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”.