Our First Year: Everywhere

Happy Old Year

The last day of 2010 and we're sitting on the Kerala backwaters. Tonight we have
dinner reservations for the nicest hotel in town - on the beach where there will also be a
festival and fireworks as the night progresses. It's pretty amazing.

For us, 2010 has been a monumental year.

Just 365 days ago, Emily was just beginning to teach online, we were still discussing
the idea of travel and I was trying to make a job I hated work. We also registered
at Crate & Barrel on exactly this day because people were asking for our registry
information. I recall being highly focused on bakeware and appliances.

Since then, we received that bakeware, had the most fantastic wedding, enjoyed
numerous events leading up to the wedding, turned our travel talk into reality, packed
up our apartment, put away our dogs, said tearful goodbyes to the people we love, and
visited six countries. Our life pre and post July 13th (our flight to Turkey) has been an
amazing adventure.

Looking back, aside from the wedding which was the singular best moment of my life,
it's difficult to say what has been best. Making bold decisions together, enjoying our
friends and family, hearing some of the truly powerful and overwhelming things people
said to us before and during the wedding, getting on a plane to an adventure into the
unknown, trying new things, eating new things, talking to people at home, running after
buses, seeing friends abroad, all the sunsets, writing this blog everyday or waking up to
Emily every morning.

In life, we remember moments. Sometimes there's a lot of in-between separated by
moments. In my life - at least in 2010 - there have been a lot of moments separated
by a little in-between. I have a lot of pictures and a lot of writing to help me remember
those moments should I ever forget or lose sight of them.

One can't really ask for more.

When I think about a new year, I want more of the same. More great moments unfolding
before me, more beauty, more love, more that I can write about in the same way next
year.

We wish the same for you.

We already have a few joys we're expecting in 2011. We know of at least one wedding
and two births among our friends. We'll be coming home and seeing everyone again.
We have a few friends to see along our travels before then too.

You may read this and think "How perfect for them." Of course we have our trials
and tribulations too. We have stresses, fears, fights, freak-outs, disappointments
and moments where we miss people. It's just that in the sum balance, the good and
our blessings so far outweigh the bad that it would be incredibly short-sighted and

ungrateful to complain.

We lead a life as wonderful and rich as I could hope for.

Thank you 2010 for all you have given, brought and shown us. We hope 2011 will be as
kind to us and to everyone we know and love.

To our friends and family, thank you for loving and supporting us this past year, as
always.

To Everyone, Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

 

Mudumudumudumudumudu

At a quarter to nine at night, the doorbell - which is literally a bell hanging from the ceiling rung by someone pulling the string out front - rang. To my surprise it was my wife - returned early from the cult ashram.

"It was fascinating! Absolutely fascinating! Everything about it was fantastic!" Emily said.

"So, why are you back? I thought you were staying the night?!"

"I'll tell you after I pee," she said as she so often does.

So it was that over dinner, Emily explained that she wouldn't stay at Amma's ashram because they demanded to keep the passports of all the guests. No copies - the actual passports and they had more than a thousand of them on shelves behind the check-in counter.

A voice inside Emily's head told her not to leave her passport with the cult management. "What if I needed to leave, to get out and they were closed? I just couldn't do it."

She told Nathan and Anita to stay and that she would take a bus home, but Nathan was wigged out by the whole place. In the end, they all shared a taxi back and cut their cult time short.

Because of rules against photography - as any reasonable cult would have - we have little photographic evidence to share and so many details that may be lost to posterity. However, Emily was able to share enough to paint a decent picture.

The Amma compound is huge - spanning at least five giant buildings situated on a hill bordering both the beach and the backwaters. Approximately 80 percent of Amma's 2,000 on-site devotees there were Westerners. Of these, the vast majority wore all white linen sarongs and shirts for the guys and saris for the ladies.

People had their children with them - as any good cult encourages. Emily struck up a conversation with a man from Switzerland who has "known Amma" for 20 years. He claimed not to be so into her, but his wife and daughter are. They are spending their winter holidays at Amma's ashram and when asked how long he had been there, the man replied that he had "lost track of time" - but about a week. He's a psychologist.

The Swiss psychologist and his family have chased Amma events around the world - in numerous cities and countries. He knew talked about Amma's ashrams in San Ramon and Santa Fe (apparently Amma likes Spanish names).

Another man was kind enough to suggest that Emily, Anita and Nathan hold-off on checking in for lodging because it was lunchtime and they wouldn't want to come after the food was gone.

The basic accommodation package includes dal/lentils and rice. For 110 rupees extra ($2.45), one can purchase a western buffet lunch of pizza, hamburgers, salads, sodas and cookies. When Emily asked how this was possible at an ashram, one woman told her, "Because Amma wants everyone to be happy!"

When lunch was through, each person went to a dishwashing station to clean his or her own dish with powdered soap, their hand and water before handing it to a little girl who was on volunteer duty who put it away. Everyone staying takes turns with different chores on volunteer duty - even children.

Signs throughout the Amma compound stated ashram rules which included not talking to the villagers, not eating in the village, no photography, no cell phones, no smoking, no alcohol and no drugs.

All around the building and grounds were life-size posters of Amma in different poses and scenes. Women carried Amma canvas bags and kids had Amma stickers.
Apparently, Nathan found it all too weird and went to the beach for the afternoon.

Emily and Anita found it fascinating. So when Amma began "darshan", her "teaching" of the day - aka her hugging session - Emily and Anita stepped right up - the sociologist in her had to see how this all went-down. They drew tokens for their place in line, getting numbers in the 300's among numbers that ran up to the 800's.

Darshan takes place in a large auditorium with a stage on which Amma sits. People sit on the stage around her - a rotating honor to those who stay for long enough at the Ashram. Being close to Amma is a big deal. The auditorium fills with people who sit, face Amma and "absorb her energy" while she administers hugs.

Amma and her hugging are shown on giant TV monitors which I like to think of as "Amma-tron". Like airline boarding people within a certain range of numbers are called at different times to get in the giant line in the auditorium to get their hugs. Emily and Anita waited 2.5 hours for theirs.

People bring offerings for Amma. One man brought giant wood carvings of her that he made. Someone else brought her a caged parrot. Those who don't bring offerings of their own can purchase offerings from the volunteers near the front of the line just before reaching the Amma stage. Offerings include flower garlands, sweets and fruit. When someone reaches Amma, they can give their offering which an Amma volunteer promptly removes and stores.

Amma has a team of volunteers around her including one behind her who just removes garlands from her neck. She also has fans blowing on her. When she calls for a potty-break, volunteers shut-down the Amma-tron until she returns.

Finally, when one reaches the front of the line, the volunteers make clear the rules - no touching Amma - Amma touches you, not the other way around. You kneel, one volunteer pushes you toward Amma, Amma administers the hug, Amma hands you a piece of candy, another volunteer pulls you off Amma and you exit the stage. One volunteer has the express job of slapping the hands of anyone who attempts to hug Amma back.

When Emily finally made it to the front of the line, she was expectedly pushed into Amma's bosom, Amma finished talking with her entourage, then embraced Emily, leaned over her' said "mudumudumudumudumudu", touched her face as if to say "you're sweet" and handed her a candy before Emily was pulled out and sent on her way.

When it's over, many people cry from what is a very powerful experience for them. Emily just wanted to call it a night and head home.

I was glad Emily didn't eat the candy.

This morning, Emily woke up very tired. She said she didn't understand why she was so tired. I told her a cult can take a lot out of you - and they probably want everyone tired so they stay. I'm glad she had her fascinating experience and I'm glad she came home in her original clothes and still responding to Emily.

 

Sent from my iPad

One Pen, One Chair, One Cult

"One pen?! You have one pen?!"

Walk through any village or town from the high mountains of Nepal to the island of Sri Lanka and unless you look Indian or somehow very frightening, children will come running up asking this. It's almost a chant.

Emily had enough of it during her years in Nepal that she seems a little annoyed or at least indifferent when it happens.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I always have a pen in my pocket - ideally an American-issue PaperMate black, medium point. I flip them in my fingers when thinking and just as a nervous habit. My pen supply is limited and not for distribution. So, I somewhat selfishly go along with the no-pen policy.

Emily assumed that it was something that children in Nepal wanted because of limited resources for school supplies.

The other day as we were coming back from town, a beautifully dressed ten-year-old girl down the road from our resort approached Emily. The girl ran off from her family - all dressed in their best - on their way to attend a festival. These were not poor people.

In clean, clear, crisp, well-spoken English the girl asked Emily's name, where she was from, where she was going - the girl was excited to talk to an American woman. Her family up ahead was getting in a boat to sail across the lake to their destination and the girl had to go. She said goodbye to us, started running to catch-up with her family, stopped, turned back toward us and said, "one pen?!"

Huh?

What is the origin of this "one pen" phenomenon and how did it come to span a sub-continent? It had been on my mind before, but I had no one to ask. Then I realized, we have someone now - George.

Our resort manager, George not only gets along with us so well, but he loves to tell stories and explain things. George is probably in his early 60's and after a business career in Calcutta, this is his "retirement job" back in his hometown. George takes everything in stride and absolutely loves to enlighten people on Kerala and India in general.

"You people (meaning foreigners) have a high tolerance for dogs. You like them. You feed them. There was a woman sitting over there who just a month ago was sitting, sharing her food with a dog. Then, when you go, we can't get rid of them so easily. They stay. They always remember and want the food," George began.

"The British and the foreigners, they used to bring gifts for the children. It would be too expensive to give out other things, so they just bought pens and gave them out. Now, everyone remembers the pens and thinks all of you will give them pens."

"All over India, Nepal, Sri Lanka - all that space?" I asked.

"Yes. All over now. Even me - I like the foreign pens too! People come and leave a pen from Britain or Europe - they are very nice pens. I like to use them."

George pulled a blue Pentel ballpoint out of his pocket and pointed to the front desk where the gentleman there gathered pens that were lying around. Sure enough, they were all from other countries.

I couldn't allow America to go unrepresented - so I contributed a PaperMate and advised them that it may not be their most expensive pen, but it will last. How can we be out-penned by the Europeans?!

I felt that George did a good job answering my somewhat unusual question, so I came back to him to start working on our list of unresolved questions.

"George, you know so much, can I ask you another question? I see little girls always with very short haircuts. Why?"

"Ah, this is our tradition. Until the age of ten, we give girls boys' haircuts. Then at ten, we let their hair grow long. Cutting it when they are young makes it grow better when they are older. It is also useful for checking for the little things...like bugs....I don't know the word..."

"Lice?"

"Yes, lice. We can check for them easily and if we see one, just pick it out with our fingers right then and there and..." George mimed pinching and destroying a louse egg with his thumb and forefinger. Not that I needed that to get where he was going.

He assured me that it was nothing religious and in fact, often spans the religions - as lice does.

My favorite George explanation of late has to do with the chair that was on our porch. When we came back to Keraleeyam yesterday, the fantastic deck-chair that leans you back so comfortably and is almost impossible to get out of, was gone. Our neighbors stole the chair from our bungalow in the day we were gone.

Emily was not pleased as she has spent much of the last week and a half in that chair. She asked one of the guys if there was another somewhere. They scoured the grounds looking - but the stolen chair was the only one.

George felt badly and ordered a new one to be delivered today. He seemed mildly annoyed at the chair thievery too. Then he explained the chairs to us.

"These chairs are too comfortable. In my house, we have one small one - but the children were never allowed to sit in it. We call these 'lazy chairs' because they make you lazy."

"Do you sit in it?" Emily asked.

"These chairs are very dangerous and you have to be careful with 'lazy chairs'." he said. "Only the head of the house can sit in these chairs and old people who need to be comfortable and sleep."

"Are you head of your house?"

George laughed. He said, "Look at me," pointing to his gray hair, "I am the head. I sit in the chair sometimes, but then I can't get up."

We know so much more now because of George.

In the meantime, Emily has other curiosities about India that are beyond what George can offer. An hour and a half down the backwaters is the ashram of Amma - which means mother. She is a guru who is noted for hugging. Amma gives out hugs which people claim have deep spiritual value. Her large, pink ashram houses 2,000 devotees and offers lodging and meals for 150 rupees a day - which is roughly $3.30.

We recently made friends with an Australian couple about our age who have been staying here intermittently between house boating and local activities. Nathan and Anita decided to go to the Ashram, check it out, spend a night and come back tomorrow.

Emily had been interested in seeing the hugging cult - as I think of it. The idea of 2,000 people in a giant ashram fascinates her. She had been toying with a day trip for awhile since two of her schools are on break this week. When Nathan and Anita said they had chartered a boat to take them down to the ashram and invited us to come along, Emily couldn't resist.

I have work to do and really have no interest in the hugging cult. Given that she has good company with which to travel and a cell phone, it seems like a good opportunity.

So, my wife has gone off to join a cult for the night. Amma travels the world giving hugs, but is apparently at the ashram right now. Emily may well get one of the famous hugs. My hope is that I don't have to go over there, rescue her and have her de-programmed. After all, it could be that one of those hugs is like sitting in the lazy chair....

** Because Emily ran off with her camera before blog posting time, the blog has no photos today. I'm sure we'll have some good ones tomorrow.

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Queenie And The Queen - And Other Tales Of Cochin

"You're disgusting!" Emily said lovingly the morning of our six month anniversary, "You just shove everything in."

We were packing our stuff up to store for the day while we evacuated our bungalow and headed to Cochin for a night. Admittedly, when time to pack is running short and push comes to shove, I shove. In this case, it was just for a night - I saw no harm in it.

I defended my honor accordingly and pointed out that Emily had her stuff all over the floor.

"Don't blame me for your shortcomings!" came back with a laugh.

I thought of what Rabbi Feinstein warned us before our wedding.

"For the first few days after your wedding, you'll look at each other differently. You'll be excited and somehow elated that you're married. It doesn't seem like it should be different, but it is. And you just want to stare at each other," he explained.

"'Do you want to eat?' 'No, I just want to look at you.' 'Do you want to make love?' 'No, I just want to look at you.' 'Do you want to watch TV?' 'No, I just want to look at you.' but after a few weeks it wears off and you'll go back to saying 'Don't talk to me! Don't even look at me!'"

Shoving and not, we packed, stored our bags, and left our beloved Keraleeyam bungalow for the big, bad city. We had a 5:00 appointment to make.

Queenie Hallegua walked out of the door looking like she could be one of our grandmothers and dressed like Golda Meir in a nice house dress and flats. Only she had an Indian accent and walked with the erect, stoic posture of an upper-class Indian woman. Queenie has lived her entire life in Cochin as did five generations before her.

She asked us to come to her house on Jew Lane in Jew Town for a personal tour of the last functioning synagogue in Cochin where the remaining ten Jews practice. Queenie is the queen of the synagogue and has become the spokesperson since her husband died last year, just after their 50th wedding anniversary. He loved the synagogue - and Queenie - deeply and she and her tiny community take care of it now that he's gone.

Queenie's family migrated from Baghdad for reasons she doesn't fully know. But her grandfather somehow bridged the gap from trade and peddling to creating a chain of regional department stores. As a result, Queenie grew up in the colonial-feeling Fort Cochin area in a "house" so large that she sold it to people who turned it into a hotel and without any major alterations. She says Malayalam is her first language because she grew up speaking it with nannies and the help. English is what her family used.

Queenie's husband's family came from Spain eight generations ago - partly to escape a Jew unfriendly Spain, partly for the lucrative spice trade.

Queenie needed no explanation about our world. Like any proud Jewish mother, her son is a rheumatologist at Cedar's-Sinai in Beverly Hills. He lives in Beverly Glen because "he doesn't like to commute." He married a nice Persian-Jewish girl just a couple of years ago. They mixed Persian, Indian-Jewish and American wedding traditions in a "beautiful wedding" at the Biltmore. If only she knew any Yiddish, I would have asked her if she plotzed when she saw. I can definitely report that whether or not she knows it, she kvells.

Queenie's daughter lives in New York and is married with one daughter. Queenie visits America often now, although her kids were in Cochin in 2009 both for her 50th wedding anniversary and then shortly thereafter for their father's funeral. He battled pancreatic cancer successfully for three years when he was told he had only three months. She considered those last years borrowed time and they traveled and made the most of it including visiting Israel.

However, Queenie only needs to walk down the block to meet dignitaries from far and wide.

"We have a lot of people in the guest book," she says modestly when asked who has visited.

When pressed enough, it comes out that among the dignitaries have been Chaim Weizman, Almost every Indian prime minister including Indira Gandhi who attended the synagogue's 400th anniversary commemoration, and most importantly to Queenie - Queen Elizabeth II.

"The Queen fell in love immediately with the tile. She said it was a shame to walk on it," Queenie said referring to the handmade 18th century hand painted Chinese floor tiles custom-made and imported from Canton (Guangdong). "The Queen told her sister Margaret that when she went to India, she had to go visit the Jewish synagogue in Cochin," which, of course also happened.

Aside from the rare and exquisite tile, Queenie's little synagogue - which was at one time among six in Cochin and three on Jew lane - has crystal chandeliers, hand-blown colored glass light fixtures, five Torahs each encased and crowned in hand-guilded silver - except one, whose crown is bejeweled gold, a 200 year-old gift from the Maharaja of Cochin.

The Maharajas welcomed the Jews in 1565 when the Portuguese destroyed their community across the water in Carangore where Jews had lived since 72 AD and which had been an actual Jewish kingdom since 368.

While no one has a definitive account of who the Jews were and how they made their way to India in 72, records of the Hindu rulers granting a kingdom are clear from copper plates issued in ancient Tamil ascribing rights and title. Over the centuries, Jews from other parts of the world including Persia, Baghdad, Spain and Portugal made their way to what became a thriving Jewish civilization. Until the Spanish and then the Portuguese showed up and started attacking. The final attack in 1565 led the Jews to take refuge with the Maharaja of Cochin who welcomed them and gave them land adjacent to his palace. In 1568 the synagogue was completed and then again in 1662 the Portuguese took one last swipe at the Jews - partially destroying the synagogue.

Subsequent colonial rulers - the Dutch and the British - were far more tolerant, and with the support of the Maharajas who gained intermittent control, the Jews lived in peace.

So, how did we get to Queenie and the last ten Jews of Kerala? Everyone did what her children did - left for better opportunities. Without the booming spice trade or the links of the British, opportunities to remain upper-class in Kerala have become fewer. Queenie says there has never been a time of conflict or discrimination. No persecution. The time of the Jews of Kerala has come and almost gone as the community of 2,000 Jews she knew in her youth migrated to Israel, England and America.

"There are no young people left," Queenie said.

Queenie hopes to preserve her synagogue and community, but she knows it's unlikely. Today, they don't have enough people for minyan - the group of at least ten needed to hold services. Why? Being very conservative, they still only count men for minyan.

I pointed out that at our synagogue both men and women are counted (which might be a good idea for her group given they have ten, six being women). Queenie wasn't having it - but she says they can often get enough tourists for Shabbat and High-Holidays to make minyan. They have liberalized enough to allow men and women to sit together - which makes sense for such a tiny congregation. Chabad has sent a young rabbi from Israel to lead services for them.

We wished Queenie well and asked her to contact us on her next visit to LA. To our great surprise, Queenie was not our only Jewish story of the day.

Over dinner at a renown Cochin restaurant canonized by Lonely Planet, we exchanged sympathetic glances with the woman at the next table. We were all suffering under the screams, shrieks and tantrums of a five year-old boy at the table on our other side whose parents didn't believe in socialization or consideration. They were "right to eat in restaurants no matter what" people in a restaurant filled with all adults - mostly couples chatting quietly.

After several glances, smirks and eye rolls, Emily started up what turned into a fascinating conversation. The woman was from Sweden, but of Polish Jewish origin. Her Ukrainian Jewish mother had migrated to Poland after the war and married her Polish Catholic father. Anti-semitism was still strong in Poland, and when an opportunity to migrate to Sweden presented itself, Eva's mother left she and her father to take refuge in Sweden. She stayed married and stayed in close contact with her family, constantly trying to convince her husband to join her.

In 1969, when Eva was seventeen, she joined her mother. The Polish government blamed anti-Soviet demonstrations on the Jews - saying Jews put them up to it. The Polish government called for expulsion of the Jews and Eva took advantage of her mother's ability to get her to Sweden. Her father never joined them.

Eva discussed the power of anti-semitism that remained in Poland as well as how Sweden has only recently begun examining its history and role in World War II. Today, Eva lives a nice life and is enjoying a holiday away from the winter cold with her friends.

After a nice dinner, a stroll around Fort Cochin and a ride back to our hotel through highly Christian neighborhoods replete with Christmas lights, we encountered the possibly strangest hotel situation yet.

Originally we booked ourselves at a small guesthouse in Fort Cochin recommended by the Lonely Planet. I encouraged Emily to look for other options with WiFi because it would be so useful. She did and changed our reservation to a relatively new hotel at double the price (still very reasonable) in another part of town that guaranteed WiFi in every room. The place was on a river canal that intersected with a lake.

At first glance, our hotel was clean, nice looking and had on each floor large panoramic view living room-type areas with big, cushy, new sofas. Our room was large. The bathroom was adjacent to the room, not in-room, but it was ours only and it seemed decent.

Yadda yadda yadda - the WiFi didn't reach our room, the door was too warped to close or lock, Emily wore my shoes to shower, I couldn't breathe in our room from the smell of mildew and mold in the bedding, we moved rooms, it still smelled but better and the neighbors began blasting music and slamming doors at 5am.

When a call to the desk didn't stop the noise, we packed up and left, walking out the door just before 6am. The owner gave us a discount and apologized, but did not offer us a ride to the train station - which I kinda' expected at that point. I've never left a hotel early like that before, but it was cool to see the owner "get it" and liberating to be out of there. I can breathe again and we have happily returned to the safety and beauty of our Kerlayeeam Resort on the backwaters - where we belong.

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Just Say No

Emily sat on the bench crying, her eyes stinging. I wanted to feel badly for her - but it
was no one's fault but her own. It started with a simple question.

"You want oil massage?"

"Okay, oil massage!"

Emily couldn't resist. Of course, under the circumstances resistance would have been
the smart thing. We were in a men's barber shop where I was getting shaved and
cleaned-up. If the guys in there had ever worked on a woman, it was at least five years
ago. Only men came to the shop, only men worked there. I don't know why Emily sat
there and watched instead of walking down the block shopping.

But there she was. So was one of the barbers who had nothing to do. He looked at
Emily and saw opportunity.

"You want facial?" (They do men's facials there)

"No, facial. Thank you." she was smart enough to say.

"You want facial? Come on, facial..."

"No. No facial, thank you."

"How about facial? You want facial?"

"No. No facial."

And that's when he struck gold with his oil massage idea.

Emily can't turn down a massage. When I got a haircut in Kathmandu she followed
along for the first time and got a head and neck massage while I was being shaved.
I suspect that may have been why she hung out in the shop and why she so happily
acquiesced.

The man had her sit in his barber chair where he poured a strong herbal oil on the front
of her head. He began pounding her head and neck with his hands. She looked like she
was being jackhammered. Then came the electric vibrating back massager - which he
used on her head and neck.

I watched fascinated while my barber shaved my face. Emily seemed fine - she didn't
say anything. After five minutes, her barber turned off the vibrating device and went
back to pummeling her shoulders, neck and back.

I looked over at her and tried to suppress my laughter. She caught my glance and
began to laugh between the pummels.

Finally, it was time to wash the oil out of her hair. The barber had Emily face the sink
and lean her head forward while he washed her hair - the back of her hair, leaving the
front with the greatest concentration of oil untouched. Then he went to dry her with the
towel used on other people - with their hair trimmings still on the towel.

The "herbal" oil used is probably illegal in most countries or at least not FDA approved.
The strong, powerful stinging vapors left Emily tearing.

Of course, her hair was now a damp, oiled mess and the back of her shirt soaked as he
used no apron, smock or towel to protect against spraying water. The barber wanted
to comb out her mangled hair. Only when he reached for the comb still bearing other
customers' hair, Emily called a halt to it.

Massage time was over and Emily went back to the waiting bench where her eyes
watered massage oil fume induced tears.

When I finished, they offered me the oil massage as well. I considered it because it
really was meant for a guy who had just had a haircut or shave as sort of an "after
shave" treatment. It would have made my skin tingle and been completely washed off
as soon as it was done.

But they were out of oil after pouring half a bottle into Emily's hair. I figured it was just as
well. For the two of us, we paid 130 rupees, approximately $2.90. It was over.

I walked away pleased with a very good shave and haircut done with a good set of
powerful clippers. It was the best value on a haircut yet.

Emily couldn't wait to jump in an auto-rickshaw and get back to our bungalow to shower
- fumes still in her eyes. Her hair smelled like a bottle of Vick's erupted in it.

On the ride back, I asked her what she was thinking. I attempted to shame her . I hoped
she would take a lesson.

She wasn't having any of it. Emily felt it was an experience she was glad to have had. It
was an experiment that didn't work out exactly as planned - but a memory she will keep.

It took three shampooings for her to feel okay and she still says it smells a little like the
oil. I don't smell it. It might be deep in her hair or just a post-traumatic stress reaction.
No one will ever really know.

All I can say is - ladies, stay out of men's barber shops in India. But if you do go in and
someone offers you a massage, please - just say no.

 

 

 

 

Inquiring Minds

"Are you satisfied with my services today?" our auto-rickshaw driver asked.

"Uh, yes! Very. Thank you!" I answered to his roughly 15th question.

Others included: What is your name? Your country? How do you like Kerala? How do you like our town? Do you like Kerala peoples (sp)? Do you like Kerala culture? How long will you stay? What is your profession? How old are you? Have you seen our festival?

While we've been asked these things of most taxi/tuk-tuk/auto-rickshaw drivers here, only one finished with a quick customer satisfaction survey. It made me wonder if he had ever worked in a call-center. In any case, how I could I not be satisfied with his deft driving and enthusiastic conversation - all for the reasonable price of 50 rupees?

That driver seems more typical to Kerala than not. Wherever we go, there is usually someone who engages in an inquisitive and friendly conversation like his.

The other day as we were leaving the resort and following along the canal to the street where the auto-rickshaws wait, a group of people were coming the other way. An older gentleman looked at me, said "Hello!" grabbed my hand, shook it and kept walking. He was just being friendly.

As we strolled the beach yesterday, a group of perhaps ten teenage boys were walking in the opposite direction, arms around each other's shoulders, walking along like a pack of puppy-dogs. They stopped and one yelled to us, "Where are you from?" I answered, "America."

They all gave the standard response, "Oh, America....!" which sometimes also gets the extra word, "Obama..." Someone in the group obliged with that. It's not actually a political conversation starter - just a mark of recognition that they we come from the land of Obama who seems to be positively regarded, in part from his recent visit to India.

Then they began the standard line of questions a la the auto-rickshaw driver. Only these boys tossed in "What city?" which is an unusual and smart twist. Being students at an English-medium school - they knew their geography and responded to our "Los Angeles" with "Oh, California!" which then caused some glances and whispers of excitement among one another. One then said, "Lakers!"

When they ran out of questions and concluded the group interview, each one shook each of our hands, went back into their arms around one another mass, and continued down the beach.

The first couple of times encounters like these happened, it seemed odd. We protect ourselves and are on the look out for classic travel dangers. Over-friendliness always puts me on alert. But over the past week, we've learned that it's a cultural habit of curiosity and friendliness - perhaps fueled by good education. The average person here has very good English education, but perhaps doesn't get that many chances to speak with a native English speaker like a Brit or an American. While auto-rickshaw taxi drivers certainly transport foreign tourists, they seem to get a lot more business from locals.

On the beach, there were surprisingly few foreign tourists. This makes us a little more interesting than in other places. In turn, their inquisitiveness and warmth makes the locals here a little more interesting and fun than the average Indians.

One other fantastic feature to the beach experience - people were swimming and splashing around fully clothed in the same outfits they might be wearing down the street. Kurtas (the traditional Indian women's pants-outfit), jeans, t-shirts, dresses - they were fully clothed, probably feeling weighed-down, having a great time. It's hard not to find that fun and amusing.

The Keralean attitude has contributed greatly to us just loving it here. We predicted in advance that this would be "The Patmos of India" - and sure enough, it is. Similarly, although we left ourselves a lengthy three weeks for Kerala and our backwater resort, the idea of leaving is already sad. When we go into town, we are so happy to return to our beautiful bungalow porch and its phenomenal view. With Internet, great food and gorgeous grounds - there's not much we need outside the Keraleeyam.

Me being a sucker for the "soft" places of the world really doesn't see the need for other parts of India. This works fine! But as Emily pointed out over chai on the porch this morning, we'll have five-and-a-half months of tropics in Southeast Asia - perhaps we should continue seeing the other and more unique aspects of India. Fair enough.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, tomorrow we have to check out of Keraleeyam for a day. They were able to accommodate us for all but one day of our desired stay. So, we made a reservation for a night in Cochin - Kerala's largest city and commercial port about two hours from here. Everyone tells us that for a "big city" it's still incredibly pretty and laid back. We're interested to check it out - particularly the old Fort Cochin area where the Portuguese followed by the Dutch followed by the British set up shop.

Our big consolation - after one day of "roughing it" in Cochin, we can plop ourselves back down on our porch for almost two weeks more before we have to go back out into the real world where we have to face the sad fact that when people start asking too many personal questions, we have to assume the worst, cut the conversation short and walk away. Thank goodness there are still some Keralas in the world.

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Christmas In Kerala - A Festivus For The Rest Of Us

On Christmas morning we awoke to the sound of prayer and music. The prayer was coming from a Hindu temple down the backwaters which has a speaker system to send the sound of chanting throughout the area. The music was coming from a lit up stand down the road with electrified plastic statuettes of Mary and Joseph blasting fast-beat dance music. The stand is attached to a church.

It's Christmas in Southern India.

Twenty-five percent of Kerala's population is Christian. We've seen a few crosses around people's necks and many people have Christian-Anglo names such as Matthew, Paul, George, and Anthony. But in and around town, the Hindu population dominates the holiday scene.

We're in the midst of a ten-day festival in honor of Bima, centered around the very large Bima temple in the middle of town. During the day we have seen the arches erected on the main street of town marking the celebration zone as well as the numerous stands selling popcorn, nuts, candies, and other snacks. There's also a plot of land with carnival rides set up complete with ferris wheel.

Last night we decided to see the celebration at night - when it's at full-force. The main street of town is closed off to traffic and filled to capacity with pedestrians. The arches are lit up, the carnival rides going. The festival activity seems to go something like this: join the crowd moving toward the temple, hold hands to stay together, push and shove a little, flow toward the temple, pray and honor Bima at the temple, buy and eat snacks, optional carnival rides, join the crowd flow away from the temple, push and shove a little, buy and eat snacks, go home for dinner.

For a festival of a different religion and culture, it seemed very straightforward to us. It also got a little too intense as the crowd got dense and shove-y on the way to the temple. We did a u-turn - literally - in the two lane pedestrian traffic flow and rode the wave back out of the zone.

Emily decided the experienced called for a drink. We found a nearby bar in a hotel. Bars are hard to come by - and this one was packed with locals. We were asked to sit in the area for tourists and not allowed in the main bar. A waiter came and took our order.

We quickly figured out why. Only men go to bars here. And as they came in and out, they looked over and stared at Emily sitting in their local watering hole, wearing a tank top, having a Kingfisher. Not their everyday sight - and this was clearly not a foreign tourist hotel and bar. Odder still, Emily was drinking and I wasn't. Even the waiter struggled with that.

Dinner was hard to come by given Alleppey's surprisingly limited number of restaurants. The few we found open were packed.

One restaurant owner saw us peek our heads in and then walk out. He stopped us and indicated he would find us seats. We waited about five minutes until he asked us to follow him. He pointed to two seats at a four-person table that had five people already sitting there, and indicated that we should take the open chairs and join them. We hesitated. As we did, two boys came up and took the chairs. We were too slow and I wasn't enthused about crowded family dinner. So, we left.

One recommended restaurant was closed for a private christmas party. The one we finally went to was serving only four items - all Dosas (a southern Indian giant, thin pancake with assorted choices of fillings) - because they had already shut down their kitchen and were trying to leave early. We couldn't tell if they were Christian trying to make it to church or Hindu trying to reach the Bima temple and snacks.

The whole night, locals launched firecrackers making huge bangs with some fireworks lifting up the sky. There was no organized show. Just random launchings from here and there.

Having tapped out what Alleppey had to offer, we headed back to our Keraleeyam where the staff had decorated the place for Christmas with balloons, a sting of lights and some large light-up stars amazingly like the ones at the festival in town. I guess you work with your local resources. It was very pretty and they were very proud to have set up a "Happy Christmas" for their guests.

Our Christmas Eve experience finished with the sound of fireworks exploding like bombs and the blasting music from the display by the church down the road. Not exactly what I would have guessed, but celebratory nonetheless.

Christmas Day feels like any other. Houseboats pass-by filled with both foreigners and Indian tourist who have this time of year off as well.

This isn't my first holiday season in the tropics far away from anything Jewish or Christian. In Bali, Christmas existed only at some resorts and hotels in a minor way. In Singapore it existed mostly in the malls and other than a few Christians, people didn't seem to do anything for it personally. In Thailand, again it was like here - some decor at foreigner hotels and restaurant. To most people, it was just another day.

With no chimneys, stockings, bells, Christmas music, sales, ads, TV specials, old movies - or our Jewish tradition of Chinese food and going to the movies when everything else is closed - Christmas is negligible here. What an amazing difference from home where it is the most dominant religious holiday of the year.

Unlike last year when we got together with my cousin Jacob and his wife Diana to spend the day eating appetizers and deserts we made at home, then doing Chinese and movies as all good Jews should - we will go to the beach. Why? Because it's something we haven't done here and if you can go to a warm beach in December, why wouldn't you?

So, to our Christian friends reading this, Merry Christmas! To our families, we hope you get some great Mu Shu. To Jacob and Diana, we miss you.

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Aromas, Flavor And Spice

The transition from Mumbai to Alleppey has been meant changing my central concern from worrying about what I might step in to what I might step on. It could be any number of animals including local snakes which we actually saw swimming in the backwaters. It could be husked coconut. It could also be beautiful flowers and grasses. In the teeming tropics, you never know.

The smells have changed too from "I don't want to know what that is..." to "What is that? It's wonderful!" The air is gentle with light floral breezes. We smell bougainvilleas, jasmine, flowers we can't identify, lake, grass, burning rice field trimmings, and sometimes spices being sold in town or used in kitchens.

Kerala uses all kinds of herbs, spices and oils for every purpose imaginable. Our resort stocks our bathroom with bars of natural sandalwood oil soap. I love to wash my hands just to smell it. They also provide herbal shampoo that smells like an herb garden bursting out of the package, creating a tingly Ayurvedic party on my head.

In the dining room too, there's a dance on my dinner plate as the spices do an indescribable minuet. Kerala food is very different from the food we typically associate as Indian. None of the heavy sauces and lifeless ghee-saturated vegetables we had in Mumbai.

Light curries and sauces that are either water or light coconut milk-based or with fantastic combinations of aromatic spices like cinnamon bark, cardamom, lime leaves, star anise and black peppercorns. If you like it hot, they happily toss in roasted chili peppers. And almost everything has grated coconut in it.

Even the staples have more flavor and variety. Besides the white rice you find throughout India, there's the local "boiled rice" which is a short, fat grain, coconut rice, cardamom rice, tomato rice, and my favorite curd rice - mixed with yogurt, lime leaves, black and red peppercorns. Why would I ever order plain white rice?

Dal - the cooked lentils which are a dish here in India and an absolute staple in Nepal - also comes in different flavors and styles. Our basic yellow dal comes in varieties cooked with chilies and vegetables, thickened to a paste, and best of all, flavored with one of the rich red curry sauces. Dal here is a treat.

Breakfast is the most interesting. While at our resort we can get a basic Western breakfast including omelets, toast and porridge, the local breakfasts are infinitely cooler. Today Emily had upputam - a seasoned mixture of rice flour and semolina served with a light-flavored coconut-based paste and fresh bananas.

Yesterday I had idlli - fermented rice flour cakes served with a lightly-spiced coconut paste and a bowl of mild, thin red curry with sweet vegetables. I chose the dip and eat method for my idlli. George was sure to stop by and let us know that Keraleeyam makes idlli the right way by actually fermenting the rice flour whereas so many people today throw convention to the wind and use yeast. Lazy-asses in George's book.

Two days ago Emily had puta, her favorite Keralean breakfast of steamed rice flour pressed into a bowl topped with a grated coconut and sugar mixture and served with a side of chick pea curry. Simple, a little dry textured - so tasty.

Desserts have once again become healthy with plates of fresh tropical fruits. We enjoy amazingly spiced Indian chai. Fresh veggies are mixed into all the main dishes. When we eat in town, we have no idea what half the stuff they serve us is, but it's all light and flavorful - at least compared to Mumbai and any other Indian food I've ever had.

Kerala smells and tastes as good as it looks and feels.

On the topic of how things look and feel, two days ago my Great Aunt Rose - the last of her generation on my father's side - passed away. I mentioned Aunt Rose last month in my "Aging" post. She was 92 and she always looked gorgeous and felt great.

Aunt Rose was someone who had spice down to an art as she kept her life aromatic and flavorful using her own special brand of love and happiness. She was happy to share her recipe - which involved letting things roll off your back, not engaging in anger or hate, loving people anyway and always making the most of your life - even when age and waning stamina limit you. There is always something to take joy in, and Aunt Rose had a talent for finding it.

Last year, Aunt Rose - who had been married for more than 50 years when her husband died about 17 years ago - got remarried to a man with whom she spent her last 15 years. In our last conversation just a few months ago, Aunt Rose told me that even in her living room without the mobility and stamina to go out the way she used to, she still had Hank to enjoy and adore. She said she was blessed with a great life and that she loved us all.

Aunt Rose, more than anyone, knew how to enjoy the spice of life.

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Manners And Hospitality

It turns out we're good guests.

We have felt that we're needy guests. With all the high-speed Internet, WiFi goings on that began our time here at the Keraleeyam, we were sure that the staff and particularly the manager, George probably rolled their eyes every time we walked away. We would have if we were them.

But apparently, we're some of the friendliest animals in the jungle. George has quickly become our buddy - largely because we talk to him and find him interesting. He's probably in his sixties and this is his semi-retirement job. George had a whole career working in Calcutta where we get the feeling he had a more high-powered, better paying job. When he returned to his native Kerala a few years ago, he took this job managing the resort because it's very pleasant and relaxed.

George spends about half of his days telling his staff what to do in a friendly, supportive way. Basically, he is the brain of the operation. He understands customer service and what it takes to make a resort, a resort. His staff doesn't think that way. George translates from customer service to Malayalam. When someone asks for something, he likes to say, "it can be done."

Some of George's day involves talking it easy and chatting happily. We seem to have become part of that. He also seems to enjoy having lunch with friends and family in the back of the dining room. His day isn't hurried.

It's the remaining part of his day that's ugly - dealing with some crazy, demanding guests. We assumed that one comes to an Ayurvedic resort on the backwaters of Kerala to enjoy the beauty, slow pace and wonderful rustic bungalows. What other reason could there be?

Apparently, we're missing something.

George told us about an Italian woman who stayed, liked it overall and wants to bring friends of hers again soon when she returns. Only, before she and her people come, she would like a number of changes made to the lodgings and grounds. She handed him a list. Who does that?!

I can see asking for a light fixture or a leaky faucet to be repaired. But cosmetic changes and capital investment?!

George said requests like hers aren't uncommon. He doesn't own the place and he can't decide on such matters. He asks the owner, but sometimes he filters out a few of the requests because the owner will think he's nuts for even asking.

For example, our bungalow's porch was built around a mango tree. It sits toward the edge of the porch. I don't know exactly why they didn't build the bungalow a few feet further over rather than build around the tree - but there may have been a good reason. In any case, it does no harm, the tree provides shade to the bungalow which keeps it cooler and it's kinda' unique and cool. She wanted it removed. He never passed that along.

There's an Austrian woman who was staying here who came on a 17-day Ayurvedic detox package. The package prices are listed on the Keralyeeam website and in their literature. Packages are all-inclusive with airport transportation, all meals, lodging, three treatments a day, yoga classes, special meals - the works.

Yesterday was her last day. When I was working in the dining room, George came to the woman and informed her that her package price was €1385 and she had deposited €100, so her remaining balance was €1285.

"Can you make me a small discount?" she asked.

"Madame, you have a 17-day Ayurvedic package which is a flat price inclusive of all things - even your airport taxi, Madame."

"Yes, but can you make me a small discount?"

"Madame, I don't decide these things. I can ask for you, but I don't want to give you any hope."

"I would like a discount, so please ask."

Who gets to the end of an $1800 resort package and then asks for a discount?!

There's a bitter, grumpy American man who is staying here with his wife. He's the principal of the American school in Islamabad, Pakistan. He hates being there and can't wait to finish the school year and get out. It's hard to tell if Pakistan was a bad choice for him or he just naturally has an rather unpleasant bent to him.

He complains about his lodgings and the resort constantly - so they've moved him around. He was upset that the boats passing by and the crows in the trees made too much noise. He still is - but now he's upset that he a cockroach in his thatched bungalow. Guess what - it's a thatched bungalow in the tropics - every animal in creation passes through at some point. We had a slug in the sink of our open-air bathroom last night. It went away.

This morning at breakfast, George stopped at the man's table to check on him and see if he and his wife needed anything. The man literally ignored George and buried his head in his book. Who does that?! Apparently him.

By comparison, we're very good guests. While we felt like we were extremely invasive installing a wireless router and then running in and out of their office installing it, making changes, and making more changes...we smiled, thanked them, apologized for the inconvenience, talked with them as people. It seems to be a somewhat rare approach and apparently, very well received.

I don't think we're better people who somehow have some divine approach. We just try to treat people here with the same respect and regard we would give to hotel staff at home or in Europe. I think that in this region as well as much of Asia, some travelers take cultural and linguistic differences to mean that local people are not as smart, capable or expect to be servile.

Indians in service positions are very respectful and polite. They always say Sir and Madame and hotels have people carry your luggage for you whether or not you ask or want it. It's just their standard. Perhaps it somehow causes foreigners to feel "higher caste" and to somehow forget that they are hotel "guests". Sure, they're paying customers, but they are also being helped and served by intelligent and aware human beings.

This is just a guess or a working hypothesis. It's also completely possible that there are people who were raised with different values and outlooks than I was and that they are equally difficult and rude to hotel staff anywhere they go. I have a little more respect for an egalitarian jerk.

In any case, we feel increasingly at home at Keraleeyam now that the WiFi situation has settled down and we're chummy with George and his staff. To know that we're one of the "good guests" is a surprising treat. Now we just have to keep ourselves out of trouble. We'll just stay on a I'm alright, you're alright policy with our roommates - the slug, the frog and the big fuzzy caterpillar.

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The British Invasion

"The British came, and they took, and they stole everything from India and they made us slaves. But they gave us one thing - education. And we eventually started thinking - and that's what made us free eventually. They couldn't keep up what they were doing forever," George, the manager of our resort explained to me.

The British we met here in India also educated us as well as entertained us, made for great conversation and became our friends. Because they were a different generation and had never personally colonized anyplace or anyone, we felt comfortable with our association.

We spent the last several days' worth of meals with our four fifty-something year-old British friends we met here at Keraleeyam. Malcolm, Liz, Tim and Janina met each other for the first time only last week in nearby Cochin where they were staying at the same hotel. It turned out that both couples had plans to come to Alleppey on the same day. So, they shared a taxi and parted ways on our street. Malcolm and Liz moved into the bungalow next to ours while Tim and Janina checked in to the resort down the way.

Two days later, Tim and Janina were unhappy with their choice and decided to move over to Keralayeeam - encouraged by their newfound friends.

We met Malcolm and Liz at dinner the night before Tim and Janina made their move. The conversation started between our tables. The next night, we all sat together for dinner. The following night, Tim and Janina came on the scene. These are interesting people with professional backgrounds leading engaged, fascinating lives.

Malcolm and Liz retired, sold their house in Devon at the peak of the market, bought a condo, and set aside their nice profit to be their travel fund for the next fifteen years - hopefully elongated by wise investments. They bought a camper van and use it to travel Europe in the summers. Last year, they traveled for five months solid. Currently, they're on a multi-month tour of India. They each have one moderate sized backpack to their names as they travel.

Malcolm's theory is that they should spend and go while they're young enough to really do it. He figures in another fifteen or twenty years, this kind of travel will be unappealing because it will be too difficult. So, why not get it all in now?

Tim is a recently retired journalist and Jenina is a still very much working journalistic photographer. She and Tim planned a five-week trip through Southern India, but Jenina had to cut it short to get back to London to finish some photo editing related to a book project in which she's involved. Tim decided to stay the additional two weeks and will train-hop his way around India - spending more time on trains that we can possibly imagine. Why? Because he likes it and he can.

People like this know a lot about many things and have fantastic insights and opinions.

But my favorite is something very simple, genius and also disturbing. India's time zone is a half-hour off from the rest of the world's time zones. I've always thought it was odd, but assumed it was India being different.

Tim explained that in fact, India's time was implemented by the British because with the half-hour adjustment, the British were able to make it so that if a watch set to India time is turned upside-down, it shows the time in London. It was a way for British colonialists to keep track of time at home.

We shared all our meals with the group for the three days they were here. We had long, multi-hour meals with lively, fascinating discussions. It made us feel more at home here.

Ironically, both couples again had the same plans for their next destination - departing again on the same day, different trains. I am sure they have reconvened already.

Today we're sad that our friends left. We've had our eyes open on the "new blood" to see if there's anyone of interest - but so far, it's not looking good.

We have noticed that we have met people in the places where everyone eats together. At the Farmhouse resort in Nagarkot, Nepal we made friends and got into interesting discussions each of the nights we were there. Coincidentally, a buffet dinner is served at a single meal-time.

At our very first stop of the trip in Alanya, Turkey, we also made friends. Gene and Christina from Russia became regular dinner companions. Again, meals were served buffet-style within two-hour windows.

Here at Keraleeyam, the restaurant serves dinner from 7:30 to 9:00 each night. You order ahead at either lunch or breakfast and tell them what time within the window you plan to come to dinner. So, although they aren't buffet-style meals, people tend to show up at the same place at the same time.

We figure that as people come and go, we may well make more friends over vegetable-coconut curry.

In the meantime, I'll just have to go back to conversing with George who is a very articulate person. Similar to Tim's enlightening tidbit about the time zone and the watches, George explained to me that at one time, the workers of Kerala were controlled by tapioca, or taro root.

"At the end of the day, they fed them tapioca, which made them sleepy. They were full, they felt happy, they went home and went to sleep right away. They never did anything at night and so they were easy to control. Then they got up in the morning and went to work again. And it went like this."

Group meals are powerful.

PS: The Internet issue of yesterday seems to have settled down. The security password is in place and George came to us today and told us how nice we are, and that our "smiling faces everyday make me love my job." We take this as a sign that things are all good.

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