Kochi, India
"Hi, I'm Krishna but you can call me Jay," announces our tour guide in greeting. I enquire whether he prefers to be called Krishna. “Of course!” he exclaims.
It’s a frustrating thing; as with Anthony yesterday, so many Indian tour guides feel obliged to Westernise their names because lazy tourists can’t be bothered to pronounce their real ones. Well, I’m not having that. Besides, it’s kinda cool to be guided around Cochin by someone called Krishna. After all, the locals profess that Kerala is “God’s own country”.
Krishna introduces us to Tensing, our driver for the next few days, and off we head for St Francis, the oldest church in India. Outside Krishna regales us at length with the history of Christianity in India, explaining the five main denominations ending with the unique Keralan version; a mixture of Catholic, Anglican, Syrian Orthodox and quasi-Hindu rituals, all conducted in the local Malayalam language.
Inside he continues our education, trapping us in a pew as he produces maps, pictures and laminated factsheets detailing the history of Kerala in quite exacting detail.
In addition to the stories of the Portugese explorer Vasco de Gama – whose tomb is in the church, which itself was constructed in 1503 (one of many dates that are recounted in swift succession) – we are told about ancient Arabic trade routes, which colonial power allied with which local king, who stabbed who in the back, when each capitulation happened, by whom and to whom, and so on and so forth… all in the name of “black gold” (pepper) and turmeric, cardamom, ginger, papaya and coconut. In fact Kera-la apparently means, “land of coconuts”.
It’s all fascinating stuff, if rather long, but when he comes on to modern Indian politics and starts claiming that, “India is a country of lions ruled by donkeys”, we suggest that perhaps it’s time to continue our tour and leave the church.
Slightly crestfallen at our fading interest he confesses that he has just completed a history degree and is training to be a teacher. Bless him… but while we are happy to play willing students every now and again, the clock is ticking and an hour’s visit to a rather bare church seems a tad excessive.
Outside Krishna points out various trees – sandalwood, turmeric and rosewood – as we apply suncream but he’s interrupted by a yelp from Coman, whose expletives are drowned out by the blaring horn of a passing tuk tuk, having just been bitten by a mosquito.
It’s deeply unfair considering the fact he’d been assured by a Trailfinders doctor before we left that the little *******s hate Marmite so, grimacing in disgust, he had slathered some of my stash onto his toast just a few short hours ago. It was obviously to no avail so after another quick peek at the Chinese fishing nets, Tensing whisks us back to the hotel for antihistamines and hardcore insect repellants. Drastic action perhaps, but considering his last mossie bite resulted in a swelling the size of a golf ball we’re taking no chances!
Once Coman is suitably treated we hop back in the car and drive to Mattancherry Palace. Built by the Portugese as a bribe to the Hindu king after they'd razed all the temples it was restored by the Dutch once they seized control, hence its common name of the Dutch Palace.
The palace is now a museum, most famous for the elaborate murals depicting stories of the Ramyana. Krishna whisks us through a potted version of the vast story, but thankfully masters the art of brevity this time so we are soon on our way to the next rooms housing relics of the royal family including bejewelled outfits and palanquins for suitable transportation so they wouldn't be disturbed by their subjects.
The list of monarchs – dating from the time of the Portugese invaders, when records first started being kept – ends abruptly in 1964. After British rule ended in 1947 the various federal states were able to decide their own governments and Kerala has regularly voted in communist governments ever since. It’s a bugger for the royal family who after 20 years resisting the communists lost all their wealth, power and fame but a great move for the common people who now pretty much all have their own piece of land and enjoy free, compulsory education until the age of 17 with an almost 100% literacy rate, unmatched anywhere else in India.
So, while in the north of India, due to the age-old caste system, the Maharajahs managed to hang on to their vast wealth and palaces depsite many of their subjects living in abject, squalid poverty, in the south it's far more egalitarian, enough to make republicans of us all!
Afterwards we walk through the area known as Jew Town, the epicentre of the spice trade. The Jews had controlled that trade for centuries, first persecuted by the Catholic Portugese and then protected by the Protestant Dutch and British. However when the state of Israel was created in 1948, most Jewish families opted to leave Cochin and re-settle in the Holy Land, meaning there are now only seven Jews left in the city, not enough to meet the criteria for a functioning synagogue.
However, the Indian heritage commission now maintains the iconic building which has become a major tourist attraction, so much so that we have to battle our way inside with Krishna elbowing aside Indian tourists for his “special guests”. We are rather embarrassed by this, especially when a departing German tourist on crutches tells us “It is too full, zere is nothing you can zee!!” Yet we make it inside and it’s beautiful, although like the Mattancherry Palace, photography is strictly forbidden.
The interior is lit by a multitude of stunning Belgian chandeliers and paved with hundreds of blue and white Chinese tiles. Krishna tells us that the tiles were originally meant for the Mattancherry Palace but a wily Jewish trader convinced the king that the tiles were made from a process including beef fat so would be blasphemous in a Hindu palace. Hey presto, he’d take them off the poor insulted king’s hands and dispose of them… which he did all over the gorgeous floor of the synagogue!
Our final destination of the tour is one of the spice markets but the women who run it seem far more interested in trying to sell us clothes that they make there. In fact the hard sell is so unbearable, especially as it comes layered with guilt that they are a collective and so we should be supporting them, that we end up bolting for the exits, which are almost barred by an old granny with a loom.
However, once we’re in the car the idea of a few lightweight, long sleeve shirts to protect us from the mosquitos does seem like a good idea. So rather than go back to the utilitarian, hand-loomed sack-cloths that were being pressed upon us, Krishna and Tensing take us to an upmarket tailors where we choose a variety of silks, linen and cotton and get measured for a couple of shirts each.
We’re assured these will be made this afternoon and delivered to our hotel later this evening (which indeed they are), so we take our leave of both the tailors and Krishna - who has also perfected the hovering art of an expectant receiver of generous tips - and get Tensing to drop us off at the Old Courtyard Hotel on Princess Street.
We’re absolutely starving and sit out in their beautiful garden restaurant for a delicious vegetarian curry lunch, before we walk back to the Eighth Bastion and plunge into the pool. This evening we’re off to see a performance of Kathakali theatre followed by dinner at our sister hotel, but for now a sun longer and a cooling dip are just about all we need…
