Mangalore
Our
bus came out of the jungle. After a long and winding road I could
see a view to the coast. We were approaching a big city by the ocean.
'What
place is this?' I asked.
'It's Mangalore', Sari replied.
'Where is Mangalore located? Is it in the west of India, north of
Kerala?'
'Yes, we're now arriving there.'
We
walked towards the beach full of rugged rocks. Some of the rocks protruded
out of the sea. The sea was rough, but between the rocks it was more
calm. Even so, the water was deep and the surface restless with ripples
and waves.
We
swam near the beach for some time. Then we got up from the sea in
an area where we could see warehouses, machines and cranes. 'We're
in the harbour,' I conjectured, 'The city centre must be in the north.'
We
continued on foot passing small huts and stores. Some of the shops
were Western in appearance, full of comsumer goods sold all over the
world.
We
popped into a nearby Spar. Our intention was to buy some snacks but
there was nothing in the store that appealed to us. All too Western
and mass-produced.
'Let's
go to a proper restaurant,' I said. 'No, that's too complicated,'
Sari protested, 'Let's just take some snacks with us.' 'OK,' I consented.
'But this shop doesn't have anything we need.'
Judging
from the increasing multitude of crowds, we were nearing the city
centre. I could see restaurants in almost every street. Getting quite
hungry, I couldn't help looking into the restaurants to see whether
they were any good. In the candle light most places looked cosy, serving
mostly fish and seafood: big portions in skewers, grilled or barbequed
in the tandoori oven. The food was served in a luxurious fashion;
each dish on its own plate shaped in a tower-like arrangement. The
spices were sparingly used, however. In some portions I couldn't detect
any traces of spices, only the colour of the fish itself.
Despite
the plethora of dishes, Sari still wasn't sure. So we skipped two
or three restaurants until we came to another one where we heard Finnish
language spoken inside. 'Tämä kalalajitelma oli oikein hyvä,'
we heard a woman saying, complimenting the fish assortment she had
just eaten. Curious, we stepped in and found a company of neatly dressed
business travellers sitting in a table. I wondered what the Finns
were doing here, as Managalore was not the most typical business contact
for Finnish companies. But quickly my attention was diverted to their
portions. These were similar to the ones we had seen in other restaurants:
huge portions of fish in a platter, almost like bakery products, where
the looks is just as important as the taste.
The
Finns had just stopped eating, so Sari took one fish from the plate
and asked whether she could have a taste? 'Of course you can,' the
woman replied, raising her eye brows, as half-eaten food disappeared
from her plate. 'The food is good,' the woman said, 'but it's a good
idea to ask to get the fish properly cooked. Otherwise the thicker
parts may still be raw, like this bit here.' We nodded and Sari took
no further taste bits, particularly as the waiter came to collect
the utensils.
The
business travellers added that it's worth taking an assortment of
fish or meat, like that big platter of chicken over there, where I
could see at least 30 chickens in one portion. They added it made
sense to order big portions, as the price was so cheap. 'It doesn't
matter if we cannot eat everything,' I replied, 'We can still afford
it, even if the price is higher for tourists.'
Sari
ordered an assortment of oven-fried fishes. I had two skewers of tiger
prawns.
