KOCHI, aka FORT COCHIN

Kochi is the best place for Westerners to start a jaunt around Southern India. Blessed with clean streets (rare in India) of whitewashed buildings, it is easy and safe to navigate around on foot on one’s own, very tourist friendly to the point that purist Indianophiles (if there is such a title) would say ‘too’ touristy. Fort Cochin has an abundance of well preserved architecture of Portuguese, Dutch and British influence reflecting its colonial history. Just being in the town took me back to the India of my childhood.  Walking  to the point of exhaustion around the small streets, lined with shops displaying their merchandise inside and out in the balmy January weather, I basked in my memories . Winter (December-March) is definitely the time to go to the subcontinent.

Fortuitously, for the two days prior to my joining my Intrepid Travel group, I picked the small Fort Heritage Hotel. It came with a history all its own. Built by the Dutch East India Company in 1668, the natives originally called it Kannadikottaram, meaning Palace of Glass; not sure why, for the building did not have any more glass than any other around. Upon their conquest of the area, the British took possession of the building for the Navy. Since then it has passed through the hands of several locally renowned families until its current Heritage Star Classification.

Breakfast was taken in a pleasant central courtyard onto which my room looked. The western style bathroom also contained a washtub and scoop, presumably preferred for washing by Indian guests, the shampoo was labelled moisturiser, the fridge kept blowing the switch, the fan creaked abominably, as did the bathroom door, but the room had all the ambiance of old colonial splendour on a small scale.

I had to evict a monkey sneaking across my bed who had taken the advantage of the open veranda door to investigate the possibility of a snack, while I was typing my journal in an attached alcove. It was not well pleased for it took to smashing ashtrays and items of pottery on the neighbouring veranda for the next ten minutes. From thereonin the door had to remain closed but the little varmint woke me at 5am the next day, knocking on the window to request readmission.

Among the musts around Fort Cochin are the Chinese fishing nets along the foreshore. Brought here by Kubla Khan, the frame of the net hangs over the water at the end of a long beam, from the other end of which hang several rock counterweights. The net is submerged in the sea and subsequently hauled up posse of up to eight men on the weighted end chanting as they go. The catch is tipped into a large basket and sold in the market stall on the adjoining pavement.

The spice trade developed Fort Chochin into a thriving centre and many of the original godowns or warehouses are still in evidence today with a cacophony of spice markets, especially in the Jewish area of Mattencherry, which is also renowned for its antique shops. The Mattencherry Palace, also called the Dutch Palace, is well worth a visit.

My other wanderings took me to the lovely old church of St Francis, where Vasco da Gama was originally buried before his remains were returned to Portugal. It still sports the original punkahs (the hand fans, long cloth  used in colonial times operated by servants outside pulling ropes back and forth through the walls).

The main city of the area and the one into which one flies is Ernakulam, not worth a visit in hindsight, except for the opportunity to catch the local ferry back to Fort Cochin. Feeling somewhat vulnerable at being the only female in the long queue snaking through the building to an empty ticket office (and one of only two European faces) thereby getting more than my fair share of curious stares, I was considering my position perhaps untenable. Fortunately, some kind soul pointed out that I was in the male queue and should reposition in the female one to one side of the building. Incurring more stares and feeling more than a little foolish, I moved to the tine line of ladies, an advantage in itself, with only about eight people before me.Purchase of the tickets wasn’t so simple. The note I offered was rejected with a voluble outburst of Hindi and much wagging of head and hands. Fortunately, I had some small (very small) change which was accepted. No wonder the official was a bit grumpy. For a few rupees (less than 20c), I clutched my ticket for the half hour journey and boarded the craft, having fended off a pushy request from a man in the male queue demanding that I buy his tickets as well so he could queue jump. Apparently each passenger can only buy two tickets and my lack of Hindi meant that I had not understood that I could have bought his ticket with mine and saved him waiting. Being a tourist makes one a great target! It was a pleasant ride along the inlet, stopping off at two places, back to Fort Cochin.

A visit to Kochi would not be complete without a visit to a Kathkali show. Described in Wikepedia as a ‘highly stylized classical Indian dance-drama noted for the attractive make-op of characters, elaborate costumes, detailed gestures and well-defined body movements present in tune with the anchor playback music and complementary percussion.’ It is mandatory to arrive well before the performance to see the application of the multilayer and colourfully bright makeup. Elaborate chalk patterns are drawn on the floors of the audience area. The amazing  control of the facial muscles to produce subtle expression changes, all of which mean something individual, is fascinating. The curtain is a hand held sheet of silk used to screen scene changes.  An elaborate drama of good over evil unfolds before one’s eyes, a performance not to be missed.

WALKING IN SHACKLETON’S FOOTSTEPS

The zodiac deposited us on the narrow beach on one side of Fortuna Bay and we negotiated our way past small bands of fur seals without too much bother.

Mists swirling, we sighted our trusty little ship through the gloom back down in the bay, as we headed up the shale and scree to follow in the path of Shackleton, the path he took so long ago to get help for his stricken crew back on Elephant Island.

Ernest Shackleton’s attempt to be the first to cross the Antarctic continent in 1915 ended in failure but also in the most heroic and successful rescue. His ship, the ‘Endurance’, was trapped in pack ice and subsequently sank, crushed by the freezing seas. The crew were forced to abandon ship and set up camp on the ice. Finally, with no hope of being rescued, there followed the amazing trek across ice, pulling the three lifeboats as they went. As ice broke up, they set sail for South Georgia, launching their little craft, primitive as they were by modern day standards, into  the rough antarctic swells. They landed on Elephant Island. The bulk of the crew remained on the islet while Shackleton, Tom Crean and Frank Worsley set off in search of rescue, calculating the prevailing currents to reach South Georgia. They landed on the wrong side of the island and set off to find their way overland over horrendous snow, glaciers and mountains, finally making it to the whaling station of Stromness, a feat in itself in their weakened condition. It was a tale of extraordinary courage and loyalty to his men that Shackleton got them all, except one who died from the complications of frostbite, safely home. It was this last section of his epic adventure that we followed on our own feet. Though the conditions did not look inviting as we set off up the slopes, our walk was in summer, unlike Shackleton’s winter ascent. The only snow that we encountered was visual on the mountain tops and distant glaciers. Reindeer loomed through the fog at intervals, remnants of herds used by whalers. Despite the cold, layers of clothing were shed, as we sweated our way up over the steep undulating slopes.

Climbing the last rise before Crean Lake, the sun dispelled the mist to reveal snow clad peaks and glaciers as far as the eye could see under a blue sky. A magic moment for all.

We rested beside the lake, reflecting on the beauty, with a few exquisite minutes of silence to savour the glory of the moment, a moment etched in my memory forever.   The wind had died, stillness reigned, stunning reflections mirrored on the glass surface of the lake.

Continuing after a short pause across the uneven rocky terrain…

we finally breasted the crest of the hill to see the whaling station of Stromness that Shackleton saw to his great relief. One minute we could see the bay, whaling station and the surrounding hills….

the next, the mists closed in with visibility reduced to the nearest rocks.

It was all downhill from thereon in, albeit down steep scree, a difficult descent for this vertically challenged adventurer. One foot in front of another, boots planted sideways on into the shale and definitely looking at the ground in front of my next footfall, not down the slope, the gentler inclines at the bottom were welcome indeed.   With emphatic warnings to avoid treading on moss and other flora, we made our way towards the abandoned whaling station. Iridescent cushions of green abounded, impossible to avoid treading on in places. Streams fed their way down towards the valley. Boots sank into spongy grasses.

An intrepid nesting site a surprising distance from the sea afforded us our first sight of Gentoo penguins.

Our destination was within easy reach at last.

The welcoming committee awaited us in all their glory. King Penguins rule in South Georgia…

Unable to access explore the dilapidated buildings, owing to their unstable condition and the remains of asbestos, we were content to recline on the rusty propellers left behind by the whaling ships, soaking up the sun and waiting for the ship to pick us up.   It was our turn to be the objects of curiosity, baby seals peeking around the huge prop blades.

Not all our fellow passengers took the arduous route over the mountains. Some preferred to explore the flora and fauna of Fortuna Bay at sea level. The kayakers on board took to the seas from Fortuna to Stromness. For my part, it was an honour and a privilege to have the chance to walk in Shackleton’s footsteps, a opportunity and experience that I will savour for the rest of my life.

SAILING TO ANTARCTICA

It was on my first trip to Antarctica that I was introduced to the delights of South Georgia. I had travelled to South America for a month’s holiday, taking in Santiago, travelling down through Patagonia on the Chilean side, doing a whistle stop cruise to the South Shetlands and Antarctic Peninsula. It was on the days of sailing, with the ship tossing its way across the Drake Passage, that the time was filled with lectures on other aspects of the area from the fauna, exploration, history and, for me above all, South Georgia. My travelling companion had a month’s holiday and we were taking in Argentina after the cruise and going on up to the Atacama Desert so our Antarctic visit was short. I made a pledge to go back one day and do South Georgia and, being the Brit that I am, the Falkland Islands. What better idea could there be doing a round the world flight when spending Christmas with my daughter and family while she was working in England, thereby fulfilling my dream on the return. 

 

And so it was that I found myself once again at Ushuaia in early January of 2011 embarking upon a small ship once again bound for Antarctica, only this time going the long way round – turning left  out of the Beagle Channel and sailing north up the side of Argentina for the Falklands and S Georgia. If I thought the last ship was small with an eighty passenger intake, the Polar Pioneer only took fifty two. An ex Russian research vessel, it was still crewed by Russians but chartered by Aurora Expeditions. After spending a week in Buenos Aires and Uruguay, interacting with only Spanish speaking citizens, it was a relief to stop struggling with my rudimentary Spanish. To my delight I found myself in the company of not only English speaking folks but predominantly Australians. It wasn’t till I got on board that I realised that this was hardly surprising, for Aurora is an Australian company! In fact, there were also people from Queensland and that one of the guides was from the same suburb as me back home. Small world!

 

The trip to our first destination was relatively calm as sailing goes in that part of the world. We were kept busy, first with orientation of the boat, safety on board, lifeboat drill, the thoroughness of which was unprecedented for me. In my life I have done many sea voyages with boat drills on all of them except for my first Antarctic trip, ironically enough. This one was the real McCoy. Enmeshed in the bulky lifejackets necessary for an emergency at sea, it was an almighty claustrophobic squash in the fully hard-covered capsules of the polar lifeboats – and we did not even have the full complement of occupants in the boats that they would have to take in the event of a real evacuation. Each boat can carry fifty two passengers and crew and is equipped to stay at sea for two weeks. My mind wondered what happened if one had to relieve oneself under these circumstances. I was relieved that we did not have to avail ourselves of the boats during our time at sea but was glad that the emergency procedures were so thorough.

Less bulky life vests for our zodiac trips to our landing sites were given out, along with the rules and mandatory procedures for these shore visits. Safety getting onto the zodiacs was paramount, bearing in mind the icy water conditions. Rules were laid down for interacting with the creatures on land and regulations regarding the preservation of the pristine environment of the venues and protection of flora and fauna alike. Before actually landing on S Georgia, a thorough vacuum and inspection was necessary of all our external clothing, bags, cameras, etc. to make sure that nothing touched the island that was likely to leave behind any foreign bodies. A disinfecting procedure was performed before and after each landing to make sure that not a seed, nor stone or piece of dirt was transferred from one venue to another. Lectures were given in the conference room in the bowels of the ship on the delights of this part of the world. We learned about the various species we would see, the history of the islands and Continent, explorers and much else besides. The weather was fine enough to spend much time on deck en route and those with long lensed cameras were able to take wonderful shots of the many seabirds that followed the ship.

Our accommodation was small with two bunks. My cabin companion was a medical receptionist from New Zealand. I had scored the top bunk which had happened to be the only remaining berth on this voyage. There was no rail to prevent my falling out of bed and, at the age of sixty-four, I sincerely hoped that rough seas would not tip me out. The vessel was a rabbit warren of interacting passages to get from A to B and my sense of direction being what it is often saw me taking the wrong turn trying to access the bridge or the dining room. Passengers were welcome at all times on the captain’s bridge except during coming into harbour and there was a viewing bridge above that that afforded us marvellous views across the seas. Atop the vessel was an open deck that gave the best views of all, 360° of as far as the eye could see. Many hours were spent up there, especially on the days that we spent in the company of whales. On one particularly good whale watching day, a Dutch quartet even took their meals up there, lest they missed anything, and we were regaled the whole day by the announcements of ‘Killer whales astern’, Spouts at two o’clock’. Another time, we delighted in Hourglass dolphins racing the ship, ducking under the prow and coming up on the other side.

 The dining room was split in two by the galley and it was first in, best dressed as to where one sat along the tables that ran like planks from the side of the ship to the middle. The chairs were anchored to the floor for good reason. For the same reason, I always chose to sit facing the direction in which we were travelling. I have never suffered from seasickness before but on this voyage we went through three katabatic storms and this tested even the endurance of my equilibrium and gut. The bar was on an upper deck straddling both sides, giving views to port and starboard. Meals were varied and timed to fit in with landings. Lunch was light, the main meal being in evening and there was a smorgasbord of breakfast cereals with some sort of cooked item and always hot porridge. Teas, coffee, hot chocolate, biscuits and fruit were always available and we were provided with a thermos cup souvenir to use on the voyage so we were able to take drinks up on deck or wherever. An official afternoon tea was provided, often with muffins or something tasty. I took my hat off to the staff in rough weather. With the steep incline of the deck, as the ship rolled and toiled through very rough, heavy seas, crockery would slide and crash to the floor.  Working in the cramped galley with hot pots and food must have been a nightmare and how the waitresses managed to get the tureens out to us without losing the lot was an admirable feat. Needless to say, there were days when a full complement of passengers did not appear at each meal.

 The rough seas made for some interesting excursions. There were a few that had to be curtailed altogether. We never did get to Elephant Island, or anywhere near for that matter, as the captain decided to detour to avoid the worst of the current storm. On one occasion the coffee machine on his bridge flew from one side to the other during a particularly heavy lurch. The ship’s doctor was kept busy administering to many who found the motion of the ship too much. The Prion Island had me terrified. There was some debate whether or not we would go ashore at all. The winds were rising and the seas rough but it was a home to the largest rookery of albatrosses in the Antarctic region place. It was finally decided to take one zodiac ashore and see how it went. If that one got back without too much trouble, another would go. I went on the second one and was very glad I wasn’t on the last as conditions deteriorated. A few passengers opted out altogether and one with hip problems wasn’t permitted to risk it at all. Getting onto the rubber craft wasn’t too bad but getting back onto the ship on the return was quite another matter. I was the last to exit the zodiac and therefore there was little ballast to weight the little craft down. One minute the gangway platform was one metre above us and the next a metre below. With three men helping each passenger, each person was told to just go on the command ‘now’. It took three attempts of ‘now’ for me to get up the courage to let myself go and be hauled onto the platform. I do remember a squeak of ‘I can’t’ leaving my mouth twice and then the thought that I had to somehow get off the zodiac or I’d be there forever, gave me the oomph to shut my eyes and trust to God. My legs were that shaky walking up the gangway, I was exceedingly glad to get up to the deck! In hindsight, it was worth it just to see the giant birds on their nests but I had to rely on getting a photo from a kind fellow passenger, as I hadn’t been willing  risking losing my camera overboard or coming to grief in the sheeting rain.

 For the most part the excursions were not as frightening. It is hard to emphasize what a special place Antarctica and its archipelago is. I would not have missed it for anything and in blogs to come will go into some of the places we were privileged to set foot on.

SAILING TO ANTARCTICA

It was on my first trip to Antarctica that I was introduced to the delights of South Georgia. I had travelled to South America for a month’s holiday, taking in Santiago, travelling down through Patagonia on the Chilean side, doing a whistle stop cruise to the South Shetlands and Antarctic Peninsula. It was on the days of sailing, with the ship tossing its way across the Drake Passage, that the time was filled with lectures on other aspects of the area from the fauna, exploration, history and, for me above all, South Georgia. My travelling companion had a month’s holiday and we were taking in Argentina after the cruise and going on up to the Atacama Desert so our Antarctic visit was short. I made a pledge to go back one day and do South Georgia and, being the Brit that I am, the Falkland Islands. What better idea could there be doing a round the world flight when spending Christmas with my daughter and family while she was working in England, thereby fulfilling my dream on the return. 

 

And so it was that I found myself once again at Ushuaia in early January of 2011 embarking upon a small ship once again bound for Antarctica, only this time going the long way round – turning left  out of the Beagle Channel and sailing north up the side of Argentina for the Falklands and S Georgia. If I thought the last ship was small with an eighty passenger intake, the Polar Pioneer only took fifty two. An ex Russian research vessel, it was still crewed by Russians but chartered by Aurora Expeditions. After spending a week in Buenos Aires and Uruguay, interacting with only Spanish speaking citizens, it was a relief to stop struggling with my rudimentary Spanish. To my delight I found myself in the company of not only English speaking folks but predominantly Australians. It wasn’t till I got on board that I realised that this was hardly surprising, for Aurora is an Australian company! In fact, there were also people from Queensland and that one of the guides was from the same suburb as me back home. Small world!

 

The trip to our first destination was relatively calm as sailing goes in that part of the world. We were kept busy, first with orientation of the boat, safety on board, lifeboat drill, the thoroughness of which was unprecedented for me. In my life I have done many sea voyages with boat drills on all of them except for my first Antarctic trip, ironically enough. This one was the real McCoy. Enmeshed in the bulky lifejackets necessary for an emergency at sea, it was an almighty claustrophobic squash in the fully hard-covered capsules of the polar lifeboats – and we did not even have the full complement of occupants in the boats that they would have to take in the event of a real evacuation. Each boat can carry fifty two passengers and crew and is equipped to stay at sea for two weeks. My mind wondered what happened if one had to relieve oneself under these circumstances. I was relieved that we did not have to avail ourselves of the boats during our time at sea but was glad that the emergency procedures were so thorough.

Less bulky life vests for our zodiac trips to our landing sites were given out, along with the rules and mandatory procedures for these shore visits. Safety getting onto the zodiacs was paramount, bearing in mind the icy water conditions. Rules were laid down for interacting with the creatures on land and regulations regarding the preservation of the pristine environment of the venues and protection of flora and fauna alike. Before actually landing on S Georgia, a thorough vacuum and inspection was necessary of all our external clothing, bags, cameras, etc. to make sure that nothing touched the island that was likely to leave behind any foreign bodies. A disinfecting procedure was performed before and after each landing to make sure that not a seed, nor stone or piece of dirt was transferred from one venue to another. Lectures were given in the conference room in the bowels of the ship on the delights of this part of the world. We learned about the various species we would see, the history of the islands and Continent, explorers and much else besides. The weather was fine enough to spend much time on deck en route and those with long lensed cameras were able to take wonderful shots of the many seabirds that followed the ship.

Our accommodation was small with two bunks. My cabin companion was a medical receptionist from New Zealand. I had scored the top bunk which had happened to be the only remaining berth on this voyage. There was no rail to prevent my falling out of bed and, at the age of sixty-four, I sincerely hoped that rough seas would not tip me out. The vessel was a rabbit warren of interacting passages to get from A to B and my sense of direction being what it is often saw me taking the wrong turn trying to access the bridge or the dining room. Passengers were welcome at all times on the captain’s bridge except during coming into harbour and there was a viewing bridge above that that afforded us marvellous views across the seas. Atop the vessel was an open deck that gave the best views of all, 360° of as far as the eye could see. Many hours were spent up there, especially on the days that we spent in the company of whales. On one particularly good whale watching day, a Dutch quartet even took their meals up there, lest they missed anything, and we were regaled the whole day by the announcements of ‘Killer whales astern’, Spouts at two o’clock’. Another time, we delighted in Hourglass dolphins racing the ship, ducking under the prow and coming up on the other side.

 The dining room was split in two by the galley and it was first in, best dressed as to where one sat along the tables that ran like planks from the side of the ship to the middle. The chairs were anchored to the floor for good reason. For the same reason, I always chose to sit facing the direction in which we were travelling. I have never suffered from seasickness before but on this voyage we went through three katabatic storms and this tested even the endurance of my equilibrium and gut. The bar was on an upper deck straddling both sides, giving views to port and starboard. Meals were varied and timed to fit in with landings. Lunch was light, the main meal being in evening and there was a smorgasbord of breakfast cereals with some sort of cooked item and always hot porridge. Teas, coffee, hot chocolate, biscuits and fruit were always available and we were provided with a thermos cup souvenir to use on the voyage so we were able to take drinks up on deck or wherever. An official afternoon tea was provided, often with muffins or something tasty. I took my hat off to the staff in rough weather. With the steep incline of the deck, as the ship rolled and toiled through very rough, heavy seas, crockery would slide and crash to the floor.  Working in the cramped galley with hot pots and food must have been a nightmare and how the waitresses managed to get the tureens out to us without losing the lot was an admirable feat. Needless to say, there were days when a full complement of passengers did not appear at each meal.

 The rough seas made for some interesting excursions. There were a few that had to be curtailed altogether. We never did get to Elephant Island, or anywhere near for that matter, as the captain decided to detour to avoid the worst of the current storm. On one occasion the coffee machine on his bridge flew from one side to the other during a particularly heavy lurch. The ship’s doctor was kept busy administering to many who found the motion of the ship too much. The Prion Island had me terrified. There was some debate whether or not we would go ashore at all. The winds were rising and the seas rough but it was a home to the largest rookery of albatrosses in the Antarctic region place. It was finally decided to take one zodiac ashore and see how it went. If that one got back without too much trouble, another would go. I went on the second one and was very glad I wasn’t on the last as conditions deteriorated. A few passengers opted out altogether and one with hip problems wasn’t permitted to risk it at all. Getting onto the rubber craft wasn’t too bad but getting back onto the ship on the return was quite another matter. I was the last to exit the zodiac and therefore there was little ballast to weight the little craft down. One minute the gangway platform was one metre above us and the next a metre below. With three men helping each passenger, each person was told to just go on the command ‘now’. It took three attempts of ‘now’ for me to get up the courage to let myself go and be hauled onto the platform. I do remember a squeak of ‘I can’t’ leaving my mouth twice and then the thought that I had to somehow get off the zodiac or I’d be there forever, gave me the oomph to shut my eyes and trust to God. My legs were that shaky walking up the gangway, I was exceedingly glad to get up to the deck! In hindsight, it was worth it just to see the giant birds on their nests but I had to rely on getting a photo from a kind fellow passenger, as I hadn’t been willing  risking losing my camera overboard or coming to grief in the sheeting rain.

 For the most part the excursions were not as frightening. It is hard to emphasize what a special place Antarctica and its archipelago is. I would not have missed it for anything and in blogs to come will go into some of the places we were privileged to set foot on.

Tentative Steps into the World of Blogging

A second foray into blogging is needed, seeing as how the first one doesn’t get out there much. I guess writing it in the first place would be a good thing. We live in a country in Australia where freedom of speech and the interaction of ideas, new and old are much valued, a great country, far from the madding crowd though not quite as far as our cousins acros ‘the ditch’. I spent twelve years in New Zealand, a beautiful country, but I can vouch for its distance from the rest of the world. Here’s to freedom of speech, especially the written word.

So here goes. La Nina has left us at last – much soggier in many places but, hey, we needed the rain, just not quite so much of it and more evenly distributed. At least there will be drinking water for the year to come when the land dries up into thirsty parchment once again and the crops struggle to grow. At least now there’s fodder aplenty in a good many of the farming areas for cattle and sheep in a country that built its way upward on these four legged creatures.

The tyranny of distance is reflected both within the country and without, that is for most of us travellers. Air travel is the quickest and easiest way to get about in Oz and certainly the most practical to get anywhere else in the world. Though per kilometre it may be the cheapest mode of travel, costs rise with the price of fuel and, for many people, exploring beyond our shores is not available to everyone. As a nation,however, Australians are inveterate travellers and it is almost a rite of passage for young people who can afford it to take off for the overseas experience, working and travelling where they can and widening their experience of the many different cultures in lands far away. As a retiree, I meet a wide cross section of fellow grey nomads wherever I travel, a lot of them from Downunder.

I make it my practice to explore some part of the world each year and sometimes twice if I’m lucky (and financial) enough. On a recent trip to Hong Kong with my oldest grandchild, she asked me if there was any country I hadn’t been to. Such is the innocence of children – I have hardly scratched the surface.

Later in my blogs I will hopefully put into words some of these of these wanderings. For now I am happy to just have put pen to paper.

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