not the De Gama's or Rembrandtesque curls who sit proud and pasty as the poster boys of Fort Cochin. No no dear reader. Their great erections (now also bold) do not even so much as feature in the "most photographed" "most visited" list on E! Entertainment (the Indian section).

I can tell you on good authority that most visitors (of which most are European), walk straight past it's inlaid doors to its oily shores where they ooh and aah and wait for sunset hour to photograph a living cultural treasure....the fishing nets whose structures arise like petrified wooden structures from the hyacinth waters. And here's the spicy rub...they're made in China! Bloody Chinese fishing nets everywhere!


PS. This might have been a slightly Mills and Boon version of cultural history but know this dear reader that whatever you make think of my innuendo, my character, as my stools, remain solid!

Timing is Everything

Dear Reader

As i sit here at Cafe Del Mar dunking my danish pastry into my italian esspresso while overlooking the red cliffs of Varkala, my thoughts start to wonder, dear reader...not so much about the commercialisation of culture or even the role that pleasure-seeking yogis play when they cross these shores and demands crocs in the local stores (sadly not fiction).

No, my dear reader, that yellow brick road is already laid and well trodden. That hegemony is already in phase II of implementation. we must deal with it. what i am concerned with today, as i watch these two backpackers (who look more like travelling tinkers) try to catch a rickshaw to the station is that of timing.... today is diwali which means everyone make "big festival" big party" "which makes "big accomodation problem" for anyone leaving today. but perhaps they do not leave the timing to the universe and book ahead. somehow, the tibetan flags sticking out of the bald one's day pack convinces me otherwise.

My timing, for instance, brought me to the tropical southern province of Kerala at the time of the "second Monsoon" ...which is why i sit eurpoean style at a cafe instead of horizontal style on the beautiful beach below. no matter. the rain is of the "constant intermittent" variety, so i still get to pull out the occasional sand wedgie (and do my Bo Derek in "10"/ Halle Berry in 007 sea exit). The rain offers a good excuse to "not go see temple","not go see town". in the last few days i have been walking the streets like forrest gump in the second half of the movie...the part where "shit happens". (It has by the way, but just briefly so i wont slosh arouhnd in those details.) For the weary, the sick and the sunburnt, the rain gives you permission to sit on the cafe strip, commatose style (in that way the rain works a lot like fires), breaking only to read, write and "run forrest run" for the loo. It's all about timing (and having wet wipes on hand).
For instance, Bad Timing.

• gets you on the train with just enough time to wonder why the locals are still waiting on the platofrm. In good time you realise that when the train starts moving, so too dos the rest of the province...which is why you end up standing in the rancid latrine alcove. here you remain until another station platform or God do you part.
• puts you at a restaurant with only a Rod Stewart loop for entertianment and the clientelle to match. Luckily, while the waiters hang on your every eye and hand gesture (no, no more. i was just reaching for my water.). you spot the traveller balancing out the other diagonal. timimg is crucial. get the bill first or you will become the entertainment.

Good Timing

• gets you to the woman washing your clothes with a translator in time to help her fish out the 2000 ruppees (R500) out of your dripping pants.

And thene there are those times when you should just wait a while...

like when you get so excited to see the sun that you make a sprint for the sea only to watch your books soaking up the flash flood from your distant focal lens.

I must be off dear reader as time waits for no man and tides for no woman. yes, i am off on an 8-hour boat trip from Allepey to Kollam on the backwaters.

I will meet you dockside later....

Departures and Arrivals

We all leave something behind.

Those essential items - medical scripts, travel insurance with evacuation clauses
A replaceable item - toothbrush, boyfriend (sometimes these fall into the essential category) and the comfort item - old t-shirt, an ipod loaded with favourite songs.

More often we bring too much and it weighs us down until we let it go. the push and pull of universal will. The hardest of these being our attitudes and preconceived ideas (principles, it seems we have no trouble getting rid of like a clingy white t-shirt at an Ibiza party).

Actually that's just philosophical bullocks. Something you are expected to be writing from india. well i aint there yet matey. no sireeeee. it's only been four days and i havent climbed the ashram walls yet (i am speaking transindentally of course). because right now it aint my attitude that's giving me backpains, it's my 20kg backpack. and don't blame the 15 silk saris. they're neeeded for cultural camouflage. and plus they weight less than the 3000 silkworms it took to make them (fewer than a nike sweatshop that is)

Let's face it. We all carry it. deep inside: that rucksack filled with pesty (pity we cant immunise ourselves against these) "just in case" items...

In (the) case...

• it's freakishly cold (tick: k-way tops, all-weather jacket, multipurpose gloves)
• i climb some serious mountains (tick heavy hiking boots, thermals)
• i want to go clubbing in mumbai (tick choice of heels)...and in colder delhi (tick smart but warm outfit)

i think you get the point cause i defintely do everytime i try to hoist it, and the bits falling off of it, onto the luggage rack of packed train. (actually everyone is forced tyo get the point then).

That said, there were a few things that i'm glad i checked in (mostly attitude related) and the few that i left out (mostly attitude related). because let's face it, these past few months i have felt like (and often looked like) a badly packed bag...filled with items i don't need, i can't use or that simply don't fit anymore. (pop pyschology is allowed. philosophy not yet.)

I think Borrie said it best when he said, "Cat, you haven't exactly been a bag of kittens lately." Exactly the point B. it's about being playful again. Saying goodbye to the Wild Cat, Minx or Lioness. It's time for the Kitten. (Lisa knew it all along). Cause, if only one thing i hope that i would look at these next few months in India as a kitten (read Milo Lisa) would an empty cardboard box. (no need for elaborations here).

So bring on the yarn my friend/s...cause i'm about to spin it in a whole new direction!

PS. If i do lose a few items along the way, there is one i will keep come Hell or El Nino. My super warm sleeping bag. Why, you ask, intelligent reader? Not because it was a present from my best friend, skinny, but because the note written on a big plaster (??) stuck inside is really the gift that will remind me why, when i am meditating on a tranquil Goan sunset, why i will happily depart again to journey home.

Namaste. Happy Dewali!

Do you take this blogger? (and other introductions)

This is a start of a very good relationship. I can feel it. deep down in my aching "South African-female-exploring-India-alone-and-on-a- declining Rand budget" bones.

What I'm looking for from you (like an self respecting singles ad) is commitment. Many don't actually come out and say it (in that way i'm a trailblazer). Most disguise it "long walks on the beach an all an all (don't worry I've got this covered). I choose to say it like it is. I want something from you ...and it's (unbridaled) commitment. Of course, you still have a choice friend (don't mind if i call you that? bit short right now). And it comes in the form of a question...

Do you take this blogger to be your loyal website?

Do you promise to visit her occasionally and talk about her often, and behind her back? In that case do you trust her yoga-toned tanned (recently updated adjective) to report fictious accounts of her travels to the best of her imagination? If noone has any objections, let's get this contract signed shall we...

I promise to....

• Theme my posts to minimise random ramblings
• Reveal the true identity of all my characters
• Expect the regular comment
• Welcome the occasional crit
• update write oftenish (see fine print)
• not offend your mother (unless she is currently visiting India)
• trie spelle cheque meye wurk

But as with any true relationship, the real deal breakers lie in the promises not made (the list is noticeably longer). Thus, and here's comes the FINE PRINT,

I cannot promise not to...

• write every day (would you trust my stories if i did)
• have strong opinions
• make sweeping generalisations
• write the occasional poem
• write when i am sick
• or get sick of writing
• talk about my bowel movements (i find it's best to get it out even if you have immodium)
• make you jealous/angry/an all an all
• meet up with your best friend and shag him silly (sorry max. just testing the sensorship on this thing)

So friend (don't want to assume any plurals here...thanks skinny)...do you accept? Am i wearing this wedding ring for good reason at last?

Carry me over the threshold and let the posts begin...