Puri

Nov. 28^th, 2012

We would spend about five days total in the beach/holy town of Puri in the state of Orissa. Some of the time was spent on the beach, while other times were spent exploring the town or nearby sites. Puri is not your idyllic beach paradise by any means. The water is not the calmest, nor the clearest and there are no palm trees in site. The public beach area pushes up against a dense fishing village where the sand is used primarily as a toilet, as they have no plumbing in their homes.

Lounging on the beach in the style that most westerners do (laying in the sun with skin showing to maximize the tanning effect) is a little awkward, as Indians don’t really do this. However, this town has been attracting a thin stream of hippie backpackers since the ‘70’s and a little bit of western skin is not shocking to anyone. Either way, though, you will definitely get a little bit of harassment from the local hustlers. This usually comes in the form of some middle-aged guy, usually mustachioed and pot-bellied, offering a massage. We had to be very forceful to get these guys to leave us alone and it made me wonder who the people were that paid for a massage from these guys. Other guys wanted to sell us weed, which was funny because it could be bought legally in town at the government-controlled “Bhang” shop. As a city that contains a major holy site, Puri enjoys the privilege of legal marijuana. The other bother on the beach came from curious guys, presumably some form of Indian tourist that was not used to seeing foreigners, coming up to us and taking pictures of us with their cell phones. The first couple times it happened the guys asked permission and we agreed, though it still felt awkward. Then when people started doing it from a short distance without acknowledging us, Joe got sick of it. He called one of the guys out on it and he apologized, saying he would stop. He didn’t though and Joe threatened to throw his phone into the water. This worked, but I also wondered if it wasn’t a bit heavy-handed. After all, we are all tempted at times to take pictures of people and things simply because we see them as “exotic”.  The best character of the beach, however, was the “lifeguard”. It was a fat man in boxers and a singlet with a paper hat on with the word “lifeguard” crudely written across it. It seemed that he could be hired by Indian families to watch after their children as they splashed around in the water. He is the reason that everyone there should learn to swim.

The swimming in Puri was exactly what I like in an ocean beach. It had decent waves that made for great body surfing and the temperature was not freezing, yet it was still refreshing after a day in the heat. One of the days we went down to the beach with Kailash. He said he didn’t know how to swim (many Indians don’t, even if they have lived their whole lives near water) so Joe, who is also a lifeguard wanted to teach him. He giggled like a child as he splashed around in the waves. It seemed that having Joe simply standing there gave him a lot of confidence, enabling him to take more of a chance as he practiced swimming. He started to get ambitious in the waves, trying to body surf. Most times he would get clobbered by the wave, do a few somersaults under water and resurface gasping for air with a panicked look on his face, followed by more giggling. He did manage to actually catch a couple waves, but usually he would end up swallowing tons of water anyway, since couldn’t control his excited giggling as the wave carried him toward the shore. By the end of the day I don’t know if he could truly swim, but I think he was on his way.

During the evenings we would sometimes hang out on the roof, which had a great view, with other travelers and have a few beers. Sometimes, though, we would just sit and watch terrible Indian action movies with Kailash. One night we found Dumb and Dumber on TV and watched the entire thing. It had never seemed funnier. Another night we managed to have a little bonfire with the crew behind the guesthouse. There was a Mexican girl, Kailash a German guy, a French or two and the American guy from Evergreen State College. The American brought his guitar. Now, such cliché hostel behavior as sitting around with the dude that brought his guitar and singing Oasis songs is not my cup of tea, but at this moment, with the fire, the beer and the company, I almost welcomed it. Joe told him to play something to sing along too and he started to play a song by Jason Mraz. He was surprised that nobody knew it and I was like, well, yeah, it’s Jason Mraz. He offered up another Jason Mraz song, which of course nobody knew. Then we asked what other songs he knows. He responded with a slight sense of shame in his voice, “I really only know Jason Mraz songs.” I didn’t want to laugh at that moment, but I will never forget that I met “the guy that only knows Jason Mraz songs on his guitar”. When I introduced myself to the Mexican girl, she responded, “Joey?! Like from Friends?!” Normally I can’t stand when people make that association, but I was forgiving of her because she said that “Friends” was actually how she had learned to English. Props to her. Then, realizing that he was not the only “Friends” fan in the house, “the guy that only knows Jason Mraz songs on his guitar” started a Friends-based conversation with her that lasted the rest of the night. At least I still had Joe and Kailash to talk to.

Hanging out in the guesthouse

Joe on Kailash's motorcycle

One evening we wandered from the main street through the fishing village nearby toward the beach. It was a charming and fascinating little village, but it still felt a little intrusive to be wandering through there without purpose. We tried not to linger more than we needed to and eventually reached the beach. Between the homes of the village and the beach, there was an endless line of fishing boats. It seemed that most of them had finished working for the day. The boats had been hoisted from the water onto the sand using rope attached to large cranks cemented into the ground that would take several men to turn. It was an impressive feat. It was the evening and at this point in the day only a few boats remained in the water. There were a few small fish auctions going on. It was a very similar scene to a beach town I had once stayed at in Ghana. We wandered the beach, watching people buying their fish, kids flying kits, men tending to their nets and inadvertently seeing plenty of people relieving themselves. I stepped in people poop about three times in the hour we were walking around. I guess that’s what happens when there are way more interesting things to look at than the ground.

One day we rented bicycles and rode to the town to see the Jagannath Temple. This was the day we realized that Puri has some size to it and was not just a sleepy fishing village. It actually has a population well over 150,000 people and a crowded, bustling city center. The ride took about twenty or thirty minutes on our simple little cruisers with a steel frame. The ride through the neighborhoods on the way to the temple was actually as interesting as anything else we would see throughout the day. It was a convoluted route we took to get there, but we didn’t care. We had all the time in the world. Suddenly we emerged to city’s main artery, a wide boulevard that stretched for at least eight lanes. We rode into the traffic, ringing our little bells and made our way to the Jagannath Temple. Jagannath, an incarnation of Vishnu, is the most important holy figure in Orissa. Jagannath is non-sectarian and is worshipped by several types of Hindus as well as some Buddhists. Images of him, with his brother Balbhadra and his sister Subhadra, are seen everywhere. Jagannath means “master of the universe”. This all-powerful being is where we get the English word “juggernaut”. The temple in Puri, built in the year 1198 is the oldest devoted to Jagannath in all of India. Incidentally, though, non-Hindus are not allowed, so all we could do was watch the worshipers line up outside or purchase devotional items. From a distance, we were able to see the huge building, with its 58-meter spire coming out of the top, but up close there was not much to see. We took in the atmosphere for a bit and I bought a wall hanging with Jagannath on it, since it is my second favorite Hindu deity. 

Heading to the temple.

This is Jagannath

And this is a Jagannath taking the form of an auto rickshaw.

One nice thing about staying in that town for as long as we did was that we got to know some of the people here and there. For example, there was a woman that ran a chai stand who was so sweet, and one of the only women I’d ever seen selling chai. Also, we became friends with the guys that ran the guesthouse, which is something that I have almost never experience in India. Guesthouse staff tends to be my nemeses.

Our nearest boulevard.

On one of our last days, Kailash, Joe and I splurged and hired an auto rickshaw to take us to Konark, a town north of Puri that is home to the Sun Temple, a Unesco World Heritage Site. It was a fun experience to hire it for the day, so we could basically take it wherever we wanted. Joe took a turn driving it, but it looked complicated, so I stayed in the back seat, leaving the driver to do his job. The drive was pretty and hugged the coast. When we got to Konark, it seemed to be one of those towns that only exists because of a tourist attraction. Plenty of wannabe guides followed us as we approached the temple, but we just pointed at Kailash, showing that we already had one. He really was not much of a guide, since he did not know a lot about the temple and his English was not that great either. Either way, he was our friend, and we were happy to be with him.

Kailash in the rickshaw

On the way to the temple.

A temple on the way.

The Sun Temple was built by an Orissan king in the 13^th century to serve as the chariot for Surya the sun god. Seven horse statues representing the days of the week pull the chariot temple. At the base of the temple sit 24 wheels representing the hours of the day. The temple has been through a lot, but has, for the most part, been well restored. The entrance fee was 250 rupees, so we did not enter the temple grounds. However, walking around the perimeter we were still able to see a lot of it. The grounds outside were littered with un-restored chunks of stone carving. Perhaps if we would have sprang for a guide we would know the story behind this ancient discarded and crumbling art. One interesting tidbit that I picked up about the temple, though, was that somewhere among the intricate carvings on its walls was a giraffe. This proves that even in the 13^th century, this port on the east coast of India was trading with Africa.

After leaving the temple, we went to the nearby beach where a festival was beginning. Dozens of sand artists were busy constructing elaborate masterpieces. At this point, though, the figures were just beginning to emerge from the sand. We were a day or two early.

On the way back, we stopped by an isolated beach that looked good for a swim. The driver stayed in the rickshaw while Kailash, Joe and I went down. I went swimming, while they walked around on the sand. I would have loved to spend a day there. It was close to the road, but was still far from people. I’m sure that with a little walking we could have found a great campsite.

Joe tries out the rickshaw.

Taking a swim.

That night we had to say goodbye to Kailash and everyone else at the guesthouse and take a train back to Kolkata. Puri had been a welcome diversion on an improvised trip that had turned out much different than planned. I felt so glad to have seen some parts of India that I had known nothing about, but also would not have gone to if it wasn’t for our spontaneity. While I don’t have a very soft spot in my heart for Bihar, I could really see myself going back to further explore Jharkhand and Orissa. They are a little off the beaten path and have a lot of possibilities for an adventurous traveler. For now, though, this would mark the end of something. I had to get back to Kolkata to get ready to leave in a couple days. In a way, Puri was my final destination before making a long, roundabout journey back home to Idaho for Christmas. I had a flight out of Kolkata to Bangkok, where I would meet up with Harley and his friends who just finished the Peace Corps, then I would return to Idaho with stops in Seoul and Seattle. After a year and three months on the road in Africa, Europe, Southeast Asia and India, it seemed that I was finally turning back around. What an odd destination.