Sunday in the South

8:15 A.M. here, lakeside, and it’s a day off for my neighbors, the mussel fishermen, so it’s even quieter than usual except for the sounds of their bathing and hawking.  One man just waded in and then he waded out.

Tropical rains yesterday afternoon and then late at night, but this morning it is hot and overcast and so steamy that moisture condenses on the surfaces of things.

It was all India yesterday in terms of food: Marsala dosa, Aleppy chicken, and then a fried chicken dish (leg, thigh) accompanied by a spicy aloo.  This food is subtle and deeply flavorful far moreso than the north.  I imagined the European traders centuries ago arriving from diets of boiled mutton and wheat or corn porridge tasting the food here: “Whoa, got to have some of this!,” must have been the reaction.  So finding the local kings, they probably said, “Hey, you hate poor people?  Me, too!  We’ll give you more stuff and support your reign with guns and all you have to do is sell us spices and keep the locals under control.  Deal?  Deal!”

I realize I may be simplifying matters somewhat.

Anyhow, here we are some 500 years later, which is even longer in dog years, what, something like 3500 years, and things are still a mess!

A different fisherman has waded in, removed his loincloth, and is slapping it clean.

 

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