Eventually, the Glow Wears Off: A Rant

After 24 hours in Mamallapuram, on the east coast of India on the Bay of Bengal, the best thing I can say about it is that I’m leaving. 

I’m sure this is quite a pretty and interesting town… when it’s not raining every minute of every day and when tourism is more kind as to put the aggressively pushy touters at ease. My Roughguide suggested that the RamaKrishna Hotel would be a safe bet: “clean, well-appointed rooms with well-scrubbed ensuite bathrooms, some with sea views”. Well I don’t know who paid this writer off, but I saw rooms on every floor, from every angle, and it is a dump. Easily the worst place I have stayed since coming to India. The management was unfriendly, the charge was ridiculous (500Rs), the bathrooms grimy and so questionable I didn’t even shower. I assumed slime, or worse, would pour from the walls. 

Mosquito "cancer" coils: a must have in Southern India

I had a clean sheet on my bed, I’ll give them that. One white sheet to cover a stained and lumpy mattress. The walls were covered in the bloody corpses of mosquitoes which I initially reacted in horror to, but quickly understood once darkness descended and the little fuckers came out in battalions. I quickly added more than a dozen corpses to the wall, each one exploding with some poor bastard’s blood in them. I lit one of my trusty mosquito coils and the air became so thick with noxious fumes that I worried that I would suffocate in my sleep. The saving grace was a small 13 inch TV in the corner, which screeched from somewhere deep within it, prompting me to turn the volume to ungodly levels to drown the screech out. I fell asleep to a sappy John Cusack movie about love & rejection, wrapped up like a mummy and trying to forget where I was.

There were good things about this town, of course. I ate at Santana restaurant on the beach and had really tasty prawn pasta for $2. I had pants tailored, costing me $3 and then instantly destroyed them in the first of many downpours. Mamallpuram is famous for its stone carvings and they are glorious! I visited temples carved 1300 years ago, and in that time the rain has softened the delicate artwork somewhat but they are still a sight to behold. I went up to a viewing point and met the lighthouse manager. He walked around the park with me, telling me about the Hinduism and the various gods and goddesses he worships. I told him I really dug Saraswati (namesake of this blog and also the goddess of knowledge, education & music), and he quickly offered me back to his family home to see his father’s marble carvings of the deities. Of course he also wished me to buy something but he was asking 2800Rs ($56CAD) for a Saraswati figure that was beautiful but not four inches tall. Eventually I did leave with it, at the “bargain friend” rate of 1000Rs which I still assume to be overpriced. 

Carved marble deit

His wife made me a lovely black tea while he showed me all the figures and explained what each hand placement, animal and prop meant. It was money well spent, especially when I got up to leave empty handed and his docile expression turned dark and desperate. Once again, I was reminded that I was alone, in someone’s home in a foreign country, and no one knew where I was. His wife seemed to be the boss when it came to the sell, authorizing the 1800Rs discount with a curt nod and a prayer motion. I learned a lot but I was glad to leave.She also demanded my pen; I would have handed over a kidney if it meant leaving sooner.

The best part by far was randomly meeting Mukesh, a young and serene fisherman turned surf instructor. His English was amazing and his grin was wide, if he were to come to Canada every girl on Team Hetero would go crazy. We walked a little on the beach and then he directed me to a café he just so happened to also wok at (every Indian, no matter how handsome, has an agenda) where he served me a yummy masala omelette and coconut pancake with coffee. If you're ever in Mamallpuram and wish to ride some waves, head to Mumu surf shop, a hidden shop off the beach.

My two taxi rides to and from Mamallpuram have given me the impression that drivers here are even more reckless than in Kerala. The first spent 15 minutes talking to his friend… who was on a motorcycle beside us! Oncoming trucks, buses, cars, goats, motorcycles or bulls didn’t faze them as they laughed and swerved while going 80km/hour. Right now, I am in my second taxi, this driver with the enticing name of “Vino”. He has apparently decided that 80km is too slow and is whizzing past everything and everyone, never braking, just relying on his horn to warn the people ahead of death. Constantly passing on the inside and outside, we play chicken with a bigger vehicle at least once every minute, and each time the bigger vehicle has bowed down, as if they all know how Crazy Vino doesn’t give a shit and will just keep on going. My  mother would have died within the first 3 minutes. My father would have clubbed Vino on the head and taken the wheel. But not me. I am shoving my head inside this laptop, like an ostrich, trying to avoid looking up. The only words I have spoken have been “Vino, I would feel a lot better if you put your seatbelt on”. He did, begrudgingly like a teenager, slinging his arm through the strap but not actually buckling it. I think that he hates Mamallpuram too and wants to move on to his next life. I just *really* hope I’m not in this car when he does.

The bright side to the very real possibility of my untimely death is that I suddenly feel inspired to write.Another bonus is that his insane driving will get me to Pondicherry sooner. I cursed a lot as I got ready to leave Mamallpuram “Fuck this room. Fuck you mosquitoes. Fuck you shop touter. Fuck this taxi and the outrageous price I paid just to get out of the town faster.” I apologize to those reading this who have sensitive ears. But sometimes a girl has got to curse. Cursing. has been the one thing that has made me feel normal here. However, I have avoided telling harassing tuktuk drivers to “Fuck OFF”, not because I think that they would be shocked but because I feel like I am representing Canada here. I don’t want India to think that all Canadians are potty mouths, but my ability to censor myself is dissipating quickly in this ever-stressful environment.

Sometimes, this guide be verrrry wrong

Pondicherry is supposed to be nice (of course, my travel guide raved about Mamallpuram too so I take this with a grain of salt). But friends I made on my trip to Munnar raved about it and the place I am *hoping* to stay (if they are booked, I may cry). All I want is a cleanish bathroom and a break from the rain, even for just a half an hour. If this place is even half as nice as Javi & Silvia say it is, I may just set up camp for a week! I trust their judgement. Silvia, a teacher, radiates kindness. My favourite memory of her is at a roadside café, crinkling her eyes like Santa Claus at gawking Indian children. Javi, speaks with authority and the delightful arrogance I have come to associate with Spanish men. He knows what he’s talking about, his demeanor is one of competence and dismissive elegance. My favourite quote from him was “Once you have seen one temple, you have seen them all” said with a sniff and a dismissive wave of his hand. I laughed  because yes, from our perspective they are all very much the same, but only a Spaniard would say that out loud. I liked them both very much and was happy to run into them again in Kochi as I was waiting for the airport bus. I hope that they discover “The Real India” as Javi would say, before they fly home to work and Life. As for me, I could happily avoid "Real India" for a few days, locked up in an ashram and meditating.