God's own country

We spent a week relaxing in Kerala, the backwaters state, also called "God's Own Country". I think it's a nice name, usually palmtree areas somehow always are associated with 'paradise' and 'heaven'. All the restaurants, hostels, beaches etc. have one of those words (or both) in their name. Not here, not in God's Own Country. We wanted to spend 1 or 2 days here, we stayed 4 or 5. One of the most beautiful places we've seen in India. A special place.
God's Own Country, with capitals. I suppose because there's a God involved. That's probably because of the 20% Syrian Christians who live here, and that's a lot more than in any other Indian state. Kerala is different. This is also the state where the first democratically elected Communist Government (Marxist) was elected. Also with Capitals. The Communist Capital C. And Capital's Capital C. In God's Own Communist Country.
Money is important here, tourism is big. You can easily not see it, although there's nothing else to see. I wonder how that works, a society with a lot of money, and christians ruled by communist Hindus. Communist rulers calling the lower classes/casts to revolt? Against who? Who owns/is the Capital? God, the church, Catholics? Communists themselves?
I'm reading 'The God of small things' by Toolongafirstname Roy now, which is set in Kerala. The writer gives three possible explanations for the popularity of Marxist communism here. One is that Christianity has been largely replaced by another religions called communism. God replaced by Marx, sort of. But the problem with that explanation is that the Christians remained Christian, it's mainly the Hindus that became Communist. The second is that, as Kerale claims the highest literacy rate in India, people read more are more Aware of how things can be different. Problem with that one, the writer says, is that the 90% literacy is precisely because of communism. So the last and most probable explanation according to Roy is that communists never have judged or convicted the cast system, allowing them to work from within and from below.
The result is that we got the impression that poverty is a lot lower than elsewhere, that children go to school instead of selling in the streets, that there still is a huge difference between the (very) rich and the poor, but that those poor aren't as poor as in Rajastan for example. But, this impression could be wrong of course. We only saw what we saw, most probably we didn't stay long enough to have a more refined idea about how things work here. Not to say that we actually don't have a clue. And I really wonder who has over here.

We left beautiful Goa and headed further south to Kerala. Men still seem soo gay, now even more than before: over here they wear skirts and listen to Glen 'Nothing's gonna change my love for you' Medeiros. But that's ok. It's friday the 13th after all and everything went smooth until now.

The small town of Kochi is really nice, and people are so polite! 'Excuse me for disturbance' they say before they start with the usual rip off. Very nice. The selling conversations are still hilarious though, people here just won't take no for an answer. Ridiculous. I tried everything: ignore them, tell them politely that I'm not interested, tell them impolitely to stick the whatever they sell where they would least like it... Nothing.
Typically it goes like this:

(Bored rickshawdriver sees energetic walking and handsome Koen in a distance, and shouts:)
-Aaaah yes! Rickshaw Sir? (Imagine a John Cleese in Fawlty Towers)
-No thanks, I'm feeling very energetic today and I've decided to walk.
-But the cathedral is 3 km away, and is very hot sir.
-Yes, but I'm not going to the cathedral, thank youuu.
-Look I have Ferrari, very fast sir. 3 kilometers, only five minutes!
-Not going there, thank youuuu.
-Very cheap sir, 20 rupies.
-No rickshaw, walking.
-15?
-Nope.
-Tomorrow sir?
-Maybe next year, thank youuuu.

By this time of course about three other guys tried to sell you everything you really don't need. Or invite me to their shop.
-Come here sir, come in my shop.
-No thanks, it's my "no buying day" today.
-Haahaa no probleeem. Just look, no buy! Come come!
-But if I'm not buying, why would I want to take a look?
-... (the silence sometimes replaced by: 'But is very cheap?!')
-Thank youuuu!

Yes, elementary logics sometimes help to fry the mind of an Indian shopkeeper. But usually they'll fry yours with their art. I don't think there exists any book on selling techniques for indian shop keepers. (But they'll sell it to you if you ask for it!)
Overall, the south of India is so much more relaxed, greener and richer than the north. You notice it in everything. Cleaner streets, no beggars, there's order in the train stations, ... Today I read in a newspaper that the minister of traffic is going to prohibit people without a valid train ticket in the train stations. This for safety reasons. Those safety measures don't include metal detectors, but I see his point. When we took a night train from Delhi to Varanasi, that must have been one of the freakiest experiences in my life. The amount of people... what your eyes get to see in a three hours train delay... For the first time I felt what chaos is. It makes you feel tense and freightens you because you are expecting the unexpected. Which is impossible, but not to do it is impossible too. You want to protect your own small safe space, but aren't sure how to because you don't feel at ease for some 'outside' reason, but that outside is too much to control. It's the heat, the constant changing smells, the contstant changing sights... in a situation which is supposed to be static: waiting for a train. But no, you see (and hear) policemen beating people our of the station, you see women fainting and the way they are being taken care of. You see beggars. Porters agressively and loudly make their way trough the crowds. In the crowds sou see holy men, you see cripple. There are business men and children, families sitting on the floors which are dirty and wet. The locomotives with loud engines making non-stop noise. People sell you things, golden watches or... you try to hear the announcement but you can't. People look at you! All the time, what are they doing there? (but you're not sure what they're thinking). You don't see any white people, but you do see all ranges of black.
And all this, in itself... it's not bad or you can deal with it. But all together... for us it had this unsafe feeling yes. And feeling unsafe is not something I'm used to. Now, I don't think that the ministers new ruling is going to change that, and I don't think that this was his goal. It certainly is part of India's 'couleur locale'.
But today, we're in beautiful south India, and it's a peaceful friday the 13th. And the sellers in the treets are gay, but that's quite okay.

Has it really been a week already since we left Mumbai and my last post? Time flies in the typical tropical palmtree lined beaches you find on postcards and Boutny commercials, includind Goa's. That's where we've been, and that's why I haven't sent any postcards; I imagineyou can get the picture. Or do I need to specify on the fruit juices and cocktails etc? Not that I like them that much, I just need that frsh coconut or pineapple taste to extinguish the burning Hotttt Vindaloo food they have over here (I'm sure vindaloo is related to voodoo, can't be coincidence). Now I know for sure: going further south = the hotter food gets and more laid back people become. Goans are what you can expect from (sub)tropicans. Only one thing remains the same: the apparant gayness of about 75% of men. I never got used to seeing male 'couples' walking hand in hand... It's just that it doesn't fit in my mental schemes of how (fysical) behaviour towards others of the same sex are 'supposed' to be. And being unable to find cultural difference on sex/gender behaviour a reason or an explanation for the 'normality' of men holding hands etc., I just prefer to conclude that in India far more men are gay than the 10% in Europe. (Or what would you think when you see two patrolling policemen holding hands??). Also, when Indians say yes, they wobble their heads not vertically like we do, but kind of horizontally. And that movement, well... it's kind of gay too.
Naah, obviously there must be a cultural explanation. I'll think it over having my next cocktail of ... (tropical fruit and booze yet to be chosen) (isn't drinking tropical fruit cocktails kindof gay by the way?)

Yet again I need to adjust my views on India, after arriving to Mumbai. In this city there are no cows in the streets, there are traffic lights and people actually respect them, there are even sidewalks... This is a rich city, and appears to have a large middle class which we hadn't seen before in other cities in the north of India. There are plenty of BMW's and Mercedes. There are 16 million living in Mumbai. And of course, the large majority is poor, but haven't seen much of them as they live in the suburbian slums. Half a million of commuters arrive in the main train station every day. We'll be taking our train to Goa there later, but first something about Mumbai.
First impressions on arrival here were... like arriving in a rundown european city because of the architecture. It reminded me a bit of Rio with its bay, similar traffic flows etc. Afterwards we read about the Portuguese influence (Mumbai's previous name Bombay comes from 'Bom Bahia' or good bay) and this might have something to do with it, although British influence is also very present still.
Today the 137th bithday of Ghandi was celebrated all over India. It started yesterday with a lot of music and dancing and flowers and lights in the streets. We were worried not be able to sleep because of the worst and loudest organ playing competition they organised next to our hotel. We hoped the monsoon rains would put an end to the continous blaring, but nothing... People just got wet, very wet. Soaked to the bone. And this they call a 'dry day'! It means no alcohol is served, but with the incredible amount of water coming down it sounds a bit absurd, doesn't it? Anyway, we preffered to stay dry on the dry day, and bought a pinguin umbrella instead. We also found shelter in the most luxurous and most expensive hotel in Mumbai (maybe the whole of India?). Airconditioned and with large sofas... perfect. Even better: visiting the royal restrooms after one month of dodgy holes in the floor. It was the first time I actually sat on a toilet bowl. There was a personal assistant who opened the water tap, put some soap on my hands and offered a napkin like towel afterwards. A bit disappointed he didn't actually wash my hands...
Although Mumbai is more like a European city, one thing doesn't change: the poluted air. We have these moist cleaning tissues with us (thanks Jen and Paul for reminding us of the existence of those small delights that when you use them in the toilet make you say 'ooo'!) and cleaning our hands and faces with them makes us even more aware of that: we leave them always black... Walking around in flip-flops = black feet. And talking about black: in this city we've seen Africans, not so in Delhi. We have seen two Africans in Kathmandu, and that was maybe even weirder, although I'm not sure why.
And foodwise: before we sometimes got served spicy food, in Mumbai we ate our first hot hot food (hot: sweating and with runny nose). Maybe because we're travelling south and there they cook hotter? The food was european though, pasta puttanesca...