where the streets have no name

the confluence of the east and the west

I can't stand still for more than two days, especially since going into the water is not an option..
so I leave the comfort of my beach-front room in Kannur in northern Kerala and decide to head to Wayanad to the wildlife sanctuary there.

after a quick tour of a tea plantation on the way, I wait at a tea stall opposite the plantation and have a chat with workers on a break. George, in broken English, reminds me his name when I leave and asks me not to forget it.

hitching a ride in jeeps is what locals do here. so, I climb into the back of the jeep with four others going the same way.

a bumpy ride and a monosyllabic conversation on a jeep through the forest, and I am at the gate of the wildlife sanctuary. After checking into the nearest guest house, I go for a safari. I see peacocks, different kinds of birds, deer- spot and barking (extremely rare, apparently), and four wild elephants! a mongoose crosses the road in a hurry.

"very lucky" the guide exclaims, "you might see a tiger with this luck" (although they are somewhat rare during this time, he adds). my luck runs out by the time the tour ends, so no tigers in the wild for me here..

early next morning, I head to Kochi. I am the first passenger to board and make myself comfortable in the "ladies only" seat behind the driver, a decision I regret moments later- thanks to what seems to be reckless driving to me 'now'! Seven years have passed since i last drove in India.

I have a cast on my right foot, fairly dirty by now, complete with a miniature Great Wall of China and wishes all over.. as I discovered after being on about 5 buses, the one thing that it gets me, besides pitiful looks, is the best seat in house, sometimes even two of them.
old ladies ask "Accident?", I nod, indian style. they look at my foot, shake their heads in pity while muttering words of sympathy in malayalam, a hand resting on their chin, just like they do when they discover that I am 34 and not accompanied by my mother or my husband.

after just about a week of traveling in India, it feels like Bollywood isn't such an exaggeration, after all..
the downside, though, is that in the land of Ayurveda, I think twice about getting a massage. It just doesn't seem fair to the slightly broken ankle.

a couple days in Kochi, after watching an extremely good performance of Kathakali and a trance-like ritual dance of Theyyam, I head to the place on everyone's must-see list in Kerala- the backwaters- an intricate network of waterways that is the slippery highway in Kerala.

my boat is an extravagant one-bedroom affair with a western style toilet, an upper deck and a glass-top dining table and upholstered chairs on the lower deck.

i settle in, relax and watch life go by in tiny settlements merely meters wide.
occasionally, there are other boats- tourists smile- content in their personal tranquility. the village folks peek out and wave, two men walk on the village street by the water, an arm carelessly flung over his friend's shoulder perhaps discussing the best mobile phone plan, children hold forsaken tire tubes on their head and jump into the water, a rice boat passes by covered with a bright blue tarp, held in place by an old kerosene lamp, a little girl in a magenta skirt and anklets does a little dance as the boat cruises by.
men in small canoes nod their heads, a slight shake of the head towards the right signifying hello in Malayalam, and ask me if I want to buy crab.

another cup of tea on a rainy afternoon while Stan Getz improvises on the tenor sax in the background- a sharp contrast to the drone of the engine- which drowns as it sprinkles- rain forming endless circles on the surrounding waters.

the boat moves on, forming an invisible path through the water, waves crashing against it.

its just another day on the backwaters in Kerala- god's own country- a reputation well deserved.
peace and tranquility abound here- you only have to take a step away from the hustle and bustle of the city or rather a boat away..