“These prostitutes, you’re sure they are Japanese?”
“Yes. And Australia.”
To Nazar ‘Australia’ was a catch-all for the worst kind of westerner. There had been a bad experience with an Australian-crewed yacht once, which had coloured his view of that country.
News reports said the locals were scared and had threatened to kill any tiger unless rangers from nearby wildlife parks didn’t immediately catch and relocate them. When we arrived Varghese told us that just last week a tiger had been spotted drinking water from a stream 100 metres from the house.
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.” – Margaret Mead
When Nazar met our coddled cat, he fell in love. He adores animals, but the few ragamuffin moggies you see in India are tiny. To him Millie was an exotic sleek-coated giant.
Nature, culture, wildlife: all important elements which make travel enjoyable. But for Jamie and me, it’s the people who make it memorable.
We traversed a small tree-covered hill where Rangit pointed out fresh tiger scat. Then we found deep scratches in the bark of one of the trees. Rangit seemed pleased. We stopped to observe a perfect pugmark.
“Tiger is here, maybe one hour,” said Rangit.
Cochin (as its inhabitants prefer to call it) is a collection of islands and peninsulas squeezed between the shores of tranquil Vembanad Lake and the Arabian Sea. Each district has a distinct personality, from the colonial trading post of Fort Cochin and concrete towers of Ernakulam, to the sandy beaches of Vypeen Island.
The ill-lit classrooms had no glass in the windows and no plaster on the walls. Unconnected to any source, electricity wires hung like jungle vines from concrete ceilings. The children, crowded behind simple wooden tables, wore neatly pressed uniforms and expressions warm enough to melt a mountain frost.
It’s always hot, and often wet in the tropics. At certain times of the year I really miss England’s seasons. There is no spring in India, the months segue from winter to summer here. Kerala is at its hottest in April and May, when pre-monsoon steamy white heat reduces the tumbling torrent of Cochin’s street-life to a dried up trickle. Tourists are the only fools to go out in the midday sun. Even the mad dogs sleep.
This morning, Nazar brought his whole family to the marina to say goodbye. He has been our constant companion since we arrived in Cochin, taking us on endless shopping trips, keeping us topped up with beer and wine, coming out to the beach at Kuzhipilly with us, and finding parts and services for all our boaty needs. We have eaten in his tiny home on many occasions: fish curry and spicy vegetable dishes cooked by his wife, Sakina, and mother, Beema.
“I am Chella Duri, I come from Tamil Nadu,” translated Saji. “I look after my master’s goats on this land. Now I call them for the night. I sleep here with them.” The goats milled around us, nibbling the wall, the grass, my feet, the path, everything.
Jamie asked what was wrong with his foot.
“I broke it on a stone while climbing.” We could see blood stains on the rag. Jamie wondered why he had not seen a doctor. “I earn 4000 rupees (around £46) a month, and that is all for my family. There is nothing left for doctor.”
India has produced some of the greatest literary writers of our age, reason enough to draw travellers and to captivate them. Not so often documented is the sense of humour simmering away beneath all that charm and those polished manners.
