Richard's Travel Blog

Yesterday evening was like most others. After a day of sightseeing, I laid on the bed with a pillow rolled up under my head, reading until I lost focus on the story. As per usual when that happens, I went out for a stroll. There’s no point in thinking I might go to sleep early. Indian hotels must be the noisiest in the world. Why not, in a country where people routinely stay up after 11 socializing, and where there is so little privacy anyway? The kids even play late into the night. “Late” is relative. It’s me who is attached to early to bed and early to rise.

Sravanabelagola is a largely Jain town. Very straight. No alcohol, or at least I don’t find a bar or liquor store. Nobody’s smoking in public, except at the bus station. The people here are very friendly and polite. It’s much cleaner than most Indian towns. There’s even an almost continuous sidewalk the length of one side of main street, and it appears work is in progress on the the other side. I don’t know what they’ll do when they get to the middle of town where all the stalls are almost out to the street. Eminent domain? Probably. Permanent structures? For sure, this place will grow up just as the rest of India is.

After my stroll out of town in the dark under a sliver of a moon, I retured to my room to read again but didn’t feel like it. So I just laid there and listened to the kids scream and run in the halls. No carpetting in Indian hotels. My late night musings turned to Comparative Hotel Rooms, a subject in which I’ve become an expert in recent years. One first thought I had when I went into this room was, “Holy cow, the bed has a bottom and a top sheet!”.Oh, no, there’s only a bottom sheet that doesn’t reach the head of the mattress. That makes sense. If the sheets you have are too short, it’s probably better to expose the head of the mattress. Sandalled or bare feet get so filthy here, the foot of the mattress would be black in no time. Better to have oily matresses than street filth. Oily mattresses and pillows creep me out, but this mattress is clean. It even looks pretty new. The pillow’s fine. I’m fine. I’m actually fine with almost everything. The phrase almost everyone who comes here says when something is off is, “This is India”.

This whole place was exceptionally clean. The floors shine. The windows are almost clean. the bathroom’s nice, though the faucet next to the toilet for filling the cup used for cleaning your bottom drips. It’s all consistent with the general wholesomeness of this Jain operated establishment. Not that many places are this nice for 135 rupees ($3) per night.

The main attraction and money earner in Sravanabelagola is a 17.5 meter high monolithic granite statue of a Jain deity, Bahubali. The story goes that Bahubali’s father, an emporor in the 10th century and a revered Jain teacher, died. Bahubali competed with his brother for control of the kingdom till Bahubali realised the futility of the struggle, renounced his claim, and meditated in the forest till he attained enlightenment. Jain holy men wear no clothes as a symbol of their oneness with nature and the cosmos. This staute has him standing naked with vines growing up his body, an anthill forming around his feet, and various snakes and such looking up and admiring him.

You have to walk up these 620 steps barefoot to see it. It’s not recommended for feet that are only used to carpets.

I was wondering how going back on the road would be. It’s turning out fine. After about 2 1/2 weeks of braindead beachcombing, it feels good to get some new stimulation.

I just need to say this. Many times I’ve seen people who look just like somebody. Sometimes it’s a very close resemblance. Yesterday I saw a guy who looks exactly like my dad about 15 years ago. I mean exactly. Same hair, same smile, almost the same complexion (which you rarely see in an Indian), same size and build. I tried not to stare, but it was eerie.

Enough about that.

I left Gokarna around 4:30 the day before yesterday. Another coincidence. Getting on the train for Mangalore with me was another American. I talked with him for 4 hours. That’s the longest I’ve talked to another American since I got to India. It was nice to speak in my own idioms for so long. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing the ability to speak anything other than International Simplified English.

I stayed overnight in Mangalore, and headed to Belur. It and Halebidu are between Mangalore and Bangalore. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop there, but they’ve been replacing the narrow guage rails between the two cities for the last three years, and it won’t be completed till next month. That meant I had to take a government bus for 9 hours if I wanted to go all the way to Mysore. That is something I’ve avoided when possible. They’re sometimes one step above chicken buses. Lonely Planet talked up Belur and Halebidu, and they’re halfway between, so I went there.

These places are in the Western Ghats, that is, the western hill country of South India. There are Eastern Ghats on the other side of Mysore. You wind up over a combination of lousy old road and road under construction to an elevation of about 3000 ft. There is kilometer after kilometer of coconut, cocoa, tea, banana and other plantations, and forest. It looks like this most of the way.

Once you’re up on top, more regular agriculture takes over. They grow a lot of rice, corn, sunflowers and, of all things, castor beans.

Belur turned out to be a good tourist destination. The Hoysala dynasties ruled the area from the 11th to the 14th centuries, and their art is what you think of when you think f Indian architectural art. They built low temples mostly, and some high ones.

The amazing thing about them is the detail of the carvings. The other main thing is the amount of relatively undamaged sculpture there is, considering they are up to 900 years old.

  Â

Even better is Halebidu. I stayed the night in Belur, and went the 16 km to Halebidu this morning at 6. Then I returned and came to this town to see what’s billed as the world’s largest monlithic statue, that of a Jain deity. I’ll get back to you with the name of this place. It’s a tongue twister, and I’ve forgotten it just now. I suppose I could go out in the street and look at a sign. Anyway, Halebidu was even better than Belur. The staue is big, I’ll grant it that.

I’ll post pictures of Halebidu and this place tomorrow or the next day. I left my USB cord in my room.

So, that’s it for today. Again, I hope your holiday season is nice for you.

By this place’s standards, it’s high season here. The huts all fill up and at least a couple dozen newcomers a night sleep out on the beach or in unoccupied hammocks at one of the shacks.

I was fully expecting a full moon party thing, but it’s remained mellow here. The beach people stay up after midnight and make music, smoke or whatnot. It’s like a resort here, without the ammenities. One can see the changes coming one day, though. It’ll probably be alright. Om and the other beaches will go through a period of side by side shacks before the industry matures.

I went to bed reserving the right to change my mind about anything. I woke up early as usual. The shack guys here were comatose, so I went up the beach. Ganesh was open. Nirvana was open, and I looked in to see if Kathryn was up and around. She wasn’t, so I went to Ganesh, sat with a chai, and decided to leave for Mangalore.

The most common way to smoke hash or “chalas” here and everywhere I think is to break it up into little pieces, kind of roast it with a match, and roll into a tobacco cigarette. A piece of a hardback pack of cigs is made into a roll and used as a crutch. When I got back to my shack, Surya was sitting at the table my group often sits at. He smokes all day, way too much really, but I sat with him and had a last doob for I presume a long time.

After breakfast, I published that last blog. Jeez, I had to bail on downloading the pictures last night, the connection was so slow. At least today it eventually happened and I could send it off. Basically, I’m killing time till I take a rickshaw to the train station. The train leaves sometime after 4, so I’m here till maybe 2:30. Then it’s “so long” to my vacation from travelling.

It’s been good for me to hang out. I was getting spent. And for what? I haven’t quite gotten used to retirement maybe. I’m sure the rest of my trip this time will be at a slower pace. That said, going to the Western Ghats and relaxing quietly in the forest and tea plantations was an idea. I now think I won’t. I’m pretty relaxed and more feel like going to Mysore. There’s lots to see there. I can be busy. Woohoo. Besides, after that I’ll probably go to Kerala and lounge around on a backwater cruise. That will be a lot more upscale than the one in Kashmir.

That’s about it for now. I’m packed and paid up, and it’s time for an early lunch before leaving. Take care, you all.

I get up earlier than most here. If I want a chai before 8, I have to walk up the beach to find a place with someone ready to boil water. The Napalese place two shacks down has been open. It doesn’t put so much cardemom and cinnamon in, but it’s okay. I hung out there, and by about 8:45 there were signs of life at my place. I sat there talking with Ina, who gets up early to let her dog out, kinda reading, having another chai, and eventually having meusli with curd and fruit. Sam was wanting to go to Paradise today. She gets up around 10.

Sam and Melanie, the German woman we had lunch with in Gokarna, have hit it off. So Malanie, Sam and I headed over the jetties. It was a breeze, but obviously less travelled than between Om, Kudlee and Gokarna. Still, they got hot and decided to stay at the first Beach, Half Moon. It’s real little, maybe a hundred meters at the most. there’s one shack there with no electricity and a few huts. It looks okay and not many people were there.  I went to the shack and hung out with an English couple until Sam and Melanie got tired of the sun and joined us. Around 2, I went to Paradise. That was a lot of crawling over rocks. I see why most people take the boat. Those go to Om for 150 rupies and take six usually. So, for 50 cents you can spare yourself that rock thing. It’s kind of sheer in places. I don’t like that.

Paradise Beach is a nice place. Several families are there, no real partying, just a few well-behaved, quiet-type dopers.

There’s not much of a beach there either, but it’s nice. I was hot by the time I went over the top and down this hillside,so I spent the afternoon going into the water and lounging on the sand. When I had had enough sun, I sat in that big round shack there till about 5-5:30, when most of the people gt a boat in groups and go back to wherever.

While there, I kind of hit it off with Kathryn, a single mother of 8 and 2 year olds, travelling alone with them. We talked on the way back and about half the evening. There were three Irish there, and I talked with them a lot. They cleaned my shack completely out of beer and went to wherever around 10:30. I made a last social visit over to where Sam, Melanie and Kathryn were yaking away in German. Actually, I just wanted to sit next to Kathryn for a while. Everybody has those fantasies where, but for a simple twist of fate, ….  You know.

Ah, I’m going to Mangalore tomorrow.

The five of us, Sam, Ina, Surya, Ori and I started off up the beach to where the steps from the road come down. We climbed them, ran the gauntlet of taxi and rickshaw touts hoping for a fat fare to Gokarna, and headed up. At first the trail is fairly steep, basically well worn dirt and rocks not quite making a stairway on up over the saddle of the rocky point between Om Beach and Kudlee Beach. It’s not far to Kudlee, about 20-30 minutes, but it was good to get this climbing out of the way while we were fresh and it wasn’t very hot yet. After the top, it’s gentler downhill. You can stroll along, looking at your rocky footfalls for sure, and enjoying what’s around you. There are ordinary rocks, but a lot of it is black prous volcanic deposit. Young, tenth at least growth of deciduous woods are on both sides. You quickly approach Kudlee, which is crescent shaped, like Om. The rocky prominances aren’t as scenic. It’s a little less busy then Om.

Surya, Ina (supposedly working on her Sanskrit doctorate) and Ori like to smoke hash, as do at least half of the people on the beaches south of Gokarna. Surya knew the face of a guy, and we found him running a restaurant/bar/hut place, just called a “shack” here along the coast. In the typical warmth of a nascent deal, Surya and the guy called to each other, namaste’d, and patted each other on the shoulders as if they were long lost brothers. It was a shack like all the others, so we all enjoyed coconut shakes while the product was being sampled. I took a hit and a half. Woah, I’m not used to that anymore! It’s a good thing it took at least an hour for everybody to get what they wanted.

After our jovial departure from Kudlee, we headed over the saddle of the next hills between us and Gokarna. It was easier going. You could take a motorbike if you were experienced. It’s windswept and less wooded at the top. Gokarna and it’s beach come into view

The path between Gokarna and Kudlee are being prepared for tourism. Already there is a road to Om Beach and the new luxury resort set back in the Western Ghats (hill county) which are behind all the beaches. There are hundreds of seedlings planted, which I think will make that a nice walk even in the heat. Ina says they are some kind of tree, like the euclyptus, that has taken over parts of Isreal and become a nuisance. I think the Indians just want something there that needs no care, and don’t worry t all about things like that.

You get to Gokarna near the beach. The logical direction to go is up the main street leading away from the beach.

Again, don’t ask me why sometimes the print turned to blue.

Oh look. There are Sam and Ina on the left side of the road in the shade.

Anyway, having left Surya at Kudlee, it was the four of us left. We had different things to do. First Ori split off because he hadn’t gotten signed in at the police station yet, even though he’s been here a week. (You have to sign in at least with the hotel and even sometimes the internet places, complete with passport, all over India. It’s worse than the communist era East Bloc.) We three needed to get money. They needed to ask a travel office some stuff. Then Ina went off to make some phone calls. Sam and I went down a couple of bazaar streets.

The only thing we both needed was toothpaste. She wanted a Chinese Sony-knockoff MP4 player. I left her to wrangle with the vendor and went to get another book.

In Gokarna the scene is totally different than at the southern beaches. There are few tourists on the long beach and no obvious partying. It’s a very holy city to the Hindus. It’s said that if one merely views a particular lingum in one of the many temples, he/she will be spared further reincarnations. That’s a pretty fine blessing, if you ask me, for just doing this one thing. End of suffering on the cheap. I’m there. The trouble is non-HIndus aren’t allowed inside to see that one. While wandering back toward the trailhead where the bookstore is, I looked in a few temples where non-Hindus are allowed. Here’s a typical one.

I’ve been meaning to ask what the drying leaves are. They are strung up all over Gokarna.

After picking out a book, I happened out of the store just as Sam was coming down with her new MP-4 player ($27, with some effort). We had all agreed to meet up at an Indian restaurant at the end of the road at 2:30, though Ina didn’t show because she returned early via taxi because she was worried about her 6-7 week old puppy she picked up off the streets of Mysore, and has subsequently become way too attached to. (It’s a good thing she’s not a mom to a human.) We had a nice lunch at the table of a single woman traveller from Germany. Sam, who is Austrian, enjoyed speaking German with her. Ory came and went, trying to find anyone at the police station. He never did.

Then we took a fishing boat back. That was a nice ride, and only took about 20-30 minutes. After skidding up to near the water’s edge, we waded in, took our spots in the shade of our shack and went about killing the rest of yet another lazy afternoon at the beach.

That’s my place on Om Beach. It’s the hut beyond the mud wall of the building on the right of the picture. You don’t need much in the way of shelter here. There’s even a bedroll and light inside.

I was going to do something today. All I did was read and socialize. Tomorrow I’m going to Gokarna with a couple of friends. I need to go get some money and another book. They want to shop a little and talk to a travel shop about the best way to get to where they are going. Maybe I’ll do that too. I think I’m good for a few more days of this. I’m getting a  little stir crazy. But, oh, it wouldn’t be that hard to just hang out.

I’m starting to get an idea what i want to do. I’m going to  go to the hill country and do forests and tea plantations for a while. Then I’ll go to Mysore, where there are many interesting things. Then I think I’ll go to Kerala. It’s popular to go on cruises in the backwaters. I wonder how that wil be for me? I’ve cruised some pretty far back backwaters. After that, let’s see, it’ll be about mid-January. I’ll probably go around Tamil Nadu. I was talking to a couple of divers here who have been to the Andaman Islands. They say it’s as good as Sharm al Sheikh. That did it. I’m going. The water’s supposed to be perfectly clear in February. Then I think it’ll be a quick swing up the Ganges Plain via Varanasi, a stop in Agra for the Taj Mahal, and it’ll be time to go home.

But then again, maybe I’ll change my mind.

I don’t have any profound thoughts. I just thought I’d write something. Talk to you later….

Word was that this beach was isolated. Word was wrong. They built a road to near here last year, no doubt because there is a new posh resort up the hill. I sort of thought this was going to be the case. On the one hand, one year old Lonely Planets and the backpacker grapevine reported you had to take a bad dirt road or, better, take a boat to here. On the other, what top end tourist wants to get to their top end resort that way? Their legs would get wet getting into the boat, which would smell of the morning catch anyway. Or all their stuff would bounce around and get dusty on a bad road. Neither of those things would do at all. I THOUGHT there would be a paved road, and there is, a shiny new one lane blacktop. The boat guys look desperate, canvassing everyone who walks by if they want a ride. And the price is down to $3. They still get a few, some for the fun, some who don’t want to walk to the top of the hill where the road is, and some who want to go to the two beaches south of here where the road doesn’t extend.

Om Beach, two beaches south of Gokarna, Karnataka, is still not exactly Cancun. It’s the more popular of the two beaches you can get to by road, but has only about five places where you can rent one of many bamboo huts for a buck and a half or one of a few rooms with a bathroom and fan. There are probably about 100 people here along this mile stretch of beach. It feels just about right to me, though about half of them are long term stoners. I don’t see any real trouble. They switch to Indie mood music when it gets late, and the reggae doesn’t bother me during the day. Besides, there is one place that plays only new age stuff. I can read to that.

Here was the sunset out my front “door” tonight.

I know, I know. If you’ve seen one tropical sunset, you’ve seen ’em all. I just thought this space needed a photo. Om Beach is called that because from the rocky heights to the south it looks like Hindi for Om, with two big loops of beach to the right and the squiggles of the islands in the picture to the left.

Hmm, come to think of it, where are the top end tourists? They aren’t around here, at the far end of the beach. I walked back to the Namaste Cafe and Guesthouse near the end of the road today. A few of them looked like they had money. Maybe business is slow up on the hill. Or maybe they’re busy playing tennis or lounging around the pool. You’d think they’d come down, wouldn’t you? Oh well, doesn’t matter. I prefer the crowd with dreads more than the crowd with poodles anyway.

I’m not that busy, as you can imagine. I’m evening out my tan, swimming amd reading. there’s an Austrian gal her that doesn’t smoke, and we’ve been kind of talking, but she’s only 18 so there’s only so much we have to say to each other. There’s an Isreali here who is working on her doctorate in ancient Sanskrit poetry. She’s kind of fun, chirps like a chipmunk when she’s high. There are a fair number of Indians here. I’m told they only come on the weekends. They are the loud ones.

I don’t know how long I’ll stay, but it looks like I’ll have plenty of time and plenty of computer access. I should be able to write.

So, till then….

On the one hand, I feel like I need to “do” something, and on the other, I am really enjoying doing nothing. It’s slowly sinking in that I’m not that busy. There’s no way to see or appreciate or hate India to it’s fullest in only 6 months, anyway. So I’m splitting the difference, and going to another place on the coast tomorrow, Gokarna. It’s a Hindu holy city and is reputed to have great beaches too. the beaches are to the south. The only way to get to them, except over bad dirt tracks, is by fishing boats which are the de facto taxis. It doesn’t sound like there will be internet there. So, this may be the last you hear from me till I decide to leave there. That could be two days or two weeks.

I just finished a book (my third in as many days) caled “Holy Cow” by Sarah Mac Donald. People have sked me, “Why don’t you write a book about your travels.” If I was to write one, it might be something a lot like “Holy Cow”. This Australian woman went to India with her boyfriend, who is a news correspondent. She tells about her experiences there as a new visitor. It’s a riot and so right on. It’s a popular read here because all of us tourists can relate to her perceptions and opinions. I could write on and on about how it is here, what it’s like to travel around, and how India does things to your mind. It changes you, if you stay for any length of time. I recommend it to anyone who wants to see things in a way similar to the way I see them. She runs with a more well-heeled crowd than I do, but so much of what she did, thought and felt is like the average tourist’s.

Enjoy you holiday preparations, and I’ll talk to you later.

I’m trying to think. This may be the first time in my life that I’ve lounged around a resort area with nothing to do for so long. I’ve been to lots of dive places where there was lots of down time, but of course there was diving and related behavior for a couple of hours. I’ve been shorter times to resort areas. But I’ve been hanging out in Goa for, oh, what, 8-10 days? Something like that.

After Vagator in N. Goa, I went to a beach area called Benaulim, near Margao, and stayed there for about three days.  It was, as I expected, about what it’s generally like along this stretch of beaches. It’s a little less scenic than Vagator and the beaches north of it, but quieter. I did nothing but sit in the shade most of the time and read a book. I had a scooter there and rode around. That’s about it.

Then things slowed down. I came to Palolem. That was four days ago. I’ve read two books and, until today when they left, hung out with another Polish couple. I walk up and down the beach a little, swim a little, eat very well, knock back water all day and have a couple of beers in the evening, and that’s about it. I didn’t even get a scooter. Maybe I’ll go to another beach soon. Oh, decisions decisions. I don’t like anything right now more stressful than deciding what I want for lunch.

I’ve spent most of three months needing to “do” something, have a reason to move on. I’m looking forward to more interesting things, probably pretty soon, but it was becoming like too long in a great museum. I was becoming oversaturated and unappreciative. It’ll be time to go when the ability to have a lot of fun that way returns.

Meanwhile Goa is climbing, I think, on my list of places to winter. It’s real easy here, I’m telling you. Right on the beach, it’s barely India. You can escape dealing with the hardships and difficulties, not to mention observing the real hardships and difficulties Indians have. There is an extensive ex-pat community, so you can have all the contact with Westerners who aren’t fresh off the boat you want. Or you can meet the new people constantly coming through. There isn’t much to do, though. I wonder how it would feel after a few months. I guess there’s no reason to only stay put.

I kind of don’t think Palolem is where I’d like to stay a whole winter. The beach isn’t that clean, and it’s not quite a scenic as the north. This has a lot of development, that is, an almost endless string of beach shack restaurant/bars. There are other beaches close by that are quiet again. I think I still like the north better. It’s prettier and the beach is better, and I can go find the crowd if I want.

I’m trying to think. I’ve been told “that’s what you’re good at, Butch.”

Usually it’s best if I don’t go through that, I think. LOL.  I end up thinking too much about what I’m thinking. It’s a long story, but it’s not that good for me. That could be another problem with renting a place and staying for a while. I might drive myself crazy, if I haven’t already. Hard to tell from the inside.

I’m babbling.

Best wishes to you all.

Â

Goa is small state on the southwest coast of India. It was a Portuguese colony until 1962, and still retains much of it’s western flavor. There are lots of Catholics here, and the older buildings in the look like Portuguese architecture. It is even halfway prosperous, no doubt at least partially due to the strong tourist business. The capital, Panaji (or Panjim, as it’s usually called here) is the smallest capital city in India, and isn’t half bad.

Above Panjim is North Goa, and south of it is South Goa. I spent a day in Panjim, then did what virtually everybody does, I hit the beach. There is just about whatever you want in a bech scene. There are basically secluded ones, moderately secluded ones, and various grades of party scene. I’m staying in Vagator, which has no real party scene. It just has a few hundred yards of beach, with rocky headlands on either side. Here are the obligatory sunset scenes.

Those shots are from a couple hundred yards from my very nice, and cheap, guesthouse. It’s down a dirt lane, surrounded by coconut palms and garden. Here’s the backyard dining area. I’ve been mellowing out there in the morning with breakfast and chai.

It’s a tough life, I gotta tell you. This is about the first place I’ve been in India where I think any casual trveller would feel comfortable. Many people really do speak good Engish; it’s set up for tourists; there’s a wide variety of any kind of food; the roads are good; the traffic is light; a good room like mine costs $6/night; the international beach scene can be to your liking; the vendors don’t hawk their good too aggressively; the electricity is on 98% of the time. There are sit down toilets all over the place, and you don’t even need that all the time because nobody is complaining of traveller’s diarrhea. If you wat basically a town of tourists, you can go to Calangute/Baga. If you want a midrange scene, you can go just south of here to Anjuna. I went there this morning. It has many beach bars and restaurants, but it’s not too overpopuated. It is the first beach village I’ve been to where you have to run a gauntlet of dope dealing Kashmiris. It’s gotten to the point where when I see a Kashmiri, I figure he’s dealing. Anyway, that kind of goes with the territory here, especially as the peak tourist season approaches. Anjuna Beach is a couple of kilometers long, with a rocky shore at the ends. Here is the view north, toward my village on Vagator, where the shoreline is mostly rocky.

Speaking of rocky, I went to a night bazaar and food and entertainment extravaganza called the Arpuna Saturday Night Bazaar. It is THE thing to do if you travel to Goa. At least a couple of thousand people from near and far were there, mostly having a good old time. Old hiippis never die; they go to Goa and sell stuff tourists will like, get loaded, hang out at the coffee shops in Calangute, and get involved with all kinds of drama. The old guard is a little inbred. I heard all about it from an Australian woman I originally met in Leh, then again in Srinigar, who lives in Goa six months out of the year. We hooked up a couple of times. I also hooked up with a couple of German women at the bazaar and drank with them till 5. Omygod.

That was after I took my rented motorbike up to a beach about 25 km north of Vagator, called Hamal, and walked along it for at least a couple of miles. It’s got white sand, is at least 50 meters wide, light surf and a gentle slope into the wter. There are two clusters of beach bars and a lot of nothing.

I took about 10 dips on the way, and got sunburned, not to bad. As you can see, there are not too many people there.

I don’t kow how long I’ll stay here, maybe a couple more days. Then I think I’ll go to South Goa. They say it’s slower down there. After that, I think I’ll bag the beach scene and go the the forests nd tea plantations of southern Karnataka, back up in the ghats. It should be cooler again up there. At any rate, my next entry will probably be from South Goa.

Be well, all of you.