Obese Hong Kong food writer drops another size on India trek

I’m in Thiruvananthapuram for a spell, but fortunately not a spelling test. Better known as Trivandrum, Kerala’s state capital is my kind of town – there are museums, a weird restaurant and some shopping, which also turns weird.

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The Napier Museum has a small collection of figurines of Hindu gods and goddesses, a temple chariot and leather puppets from Javanese wayang kulit shadow theatre, and Balinese face masks. It also has a scale model of a boat made by the craftsmen of Beypore, where I saw dhows being built a few weeks ago. The Museum of History and Heritage is a brief tour through the ancient history of Kerala, including explanations of the early form of writing on the walls of the Edakkal Caves.

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At the other end of the 4km Mahatma Gandhi Road is the India Coffee House, which resembles a large terracotta dovecote. Inside the tables are arranged around a spiral ramp which is negotiated by waiters in uniforms with a great deal more military pomp than one might expect from a business that is a worker’s cooperative. The food is good but the coffee is superlative, the only decent one I’ve had in three visits to this tea-loving country.

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I stop to shop between the museums and the coffee house and cause quite some consternation when I try to buy my wife a sari. It takes me more than 10 minutes to convince the staff that I know what the garment is and that I am serious about buying one. I hope they believe it is for my wife and not me. Later I email a photo of it to my wife. She doesn’t like it.

I’ve come from Fort Cochin. I was mostly at the historic port to visit Jew Town. When my parents visited the area three decades ago there were still nine practising male Jews in the community and my father stood in as the 10th man needed to conduct a synagogue service. Now there are so few remaining Jews, even though the community has been in the town for possibly several millennia, they can muster a service just about once a month.

The area around the synagogue has become a tourist trap but the temple itself is very calming. The floor is made of 400-year-old Chinese willow pattern tiles, each said to be a little different. I don’t like to stereotype but can’t help irreverently wondering if the 17th century merchant who donated them hadn’t got a good deal on a job lot of seconds.

Fort Cochin is a nice place for walking, reminding me in many ways of the relaxed atmosphere of Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. There are lots of alleyways hiding quaint cafes and guest houses. A look into a courtyard might reveal an art gallery such as OED, where the modern art is by reputable artists and on sale for millions of rupees. Even the gallery postcards are handmade and cost Rs2,000 (HK$233) each.

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I also stop by the Hot Pepper gallery shop – just like many a gallery shop there’s not much stock but it’s artfully arranged and very pricey. On the other hand, I can’t find an actual attached gallery. Another shop, called Xara, which I think is a gallery shop, turns out to be the gift shop for the boutique Spice Harbour hotel. This also has the contemporary brushed concrete and steel restaurant 51 Xanaria that’s so good I come back the next day for more of its Mediterranean-influenced flavours.