New Year's Day Carnival

Everybody loves a parade, right? Well, I don't. In fact, while I definitely enjoyed the New Year's Day carnival in Kochi, I actually found the crowd, which seemed to outnumber the parade participants by about ten to one, much more interesting than the parade itself. There were circus floats, dancers, men dressed in drag (women aren't allowed to participate), the cast of Avatar, and many others in colorful, often homemade costumes, but that wasn't quite as compelling as the excitement of the crowd and sheer mass of bodies thronged together. I don't really like being in a crowd, and for the most part managed to skirt this one. As always, the locals were kind and facilitating. At one point we found ourselves inescapably deep into the parade crowd, and Vanessa was able to appeal to the wall of onlookers to let us pass through to safety, or really, lower anxiety. I don't mean to overstate this, it's not like I have a proper phobia, but rather, sometimes when I find myself surrounded on all sides by human bodies, I wonder, "why did I come here?" And so, the edge of the crowd was really much more my speed.

The mood was celebratory, everywhere we went people were excited to put their English into practice, wishing us a "Happy New Year," and grinning at our replies. The kids were out in force and, without exception, once one youngster had their picture taken they all wanted in, huddling together and mugging for the camera. Perhaps the day's most infectious good mood was emanating from the Michael Jackson memorial dance float, where in particular, a nattily dressed gent in a tweed sports coat and straw hat was demonstrating some serious moves. Bill had opted out, and after about an hour and a half I could see why, having had my fill of the excitement. All in all, we were glad we went.

Dining Out

Learning a language often requires admitting to the person with whom you're attempting to converse that the grammatical intricacy of their speech, or perhaps just their vocabulary or sheer velocity of air and spittle, exceeds your level of comprehension. The problem in Dubai is that you have far more practitioners of Dubaian Pidgin English than of the language's more well constructed iterations (I myself speak American Screaming Eagle of Freedom English).

At times, I've found myself stooping to fragmented cave-person English (respect, ladies) in order to get my point across, often coupled with hand gestures. Many guest workers, employed in the service industry, seem deathly afraid of admitting when they don't understand a request. I empathize, and suspect that in part, it's because their employment is predicated on their English fluency, so in a sense, they are protecting their jobs by giving you horrible service. The following doesn't qualify as horrible, but it is a depiction of a fairly normal service experience in Dubai--- the food at this restaurant is very much above average:

"Yes Mahm?"

"We'll have one red cabbage salad, one pumpkin salad, and a hamburger."

Look of total incomprehension. Brow knits for approximately 45 seconds.

"You mean cheeseburger, mahm?" Going out on a limb.

"Uhh, no. This here..." Points to menu.

"Oh, you mean the beef burger?"Accompanied by look of relief. I guess Hamburger sounds like a pork product if your knowledge of German metropolises and/or sandwich history is lacking.

"Uhh, yeah. That one."

"Anything to drink?"

"Yes, one large water and one headache remedy juice."

"Ahh... let me check on the headache remedy." Walks to juice bar, returning about five minutes later.

"Ok Mahm, we can make that juice for you."

Ten Minutes elapse.

"Sorry Mahm, but we don't have fresh onion juice for the headache remedy."

"Well, can't you make some?"

"Ahh, sorry but no fresh onion juice. No onions."

"But this restaurant is in inside a grocery store."

"Yes but... juicer broken."

Kerala Back Waters

On the morning of New Year's Eve, Mahesh bundled us into his mighty Jeep, and carried us into town to meet our pre-arranged taxi to the Kerala backwaters. Hoping to avoid bathing our luggage in the thick layer of dust that covered the trunk of our driver's Hindustan Ambassador, a model which was once India's ubiquitous sedan, we loaded our bags into the forward passenger seat, only to learn that we would be sharing the ride with a young couple from Finland. The Fins turned out to be worthy conversationalists, and we apprised one another of our recent adventures for the first half of the journey. Conversation eventually faltered, and the driver, hoping to enhance the already daring thrill-ride he was providing us with, inserted a CD of early nineties techno into the Ambassador's aftermarket sound system. Having studiously avoided both raves and DJ culture, I'm not sure why all the tunes were familiar to me, but I suspect that movies and advertising are at least partially to blame.

Arriving at the tour operator's compound, we loaded our now dusty cloth duffle bag (one of those quilted jobs) onto the houseboat which, from what I can tell, was technically a large punt. At about 8,000 rupees ($175) per night, the backwaters trip was by far the most expensive thing that we did in India, and it was well worth it. I would love to go back sometime to spend multiple nights on the boat, and Bill has indicated that the prices are a good deal lower in the off season.

The brackish backwaters alternate seasonally between shrimp farming and rice paddies, and have a dark, reflective quality that gives the fecund tropical landscape a pleasing bilateral symmetry. We trolled along quietly, our motor-less vessel propelled by a pair of boatmen wielding impressive lengths of bamboo. At one point, the forward boatman's pole became lodged in the bottom, and went whap-whap-whapping down the side of the boat until the aft boatman was able to rescue it for him. This, and a bit of pre-party sound system calibration around the marsh, were the only (minor) intrusions into what was a thoroughly relaxing and enjoyable experience.

Vanessa and I were reminded very much our own favorite non-profit as we skimmed along, surrounded by alternating combinations by reeds, flowers, palms, houses, villages, canoes, birds, children, chickens, trains, cattle, passing Fins in their own extremely well appointed punt, and of course, the water itself. Lunch time brought another pleasant surprise, as our crew brought out huge portions of excellent, almost vegetarian fare-- in fact we ate all but completely vegetarian in India and, as I've said before, thoroughly enjoyed every meal.

That night we sat on the deck listening to dancing and drumming in the distance, watching the occasional bright swirling of flashlights and small fireworks on the shore. We'd brought a bottle of good champagne from the Dubai airport duty free and, decadent infidels that we are, managed to drink half the bottle between the two of us. The boatmen found the bottle tipped over on the deck the next morning and, after checking with us, one of the crew adopted the now empty bottle as a decoration for his home. He'd given us a tour of his house the night before, and we'd been surprised to see that his mantle was already adorned with the box from that very same bottle of Veuve Clicquot, in addition to a few other Clicquot cartons of unknown origin. We felt honored to be welcomed into our host's home, which was full of interesting found and handmade objects, including hand carved models of a cruise ship and an electric guitar. He also had a whole gang of very relaxed looking pigs under his care.

The Kerala backwaters are not so different from those in Quintana Roo or, if you squint, Petaluma, but to my knowledge neither of those places offer such a restful overnight experience on the water. If you ever have the chance to go, do so. Try to opt for a punt rather than a motorboat, as backwater tourism is big business in Kerala, and keeping the number of outboards to a minimum will help preserve this stunning spot.

India, Kerala, Kochi

I think I've been hesitant to write about India, because to do so requires acknowledging the fact that I'm no longer there. I'm physically in Dubai, but my mind is elsewhere-- partly in Kochi, partly in Albany.

Kerala, which boasts the worlds first democratically elected communist party, was the first Indian state to abolish the caste system, installing a social safety net that yet sways in the breezes of financial chaos. We didn't see much of the state, spending our time in and around Kochi, but in general, we found people were incredibly warm, genuinely returning a smile in a way that is largely absent in Dubai. Interestingly, a great number of Dubai's enormous Indian population are from Kerala, and we encountered several families in Kochi who had relatives working here, contributing to the household incomes at home at some personal cost. In fact, we live with one such person.

Our hosts, Bill and Mahesh, a former wigmaker to the stars, and award winning music video director respectively, were exactly the sort of easy-going, engaging, and welcoming hosts that one can only hope for. They toted us all over Kochi on their bike and scooter, Ness and I clinging to their backs like baby baboons traveling with their mothers. The roads in India are a little like the wilds of Africa, perhaps during a stampede, with drivers veering boldly into oncoming traffic to overtake slower tuk tuks and all kinds of vehicles in various states of repair. In this way, Bill and Mahesh were able guardians, transporting us not just to safety, but to our delicious daily breakfast of uppumavu, idly, curry, and chai masala every morning.

The decor of our breakfast spot was one part jail cell, and another part wood shed, with a layer of grease on the walls that looked a bit like the high water line in a flood zone. The proprietors of this spot are to be commended, as they eclipsed the funk to flavor ratio of my favorite taquerias and noodle stalls, serving up some of the best food I've had, for the least amount of money, in the most unlikely and yet inviting setting. Later in the day, we'd make an inevitable visit to Kashi for coffee and possibly cake. According to Bill, and I readily believe this, Kashi is one of the best cafes not just in Kerala, but probably in India as a whole. To sum up, we ate well, really well, and with out any gastronomical taxation to speak of. I can't wait to go back.