EnglishAugust
a disguised dancer
Inspired by the fact that domestic tourism is up and running, and conscious of the fact that tourists from abroad are still banned in India, I recall previous jaunts from years ago.
We first came to Kerala in January 2006. I have described before the idyll of "Friday's Place", our homestay on the Neyyar River near Poovar, at the southernmost tip of "God's Own Country". But I have skimmed over the week-long drive into the Western Ghats... Chalo! Let's go!
Giri, our driver, thought he was a racing driver. He attacked the winding roads with the energy of a Jackie Stuart, his hero, and tried to emulate him.
From Poovar we were aiming for the foothills and Kodaikanal (in the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu, bordering Karnataka at some hilly viewpoints). But first we had to go to Palani where we witnessed religious pilgrims with pierced cheeks doing puja at the holy mountain. A hawker was selling cold drinks (soda pops) in old-fashioned thick glass bottles with a glass stopper, recognizable from 1960s Crete. Codd-neck bottles. They are collectors' items nowadays. There's a kind of marble inside to prevent the carbon dioxide from escaping. When you are about to drink, it goes "pfffff" like a French person's disapproval. I recall clearly our dismay at the cheek-piercings. As I also recall our delight with the thanda drink wallah.
By night fall we reached Rose Cottage, in Coaker's Walk, Kodai. Our rooms (for we had a suite with a sitting room) were comfy and chintzy in the style of an English country cottage. The beds were glacial. The ambient temperature had fallen by at least twenty degrees. (Sitting here today in Crete, where the temperature has plummeted from 28° C a fortnight ago to 6° C yesterday, I shiver.) Giri was trembling in one woollen. I wrapped myself tightly in my Ethiopian blanket, as we headed out for the Tibetan restaurant called "The Tibetan Brothers" and we learnt how to say "Tashi delek" for the first time and sampled momos for the first time ever. I allowed Giri to sleep on the sofa with a blanket. The next day hotel management were furious. But then they relented. Otherwise, he would have been sleeping in the car. He ran off on an adventure of his own (whilst we were sightseeing) and returned with a mongrel stray puppy. He adopted it to take home to his son. From that moment on, we were accompanied by a puppy joyfully partly-constrained in a cardboard box. It was a sweetie.
[ to be continued ]
We first came to Kerala in January 2006. I have described before the idyll of "Friday's Place", our homestay on the Neyyar River near Poovar, at the southernmost tip of "God's Own Country". But I have skimmed over the week-long drive into the Western Ghats... Chalo! Let's go!
Giri, our driver, thought he was a racing driver. He attacked the winding roads with the energy of a Jackie Stuart, his hero, and tried to emulate him.
From Poovar we were aiming for the foothills and Kodaikanal (in the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu, bordering Karnataka at some hilly viewpoints). But first we had to go to Palani where we witnessed religious pilgrims with pierced cheeks doing puja at the holy mountain. A hawker was selling cold drinks (soda pops) in old-fashioned thick glass bottles with a glass stopper, recognizable from 1960s Crete. Codd-neck bottles. They are collectors' items nowadays. There's a kind of marble inside to prevent the carbon dioxide from escaping. When you are about to drink, it goes "pfffff" like a French person's disapproval. I recall clearly our dismay at the cheek-piercings. As I also recall our delight with the thanda drink wallah.
By night fall we reached Rose Cottage, in Coaker's Walk, Kodai. Our rooms (for we had a suite with a sitting room) were comfy and chintzy in the style of an English country cottage. The beds were glacial. The ambient temperature had fallen by at least twenty degrees. (Sitting here today in Crete, where the temperature has plummeted from 28° C a fortnight ago to 6° C yesterday, I shiver.) Giri was trembling in one woollen. I wrapped myself tightly in my Ethiopian blanket, as we headed out for the Tibetan restaurant called "The Tibetan Brothers" and we learnt how to say "Tashi delek" for the first time and sampled momos for the first time ever. I allowed Giri to sleep on the sofa with a blanket. The next day hotel management were furious. But then they relented. Otherwise, he would have been sleeping in the car. He ran off on an adventure of his own (whilst we were sightseeing) and returned with a mongrel stray puppy. He adopted it to take home to his son. From that moment on, we were accompanied by a puppy joyfully partly-constrained in a cardboard box. It was a sweetie.
[ to be continued ]
