Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [84]
At the end of our second dinner, Cheryl reflects on the food. “It’s amazing that the same basic set of ingredients can yield so many different flavors and textures. Coconut in all forms, black mustard seeds, pepper, ginger, garlic, turmeric, chiles, and coriander, in one combination or another, produce incredible bounty.”
“Yeah,” Bill says, “and each is a bit player rather than a star, part of an ensemble rather than a show-stealer, like basil can be in Thai cooking.”
“But, Bill, this is the closest relative to Thai food in the world, with similar seasoning elements, complexity, and robust flavor.”
“Then why are Kerala cooks so happy and eager to share tastes with foreign visitors, without any compromises, and Thais so reluctant to do that? It doesn’t make sense to me.”
Between meals, we occupy much of our time with the swimming pool and long walks, unlike most guests, who mainly go on boat excursions in the backwaters and visit the hotel’s Ayurveda center for massages or holistic health treatments. Our walks end up twice at Coconut Lagoon’s butterfly garden, where dozens of varieties flutter by regularly, including, the signs say, Blue Tigers, Monkey Puzzles, Restricted Demons, Crimson Roses, and Chocolate Pansies.
On an escorted stroll, a sprightly staff naturalist named Munoj Junior—“Just call me ‘Junior’”—takes us and two Scandinavians to the village of Kumarakom, just beyond some rice fields across from the inn. One dirt path runs through the community, right along the shore. Most residents get around in canoes, but we pass some on foot, a few on motorbikes, and about twenty kids crammed into and hanging outside a Jeep, the local school bus. Although the village is quite poor by Western standards, it shows no signs of desperation, squalor, or the crushing poverty of urban areas. The land and the water provide sustenance, and widespread education in Kerala produces a high literacy rate. As Junior puts it, “They have almost no money but are rich in family, culture, and religion. They live simply and happily.”
The children learn English in school and always greet us with a big “Hello!” and an odd request for “One pen?” Junior isn’t clear why they want pens, but the repetition of the plea makes us wish we had a box of them to pass out. One little girl, maybe four, picks a hibiscus blossom and gives it to Bill. Cheryl snaps a photo of the two and the flower, then gets her mother and brother, standing nearby, to join them for a family shot with Bill. He searches his pockets for anything to offer the girl and finds nothing except small change, which he hands her hesitantly, unsure whether it’s a good idea. The news apparently spreads quickly because suddenly every kid in town has a flower for Bill.
Our departure from Coconut Lagoon and India involves most forms of transportation known to our species. A boat takes us from the hotel several miles to a river jetty, where a driver and car are waiting to haul us to the Kochi airport, where we catch a Jet Airways flight back to Mumbai, where a bus picks us up at the domestic airport to transfer us to the international field. Staggering finally into the latter after dark, we face a four-hour wait in an uncomfortable sitting area before our midnight flight to Hong Kong via Bangkok.
Indian ingenuity intervenes to save us from that fate. A young man in a suit comes up to us and asks, “Would you like to buy a pass to a first-class lounge with free food and drinks? I can sell you two for one thousand rupees,” about U.S.$25.
A little suspicious, Bill says, “Show us.” The man leads us past several lounges operated by major carriers to one that serves a bunch of smaller airlines. A concession operation, no doubt, owned by local entrepreneurs, it’s virtually empty now, so the employees are taking the initiative to bring in paying customers. The notion sounds good to us, so we shell out and enjoy the filling food and cheering wine. It’s a fitting finish to our visit, another oasis in the crowded, bustling nation, like the Taj Mahal