After breakfast we were issued hair nets and motorcycle helmets. Apparently, the hair net was to make us feel more comfortable putting on a helmet that had been worn by others — or perhaps it was to keep our heads from soiling the helmets for others. In any case, we were helmeted.
Each one of us was then matched with a driver and a motorcycle. My driver was a guy named Ashley (yes), who was the organizer of the group of cyclists. As leader, his bike was first in the caravan as we set out from the hotel.
We rode primarily on back streets, and since several of the older women in the group had never been on a motorcycle before, our speed was under 30 km/h (less than 25 mph) on the entire excursion. Born to be wild, this was not.
First destination was a market in the Muslim quarter where, at this morning hour, animals were being butchered to provide fresh meat for the day. One goat was still on the hoof, another still had blood dripping from the carcass as the head lay on the ground nearby. A buffalo was being carved up around the corner, and a number of chickens had already been plucked. Photos were not permitted here, as the slaughter of animals is a sensitive issue among the vegetarian Hindu neighbors.
We remounted the bikes and continued into a Hindu neighborhood where there was a temple dedicated to salt. Worshipers brought salt from the sea to offer to the gods, and a mound of salt more than four feet high and nearly seven feet in diameter was the central focus.
About twice a month the mound is removed and they start over. We were told that the salt is sold to “a dealer” for “processing.” Since goats, dogs, and sacred cows had lifted legs on the base of the mound, thus causing some of the salt near the bottom to be quite yellow in color, we hoped that the processing did not involve making table salt. But since there is little use for road salt here, we were suspicious.
We stopped for coffee or tea at a small cafe so that we could interact with our drivers. My driver spoke English pretty well. Some of the others had more difficulty. All of them are university students or work at other jobs. They only carry tourists on their bikes once a week or so for extra cash. Almost all are unmarried and still live at home with their parents.
Young men seldom move away from home here. If they get married, the wife simply moves into the house with her new husband and his parents. We were assured that religion doesn’t matter here — some of the bike drivers were Christian, others Muslim, and still others Hindu. But all said they would certainly have to marry a girl of their same faith, so apparently religion does matter in some areas of life.
Finally, we visited a commercial laundry where many hotels and guest houses send the clothing of their guests. The washing is done by hand, with men beating the clothes on concrete slabs. Drying is on a line in the open air.
Each clothesline is two strands of rope twisted together, so no clothespins are necessary. They simply push the corners of each item between the rope strands to hold the clothes in place.
Ironing is done by hand with wide irons that weigh about 15 pounds. Workers are paid by the piece, and if the iron is electric, they are charged for the electricity.
We met a 75-year-old woman who still irons a huge pile of clothes each day. She insists on using the old-fashioned iron, heated with burning coconut husks, because it saves on electricity.
After our ride, we were dropped back at the hotel for an opportunity to freshen up, the set out on a walk. We went to the sea, where we saw dolphins sounding in the bay. We watched men working “Chinese Nets” along the shore.
These are large lever rigs that lower large nets into shallow water, and then pull them again. We even got to try our hand at one. The catch is small, but at least a half dozen rigs are in operation.
We walked inland a block or two to St. Francis Church. Built by the Portuguese in the 16th century, the grave of great explorer Vasco de Gama is in the floor (at least the stone is there, although Vasco’s remains were later removed and taken back to Portugal).
When the Dutch drove the Portuguese out, the church was expanded and renovated to remove Catholic trappings and it became home to a Reformed congregation. So Dutch Protestants are buried here alongside Portuguese Catholics. Finally, when the British drove out the Dutch, the building became an Anglican church and was renovated once again.
A feature the British added were ceiling fans, operated by ropes and pulleys that were pulled by Hindu and Muslim laborers outside the church wall during services. “Slave Fans” is what one member of our group called them. They remain only for show, with electric ceiling fans taking over their function. The church now belongs to a Protestant congregation of the Church of South India (CSI).
We ate a very nice lunch, again with some spicy options available for those of us who wished to have them. Then the afternoon was free until our final group meeting at 4:15. This was a review and feedback opportunity with the tour leader. It was followed by a traditional clothing experience, which we skipped.
In the evening our group enjoyed our final activity together: a sunset cruise in and around the harbor in Kochi. The sun setting behind the Chinese Nets is an iconic photo opportunity. Unfortunately, there are so many tour boats jockeying for position to get the right photo at the right moment means that it is difficult to get the shot without another boat in it.
The boat ride was followed by goodbyes to the few group members not flying out with us in the morning.
We rode primarily on back streets, and since several of the older women in the group had never been on a motorcycle before, our speed was under 30 km/h (less than 25 mph) on the entire excursion. Born to be wild, this was not.
First destination was a market in the Muslim quarter where, at this morning hour, animals were being butchered to provide fresh meat for the day. One goat was still on the hoof, another still had blood dripping from the carcass as the head lay on the ground nearby. A buffalo was being carved up around the corner, and a number of chickens had already been plucked. Photos were not permitted here, as the slaughter of animals is a sensitive issue among the vegetarian Hindu neighbors.
About twice a month the mound is removed and they start over. We were told that the salt is sold to “a dealer” for “processing.” Since goats, dogs, and sacred cows had lifted legs on the base of the mound, thus causing some of the salt near the bottom to be quite yellow in color, we hoped that the processing did not involve making table salt. But since there is little use for road salt here, we were suspicious.
Young men seldom move away from home here. If they get married, the wife simply moves into the house with her new husband and his parents. We were assured that religion doesn’t matter here — some of the bike drivers were Christian, others Muslim, and still others Hindu. But all said they would certainly have to marry a girl of their same faith, so apparently religion does matter in some areas of life.
We walked inland a block or two to St. Francis Church. Built by the Portuguese in the 16th century, the grave of great explorer Vasco de Gama is in the floor (at least the stone is there, although Vasco’s remains were later removed and taken back to Portugal).
We ate a very nice lunch, again with some spicy options available for those of us who wished to have them. Then the afternoon was free until our final group meeting at 4:15. This was a review and feedback opportunity with the tour leader. It was followed by a traditional clothing experience, which we skipped.
The boat ride was followed by goodbyes to the few group members not flying out with us in the morning.
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