The day one leaves on an air journey to or from home, especially an extensive one, is always a little weird. It's hard to galvanize one to go off sightseeing or for a long hike, given it was 38 humid degrees. We thought about going out for lunch, or even to our earlier hotel where there was a pool, but we just couldn't get the energy to do either. I didn't want the day to be a complete bust, so I set out on my own, ostensibly to stock up on spices to take home, but at a place locals go to so the prices wouldn't be exorbitant.
The place I researched was about 15 minutes away by foot, and I enjoyed going somewhere I knew how to get to. However, when I got there, the place was closed. That is India. Places are open all the time, but if they are closed, there is no warning or sign or indication of when it might open again. So I meandered my way back to our guesthouse, passing men playing cricket in the park (it was Sunday) and children shouting and playing together in the streets. I passed a tuktuk driver who said "City Palace, Synagogue, 50 rupees, I will wait for you and bring you back". I smiled and said no thank you, as usual, as I had already been to Mattancherry and those particular places.
A minute or two along my way I paused. Mattancherry, the old bazaar area and centre for the spice trade, has a good local spice market, 3-4 hot kilometres away, and 50 rupees for a return trip is a good price. So I did what I have never done before. I went back and said "Sure, take me to Mandacherry and the spice market near the synagogue". We took off, just him and me, and rumbled our way, chatting about his children (always a safe question cheerfully answered) and work and home. He stopped in front of one place, but I said, "no, not this one, the one jsut past the synagogue." We carried on, and he stopped in front of a very decrepit building. I looked at him blankly, but he insisted "this is the best place. good prices."
So I go through this doubtful looking arch, see a rickety set of dark stairs going up, and I suddenly thought: Here I am, no one else around, on my own, and no one knows where I am. Courage, I told myself!
At the top of the stairs, I was rewarded with a the sight of large boxes of spices, including real cinnamon bark, sitting just outside a large room. Three women working in this women's cooperative venture thrust a cup of tea in my hand and asked what I was looking for. The quality was excellent, very fresh, and the prices were not astronomical. I left 10 minutes later with my parcel, found my tuktuk driver and off we went. I even allowed the driver to take me to a rug and textile shop so that he could get a coupon for lunch (the reward for taking tourists to these places). I gave him 100 rupees at the end ($2). He went off happy and I came in to a surprised and just-starting-to-get-worried Martin.
The place I researched was about 15 minutes away by foot, and I enjoyed going somewhere I knew how to get to. However, when I got there, the place was closed. That is India. Places are open all the time, but if they are closed, there is no warning or sign or indication of when it might open again. So I meandered my way back to our guesthouse, passing men playing cricket in the park (it was Sunday) and children shouting and playing together in the streets. I passed a tuktuk driver who said "City Palace, Synagogue, 50 rupees, I will wait for you and bring you back". I smiled and said no thank you, as usual, as I had already been to Mattancherry and those particular places.
A minute or two along my way I paused. Mattancherry, the old bazaar area and centre for the spice trade, has a good local spice market, 3-4 hot kilometres away, and 50 rupees for a return trip is a good price. So I did what I have never done before. I went back and said "Sure, take me to Mandacherry and the spice market near the synagogue". We took off, just him and me, and rumbled our way, chatting about his children (always a safe question cheerfully answered) and work and home. He stopped in front of one place, but I said, "no, not this one, the one jsut past the synagogue." We carried on, and he stopped in front of a very decrepit building. I looked at him blankly, but he insisted "this is the best place. good prices."
So I go through this doubtful looking arch, see a rickety set of dark stairs going up, and I suddenly thought: Here I am, no one else around, on my own, and no one knows where I am. Courage, I told myself!
At the top of the stairs, I was rewarded with a the sight of large boxes of spices, including real cinnamon bark, sitting just outside a large room. Three women working in this women's cooperative venture thrust a cup of tea in my hand and asked what I was looking for. The quality was excellent, very fresh, and the prices were not astronomical. I left 10 minutes later with my parcel, found my tuktuk driver and off we went. I even allowed the driver to take me to a rug and textile shop so that he could get a coupon for lunch (the reward for taking tourists to these places). I gave him 100 rupees at the end ($2). He went off happy and I came in to a surprised and just-starting-to-get-worried Martin.
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| you mean I have to go in there? |
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| sitting at the top of the stairs |
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