My Last Days In Kerala

I had a seriously enjoyable and relaxing couple of days in Cochin with excellent food and some good laughs. I really appreciated the way the hotel staff and security treated guests; friendly without being in your face and on hand if you needed any help. I have this feeling they quite liked me too with a permanent smile on my face, talking cricket and taking out a few minutes of my day to chat to them. It's not difficult to behave amicably with respect.
The one thing I had to do before I left was go into Ernakulum, to Travelogics to collect my refund a I had overpaid them. It was slightly irritating that I couldn't just get my credit card creditted so one morning, I got the ferry over and walked the 15 minutes or so to their office which I found quite easily which is a bit of a surprise as street names are not exactly prevalent. Sanoj and Leila were very happy to see me and Leila insisted on a photo session, maybe my photo is on their wall now in pride of place or maybe it's lurking in an email junk folder somewhere.

With cash in hand, well in my bag actually, I decided to try and find a CD which I had heard back in Kumarakom, "In the Lounge with Yani". I went into a few CD shops and realised that this Yani bloke is a huge star in India but this particular album, no one had ever heard of. I gave up then tried to find one of these lethal mosquito bats which would probably kill a small cat with their electric charge, unlike the ones is Holland. I thought Barry might want one so in 36 degrees of humid heat, I trawled through the hardware shops in the market but was disappointed as these little death machines only charged in the smaller sized plugs and didn't use your normal AAA Duracells. Shopping in this kind of heat is not much fun, so I threw in the towel before long, empty handed, went for a delicious milkshake and got the ferry back to Fort Cochin.

Oceano's Resaurant

My back wasn't at it's worst so I decided to give the cooking course a go at Oceanos. My stock of painkillers was getting very low so rationing had come into force about a week ago. I had kept a couple of pills for the flight home but was thankfully left with one last tramadol so I took this the morning of the cooking lesson and walked around the corner to the restaurant.

All drugged up and raring to go, I took my place in the kitchen (like a good girl), armed myself with the sharpest knife I could get my hands on and got to work at preparing endless vegetables. I might not be Gordon Ramsay but cooking is quite high up there in the things I can do and like. If I was able to stand up in a kitchen all day, I might have taken the whole cooking malarkey a bit more seriously and who knows, I could have been on Master “it doesn’t get tougher than this” Chef.

As I was cooking vegetable thali (a selection of different dishes), not surprisingly there was a lot of peeling a chopping to start me off. We used familiar veg like potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, green beans and peas. I got familiar with some lesser known ones like avial, suran, chayote and ash gourd. Chef’s English rated just a little better than my Malayalam so hand signals came in useful as we both waved out knives about in unison.

If you can't stand the heat......

I forget how many different dishes I cooked but more than 15 and less than 25 so let’s plump for a round 20. Some took seconds to concoct, some over half an hour. I started taking notes but it got a bit busy to keep writing. Chef was delighted with me as I knew instinctively how to cut up the veg, how much oil to use, how much of each spice should be added and maybe most importantly, he left all the seasoning up to me – a bit more salt, a bit more sugar or maybe a bit more yoghurt.

I was surprised by the minimal use of onions but not by the liberal use of the ubiquitous jeera (cumin seeds), mustard seeds, coconut (shredded, blitzed in the blender, milk and cream), turmeric and curry leaves. Astonishingly the dishes did all come out very different and the one I loved the most was the instant chutney made from mango, molasses, sugar, vinegar and chillies.

Continually tasting and seasoning

I worked hard and enjoyed myself immensely. The heat didn’t even get to me and it must have been over 40 degrees centigrade in there. I was relieved by the hygiene standards, not brilliant for Western standards but not remotely scary. The only thing that did make me wince was that the meat (which I didn’t touch) was just left on a counter festering before the other chefs cooked it whereas the fridge appeared to be used for coconut products, water and very little else! 

 As usual, I tried to get everyone laughing throughout the morning and succeeded, especially when gesturing at Chef’s somewhat huge belly. The lads in the kitchen were impressed with my Indian cricket knowledge as well as my cooking prowess – I almost asked for my money back, after all I had done all the work!

Just a few of my dishes

The thali is a speciality at Alonso’s and nothing else is served at lunchtime. It costs about €2 and if there are any left-overs, the staff eat them. Slow days in the restaurant must really leave a feast for Fatty and his boys! Everything is freshly prepared that morning and it is super tasty, especially on the day I cooked! I was slightly nervous when the first customers came in and ordered my food but they loved it which was a relief. Work was done for the day so back to the pool to cool down.

Paying customers eating my food

As I walked into the hotel, one of the girls on reception collared me and was obviously very excited about something. She said “Guests staying at the hotel with same name as you!” OK, so someone called Kate had checked in. Whoopdeddy do. “No, no, no....same family name as you”. I grew up in Yorkshire where the surname “Holdsworth” is as common as muck. When I moved “darn saff” to London, it was fairly rare and in Amsterdam, I’m sure I am the only one. So to meet another one in India, in an area not widely visited by the English was indeed a bit of a coincidence. I spotted them fairly easily – white, northern accents, tick! They were a lovely family and we had a grand chat about things that us Yorkshire folk talk about. They got burnt in the sunshine and I tried not to laugh.

I wish I had taken photos backing up my final tale in Kerala. The Haircut. I needed a haircut so why not get it chopped in Cochin? If it went horribly wrong, I could get Toni or Guy to fix it upon my return to Amsterdam. Feeling adventurous, I cycled off to the hairdressers. I think the Indian man entrusted to do the job was more nervous than I was. To cut a long story short, he cut my long hair, errrrrr......short, a bit shorter than I had anticipated. He started butchering on one side cutting about an inch off but by the time he got round to the other side, I was lop-sided by about 4 inches, and then he tried to even it up...........I’m so glad I’m not vain, otherwise I would have clobbered him. Instead I took the blunt scissors from him, tidied it up a bit myself and left. I was shocked that he wanted payment but hey, I was in a good mood so got my rupees out. One disastrous haircut cost the same as 4 nights dinner. You live and learn.

Back in Wonderful Fort Kochi

Ahhhhhh....what a difference a day makes!

Maybe it was the relief in getting out of Kollam or the excitement of going back to Fort Cochin, I'm not sure but I couldn't keep the grin off my face all day. I had my first encounter with the Indian Railways and was very impressed indeed. There appears to be about 6 different classes in which you can travel on a train in India, the lower ones are rammed to the roof but being a sophisticated lady, I chose to go posh, well as posh as was available. 1st class was either fully-booked or non-existent (the latter I think) on the 13.50 from Kollam - Kochi. I did try to get the crappy hotel to book me a ticket but along with a hundred other false claims, they didn't actually have a travel desk. Failing that, Sanoj at Travelogics did the booking and I showed up well in time in my tuk tuk at the station waving my e-ticket. (India is not entirely living in the dark ages)

My first impression was that the station was remarkably clean, I had half expected there to be the odd homeless person lying around but spotted none. The place was crowded but not chaotic. Passengers were waiting patiently in areas with sufficient seating, watching TV. Information was a bit scarce, the screens were all blank. I couldn't help thinking "South-West trains". However, unlike the abysmal train services in south-west London, there was a helpful station manager on hand who directed me to the correct platform. Good job I got there early, as the train would depart from over the bridge. I had to tackle a mountain of steps carrying my crutch, pillow, back pack and heavy suitcase. Step by step I started to ascend only to be interrupted on around step 6 by "Would you like some help ma'am?" (That's ma'am as in ham, not marm as in harm). I accepted gratefully and gave this man a great big smile. Indians don't smile enough  so I consider it my mission to get people grinning one way or another. They don't get my jokes so I have resorted to doing Skype impressions, pulling funny smiley faces. It was tough with my helper but eventually, I got him. He didn't even need to cross the bridge himself, he just felt sorry for me. Once on the platform, he handed me over to another unsuspecting passenger who would help. Ah, bless, what lovely people there are in the world.

The train arrived on time. Unfortunately, it was 18 carriages long and I was waiting where carriage no. 16 pulled up. My carriage? No. 1, right at the front of train. I had actually worked this out all by myself but helper no.2 didn't think it was necessary to start making a move to the head of the platform before it arrived. An all out sprint ensued. When I say sprint, that means walking with pace, kind of 2 levels before jogging. I don't jog. I had no idea where my new friend was sitting but it wasn't in carriage "A1, seat 31". He carried my case to my seat and disappeared before I could make him smile.

My seat was a bed, complete with pillow, sheet and blanket. The air-conditioning worked wasn't too cold and it wasn't too hot, a bit baby bearish really. No one was sat/sleeping next to me,opposite me or across the aisle from me for the entire journey. This was the way to travel. The toilet was clean and didn't smell and the gentle motion of the train was soothing making it all very easy to relax. We pulled into Ernakulum Town station only 20 minutes late which I think is a bit of a result for a journey scheduled to be 3 hours and 25 minutes long. No bridges to be tackled, built or burned but a long walk down the platform to the exit and the taxi rank with drivers ready to pounce on the affluent white woman. I had the taxi drivers in stitches and the tuk tuk drivers doing incredulous dances as I started doing impressions of Sachin Tendulkar with my crutch - I was in that kind of mood.......

The 15km taxi drive from the train station to The Poovath Heritage Hotel in Fort Kochi was the same price as the train ticket - 350 rupees. I shouldn't be surprised though, a taxi to Schiphol airport from central Amsterdam costs the same as a one-way flight to Yorkshire. I was delighted to be back in this unique place, as quiet as a small village but with endless restaurants serving the best food in Kerala. I had skipped lunch so as soon as I had checked into my room with it's huge, fabulous bathroom, I nipped round the corner to a restaurant called Oceanos. I devoured a delicious dinner of a healthy portion of prawns in a thick tomato and coconut sauce and a couple of chaphatis for mopping up purposes. For the first time since 1982, I fancied something sweet and ordered a desert of spiced ginger cake which was heavenly, all washed down with some fresh ginger and lime juice mixed with soda. 375 rupees. I noticed that the restaurant does daily cooking classes. I am praying as I type that my back will enable me to do this.

I like the hotel and it is the first one I have stayed in that offers free wi-fi in the rooms. It even works! There's no hot water but seeing as it's stupidly scorchio outside, barely dipping below 30just sit, relax and watch the sun go down with all the locals separated by a fence which prevents them pissing and chucking rubbish into the hotel grounds.

Another sunset

It's hardly surprising that the first thing I did today was to hire a bicycle. 3 days for 2 1/2 yoyos and I have a basket! Yet again, it's great to be back on a bike. I pootled around, looking at trees today which I hadn't noticed the first time around. The rain trees which line a couple of the roads are very old and very impressive. Apparently they are even more spectacular in the wet season when they produce pink flowers. I tried to get into the Army base down Rain Tree Avenue (not it's real name), asking the guard on the gate if he could teach me to fire missiles but his sense of humour was sorely lacking and he even banned me from taking a photo of the sign outside the gate. Spoilsport.

A rain tree and a goat outside the Army Base

Last time I was here, I had a good laugh with some not very hard working staff at one of those lovely outdoor restaurants with plastic seats and a vague menu. I returned and one of the lads remembered me, indicating my skin was almost as dark as his. For the uninitiated, Asian people do not understand why white people want to get a suntan. Fair skin is a sign of affluence and is considered very beautiful. Sod that, a tan (within moderation) makes you look and feel healthy and for the 2nd time on this trip, I was asked today if I was a student so it obviously makes this middle aged, retired, old lady look young too!

Cool tree