been loaded on to the boat with incredible precision and it passes us without the slightest wobble or even the remotest chance that it could topple over. One man is sitting smoking on the long-necked prow, another sits in the stern, his feet trailing in the water as he steers the tiny outboard engine that propels the vessel.
Apart from some birds laughing in the jungle and the lap of the water rushing under the hull, all is peaceful. Bugger the director. I think I’ll have a fag and a slurp.
The deck hand places a bottle of Indian whisky, a bottle of mineral water and a bucket of ice on the mahogany table. The sun is going down fast over the Chinese fishing nets, their cadaverous cantilever limbs loom in a sinister way like huge praying mantises in the fast-falling dusk. The coastline is dotted with these vast fishing nets that were introduced to the area by merchants in the time of Kublai Khan. Consisting of five teak poles rising up to 30 metres in the air, they scoop up fish as they swim by at high tide. The nets are considered so valuable that brides’ families even offer them as dowries in marriage.
Fish is the speciality here and makes up a large part of the Keralan diet. Munambam Harbour is the location of one of the many local fish auctions. Fishing boats that left in the middle of the night return in the late afternoon as the sun casts its golden evening hue over the Arabian Sea. Boats crowd the docks, five or six deep, and as soon as the day’s catch hits the land the auction starts. The noise is terrific as buyers shout out prices and fishermen haggle over the value of the catch. The nearby prawn factory has no mechanisation at all. About 160 women squat on the ground, peeling prawns at lightening speed and sorting them into different sizes. They are paid by weight so they wield their sharp knives with superb precision and can peel up to 60 prawns a minute.
Soon the idyll is over and it is time to start the job for which I have travelled to India: to learn to cook Indian food. At 9.00am, two days later, I present myself to the executive chef of the luxury Taj Malabar hotel on Willingdon Island, M.A. Rasheed (where I am, of course, staying in unbridled luxury with Tess and the rest of the gang), put on my apron and begin to learn about masalas. Talk about walking over hot coals, more like walking over hot chillies!
Opposite India’s opening batsman, Lords 2012… Below left to right Floating down the backwaters. Cooking on the beach. At the fish market.
Give a man a fish and he will live for a day, teach a man to fish and he will live forever. Chinese proverb. Chinese nets, Fort Cochin.
From Kerala we went north–to Goa. There we had a lot of fun on our brief visit. We stayed at the Taj Fort Aguada beach resort where we were given a fabulous bungalow which had been built, along with several others, specifically for visiting heads of state for a Commonwealth conference some years previously. I was quite tickled to be given the bungalow that Mrs Thatcher had stayed in. This was the second time our virtual paths had crossed. The last time was in the bodegas (cellars) of Gonzales Byas in Jerez, Spain where I was invited to sign a barrel in the hall of fame adjacent to a barrel signed by Mrs T. Please note this is not a sign of my political leanings in any sense of the word, but I think it is about time she came back as the President of Great Britain.
Goa is a tropical idyll with superb sandy beaches, which have made it a favourite winter sun destination. Colva Beach, 25 kilometres of pure white sands, is one of south Asia’s most spectacular beaches. The beaches are, however, only part of the picture. Inland is a lush patchwork of paddy fields and coconut, cashew and areca plantations. Further east are the jungle-covered hills of the Western Ghats and the drier Deccan Plateau. The Dudhsagar waterfall on the Goa/Karnataka border is the second highest waterfall in India — 600 metres from top to bottom.
The tiny state of Goa feels quite different from the rest of India, due to the fact that for 451 years, while the rest of India was under Mogul and British rule, Goa was a Portuguese stronghold. The influence of the Portuguese occupation is plain to see through the charming brightly painted villas and farmhouses in the pretty towns and villages. It is this southern European influence that is said to account for the difference in the general attitude of its people and the food that they eat. Wherever you go, you can find traces of Portuguese domination. The food blends a Latin love of meat and fish with India’s predilection for spices. Goans add vinegar to many dishes, giving them a very distinctive flavour. Alcohol is also prevalent — more than 6,000 bars around the state are licensed to serve alcohol, including the local brew, Feni, a rocket fuel spirit distilled from coconut sap or cashew fruit.
Below left to right One of the many beautiful beaches in Goa. Panjim market. Marigolds in the Latin quarter.
Away from the coast are the ruins of the Portuguese capital Old Goa, a sprawl of Catholic cathedrals, convents and churches that draws Christian pilgrims from all over India. Soaring above the canopy of palm groves, the colossal, cream cathedral towers, belfries and domes welcome you to one of the finest groups of Renaissance architecture in the world. Further inland, the thickly wooded countryside around Ponda harbours numerous temples. Spices have always been one of the area’s principal exports, even before the Portuguese arrived, and there are several large spice plantations around Ponda that can be visited.
Festivals celebrated in Goa include Id-ul-Fitr, in January/February, a Muslim feast to celebrate the end of Ramadan; the carnival in February/March, which is three days of Feni-induced mayhem, and Shigmo, held in February/March. This is Goa’s version of the Hindi holy festival held over the full moon period to mark the onset of spring. It includes processions of floats, music and dancing, as well as the usual throwing of paint bombs.
In Goa it is quite funny to see that the pony-tailed, bandanna-wearing flower children of the sixties are now in their sixties and still having a ball, although the pony tails have turned grey or indeed white. It was here that we met a couple of excellent eccentrics, Derek and Beryl — he a retired stockbroker of the old school, and Beryl who was just lovely, kind, cheerful and totally passionate about India and the Indians. They spent six months of every year travelling throughout India. Because they were such long-standing guests of the hotel, they were accorded all kinds of privileges, one of which was an outrageously delicious mango chutney sent down from Mumbai specifically for their use. So, every night we would meet for evening tiffin — I don’t care what you think tiffin is, as far as I am concerned it’s a large Bombay Sapphire gin with tonic and fresh lime — and devour a pile of freshly made poppadoms covered in the best chutney I have ever tasted.
Oh, and by the way, talking about food, I recommend to you two great Goan dishes, the Goan lobster curry and the beef or chicken vindaloo, a dish that bears no relationship to the ones that we all used to eat with a belly full of beer on Saturday nights many years ago.
Betim fish market.
