Published: January 18th 2018
Woolly says – Our journey from Madurai took around nine hours, it just seemed like a lifetime. Having been unsuccessful in procuring train tickets we had our first bus journey to look forward to. Climbing on board and finding our seats was the easy part, the lack of space, even with legs as small as mine and Jo’s, once the seats were reclined, was small, it also meant that the person who was reclining towards you had their head nearly on your lap. It was a long night as we went over huge bumps in the road at speed nearly jolting my tusks out of place, listening to the constant barrage of honking and blaring horns in between the snores from the gent in front of us. Our arrival in Kochi at six in the morning left us stood at a bus stop bleary eyed and somewhat worse for wear. Luckily the owner of the homestay that we were using for our visit let us in, showed us our room and shower and left us to get ourselves sorted out.
The accommodation was lovely and with our own balcony we spent the morning, napping, having showers and washing the huge bag of dirty clothes we had managed to collect so far.
Woolly says – With none of us feeling the need to do anything much we wandered along the seafront, looking at the Chinese fishing nets and indulging in some red velvet cake, who says India is nothing but curries! After a good night’s sleep, we felt ready for a day of sightseeing, first stop was the Paradesi Synagogue which was constructed in 1567, built by Sephardic or Spanish-speaking Jews, some of them from families exiled in Aleppo, Safed and other West Asian localities. It made a pleasant change to the temples and mosques that we encounter so often on our travels. The outer building was plain and nondescript but the interior felt old and well loved, we couldn’t take pictures, but having left our shoes at the door we sat happily for half an hour or so admiring the blue and white willow patterned floor tiles and trying to count the number of light fittings that hung from the ceiling. A curtain hung across one end of the building behind which the Torah Scrolls are kept safe, while a large pulpit sat in the centre of the room covered in golden finery.
The peaceful environment was shattered as a large group of school children entered with their teachers and we took our leave.
Woolly says – As we ambled around the area known as ‘Jew Town’ we found shops spilling out onto the pavements groaning with Indian elephants, Gods and all manner of spices and bright chalk colours, the small streets were also full of European tourists and for the first time in the country we had no requests for ‘selfies’ which made a blessed relief. A snack break in a small café sitting above the shops provided an excellent place for people watching and seeing how many people are whiter than Zoe, the poor girl struggles to tan in any situation and given that Jo and I just go browner and browner we do feel her pain. Setting off to visit the palace we came across a Police Museum and knowing of Zoe’s love all of things crime wise, it seemed like a good opportunity for her to look around. Although small it was packed with information on all sorts of things from how fingerprints are different, how bombs are disposed off through to exceedingly graphic pictures of murder victims with throat cuts, machete wounds and gun shot wounds not to mention the remains of people who had jumped under trains, not for the faint hearted.
Given the photo’s on show it was no wonder that a Mother, who was carrying a five year old child, spent ten minutes or so soothing the hysterical infant after looking at them! I do wonder sometimes.
Woolly says – Less gruesome but equally interesting were the pictures of the uniforms of the police and Royal guards through the century including ones of female officers from the early twenties which took us by surprise as we tend to think, obviously incorrectly, that the culture of the country is for women to be in the home. Having had our fill of the crime scene, we continued on our way to the palace. The Mattancherry Palace is in the Kerala style of architecture interspersed with colonial influences, built around 1545 by the Portuguese as a present to King Veera Kerala Verma. It came to be known as the Dutch Palace as it underwent major repairs at the hands of the Dutch. As we passed through the gates both Zoe and I stopped in our tracks, nudging Jo we queried if we were in the right place, as she confirmed that we were we tried to keep the look of surprise from our faces, I mean it really didn’t look like a palace in any shape or form, where were the turrets? What about a drawbridge? Gold? Opulence? Grandeur? Considering that it might be more ‘palace like’ inside I mounted the steps to the entrance.
I chuckled, I had warned them that architecture here was going to be very different to what we have grown accustomed to.
Woolly says – Inside was no grander, wooden ceilings carved into squares and long halls filled with red and gold paintings of Indian Gods, which were wonderful, photography wasn’t allowed in most areas, but still nothing that made it palace like. The Palace had been home to the Royal family of the province and huge information boards told us about each and every one of them, the words started to blur after a while and I studied the very formal life size portraits of the Kings of Cochin looking very sombre and unhappy. A couple of display cases showed sheathed swords, daggers and axes besides ceremonial spears decorated with feathers with small histories of where they had been used. It was interesting even if not what we had expected in the grandness stakes. Leaving the palace behind we wandered back along the peaceful and quiet roads, so much more restful from the mayhem and chaos we had come to expect from the country, another small café presented itself and as we sat enjoying our cold drinks and watching the world pass by, we all agreed that we liked the calm environment and the ability to walk without playing dodge the traffic!