Fort Kochi (aka Fort Cochin)

One morning while we were staying in Ernakulam, Martin and I took the ferry across the peninsula to visit Fort Cochin and Mattancherry. Just a hundred metres or so from the dock, we stumbled on a place renting bicycles (to tourists only! the sign informed us). We inquired and decided that Rs6 an hour (about 12 cents) was well within our budget. After writing down our names and providing no identification or deposit of any kind, we were off. Throughout its history, Cochin has hosted visitors from all over the world: Chinese merchants, Portuguese and British colonists, and, most recently, heaps of foreign tourists. At first all we saw were signs for homestays, Ayurvedic massage retreats, artsy cafes, and vendors selling that cute "Indian" attire that looks more like cleaned up hippy clothes than anything people in Kerala would actually wear. Then suddenly we were in the midst of a regular town, with little temples and posters for DYFI (Democratic Youth Federation of India). I don't think I've mentioned this yet, so I'll do so here: Outside of India, when you mention Kerala, a surprising number of people, even those without any particular knowledge of India, say something like, "Oh, isn't Kerala known for its great education and high literacy rate?" It is (although a few locals have mentioned how much advertising is behind that reputation). But so far no one has said, "Gee, wasn't Kerala the first place in the world to freely elect a communist government? And hasn't that worked out fairly well for them?" We stumbled on a circus setting up its dilapidated big top. We saw a sign for a small, quiet looking cafe and decided to stop. At the top of the stairs we found ourselves in someone's living room. Oh, but wait, yes, this is the cafe, and we are ushered out to a balcony. Tables and chairs arrive a few minutes later. We enjoy fresh lime sodas and the solitude of our private balcony and wonder how this place, with few patrons and clearly serving food out of the family kitchen, can have such an extensive menu. We listen to the family yelling at each other. The volume transports me back to Italy, while Martin the linguist notices they are speaking Hindi (not Malayalam, the state languade of Kerala). More Malayalees speak English than Hindi, so Martin checks; it turns out they are Muslims from Gujarat (in the north). After we return the bikes, I ask Martin if he's noticed anything missing from the streets of Fort Cochin. Cows! They are no cows roaming the streets. There are, however, plenty of goats, and I spend the next few days doing impersonations of the adorable bleating kids. Mahhh! Mmmahhhh!