Sunday, Feb 2nd. We're here - let the excellent adventure begin! Actually we're in day 2 - (swollen travel) feet on the ground was at 4 a.m. Friday morning after a series of seemingly- endless flights and a total travel time of nearly 30 hours. Not a record for us but a long trip nonetheless.
We walk out of the Trivandrum International terminal and there is a sea of faces (I always thought that was an exaggeration - it's not!), eagerly scanning for loved ones. And the most remarkable thing was how quiet everyone was - not a sound, no yelling, no joking with each other, just this intense concentration every time the automatic doors opened.
We move through this crowd, looking for the driver who was to meet us 'waving the Sea Splendor sign with your name on it.' No waving sign. Mmmm . . . it's 4 a.m., we have no idea how to get a ride to our accommodation (55 km away), not a rupee to our name, and no telephone. When in doubt, look like you know what you're doing, blend (right, we're the only non-Indians in sight), and try to keep terror from taking over your expression. After 15 minutes or so of pulling this off (or thinking we did), we decide one of us should go back in the terminal and see if we can find a phone or someplace to change some USD.
There's just one problem; once you leave the terminal, there's no going back. That happened to us in Cancun and we actually had to borrow pesos to scrounge together the bus fare into town. But this is India and the rules seem to be a bit more flexible. I assure Tim I'll be fine remaining in the crowd (rapidly thinning) and he should try to get back into the terminal. I remain on driver watch.
He's successful! Not only did he talk his way past an Indian sergeant (the officer demeanor is universally recognized and respected!) and back into the one-way terminal door, he found a Thomas Cook desk that was still open and a free phone at the 'Business Center' (thank you, sergeant). A call to our host, Haksar, his call to the missing driver - mystery solved. The driver had a tire puncture - 'so sorry, so sorry, he will be there in a half hour.'
And he is! Now begins what can only be described as the surreal experience of driving in India. First, there are no lanes - none. It's just one strip of blacktop on which everyone competes for space, while mostly driving left (remember the Brits were here for a very long time). Mostly is the operative word. The highway is the driver's for the taking or overtaking, alerting other drivers that he is passing, about to run over a pedestrian or bicyclist, needing to get back into a tight space, often between a bus and an even bigger truck, by beeping his horn, repeatedly. A working horn is even more important than brakes or a steering wheel! There are few things more disconcerting than careening down a highway in the dark, while passing another vehicle, and seeing a set of headlights coming right at you.
We lived through this vehicular ballet - this symphony of horns, accompanied by the intricate dance of vehicles all of which seem to know the rules of the road stage and graciously allow for the occasional over-zealous performer. And just before 6 a.m. local time we are delivered, safe and unharmed, (and neither of us soiled the back seat of the taxi!) to Haksar and Sea Splendour, our home for the next two weeks. Photo of our beach - a 2 minute walk.
Local fishermen go out every morning - and have done so for hundreds of years - and set these nets (can't verify that as we're not up early; we just saw the end of the process). Then one fisherman - out of frame perched on a canoe sort of thing - yells at the guys on land and they move these nets back and forth, together and apart. There is a whole lot of yelling involved.
At some point, canoe man decides it's time to haul in the lines. Then there's even more yelling and a bunch of line haulers run in the water and start slapping it like mad - I guess that makes fish give up or something. If fish have ears they're no doubt deaf by now. (Thought I had a photo of the catch on land but it turned to be a movie - sorry can't make that work here.)
Now the catch is on land, in this big net, and all these guys are standing around the haul. We're trying to figure out how they're going to get all these fish out of the net, and up over these rocks, what appears but a bunch of these guys with baskets on the back of their bicycles. They climb down over these huge boulders and start loading the day's catch in these baskets and humping them back up to their cycles which they will no doubt peddle many miles to a market.
By mid-day, the fishermen are done. Now it's time for cards. We think they live in these beach-front huts, and I thought they were playing bridge! Tim said "No, it's some form of rummy, played with two decks."
More adventures tomorrow!
Can't resist adding our hoorays, yippees, yahoos for yesterday's Super Bowl victory!! I swear we could hear fans cheering all the way from Seattle.
We walk out of the Trivandrum International terminal and there is a sea of faces (I always thought that was an exaggeration - it's not!), eagerly scanning for loved ones. And the most remarkable thing was how quiet everyone was - not a sound, no yelling, no joking with each other, just this intense concentration every time the automatic doors opened.
We move through this crowd, looking for the driver who was to meet us 'waving the Sea Splendor sign with your name on it.' No waving sign. Mmmm . . . it's 4 a.m., we have no idea how to get a ride to our accommodation (55 km away), not a rupee to our name, and no telephone. When in doubt, look like you know what you're doing, blend (right, we're the only non-Indians in sight), and try to keep terror from taking over your expression. After 15 minutes or so of pulling this off (or thinking we did), we decide one of us should go back in the terminal and see if we can find a phone or someplace to change some USD.
There's just one problem; once you leave the terminal, there's no going back. That happened to us in Cancun and we actually had to borrow pesos to scrounge together the bus fare into town. But this is India and the rules seem to be a bit more flexible. I assure Tim I'll be fine remaining in the crowd (rapidly thinning) and he should try to get back into the terminal. I remain on driver watch.
He's successful! Not only did he talk his way past an Indian sergeant (the officer demeanor is universally recognized and respected!) and back into the one-way terminal door, he found a Thomas Cook desk that was still open and a free phone at the 'Business Center' (thank you, sergeant). A call to our host, Haksar, his call to the missing driver - mystery solved. The driver had a tire puncture - 'so sorry, so sorry, he will be there in a half hour.'
And he is! Now begins what can only be described as the surreal experience of driving in India. First, there are no lanes - none. It's just one strip of blacktop on which everyone competes for space, while mostly driving left (remember the Brits were here for a very long time). Mostly is the operative word. The highway is the driver's for the taking or overtaking, alerting other drivers that he is passing, about to run over a pedestrian or bicyclist, needing to get back into a tight space, often between a bus and an even bigger truck, by beeping his horn, repeatedly. A working horn is even more important than brakes or a steering wheel! There are few things more disconcerting than careening down a highway in the dark, while passing another vehicle, and seeing a set of headlights coming right at you.
We lived through this vehicular ballet - this symphony of horns, accompanied by the intricate dance of vehicles all of which seem to know the rules of the road stage and graciously allow for the occasional over-zealous performer. And just before 6 a.m. local time we are delivered, safe and unharmed, (and neither of us soiled the back seat of the taxi!) to Haksar and Sea Splendour, our home for the next two weeks. Photo of our beach - a 2 minute walk.
At some point, canoe man decides it's time to haul in the lines. Then there's even more yelling and a bunch of line haulers run in the water and start slapping it like mad - I guess that makes fish give up or something. If fish have ears they're no doubt deaf by now. (Thought I had a photo of the catch on land but it turned to be a movie - sorry can't make that work here.)
Now the catch is on land, in this big net, and all these guys are standing around the haul. We're trying to figure out how they're going to get all these fish out of the net, and up over these rocks, what appears but a bunch of these guys with baskets on the back of their bicycles. They climb down over these huge boulders and start loading the day's catch in these baskets and humping them back up to their cycles which they will no doubt peddle many miles to a market.
By mid-day, the fishermen are done. Now it's time for cards. We think they live in these beach-front huts, and I thought they were playing bridge! Tim said "No, it's some form of rummy, played with two decks."
More adventures tomorrow!
Can't resist adding our hoorays, yippees, yahoos for yesterday's Super Bowl victory!! I swear we could hear fans cheering all the way from Seattle.
