Clare man Ciaran O’Connell has left Ireland behind to embark on a once-in-a-lifetime trip backpacking around the world. Internet access permitting, Ciaran will be corresponding with us as he enjoys his travels. This week he comes across some Mister Bean snacks and some naked monks.
Dear Joe
How’ya now? Week 4 and after saying goodbye to my good friend Johnny, I went it alone and took a trip off the beaten track, attempting to visit some local Indian hotspots that wouldn’t be on many Westerner’s to do lists.
The week started with local elections which came with a three-day alcohol ban in Goa, meaning things went extremely quietly. But being off the drink for a few days gave a good excuse to do some exploring.
I made friends with a lovely couple from Auckland, New Zealand who were planning a trip of a bay on a boat which I happily joined them on. Mike’s a NZ TV crime reporter and part-time fisherman and his wife Sarah is a doctor in Auckland. We enjoyed dangling our lines over the edge of a local boat and having the craic in a laidback way.
Later in the day, I got invited back to Mike and Sarah’s beach hut, where Sarah had some contraband liquor.
The favour was returned the following night when the ban was half lifted by the local bar owner when he won the election. He was clearly thrilled, so much so that he gave up on charging for drinks. The subsequently huge amount of fireworks set off by well-oiled locals and tourists nearly set the town half alight. Among the crazy amount of free booze on offer was ‘Fenni’ a local extremely strong coconut-based concoction that went down easily after the first shot.
The next day, and with a slightly sore head, I travelled south and inland towards India’s highest waterfalls, Jogs Falls. My journey took six hours and involved a train, a bus and a rickshaw. Eventually I landed in a small village called Manina Gundi where I went to the local shop/ restaurant/ family home where all the kids were doing their homework around a single table in the middle of a 5m x 5m abode. With no English they headed off into the back room to wake their father, who as well as running the shop/restaurant was also the local taxi driver.
He drove me the ten-minute journey to the Falls Youth Hostel. I was the only guest in the hostel but that didn’t mean I was alone, the extremely friendly local community all wanted to meet the foreigner and find out “which country†the foreigner is from. I’ve found this curiosity and friendliness very common and endearing throughout India.
It was also good to experience the different climate up near the falls. I fell asleep to rain for the first time on my trip. It poured down through the night – it was just like being back at home.
The next day, after waking to a grand cup of local sweet milky chai and leaving the hostel, I noticed a strange but familiar face peering out from some snacks being sold at the side of the road. You don’t expect to find Mr Bean in the middle of nowhere, but there was Rowan Atkinson gurning at me from all the packets.
I never found out what Mr Bean snacks tasted like. Instead I headed down towards the falls and a visitor centre built around 50 years ago that had been unchanged since. The place looked like it was built for a crowd, but there were few people there save for a couple of families and, on this day, an Irish man in a JOE t-shirt.
The falls were very impressive but lacked power. I later found out that they used to be more impressive but the government built a dam and power station up river, instantly diminishing the spectacle for future visitors.
My next stop was a small holy town called Sravanabelgola about 240km further south. After three bus trips and eight hours of bumpy roads I got chatting with Chandan, a 25-year-old medical student who had overheard me speaking English and was from Sravanabelgola.
Chandan turned out to be the nicest and most hospitable young man I’ve met on my trip far. Once off the bus he took me for chai at his friend’s place, then showed me around his sleepy, friendly town before helping me with my accommodation (making sure I didn’t get ripped off).
He also explained the best way for me to proceed up to the Gomatheswara monument, the biggest and most important attraction in these parts and basically an 18m solid stone statue, the largest in Asia, of a naked male god situated inside a holy temple on top of a local hill. Chandan had forgotten to inform me that the monks for this temple stroll around butt-naked and in heavy states of prayer, but I soon found out when I reached the main gate. Seated there was a naked monk deep in meditation.
It got even more interesting when the crowds of young families and a group of older ladies from Ragestan all went up to him and bowed as they passed him by. Once the gates were opened all of us joined together to tackle the thousand stone steps up to the temple. I got to witness the daily ritual of washing the statue’s feet (a mimic of the once-every-12-year festival where they run water and milk over it in a week-long event). Â Pilgrims from all over the world come to worship here.
Before I left I once again met with Chandan for breakfast. Like other students there he pays local ladies to be sort of mammy figures, cooking their meals while the students are away from home. I got to try out a typical local breakfast in a family home while the kids got ready for school, which was unreal.
From there I proceeded on my journey south to the hill top town of Otty via the local national park. While we were passing through this park two things happened. First, a massive elephant ran right across our path as we drove along. Not something you see every day. Then the bus had a tyre blowout: all the men left the bus to help the driver while the women all sat watching the proceedings from inside the bus.
Anyhow, following our little drama we landed in Otty, 1800m up the blue mountains. As I got off the bus it felt a lot colder, reminding me of home straight away. It was interesting to see locals all wrapped up in thick heavy jumpers and leather jackets and the ladies in their granny cardigans. The next morning I was planning to take a ride on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway Blue Train (the last of the colonial steam trains in India), but as I had a lot of kilometres built up this week already I didn’t go for it.
My time in Otty coincided with Diwali, the five-day festival of light that is the single most important festival for Hindus. The part of it that was visible to me involved what seemed like millions of crackers and fireworks going off at the same time all over town at all hours of the day and night. Total madness but mighty craic.
Well I think that’s about all this time but in my next letter I hope to fill you in on the goings-on as I end my trip in India via Kerella and fly to the next country on my list Sri Lanka where I get to do more man’s stuff. I’ll keep you posted.
See you after, kid.
Ciaran
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