MATANCHERRY PIE, GREEN FACES AND GREEN GOO

So... I promised details about Matancherry and didn't deliver as promised. So here goes, a day late.

Matancherry is just east of Fort Cochin. You get off the ferry and turn left instead of right and there it is.

Bizarrely, its completely different to Fort Cochin. The Fort must have been the British administerial area while Matancherry was the business place as its a bit like the difference between Glasgow and Edinburgh. It was lovely, but in a different way. Although the buildings were still old-style colonial it was much more colourful and Indian. The streets were amok with colour and people going about their business. Kerala is famous for its spice trade and when you weren't being assailed by the stench of open sewers or goat crap, you were suddenly being overwhelmed by the most wonderful spicey smells! Magical.

Matancherry is not quite as run down as Fort Cochin (all part of the Fort's mysterious, haunting charm), perhaps because more people live and work there. I loved it. No pushy touts, just warm, laughing people. I went hoping to get to the old Pardesi Synagogue, spiritual centre of one of the oldest Jewish communities outside Israel. THere are only a few Jews left now as most have emigrated to Israel since 1948, but streets are still named after them - a Mr Jacob has one in his honour - and the whole region goes under the poetic name of Jew Town. Nice.

Various rickshaw drivers had tried to convince me that teh Synagogue was closed all Friday and Saturday and that I should go with them somewhere else more interesting instead for a negotiable fee. Being half-Jewish, I assumed this was a scam, as the Sabbath doesn't start until the evening of Friday. But alas they were right. It was closed. It looked lovely though and the streets were very atmospheric. I will be back on my last day to have a look.

I stepped into a large cafe to have a rest and a cup of tea. It was quite a swanky place and I didn't expect much. But the tea was fantastic and as I got up to go to the loo, I noticed there was an enormous bookshop. Needing the loo more than books, I was told to go upstairs, and discovered that the building was also an enormous workshop for building wooden statues, cupboards and things. The smell of wood and sawdust was magical and walking past the expertly made merchandise was also magical.

Having done what needed to be done, I headed to the bookshop - and here was another surprise, and another example of how India works. It was a shop given over almost entirely to spiritual/mystical books - Vedas, Upanishads, Bagavad Gita, Ramayana, Osho, Krishnamurti, even, I was amazed to find, books on the Kabbalah (one of which you can't get in the UK!) and on things like the Tao Te Ching. In the UK, all of this would be tucked away on a single shelf or in a strange bookshop nestled apologetically in some windy street. Not so in India. Its all in plain view, largely because it is an essential part of the culture. Indian spiritual literature is more voluminous than any other culture. They are proud of it, not ashamed of it, nor is it regarded as hoodoo or mumbo jumbo. Its who they are. This is true of every bookshop I have been in here. They are very proud of their learning, philosophy and culture.

So the trip wasn't wasted. I bought R K Narayan's version of the Mahabarata, the Tao Te Ching and the Kabbalah book. Good musing reading for India, the land where all of this is allowed. And how fitting to find a rare Kabbalah book thanks to an abortive search for an old Synagogue. Perhaps my half-Jewish soul and its ancestors were at work that day!

Walking back to Fort Cochin, I found myself stymied by a uniquely Indian traffic jam. Three lorries, all existing in their own sublime reality, had got stuck in the stupidly narrow main lane. One had no driver and was parked as labourers unloaded grain. Two others were stuck behind it, flanking each other. Somehow both must have thought they had a chance of getting by. All three were facing in the same direction. God knows where the driver of the first was.

Horns were honked and presently the whole street became involved in the knotty problem. Arms were waved. One of the drivers pushed gearsticks back and forth and looked around. Engines roared, belching out smoke. The labourers continued loading their driverless truck, stolidly oblivious to what was going on. I could see the problem. The driver could not go backwards and if he went too far to the left going forwards would end up in an open sewer. Gradually the whole street came to a halt.

Realising this could go on for some time I cut into a side street and promptly got lost! It wasn't so bad. It was so vivid stepping into a different world of people getting on with their lives I didn't panic. I have no idea what became of the trucks. Maybe they are still there? The next day I read in the paper that an elephant on the way to a festival had run amok in Mattancherry, overturning some stalls. I was quite sorry I missed that and wondered if it just got frustrated stuck behind the lorries.

Eventually I got to the Green Face part of the day - the Kathakali Centre. Kathikali is the ancient form of stylised theatre practised all over India and especially Kerela. Like all theatre from Greek drama to Mystery Plays, its origins are religoius, drawing from shamanic practices from tribesfolk who used to become possessed while playing different Gods and Demons to Temple ritual. Its as stylised as Noh or Kabuki. The costumes and make up are amazing.

Before the show you are allowed to watch the actors putting on each other's makeup. Kathakali depends on strict codes of imagery, dependent upon a limited number of expressions, movements, hand gestures and words. Somehow within this it is incredibly expressive and I was struck by the thought that Ancient Greek Theatre may have been as stylised in its day. As we watched the actors preparing, you could see the vivid faces coming into existence. Of course it was all part of the show, slightly staged for the audience of tourists, but fascinating nonetheless. And just as Dionysus presided over the proceedings in Ancient Greece, an enormous statue of him being wheeled out at the beginning of the Festivities, here Siva presided over the ritual, an image of him as the Lord of the Dance dominating the wall behind the performers.

The performance was preceded by an aged actor telling us a little about it all. Kathakali actors begin their training at the age of ten. It is a way of life. None of this going to a drama school for a few years and getting an agent. Female roles are taken by men 'just as with Shakespeare' as the guy said. Eventually the performance started and, short though it was, it was riveting. As a theatre director, it was fascinating to realise a little of what Peter Brook understood - that just like everything else, theatre styles had evolved differently all over the world and even our own Western obsession with 'naturalism' was just another form of stylisation. A decision if you like. By keeping Kathalaki stylised, the characters did not seem alien but more universal, as they managed to be superspecific rather than specific. We were seeing myth being enacted rather than 'reality' presented and yet it was no less powerful than what we get in the West. It was a deeply resonant experience for someone who has spent 15 years in British theatre trying to understand how to get it 'right'. I realised there was no 'right' and the obsession with policing theatre and art by critics and the intelligensia was another example of culural inward-looking. The world is too diverse and wonderful for all such thinking. Watching the performers and being entranced by how DIFFERENT they were and, indeed, how different India was just made me rejoice at the endless abundance of this world and the people in it in contrast to the drab cynicism I used to always find myself fighting back at home.

I also realised that the rather over the top style of acting we associate with Bollywood and Indian films is nothing more than an evolution from Kathakali. The movies seem odd to us, even comic, because they are often so stylised, declamatory, melodramatic and seem to have such unsubtle acting. We love them, but not because of their 'truth'. Well they do have their own 'truth', its just grown out of as ancient a tradition of acting as ours has, just as Japanese style acting in movies has done. Once again, its yet more evidence of the rich variety of how the world has responded to being human in different ways. Each culture expresses the same experiences in different styles. Some people hate it. They just like their own style - hence detractors of people like Kurosawa in Japan or Ray in India who were regarded as being to 'Western' or hostility towards 'foreign' films by people who think Cinema IS Hollywood. Me, I love the diversity. Give me more!

So more exciting experiences and more food for thought. It was in a state of real happiness that I made my way home at night. I woke up knackered the next day and decided to take it easy. I had booked an Ayurvedic Massage for twelve, rested in the hotel and set off. Instantly I found myself lost in Ernakulam! It wasn't an unpleasant situation, as as I moved around I discovered what a wonderful place it was. Again, miles away from Mumbai and full of the wonderful Keralnans with their goodwill and generosity. Its a prosperous place and clearly on the up. There were still open drains and smelly poo everywhere but it was so alive and colourful and buzzing I felt I could really grow to love the place.

The map wasn't worth shit, and everyone gave me slightly vague directions. Eventually I got into a rickshaw. The driver looked at the address. Looked puzzled for a moment then said '15 rupees' (less than 10p!). He then drove the rickshaw over the road and down a backstreet and there we were!

Ayurvedic medicine goes back thousands of years and is regarded as one of the many 'delusions' of the 'Irrational Health Service' by You Know Who. I am fascinated by it and wanted to know more about its methods, which rely on herbs, oils and a more holistic approach to medicine. Happy to count myself as one of the Deluded (as everyone knows I do) I was led to the massage room. You lie on a kind of table in a cotton thong and are covered in Ayurvedic Herbal Oil which is then massaged into every inch of your body. Its a strange but very relaxing sensation. Turning over is a problem as you are so slippery you fear you might fall onto the floor. The oils work over the body and cleanse the skin. You then sweat them out in a steam bath before a cold shower. After it you feel great... Although by the time I got back to the hotel I felt hot and sweaty again and looked a little green in the mirror because of the herbs! But it was a great experience and one I would recommend to anyone...

Then, a bit of a shock as I checked my bank balance! Clearly I had been spending more than I thought! A quick call to the bank sorted out what the problem was. I need to be a little more prudent, that was all. When I was told a little about interest rates in England my hair stood on end. You simply don't feel the global financial crisis out here but its very real in the UK. Checking exchange rates for the Rupee and the Turkish Lira I was shocked at how enfeebled the Pound had become. What was I going to be coming back to? Hmmm...

Well, a restful evening I think making sure not too much money pours out of my purse. Tomorrow a water cruise in the backwaters of Kerala then the next day a trip to Munnar (all booked before my bank shock!), all organised by the supremely friendly staff of BIJU's, so must conserve my energy!

We shall see what we shall see!