The Bounty of the Hills: Coorg, India

By Supriya Savkoor

You may not have heard of this tiny place, one of tropical India’s most beautiful regions, but chances are, you’ve tasted one of its many edible delights.

Coorg, in the country’s southwestern mountain range – between the Arabian Sea and the Deccan Plateau, is a tiny, mostly rural region whose economy relies on its rich agriculture, plantations, and forestry. At its lowest elevation, Coorg, also known as Kodagu, is 3,000 feet above sea level, and 5,500 at its highest. Rainy season lasts a long time, close to half the year, and in some areas, receives more than 160 inches of rainfall a year. Just imagine the handsome produce from this weather. And the misty hills and lush, verdant valleys.

Coorg’s number one cash crop is coffee, which thrives in the region’s steepest, shaded areas, intercropped on plantations along with cardamom, peppercorns, vanilla beans, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, bananas, and oranges. Both practices, planting crops in the shade and intercropping with spices and fruits, are practices said to enhance the unique flavor of Indian coffees. You’ll find lots of rice paddies on the less steep parts of the hilly land. In the valleys, you’ll find ginger crops and meadows and, yes, more rice paddies. And in the forest, honey, rubber, bamboo, teak, sandalwood, and cocoa.

So much of Coorg’s way of life is tied to the land that even its major festivals revolve around it: Kailphodu, on September 3, the time when rice is transplanted, to aid in double cropping late season, and a ritual ceremony is performed to guard the crop from wild animals; in early October, Kaveri Sankramana, to venerate the holy river Kaveri that runs through the region; and Puttari, the rice harvest festival, around late November or early December.

In the last few decades, eco-tourism has become popular too. A number of fairly affluent Coorgis are turning their beautiful old plantation estates into guest houses, which are popular with tourists who want to enjoy all the amazing things to see and do in this verdant land – waterfalls, wildlife sanctuaries, several Tibetan settlements and monasteries, amazing scenery and natural vistas, the Kaveri river, an elephant camp, and lots of outdoor sports, such as whitewater rafting, rock climbing, camping, fishing, and so on.

Many Coorgis have settled into farming today, either as landowners or labourers, but they have a most interesting background, making up a unique Indian subculture. While most Coorgis practice Hinduism, they come from a tradition of ancestor worship as well as the martial arts. Their cuisine includes lots of pork and game dishes, alcohol flows freely, hunting is an age-old tradition, and the traditional garb for men includes a warrior’s uniform – dagger, pistol, and all – and for women, a very different style of wearing a sari.

The region has produced many well-known Indian generals, including the country’s first one after independence from the Brits. Coorgis are generally considered brave and aggressive, and they carry on their age-old tradition of warfare through their rituals, festivals, ceremonies, and weddings. Men perform martial art ceremonies at weddings. At the Kailphodu festival, the one where men prepare to guard their crops from wild animals, all the weapons are removed from the prayer room (owning guns is not much of an Indian tradition, but keeping them in the prayer room has to be even rarer). These guns are cleaned and decorated with flowers in the religious Hindu ritual known as puja. Sports and physical contests take place, including testing players’ marksmanship by firing their guns into coconuts tied atop tall trees.

But back to the coffee.

Legend has it that in the early 16^th century, a Sufi Muslim saint, Babubudan, during a pilgrimage to Mecca, smuggled seven beans of different varieties, from the Yemeni port of Mocha, wrapped the beans around his stomach, then planted them in the southern part of the Indian state of Karnataka, in which Coorg is located. The hill he planted them on, Chandragiri Hills, is now renamed Baba Budan Giri (giri meaning hill). Interesting side note: it was illegal to take coffee beans out of Arabia back then, but as the number seven is sacred in Islam, the saint’s carrying out of seven beans was considered a religious act. Make of his act what you will, but it did mark the beginning of the coffee industry in India.

Soon, coffee cultivation in India spread from southern Karnataka to the neighboring states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. And under British rule, coffee plantations in South India overall flourished so that the colonizers could export them around the world. Today, Karnataka produces two-thirds of all the coffee grown in India, the most common arabica and robusta. And while coffee houses, bars, and co-ops thrive in India itself, about 80% of its production is exported, mostly through the Suez Canal to Europe, the United States, and Japan. About a fourth of this export goes to Italy alone. Indian coffee is particularly popular in Europe for making espresso, as it has less acidity and more natural sweetness. These days, India's production of organic coffee is also taking off.

So the next time you sit down to a cup of arabica or robusta, check out the label. If it’s from India, chances are you’re tasting some of the country’s finest beans. Take a sip, close your eyes, and picture rolling hills and grand estates, and enjoy the result of seven stolen beans.

In With The Old – Mayan Agriculture

Photo by Hannes Grobe

I love history – learning about how things were invented, dynasties built and destroyed, how we’ve changed since the dawn of time. And now with two young kids in tow, my days are full of questions about the what, how, and why of things. As I’m a natural-born researcher, I love getting into the nitty-gritty with the kids as we go on fact-finding missions. This week was no different.

When we sat down to dinner last night, one of my cherubs asked about corn and how it is made. Of course, I know the basics, but this discussion about corn extended into the history of agriculture. Somehow we travelled from Australian suburbia into the land of the Mayans. And this is what we discovered:

One of the biggest challenges the Mayans faced was lack of land, poor soil conditions, and not enough water. As their population steadily increased, so did their need to develop sustainable farming methods.

Initially, the Mayans used a technique called milpa, a slash and burn practice that yields100% productivity in the first year but reduces to 60% in the second year and slightly less in subsequent years. In the spring, before the summer rain, the Mayans would cut down and burn all of the foliage in the area they’d selected to grow crops, then they would use sticks to poke holes in the soil and plant three or four seeds at a time. Maize, beans, avocados, and pumpkins were popular, as well as cacao, the basis for Mayan chocolate. (And who wouldn’t want that?) Their footprint on the land was very light. The Mayans had a rule of only using only 5% of their land for agriculture and allowing the rest to replenish. Crop rotations were a given.

As time wore on, the Mayans discovered the sediment from the bottom of swamps were an excellent source for fertilising the adjacent land. They dug irrigation trenches and created a way of watering their crops they could use year round, rather than rely solely on annual rainfall.

Uxmal - Photo by HJPD

As crop productivity grew, so did the population, and their newfound farming techniques meant they could feed those living close to the swamps easily.

They needed to find another way to supply others throughout the empire so they developed another new system. The Mirador Basin in Guatemala is a perfect example of how a small, swamp-side village grew into one of the largest Mayan cities. With more than 200 pyramids (two times more than in all of Egypt), the Mirador Basin took nearly 15 million man-days of labour to construct.

Around 200 A.D., a drought hit the land. As the crops died, many Mayans perished. They fled the cities for the green forests to forage for food, recreating the lifestyle of their ancestors. Some survived and the rains arrived, but this experience taught the Mayans a valuable lesson. The needed to design new ways to ensure their people wouldn’t suffer a similar fate again.

They designed and built reservoirs in the hills above cities and ensured the irrigation channels sloped down to the population and crops below. They also built new cities such as Tikal, Copan, and Palenque closer to their water supplies. The drainage, irrigation, and reservoir systems designed by the Mayans changed the landscape forever. Instead of a footprint that washed away in the rain, the Mayan’s new agricultural methods were literally set in stone.

When the population continued to increase the civilization buckled under the pressure to feed so many mouths. Instead of the initial 5% rule for crops, they deforested more than 80% of the land, affecting the climate they lived in. The average temperature increased by 10 degrees Fahrenheit and water evaporated much faster, causing yet another water shortage – this time a man-made problem. Scientists have since discovered this was the worst drought to hit the region in 7,000 years. Yeah, that bad.

Once again, those living in cities deserted them and moved to more verdant regions. This put a larger strain on those areas and the entire civilization collapsed like a house of cards. Some Mayans relocated to cities such as Chichen Itza and Uxmal, but many perished in the forest en route. The drought eventually ended in the 9^th century but the damage to the Mayan civilization had been done. Those who did survive returned to the ways of their ancestors yet again and for 700 years they constructed towns in jungles that served them well by hiding themselves when the Spanish arrived in 1517.

Cacao - Photo by U.S. Department of Agriculture

Today, we use many of the Mayan’s farming methods. Terraced farms, reservoirs, forest gardens and managed fallows are popular ways of cultivating crops around the world, although today’s farmers have adapted most to suit modern-day needs.

So as corn juice flies across the dinner table whilst my kids crunch on tasty corn, they can thank the Mayans for finding ingenious ways to ensure this species of food didn’t disappear. Tonight I’m cooking lentils for dinner. I wonder if we’ll take that historical journey after dessert. What’s on your plate tonight?

The Tea Smuggler of Gilan

Photo by Reza Rezaei

When you drive north along the Chalous Road through Iran’s Alborz Mountains, the craggy cliffs and narrow ravines eventually give way to green forests until finally you spot a glimpse of the Caspian Sea, cobalt blue on a clear day, dusty gray under cloud cover. Drive west on the coastal road that hugs the seashore, and you’ll watch the misty mountains of Mazandaran Province descend to the rice paddies of Gilan. An hour or two later, the landscape changes again into rolling hills covered by a knobby-shaped vegetation. The countryside here is a vast mat of camellia sinensis—better known as tea.

In a nation that boasts 2,500 years of history, Iran’s tea industry is still in its salad days. It all started just over a century ago with a cloak-and-dagger story of subterfuge, espionage, and smuggling.

In the late 1800s, an Iranian prince named Mohammed Mirza (also known as Kashef ol Saltaneh) traveled to India as consul with the goal of learning the tea trade run by the British. But India’s Colonial rulers kept tight control over their precious tea plantations, so the prince went undercover as a French laborer. He learned how to grow, harvest, and process tea and later smuggled 2,000 plants out of the country under the shield of his diplomatic immunity. Mohammed Mirza planted his illicit crop in Lahijan, a city nestled in the green hills of Gilan. Lahijan remains a center of tea production today, as attested by the enormous statue of a teapot on the road leading into town.

Photo by Vivid Colors of Fouman

Several years ago, my husband and I visited a family-run tea farm in Lahijan and received a tour of the fields and processing shed. We drove up a dusty track through tidy rows of evergreen plants that reminded me of the low-bush blueberries I’d seen in the Vermont hills of my youth. A few of the Lahijan tea plants were in bloom, displaying a seven-petalled white flower with an orange center. (Blooming is usually prevented by the harvest, but we arrived in the off-season.)

Some plantations in Gilan use mechanical harvesters, but this one, our guide explained, preferred local laborers who plucked the leaves by hand and gathered the harvest in big woven baskets.

Only the tips of the plant are harvested (the top two leaves and a bud). Over the growing season, the tea is picked three times, and each harvest is called a “flush.” The first flush, in early spring when the new leaves and buds appear after their winter’s dormancy, produces the best quality tea.

The harvested tea is spread out in troughs through which air is blown to wilt the leaves, a process known as “withering.” After that, the leaves are rolled to release enzymes that promote the next step of fermentation. This is a form of oxidation that creates the black tea consumed in every Iranian home.

Lahijan plantations produce the best quality tea grown in Iran, a rich, amber-colored brew. But today, many Iranians prefer imports from India and Sri Lanka, which is putting a tremendous strain on the local tea industry. With a population of 70 million, Iran is the world’s fifth largest importer of tea according to the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization.

Ironically, the most popular brand of imported tea is Ahmad, a London-based company whose blends come from tea varieties grown in India, Sri Lanka, and Africa. So perhaps, in the end, the British got their revenge on the wily Prince Mohammed Mirza of Lahijan.

Off The Beaten Track: Happy New Year!

Photo by Algont

سال نو مبارك

 (sal-e no mobarak)

Guten Rutsch!

Feliz Año Nuevo!

Naye Varsh ki Shubh Kamnaye!

Buon Anno!

С Новым Годом!

(s novim godom)

გილოცავთ ახალ წელს

wan bun nyun yari

The Christmas Witch

By Patricia Winton

The Befana at St. Peter's

Who flies across the world on a cold winter night filling children’s stockings with presents? Santa Claus? Well, yes, but not on the night of January 5. That’s the Befana, a good witch adored by Italian adults and children alike.

January 6 is Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas, marking the arrival of the three Wise Men at the manger with gifts for the baby Jesus. It’s also a national holiday in Italy, marking the last day of the Christmas season.

According to an Italian legend, the Magi stopped at an old woman’s hut on the night of January 5, asking for directions to the Christ child. The old woman didn’t know, so they asked her to join them. She told them that she was too busy cleaning her house.

Later, when she saw the bright star, she changed her mind and went in search of the manger bearing gifts but didn’t find it. In one version of the legend, she became so distraught at being unable to find the child that she cried. Her tears fell onto her broom, which in her haste she had brought along. The purity of her tears gave magical powers to the broom, allowing her to fly on it.

In another version, she has lost a child, perhaps killed by Herod's men who were charged with destroying all newborns to prevent a Savior coming into the world. In her quest, she found the Christ child and thought it was her baby. The baby Jesus was so sympathetic that he gave her broom its magical powers and allowed her to be the mother of all children for one night each year.

Candy coal is ready, just in case
there are naughty children.

Since then, every year on the night of January 5, the Befana flies all over the world, filling good children’s stockings with presents and candy and leaving lumps of coal for bad ones. Because she is a good housekeeper, she may also sweep a bit.



The Befana tradition has existed on the Italian peninsula for centuries, and it may have its origin in an ancient Roman celebration called Saturnalia, which began around winter solstice and lasted for about ten days. At the end of the festival, Romans went to the Capitoline hill to have their augurs (fortunes) read, perhaps by an old woman.



The Befana is dressed in old, tattered clothing with a shawl on her shoulders and a scarf on her head. She carries her gifts in a bundle on her back. She’s smudged with soot because she comes through the chimney like Santa Claus (how does his beard stay so white?).



The Regatta della Befana in Venice

Before the children go to bed on January 5, they put out treats for the Befana, including a small glass of wine. Tradition has it that if you see the Befana, she thumps you with her broom. That may have been an inducement created by parents to get the children off to bed early!

 

Today, there are celebrations throughout Italy both on the evening of the fifth and on Epiphany itself with processions, fireworks, and more. In Vatican City, people in medieval dress march to St. Peter’s with gifts for the Pope; in Venice, the Regatta della Befana is raced on the Grand Canal; in Florence, a medieval parade marches from the Pitti Palace across the Ponte Vecchio to the cathedral.



When I’m asked what we do for Befana in America and I say we don’t have Befana, people—old and young alike—are stunned. They shake their heads in wonder. No Befana! How can that be?

Celebrating New Beginnings

On May 30, 1845, eleven years after slavery was abolished, a ship called Fatel Razack landed on the shores of Trinidad and Tobago, depositing the first boatload of indentured servants from India. These workers would go on to work on the islands’ many sugar plantations, settling down, raising families, and planting their own roots in the Caribbean. Like many of their own names, even the name of that ship they arrived on, Fatel Razack, was a permutation of the original, in this case from the Arabic phrase “Fath al Razak,” which means “Victory to Allah the Sustainer.”

A hundred years later, in 1945, the Indian citizens of Trinidad and Tobago marked the centenary with a procession and ceremony, calling the celebration Indian Arrival Day. It was attended by a number of public officials, such as the acting governor representing the UK, and with greetings read from other noted dignitaries such as Mahatma Gandhi. Celebrations of the event, akin to the Mayflower landing in North America, continued on and off over the next few decades with less success than that first one and under different names, until 1995 when Prime Minister Patrick Manning declared the date of the 150^th anniversary of the ship’s arrival as a permanent public holiday.

Between 1845 and 1917, more than 140,000 Indians emigrated to Trinidad alone, and today, ethnic Indians (East Indians as they're known in the Caribbean) celebrate Indian Arrival Day, mainly in the Caribbean, on different dates depending on country, but elsewhere as well. May 5, 1838, in Guyana. May 10, 1845, in Jamaica. June 5 in Suriname. In Fiji, where the event is known as Girmit, on May 14, 1879. In Mauritius, November 2. According to a number of Internet sources, the event is also celebrated in Australia, Britain, Canada, Martinique, New Zealand, South Africa, and the United States.

Nowhere is it more popular than Trinidad and Tobago, though, where it’s a public holiday with at least a dozen melas (parties) thrown across the islands. On some levels, it’s a controversial holiday. Some suggest taking out the word “Indian,” for why should any one group get to celebrate their arrival when so many others hail from other lands and cultures as well?

Whatever your position on that subject, Trinidadian blogger Nicholas Laughlin makes an interesting observation about arrival day itself:

“I suppose I wish I knew exactly when my ancestors first arrived in Trinidad, and maybe a few days' research at the National Archives would turn up some answers, but I find I'm far less interested in the moment of arrival itself and far more interested in the new journey that 'arrival' begins – in the process by which wanderers, exiles, prisoners, and explorers make of the disjecta membra of many old worlds, something new and strange and perhaps, in the original sense of the world, wonderful.

We reach. And the journey now start[s].

Bon voyage to us all.”

Well put, Nicholas. And Happy New Year to us all as well. May our 2012 be filled with adventures galore and rich, rewarding journeys. 

Carnival Peruvian Style - Cajamarca

It doesn’t matter what time of year you travel in South America, as chances are, you’ll come across a festival. Of course, some festivals are bigger than others, like Rio Carnival, but from experience, I find the smaller ones more fun.

The first time I had a water balloon smash into me was in Cajamarca, Peru. I’d travelled there in the hope of catching the all-important Peruvian Carnival and I was far from disappointed, though a tad drenched by the end of my visit.

Situated in the northern highlands, the equatorial climate makes visiting the hot springs and Inca ruins an unforgettable experience, and combined with the festivities, Cajamarca should be on the must-see list for every traveller who wants an adventure.

Cajamarca is one of the most important historical regions in Peru. This is where the Incan Empire collapsed and the colonial era began. Back in the 18^th century, the Spanish chroniclers described the city as “large and beautiful”, and it is still, despite the bloody history.

When I travelled to Cajamarca it was late February and the celebrations of the Peruvian Carnival were well underway. Entire neighbourhoods united in a noisy, fun-filled event that is now etched in my memory forever. The combination of music, art, literature, and humour appealed to my sensibilities and was the perfect representation of ancient and modern traditions.

Women sat atop brightly decorated floats and paraded through Plaza de Armas and the surrounding streets. Creativity ran rampant during these celebrations and the locals came up with astounding costumes made of papier maché, feathers and all manner of cloth. Musicians continually played upbeat music and people danced in the streets, waving decorated banners, streamers, and yes, throwing water bombs filled with talcum powder and/or water.

One of the drawcards to this particular festival is the bawdy and satirical improvised lyrics people invented about daily life. I wish I could remember the exact lines of the ditties, but all I can recall is many were men lamenting how hard it is to understand women and their observations resulted in tears of laughter pouring down the faces of both sexes. The festival also celebrates the region’s products, including wine, custard apples, guitars, limes and oranges, hydrangeas, healers and sombreros.

Ño Carnavalón is the festival’s spirit and king of the carnival. He makes an appearance at the beginning of the event and moves throughout the crowds as people sing and dance. At the end of the carnival Ño Carnavalón is ceremoniously burnt, covered then buried by the villagers.

I’ve been lucky enough to experience many festivals throughout the Americas, but Cajamarca is one that still lives on in my heart. The warm, friendly people and combination of tradition, culture, and craft is fabulous. The best part, though? Getting involved in a water balloon fight and being covered head to toe in water and talcum powder and looking something like the Pillsbury Doughboy. My sides ached for days from so much laughter.