East Coast to West Coast

Early March

I was ready to get to Pondicherry, even though it was a big city. I wanted to see for myself the French influences in the architecture, perhaps rekindle my spoken French and find out more about the nearby international community of Auroville.

 

Pondicherry didn’t disappoint. ..at first. We jumped off the bus after a two hour jaunt from Mamalapurram, arriving in a busy bus station, ignoring the taxi touts while walking towards the city centre to find a hotel. The heat and humidity is building the further south we travel. Sweat continuously streams down my face and body.  We checked out a few budget hotel options, but they were either full or not what we were looking for. We stopped for lunch at a KFC. Raven had never eaten at KFC, even in Canada, and she loved her chicken and fries. She loved it so much, she picked her bone, then Heath’s right clean. In India there are always vegetarian items on the menu. I went upstairs to the eating area to stay with our bags while Heath and Raven ordered. Secretly I was hoping for some creamy dressing-laden KFC coleslaw remembered from my youth, but that wasn’t on the menu. I was brought some tasty vegie fingers instead. The best part of KFC was the air conditioning. When you first enter the building it feels like a winter’s day, then, as your body gets acclimatized and finally has a chance to cool down, you feel ‘Canadian normal’. When you leave it is like walking into a wall of heat and humidity. If you have ever been to Florida- it is exactly the same experience. As nice as the instant cooling can be, we still think the air-con is overkill. We may choose to eat in a few air-con restaurants, but we never choose them for our hotel rooms. So far ceiling fans have been doing an adequate job of moving the air and keeping us cool, letting our bodies slowly acclimatize to India. 

After lunch we wandered into the information centre for Auroville and the local Sri Aurobindo ashram. The ‘Mother’ as she is known, was a French woman that created and continued much of the infrastructure and foundations of her guru, Aurobindo, after he passed. The Mother passed away (“left this earth”) in 1973 at the age of 93. The ashram delivers many services to the Pondicherry community, including facilitating schools, orphanages, women’s centers and more.  They even run clean and comfortable guest houses for the ‘mother lovers’, and other tourists. Unfortunately the info center receptionist could tell us only limited information. He let us know there was a room in the New Guest House, but not inform us how much rooms were.  Raven and I stayed at the info centre while Heath ran over to see about the room, saving us from carting our bags across town if it didn’t work out.

Mother Earth chose that time to make a huge downpour. A torrential tropical rain saturated everything in minutes. Raven ran out into the courtyard and danced in the warm rain, but poor Heath was stuck walking in it. When he returned he was drenched from head to toe, even his boots were wet. Luckily he was able to report that there was an affordable room for us, and the rain stopped. We trooped to the guest house and signed in.

The signing in process at most Indian hotels is very information-gathering intensive. My little joke is that it won’t be long before they start asking for blood samples, with the amount of information required of tourists, in triplicate. They say it is for the protection of the tourists, as one form gets handed to the tourist police. Among address details they want to have everyone’s passport and visa numbers, dates of arrival in India, coming from, going to, etc. etc. etc. They may or may not run down the street to make passport copies, depending if the hotel has a copier, or if the power is out. It can take a while to check in.

The New Guest House was clean and comfortable. In the lobby there was a garden with plants, a koi pond and a fountain.  Because it was associated with the Sri Aurobindo ashram there were reasonable rules about no alcohol drinking, curfews and quietness. The guesthouse was located a few blocks from the ocean promenade walk, in the rich, touristy hotel part of town. The boulevards reminded me of France. They were clean, wide, and pedestrian friendly due to the lack of traffic.  I instantly loved it. It was a visual and aural break from the honking horns and chaotic traffic of India, which I desperately needed at that point in the trip. I wanted to stay for a long time, envisioning myself taking daily meditation sessions at the ashram. There wasn’t a swimming beach in front of Pondy, but it didn’t matter to me.

The next day we tried to find out more about Auroville and the ashram. We had reached the conclusion that staying in the international community was unfortunately out of our budget, but we wanted to experience the place, as well as the ashram located in town. There was a severe lack of information to be had. It was beginning to seem like a cult, or perhaps more like a secret society. Devotees could access things, but it seemed like they weren’t interested in giving out information or teaching anyone about the philosophy to canvass new devotees!

We visited the ashram in town, and were directed to parade barefoot through the garden, stopping briefly at Mother’s and Aurobindo’s tomb and shrine, before being funneled through the gift shop, like any western tourist attraction. We purchased a couple postcards and asked at the till if there were any opportunities for volunteering, or …anything…anything… a traveler might be able to do to get a better understanding of the philosophy...Nothing. Just the nightly meditation.

One night I walked to the meditation place, and was refused access because I didn’t have a pass from my hotel. I had walked there, arriving only a few minutes before it started, and had no time to run back and get a pass. No one had mentioned I needed a pass, even when Heath had asked at check in, and at the ashram gift shop. This infuriated me. This part of mis-information in India pisses me right off. We had been asking everywhere about getting more involved and coming up empty handed.  I have to be honest and disclaim that I let my frustration out on the door guy, as well as our hotel reception manager. 

The next day we rented bicycles from our hotel. Sit up, single gear, rat trap, old school, hard seated bicycles. Riding in Indian traffic felt like the most dangerous thing I have done in my life. We wanted to ride the 12 kms to Auroville and inquire at their visitors centre about making an appointment to view the Matrimandir and perhaps double checking about affordable lodgings. The Matrimandir is supposed to be the spiritual and physical center of Auroville, housing a meditation center with the largest solid crystal in the world. Aurovillians also eat many of their meals in a solar kitchen, and we wanted to see that, too.  There were no signs on the main road to point the correct way to Auroville, so we overshot it, and went in by a back windy country roadway. It was so incredible hot. We eventually came to within stone’s throw of where we wanted to be and stopped at a store for cold drinks. We were told we had another 4 kms to ride, but had just missed the morning opening times to the visitor’s center. It was too hot to wait around. Raven had had a really hard time of the morning, what with the heat and the traffic. We left, back the way we came, and tried to find a swimming beach, but the beaches here were nasty fishing village style, and Heath didn’t want to swim. We dispiritedly rode back to Pondy, bought a watermelon and sat in the park to eat it, as we couldn’t bring ‘outside food’ into the hotel. 

 

At some point along the way I gave up caring about Auroville or the Sri Aurobindo ashram. They could have it. Heath hadn’t wanted to stay long in town, instead head to the next beach, and after a few fruitless experiences at achieving enlightment, I agreed with him. In rebellion to their ‘secret society’ rules I bought a small bottle of Indian wine (from Goa) and poured myself a glass in the hotel room. Unfortunately it was 16% and tasted pretty nasty, so my rebellion drink was curtailed by my taste buds, not my conscience. 

We had previously purchased overnight 2^nd class sleeper train tickets to the west coast state of Kerala, but they were dated for the 18^th of March. We were ready to leave Pondicherry by the 9^th. We decided to reschedule the tickets, but unfortunately all the trains were sold out. We decided to refund the tickets and take the bus. We almost upgraded to first class train, but Heath convinced us to take the bus, as we could ‘spend the extra money’ on tut tuts and nicer hotels. This logic defied me, as it would make the journey longer, because travel by bus isn’t as fun, so we’d stretch it out to 3 days, and see some other sights along the way.

On the beach, looking up at Coffee Temple

We completed our journey in 2 stops, staying overnight in Tiruchirappali, or ‘Trichy’, an inland town known for its rock fort temples, in the state of Tamil Nadu, before arriving in Varkala, in the state of Kerala, on March 12. We rolled into the nearest large town to Varkala by overnight bus (not the most restful sleep ever) then caught a half hour journey by commuter train to Varkala. From the town proper, we hired at tut tut to the top of Cliffside, the tourist beach side resort area. 

Back in Nepal, while perusing a recommended UK volunteer website called Work Away, I knew there was an English run cafe called Coffee Temple that offered lodgings and food in exchange for serving.  Their accommodations were full when we arrived, but we found a lovely breezy pink hotel to stay in at our budgeted rate of 400Rs a night. Food is more expensive in this tourist mecca, but Raven and I have been enjoying volunteering 4-5 hours a morning in exchange for drinking quality coffee (real Kerala beans and an espresso machine) and eating scrambled eggs and beans on toast. This not only offsets the cost, but this way we can also indulge in fresh fruit juices ‘juiced’ by us.  Raven took right away to serving. She enjoys making fresh juices and whipping up frozen frappes, taking orders, making change and hasn’t ever complained about doing dishes.  Truthfully, I was a little worried about being bored here (in paradise!). How would I fill the two weeks before our scheduled time in the hugging mother ashram? The pounding surfable waves scare me, and I couldn’t be out in the sun all day long. Volunteering fit the bill. Heath spends his morning happily body surfing, while Raven and I enjoy the company of the regulars, staff and other volunteers at the café.

The coffee shop, like most of the restaurants here are ‘open concept’. There aren’t any walls or doors, and most seats overlook the ocean. Working in an Indian restaurant is an interesting experiment in health and safety. ‘Training’ was typically Indian (2 minutes). We learnt on the fly. Speaking of fly, flies and ants are everywhere. Once I brought home a frappe to Raven, as she had left earlier than I, without really noticing the ants that had crawled into the syrup container to drown a sticky death. Well, to be truthful, I had noticed them, but I poured the sugar in after making the frappe, thinking that the nozzle would filter them out. Raven didn’t notice the dead ants until she had mostly finished her drink, (which she then couldn’t finish, even when told people do eat ants- Heath happily/nonchalantly finished it). When I explained my rational to her, she plainly stated, “How do you think they got in, mum?” Good point, she is one smart cookie!

Beanu, Lizzy and Shouman

There are three paid staff at the cafe, as well as the English owner that lives in India about half the year. Varkala attracts tourists mainly during the dry season, so December to April is the busy season. The barista, Beenu, told me he works as a masseuse the rest of the year, and I am not sure what the cook and the prep cook/dishwasher does the rest of the year. They are super nice people, with varying degrees of English. Lizzy is a sweet young volunteer from America that we have also gotten to know.

I got to practice first aid one day. I notice the prep cook, Chuchi, walking around with bloody gauze on her toe. Everyone in this country wears open toed shoes, because it is hot, but also because wearing shoes inside businesses and homes are taboo, so it is easy to slip off a sandal and leave at the entrance. Restaurants are different, where most workers and eaters leave their shoes on. Chuchi looked like she was in some pain, so when the morning rush slowed, I got her to sit so I could take a look at it. The mass of bloodied gauze made it seem like it was worse than the just skin off her toe, but because she had wrapped it in adherent dressing- it must have hurt a bit when I soaked it off. I cleaned it up for her and taped it up. The cook at some point asked Raven if I was a doctor, and she replied ‘yes’ as she heard differently. I had a good laugh later, when he asked me, “You, doctor?”.

Hard at work or hardly working?

For the past two weeks or so, I had been tired and crampy due to gastro-intestinal issues. I think I picked up a bug in Pondy when I ordered a roadside pineapple juice that was made by blender, not juicer. Now I know that when juice is made by blender, one must add water. I think this guy added tap water instead of drinking water. Eventually, after two weeks of not overcoming my discomfort and fatigue on my own, I ended up taking a course of the anti-biotics we brought specifically for “travelers diarrhea”. Like magic, three days later, I felt ‘right as rain’. This is a great thing, because now my body can tolerate coffee. I start my day with a tasty latte, then intersperse my morning shift with fresh juiced pineapple and oranges, lemons soda, and a fruit salad of pineapple, papaya, banana and curd topped with fresh grated coconut.

Taking a scrambled egg and iced coffee break

I’ve only dropped and broken two bits of crockery so far. Beanu tells me to ‘slow down’.  As in “take a deep breath and relax”. The funny thing is, I haven’t been stressing at all about working here, but I do tend to keep moving, there is usually always something that can be done. The second time he told me this, we were in the kitchen and he spread his hand out to example the laid back cook, and the dirty kitchen facility. There is some kind of a white liquid cleaner that they sprinkle onto the floor, and leave to dry, but I can’t figure out how that works. There is no scrubbing involved. (My kind of cleaning!) Dishes are done in cold water, by hand with a kind of bar soap. They may air dry or get dried on a reasonably clean towel. The curd for the fruit salad is left to drain, open for the bugs to land in, if they wish. Ants are continuously trying to get into the sweet stuff like honey and fruit. Obviously, things are clean ‘enough’.  No one gets sick. All the restaurants operate like this one and we have been surviving ok.  Here, in tourist land ice cubes are made with filtered or bottled water. It would be death to a restaurant if they got consistently bad ratings on websites like Trip Advisor.

Travel has changed with the advent of the internet. People sit with their phones in WiFi areas and can instantly access maps and ratings for restaurants in the area they are visiting. Temple Coffee has WiFi, and music is played through the laptop at the bar, through an on line music sharing website. Sometimes when it is slow, Raven checks her facebook updates. Café Temple is listed in Trip Advisory. The café has excellent ratings. (Raven was very impressed by this).

This listing stopped us stop cold: “Cook tried to stab customer with a knife”

Reviewed January 25, 2013

Walked into the coffee temple this morning as it looked cool and had a good name. They have pictures of different Indian gurus on the wall like Yogananda and Amma which is inviting. About two minutes into ordering our meal, one of the cooks from the kitchen bursts out of the kitchen brandishing a knife swinging it at a customer he got in an argument with. Everyone was cussing.
The owner didn't do anything other than to tell the cook "easy, easy".
No thanks. I left immediately. 

We asked Beeanu about it. He replied, very calmly “Oh that was me. “ This coming from the massage therapist who is reminds me to slow down!   What??!

Beeanu articulated the story something like this: apparently there was an irritable tourist, a ‘regular’ who frequently gave the volunteers and staff grief for food that wasn’t cooked to his liking, etc. This one day he started getting into it with a male volunteer –they argued and then he grabbed the guy by his shirt- Beeanu came from the kitchen where he had been chopping pineapple with a large knife and he started yelling and gesturing angrily to the tourist with the knife (forgetting that he still had it in his hand), coming to the rescue of the volunteer.  Beanu finished the story with: “He never came back”.

Chillin at Chilika Lake

Chilika Lake turned out to be an absolute gem. We took a bus down to Satapada, at the end of the northern peninsula that forms the mouth of the lake. This is the jumping off point for dolphin trips. We were planning on spending a couple nights there, but the town is set up mostly for day-trippers from Puri. The government hotel, the Yatri Nivas, is the only place to stay, and it looks pretty rough on the outside, but has huge, clean rooms with amazing views from the balcony. The restaurants all close early, around 5:00, after the tour boats have returned, so we had to eat at the hotel. We wanted to go on a short boat trip, as sightings of the rare Irrawaddy dolphins are pretty much guaranteed. We agreed on a price for a 1 1/2 hour trip, skipping the detour to see some red crabs, and jumped aboard the Thai-style long tail boat. Our boat driver got a great deal, because we hadn't gone 3 minutes off the dock when we spotted our first dolphin. We doubled back, shut the motor off, and spent the entire time anchored, watching these strange looking, snub-nosed dolphins hunt and frolic. They don't have a 'beak' like the bottle-nosed dolphin, just a bulbous head, adapted to feeding in murky lagoons and rivers. Quick and easy, our boat trip was over in plenty of time to catch the ferry across the lake. By chance, we'd read in a newspaper that the annual Olive Ridley sea turtle nesting was finally happening. We were hoping to be here for the hatching phase, so we could help return the hatchlings to the sea, but the turtles are very late this year. If conditions aren't right, the females will reabsorb their eggs and return to the deep ocean off Sri Lanka. Even when everything goes well, they only come ashore during a 7-10 day period, so our window to witness this natural spectacle would be a small one. The information on this area is very sparse, so you really have to be adventurous and confident in your ability to safely and enjoyably explore on your own here. Right after the dolphin spotting trip, we picked up our bags from the hotel and went to the rusty steel ferry dock, ready for the three hour trip across the lake to Barkul. On the western shore of the 1100 square kilometer lake, Barkul is a short bus ride north of Rambha, the closest place to stay for turtle watching, which is about 20 kilometers from the nesting site.

It was going to be one of those days where you have no idea how things will turn out. Things could be straightforward, and you might find a beautiful, cheap hotel with an excellent restaurant, after an easy transit on a roomy bus that happened by just as you finished a tasty roadside chai. Or something else might happen. While waiting for the ferry to leave, loaded with one large truck, one small truck, about 10 motorcycles and a crowd of people, Irish (real name: Kollum) showed up, all smiles. We’d met him at our hotel in Puri, but he had gone up to Konark for a few days. Irish was heading to Barkul too, so after confirming that that’s where the ferry was going, we settled in to chat and catch up. We spotted some more dolphins on the way, took some pictures of Indian tourists, and after around 45 minutes we arrived.

 

 

 

 

There was one auto-rickshaw waiting, but it was jammed full and on it’s way by the time we got to it. Then things looked really quiet. Most people from the ferry had rides, or had walked away to the local village. We started asking about how to get a bus to Rambha, but everyone was saying it’s not possible. They said it would take 3 hours by taxi, which didn’t make sense. As the wheels started turning, Kollum was getting louder and more animated. Suddenly it clicked, and I pulled out my phone, with a detailed map of the area. Sure enough, we were no-where near Barkul, which should have taken three hours by ferry. Instead, we had crossed the mouth of the lake and were now on the tip of the southern peninsula! There was in fact a bus that would run out to the highway, where we could catch a bus to Rambha, but it didn’t come until 5 PM. Waiting on the side of the highway in the dark isn’t much fun, so we started walking towards the village, hoping to find a rickshaw that would take us…somewhere. After inspecting a derelict rickshaw in someone’s yard, and talking to yet another helpful pedestrian (like the 5 others that had assured us of where the ferry was heading!), a shared jeep came by. They stopped, and we managed to get a ride to a town 30 kms away, nearly half way to the highway. It was a beautiful trip, very rural, with nothing but agricultural based villages and their humble temples, stunning vistas, and a variety of birds, from storks to kingfishers. Everyone stared, open-mouthed, as we passed through. After getting dropped off in tiny Madhu, the jeep driver offered to take us all the way for 1000 rupees, which we would have none of, since it only cost us 30 each to go half way. If he had offered a reasonable price, we would have taken it, but the people seem so short sighted, or just greedy. As foreigners, we always pay more, and how much more depends strictly on how much they think you will pay, not how much something is worth. It can get very frustrating over time, and sometimes makes the haggling process a bitter battle of wills. If they think you’re stuck, they will ask outrageous amounts, often losing business because of it. We ended up sitting around waiting on the side of the road for a bus or another shared jeep for about an hour and a half. Raven and I wandered into town for some delicious and very cheap chow mein, and by the time we got back, the crowd was starting to gather. Obviously not many white folks come through Madhu, because before long we had over 30 people standing around us, just staring. We couldn’t even see the road to tell if a bus was coming or not. Irish was losing it, but the staring really doesn’t bother me, it’s just a cultural thing. Indians stare. That’s the way it is, especially if you’re sitting on the side of the road in a very small town. Hardly anyone spoke English, so there wasn’t much conversation, just a lot of staring. Eventually a shared rickshaw came by, and we managed to let him know we wanted to go to the junction on the main highway. We crammed all our stuff in, plus the four of us, plus the two people already in. While driving through the last village before the highway, we spotted a five legged cow! It had an extra leg growing out of it's back! In Konark, we'd seen a cow with a weird flap of skin growing in the same place, but this was a fully developed leg, growing out of the shoulder and dangling down, hoof and all.

Once we finally reached the main highway, we haggled with another rickshaw driver for a price up to Rambha. Just as it was getting dark, we checked into the Parthanivas, the government hotel, and the only hotel in town. They had no rooms, but let us all stay in the dorm room, which has 12 beds. It was expensive by our standards, but was a really nice place, and very quiet. We had a private balcony overlooking the rose garden and the lake, a big screen TV, and two bathrooms. We stayed up late drinking beer and exchanging travel tales on the balcony with Kollam, while Raven settled into some serious television time.

After a 'rest day' of lounging around the whole day, except for one foray into town to shop and feed the local cows some greens, we were excited to finally see the turtles nesting. We all walked to the highway, but there was a two day bus strike, to protest the rising cost of fuel, so we waited for another shared rickshaw. It didn't take long to get to the river where the turtles come to nest, so we jumped out and started looking for a way down to the beach. Below the bridge, we could see some men hanging around a few boats, and assumed they were fishermen who might take us downstream for a few rupees. After walking down to introduce ourselves, they turned out to be office managers with an impromptu day off because of the strike, hanging out drinking whiskey by the river. They spoke very good English, so we sat and chatted, had some whiskey and figured out where we needed to go. They called another rickshaw to take us to the beach, and by the time we said goodbye, I had a pretty good glow on, especially considering that it was only 10:30 AM. We ended up going back to where the first driver had tried to take us, before we told him to keep going! There is a turtle interpretation center, a small village, and then a sweltering, desolate beach. The driver had picked up two young guys on the way through the village, and they were saying something about paying for a boat to go see the turtle breeding area. We assumed they just wanted money for 'guiding' us to the beach, and told them that we could find our own way. They looked confused, calling out to us and following along as we trudged across the sand towards the ocean, but we just ignored them and followed the faint trail leading east. The geography was completely surreal, flowering cactus and strange prickly vines stretching out across the dunes as far as we could see, no people or buildings anywhere. Eventually, we came to the bank of what must have been the river mouth, maybe 200 meters across, and flowing parallel with the shore. The nesting grounds are on the other side, and it all became clear. The two boatmen showed up just then, smiling in anticipation of the money they were about to make. They started asking for 500 rupees, but we refused and started walking away along the river, hoping to find some turtles on this side, or a way across. They lowered the price and so we started haggling again, finally getting them down to 100 rupees each way. There were several small wooden fishing boats on the shore, but none had paddles or oars. One of the guys ran off and returned with a long bamboo pole, then we piled in, and he started poling us across. The water was only 10-15 feet deep, but the boat was sitting pretty low in the water with all of us in it, and water was splashing in between the upper planks. My feet were soaked in no time, but we were making good time with the pole, so I was pretty sure we'd make it across before we took on too much water.

 

The turquoise blue ocean against the dull, shimmering expanse of sand was stunning. As we beached the boat and walked over the long, thin sandy spit, we spotted our first turtle in the distance. One of the boat guys ran ahead, possibly to hold it until we got there, but we didn't want to disturb these creatures in their vulnerable state, so we hurried after him. Along the way, we started noticing all the empty holes, and then the shards of broken shell that were littering the beach. Many different predators raid the nests, scavenging the eggs for food, or worse. The boatmen offered to sell us eggs for 160 rupees each! We caught up to the turtle, chastising the guy for handling it, trying to explain the importance of not interfering with the nesting turtles. This one had already laid it's eggs, and was nearly back in the water, so it wasn't too invasive.

 

 We started taking pictures when we noticed it had lost both left flippers, only little pink stubs remaining. It's amazing it had been able to survive,never mind return to the beach to lay eggs! We watched it slowly crawl into the surf zone, and then a large wave broke onshore, and it was gone. We walked for quite a while, careful not to step on any freshly covered nests, obvious by the loose sand and the unmistakable turtle tracks leading back to the ocean. W didn't see any more live turtles, just a recently deceased one being scavenged by gulls. We wanted to swim while we were here, the lack of pollution and remote location being so very rare in India, but the boat guys, always looking for a way to cash in, wanted more money to wait. We decided to just go back across, pay them, and then swim after they had left, so we could have the place to ourselves. We made it back without incident, but then the guys started asking for more money. Our Irish friend has no problem with confrontation, and quickly settled things by telling them to “F*ck right off!”

The rest of the afternoon was sublime! We had the beach to ourselves, except for a few turtles who would pop their heads up to look at who was doing all the splashing. While swimming and eating lunch, we saw another turtle across the way, and lots of birds riding the thermals, scanning for prey. We were a little disappointed that we didn't see more turtles, but it was the tail end of this years nesting cycle. A few days earlier, and there would have been thousands of turtles. Also, there are usually many more that come ashore during the night than in the day. Apart from the tide coming up so we had to wade through a tidal creek on the way back, it was a perfect day.After returning to the hotel, we met a Spanish couple that had taken a taxi down to see the turtles the night before, and they convinced us to go again at night. The taxi was the same price we had paid for all the rickshaw rides, and would be much easier, and more comfortable.

                                                    This is the river we had to pole across



After a late dinner, the taxi picked us up at 10 PM sharp. We were at the trailhead in no time, even though Irish had yelled at the driver to slow down after swerving around a goat while going 80 km/h. We saw some other taxis and rickshaws on the one lane road out to the interpretation center, so I rushed everyone down the trail, hoping to avoid a wait at the boat crossing. I, of course, had assumed that the boat guys would be waiting for the 'turtles watchers' to show up, which, as it turns out, they weren't. All the other people had gone somewhere else; the shore was deserted, but there was still some fish boats beached where we had crossed in the afternoon. We weighed our options, then I went hunting for a pole. I was sure there would be at least one somewhere nearby. I had returned triumphantly with the longer of two poles I'd found, and we were dragging one of the heavy wooden boats into the water, when off in the distance we heard a motorboat getting closer and closer. We got the boat back where it was just as the spotlights from the boat lit us up. They pulled up to the beach as the other turtle tourists came down to the beach. They weren't very friendly, but eventually the driver asked if we wanted to go across. Of course, how much? 1000 rupees. 1000 RUPEES! We paid 200 this afternoon! No way! We stepped back and let the rest of the people load into the boat. We tried to haggle, but he was smug looking, and wouldn't budge. Another example of the opportunistic profiteering that is so frustrating in India. He was already going across, so why not take the extra 200? We let him drive away, then pulled the fish boat back into the water, and despite Raven's protests, climbed in, slid the bamboo pole aboard, and pushed off. Now, I've never poled a boat through the water before, but it looked easy, and the principle is simple. Push the pole to the bottom, where there is resistance, and then use the pole to drive the boat forward. No problem. Except the pole weighed about 25 pounds, is 15 feet long, and provides considerable resistance when moving though the water. Before long, I was sweating like a pig, my arms were burning and I was cursing and struggling for balance. I must have been doing a pretty piss poor job of it, because Su volunteered to try, but she couldn't even lift the pole. I figured it out eventually, instead of fighting pressure of the water against the pole, I would drive the pole forward of the boat, so that by the time it hit the bottom, it was vertical, then I could push the boat for 5-6 hand-over-hands before letting buoyancy lift it out and up, then I would swing it around and start again. Going straight forward was another story. I had to switch sides as the bow swung around wildly, being careful not to lose my balance in the rocking boat and fall overboard, or drop the pole. We eventually made it across, but now I was in skipper mode, worried about the tide, and whether the wind might pick up. We started exploring the massive sand spit, glad we'd already been here, so we were on familiar ground. We stayed away from the flashlights up the beach, where the other boat had landed. There were a lot more turtles, and many fresh drag marks leading back into the water, but we had to imagine what it might have been like covered in thousands of nesting turtles. We didn't stay too long, since it was already after midnight, but it was a fantastic adventure. The stars, surf and sand, cooling breeze and warm air, the solitude and silence only broken by the crashing of waves, the togetherness, these are the moments we treasure forever. The challenges of travel are rewarded with memories like these, stories that will be told and retold, gifts that cannot be lost.

The boat trip back was much shorter, and less tiring, and there were turtles everywhere! I got into a good rhythm, changing sides as Su called out directions. The sea was full of phosphorescence, lit up by the wake, the pole and the turtles splashing nearby. I was so focused on poling that I only saw the ones that came really close to the boat, their sharp beaks and curious eyes sinking out of view as we moved closer, but Raven saw at least 20 in the water. We were about half way back when I heard the motorboat fire up it's engine, so I tried to go even faster, wanting to make a clean get-away and avoid any possible confrontation. They returned their passengers, and then turned towards us. I was poling furiously, sweating buckets, and was only a boat length from the beach when the spotlight hit us. After a few seconds of silence, the guys on the boat broke out laughing. They came over again, and two guys jumped off as we were re-anchoring the boat back where we'd found it. I put the pole back and we were on our way. The two boatmen said a few things to us in Hindi, but we were just like 'What?! See ya...'

Sleepy but spent, we fell asleep as soon as we got back to the hotel around 1:30 AM. We had planned to leave the next day, but because of the nation-wide bus strike, we decided to stay another two days bird watching, wandering through town, chatting with Kollom,and reading in the shade. We had an overnight train booked down to Chennai, about 1200 kms south, but still wanted to visit the old British beach town of Gopalpur-on-Sea. But that's another story.

It’s all about the food, really

(Is that why I gained ten pounds?)

 Puri was a bit of a food mecca for us after months of thali and dahlbaat.Raven has started watching “Top Chef’ on HBO, so we are all better educated in the art of cooking! Not that we are eating at that level of fine cuisine. We ate almost daily at the Peace Restaurant where colourful tables are set in a walled garden, off the street. We would watch the geckos and huge bumble bees do their nature thing while we feasted. Occasionally a monkey would pause in his tour of the neighbourhood, looking down into the kitchen for food from the safe height of the neighbours’adjoining roof. The Peace served up our typical breakfast of vegie omelet and toast,with milk coffee. Raven has started to drink and enjoy sweetened milk coffee, too. They typically make it with Nescafe, it isn’t the rocket fuel espresso Heath and I love, but it does the trick. For some reason, since we have been travelling south, the masala chai tea has been disappearing. There are still roadside tea stands, but now we have to ask specifically for ‘masala’ (spiced)tea. Even so, that can be ‘hit and miss’. For some reason, it is not as commonly drunk in the south. Too bad for me, I am now back to the coffee.   

 

One of the favourites on the Peace Restaurant menu was OM rice. This consisted of fried rice inside a two-egg omelet, with melted cheese tucked in on top of the rice. Heath and Raven fell in love with their apple chapatti. Sliced apple and sugar baked inside a chapatti (Indian bread). Some kind of syrup was poured over the top. It was similar to apple pie, but a nice alternative to heavy pastry. Cinnamon would have made this dish ‘pop’.

We haven’t been eating many raw vegetables, no salads, due to vegetables being washed in potentially tainted water.  Salads are safer to attempt in a restaurant like the western tourist oriented Peace. Some restaurants claim to wash their vegies in ‘iodine water’, but even so, salads usually consist of two kinds of vegetables sliced and arranged on a plate, with no dressing to liven them up. Thalis usually have cucumber or radish slices on the side, which we may eat if they have been peeled, but generally fruit vendor purchased baby bananas and mandarins are keeping us from scurvy.

Golapur by the Sea was a lovely place to stay. Heath is writing of our adventures with turtles, ‘borrowed’ canoes and finding our way off the beaten track, so I won’t write how we arrived at our destinations! We found a funky and colourful hotel right on the beach. Heath and Raven spent hours in the surf, catching waves. After half an hour of being ‘washing machined’ by the pounding waves I usually have enough, so instead I lay in the sun in my conservative beach wear watching them. Itook beach walks every morning, before it got really hot. Even so, by 7 or 8am I can build up a pretty good sweat just by walking.There were less hawkers, beggars and tourists here, so it was enjoyable to spend time outside the hotel.The beach was 100% cleaner and nicer than in Puri, even though this is an active fishing town. The fishermen still use the tide line as an open latrine, but their areas are further away from the hotel beaches, unlike in Puri. The tsunami of 2004 affected this area a little bit, taking out some of the smaller fishers’ homes on the beach.

I’ve been taking pictures of food, intending to write about our culinary experiences. One highlight in Golpaurwas the rose ice cream that we discovered. Rose petals and caramelized nuts adorned the top, while the exquisite flavour of rose made every mouthful of this super smooth and creamy ice cream a scrumptious joy. We found it in only in one restaurant, and ordered them daily until they ran out.  It seemed a little expensive- at 35Rs (.70cents )each, compared to the 20 Rs for the revello style bars, but it was so worth it. I don’t like eating the ‘crappy’ sugar bars, and don’t usually eat them when Heath and Raven get them, so I could justify my one-a-day creamy and cold floral indulgence.

Fish has been on the menu since arriving at the seaside. A few times I have ordered a fish ‘burger’. It arrived with an amount of smaller fish that have been fried up- usually containing the bones and skin, in a bun. We have watched the fishermen unload their nets on shore with hundreds of these tiny fish flopping around. Restaurants and fish vendors sell bigger fish- they display a sample (not on ice) and you can choose which one you’d like.  So far I have shied away from this- I’d like to avoid food poisoning, and Heath and Raven aren’t too interested in sharing fish for dinner.

Restaurant fish storage....

We found the best snacks to eat in Golpapur as well. They had pre-popped Act II brand popcorn with flavours such as masala cheese and regular cheese. Yum! Small 50-calorie snack bags. I think we may have cleaned out the town of these, too. Raven also discovered these small coconut candies. Made with real shredded coconut.Yum.Yum.Both of these have not been seen before or since.Ahh..the good life….having all the time in the world exploring the culinary snacks of another country.

One day at Golpapur I went for a walk with ‘Irish’, (What was his real name?)- I’m talking about the talkative Irish guy we spent a few days with. Heath is writing about him, too. We walked up the main road, away from the sea. When we stopped to take pictures of thishuge carved and painted face on a temple, a couple local men came up to talk to us. 

One fellow had better English than the others, and he introduced himself as ‘Tony’. He said that he was a retired fisherman and used to be a life guard here. Hethen invited us to his home to see his pictures of his family, other tourists and people that he’d met from Australia and England. We met his daughter, as well. Tony invited us all for lunch the next day. I accepted, as it felt like small town Nepalesestyle hospitality. The next day our family arrived at noon. He showed Heath and Raven all the old photos, then led us to the airy table upstairs. When we were seated 

his daughter brought upafeast of rice and vegies, dhal, as well as masala crab and pan fried fish.

This was the first ‘big’ fish I have eaten in India, since being a bit leary of restaurant freshness.  I am not sure what kind it was, but it was tasty. Thecrabs in the masala crab were of a small size- a little bit bigger than the size of the crab we would play with on the beach.  Masala just means that they were cooked in curry sauce. Think a less saucy butter chicken, but crab. They had been cut in half before being cooked. Spoons are typically the only utensil we westerners are given to eat with, as Indians eat with their right hand, so I asked Tony how to eat the crab. 

We were to eat them with our hands! I watched how he did it- since the crab legs were not big enough to really crack open and suck the meat through, like we would, he popped a half crab in his mouth then crunched up the shell, ate the meat, then spat the shell  out! Given that the shells of these small crabs are pretty thin, this is the Indian way of doing it, but like not wanting to eat my dhal and rice with my hand, I really didn’t want to attempt this, either. (Talk about a closed western attitude!)There are only a few things I am reluctant to ‘go Native’ on, and eating with my hands is one of them.

I ended up crushing the shell with my fork, then getting my hands super greasy holding the little guy while I tried to alternatively suck and poke the meat out. It was super yummy.

I was hoping that Tony had invited us out of the goodness of his heart, but as our meal was ending, Tony’s friend and his adult son arrived. They wanted our address, so we could help him get a job in Canada. Of course we exchanged email addresses, not that we can really help him that much. Did he think we knew about Canadian Immigration? We directed them to the Canadian Consulate, online. After they left, Tony digressed into an account of his financial difficulties- telling me how expensive it was to pay his monthly bills, then how expensive lunch was for him. This was awkward. Was he asking for a donation towards lunch? We didn’t show up empty handed, I had brought along some quality Cadbury’s chocolate as a thank you gift. I asked him why he didn’t just invite us for tea?He dropped the topic after that. We will help his friend, if we can. Why does it appear that every Indian has an agenda? (Get money from white person).

Unfortunately the theme arising in this country is this: Indians see tourists’ dollars, not individual people, and they always try to extortion the most money from us. It is like they have no long term sustainability plan when it comes to tourists. Get as much as you can NOW, no matter how much you piss them off. They don’t think about the long term – what happens when tourists tall other tourists to skip their town because the sellers are too insistent? It is super annoying how many times you have to say ‘no’ to a seller on the beach or the street. Our game plan is typically to say ”No” politely a few times, then ignore them.  You are screwed if you act interested in their product- sometimes the things are really pretty, but you are never left alone.

We had been worried about a small bite Tony’s baby goat had given Raven. We had been in email contact with a doctor that assists tourists in Chennai, and he assured us that goats are not common carriers of rabies. Of course we washed her cut out really well, but we were a little concerned. We had also needed to buy a new cord for Raven’s IPOD, it had broken a few weeks ago, but we needed a big city selection to be able to replace it. We had thought we would see the ocean beach and a 400 year old banyan tree, but the ‘tut tuts’ wanted an exorbitant amount of money to take us across town. It didn’t really seem worth it. We saw a few square blocks of this town, did a little shopping and eating, then left for another beach resort area.

We had a bit of a confusion with a driver taking us to the wrong bus station out of Chennai. The police were called. One awesome thing about being white in this country- we are never wrong! For what it was worth, the policeman was on our side about the bus station misunderstanding, but we still needed to get across town. We finally landed in a huge bus station.  I think it claims to be the biggest bus station in the world. It was well organized, had clean bathrooms and even luggage carts! 

We took a bus to Mamallapuram (Tamil: மாமல்லபுரம்), a tourist town 60 km south of Chennai famous for its stone carvings. It took about two hours to drive here along the coast. We found a lovely and clean hotel, the Sunrise Lodge, about 10 mins from the beach. Mamallapuram dates back to the Tamil Pallava dynasty in the 7th-9th century. The structures here, mostly carved straight out of granite, are among the oldest existing examples of Dravidian (South Indian) architecture. My favourite was Krishna’s Butter ball- a huge rock resting on a slope, defying gravity by not rolling down it. 

This forested area is full of paths meandering between carved 9and eroded) temples, and boulder piles.  One morning I took my rock shoes to see if there were any decent bouldering spots. The area reminded me a little bit of Squamish. The granite was lovely, but there wasn’t much I could play on. I walked off trail, between the different boulders, looking for a bouldering spot. I interrupted one man’s private dump spot (Really?!?Here?!?! This behaviour leaves me speechless.) . I managed to find three spots to have a few minutes of fun, but the rock was either too smooth, or inaccessible by plants, or higher than I wanted to attempt solo. In one spot I was accosted by mosquitos and an early morning silk-paint seller. Time to have a shower before breakfast!

The waves weren’t as great as the ones to the North of Chennai, but because there were more bathing suited tourists here, we felt we could show a bit more skin on the beach and not bother with the T-shirts over the bathing suits.  People surf here, in fact there is a surf school, but the beach and waves were better at Golapur on the Sea. There was a temple just off the beach we swam at called the Shore Temple. It is the oldest structure in the area, built c. 700 AD, this temple has been here for more than 1400 years. However, unlike Mamallapuram's other monuments, the Shore Temple is a building (not carved from rock) and the bulk of the current structure is a reconstruction after it was struck by a cyclone. It's not particularly large, and the carvings have been badly eroded by the wind and the sea, but this adds to the sense of antiquity. It was in a ‘pay area’, so we didn’t go inside it. The viewing was just as good from the beach.

The forested area around Butter ball hosts other structures are carved straight out of rock. The scenery within the hills is also quite unusual, with smooth rock rising out of the forest and carved stairways leading between the mandapas (pavilions), caves and carvings. Carving is huge industry here, we could have bought a ginormous Buddha for the yard.

Raven wanted to learn to carve rock, too, so we took a ‘lesson’ Indian standards- he gave us a little chisel and a file and kind of showed us what to do, then left us to our own devices. Raven gave up after a couple of hours of focussed attention, with two of her creatures breaking. From the template of a gecko she ended up with a snake due to the legs breaking off, then a worm from the end also breaking off. I had more success. After my first attempt at an OM pendant breaking, I chose to switch to an easier object, a surf board, and created a beautiful pendant. I am pretty proud of my achievement. A neat hobby, like I need any more.

 Just at the beginning...

Because Mamallapuram is a French European tourist town, the food available reflects that. We dined in one that served salad.  Salad! Real salad! With dressing! There is rice in everything, but this was so fresh and tasty.

 

Raven ate pasta with white sauce, while Heath sampled the rest of the menu. Beer is available in restaurants if you ask, but because there are a high number of Muslims, it appears it has to be served on the stealthy side. 

Road stall samosas