Hygiene Hijinx

You know you've been in India for a while when you can tell the difference between a one day and a two day old dead rat.

We do the 700 meter walk up Ponoth Road to the main strip, KK Road maybe two or three times a day. Invariably, we see at least one new rodent that has paid the ultimate price for getting a little sloppy about defence. If we spy a fresh one on the way up to the market, the crows have invariably made a substantial dent in the carcass by the time we walk back to the house. After a while, it's inevitable that an auto-rickshaw, car, or motorcycle has also left a tire tread or two on it. Finally, these flattened half-dried rodents appear to be the favourite chew-toy of the many wild (at least I think they are) dogs that roam the neighbourhood. We're getting to be experts in rodent road-kill. So now when we spot one on our walk, our little game is to guess its age. "That's a two hour rat". "That's a one day rat". "That's an 8 hour rat". It's important to note that in an ecosystem this unforgiving, there no such thing as a four day rat.

Last time we were in India, we stayed in a hotel in Amritsar called "Hotel Samrat". There was a battered wooden sandwich board sign on the sidewalk, which, in crudely painted letters, proudly touted the hotel as being "Nearly as good as a three star hotel". Whenever we checked into another dodgy backpacker's hotel, our running joke for the rest of the trip was "Samrat. Not many".

It is not surprising, given the hygienic challenges being faced on a day to day basis, that sooner or later one of us was going to get crabs. Tenacious crabs. Small, feisty, and incredibly sweet and delicious crabs.

We made our daily trip to the market yesterday, and just after we had picked out a nice fish for a curry, we were approached by a couple toting a big bucket. In this bucket were a dozen or so little crabs, bigger than the blue-tinged ones we see by the basketful in Chinatown, but smaller than our old friend the Dungeness. Each one was bundled up in a little length of very coarse jute twine to harness the claws and stop them from fleeing. They were moving around pretty well, so freshness was a given. I bought 7 or 8 of them, and it came to a whopping 100 rupees, or about $2.50. There is a great dish here in Kerala that is done with shrimp or crab, and it's called "shrimp fry" or "crab fry". It's very simple and quick, and incredibly tasty. It makes good use of the black pepper that grows here so abundantly, and there's puhlenty of garlic to boot!. This is the kind of dish that you can screw up and it will still taste pretty good. The coconut is optional, but if you can include it, you'll be greatly rewarded, as it acts like a sponge for garlic! I'll do my best to pass on the recipe here:

1 Dungeness crab, about 1.5 pounds
3 tablespoons ghee (clarified butter)
3 big shallots, sliced thinly
12 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
2 fresh green chilis, cut into thirds
1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
3 tablespoons of fresh ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon of turmeric
1/2 teaspoon chili powder (cayenne)
10 or 12 curry leaves.
8 or ten strips of fresh coconut, cut no more than 1/8 inch thick (optional)
2 roma tomatoes, cut into 6 or 8 wedges each
kosher salt to taste

Boil the crab for 7-10 minutes in very well salted water. Sea water is best, or try to achieve that degree of salinity. Let the crab cool a bit
Carefully remove the main shell, being careful to keep as much of the contents of the head as possible. Place upside down and reserve.
From the now-exposed body, remove the grayish rows of gills, also called "dead mans fingers", and discard.
Remove claws
Cut the body in half down the middle, and using a sharp heavy knife, cut each leg off, leaving a section of body attached.
Heat the ghee in a large wok, and when hot, add the mustard seeds.
When they start to pop, add the curry leaves, and then shallots. Cook until the shallots start to brown and crisp up a bit. Don't blacken them! This makes a bitter and terrible taste.
Add the garlic, turmeric, black pepper, coconut, and fresh and powdered chili. Stir for a moment to combine
Add the crab, including the contents of the head, and fry for a few minutes, stirring constantly to coat with the spice.
Add salt to taste
When it starts to dry a little, add the tomato and stir fry for one more minute.

Turn onto a serving dish, and garnish with fresh cilantro

You can get fresh curry leaves at a lot of the Indian groceries on Main St in Vancouver, or at our favourite one stop shop, Asia Market on Hastings St, one block east of Main. I often buy live crab at the seafood store near the corner of Keefer and Gore, which is only a short walk from Asia Market. I apologize for not being able to give specific directions to outlets in other cities. However, there is this great new web site, called "Google". I'm not sure if it will catch on, though.

We're definitely having fun now. Filming opportunities are starting to pop out of the woodwork. Everyone is healthy. People are starting to recognize us in the neighbourhood and wave or smile. We feel so lucky to have landed where we have. Today, Laurel and I are going out shopping for appropriate clothing to wear to a Hindu wedding in Kannur on the 13th. We have been given permission to film the food preparation that will feed 500+ guests! That should be interesting, to say the least. This will be our first Hindu wedding in almost 9 years. The last one we attended was ours!

Candy from Strangers

Sometimes you just have to disregard the warnings from dear old Mum and say yes when a stranger offers you candy. Yesterday our little entourage was walking the 750 meters from our house up to KK Road to grab some lunch and do a little shopping. We had managed about 2 blocks or so when a black SUV pulled up beside us and offered us a lift to the main road. The fellow was alone and there were 5 of us - albeit, 2 under the age of 8 - and Rob and I had already done the same walk, there and back, earlier in the morning to get some footage of our local market. So we all piled into our neighbour's car, out of the blinding sun and into AC luxury. Emma and I recognized the driver as the "mango man" who lived in the house on the corner with the big mango tree. About 2 weeks ago, on one of our many walks to KK Road, we were commenting on the beautiful, though not yet ripe, mangoes hanging from a tree in one of the yards. He over-heard us and told us we were welcome to pick them anytime we liked (we LOVE mangoes!). We hadn't taken him up on his kind offer since the mangoes were still a little way from fully ripe.

Not one of us is SURE of mango-man's name, although he did introduce himself to us in amongst the mayhem of boys piling into the car. We think it is Rajesh, so that's what we are calling him for now. As Rajesh drove us up to the main thoroughfare, he told us that although he was a lawyer, he and some friends have a new venture - a company producing and selling ayurvedic products. I have a keen interest in ayurveda and have done quite a bit of reading on the topic over the years. Rajesh asked if we would like to see their new offices. Rob said it was my call...Hmmm...We weren't starving, just a bit grumbly for lunch, so I snatched that candy out of the stranger's hand and off went the 6 of us to a nearby neighbourhood to check out the brand-spanking-new offices of Mayden Ayurveda. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.

It was Sunday so much of the building was unoccupied. This might have worried me if it was just Emma and me but what was this guy gonna do with all 5 of us? Our first stop was an office on the first floor. Rajesh stuck his head in the door, had a few words in Malayalam, pulled his head out again and asked if we were okay with "drink". We were a little confused at first but it turned out that Rajesh wanted to make sure that we were okay with his friends drinking beer in our presence, before letting us into the office. Silly question to us perhaps, but in a state where they advertise "family" restaurants (meaning no alcohol is served and women don't have to worry about their reputations) and alcohol is strictly licensed, this was a sensitive gesture on his part. We assured him that beer-drinking was okay with us (oh the irony! see Rob's previous post) and entered the office. We met "The Doctor", Dr Venugopal, Ayurvedic practitioner and the creator of their products. Well, I should say product (singular). It turns out that, at the moment, Mayden Ayurveda offers one product and one only, the amazing Herbosutra - an herbal aphrodisiac! We were shown through a couple of offices, introduced to the partners (an Engineer and a Building Contractor) and shown the pamphlets and magazine articles on India's rival to Viagra. We were offered samples as well, but after much good-natured joking, we assured our new friends that we were not, any of us, in need of their little green pill!

The good doctor even gave us a consultation for Isaac. Isaac is just about to turn 5 and has suffered from eczema, allergies and allergy-related asthma his whole life. The best info we can get from western doctors is that Isaac just has a "different" immune system and that the symptoms he has should be treated with cortisones. Although Isaac's body has responded very well to India - very little eczema and nothing else yet! - if we could find a way so that that relief stays with him even when we return to Canada, what an amazing feat that would be! The poor tyke could finally stop scratching his way through life. We are supposed to seeing the doctor again after monitoring Isaac's water-intake and -outflow (yes, the boy is peeing in a cup for now) and we'll see where that takes us.

One of the fellows - the engineer I think - who is an old school buddy of Rajesh's, got Rob talking on the subject of music. Rob has been missing playing music so today G., the engineer, and Rob are out in search of an acoustic guitar! Nothing fancy or expensive, just something to keep Rob's callouses from getting soft. Apparently other friends of Rajesh - a foodie couple - are now interested in meeting us, perhaps to discuss our project and how they can help! Things seem to be falling into place. When the candy is this good, it's very hard to say no to strangers...

Rum, Buggery, & The Lash Pt. II

I must learn to ask more specific questions.

"Will there be beer on the houseboat?", I politely inquired of our driver, Sadeesh. With an emphatic head wobble denoting a certainty that could only be described as absolute, he replied "No problem". This was the point where I should have drilled down a little deeper.

We had decided to do what we rarely do. Tourist things. It had been said by everyone from the Lonely Planet guide, to our landlord Stanley, that no visit to Kerala is complete without a tour of the backwaters in an enormous houseboat. These floating behemoths ply the backwaters by the hundreds it would seem. With a crew of three or four men, these babies will happily take you out on the water for a day, a week, or until your inheritance runs out, whichever comes first. They are anywhere from 40 to 70 feet long, with anywhere from one to three bedrooms. They come in three distinct price strata: standard, superior, and luxury. Covered entirely in faux palm thatchwork, these enormous shallow draft vessels cruise the massive network of canals, performing the same ritual of hospitality day after day for whoever can pony up the dough.

Along with John and Mary Ann, my cousins who are visiting from Vancouver with their 9 year old son, Aidan, we decided to pool our resources and charter one of these floating pleasure palaces. It was not cheap. Especially by Indian standards. It cost us 21,000 Rupees, or approximately 500 dollars, for a one night cruise for 5 adults and 3 kids. That's about two months salary for the average person here. Ouch. Undaunted, we assembled and loaded ourselves and our camera gear into a very small "van" for the one and a half hour drive to where the boat was docked. Having been assured of the ready availability of our favourite frosty cold malt beverage, we declined to make a stop en route for essential cruising supplies.

The boat was pretty cool, actually. An impressive ode to conspicuous consumption. A large open dining and lounge area up front, then three bedrooms, and a galley. Ours fell into the "superior" class, as there was AC in the bedrooms, and the insect life on board wasn't quite as mutinous as on a "standard". We were greeted, loaded on board, and promptly handed a green coconut to sip on as we headed out of the dock and onto a massive lake. It was pretty stunning. Slowly cruising by locals fishing from small canoes, we headed for the canal area. It's worth talking about these canals. As we got closer to the finger of land that formed the point we were rounding, it became obvious that these were all man-made structures. For miles and miles, as far as one could see, there were walls of interlocking rock, representing an engineering and construction effort that could only be described as colossal, not to mention visionary. On the other side of the rock walls, about 15 feet below water level, are dozens of square miles of flat rice paddy. These fields are serviced by a series of irrigation ditches fed by the canals, and they are populated with small fish and shrimp. John and I marveled at the scope of the project. It was truly amazing.

All that amazement and wonder worked up a fierce appetite, and pretty soon, our erstwhile crew had fixed us up a tasty lunch of Keralan food. Grilled kerameen fish, locally know as "pearl spot", sambar, green beans with coconut, and a coconut and cabbage dish. Rice and pappadam rounded out the meal. Well, almost. As the sun was definitely over the yardarm, at least in Alberta, we decided to tuck into one of those emphatically promised beers. So I asked our crewman who was serving us "Could we order some beers, please". This seemingly simple request was greeted by a furrowed brow. "There is only one", he tersely replied. "Only one brand?", I asked. He looked at me as if I was some sort of idiot for not comprehending his first response. "No. Only one bottle. One beer on my boat". Surely, I thought, this was some form of language barrier problem, one that could be easily overcome by such a smart foreigner as myself by saying the same thing again, only louder and slower. "We... would.... like... ONE... BEER... EACH... please". "One beer", came the clipped response through pursed lips. A sinking feeling descended over us, that us to say, John and me, as we realized our doomed teetotalling state. We finished our lunch in relative quiet. It was at this point that I resolved to ask more specific questions in the future.

We cruised more through the canals, past the rice fields and shacks on the bank. It was possible to live here and never really have to go anyplace else for food or shelter, and that's what a lot of people were doing. A real subsistence lifestyle. Catch fish. Harvest rice. Pick coconuts. Repeat as necessary. This lifestyle could not have been contrasted more emphatically by the barges of infinitely wealthier interlopers cruising past their shacks, snapping pictures and shooting video. And here we were not alone. It's interesting to note that there were many Indian families doing this cruising thing, not just foreigners. More evidence of the exploding middle class in India. However, with our boys playing cards as we chugged down the canal, it was the very definition of irony itself hear the boys cry "Go fish!!", when 15 feet away people were actually standing chest deep in the water, doing their best to catch dinner.

A dinner of chapatti, chicken curry, beet root and coconut, rice, vegetable curry, and... a beer. Or should I say THE beer. Not bad food, but we got the feeling the spice/salt level was dumbed down a bit for foreigners. The beet/coconut combo was an especially nice surprise. We retired to our cabins about 10 PM, whereupon I was compelled to dispatch a cockroach roughly the size of a volkswagen that attached itself to the wall above my bed. In the bathroom, a column of ants marched out of the crack in the ceiling and down the corner of the room, dutifully returning the bodies of fallen mosquitos to the nest in order to feed the young 'uns. We had taken our anti-malaria medicine that night, and true to form, the Lariam caused some mighty psychedelic dreams. Laurel and I were first up, and the morning light on the water was pretty spectacular. After a slightly disappointing omelette and white bread breakfast (no idli and sambar?!?!), we were summarily deposited on the dock at just after 9 AM. All in all, a very interesting experience in a very beautiful place, despite the chronic lack of refreshments.

As we were driving off, we were flagged down by one of the crew. The van stopped. "Sir sir!! You must pay for beer!!! One hundred rupees."

Sigh...

Stanley's Steamers

We awoke on New Years Eve at around 7:30. The crows had long finished their early morning squawk, the cicadas had stopped their humming, and the day was beginning to heat up already. As is now our custom, I put some water on for masala chai, and when it boiled Laurel went in to add the tea powder, milk, sugar, fresh ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, and clove. Emma was also up, and went into the kitchen to chat with Laurel. I was checking my email in the living room, during one of those rare moments of phase coherence when both the power and the internet were on at the same time, when I saw our landlord, Stanley, amble up the front steps, looking very determined. The doorbell rang. "Stanley's here!", I yelled out to the girls. The ladies were not exactly dressed in a way that would have made for acceptable viewing by our next door neighbour. They scurried about and locked themselves in the kitchen, the nearest point of refuge. I thought I may have heard a muffled four letter word or two, but I'm not sure.

I opened the door to Stanley, and the first thing he said as he pointed to the gate was "Where is lock?". I had forgotten to re-lock the front gate with the big silver padlock when we returned from our outing the previous evening. A most embarrassing gaffe for a fledgeling tenant. I located the errant padlock on the front deck and made a motion to pick it up, but was waved off by Stanley. Gruffly, he said "Come!", and walked around the side of the house. I followed, figuring that he was going to show me some new light switch or water tap that might require my attention in the future. Stanley is a detail guy. I was very surprised to see his smiling wife Gee Gee standing at the fence. To my even greater surprise, she began to pass dishes of food to Stanley over the fence! A big covered bowl of steamed idli, those little fermented rice cakes so common here for breakfast. A big bowl of amazing sambar, and finally a freshly made batch of coconut chutney with mustard seeds, curry leaves, and red chili.

This was a traditional South Indian breakfast, and a fabulous homemade one at that. Together, a smiling Stanley and I carried this treasure carefully into the house. The girls still had not had time to get dressed, and were still trapped in the kitchen! But there was no stopping Stanley. He told the boys in no uncertain terms that hey needed to sit down at the table. I went into the kitchen to get some plates, and a ferocious round of sign language ensued between Laurel and me. Something to the effect of "There's a strange man with a big mustache out there, and I'm not wearing any pants!". I countered with "I know! I'm getting plates because he brought us breakfast! Stay here!!" I returned to the dining room with plates, and Stanley took immense pleasure in serving Isaac an idli, and then gently spooning some of the sambar on top for him. Same with Miles. He now insists that the boys call him "Uncle", which pleases him greatly. He's just the nicest man, and we can't believe how lucky we are to have crossed paths with him and his lovely wife. Gee Gee, as I have said before is an amazing cook.

Through a brief exchange of pidgin English and sign language, I was able to make Stanley understand that the reason my wife was not out here greeting him and thanking him for the breakfast was because she was trapped in the kitchen without her pants. Emma too. After thanking him profusely, he ambled out the door. Laurel and Emma emerged, and we tucked into a truly wonderful breakfast. My goal is to learn to make sambar and chutney as good as Gee Gee's. She's promised to teach us, and let us film it to boot. Can't wait!

Later, we went to meet John and Mary Ann at the boat dock. We caught one of the ferries to Fort Cochin and poked around the bazaar street. I finally took out my video camera for some preliminary outdoor filming experience, and was later rewarded with some great footage when I reviewed it last night. We were a little late going, so we missed the rice meal at the local diner, and were forced to resort to a very posh restaurant instead. Here, the inviolable Law of Inverse Expectations was in full evidence. There was cutlery. Always a bad sign. I'm not exaggerating when I say that each dish had an extra zero after it, compared to the similar offering in more humble surroundings down the street. We all kept waiting for the flavour to happen, but it was just flat... Sort of like ordering a pepperoni pizza and getting a plain rice cake instead. Literally ten times the price, and one tenth as good.

Later, we left Jewtown and went into Fort Cochin to find the fish market. This was pretty cool, as we watched boat after boat land on the beach, only to pull out some very large fish which were placed on the walkway within seconds of landing. Instantly, a crowd of about 20 men surrounded the fish, and inside of 3 minutes, the auction was over and the fish were packed in ice and loaded onto trucks. We managed to by a giant cuttlefish that was still twitching a bit and changing colour, vainly trying to blend into the surroundings in hopes of not being noticed, We took the cuttlefish to a nearby restaurant, which grilled it for us for a small fee. No way we could complain about the freshness there!

We lay in bed last night, and listened to the fireworks going off in the neighbourhood at midnight. At least I hope they were fireworks... Tomorrow, we're blowing a months rent on a houseboat cruise through the backwaters. We're told that it is indeed extravagant, but worth every rupee. Its a deluxe three bedroom floating air conditioned palace. We get all our meals and drinks, and we may even be able to fish too! Stay tuned for that one.

In the meantime, we wish all our friends and family, a very happy new year!

This Ain't No Disco

So there I am, floating like a sunburned cork in the amniotic Arabian sea, when suddenly I find myself surrounded by slim and youthful bodies, their relentless brownness only interrupted by brilliant white flashes of teeth. Nearly a dozen college students corner me like a bunch of Somalian pirates in a daring daylight ocean raid. Fortunately for me, their purposes were more benign. "Coming from?", asked the ringleader, in that rapid and clipped Malayalam accent with the Spanish-style rrrrrrrrrolled r's. By now, I was used to fielding this question from strangers, and I knew it to mean "Where are you from?". "Canada", I replied. This was relayed by the ringleader to his troops to a general murmur of surprise and approval. "Your good name?", came the next question. "Robert", I answered. "And what is your occupation, sir?", asked my twiggy interrogator. Here, I hesitated. How do I explain what I do? Let's see. "I own a recording studio, but it's kind of dormant right now. I also do some software consulting for video game companies, but I'm kind of taking a break right now because I'm here in India with my wife and two kids trying to make TV series about food..." . Nope, that wasn't going to work. I opted for the safe answer that would be easily comprehended by a group of relatively new English practitioners. "I am a software engineer", I replied, knowing the engineering was a respected profession. Without skipping a beat, my new friend asked "And what is your salary?". Here, I was flummoxed. I very briefly considered averaging my last 3 years income and spitting out a number, and although that may have been satisfying from an ego perspective, it might have been crushing news to these young men who were studying hard to get their fledgeling careers started. Especially when a little quick mental math revealed that I bill more in a day than they would earn in two months, even after getting a degree. So I fudged around. "Uuhhhh.... it varies, you know...". He didn't seem to mind my obfuscatory answer. "You are liking Kerala?", he asked. "Oh yes, it is very beautiful" . At this point, he grinned wide, and turned to face his dozen or so floating compatriots. He thrust his fist in the air and shouted "KERALA!". His bobbing socialist armada quickly followed suit, and a collective cry of "KERALA!!!" went up. They were very pleased with themselves, and obviously really enjoying this encounter with a soggy and salty bearded white guy. A look of concern flashed over the face of the young man who had been asking me questions. He looked at me gravely, and asked "You are not disapproving of how we are disposing of your time?" After the few seconds needed to process the syntactical structure and tense of the question posed, I replied. "No no no. But thank you for being sensitive". Another round of "KERALA!!!", and we drifted off in different directions, literally and metaphorically.

We've been really enjoying spending some time with our cousins John and Mary Ann. It's a lot of fun seeing people experience this place for the first time. By now, Laurel and I are old pros at being here, and in fact, haggling for a cheaper autorickshaw ride has become my favourite sport. We decided to cook a big family meal together yesterday, so naturally, that meant going to the market up the street. Emma looked after the boys, and us four adults took our cloth bags and headed out. Now although the market is open every day, Sunday is THE market day of the week. Many more vendors than usual congregate and clog the already crowded sidewalks with carefully constructed displays of their wares, which are usually a variety of fruits, vegetables, and herbs.

It was fresh seafood we were after, and that meant penetrating the inner sanctum of the market, which one does by entering off the street via a narrow corridor about 30 feet long. This opens up into a rectangular open air space, the perimeter of which is rimmed with flesh vendors of various descriptions. Chickens in cages, waiting to be dispatched. Recently butchered carcasses of sheep and goat hanging in dark and aromatic stalls. There are bloody skulls and hooves distributed randomly on the stone floor, which while not necessarily advertising what kind of creature is hanging from the stall's ancients metal hooks, certainly give a strong indication of freshness.

The center of the market is where the fish and seafood vendors ply their trade. Freshly caught fish, prawns, squid, cuttlefish and crabs are displayed by a variety of vendors. If you get there early enough, some are still twitching and flopping about. The choice is staggering, and it varies from day to day, depending on the catch. I always check the gills for redness and the eyes for clarity when I buy fish. I selected a nice carp-like specimen this time and negotiated a price. "Cuttee?", the gent asked, enquiring as to whether I wanted the fish whole or scaled, cleaned, and sliced. As always, I chose this option, and my fish was handed off to a machete wielding piscean sculptor who deftly carved off the fins and scales, then cut it up into the little steaks that are so frequently seen in the restaurants as "fish fry". We also bought a kilo of really good prawns, and a kilo of cuttlefish, which had already been cleaned. Amazing stuff.

John, not looking conspicuous at all in his khaki shorts, polo shirt, and green plastic sun visor, busied himself with his video camera, recording every aspect of this slow motion journey up the food chain. For him, it was the first time he had seen anything like this. At one point, he stepped off the raised center area where the fish are sold and onto the the perimeter butcher's area. Or so he thought. Unfortunately, he failed to notice the trough that surrounded the raised area. Now the market gets a pretty regular watering down, and all the dirt, bits of fish guts, blood, and random animal parts drain off into this trough, where they proceed to marinate for an undetermined period of time. John's sandal clad foot stepped right into this trough, and he sank up to his calf. The vendors erupted in gales of laughter at this poor hapless foreigner getting his karmic comeuppance. A couple of men at the fish cutting block helped John wash the thick, black ooze from his leg, and John, being the good sport that he is, took it all in stride, so to speak. I got the sense that this may have been the funniest that that had happened there in a long time. Our bags bulging with fresh goodies, we walked the half kilometer home. John showered.

We had a great dinner last night. It's been a great experience for me to see that such good quality food can be had in circumstances that would horrify most Western people. Now, despite the smell, and the in-your-face nature of the meat vendors, I really look forward to going to the market to buy food. There are no nicely labelled plastic-wrapped styrofoam trays to insulate you from your position in the food chain. If you're going to eat something, you're going to see it whole first, and in some cases, see it breathe its last before it's tossed in a bag for your consumption later. This is a good awareness, and I much prefer it to mindlessly waltzing a cart down a supermarket aisle filled with prepackaged goods that have been trucked from 5000 miles away while Muzak softly emanates from the store speakers, distracting me just enough to stop me thinking about the evils of agricultural monoculture, industrial meat production, and multinational corporate food conglomerates.

This ain't no party. This ain't no disco. This ain't no foolin' around.

Now The Fun Begins

We've check a bunch of stuff off of our list. Packing the house. Flying across the world. Adjusting to the time difference. Finding a house. Setting up an office. Trying to do an approximation of Christmas with the kids. Now its time to get to work.

We have a few shoots lined up already. There's a woman we found who demonstrates Keralan cooking in Fort Cochin that we plan to visit for a preproduction meeting this week. There's a spice farm/homestay a few hours away that has agreed to be filmed and provide accommodation in exchange for promotional mention. We've also been invited to a large Hindu wedding (500 people!) in a nearby town. We've been given permission to film every aspect of food prep for the wedding party. But best of all, there is our landlord's wife, Gee Gee. She is an amazing cook, and has agreed to let us film her making several of her favourite things. In fact, yesterday was a pretty special Christmas day for us. Stanley and Gee Gee invited the whole family over for an elaborate Christmas day lunch, the epic scope of which we were a little unprepared for.

We arrived just after noon bearing a fresh pineapple, only to be quickly ushered into the dining room where a coconut-pineapple cake was instantly produced, sliced, and literally stuffed in our mouths. Literally. Stanley pushed a piece into my face with his hands. Gee Gee and her daughter Amrita did not sit and eat with us, but instead, hovered attentively. Small glasses of homemade ginger wine were next. Then came a beef and coconut milk curry with appam, the pancake-like flatbread, accompanied by beer that Stanley poured with a flourish. We ate tons, and complimented the yummy quality of the food, which was better than any restaurant we had eaten at. We figured that we were done. Then there was a chili chicken, shrimp fried rice, and roast duck! Another complete meal! Groaning, we discovered to late that if you finish everything on your plate, as we were taught to do when we were kids, it's actually a signal to your host that you would like more. Bugger.

Then there was a dessert course of carrot cake with cardamom. Followed by a fruitcake. More beer. Then a fruit salad with ice cream. Tea. About 2:45, we waddled out into the bright sun, looking vaguely like Mr. & Mrs. Jabba The Hut and their bloated youthful entourage. Good thing that they live next door, as a lengthy walk would have proved challenging. Gee Gee is a truly amazing cook, and we can't wait to document some of her recipes. They are both so kind and gracious towards us. We're feeling pretty lucky to have landed in their backyard.

Upon arriving home, I commenced the prep for our own Christmas dinner, as we were expecting my cousins John and Mary Ann, along with their son Aidan, to arrive later in the evening. They had just completed an epic journey from Vancouver to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Mumbai, and then Mumbai to Cochin, all in the space of 48 hours. Now cooking a meal for 8 people on a two burner propane cooker with two pots and a small frying pan is definitely a challenge, but we were up for it. First, I assembled the veg biryani. Next came the spicy potatoes. Then I got to work breaking down the two ducks I had bought at the market the day before. This was no Safeway duck. They were rather complete, to say the least. The feathers had been removed, but that was the extent of the butcher's work. In a scene that bore a passing resemblance to the film "Caligula", I found myself probing the inner recesses of two ducks with my hands in order to extract the tiddley bits, which were still very much attached. My efforts were rewards with two entire duck livers, which I cooked along with the duck. The ducks themselves were scrawnier than the breeds that we get in Vancouver, but they were sure big on flavour. Adding a few tablespoons of black pepper to several minced shallots, ginger, garlic, and turmeric, the duck braised in the pot for a couple of hours. This formed a thick and spicy gravy. The duck is then removed from the pot, and fried piece by piece to crisp up the skin. Then its returned to the sauce after reducing it.

Next up was a kilo of fresh prawns fried with curry leaves, turmeric, shallots, green chili, garlic, lots of black pepper, chunks of coconut, and butter. John and Mary Ann finally managed to locate us via auto-rickshaw at around 7:30, and we sat down to eat our decidedly non-traditional Christmas meal shortly after arrival. It was great to have family at Christmas! The poor buggers were severely jet-lagged though, and shortly after dinner I walked them back to the main road to flag down an auto-rickshaw to take them back to a well-deserved rest. Returning home, I discovered that my good buddy Doug had called us. We were thrilled to discover that we could actually video chat with each other using iChat on our laptops! We took turns walking around with our wireless laptops showing the details of our surroundings. As I said in an earlier post, the broadband internet has changed things here...

So now we will divide our time between showing our cousins around the town and surrounding area, and trying to line up a production schedule for the next month or so. The hard part is done, so let the fun begin!

Not A Gecko Was Stirring

"But Dad, how will Santa find us when we're in India?".

A look of grave concern was etched on Miles' face, as he pondered the sudden possibility that Santa may not be able to locate Isaac and him this year. This is a critical problem for a seven year old, and grave concern was in danger of morphing into full-blown panic. Fortunately, the ever-resourceful Laurel anticipated just such a logistical dilemma, and packed up a solution to the problem before we left in November.

Reindeer food.

More correctly, flakes of oatmeal mixed with gold glitter. Everybody knows that reindeer love oatmeal, and the gold glitter makes it easy to spot from 30,000 feet, which everyone knows is the acknowledged reindeer cruising altitude. Actually, this is a tradition of ours that we've been doing for the last 5 years or so. Every Christmas Eve, the whole clan goes out on the deck and sprinkles just enough of this magical mixture to ensure that the reindeer are motivated enough to land. So Laurel mixed up a very potent batch, put it in a zip-loc baggie, and stashed it in one of our gear cases.

Now we all know about the draconian drug laws in Singapore. Importing even a joint into the country is enough to incur death by hanging. Seriously. They're just kind of fussy about that kind of thing for some reason. So needless to say, when the X-Ray machine exposed a baggie full of suspicious material when my gear case was scanned at customs, I got hauled over to the "special table" for closer inspection. They asked me to open the case, so I complied. The baggie was sitting right on top of the wireless mic packs. An ounce of North Pole Gold. "What's this?", the agent asked, his tone tone still friendly at this point. Not skipping a beat, I replied "Reindeer food", and smiled my best smile. A puzzled look fell over his face. "Yes, for the kids at Christmas", I continued. "You know... to attract the sleigh with the reindeer and presents and stuff". He looked at me like I had been partaking of Rudolph's stash, and picked up the baggie. Fondling it in his hand, his long experience told him that he was probably not going to make sergeant by prosecuting this one, and the conversation switched gears into camera talk. Whew...

So last night, after a good dinner of fresh squid with chili (3 dollars a kilo at the market!) and rice biryani, we went out into the lane in front of our house, and dutifully sprinkled reindeer food. Miles was still concerned that this might not be enough, so he composed a note for Santa, indicating that there was a beer and some pineapple on the table for him, and that the stockings were hung on the window. It must have worked, because this morning we had two boys very excited about the fact that it worked! Santa had found them! They both got a Nintendo DS game system and a couple of games, some cool books on Indian mythology, and many cards with cash inside from aunts and uncles. I may be borrowing money from them before we're done here.

We must be hard wired for the mulled wine, fir tree, woodsmoke, nippy weather thing. No matter how many times Bing Crosby warbles from the iPod, Laurel and I just aren't feeling the Christmas vibe. Fortunately, our kids are...