South India Travel Journal

By Tarini Carr

Day 1 to Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh
In which our Heroines discover that trains do not like to linger.

My friend Ashley from the US was visiting me here in India and we planned on doing a whirlwind tour of South India, starting in the pilgrimage site of Tirupati in Andhra Pradesh, and then looping around the coast of southern India, and then back to Bangalore. Our bags were packed, goodbyes had been said, and we had arrived at the train station with plenty of time to spare, to wait for our 5:20 p.m. train. Well, exactly at 5:20 a train came whirling in. I couldn’t see at first what the train name was, and I missed whether or not there was a first class compartment. We both got up and started walking up the length of the train looking for the first class. Hardly had the train been in the station a minute, it started up. We started to walk faster and an official looking gentleman saw us walking hurriedly, glanced at us, hopped on the train, and then it took off! The train had left without us! We couldn’t believe it! There was hardly time to get off the bench and walk to the train without it taking off. Well, we then had to go back to Mysore, cancel our ticket and try to find another one. Little did we know our trip was to be frought with trains, or rather a lack of them. There were no trains available for 2 more days, so we bused back to my residence. How very anticlimactic.

Day 1 (again) to Tirupati
In which our Heroines discover they are not alone in their compartment.

All right! This time we were determined to get on that train and sat at the very front of the tracks upon the crackly dry grass. This time the train came in and stood in station for nearly 6 minutes, and we boarded with no problems. Our ticket did not mention what compartment we were to have and nothing was marked so we grabbed one that was empty and fortunately a half room, i.e. only 2 bunks and very cramped. We settled in for the 10 hour ride to Tirupati, watching the scenery and the sun set, before it was too dark to see anything but the passing buildings. Soon it became clear that we were not to be given any bedding. This was a bit annoying; I had read that in first class they give you bedding and meals, but for whatever reason they did not. The meals we would not have eaten anyways, eating out in India is dodgy at best, but train food is even more dangerous to our foriegn digestive systems. Fortunately Ashley had a sleeping bag, and I had a small blanket and pillow. Sleep would not be easy to get anyways, for the train often blared its shrieking horn, and with the constant shaking and jolting, sleep was near impossible to achieve except in short stints. I woke during the night once not to the shrieking of the train but to a more familiar and human shriek-that of Ashley. A mouse had run right by her face and dashed off somewhere into the darkness. The lights were turned on, blankets shook, and the room searched, but our small companion had disappeared, hopefully for good.

Day 2 Tirupati-Tirumala
In which our Heroines discover that finding accommodation is not very accommodating.

After many restless hours, 5 am approached and we got off at Tirupati. Fortunately everything was well marked and we found the bus station very easily. From there we caught an hour-long bus up to the hill of Tirumala, where the sanctuary of Sri Venkateswara (or Sri Balaji as he is alternately known) was located. Built upon one of the 7 surrounding hills, Tirumala has many legends associated with it.

The Venkatam hill is said to be the sporting hill of Vishnu, brought to earth from Vaikuntam by Garuda, the vehicle of Vishnu, according to the Puranas. The Venkatam hills are also known as Seshachalam, a manifestation of Adi Sesha, the cosmic serpent. The seven hills of Tirupati are said to represent the seven hoods of Sesha.

The Varaha Purana mentions that Vishnu in the boar form and in the form of Srinivasa manifested himself on the banks of the holy Pushkarini in Tirumalai. It is believed that the celestial entities such as Bhrama and others worship Venkatachalapati and to facilitate their worship, all articles of worship are left open in the sanctum when the temple is closed at night.

The first thing I noticed was how incredibly clean and organized everything was, both on the way up the small mountain and within the town itself. There was little to no trash, lush green lawns, many clear signs, and uncommonly smooth roads. By this time it was about 6:30 am, but Tirumala was a buzzing hive of activity. Buses run up and down the hill from 3am till 11pm, and darshan of the deity can be taken from nearly the same hours.

Tirumala is one of the most important places of pilgrimage in all of India. More amazing still, is that it is the most visited temple in the entire world, eclipsing Mecca and Rome, as well as Jerusalem, in its daily flow of pilgrims. There are never any less than 5000 pilgrims here at one time, and within a day it can reach up to 100,000! Another interesting aspect of the temple here is that it is one of the few places in India that allows non-Hindus into the sanctum.

After disembarking our bus, we began to search for lodging. There was a Central Reception Office that seemed to offer dormitory or cottage rooms for a very cheap price. As neither of them sounded like they would be very sanitary or safe, we wanted to find a regular hotel. Our handy Lonely Planet guidebook was rather vague in its descriptions of lodging, but it seemed to indicate there was guesthouses available somewhere and we set out. A man at the information office told us of a Padmavati Guest House, where many foreigners stayed, and with the usual vague hand wave of ‘just there’ and ‘left’ we decided to walk and find the place. Well, we had our packs upon our backs, which were not quite as light as they might have been, and there were several small hills to walk up to get to this Padmavati guesthouse. After several stops for catching our breath, and inquiries from passerby’s as to where we were going, with more vague hand gestures in return, we finally found the place. There was no one around, not in the office, not in the hall, but there seemed to be some banging coming from within a kitchen. Relived to have a place to sit and get our packs off, we sat down and waited. A few minutes later a man showed up and asked us what we wanted and I replied ‘ a room”. He looked at us strangely and said there we could not get a room here and we had to go down to ‘the office’. I finally figured out that you could not get a room directly at this spot, but you had to first go through an office of some kind to book the room. So on went the packs and down the hill we went again. Arriving at the office, the men there told us this was just the enquiry office and that we had to go to the Chairmans Camp Office. Upon inquiring at the Chairman’s Camp Office we were told we could not get rooms here but had to go to the Central Reception Office. It was now nearly 9:30 am, and we had been traveling since 5 pm the previous day, did not sleep on the train, had nothing to eat but some oily snacks, had walked up and down roads looking vainly for offices that would tell us to go somewhere else, and our backs were aching. In short we were rather miserable. That was it, I didn’t care what the room looked like, we were going to try and get a room through the Central Reception Office, even it was only Rs50 and had cochroaches, I wanted somewhere to lay down and get rid of that backpack. After shuffling through many claustrophobic wire caged ques, and enduring the stares and whispers of the interested pilgrims around us, we were given an official looking printout of a receipt for our room. Relieved but with no idea of where to go to find the room that was described by a sequence of numbers and abbreviated words, we went out of the building. For the first time of many to come, the good nature of the Indian people came to our aide. At least 5 people stopped us to ask where we were going, and looking at our ticket pointed us in the ever-closer direction of our cottage. After yet another visit to an office, we were brought to our ‘cottage’, located on the ground floor of a weathered building. The door was small, wooden, and if someone really wanted to break in, there was very little to stop them. The inside was small, and somewhat dingy, but it was a room. The beds were very dogdy, having mysterious stains and dirt marks on them, the sheets were ripped and grubby, and there was no way I was using that pillow. But for Rs50 it was not bad, and at that point in time, I was not going to complain. And surprisingly enough, I only saw 2 small cochroaches, which we, rather quickly disposed of. After cleaning up it was time to go and purchase tickets for darshan of the diety the next day. There are so many people that if you go in the normal que that is free, you can be in line for up to 12 hours! There are many tickets available for different sorts of darshan, which means that you will usually have to wait much less time in line before you get in. After wandering around for some time, and happening upon some other foreigners trying to figure out the same thing, we purchased a ticket for Rs50, that was supposed to get us “special darshan’, with only a few hours in the que. Only moments after being handed the ticket the man told us that we could not have darshan today, or the next day, (the 10th) but the 11th. It was all booked. Well that put us in a spot, as we had such a tight schedule we needed to get going the next afternoon, and of course we could not refund our ticket. Frustrated yet again we stood outside and discussed what to do, when another kindly gentleman came up to us and told us that if we had passports we could go to the temple, show our passports, and for RS100, get into a foreigners que that would only take 2 hours at most.

So off we set to find this other office. Upon arriving there was another great line, and we waited, and waited, only to find that the office suddenly closed for ‘lunch’. This was at 2:30. We found a shady spot to wait, and we waited, and waited, and found something to snack on, and when it was 4:30 and the office was still ‘out to lunch’, I had had enough. That was just ridiculous. There were many different entrances to the ques for the temple and we still had our tickets that were for the 11th, but by this point it seemed worth a try to get in. By some fluke, our tickets had that days date, the 9th on them, and the men at the entrance seemed kind of hesitant but we played the innocent uniformed foreigners and they let us through. It was that easy! But as we wended through the various cages and walkways, we came to another checkpoint where they again asked us to produce the ticket and a ‘token’. What token? No one had given us a token! Apparently they were supposed to and this was something of an issue, but again our white skin seemed to do the trick. This time, however, we had to go to another office where we filled out and signed a paper saying that we believed in the presiding deity sri Balaji, and then we were allowed to proceed. After only 2 hours in the que, and being thoroughly squished, jostled, and poked by little girls who must have been curious to see if we really could feel things to, we had darshan of Sri Balaji. It was brief, and we were continuously pushed and pulled along by the weary and stern looking guards all around, making sure to keep the crowd flowing along at a good rate. And after receiving 4 giant luglus (special sweets made with chickpea flour, cardamon, gaur,) we were on our way out again. Although being stuck in crowd of pushing people for 2 hours, it was worth the wait, everything in India just adds up to part of the experience. The rest of this neverending day passed without incident.

Day3 Tirupati-Madras-Mahabalipuram
In which our Heroines embark to the place of The Seven Pagodas (Mamalapuram)

Bright and early at about 5 am, we were up again traveling by bus to Madras, and then on to Mahabalipuram (also called Mamalapuram). The rides were long, and invariably bouncy, and Madras was the most wretchedly polluted city I have ever been in. If I did not have to go there ever again, it wouldn’t be too soon. I thought Bangalore had bad air and bad traffic, but that was nothing compared to Madras. I have been to Mahabalipuram several times since I was 10 years old and it is the only place of all the different spots we are going to where I know my way around. Our hotel was a welcome change, and after finding something to eat we went shopping! Mahabalipuram has a lot to offer, from the usual Indian fare, to more westernized versions of clothing, oddities, beautiful marble, wood and metal carvings of all kinds. Mahabalipuram is famous for its carvings, both ancient and modern, and the town is still a buzzing center of sculpture making. From early in the morning till past dusk hundreds of artists can be heard and seen chipping, grinding, and sanding away at various pieces of stone, creating anything from a huge elephant, to a tiny carved box. You can even come here and learn sculpture for a modest fee of rs100 a day.

Mamalapuram was a once a great seaport and the 2nd capital of the Pallava kings of Kanchipuram. The Pallavas were great supporters of the arts, and during their reign between 400-700 AD they reached the height of their artistic creativity, as exemplified in the carvings and architecture at Mamalapuram. This place was known as the Seven Pagados to seamen, who spoke of 7 temples that were built on the shore. Hundreds of years ago when the British first visited here, the locals told stories of the 7 shore temples, and how not so long before that there were times when they would see the golden domes in the waves. At that time only one temple remained visible and intact upon the shore. As no evidence that these other temples existed was ever found, it was taken as just another one of India’s mythological stories. But last year during the tsunami, eyewitnesses reported seeing large conical shaped stones out in the sea as the water receded before the waves hit. After the storm, divers in the ocean discovered several large stone statues, one of a lion, and the bases of others a small distance out in the ocean. They had been buried in the sand but the force of the tsunami wave and shifted the sand and left them uncovered once more. Many diving excavations are going on now to further explore these ruins, and it seems that The Seven Pagodas may not be a fanciful tale after all. It is believed that when the sea levels rose the other 6 were subsequently submerged.

The historic interest and the beautiful beaches make this a hot spot for tourists from all over the world, and nearly as many native tourists. No one batted an eye at Ashley and I, as at any given time one could see at least 3 other foreigners within view. This was actually kind of bothersome, for honestly we had become used to being the center of attention, and getting more ‘special’ treatment.

Day 4 Mahabalipuram
In which our Heroines see the sights and fend off the advances of camera wielding Sikhs.

After some very strange ‘pancakes’ at a ‘german bakery’, we were off to fulfill the real reason we were in Mahabalipuram, seeing the magnificent and numerous carvings, and temples. First off was Arjuna’s penance, an enormous bas-relief carved into two huge boulders. It is the largest single bas-relief in the world. There are two explanations for the story that is depicted there. The first one:

“These bas-reliefs, carved in the 7th century, are among the largest in the world. Completely covering two huge boulders 27 meters long and 9 meters high, the reliefs depict the flow of the Ganges down from the Himalaya Mountains as described in the Panchatantra. The story is a flood myth like the tale of Noah, but differs in its cast of characters. Legend says that King Bhagirath brought down the Ganges from Heaven to purify the souls of his ancestors. His plan went awry when he realized that the flood would innundate the earth, so he had to undergo a penance to convince Shiva to intervene, who came down to earth and let the flood trickle through his hair, dispersing the waters safely in innumerable streams all over the world. This strange sight aroused the curiousity of the world's animals, which gathered round the soaking God.

The cleft in the two rocks is perhaps the most famous part of the mural. It depicts the descent of Shiva from heaven through the colossal waterfall. The ruins of a stone water tank above the rocks support this interpretation. As for the rest of the mural, it depicts Indian village life in the 7th century, with carvings of scenes from daily life.”

(http://www.orientalarchitecture.com/mahabalipuram/arjunaindex.htm)

Oddly, though I have been here several times when I was a bit younger, for the life of me I cannot remember ever having seen any of these carvings or sites, except for Krsna’s Butterball, a giant boulder perched seeming precariously on the edge of aslope. This truly is an amazing place, and I think my favorite place of all that we visited. The artists were very clever to use the landscape as their canvas, the huge rocks strewn throughout the area made perfect objects to create into beautiful cave temples, mandapams, and other works. It’s always interesting when the natural environment is used to create art, instead of bringing in the materials. Although very touristy, it hadn’t lost any of its inherent charm. The lower walksways were dotted with icecream vendors, drink stalls, and little boys and girls shoving handfuls of necklaces in your face, attempting in some perverse fashion to convince you to want to buy them. Ashley and I walked around all the different cave temples, and to the lighthouse, up and down the rocky hilly landscape in the boiling sun.

Several times Indian families asked us to be in their pictures with them. Its so tacky, I would never dream of asking someone visiting my country to be in a picture unless I knew them. Oh well,it makes you feel a bit like a celebrity. Usually I’ll consent to be in a picture with a family, but not when it’s a group of men. While climbing up one hill a whole school group of Sikh boys about my age, with cameras in hand came up to me and asked me to be in a photo. Definitely not! Who knows what they would do with or say about that picture. Several of them kept entreating me with pleases, but I refused, and had to just hurry away. I don’t think they would ever treat another Indian girl that way, so I find it insulting to my character that they think its okay to behave like that with western girls.

Towards the end of the day I was not feeling very well, and I had developed the telltale scratchiness of a sore throat coming on, I was weak, and dizzy and wanted only to sleep. But we had to try and book a train to Madurai for the next night. I inquired only to be told that there were no trains available to Madurai for another 3 days. This was a bit of an annoyance, but we could after all try and take a bus, but they could not be booked in Mahabalipuram so we would wait until the next day to go back to Madras, and catch a bus from there.

Day 5 Mahabalipuram,
In which our Heroines are not feeling well

By now many of the shopkeepers knew us, we had walked by so many times, and we had the same waiter at the restaurant we went to everytime. We were making friends with the locals. I kind of liked this, it was like people knew us, instead of just passing through, and we were making more of a connection with the people here. Today however was not a good day, Ashley had been attacked by bed bugs in the night (even in such a nice hotel!) and she looked like she had chicken pox, and I was feeling more rotten by the minute. If I had to go to Madras today I was going to be extremely ill, undoubtedly it was the foul air there that had triggered my illness anyways. Enquiring again at the train booking office what trains were available to several other places we may have gone to, we again found, nothing was available. With the most remarkably poor timing, we had decided to travel during Poongal, the harvest season festival, in which everyone in India travels, everywhere else, to be with his or her family. This goes on from about the 11th-16th. And hence why we could not find any trains for another few days, to any of 4 places we wanted to go. I thought Id give it a shot and ask the man what he knew about buses and he told me quite flatly that I wouldn’t be able to get any buses to Madurai, Trichy, Tanjore, or any other number of places. They were all booked, all reserved, and all unavailable. I was shocked! There was nothing available? Nothing, he was quite certain of. I couldn’t believe this so we went to the small bus stand in town and asked around and all the workers there said the same thing. Well, I was feeling to sick to go anywhere today so we would wait until the next day to see what further transportation frustrations it would bring. In the late afternoon we went to see the other monuments that Mamalapuram is most famous for. Known as The Five Rathas, the first 4 rathas, or chariots were cut out of one continous enormous boulder. They are supposed to have been replicas of the original wooden ones, and in the carvings you can see how the artist even tried to replicate the grain of the wood. These ‘chariots’ are a bit of a puzzle for each one is quite different in style from the others, which is unusual. Unfortunately the Shore Temple was closed when we got there but we could still see it from afar and take photographs. Its proximity to the sea has taken a toll upon this temple, worse than that of any of the other monuments in the whole area. Many of the carvings have been nearly obliterated by sun, sand, wind, and water leaving only the outlines of what they once were. Last years tsunami came right up into it, and also caused some more damage. But, it still remains beautiful and it’s unique for its two towers and that it is a temple to both Lord Visnu and Lord Shiva. This temple was also built around the same time as everything else in Mahabalipuram, c.a. 700 AD.

The annual dance festival was going on, so we went to see the performance that night. Set against the backdrop of Arjuna’s penance, and lit with green and red lights, it was quite spectacular. Several permformers did their pieces, including a young girl, a man, and the star of the show, a girl in her late teens who was very talented. Well worth the RS100 to get a front row seat.

Day 6 & 7 (14th) Mahabalipuram, Madras, Coimbatore, Ooty
In which our Heroines are forced to endure unexpected trials including: 3 wretched pieces of film making, sleeplessness, and a supremely overcrowded bus.

Early in the morning we took a taxi a short ride away to a small town called Pakshitirtha. Bustling as all India temple towns are, this place was famous particularly for its second temple up on a hill. We made the climb of about 500 steps up, which became increasingly vertical in the ascent. The sun was hot, and our aching calves made us stop often to catch our breath. The views were spectacular, nearly 360 degrees, across the lush green plains, the town below and the mountains and lakes nearby. The temple itself was not spectacular, it was smallish and just a regular sort of ancient India temple. What made this spot special was that for hundreds of years it was documented that every day at about 12 noon, 2 kites (a type of bird of prey) would come to a particular spot on this hill to receive food from the Brahmins. They were coming regularly even up till about 12 years ago. The story goes that the two birds were great devotees who were turned into kites, and made the journey everyday to Benares, and stopped here along the way. I think that’s amazing! No one knows how it is possible, but the same two birds were coming for all that time. It is another of India’ s spiritual phenomenas.

In spite of the assurances we had received saying there were no buses available, we decided to go to Madras in the early afternoon to try and see what buses we could find to anywhere in south India that might be of interest. It seemed ridiculous that there couldn’t be a bus with open seats to somewhere! I was dreading going back into the foul air of Madras, but there was no other viable options. The bus station was a complete zoo. I think everyone in India was trying to travel that day. Bus after bus I went to, they shook their head and said it was reserved. After about and hour of that I realized I could be here all day unless I just made some sort of decision. The next bus I found that was going somewhere in Tamil Nadu that wasn’t north, we were getting on it. Then, there it was, a rickety grubby bus headed towards Coimbatore (a 12 hour ride), from which we could go up to the hill station of Ooty, it was out of the way, but it was a bus and it was going out of this hellish bus stand. So on we went. at least we had the front seats so we could keep our bags on the floor in front of us. And then I settled in for what would be the most exciting part of our journey, accompanied by the tune of the blaring film music in my ears…

Ooty, the 7th
How our Heroines got from Madras to Ooty

I have now been up since 6:30 am yesterday, a total of 41 hours! The bus ride was never ending, it stopped probably every 20 minutes to pick up or drop people off. It seemed as if all of India was traveling last night, somewhere, and anywhere. People crowded in and sat on the floor between the aisles, or just sort of slept standing up. The bus was extremely noisy, the seats extremely hard. This wasn’t a luxury bus, this was the bum cracking, rattletraps you see everywhere, but at least the seats slightly inclined. I gave up on sleep after about 8 hours. The driver was a nutcase. He seemed to enjoy holding our lives in his hands and narrowly escaping doom by sheer seconds and inches. We stopped for a restroom only once in the space of 13 hours. I was rather exhilarated to be awake after so long and being in such a mad house of humanity I wandered around, and then bought some oranges and apples. I love how everyone tries to overcharge me, for instance for a half kg of oranges the man said it was 40 rupees. I told him he was mad and that oranges were only 25 for 1 kg. He just shook his head in agreement and gave them to me for the right price. And then a moment later when I got a couple of apples, he tried to claim that apples were 15 rupees a piece. I sighed wearily, looked evenly at the man and said, " Look I live here, and I know that these mealy excuses for apples cost at most 45 RS a kg. I am not paying anymore than 25 for the two of these (they were big apples). I got my price. These people are relentless, I went to purchase a liter bottle of water, which is always rs12, and the man says to me " 20 rupees". I sighed again, and pointed to the very clearly marked printed price of rs 12. " No no" says he " 20 rupees". That was it; I'd had it with these people. " Do you think I am stupid? " I said, " The price is 12 rupees" (he made a motion to suggest that was not possible). I handed him 12 rupees, glared at the man, and walked away. I was feeling invincible, after avoiding death by only inches all night long, and was suddenly emboldened to do what I would normally never do: buy sweets in a bus station. So there I went and bought 4 pieces of Mysore Pauk, and burfi. Hey if I wasn't killed yet, what harm could a few sweets do? Well they ended up being disgusting so I threw them out the window. And onward went the trip. We were ‘fortunate’ enough to have got a 'video bus'. This means they blare films in Hindi or the local language at top volume. It was the stupidest movie I have ever seen in my entire life and I couldn't get away from it. The only option we had was to put our own headphones in and try to drown it out. Even played at full volume, I had to push the headphones in my ears to get away from the senseless giddy and incessant love songs. Even till 4 am every city we went through was bustling, the bus stops overflowing with people. Eventually I came to a point where I started to enjoy the thoroughly rottenness of the situation. We were both so completely miserable, but I would never have changed the experience, it was so unique, and such an adventure. My tailbone had begun to hurt so badly I couldn't bear to sit down anymore, and I was beyond tired. So what did our intrepid heroine do? She grabs her blanket, spreads it out on the small open area behind the bus driver, lies down, and yes, falls asleep. I actually fell asleep on the floor of bone rattling, diesel stinking bus amidst the horn blaring, engine humming in my ear, and driving over a road that in parts resembled the magnified surface of an english muffin. I probably deserve an award of some sort. Too bad no one got a picture. Well I slept for only an hour, but still. Finally the longest night I have ever experienced, ended and we arrived in Coimbatore at 5 30 am. We were frustrated at every turn when trying to find a bus to Ooty (about 3 hours away). The people we asked would give that maddening hand gesture of vaguely 'somewhere that way". It was always just there, straight, right, or other side. A slightly tipsy Indian man came up to us and took it upon himself to try to be our travel agent, first he wanted to arrange a taxi (no one was particularly inclined, he woke up one man who wanted something like 3000, and when I said that was ridiculous he shrugged and went back to sleep), and then a rickshaw before I could impart that we definately wanted a bus. I did not like him, but we were out in the open and surrounded by the other 10,000 people trying to get somewhere so I decided to follow him, as he knew where the buses to Ooty left. After winding here and there, (I can only imagine we would have taken an hour to find it on our own) there stood the single bus to Ooty.and the huge line waiting to get on them, and the coming buses. Despair was about to set in. We were tired, sore, hungry, and ready to chuck our back packs in the trash. And then our slightly unsteady friend winks and says he can 'arrange ' for seats on that bus for us, and then disappears into the crowd. In about 5 minutes he was back again and we were lead to the front of the line for the bus. Needless to say the others gave us some dirty looks, but I didn't care. After we thanked him, our strange Samaritan tottered off. We boarded the bus. Squished into a 3 seater, with our packs on our laps..Hour after hour, I feel asleep briefly and woke up to discover that they had somehow managed to squeeze 25 more people into standing on the bus. By now we were crawling up the mountainy roads at a snails pace. I calculated at one point we had taken an hour to travel 10 km. Neither of us could move, our packs were killing our legs and somebody kept leaning on Ashley's pack and cutting off the circulation in her legs.By this point in time, we were about to lose our minds. I never knew what a panic attack really felt like, but I started to completely bug out. I could not move, even if wanted to, or had to. There must have been about 80 people on that bus. We would have been stuck on that inching metal box for another 2 hours at that rate. I had to keep breathing steadily. And then that was it, there was no way I was sitting on that bus another minute or I would have starting screaming, when lo and behold we arrived in Coonoor, and then pushed our way off. Air! Relief. I would not be losing my mind, or at least not today. We found a taxi and went up to Ooty and then to a lovely hotel I had stayed at nearly 10 years ago with my family. It used to be owned by the Maharajas of Mysore, it was a summerhouse for them, and was furnished in a Victorian style.

It was rather chilly and damp, but a welcome change from the humidity and smog of the other places we had been. I believe I am still delirious from our mad schedule. I cannot keep track of math, and when I try to ask people questions I am not always coherent. I tried to ask the man about a room and after the first garbled attempt I turned to Ashley and asked her to speak with them. The man at the reception was exceptionally polite and well spoken and treated us like we were very important, asking us questions, and showing us the various rooms and suites available. It was such a change from the shoving, staring, and general treatment we had received I was quite unsure how to respond. And when the porter started to carry our bags in I felt terribly awkward and tried to grab my own. It was strange to be so waited on, and catered to. They even offered to bring us hot water bottles if we were cold at night. We had breakfast in an airy and sunny hall where all the utensils were silver and everything was served in lovely dishes and little pots. After breakfast, we had intended to do something interesting like a short pony trek, a visit to the botanical gardens, etc. but fell asleep and did not wake till late afternoon.

Ooty is not particularly famous for anything, besides its decent chocolates and splendid views. It was used as a summer retreat for the wealthy Indians and British to escape the sweltering heat of the plains.

Day 8 to Coimbatore
In which our Heroines pass a day with little out of the ordinary.

It was decided last night that we would make our way somehow to Madurai today, we didn’t have another day to spare to relax in Ooty. I did not want to get on another one of those claustrophobic buses, and neither did Ashley. We asked if we could ride on the roof of the bus, but they woulnd’t allow that. Too bad! The day was spectacular and cool, and it would have been a fantastic way to view the countryside and mountains as we went down. But, like in the US, apparently it is now illegal. For something different we negotiated a ride in a Jeep taxi down to Coimbatore. Our drivers were jolly and young and kept trying to ask us questions in their limited English. They were delighted upon discovering I spoke some Kanada, and then we tried to converse, until I realized they barely knew any more than me, and then we stuck to English. Periodically the driver would turn on some very irritating music at top volume. Realizing they get bored very easily and like to have music I thought Id put up with it for a bit, if they turned it down, so I asked them to. He obliged. But about 20 minutes later he turned it way up again. I suffered through that for 5 minutes and then Ashley and I looked at eachother and then she asked them just to turn it off. We had some silence for about 35 minutes, and I feel asleep scrunched up on the back seat, until I was rudely jolted awake by the blaring film music again. And again I asked them to turn it off, and again we had silence for about 30 minutes and then they turned it on again. These people were either stupid, had poor memories or just coulnd’t help themselves. This was the 3rd time we had asked them to turn it off, or down, and they just bounced right back again. Finally the ride was over and we were back down in the humid plains of Coimbatore. Our bad travel luck changed for as soon as we had paid the drivers a man from a travel agency came up to us and whisked us away to his office and before we knew it we had tickets on a luxury bus to madurai at 10pm that night. It was such a relief, but the only problem was we had 6 hours to kill and no place to put our packs. I could only think of trying to see a film somewhere as they usually are around 3 hours long in India, and that would take up a good chunk of time. The cinema was thankfully close by and the film was in Hindi, but it was easy to get the jist of what was going on. Surprisingly it actually had a plot, and no song and dance scenes. I didn’t’ know they made movies without them here! Of course we were quite the local attraction as few white people come into that theater. The man sitting next to me was quite twitchy and kept mumbling things to me in some English, which I could barely understand, and then gave me his business card and offered me some of his chips. I find all the encounters I have had throughout this journey with people very interesting. None of them have been unpleasant or creepy, except actually the westerners we met in Tirupati! They were exceptionally creepy and we were both very glad when they finally went their way.

The bus was a bit later than 10, but the travel agency at least had chairs to wait in, and it was well worth our Rs130. It was a really nice bus! The ride was supposed to take 6 hours, but we ended up getting in at 3am. I think I slept the entire time, I'm definitely becoming able to sleep anywhere now.

Day 9 Madurai
In which our Heroines witness India’s vibrant traditions, including what must have be a recent one, a carhood puja.

Finding our intended place of residence was not difficult, but everyone was asleep on the floor and the clerk very groggily checked us in. Then we both went to sleep ourselves.

I woke up hungry, and to my dismay, it was very hot. And very muggy, and it was only about 8am. This did not bode well for the rest of the day. The town of Madurai is very crowded, very hot, and very dirty, at least what I saw of it. The usual fever of activity, and people going here and there, and the usual people seeming to be doing nothing at all were all visible. And I also saw what must be truly the ugliest shirt in all creation hanging from a shop awning. It was so hideous I took a picture of it to remember it by. Of course the real purpose of probably 99% of everyone coming here is pilgrimage. Madurai is a very special and holy spot. Its history goes back at least 2000 years, but the present temple was built more recently and in different parts. One of the gopurams I passed was built in the mid 1300’s and the other 1570. There was a replica of the temple grounds inside a glass case. I was amazed at how enormous it was. It’s hard to get a sense of the size of the complex from the ground. Ashley and I wandered through most of it, but it’s hard to be sure, and especially as we were n’t allowed into the inner sanctums being non-Hindu’s. I did not know this, and we waited in line for about 40 minutes to get in, only to be rather rudely told by an offgreen suited officer woman that we were “ not allowed”. I didn’t understand her and she kept repeating it in a somewhat exasperated and unfriendly tone and gestured for us to climb out underneath the poles that made the que. It was then I noticed a large green sign that cleary said, “ Non Hindu’s not permitted. No Camera’s allowed inside sanctum”. So much for that. I can understand that they would not want any old goober inside looking at the deity. If someone does not believe in the sanctity or divinity of the deity than it is disrespectful to allow them inside. But I do believe that westerners that are ‘practicing Hindu’s’ or belong to some various religious sects should be permitted inside. God does not discriminate against skin color or country.

Ayapas were everywhere. Ayapas are easy to recognize as they wear all black. Later on today I saw something very odd, a car hood puja where about 8 Ayapas were crowded around with various articles of worship, and all chanting “ayapa”. I’m not really sure what they were doing exactly, but it seemed a strange place for devotions.

When we go on vacation we go to Disney world, but when many Indians go on holiday they go to temples and sacred cities. I guess each culture has its own places of pilgrimage.

There was many other things to look at, including a very nice museum with hundreds of different sculptures of deities set through a “thousand-pillared hall”. The hall was quite magnificient, and we wandered around the hushed hall admiring the many beautiful and intricate carvings. Despite the signs of “No sitting” there were several groups of people sitting down.

People seem to be very tickled when we wear saris, and stare even more, and often make comments about “ ahh..Indian.” or “ nice sari”. They really appreciate it more than when we wear punjabi’s or salwar. A tiny lady came up to us grinning and babbling and whisked us away to a corner and put bindis on our foreheads and roses in our hair, and very easily coaxed us to buy some of the ankle bells she was selling, and then ‘for no cost’ she took us out of the temple, across the street, and on the roof of a hotel to get a view of the temple complex from above. I was amazed! It is an enormous complex.
People are often very friendly, if we look slightly lost they ask us what we are looking for, help us out, or even walk us all the way to what we are looking for. Their kindness is very appreciated, but sometimes not purely altruistic. After a few minutes of perfunctory questions and pleasantries, they will suddenly ask you to come visit their shop. It would make them so happy if we just came to look, or their father will be so happy, or some other story. They have truly got it down to an art form, trying to cajole one into buying something, or at least coming to look. You just have to politely refuse, or just say you will come back later.

Buses and trains continue to be scarce. This is the prime season for traveling, as it’s the festival of Poongal. After yesterday’s lucky encounter with a travel agent, we have decided to try and go through them more often. Such a simple notion, and it had escaped us before. I suppose it is from the conditioning I’ve had in the US. Travel agents are useful but they always cost a lot more. But here, ‘a lot more’ may be the difference of 20rs, and a much more comfortable and hassle free experience. It has been difficult at times, just ‘winging’ it, but it has made us wise to the ways of the public transport, and now I am comfortable traveling anywhere and anyhow. One definitely experiences India in a different way when they use the public transport system, and not the more impersonal cabs or airplanes. As a result I have a much better idea of how big the country is, how to interact with the people, how to find what I am looking for, and just generally being very comfortable here. I feel as if I could travel anywhere in the world now by myself and be okay.

Day 10 Madurai to Kanya Kumari and Kovalum
In which our Heroines get their first glimpse of three oceans, all at once.

Another rickety bus, and cheating travel agents began our day. It seemed like it might be a good idea to try the travel agent thing again. But they turned out to be the cheating kind, and for RS 125 we were dumped on a state bus that would have only cost us rs70 had we just walked up to it. Its hard to tell sometimes who is genuine and who is not. After we had bought our tickets with their assurances of a semi deluxe bus, an elder Indian couple came up and demanded to see the bus to Kanya Kumari. The travel agent made a foul face and kind of put up stink but he led him away and did. When they came back a large and roudy argument ensued for it was indeed a state bus. I find it very odd how when faced with the fact that everyone knows they are duping you; the person doesn’t seem to care. In fact this man had a huge attitude about it, and was getting as angry as his customer! We couldn’t refund our tickets of course, so we just grumbled and took them anyways. There weren’t any nicer buses available till much later in the day, and there wasn’t time to wait around. The same couple also came on the bus, but had been wise enough to not buy their tickets first without seeing the transport itself. So they only paid the regular price.

The older couple was very well spoken, and their children lived in the US. We spoke to them off and on during the journey and before they got off, they gave us their contact info and said that if we were ever in New Delhi to please call them and we could stay with them. I have found the Indian people, and Europeans are very hospitable like that. I have already met 3 families that asked me to come stay with them, and as well as three younger Europeans. I think perhaps it is only Americans that tend to not put themselves out like that. When it comes time for relatives to come we all gripe and groan. I like that they are so hospitable, and I know they are trustworthy.

It got hotter as the day wore on, and more muggy, and more stifling. The bus ride was a bit of an endurance. The bus driver grinned at us and made fun of our suffering from his incessant horn blowing.

The landscape changed radically and of nowhere rose huge craggy mountains. Rocky, and green, and very sharp at the tips, they were in great contrast to the flat plains. It was all very green and lush. This is my first time to Kerala, and it is a little different.

Later on came a giant plain of windmills stretching in front and to the sides as far as I could see. That’s pretty neat that they use windmills to generate electricity.

Finally after many hours on that sauna like bus, we arrived in Kanya Kumari, and were greeted with a breath of fresh air from the sea. But it was very hot when the wind stopped blowing. We walked down to the shore where we were beleagured by postcard wheeling men and bracelet brandishing women, and the usual ogling Indian men. I have come to have a certain attitude with these people and when they stare I stare right back coldly until they look away, and keep going. The Arabian Sea, The Indian Ocean, and the Bay of Bengal, all meet at this point. I couldn’t see the different colors of water colliding, as I was to close. Probably from an arial view it could be observed.

Buses were going to take too long, so we got a taxi on to Kovalam. Apparently they all had a monopoly on the business, and no one would haggle even though rs 1000 for a 2.5 hour ride was rather a bit much. But we coughed it up, not wanting to sit in another bus for 5 hours.

It was hard to get a feel of what Kovalam was like without daylight, it was all dark restaurants and shady faces and Indian proprietors inviting us inside.And then there were street vendors trying to sell us cigarettes despite our declarations we do not smoke. There was a great many more Indians on vacation here, than in Mahabalipuram. Many are North Indians.

Our room was supposed to have AC, but oddly enough it didn’t work. We found out the next morning that rooms with AC cost more, which is odd because we asked for room with AC and that what they gave us. The usual word play and shistering. Oh well.

Day 11 Kovalam beach
In which one of our Heroines has a birthday

Today is January 18th and Ashley’s 21st birthday!
The all-important 21 that is celebrated in a usual fashion for most American persons by becoming extremely inebriated for the first time, legally. How terribly stupid. Ashley enjoyed having her usual winter birthday on a beach in the south of India, under the sunny skies, and ocean breezes, and yet more ogling Indian men. But we just ignored them and instead partook of the unseasonal jackfruit and mangos that were available. It was lovely to relax, and not have to jump on yet another bouncing bus.

Day 12 & 13 Kovalam and on to Mangalore
In which our Heroines leave the suny climes of Kerala.

Today we lounged around, got a sunburn, ate more jackfruit and mango, and finally shouldered our packs again after a nice break and headed towards Trivandrum. From there we boarded a train that traveled through the night and arrived in Mangalore on the west coast of Karnataka mid day. It must be all the traveling we have done, for we both slept very soundly through the night, despite having others passengers come in and out throughout the night. Out of necessity one gets used to sleeping through most anything. It was hot and all we wanted was to get out of the heat and get our packs off our sunburned shoulders. Fortunately there were rickshaws all around and we got on one to find the bus station where we would take a bus to Udupi, the last stop on our tour. All of this was pretty simple, and soon enough we were driving on to Udupi. We arrived mid afternoon, and found a hotel right near the bus station. The room was remarkably nice for Rs 300, and we were quite pleased with our find until we noticed a bunch of baby cochroaches crawling up the wall near the head of the bed. It was revolting and we went and asked them to spray the bedstand, or change the room. Unfortunately the other rooms seemed to be more infested, so after being nearly asphixiated by the bug killer, we just stayed on in the same room.

The reason we were visiting Udupi was for its Balakrsna temple. This is one of the most revered pilgrimage places in Karnataka. The deity of Krsna that resides here is said to have been made by the divine architect, Viswakarma.

Legend has it that at the end of the Dwapara Yuga, Krishna's mother Devaki and his wife Rukmini wished to enjoy his childhood pranks. The divine architect Viswakarma then created this image of Krishna bearing a churn in his right hand and a string in his left. Rukmini then worshipped this image every day. After Krishna's departure from this world, Arjuna is believed to have hidden it, and the image was said to have been covered with gopi chandanam - a substance similar to sandal paste.

In the 13th century AD, a ship traveling from Dwarka carrying this 'lump' bearing the image of Krishna, met with very stormy seas. Madhvacharya, the founder of the dualistic - Dvaita school of philosophy, sensed the divine cargo, calmed the storm and saved the ship. In return, he accepted this lump of cargo, and discovered the image of Krishna underneath the chandan. Madhva then installed and worshipped this image at Udupi.The Balakrishna temple founded by Madhvacharya dates back to the 13th century CE.

Often, the deity is taken out on procession around the temple, and there are elephants that also come to bless pilgrims when they are given coins. Unfortunately there was no procession and no elephants! I was here many years ago, and I was sure there would at least be one elephant this evening. But everything was pretty quiet. While inside we observed one of the puja’s. Many people came for this and we all squished in, standing, sitting, and perching here and there inside the sweltering room. Some of the male priests sang bhajans, or devotional songs, and then chanted prayers. Afterwards everyone partook of caranamrita, a mixture of milk, yogurt, ghee and other products, that the deity has been bathed in. Ashley and I had to pretend to drink what was dropped into our palms, and put the rest on the backs of our heads, unfortunately its this kind of thing that usually can make us foriegners really sick. After walking around the whole temple outside, and finding that there really weren’t any elephants to be blessed by, we headed back to find some dinner, and then bed.

Day 14 Udupi-Mangalore-Mysore
In which our Heroines travels come to an end.

Mid morning we found a bus to Mangalore, from where we would catch a bus back to Mysore. This was the last day of our trip. It was hot and muggy, and once we were in Mangalore it was a whole song and dance to find a bus to Mysore. Finally we had to go across town on a city bus to a certain stop that was near a bus stand that had Mysore buses. Once there we found we had just missed a bus leaving by 10 minutes, and the next one did not go for another 1 ½. We waited in the ticket reservation office as at least they had a fan. The bus was fortunately a nice one, comfortable and not full of the usual rabble. Ashley and I had a 2 seater each to ourselves nearly the whole journey. It seemed to stretch on and on, the hours passing slowly, and it was well after sunset before we reached Mysore. And then it was on to another bus to get back home. Finally, our journey ended, it had been full of many adventures and misadventures, but I was happy to be sleeping in my own room again.

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