Moochin' in Cochin

    Thursday 21 February

Up early for the 8 - 9 am meditation session back at the Kathakali theatre. No instruction apart from squat, sit or lie and let the "ragas" played on sitar and tabla (with background drone from CD) take over. I'm glad when the power cuts, the whirring fans still and the drone dies, but it soon gets hot. One guy removes his shirt and coils himself elastically into a yogic position. This meditation has no religious content, and I prefer it that way. I try to recall the instructions from last year's sessions in Norfolk, but it's mesmerising enough on its own. 

Graffiti, Cochin style

I'm not good at decisions, but this morning I make a good one. After breakfast I tell the manager that I'll be leaving Mother Tree, explaining (he asks) that it's too hot and too noisy. He doesn't seem put out, and only has eyes for the young Belgian girl who arrived last night during a long power "outage". So I tramp off, dragging my little suitcase behind me, its wheels protesting at the ruts in the pavements. Before long, one, then two men on motorbikes stop to offer me lifts to the station or airport. I tell them I don't patronise scabs and strike-breakers. No, I don't really. I would have been glad of the lift if I'd been heading that way. After rejecting a couple of dingy/pricy hotel options, I do a deal with the Globe Trotters Inn and settle into a spacious, airy room with wi-fi, balcony and BATH. A bargain at Rs. 1000, as long as I don't turn on the aircon, which increases the cost by 50%. 

Fort Cochin town is much as yesterday - dead. The hotel man - is he a cynic or a pragmatist? - says the strikers will wait for the 1 pm news, then announce that the strike has been a huge success, sleep off their hangovers, and go back to work. Certainly by mid-afternoon there's more sign of activity and a few shops have reopened. 

Roofscape with coconut palms

There's even a solitary rickshaw driver touting for trade. He offers to take me to the synagogue (no. 1 "must see") and back for a price I can propose. I propose Rs. 50 but we agree on Rs. 100 (a reversal of roles) if he waits and brings me back as well. It still seems reasonable in the circumstances (same as bike hire but an engine to do the work) which probably means there's a catch. About half way there, Driver says there's a great viewpoint he's like to show me, so we pull over and he points up to the roof of a tall old warehouse. If you're an "old hand" at anywhere east of the Danube or south of Algeciras, you've probably already anticipated that this building is a vast CARPET SHOP. And I get the full works - the lights are flicked on, the flunkeys appear and begin to lay out the rugs with the usual patter "So what colour you like best? This one or this one? Money no problem we take card. Carry no problem we can ship, etc." I do not buy into it, don't give them a chance to offer me a free tea, show no interest in "antiqued" furniture, "genuine" sandalwood elephants, papier-mache boxes (no Sara, they didn't have fish-shaped ones, we'll have to go back to Dharamshala). But the view is good and I escape unscathed, smiles all round.

The view of the Synagogue, sadly, is again exterior only. The good lady with the key, who faithfully promised me she would open up today, is nowhere to be seen, and there's another draggle of sore-footed tourists sitting on the steps. A man appears from a closed-but-really-open shop and offers to show me carpets. He says she would never have opened up anyway, she's just born awkward, and nobody ever speaks to her. Poor woman - even the Rough Guide  warns that she's batty. I unkindly stand outside her open window and make some observations to this effect (but stop short of mentioning the Palestine situation, for which she's probably not responsible). 

Back in town, I mooch and watch a little cricket - there are eleven separate games underway on the parade ground. On the seafront, the fishermen are still gently dipping the Chinese nets in and out of the water, but bring up very few and very small fish. I suspect it's a ruse the catch tourists, inviting them onto the structure, being photographed with them, then getting generous tips. Probably far more lucrative that the fish, which are on sale on a stall. The cat looks optimistic. I eat early, then back to the theatre for an hour's classical Indian song. It fails to send me to sleep, but that's mainly because the amplification is so loud. Another day.

An old take on a new structure - see container port in distance