Dearest Rachel –
It’s weird; I’ve found myself treating this morning much as I would a sea day. And for good reason; we’ve basically been at sea all morning, with literally no sign of land to speak of. To be sure, it’s been somewhat hazy outside, so even if there was land nearby, we might be hard-pressed to spot it. But throughout the morning, we’d been chugging along at speed, trying to make our way to Kochi in time to meet our schedule (which we may well have fallen behind, thanks to the thunderstorm that rose up just as the last of us were getting aboard the ship in Colombo).
We barely stop moving by the time I’m supposed to report to the theater. I’m there already, but well aware that I’m going to be sitting here for a while while the immigration authorities process everyone – including, much to my surprise, folks going to the Taj Mahal. I was aware of an excursion heading out from Goa, but I never saw anything about such a tour leaving from Cochin. Maybe this is an exclusive for the ‘niners,’ but it’s quite the group; six buses full of tourists are assembled for this.
And, despite having done a face-to-face interview with Indian authorities prior to arriving in Sri Lanka, it appears that we have to go through something similar once we’re ashore today. In which case, why did we bother with the first inspection?
We get to the bus by three, but as several fellow passengers haven’t arrived we find ourselves waiting for a half hour until it comes out that they’ve canceled their tour at the last minute
Glen, our guide, welcomes us to Willingdon Island, which is where the Kochi harbor is situated. It’s an artificial island that’s been reclaimed from the sea, a situation that has been a recurring theme as we make our way throughout Asia – which, given that the sea levels are supposedly rising dramatically, would seem to be decidedly unwise. But whatever; it works for now.
Despite the educational situation in Kerala, with the highest literacy rights throughout India, the unemployment rate is a dismal 12-15 percent. So, many people emigrate to where the jobs are, particularly to the oil-rich Gulf states, and send their earnings back home. As a result, Kerala is also one of the wealthiest of the Indian states – albeit more from the efforts of those who leave than those who stay.
Interestingly enough, the ballots are currently still in the process of being counted, and the results won’t be released until the fourth of May. Until then, evidently, mum’s the word as to the winners. Our guide is an unabashed proponent of the Congress Party; he sees the current PM as being too Hindu-centric, to the detriment of other religious minorities. It’s not clear whether he has any religious affiliation himself, although he speaks of some discrimination faced by a Muslim friend (and actually names him, so it’s not a “I have this friend…” situation). He seems to just be of a more secular bent than he seems to think PM Modi happens to be.
A little more than an hour into the trip, our guide offers to have the bus stop for a restroom break. I’m not one to pass the option up when it’s offered (although if it had been only me to assent, I’d probably have let it go), but as we get up to disembark for the moment, he tells us, “don’t worry about paying for it, I’ll take care of it.” Well, now I feel a little bad about making him pay (which wouldn’t have crossed my mind otherwise). Not bad enough to stay on the bus, though; now that my body knows what’s up, it’s not going to let me just go back to my seat.
After two hours’ drive (a long journey, but completely as expected), we arrive in Alappuzha, and we board our boat to ride through the canals.
Glen frequently points out birds, flowers, and trees, as well as indicating the human activity on either side of the canal – both the things going on in the moment as well as the general cycle of life here, such as the rice harvests (for which the canals are filled with fresh water, as they are now) and the fishing season (during which time the locks are opened, allowing the salt water of the Arabian Sea to flow into them).
Some forty minutes into these meanderings, and we arrive at the hotel campus where we’re to partake in what Glen refers to as “high tea”; after the ‘explanation’ of the concept by our guide in Colombo, I can’t help but be mildly amused, but I manage to refrain from asking him if he’s aware of the connection. I’m pretty sure Shanelle was joking, after all, and I wouldn’t want to cast aspersions on an old British custom that has been adopted throughout the Commonwealth.
We’re supposed to be on the boat again after only about half an hour at the hotel, but I find myself the first one back, waiting for almost a full half-hour for everyone to join up. Not that I’m alone in this wait for more than a couple of minutes, but the last few stragglers take what seems like forever to assemble.
The return trip is much shorter; I suspect that we made perhaps three-quarters of a circle en route to the hotel, and the ride back was merely that last quarter or so. Just as well, as there’s very little that can be seen – and virtually nothing I can film. We’re back on the bus by 7:15, and off for another two hour trip to return to port.
With that said, I let myself set my camera and phone aside about a half hour in, and give myself permission to rest. I don’t actually get any sleep, though, and so, by the time we arrive at the ship, even though it hasn’t been a particular exertive day, I’m pretty tired out.
So I’m going to call it a day at this point, honey, and look forward to the sea day tomorrow. Still, if you could keep an eye on me regardless, and wish me luck, I’d still appreciate it. After all, I don’t see why I wouldn’t still need it.
Letters to Rachel 