In the evening, I arrive in Kochi. As I step outside the airport to look for a taxi, I run into two English chaps who’ve already ordered one. They’re heading in the same direction, so I join their ride. During the 1 hour long drive, we easily kill the time chatting about our travels.
I haven’t booked a place to stay yet, they have. I figure there’ll be enough options online after they told me where they’re going, so I’ll sort it out when I arrive. Around 11 PM I find myself wandering the quiet streets of Kochi. The first hostel is full, but the second one has space. I crash straight into bed, ready for a new day in Kochi.
There isn’t a ton to do here, at least based on my research. Still, by 9 AM I’m strolling through the streets, noticing the beautiful architecture, a mix of Dutch, Portuguese, and British houses, mostly low-rise. The city sits on a kind of peninsula, surrounded by water. Kochi is known for its port, and also for Vasco da Gama, who landed here around the year 1500. My history lessons make his name ring a bell, though I’ve long forgotten the exact year of his arrival. I once earned an exam point for knowing..
I visit the church where he was buried and lay for a few years before his brother decided it was too far from home and had him moved to Lisbon. The church is small but beautiful. I walk around barefoot, enjoying the peace. When I stand over the simple stone slab marked by a wooden frame, I realize Vasco da Gama definitely wasn’t 1.95 meters tall. There’s really nothing much to see — just the thought that he once lay here. Right above it, on the wall, is a Dutch gravestone:
“Hieronder leij ten rust D’e Adriaan van Lier Oppercoopman in dienst der… 1680.”
Quite a few years have passed since then, yet there’s still that Dutch presence. Man oh man, I think, what a mess those Dutch must have made here. Not exactly a source of pride. Still, it’s impressive how well preserved everything is.
I continue along the waterfront and watch fishermen using ancient techniques. The method dates back to 1680, maybe even earlier. A massive net, four men around it, some large stones as counterweights and every 5–10 minutes they haul in a surprising catch. The seaweed and fish are neatly separated and sold later at the market that opens around 10. Tradition. Some things don’t need technology and guarantee even AI will never replace these fishermen.
The architecture continues to amaze me as I wander through Kochi’s streets. AI does help me find what else there is to see. The Mattancherry Palace pops up, also known as the Dutch Palace. Sounds good, let’s check it out! Inside, I see wall paintings from centuries ago depicting Hindu gods and myths. A little further, there’s a detailed map of Kochi’s coastline the Dutch influence is on point. The precision, the scale, the legend, the numbering, the version control, it’s a masterpiece, especially knowing it was done by hand in 1680, without modern tools.
I realize that, aside from the land-grabbing, exploitation, and slavery, there was also immense craftsmanship behind these works, craftsmanship that still shapes the streets and buildings today. “Plan of the Fortifications of Cochin.” Looking at these drawings, I think this is just the tip of the iceberg. Behind them were probably hundreds of people and countless versions leading up to this final result. When you stay consistent at something for a long time, masterpieces like this are the outcome. In today’s fast world — where even I rely on Google Maps to walk 300 meters — seeing something like this reminds you that anything is possible.
After admiring the palace and the exhibits about the Indian ruler who drove out the colonizers, I check it off my “been there, done that” list and grab lunch by the water. I have a little tradition — like the one with Davey — of dedicating a lunch voucher to my grandparents. €8 this time, so I make sure it’s worth it.
After lunch, I wander from the Dutch Palace to a Hindu temple and then to Jew Town — a Jewish quarter where there’s not much to see except the oldest active synagogue in the Commonwealth. It’s built just one wall away from the Hindu temple, showing to me that different faiths really can coexist. People seem a bit relieved, though at first, I don’t understand why. The war is still ongoing as far as I know. I jokingly send a photo to Naama, who tells me it’s a special day — the release of prisoners. I immediately think, “Maybe those world leaders did read my blog,” where I joked about needing someone like Gandhi to make that happen.
Other than that, Kochi doesn’t have a whole lot going on. So, time to change course. I decide to head to Alleppey. Without hesitation, I take the train after just one night. The 60 km trip takes hours. This time I sit in the wrong class on purpose and eventually have to upgrade from €0.40 to €2.30.
When I arrive, it’s dark around 7 PM and I haven’t booked anything. I open Google Maps, and the first thing I see is “Dutch Square Hostel.” Trusting my intuition (and the day’s Dutch theme), I end up in an old colonial-style villa. No Dutch people here, but the host is kind and tries to pronounce Nijmegen and Den Haag really emphasising that Dutch “G.”
I came here for a backwaters boat trip, where you can stay overnight on the water. It’s pricey about €140 a night. You board at noon and return at 9 AM after breakfast. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s a romantic thing for couples or families. Not really my vibe as I can’t exactly recreate the Titanic scene on my own. The host tells me another guest is doing a shorter 3-hour sunrise tour. I don’t make a decision which, in a way, is a decision. The decision is made for me, and I’m paired with Harbinder, a 60-year-old American with Indian roots who’s lived in Sacramento for 40 years.
He speaks Hindi, moved to the US when he was young, and I have a lot of respect for him, traveling solo at his age, not too proud to stay in hostels. We click right away. Two early birds — up at 5:30 AM — and an hour later, we’re watching an incredible sunrise from a Venetian-style canoe. “Almost romantic,” I joke. Well, at least more romantic than being alone.
On the water, we see beautiful morning scenes, people bathing and washing with soap in the river. It reminds me of Vinkeveen back home narrow paths surrounded by water. A quick search tells me this whole landscape was made possible partly thanks to Dutch-style water management.
Back at the hostel, Harbinder says he’s heading to Varkala exactly where I’m planning to go too, since a former colleague is there on a yoga retreat. She’s extended her stay, and I know Varkala will be my southernmost stop before heading north again.
We’re a good match which is lucky, since the train is delayed by five hours. We chill in the AC waiting room, share cookies, and take turns watching each other’s bags while the other goes out to eat. Outside the station, I realize it’s a more Islamic area. With an imam’s voice echoing in the background, I eat chicken and rice with my hands, noticing how men and women sit separately.
Back at the station, Harbinder suddenly asks me a question — not just any question a special one:
“What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done?”
It hits me. My mind goes blank for a second or two. I could name something flashy but I don’t. Nothing immediately comes to mind. Of course, I’m proud of plenty of things but nothing feels like the answer. Then Harbinder says:
“You should do EBC, man. You’re young, athletic, you’ve got time, and a good understanding of life.”
EBC — Everest Base Camp. The idea sticks. He tells me about his trips to Nepal and other places, though he hasn’t done EBC himself. The long wait and train ride give the idea time to grow — the seed is planted.
“No rush,” he says. “See if it fits, finish your India trip first.”
In Varkala, I plan to rest for at least two nights at a cozy homestay. After the train ride, I take a long shower, crawl into bed, and think, maybe he’s the one who not only asked the question, but also gave me the answer. With that thought, I drift off to sleep exhausted from the long day of waiting and traveling.
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