Salt

Between Chennai (formerly known as Madras) and Pondy, salt is harvested from the Bay of Bengal in the Indian Ocean. I’ve seen this in the South if France, too, and — as we sped by — the process seemed the same: capture sea water in a shallow, diked area (“salterns”); let it evaporate and –volia! — fields of snowy white salt.

With the right packaging, it could be sold at ridiculously high prices in gourmet stores, but the fancy sea salt trend doesn’t seem to have caught on here… Quite the opposite, it does bring to mind Ghandiji’s Salt March protest, the importance of salt to the food security of the country, and the necessity of this basic pantry staple in each household (especially where the poor live without access to reliable refrigeration). 20140706-185946-68386444.jpg

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One-Stop Shop

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A & I wanted to stock up on coffee in Coorg, so we went to the local coffee works — aka “Sri Rangnatha Coffeworks & CD World, LIC Financial Advisor, Mutual Fund Advisor, National General Insurance, Bajaj General Insurance, Papper [sic] Stall”. After much discussion we determined that last part should be “paper stall” as in newspaper. You’ll note this is a one room, one story garage like structure — so all of these professions apply to the one guy inside.

Nevertheless, he roasts & grinds coffee and it smells great! Newspapers in foreground, the grinder to the left & the roaster to the right, behind the coffee/CD/Financial Advisor/insurance/newspaperman.

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Coffee

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20140706-200728-72448511.jpgTouring the coffee estates (as plantations are known here) was the agenda for yesterday. Unlike tea, which is grown in high elevations on terraced fields with no trees (to maximise sunlight), coffee is grown at a slightly lower elevation among trees and other plants (it needs some shade). The low lying areas in a coffee estate are planted with cardamom, ginger can be planted among the coffee bushes, and almost ubiquitously you’ll find black pepper corn vines growing up the shade trees. (As in salt-and-pepper, not chilli peppers.) Some estates have cinnamon trees for shade. However, since the bark needs to be harvested, no pepper vines are grown on the cinnamon trees and they are a less common sight in Coorg.

The coffee here used to be mainly Arabica, but certain pests and market conditions are driving the replacement of those plants with the hardier Robustia coffee. The owner of the estate we toured predicts Coorg will be entirely Robusta in time.

20140706-200841-72521395.jpgThe coffee plant has shiny, leathery dark green leaf and the coffee beans are in green bundles this time if year. They are manicured to grow about waist high, or a little taller to facilitate harvesting. (Ideally without any ladders!)

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The black pepper has pale green heart shaped leaves and the peppercorn berries form on strings that drape like branches from a willow which the locals called catkin. The pepper was harvested a few months ago, so the new crop is just starting to take form. A unique –unstable looking — ladder is used to harvest the pepper growing up the trees. It’s one vertical upright with horizontal steps jutting from the sides.

20140706-201715-73035837.jpgThe estate we toured was about 40 acres divided roughly in half into the “old estate” and the more recently acquired “new estate” (although they are contiguous), both of which are planted with Robusta coffee. The old half of the estate is very tidy and manicured. The new half of the estate seems a little over grown & more wild (to my untrained eye), but the estate manager has big plans for getting it into shape.

20140706-201823-73103414.jpgThe old part had a small temple, which we learned is quite common in estates. The temple is not to a famous god written about in religious text (not Shiva, Ganesha, Kali, etc), but rather to the nameless god of the estate which is widely understood to just be there and to be specific to this estate. (It’s unquestioned that the temple on the old estate will also govern the new estate, which is temple-less. I guess the god keeps up on local real estate transactions.) When I asked the god’s name, the manager looked confused and said, “It’s the estate god for this estate.” (I guess it’s very Western of me to try to label everything. )

20140706-201957-73197061.jpgAfter the pruning & weeding, they plan to do some repair work on the little temple, whose masonry base needs some restoration. And at that point they intend to sacrifice a small pig, a chicken, and offer up some “spirits” (likely the local moonshine: high octane rice wine) to This Estate’s God. The owner & manager are still debating about the sacrifice: the owner thinks such killing is senseless & unnecessary, while the manager is quite convinced that — regardless of the owner’s taste– This Estate’s God needs the animal sacrifice. The implications for failure to make the sacrifice go unstated but hang heavy in the air. I get the impression that the pig & the chicken are goners, whether or not the owner knows it… But I understand the sacrificed animals will be eaten, probably by the estate hands. If you think of it more like a company BBQ for team building & moral raising, it seems less odd.

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4th July

It’s A’s last weekend in India. Last year we visited the tea regions of Ooty & Conoor because she loves the cool temps, and lush green country side in the hill stations. This year we are visiting the coffee region of Coorg and staying on a coffee plantation.
20140706-192724-70044798.jpgBefore sunset we took a short hike. A found a snake, which she tried to identify using the guide in our cottage. It was either a common & harmless rat snake, or the rare (during day light hours) & deadly krait. She also found some termites. I found a very fuzzy caterpillar — long dark fur tipped with white. We were looking for elephants & tigers from the near by reserve, but did not have luck on this hike. Maybe tomorrow?

20140706-192542-69942632.jpgOnce it got dark, we celebrated Independence Day by having a campfire with a nice bottle of wine, no marshmallows… (I think the Founding Fathers would have approved. Jefferson, the first American viniculturist, sure would have!). We also fired up some sparklers I’d been hoarding since Diwali.

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The time we were kidnapped by a really good driver…

There are a million points at which we may have been able to change the course of this tale, but here’s how it went down.

We arranged for the hotel (THIS hotel) to book us a driver back to the airport. This is common in India. Granted you pay double the market rate (or more), but you are generally guaranteed a recent model car that’s well maintained, English speaking driver and some sense of accountability/reliability. Well, that’s the way it normally works.

Note that I’ve driven to/from Pondicherry & Chennai airport 3 times (not counting this return trip) and from the city to the airport on business. So, I’m not a local, but I’m not a novice at this. There are two routes: the lazy, meandering, scenic East Coast Beachway, which we took en route to Pondicherry; and the expeditious, smooth multi-lane National Highway which we intended to take back to the airport. We made clear when we booked with the hotel that we wanted the National Highway route.

The car showed up on time, it was clean and things looked promising. I said to the driver, “National Highway, not the East Coast,” and he responded dismissively, “yes yes.” We hit the road.

We were about 15 min outside of Pondicherry and we were not yet on the highway, which I knew was odd. I raised my concern; J (sitting in front, next to the driver and the only guy in our gang) reiterated it, since I was plainly ignored. The driver slowed down but said that the National Highway route had too much traffic and East Coast route was quicker. I am dubious, but reluctant to turn around & loose time (there is a flight to catch after all). J checks the route on his smartphone to find where we can cross over to the National Highway; there is much discussion with the driver about when/where we could cross over. By now, the driver resumed his cruising speed. It was clear that we were stuck with this route as the driver had a line of BS for every alternative J found.

In the meantime, the driver was swerving hard into and out of lanes when he passed cars/auto rickshaws/overloaded lorries/holy cows/stray dogs/ etc. Now, these are common obstacles in these parts, so I understand the need to avoid them. Really, I do. But the gradual lane change is the key for professional drivers. The swift moves will make even the most hardy passengers seasick because there are just so many obstacles you end up feeling like you are running a giant slalom the whole route. A(B) & I popped a couple of her Dramamine. During the slalom, the driver took no less than 4 cell phone calls. We found small comfort in the fact he hadn’t placed any calls and thus doesn’t need to actually dial the phone whilst swerving insanely.

Apropos of nothing, the driver pulled off the road and into a crowded roadside restaurant/truck stop/parking lot in a blip-on-the-map that could hardly be called a village. We were confused. Did he need to pee? Coffee?? What was happening? He jumped out of the car without a word. One of the guys standing on the road came by to greet him. Driver handed the greeter a precisely wound wad of money with a chit and they exchanged brief words. In the meantime, I was scoping out the parking lot scene. We were clearly out numbered. Could not tell if the restaurant served alcohol or not (which seems to be a big factor in a lot of bad behavior). There are only men in the parking lot, no women in sight.

About the time I concluded that this was not the place to pitch a fit, I was overcome by an unbearable stench. And then, a car door slamed shut. The greeter was now our new driver and wordlessly pulled out of the parking g lot. A(B), A(M), J & I were freaking out, in no particular order, about: the odor, the stranger, does he have a driver license, is he drunk, does he know where we are going, why are we paying double market rate for shady car service we could get from the street, are we being kidnapped, what the hell just happened? I was physically overcome by the smell and wrapped my scarf around my nose before I started to dry heave (no exaggeration). Everything now made sense: no National Highway because Driver #1 would have missed his rendezvous point, incoming calls that had to be answered were from the waiting Driver #2; Driver #1 had prepared the toll and return trip chits for Driver #2 from the start. Penny dropped, so to speak. We’d been had from the start.

J asked, “where are we going?!?” Greeter/Driver #2 responded, ” Chennai.” J followed up, “where in Chennai?” “Airport.” Okay, small relief. J very conspicuously tracked our route on his smart phone, in full view of Driver #2. I thought it was genius of J to make it obvious that he was tracking the route. A(B) said she was calm until she realized J was taking defensive measures… from which point onward she was on guard, too.

I asked, “do you speak English” and I was greeted with a blank stare over the shoulder as he drove. I decided not to ask any more questions and allow him to focus. Plus, we were beyond the point of no return with respect to making the airport in time. Instead, I focused on landmarks as we drove to ensure that we were taking the proper route to the airport (if not our desired route).

Meanwhile, A(M) called the hotel to inform them of our situation… And make a record for when they needed to start the search for our bodies. After A explained to the hotel that we were not on the National Highway (“you’re not?”) and the driver was inexplicable switched (“oh, that’s not good”), we were even less comforted than before. Apparently, our decision to book thru this hotel afforded us no additional security.

As it turned out, Driver #2 had much better driving skills than the original driver. Bonus: he presented no indication of being drunk. In fact, other than the personal hygiene issue, Driver #2 seemed better in every way. (To be fair it was hot outside, so if he’d been standing around for hours in the boiling sun at the rendezvous point, it was not surprising that he was so smelly.)

The route was familiar (the reverse of the prior drive) and the car slalom had ceased. We started joking about how we would laugh about this one day. The hotel eventually called A back (after an unacceptably long time) to say that Driver #2 was a legitimate driver with the car service. {Query the due diligence performed to determine that, as no one knew Driver #2’s name and he received no phone calls during the drive. Taking untrustworthy Driver #1’s word for what went down seemed dubious at best.} The hotel explained that Driver #1 had a stomach ache and at the last minute had to call in reinforcements. Which was a total crock — he placed no calls and (with hindsight) the “switchero” was clearly the plan from the get-go. Even if this story had been true, someone from the car service should have called the hotel and informed them of the switch so that the hotel could have called us and prepared us. Classic customer service failure. Our displeasure was clearly lost on the hotel.

The closer we get to the airport — according to J’s map, my landmarks and the road signs — the better, safer & less gullible we felt. A(B) summed it up best: one day we’ll tell the tale of how we were kidnapped by a really good driver…

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Look at the Elephant! Where?

Me: Look at the elephant!
A: Where?
Me: Straight ahead….

A & I were a heading to the Ganesha temple, which I’ve visited at least half dozen times between last trip and this trip. However, this time there was a special guest star: Lakshmi the elephant. For a donation, she offered her blessings.

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First we tried elephant selfies:

20140629-142035-51635303.jpg then we were photobombed by this man:

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… And then, his wife:

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Eventually we got blessed

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Look at the elephant! Where?

Me: Look at the elephant!
A: Where?
Me: Straight ahead….

A & I were a heading to the Ganesha temple, which I’ve visited at least half dozen times between last trip and this trip. However, this time there was a special guest star: Lakshmi the elephant. For a donation, she offered her blessings.

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First we tried elephant selfies:

20140629-142035-51635303.jpg then we were photobombed by this man:

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… And then, his wife:

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Eventually we got blessed

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French India Redux

Last July M & I visited Pondicherry & its surrounds. I’m back now with A, A & J. We arrived via the same route thru Mahabalipuram/ Mamallapuram. We visited the Shore Temple, Caves & Lighthouse.

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We’re staying in Pondy at a hotel facing the sea-side promenade. This is the view of the Bay of Bengal at dusk from my room:

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We had a great dinner — with local lobster, prawn & red snapper– and celebrated A’s bday with a candle in a walnut chocolate brownie (although the mango sorbet & chocolate/cinnamon ice cream stole the show). Here she is blowing out the candle:

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May all your wishes come true!

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Mango, “King of Fruits”

20140621-100007-36007741.jpgWe’re about half way thru mango season and I’m still baffled by all the variety here. In New York, all I remember seeing (even in the Indian markets) were the famous Alphonso mangos. I guess they must travel the best.

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Here the variety is endless. Everyone has a fave variety — which often correlates to what was grown in their hometown. The north thinks they have best mangos as the heat makes them sweeter (or so we were told during our recent visit to Lucknow). The south thinks their mangos are better because of the early rains. One friend still has her father ship her crates of mangos from their hometown — because nothing else can compare.

Of course, once you dice up the ripe ones, it’s hard to tell the comma shaped fruit with the lovely peach skin from the round bright yellow one from the red/gold/green oval one — they are all brilliant yellowy orange once you get inside. This is inhibiting my progress as a mango connoisseur — they all look the same when I eat them! However, I haven’t found a mango I don’t like, so I’m happily tasting them blindly.

A is visiting again from the US so we decided to hit the mango market. It’s like a farmer’s market where the only produce being sold are mangoes. Farmers doing the selling, and since their English is about as good as my Kannada (the local language), A & I blindly brought interesting shaped and coloured fruit with no idea what it was named.

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We refrained from buying the Alphonso — given our familiarity– for more unusual ones we’d never tried before. This is what we ended up with (for less than $2):

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I think we have: a baiganapalli, badami, some pairi, a (maybe?) the little round ones are malgova? If anyone has better guesses, please fee free to comment!

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Infamous

Akin to the New York Post Page 6 gossip (but not to be confused with The Sun’s Page 3 photos), my image has now been immortalised in the local gossip/”society” section of The New Indian Express. My friend B threw a posh birthday soirĂ©e and I think the paper needed a photo of a blonde for the sake of contrast …. Here’s the link, I’m in the top row on page 3: http://epaper.newindianexpress.com/283651/Indulge-Bangalore/06-JUNE-2014#dual/2/2

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