Full Stop at Puri

 

We spent 9 days here, in the tourist section of this not particularly beautiful or quaint seaside town of Puri, in the state of Orissa/Odisha. Place names in India are in a process of becoming de- British-ized- hence the two spellings. We just ‘stopped’ for a long while. We had time to spend before our ashram experience down south, happy to be near cool ocean breezes. As far as I am concerned, we reached a bit of a 'flat spot' in our travels. A lull. A resting place, monotony, call it what you will. Puri had everything we wanted (in no particular order); a comfortable room with a balcony, wifi in the restaurant/lobby, TV in the room with 3 English channels to choose between, the beach minutes from our door and the food in local restaurants an orgy of tasty and inexpensive western fare. With all that, it still wasn’t a very inspiring place.

If I had taken a nine day holiday in Canada, I wouldn’t have done as little as we managed to accomplish here. It was like taking a vacation from our vacation, but my headspace wasn’t particularly optimistic. I spent some time wondering “Did we make a mistake choosing to be on the road for nine months?” We’re over the half-way point, having almost completed five months, and it feels like a very long time. Some days, even though we are half a world away, surrounded by both the exquisite and sordid details of another culture's lives, my day to day existence can feel like a slow-mo version of a day at home or work. Time evaporated in Puri, even though we weren’t ‘doing’ much. Somehow it seemed like there was still no time left for the important things in life such as the betterment of self through meditation and having truly meaningful moments with my family. I try to work on being a better mother, partner and friend through ‘quality’ time spent with daughter and husband, to be more present for myself and them, even though we are with each other 24/7.  India is proving to be an exhausting country to be in.

Traveling through India visiting interesting sites has confirmed the way I like to travel. I highly enjoy going to animal and bird sanctuaries, but I find being a tourist fairly meaningless, as there is little connection to local peoples. There are many incredible things to see (and taste), but no deeper connection. Part of this is me, in this pessimistic headspace. I am unwilling to spend much time with other travelers, knowing that we are all moving on, and not wanting to bother with any trivial conversations. I am now shying away from the locals, as most of them approach us to sell something, take our picture, or ask us for money. India is challenging me on many levels, and during the time in Puri I wanted to insulate myself. Unfortunately the hotel room is the only place a person can go and not be ‘bugged’. Forget sitting on the beach with a good book, and enjoying the peace. Someone will interrupt the moment.

Our completely different cultures and population count promote such disparate personal physical boundaries, or bubbles, as I like to call them. Canada is a vast empty country so our personal space bubbles are huge compared to the average Indian. We feel the need to take up big space, and can feel crowded in a busy Indian location, be it the beach, train station or market place. The women I see here, in the tourist zone are mothers, grandmothers and daughters of other tourist families, come to sacred Puri to worship in the very special Hindu Jagannath Mandir (temple) and the sea. The other women are beggars. In this tourist section, it is the men and boys who work; taking orders in the restaurants and hotels, working the shops, rickshaw and tut tut drivers.

Puri is a very religious place for many religions and sects, including Krishnas. Even European and American travellers come here to worship Hare Krishna. I see them walk by, all decked out in white robes, bare feet and beige tikkas painted on their foreheads. Part of me envies the security and peace they must find in their religion. They travel half the world to be near their guru to worship in mother India. It is incredible to watch the throngs of Indian tourists come to take puja at the ocean. They walk to the water and splash it on their foreheads. Hindu’s day can include simple worships, such as touching a roadside cow then touching their foreheads with the same hand, or lighting incense every day in prayer, waving it around their shrines. These simple repetitive movements hold such beauty.

I was hoping this town was a place I could start jogging again, as I saw some Indian men beach running, so I tried it once, but it wasn't worth the attention I got. I chose to run through to the other side of the fishing village, where there were less people, and the forest sanctuary began. The beach was perfect for running- long and flat at the high tide line- solid under foot and easy to get a nice pace going. What I wasn't bargaining for was the fact the villagers use the ocean as an open latrine. They do their business at the high tide line and wait for the ocean to take their deposits away. My run became a bit of a poop obstacle course. I kept my eyes down and dodge- jogged for the hopeful solitude of the far beach.

Many of the men and boys I passed waved or yelled 'jogging' to me. A few jogged along for a few steps. That wasn’t so bad, and expected, but when I reached my turn around point and started running back I was soon tailed by a couple of 12 year old boys who were making fun of my chest going up and down (yes I was dressed respectfully), they started getting a little closer, one running on either side of me, then one tried to touch my bum- I shooed them away, but it had ruined the desire for another day’s exercise. If I ran the other way, into the more populated beach, I would have had to cross the stinky river, getting my shoes wet with sewer water, and run through crowds of bathers.  I took to taking 2 hour walks through the business side of town and returning along the Indian side of the crowded beach instead. I was trying to find a bank machine that would let me take out more than $200 dollars at a time, because the banking charges at either side will get out of hand if this is the limit in every city. It was easy in Kujaharo and Nepal to find machines with the limit of $400, so we are hoping this is just a 'state of Orrissa/Odisha' thing.

India has special tourist police, because over time, there have been issues of tourists being robbed, going missing and/or murdered. Like any country, I suppose, but India has created an infrastructure to deal with it. When we took the moped ride to a deserted beach North of Puri, some of these officers had noticed our bikes by the side of the road and come down to check on us. By then a couple of young men had joined us. Back to the personal space issues- we had chosen a beach for its complete solitude, not a soul for half a kilometer, to be away from people, then, surprise surprise, people (small packs of young men) would materialize from nowhere. They wouldn’t go a few hundred metres down the empty beach, but hang out a few metres from us. Kilometers of empty beach on either side of our spot, and they choose to near us. Remind me never to get famous, I’d hate it. We desire solitude, they are unnerved by it? On one occasion the cops came down to tell the guys to go away. There were only two of them at this point, one swimming, one having a relaxed conversation with me on shore, but the cops came and told them to find another section of beach. They said if we, the tourists, made a complaint about something being stolen, they would be to blame. I can see both sides of this- it was a huge beach and many places to go for a swim- they didn't need to choose our particular spot, but on the other hand, they weren't bugging us, just chatting, and the one guy was swimming. They eventually left, but it was time for us to go, as we wanted to see a few of the temples on the road back to Puri before the bikes were due. Not that that happened, as one of the bikes didn’t start again, but Heath told that story.

The T.V.s in hotel rooms continue! We’ve had a marathon of English shows- Guinness Book of World Records (Australia beats New Zealand and vice versa) CSI Las Vegas, action films, and the nightly romance movie in February. But there are so many commercials…probably 4 minutes between shows, and they are louder than the show you are watching. They are just as repetitive and inane as western ads, and it isn’t unusual for them to repeat the same ad within the same 4 minutes. The funniest to us being the ‘sliver’ brand face wash – “recycle your face” is the catch-line. What? That doesn’t even make sense!  As if we’d like to wash our faces with slivers! Most of the ads are half in Hindi and half English. Cream and soap ads promote face and skin whitening, while cel phone ads promote a better life.  

Many Indian families are asking to have pictures with us, now that we are in quieter areas. The parents think it is a most excellent idea, but the children are typically a little more reserved and shy. Sometime they even start to cry, terrified of being in a white persons arms! Heath probably gets the most attention, being a blond hairy giant among small dark people. By this stage of the game, Raven is getting a little tired of being stared at constantly. She deals with it really well, especially when we are all getting stared at together, like the time we were waiting for a bus on a quiet country road, and we had probably 25 locals around us, just looking. Because Raven looks like she is 16, the young men check her out, but not in a crude or lewd way, just looking.

Post office

Since running on the beach was not a pleasant enough experience to repeat, I stuck to walking. One day I walked to the post office. Raven and I wanted to send our favourite winter fleece pants home, as well as a few other assorted items, like a school text book she had finished. Our packs are monsters, and as the heat will only be increasing, I wanted to downsize and make room for souvenirs that we will purchase near the end of our India stay. I had procured a cardboard box, but had run out of tape. I was under the assumption that the ‘packers’ near post offices were quick and cheap, so I thought I would try them. I had no idea they would SEW the packages up with a nice quality white linen-type fabric. The seamster (what is the male equivalent to a seamstress?) sewed most of the two packages up by machine, first measuring and cutting the fabric to size, then hand sewing the ends.  The text I had them wrap separately, as I had read that India Post had a separate rate for books. It cost 150rs (3$) for both, and they were done in about 20 minutes.

After writing the addresses in permanent marker on the fabric, I got in the queue. People don’t actually queue in this country- they just crowd around whatever teller or shop counter they need. I was given 4 sheets of forms- “please fill in 2 of each per parcel”. They wanted customs details and addresses, both in Canada and India. I did that, then stood ‘in line’ again. Thankfully it wasn’t really busy, so that part wasn’t a long wait. When the teller served me again, he had me complete a few of the spaces I had missed because I was unsure of what they wanted, then asked me for copies of my passport, and visa information. The amount of time passport numbers are collected in India, I was smart enough to have that with me- but not 4 copies of both! Outside I went – looking for a copy shop. A few rupees per page and I returned. The mail system has tracking numbers, so I may be able to track when things leave for Canada. I was then told that the book rate only applied within India, and while balking at the cost of sending things home, I wished I had searched harder for packing tape and taped the box up myself, so I could have slipped the book into the package going to my parents’ house. Leaving things in India Post, and praying that my items make their destination, I returned along the water front for a beach walk home.

The India beach scene is unreal. People don’t really ‘swim’. They play in the waves and the women typically enter the ocean in full saris, up to their ankles or they may sort of sit in the water and let the waves wash over them. I am assuming that swimming lessons are uncommon. The beach closest to the post office is the Indian’s main beach, nearest their hotels and the city centre. It is a sea of bodies. No one tans here, but they do enjoy the seaside as a family unit, or the young men hang out together. A little ways down the beach where it is less populated, you can see young couples sitting close to each other, perhaps holding hands, or engaged in innocent ‘love play’. A person of any race can’t walk down the beach without being asked to buy (fake) pearls, and camels were available for rides.

Since leaving Puri, we have experienced incredible nature, fun and even solitude! Stay Tuned

 

Heath and Raven at the Sun Temple in Konarth