Wild wild west

Well, actually it is the south of India, but it certainly feels like the wild west where there are no rules, at least on the highways, but more about that in a minute. I have once again been struck by the basic concept of life which is that those with the least to give are the most generous, especially generous of spirit. The Indian people are a wonderfully kind and warm-hearted people. They are always willing to give a smile and a handshake, if they are male. No matter the class or status, I have been treated with such acceptance that it warms my heart, and I find myself engaging in conversation with any and all with whom I have the opportunity to do so. From the cop in the street to the woman in the shop they all have this ability to make you feel totally relaxed and at ease. It’s wonderful to be a part of. Here is a caveat…I make lots of continuing comments about driving and highways…but the truth being said, we spend a lot of time with a hired car getting to the out of the way places and that means we are continually subjected to imminent death or disfigurement, if not to us, then to the poor individuals who get in our way. So observations about driving and highway behavior are reflective of a large portion of our day. You can always scroll down to the more amiable parts of the letter. With that being said, Indian drivers may be the most dangerous drivers on the planet…I’ve been around the block once or twice, but today’s ride from Cochin to the tea plantations in Munnar was definitely an “E” ticket. Trying to get out of Cochin was an adventure, but an urban one…Cochin’s streets have no stop lights, no stop signs, no cross walks, no zebra crossings, no lane markings, no speed limits, no nada….it’s a free-for-all where only the intrepid dare tread. Finally, however, we did clear the city limits and that’s where the real fun began. We headed for the hills and that meant very narrow, twisting elevation-climbing roads that give the drivers the opportunity to show their bravado at the wheel, no matter the situation. We have our own driver for the next three days as we head to the tea planting and spice plantations of Kerala. So Carol and I buckled up, gritted our teeth, rolled our eyeballs and shook our heads as we passed and were passed literally hundreds of times on blind curves, hills where we couldn’t see beyond a hundred feet and often just held our breath. The drivers seem to understand the rules, and that means do what you want, where you want regardless…we were in a line of cars heading towards a blind curve where we couldn’t see what was coming and there was zero room in between us and the car in front of us. Made no difference, a car passed us and was in the opposite “lane,” if I can use that term since there are no lines, when a bus came around the corner. The driver of the passing car just forced our driver to basically stop to allow him back on our “side” of the road before all hell broke loose and blood and mayhem occurred. Our driver didn’t blink an eye, curse, honk his horn or otherwise show any sign of displeasure…maybe because he had done the same thing himself dozens of times in the journey. This was not a short hop across town, but a four-hour free-for-all. 80 miles took us 4 hours to complete since buses, truck, auto rickshaws, and other assorted vehicles lined the roads in both directions…the sides of buses wear the scars of situations which didn’t quite pan out according to plan. All I know is that if I drove like that I’d either be dead or divorced. We dodged our way past cattle, dogs, goats, monkeys, and a full-sized tom turkey just standing in the road all ruffled up like he was putting on his moves for a female car. He’s lucky he didn’t wind up on somebody’s Sunday dinner table. However, survive we did, and made it to a fascinating and wonderful hill station named Munnar which didn’t exist more than a century ago and only in the past 15 years did it become a real town when they discovered that they could milk the tourist trade. As frightening and marginal as it was, it was a lovely trip into the heartland of Kerala. The hills are covered by a green carpet of tea plants looking like some giant Christo expression of performance art. The rows are just wide enough for the ladies to reach into the branches and pick from either side. The bags are suspended from their heads by straps and since the leaves are so light, it isn’t a strain on the pickers. Huge black basalt boulders up to 100 feet in diameter dot the fields like they were strewn by the gods on high and where they fell they lay and imbedded into the earth. The fields come right up to the little villages scattered in the area with their pastel houses of violet, peach, yellow, rose, and other soft tones to give a break from the solid green and give some variation to the texture of the land. I couldn’t help thinking it would make a great Springbok jigsaw puzzle. Difficult, interesting and colorful.

We took a tour of a tea plantation where in great detail they explained the process from plant to tea bag. It’s a working plantation and the ladies had finished picking for the day and were separating the useable leaves from the chaff, as it were. It was what I have wanted to see ever since I was in India as a youth and didn’t see them at that time.

In terms of Kerala itself, it is a place of remarkable religious tranquility and tolerance. Hindus, Jews, Muslims and other fringe religions all blend and intermix easily and well, unlike other areas of India. The Christian influence is large, which really came as a surprise to me…our waiter’s name at the hotel restaurant was James Joseph, the travel agent who helped our itinerary is Arnold Nieland…both testimony to the fact that centuries ago This west coast of India was a hub of international trading, and Goa, the state to the north was a Portuguese colony well into the 20th century. Huge Christian churches which would rival the mega-churches of Texas are located in the big cities and even the smaller ones have smaller ones which obviously cater to a sizeable amount of worshipers. Here in the hotel, I can hear the call of the Muezzin. We were told that there are only five Jews left in Kerala, apparently the minimum number necessary to perform various rabbinical procedures at the synagogue. Kerala is ablaze with color…when I wasn’t hanging on for dear life, I was able to see gigantic purple bouganvillias, red poinsettias that were more trees than houseplants, peach colored shrimp plants, and the sweet red hibiscus plants all which are scattered along the way. We passed from tea country into spice territory where the smell of cardomon gave a soft pungency to the air as we passed large tracts of the bushes. We visited a spice farm where they raise a whole range of spices….clove, cardoman, peppers, nutmeg, cinnamon, cacao, among others. It gave new meaning to the term “Spice trade,” for me. As in Uzbekistan where the ladies in their national dress were a constant source of color, the same is here with the ladies in their saris. They range from the sublime to the ornate, soft colors to loud proclamations of their presence. Pick a color and they wear a sari of that color. I was talking with a lady about the saris and asked her how many she had. “more than 10?,”….she laughed. “More than 30?”…again laughter…this went on and on with the number climbing in our guessing game and it finally stopped at 165…I thought she was the Imelda Marcos of shoe fame with saris, but she informed me that there were many with lots more…Little did I know.

Indian news headline of the day: “Film censor bans 28 swear words from future use in films..15 Hindi and 13 English.” Damn it. What the hell is that all about?...:P