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!