Kerala Calling
It’s one of those strange days of travel, one on which we have no base for most of the day: checkout is 11am and our flight to Cochin leaves so late that we don’t even need to head to the airport till after 5. Consequently a sun bed on the beach is our home for more than 6 hours, the backpacks left near the security gate back at the digs. It goes surprisingly quickly, then suddenly it’s time to say farewell to the friendly guy at Roger’s, goodbye to our favourite beach dog who claims one last tummy rub, and finally goodbye to the lovely trinket seller Karina with whom I have flirted so much that she’s been able to sell Michaela no less than six bangles.
Off the beach, a quick alfresco change of clothes at the roadside while no one’s looking, and it’s off to the airport with salty skin, dishevelled hair and sand in our shoes. There’s something amusing and self satisfying about travelling in a state like this. Makes you feel real. Just don’t look in the mirror.
We leave Benaulim with a certain sadness, not only because we really have fallen for the place, but also because we were never quite able to enjoy it to the full. The tummy bug which blighted Christmas Day has been annoyingly stubborn and has kept reappearing after a succession of false dawns which teased us that it was over. But no, it keeps gnawing away and we leave this lovely village with neither of us having really fired on all cylinders at any point. Another reason to return, maybe.
It takes an absolute age for the IndiGo flight to board – what in God’s name takes people THAT long to sit down and buckle up? Row 8. Our seats. She’s sitting in our seats, her in one and her bag in the other. The expression on her face as we oust her would suggest that she’s never come across the concept of seat numbers before, so next she clambers over to the other side of the aisle and settles down. That’s not her seat either. When the true occupants arrive, they are oddly apologetic about getting this woman to move. Astonishingly, the errant sitter responds with…
“Oh don’t worry, my seat is only over there”, and moves to the row in front of us. WELL IF YOU KNEW WHERE YOUR SEAT WAS, WHY THE BLOODY HELL DIDN’T YOU SIT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU STUPID DIMWIT HALF BRAINED INDIVIDUAL, screams my alter ego. But I say nothing, of course, because I’m British.
Incidentally, this is the second flight in a row that this has happened. On the flight from Mumbai to Goa, a family from Rotterdam was strung along the entire row which contained our seats. “I’m sorry”, said the Dad as they moved, “but finding your seat on an aircraft can be so confusing, can’t it”.
Errrr…well, a big fat NO actually. Finding a seat in sequential rows which start at the number 1 and end with the highest number, with secondary lettering identical on every row, and matching it with the number which is on that little piece of card in your hand, has got to be one of THE LEAST CONFUSING THINGS in the entire world. What IS the problem with these people? Is the internet turning everybody into dimwits who can’t solve the tiniest problem for themselves? My alter ego screamed all this at the Dad From Rotterdam. But I said nothing, of course. Because I’m British.
It’s half an hour before midnight when our backpacks appear on the carousel and we trudge out of the terminal building and into the outside air which is still stiflingly hot despite the late hour. We can ignore the placard-carrying chauffeurs, give cold shoulder to the badgering taxi drivers and just walk the 100 yards or so to our bed. Booking the “aerolounge” hotel right in the Terminal complex was a smart move for tonight. Especially for forty quid. Goodnight World, Kerala awaits.
Drinks update. Not been a boozy trip, this one. The early stages were in places where alcohol isn’t really a big part of life and it wasn’t until Goa that a genuine “bar” appeared. Plus, I haven’t got on too well with Indian beer. Kingfisher is bland, cold and gassy, its “Ultra” a slight improvement but still nothing special, and it’s not until Goa that we find some decent alternatives. Even then, they are “craft beers” and so taste of either citrus or washing up liquid, but at least they’re a small step up from the one dimensional flavour of bog standard Pilsners.
Wine. When you’re in a country where everything is sooooo cheap, do you really want to pay a premium to drink an imported wine which you can get anywhere, especially when it’s accompanying a blow-your-head-off curry? No, you don’t. So. Indian wine. We’ve tried ONE SIP, and I’m so glad we didn’t buy a bottle because neither of us could get beyond that first mouthful. It’s like….well….imagine taking a jar of strawberry jam and stirring in enough cough medicine to turn it into a liquid, and you’ve got a rough idea of what it tastes like. Yep, it’s THAT bad.
Indian gin. Tried three, all drinkable but when we opted for a Bombay Sapphire it kind of put the local ones in perspective.
Feni. Not so much a drink as a Goan institution distilled from the cashew nut. Not unpleasant as local firewater goes but with a slightly buttery flavour. Trouble is, the locals insist on mixing it with a dreadful lemon fizzy thing which tastes like a remedy for a head cold.
Marsala tea. In the north, it was so good that it usurped coffee as my morning wake up. Ginger, cardamom, Lord knows what else, loads of creamy milk, loads of sugar…. wow, good morning World I’m here again. Shocks you back into life at the first mouthful. Makes doppio espresso taste like tap water. As we’ve moved south though, those wonderful spices have been lessened and lessened until by Goa it’s just a cup of sweet milky tea and all the excitement has gone. Good while it lasted though.
I digress.
We leave our airport digs and head from Cochin to Fort Kochi, a short drive in theory but one complicated by the fact that the latter is built on a series of islands with a limited number of bridge crossings. Following our route on Google maps is a bit like playing snakes and ladders – got to go all the way down here then back up the other side to get about four hundred yards from where we started. But we get here, to our first ever Indian homestay where Jensen (no really) and his wife Andria are our hosts. Jensen is such a giggler that he has permanent smile lines on his face and an unshakeable sparkly twinkle in his eye. We like him.
Fort Kochi is hot. Sultry, sweaty, hot, unrelenting. Now this is, without doubt, the India we remember, at least as far as the temperature is concerned, though the town itself is different again: not India, but not Goa either. We pay a tuk-tuk driver a few quid to do a quick reccy of the town’s sights by way of introduction. Even on this first tour, the different influences are clear: Portuguese, Dutch, British. Hindu, Catholic, Muslim. Traditional, Dated, Contemporary.
“Kerala is God’s own country”, says our tuk-tuk driver, quoting the slogan which greets arrivals at Cochin airport, “it is very green, very beautiful. I think you will love it”.
We have some interesting plans for our time in Kerala. We suspect he may be right.
30 Comments
restlessjo
I’m expecting it to be beautiful. You’d better deliver! Though our friends did a north and south tour last year and far preferred the north. Takes all sorts xx
Phil & Michaela
We will see how it goes!
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
Your description of the wine is wonderfully graphic! I immediately got what you meant, Phil. A marvellous description. It’s too bad that tummy trouble interfered with your enjoyment of Benaulim. I totally understand about people who sit willy-nilly all over the aircraft. Agreed; it’s not hard to figure out where your seat is. And not saying anything – you could be Canadian! 😉 Looking forward to reading about Kerala. Cheers.
Phil & Michaela
I’ll take the Canadian thing as a compliment! 😁. My God that wine was bad, still not sure if I’ll brave another one..
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
Sort of a joking compliment but since the UK was one of our founding countries we maybe inherited our tendency toward passive aggression. 😊 We usually will choke before saying anything negative, but watch out for our actions. We can be brutal. That said, having to now constantly deal with that disgusting Trump, we’re becoming more vocal, too.
Eha Carr
Reading this I just love your alter ego and almost wish you were not British 🙂 ! Love your beach photos and those of the fish and have learned of what one can and cannot buy in a glass! Am SO awaiting your posts to see what I have missed . . .
Phil & Michaela
Ha yes, my alter ego. Best kept under wraps I feel. Yep, we’ll see what Kerala delivers, Eha.
Eha Carr
Phil – may I disagree – about the ego bit I mean! I read a lot of posts yesterday but kept coming back to yours and truly laughing! The feeling-world which came thru’ was totally real . . . and since I myself was having a hugely frustrating day because of others’ ‘stupidity’ it was politically incorrect to do anything about . . . I truly ‘enjoyed’ as you may have noticed!
Phil & Michaela
😂👍
Vicki
Love your writing style. Your alter ego took the words right out of my mouth. Between you and me, in regards to the idiots on the plane, perhaps these people think that since they paid for the flight, they paid for someone else’s brain to do the work too. Once through the plane door, they switch their own brain off and use the paid version to take over..
Phil & Michaela
Thank you, Vicki. 😄. I think switching off the brain is becoming a blight of modern society myself. Sometimes I despair!
Monkey's Tale
Hmm, I tried to comment on your site, but was told it was private access only, which is strange because I could read the whole post. So I went to Reader. Anyway hoping you’re loving Kerala, the boat trips, Chinese nets, spices .. can’t wait to read what you’re up to there. Maggie
Phil & Michaela
Yeah I’m finding barriers to comments on some sites where I leave regular comments too. I have no explanation nor will I attempt one!
Helen Devries
Loved the ‘phlegm Britanique’ on the flights…..
Phil & Michaela
Oooh nice phrase – had to Google it, I’m afraid, but yep it’s a pretty good assessment of one of our national traits…
Lookoom
What a vivid update! You’ve perfectly captured that gritty, “real” feeling of traveling with sand in your shoes and salty skin. It’s a shame about the stubborn tummy bug and the “jam-and-cough-medicine” wine, but Kochi’s history and Jensen’s hospitality seem like the perfect remedy. Safe travels through Kerala!
Phil & Michaela
It’s becoming interesting already, but I thought I’d inject a bit of light hearted humour first !
Annie Berger
It’s almost inconceivable to me that a Dutchman in this day and age fails to know which seats belong to him and his family on a plane! Love your alter ego saying, “We’re British.” I look forward to reading your Kerala posts, as Steven and I only made it as far as a hotel in Cochin at the beginning of Covid when the world closed down. Not really a drinker, but still found your tale of Indian alcoholic beverages amusing, Phil!
Phil & Michaela
Ah so your Cochin was our Vietnam! As for people in wrong seats, I just don’t get why or how anyone can get it wrong! Happy to have given you a chuckle ….
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
I left a comment hours ago but it seems to have not gone through. I don’t know if the issue is at your end or mine but wanted to let you know.
Phil & Michaela
I think it landed and I’ve now responded, Lynette – but there are some “comments gremlins” around again just now…
Lynette d'Arty-Cross
That’s so annoying …
Toonsarah
I think you’ll like Kerala too – certainly I really took to Fort Kochi, mainly because of that hotch-potch of cultural influences and rather an arty side 🙂 I had to laugh at your plane seating issues while also sympathising. How hard can it really be?!!
Phil & Michaela
Yep, Fort Kochi is already impressing us for all of those reasons and more!
The Flask Half Full
Nothing to see here . . . just taking my bull for a walk on the beach. 😂 Great drinks report. Indian wine is bad. Like really, really bad. It’s too hot and too humid in India for viticulture. I’d stick with that Bombay Sapphire. And I agree about people who can’t find their seat on an airplane. That’s common sense, day 1 stuff. It must drive flight attendants batty.
Phil & Michaela
Drives me batty too. That one mouthful of wine (the only mouthful I’ve had in 6 weeks) has to be a candidate for the worst wine I’ve ever tasted. Beyond undrinkable.
grandmisadventures
the seat mix up is crazy! But the drinks certainly sound interesting and worth a try 🙂
Phil & Michaela
Some of them anyway….
WanderingCanadians
It is mind boggling how long it takes some people to board a flight. I couldn’t help but laugh at that woman who sat in the wrong seat multiple times. Why??? Finding your seat on an aircraft is really not that confusing. The issue is people are dumb dumbs and can’t be bothering to read or care.
Phil & Michaela
Absolutely true….I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would find it confusing!