154 INDIA (3) Part 1
2,658 Kilometres – 72 Days
9 December 2019 – 17
February 2020
MAP
PHOTOS
8-9 December – Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia –
Chennai, India
With affordable flights, it seemed that
the further you travelled, the less expensive the ticket became. As a result, I
flew to Chennai via New Delhi, India’s capital, arriving in Chennai around
midday. My flight from Kuala Lumpur departed at 2 a.m., and with a three-hour
layover in Delhi, I didn’t sleep at all since the seats couldn’t recline.
A costly taxi ride—partly due to my
bicycle—took me to the city centre, where I was dropped off at Paradise
Guesthouse. Ironically, it wasn’t much of a paradise; the rooms didn’t even
come with towels. But then again, what can one expect for just $7?
I spent the remainder of the day
relaxing and taking time to soak in the vibrant atmosphere of India, something
that doesn’t happen all at once. Tuk-tuks jostled through traffic, holy cows
meandered across busy main roads, and homeless people, often with a baby on
their hip, smiled easily. Amidst the chaos, devotees prayed at pavement-side
Hindu temples, while the sweet smell of incense mingled with the stench of
sewage. It can all be somewhat overwhelming.
10 December – Chennai
India is a vast country, covering
3,287,263 square kilometres, making it the seventh largest in the world. It
stretches from the snow-capped Kangchenjunga, the third-highest mountain in the world at 8,586 meters, to the warm, humid rice paddies of Kuttanad, which
lies 2.2 meters below sea level. However, I planned to explore a different
region, heading south along the coast to Kanyakumari, the southernmost point on
mainland India.
Early in the morning, I reassembled my
bicycle and set out on foot through the streets of Chennai. With a population of
1,372,000, India is always bustling with activity. Luckily, Chennai is a
coastal city and home to the world’s second-longest urban beach, which offers
a respite when needed. I often found myself the centre of attention, and dealing
with the constant stares was challenging. Fortunately, the locals are friendly,
making it easy to strike up conversations.
Tamil Nadu is known for its stunning
temples, and I began my exploration at Kapalweshwarar Temple. This ornate and colourful
Hindu temple is dedicated to Shiva and was reportedly built after the
Portuguese destroyed the original in 1566.
As I walked towards Fort St. George, I
passed the San Thome Cathedral (also built by the Portuguese) and Chennai’s
lighthouse. After visiting the vibrant Kapalweshwarar Temple, I found the fort
rather uninspiring, so I headed to a restaurant instead. While enjoying my
palak mutter paneer, I observed renovation work on the magnificent Chepauk
Palace and noted that many of the labourers were women.
11 December - Chennai – Mamallapuram –
65 km
Sometimes, I think only a video could
truly capture the chaos and absurdity of my situation. Leaving Chennai was one
of those days as I left Chennai amidst the morning traffic, alongside what felt
like the city’s entire population of 10.4 million, including tuk-tuks, bicycle
rickshaws, and the ever-present holy cows. Astonishingly, these cows wander
randomly across busy highways, somehow making it to the other side. I, on the
other hand, may not have been so lucky. Fortunately, drivers seemed aware of
the slow-moving traffic, and I was by no means the only bicycle on the road.
As I made my way along the coast, I
passed slum-like areas, fishing boats, and women selling whatever had been
caught the night before. Men in longyis pedalled their wares on Hero bicycles,
while roadside carts offered coconuts and sugarcane juice.
After about 15 kilometres, I took a
break to rest my mind from the madness and stopped at a McDonald’s to see what
was offered in a country where the cows are holy. My breakfast muffin came with
egg and cheese, and fortunately, no meat patty. I couldn’t tell if this was
standard or if only the breakfast muffin was meat-free. I found it a bit bland,
especially since I’d already grown used to the bold, spicy flavours of Indian
food.
Once back on the bike, I soon reached
Chennai’s outskirts, where I encountered a new double-lane highway with a good
shoulder. Thanks to a light tailwind, the ride to the temple town of
Mamallapuram was easy and enjoyable.
Mamallapuram is renowned for its
rock-cut temples, which date back to the 7th and 8th centuries. The town is a
designated UNESCO World Heritage Site, and it came as no surprise that the town
was heavily touristy, offering plenty of accommodation and food, along with all
the usual tourist trappings. Vendors sold Indian clothing, jewellery, and
trinkets from Tibet, and the UNESCO status was reflected in the prices.
I spent the rest of my day exploring
this fascinating town. After enjoying a plate of momos and a rather expensive beer (since alcohol is not sold in the city), I returned to my typical Indian
room.
12-13 December – Mamallapuram –
Puducherry (Pondicherry) – 101 km
After coffee and breakfast at Joe’s, I
set out from Mamallapuram along the Bay of Bengal, heading toward Puducherry.
The road varied from excellent to narrow, with no shoulder. Fortunately, the
route was often shaded, as trucks and buses had gradually created a tunnel
through the overhanging branches. In India, however, change is constant;
regardless of the road conditions, it will soon change.
I stopped for coconut juice and ginger
tea and chatted with friendly locals. The good rains had filled the rice
paddies, and everyone seemed busy either working in the fields or leading
cattle to greener pastures.
Many moons ago, in 1523, the Portuguese
arrived in Chennai, followed nearly a century later by the British and the
French. In 1746, the French launched an attack and captured the British-built
fort. It didn’t take long for the British to recapture it, after which the
French sailed to Pondicherry, which remained under French rule until 1954. To
this day, the old part of town is lined with French-style townhouses, coffee
shops, and restaurants.
I chose to stay at a popular ashram
guesthouse, where the sparse rooms were clean, and the courtyard was filled with
plants. A ground-floor air-conditioned room costs 950 rupees (about $13.50). I
could have found a less expensive place, but I was too lazy to carry my
panniers up the stairs.
Before sunrise, the streets are cleaned, and kolams are drawn every morning. Kolams are decorative patterns believed to
bring prosperity to homes, and new ones are created daily.
I woke to heavy rain, which made it easy to decide to stay another day. While wandering the streets, I bought myself a
new compact camera. I shouldn’t have spent that much money on it, but what's
done is done. The market became the perfect place to try out my new toy, given
the rainy weather.
14 December – Pondicherry – Chidambaram - 80 km
I woke up to a drizzle and damp laundry,
and I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. However, the weather soon cleared up, so I
packed my belongings and cycled to Auroville, a community of foreigners living
in the forest. This settlement has about 25,000 residents from all over the
globe, and I noticed many organic farms, restaurants, and artistic shops. The
community is dedicated to peace, sustainability, and divine consciousness.
From Auroville, I planned to cycle past
the fossil woods, but it was getting late. After a quick stop for a cup of milk
tea, I was back on my way. The secondary road I intended to take petered out, so I returned to the bustling main street, its deafening
noise.
Along the roadside, stands served freshly
squeezed orange and coconut juice, which I didn’t mind at all. My snacks tend
to vary from country to country, and in India they include samosas, vadas, and pakoras. With a bag full of goodies, I continued my journey to Chidambaram.
I chose to stay overnight in Chidambaram
to visit the Nataraja temple complex. I was soaked as I cycled into the hectic
town centre during a heavy rainstorm. The first hotel I tried claimed they were
full, but I wasn’t convinced. Not far from there, I found a local place that
charged only 300 rupees, though the price reflected the lack of cleanliness.
After enjoying a massive dosa and more
sweet tea, I headed to the temple, which featured an enormous courtyard with a
lovely cool breeze. According to legend, Shiva and Kali had a dance-off judged
by Vishnu. During the contest, Shiva dropped an earring and picked it up with
his foot, a move Kali couldn’t replicate. As a result, Shiva won the title of
Nataraja, or Lord of the Dance, and to this day, people come to worship him.
15 December – Chidambaram – Kumbakonam – 78 km
Instead of cycling along the coast, I
decided to veer inland and head to Kumbakonam, known for its 18 colourful
temples. It was a relief to ride on a rural road, where the sounds of temple chanting
drifted gently across the rice paddies and where villagers lived in nipa huts
and bathed in rivers. The junction towns were just as hectic as the larger
cities, with men huddled together drinking chai in corrugated iron sheds, while
women cared for goats and attended to their treasured cows.
About halfway to Kumbakonam, I stopped
at the World Heritage-listed Chola temple of Gangaikondacholapuram—quite a
mouthful! This massive 49-meter-tall temple features a significant Nandi (a
sacred bull) facing its entrance. Unfortunately, I bumped my foot against a
protruding metal pipe and feared I had broken my second toe. Fortunately, I could
continue cycling as long as I didn’t have to stop unexpectedly.
Upon reaching Kumbakonam, I attempted to
tape my toes together with duct tape, but it provided little relief from the
pain and discomfort. Instead, it attracted even more attention to my swollen
foot. I was starving, having not eaten all day, and I hobbled to the nearest
Meals restaurant, where food was served on banana leaves.
Finding beer in Tamil Nadu was
challenging, as it could only be purchased at government wine shops. These
shops sold liquor from behind bars, and my presence there certainly drew
attention. I suspected that women seldom frequented such places. With my beer
in a brown paper bag clutched under my arm, I limped back to my budget room.
What a pathetic sight I must have made—LOL!
16-18 December – Kumbakonam – Trichy –
101 km
I cried out in pain and frustration when
I accidentally bumped my toe against the foot of the bed. The word “fuck”
escaped my lips with alarming frequency. To numb the pain, I applied lotion and
took a Cataflam. I wished I had shoes with solid, stiff soles like cycling
shoes instead of my flexible slip-on sandals.
With no other option, I packed up and
cycled out of Kumbakonam. Riding was less painful than walking, as long as I
positioned the pedal under my heel rather than the ball of my foot.
I intended to stop at Darasuram's
Airavatesvara Temple, which was constructed between 1146 and 1173, but before I realised it, I had already passed the turn-off. A few kilometres later, I arrived
in Thanjavur, a historic city known as a cultural hub from which Hinduism
spread beyond India’s borders.
Thanjavur offered two remarkable sites:
the Royal Palace and the Brihadishwara Temple. I’ll spare you the long version,
but I will mention that the Chola dynasty of southern India was one of the
longest-ruling dynasties in world history. All the temples I visited date back
to this magical time in India. Unfortunately, maintenance work was underway at the Brihadishwara Temple, making the complex less photogenic.
Still, the intricate details were mind-blowing. I initially considered staying
overnight in Thanjavur, as it must be a wonderful place to visit at sunset.
However, after visiting both temples and the palace early in the day, I decided
to continue on to Trichy, another 60 kilometres down the road.
The ride was relatively easy, as I had
grown accustomed to the chaotic junction towns where all one could do was laugh
at the sheer madness of it all. The song “Livin’ on a Prayer” came to mind.
Having left Thanjavur well past midday,
I finally reached Trichy at around 5 p.m. amidst the craziest traffic
imaginable. I pulled into the first budget option I found. Oddly enough, it
turned out to be the exact place I had stayed nearly 11 years earlier during my
first cycling trip around India, en route from Pakistan to Nepal.
The following day, I decided to explore
Trichy by visiting the famous Rockfort Temple and the Sri Ranganathaswamy
Temple. Instead of cycling, I flagged down a tuk-tuk, which made travel much
easier—both on my stress levels and my sore toe. First, I went to the Rockfort
Temple, situated atop a massive rocky outcrop. Climbing to the top took some
effort, but the stunning views of the city below made it worthwhile. Afterwards,
I shared a tuk-tuk with three Indian ladies heading to the Sri Ranganathaswamy
Temple, which is likely India’s most significant temple, featuring 49 Vishnu
shrines and seven gopurams (ornate entrance gates).
I needed to do my laundry, but I couldn’t
find washing powder. The next day, I made a more serious effort and bought a
small sachet at a hole-in-the-wall shop. As my laundry was still dripping wet
the next morning, I paid for an additional night and took it easy, as I wasn’t
feeling well.
19-20 December - Trichy – Madurai – 130
km
I thought I was coming down with the flu
and hoped it wasn’t dengue fever. I packed up and cycled to Madurai, which
turned out to be a challenging day. The ride was dreadfully slow, and I felt
awful and lacked energy, but I persevered nonetheless. The only interesting
thing I noticed along the way was a Christian church that mimicked the local
religious buildings, clearly incorporating elements of both Islam and Hinduism.
This mix of styles isn’t all that surprising, as religions have been blending
and borrowing from each other for centuries. I find all religions interesting
and bizarre, and I wholeheartedly believe that they should all be taught in
schools.
I can't describe my relief at finally
reaching Madurai (traffic and all) and finding a room where I could lie down.
My plan was always to stay the next day and revisit the famous Meenakshi
Temple. Despite feeling dreadful, I dragged myself to the temple. Once again, I
was amazed by the massive complex, which is said to be the epitome of Indian
temple architecture. Unfortunately, photography was only allowed from the
outside.
I suspected that I had contracted a mild case of dengue fever, and I say “mild” because if it were anything like my previous two cases, I wouldn’t have been able to leave the bed. The body aches, pain behind my eyes, fever, diarrhoea (which made the walk from the temple an ordeal), and a dry cough made me fear the worst. Consequently, I planned on staying a few days in Madurai. It was frustrating. (In hindsight, I contracted the dreaded COVID-19 virus, though I was unaware of it at the time.)
Eventually, I started to feel better and
was able to walk up the few stairs to my room without needing to rest. I even
managed a slow walk to the Palace, just to get out of the room and move my
legs.
While resting, I realised
something interesting: you can't simply order a "curry" in India.
That's right; there is no such dish. The term "curry" actually comes
from the British, derived from the Tamil word "kari," meaning "sauce." I found myself in Tamil Nadu, where I was.
Eventually, I felt much better and
planned to leave Madurai the next day. However, I wasn’t sure if that was a
good idea since the 25th is a public holiday in India. It’s primarily a bank
holiday rather than a religious one. Despite having over 900 million Hindus,
India’s constitution doesn’t recognise any official government religion.
According to the 2011 census, approximately 80% of the population identifies as
Hindu, 14% as Muslim, 2.3% as Christian, and about 1.7% as Sikh. With these
figures in mind, a holiday like Christmas is more of a festive gathering, similar
to how I would celebrate Diwali at home—not fully understanding what it entails
but enjoying a drink or two and maybe shooting off some fireworks. I imagine it
could be slightly inappropriate for Hindus. I didn't like the idea of travelling
on such days, but I was more than ready to leave my cramped room.
I’m not a spiritual or religious person
and don’t celebrate any specific holiday. Still, these celebrations serve as a
reminder of how similar all religions are. Each seems to have a holiday filled
with light, joy, and giving. These are occasions for families to gather, often
dressed in new clothes, as they celebrate and share their good fortune by giving
gifts or money. It’s a day when people forget about work, count their
blessings, indulge in food (often too much), and celebrate family and friends.
I may even don a red pointy hat—peace to all.
Bicycle rickshaws remain a popular mode
of transportation in India. I always feel sympathy for drivers,, as it is
back-breaking work. While walking the streets of Madurai, I was approached and
offered a tour of the temple area. Although I had seen most of it, the chap was
incredibly enthusiastic, so I accepted his offer. Initially, I considered just
giving him the 100 rupees he requested for an hour’s tour, but his excitement
encouraged me to join him.
It turned out to be a humbling
experience. Not only did he take me around, but he also acted as a tour guide,
pointing out interesting markets and customs. Our tour lasted over two hours,
and he was immensely proud of his work; it nearly brought tears to my eyes. As
he passed by friends and acquaintances, he announced to them where I was from
(or at least that’s what I thought he said), which was a bit embarrassing.
Nevertheless, his big grin made it hard not to like him. I gave him all the
money I had left, which wasn’t much since I hadn’t taken my wallet or camera
when I stepped out. His reaction to the 500 rupees (about $7) made me feel as though he had never been paid that much for two hours' work.
India has 780 languages, the
second-highest number in the world after Papua New Guinea, which has 839.
Contrary to what I believed, Hindi isn’t the official language of India.
Instead, the Constitution of India doesn’t grant any language the status of a national
language. With 780 languages, I guess it’s best to leave that can of worms
alone. English is widely understood and spoken, but approximately 50% of the
population speaks Hindi as their first language. To complicate matters further,
most states have their own official languages.
25 December - Madurai – Sattur – 106 km
The streets were still quiet when I
cycled out of Madurai, heading toward Dhanushkodi. It is just a stone's throw
from Sri Lanka; there is no ferry connection. The area has a fascinating history, but after travelling 15 kilometres, I realised I was cycling into the prevailing wind. At that moment, I made a U-turn and
redirected my route through the farmlands toward Kanyakumari.
Along the way, the settlements were
relatively rural, and I received numerous curious stares from the locals.
Farmers were drying their grain crops on the tarmac, waiting for vehicles to
pass so they could winnow the grains. I recognised some of the crops as jowar
(sorghum), ragi (an extremely nutritious millet), and bajra (another type of
millet). I’m not entirely sure if that’s accurate, as I don’t know much about
these grains or if they are technically seeds.
It was a relatively short cycling day, and I arrived early in Sattur, situated on the banks of the
Vaippar River. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to do in town since it was a
small hamlet with a population of about 30,000. However, there were more than
enough eateries around to keep me satisfied until morning.
26 December – Sattur – Tirunelveli – 90
km
I
left after enjoying my usual morning chai, and no sooner had I started my
journey when the sky suddenly darkened and took on an unusual glow. Looking up,
I realised it was a solar eclipse, so I pulled over to take a few photos.
Unfortunately, my attempts were not very successful, and I ended up with only a
few strange, disappointing pictures, partly because of the filter I used.
Although I set up my tripod, I was on a bridge, and vibrations from passing vehicles disturbed the ground.
Next, I headed to Vettuvan Koil, an
8th-century rock-cut temple that remains unfinished. According to legend, a
rivalry between a father and son ended with the son's death after he completed his sculpture on the lower hills first, angering the father. In his rage, the
father killed the son, and the shrine was left unfinished. However, the hike to
the top was worth it. Not only did it provide a stunning view of the tiny,
colourful village below, but it also showcased some fascinating rock-cut
carvings.
After visiting the temple, I continued
toward Tirunelveli, about 45 kilometres away, passing through a very rural part of India. I received a lot of well-meaning attention from the
locals, and once again, I was impressed by India. It seemed that the entire
region was being transformed into a large wind farm. Well done, India!
27 December – Tirunvelveli – Kanyakumari
– 89 km
The journey to Kanyakumari was
uneventful as I travelled through what is known as India’s deep south. I only
made one stop for tea, fudge, and vegetable puffs. As I cycled, the number of
wind turbines increased, and I enjoyed the ride with the wind at my back.
However, I was concerned that things might change once I rounded the southern
tip of the subcontinent.
Kanyakumari was a complete madhouse, and
it felt as if the entire population of India, which is around 1.3 billion, had
descended on this small town for the weekend. Schools had a 10-day break during
this time, and everyone seemed to be on holiday. All the hotels were fully
booked, and the only available room cost 2,000 rupees. This room came
without a top sheet, hot water, or a towel. I was a bit frustrated, as it felt
like they were taking advantage of the situation, but there was nothing I could
do. It was simply a matter of demand and supply.
What is intriguing about Kanyakumari is
not only its position as the southernmost tip of the Indian subcontinent but
also its location along the coasts of the Bay of Bengal, the Arabian Sea, and
the Indian Ocean. Unfortunately, the overwhelming crowds made my experience
less enjoyable.
After taking a few photos of the
Vivekananda Memorial, situated 400 meters offshore and dedicated to Swami Vivekananda, and the statue of Thiruvalluvar, an ancient Tamil
poet, I decided to retreat to the calm of my room.
28–31 December 2019 – Kanyakumari –
Kovalam – 94 km
It was the first morning I felt
relatively healthy after my illness, which was fortunate because it turned out
to be a rather hilly ride. Little did I know that this rollercoaster of energy
would continue for some time. The coastal road along the Laccadive Sea was
particularly scenic, leading me past small fishing hamlets, deserted beaches,
and traditional boat builders. At every water stop, I was met with a barrage of
questions, mainly “What’s your good name?”, “What’s your country?”, and “How
old are you?”
Halfway through my journey, I crossed
into Kerala, well known for its beautiful backwaters, which were visible from the start. As the day progressed, I faced one last hill
before arriving in the picturesque town of Kovalam, a popular tourist beach
destination.
It was the first time I had encountered
Western tourists since cycling from Chennai. The beachfront was lined with
hotels and restaurants, marking a shift from inexpensive rooms and cheap eats
to pricier accommodations overlooking the beach. Although lovely, the cost was
far beyond my budget, and I knew I would need to search for cheaper lodging in
the morning. Still, the location was fantastic, and the beach looked incredibly
inviting; the sound of the ocean made it feel like paradise.
The next day, I set out on a quest for a
more affordable place to stay. I treated myself to a leg wax and pedicure, so I
wouldn’t look too scruffy while walking around.
The following two days were spent
relaxing, as there wasn’t much to do in the small town of Kovalam. New Year’s
Eve celebrations began early, featuring at least four bands playing along the
roughly one-kilometre-long beachfront. It became a cacophony of deafening music
that lasted all night. Domestic tourists thoroughly enjoyed it, following the
bands up and down the beach. Midnight arrived with a few firecrackers, but no grand fireworks displays.
1 January 2020 – Kovalam – Varkala – 61
km
I was glad to leave Kovalam because I
couldn't sit around doing nothing for too long. Upon leaving, I was required to walk
my bike up a steep hill to the main road, which I managed only with the help of
a friendly shop owner. It was only the first day of the year, and I had already
experienced my first random act of kindness. I doubt I would have made it on my
own, as cycling in slip-on sandals has its disadvantages. The hill was so steep
that I kept sliding out of my sandals.
The rest of the day featured a short but
pleasant ride through rural areas, where a foreign woman on a bicycle was
clearly a novelty. I enjoyed a breakfast stop at a tiny roadside stall, where
the owner seemed surprised to see a foreigner at his humble booth. The meal
consisted of two tostadas, a breakfast dish made with rice flour and coconut,
served with a masala egg, and accompanied by a glass of masala tea.
My route followed a narrow road bordered
by the ocean on one side and the backwaters on the other, making for an
enjoyable ride. The strip of land between the road and the sea was so narrow
that there was barely enough space for any dwellings. Most of the buildings
along the ocean were in ruins and may have been remnants of the 2004 tsunami. A retaining
wall had been added to protect against rough seas.
Once I reached Varkala, finding
accommodation was quick since most domestic tourists had already left. However,
the beach was still crowded, primarily with Indian tourists and only a few
foreigners. The room prices had nearly returned to normal, at 700 Indian rupees for a decent room with a hot-water shower and a large balcony, just 250
meters from the beach. I had plenty of time to swim, enjoy a meal of
chana masala, and, of course, more tea.
2-3 January – Varkala – Alappuzha – 112
km
In India, I am often asked, “Why are you
travelling by bicycle?” It’s hard to answer, as there isn’t a social or moral
justification for what I do. Some might even label it as selfish since I’m
simply pursuing what I enjoy. Others call me brave, which I find a bit embarrassing
because I don’t consider myself fearless. In reality, it would have been braver
to stay in the city and work in the concrete jungle until retirement. The truth
is, my nonconformist personality makes me ill-suited for a conventional life in
a structured society, so roaming freely is the best choice for me. I suppose
it’s easier to say, “That’s what I enjoy doing.”
I stuck mostly to the coastal road, enjoying
a slow, scenic ride. Unfortunately, devastating floods swept
through Kerala in 2018. Though the region recovered remarkably quickly, a few coastal
roads were only repaired by adding a layer of gravel, resulting in a bumpy
ride. Halfway through the day, I decided to switch to the main road. While it
was far more comfortable, it was also somewhat uninteresting, as is usually the
case with main roads.
The most intriguing part of my journey
was cycling right into a protest. I'm not sure what the demonstration was
about, but thousands of men had gathered. The police guided me through the
crowd like a celebrity, and the masses parted, reminiscent of Moses and the Red
Sea. I was relieved to make it through the chaos, and since the road was closed
to vehicles, I had the path to myself as I entered the city.
The Dream Nest Stay Hostel is a cheap
and relaxing place. A room with just a mattress on the floor cost only 150
rupees, so I paid for two nights, did my laundry, and caught up on everything I
had neglected.
4-5 January – Alappuzha – Fort Kochi –
60 km
A short ride took me from Alappuzha to
Fort Kochi, a place rich in Portuguese, Dutch, and British history. Kochi's
history stretches back many centuries, and St. Francis Church, located in town,
is the oldest church in India. Vasco da Gama arrived in 1498 and constructed a
fort here, giving Fort Kochi its name. The area remained under Portuguese control for 160 years, until the Dutch captured the fort and held it for 112 years.
Finally, in 1795, the British took control, and the region remained under
British rule until India gained independence in 1947. Long before Europeans arrived along the Malabar Coast, Arabian and Chinese traders frequented the area in search of spices such as pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and
sandalwood.
I found it particularly fascinating that
there is a neighbourhood called Jew Town, complete with a synagogue. It is
believed that Jews arrived in India from Judea during King Solomon's reign and
became known as Malabari Jews. However, I think only a small number of Jewish
people remain in the town today.
Today, Fort Kochi is known for its
Chinese fishing nets, laid-back travellers’ lifestyle, and artistic cafes. As
always, the backstreets were more captivating, and during my explorations, I
stumbled upon the washing ghats. In this intriguing place, laundry is still
done by hand. Men stood knee-deep in water, washing and wringing out clothes
before hanging them up to dry in the sun.
In the evening, I purchased a ticket for
a Kathakali show. The makeup used in the performance is highly elaborate and
takes over an hour to apply, allowing the public to observe the process. I
watched for a few minutes before rushing to the waterfront to capture some
photos of the Chinese fishing nets at sunset. However, I didn’t wait for the
sunset, as I didn’t want to miss the show, which started at 6 p.m., while
sunset was at 6:15. After taking a few shots, I hurried back to the theatre to
enjoy the performance. Kathakali is all about storytelling using hand signals,
facial expressions, and eye movements. Interestingly, before the show, seeds of
the Chunda flower are placed under the eyelids to turn the eyes red. It’s
impressive to think they perform this routine every night, 365 days a year.
I spent the rest of the evening at the
hostel, chatting and enjoying a Kingfisher beer with other travellers.
6 January – Fort Kochi – Chavakkad – 90
km
I wasn't feeling very energetic after
going to bed past 2:00 a.m. Fortunately, the ride was easy and enjoyable. I
took the Fort Kochi ferry to Vypin Island, a narrow strip of land nestled
between the ocean and the backwaters. At first, the main road was too busy for
my liking, so I tried a minor coastal road, but it turned out to be bumpy and full of potholes, which sent me back to the chaos of the main road.
After another ferry ride to the
mainland, I found a much quieter road that wound through small, one-lane
fishing villages. With all my zigzagging, I didn’t cover much ground, so I
decided to call it a day in Chavakkad, where there were plenty of accommodations
and dining options.
7 January – Chavakkad – Kozhikode (Calicut) – 90 km
Phew, what a slow ride it turned out to
be! The road was quite bumpy, ranging from excellent to nearly impassable
at times. Fortunately, two ferry rides across rivers made the day slightly
shorter than expected. That said, it was mostly a lovely ride along the coast.
Cycling in India can be taxing at times,
as the constant attention can be overwhelming. From small children to the
elderly, everyone seems interested in what you’re doing, all with the best
intentions, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. As a woman, even at my age, I still receive the usual whistles and hisses, which I could do without. Occasionally, I am approached with more inappropriate intentions, but they
usually back off quickly once they notice the age difference. It’s the only
time in my life when being older has worked to my advantage. I never thought
there would be perks to old age, but here we are.
During the day, I met two other cyclists
heading south: one from Spain and another from Tunisia. They had met somewhere
along their journey and were cycling together for the time being.
Once in Calicut, I had to navigate the
chaotic evening traffic to reach the Alakapuri Hotel. The hotel, built around a
courtyard, featured motel-style rooms that were perfect. The on-site
restaurant, where I could unwind with a beer, was an added bonus. But first, I
needed to do laundry and fix a flat tyre before I could relax with a cold
Kingfisher.
8 January – Calicut – Kannur – 93 km
Shortly after I left, I found out there
was a nationwide strike across India. The upside was that I had the roads almost
to myself and could speed to Kannur in record time. However, not a
single restaurant or shop was open. While food wasn’t a top priority, water was
essential. Fortunately, I found two stands that were selling water. Thank
goodness for that.
I made one stop at the Thalassery Fort,
which was the first fort built by the British along the Malabar Coast in 1705.
The fort contains numerous secret rooms and a tunnel that leads to the Arabian
Sea.
Once I arrived in Kannur, I found a
budget hotel. Luckily, most Indian hotels offer "room service," which
means they will purchase food and deliver it to your room. I was more than
happy to take advantage of this and ordered two meals, which seemed to confuse
the staff as they repeated my order three times.
9 January – Kannur – Kasaragod – 100 km
The day began with an early morning
ferry crossing. These boats never cease to amaze me; as I mentioned earlier,
the fare is only 5 or 10 Indian rupees. They must operate as a charity because
each boat has a captain, a ticket seller, and a ticket collector who collects
the tickets and promptly drops them in the river. I usually paid the same fare
for my bicycle. These rides are typically just short enough for the other
passengers to ask about my name, country, and age.
Just beyond the river, my route came to
an abrupt stop at a railway line. While I pondered how to get my bike across
the double tracks, a friendly man offered to carry it for me. He seemed to
underestimate its weight, as soon sweat was dripping down his face. I
encouraged him by complimenting his strength, fearing he might abandon the bike
in the middle of the tracks.
The Malabar coast is dotted with forts,
but I only visited Bekal Fort. Built around 1650, it is the largest fort in
India and, indeed, massive.
From Bekal, it was just 15 kilometres to
Kasaragod, where a modest room on the outskirts of town, facing the traffic
toward the city centre, became my temporary home.
Here’s a funny story from my day: You
may recall that I broke a toe about three weeks ago. It was healing, and I
could walk without a limp. However, the amusing part was that when I curled my
toes, the injured toe stuck straight up, resembling a rude gesture. I wondered
if it would ever return to normal. Hahaha, one never knows when you might need
to use it!
10 January - Kasaragod – Camp 21 – 40 km
The accommodations the previous night were
extremely basic. Out of the three sliding devices on the door, two were broken,
leaving only the bottom one intact. I approached the reception to inquire about
the hotel’s safety. Naturally, they assured me it was safe and moved me to a
different room. However, the new room was filthy and had only one functional
sliding lock, which was thankfully positioned in the middle of the door. I’ve
stayed in some questionable places before, but this one was far worse than any I
had experienced.
Around 2 a.m., I heard angry voices and
the sound of someone kicking a door, explaining the missing latches. Feeling
uneasy, I packed my belongings and left the hotel. At the reception, the two
staff members were fast asleep and seemed surprised to see me, but they let me
check out. I then cycled to the nearest decent hotel in pitch darkness in what
was clearly not the best part of town. The staff were also in bed but woke up
to check me in. I felt immense relief upon arriving at a proper hotel that had
an elevator, towels, bed sheets, and even air conditioning.
It was well past 3 a.m. by the time I
finally got into bed and managed to have a decent, albeit short, night’s sleep.
The next morning, shortly after 8
o’clock, I cycled out of Kasaragod. Fortunately, there are always sugarcane
juice vendors around to help boost energy levels. Upon reaching Camp 21, a secluded stretch of beach with two nipa huts and camping options, I
knew this was where I wanted to stay,, so I parked my bike and made myself
comfortable.
11 January – Camp 21 – Udupi – 72 km
The eclipse of the moon never
materialised, or I had the wrong date or time. I waited and waited, but nothing
happened. At least I was in bed by 1 a.m. and slept soundly until I was
awakened by chanting from a nearby temple. Not a bad way to start the day. The chanting was related to the annual
pilgrimage to the Sabarimala Sree Dharma Sastha Temple, dedicated to the Hindu celibate deity Ayyappan. It is said to be one of the largest yearly
pilgrimages in the world, with an estimated 40 to 50 million devotees visiting
each year.
For days, I had witnessed thousands of
vehicles richly decorated with flowers and flags heading toward the temple. The
temple has a rich history and is located within the Periyar Tiger Reserve. I
understood that the temple is only open once a year during this time. The
pilgrimage to Sabarimala involves a 41-day penance that includes a strict
vegetarian diet, celibacy, abstinence from alcohol, and refraining from cutting nails or
hair. It’s a complex pilgrimage with many rules, and I wasn’t going to try to
understand it.
I spent most of the day cycling along
the main road, as finding minor roads was nearly impossible. Local knowledge
informed me that there were no ferries across the rivers. I tried a few times
but often ended up back on the main road. At least I met some super-friendly
people along the way.
Upon arriving in Udupi, I found that all
the hotels were fully booked. I wondered if it was due to the Sabarimala
festival or if the town had always been this popular. Udupi is home to a highly
regarded 13th-century Krishna Temple, which makes it an important pilgrimage
site for Hindus.
After unsuccessful attempts to find
accommodation close to the temple, I turned to Booking.com for help. Finally, I
found a place closer to the town centre. I planned to visit the temple the
following morning and decided to stay an additional day to catch up on my usual
chores.
The next day was spent tending to
neglected duties, leaving little time for exploration. However, the day
beckoned another visit to Sri Krishna Temple, which resembles an ashram, with various lodgings and restaurants and hosting multiple performances. The
area was bustling with thousands of devotees, and I enjoyed the evening
carnival atmosphere.
January 13 - Udupi - Murdeshwar – 103 km
I woke to a racket outside my window and
found the market buzzing with activity. It was time to get up anyway, and after
a cup of coffee, I set out from Udupi on my bicycle. The route left Kerala and entered Karnataka, which was slightly more undulating but equally
scenic. The rivers were busy, and I was surprised by the amount of fishing,
especially since many people are vegetarians. After cycling 20 kilometres, I
stopped for breakfast. The rest of the day was smooth and easy, with just a few
stops for refreshing sugarcane or coconut juice.
Around 3:30 p.m., I cycled into the
dusty temple town of Murdeshwar, a beachside pilgrimage town. A room cost a
modest 500 rupees, and I took a leisurely stroll to the 18-storey Shri
Murdeshwar Temple. Alongside hundreds of pilgrims, I rode the elevator to the
top floor, where I enjoyed beautiful views of the surrounding beaches and a
colossal statue of Shiva.
After sunset, there wasn’t much to do,
so I retreated to my room, ordered room service, and enjoyed a relaxing
evening.
14-15 January – Murdeshwar – Gokarna –
78 km
Exploring the smaller roads always
brings a sense of adventure, and as I cycled through tiny traditional
settlements, one
stood out. Even in these remote areas, roads can be congested, requiring careful navigation through crowds to reach the centre. However, the sense
of discovery and the thrill of the unknown kept me engaged and excited.
Eventually, I turned off toward the
pilgrim town of Gokarna. The town is famous for two reasons: firstly, it is a
holy place where pilgrims traditionally wash in the ocean before visiting the
temples; secondly, it has become popular with alternative Europeans, drawn by
its beaches and spiritual offerings. This mix made Gokarna immensely
fascinating, and I decided to stay for two nights.
16 January – Gokarna - Patnam Beach,
Palolem – 87 km
Leaving Gokarna, I found myself on a
small, bumpy road, bustling with school buses and motorbikes. The road abruptly
ended at the Gangavali River, but I was fortunate to find a small boat that
ferried people across, and they were more than happy to help with my bicycle. I
couldn't help but notice the curiosity in the locals' eyes, some of whom seemed
slightly suspicious of the foreigner in their midst. However, their initial
wariness quickly turned into warm hospitality as they offered their assistance with
my bike and panniers on the other side.
From there, I embarked on a hilly ride
along a rural road, but sadly, that path also ended, leaving me no choice but
to continue on the main road. Cycling along a main road can feel tedious, like
watching paint dry. Thankfully, the road was in good condition, making the
journey easier. Unfortunately, due to a strike in Karnataka, all businesses
were closed, making it nearly impossible to find water, let alone food,, as the strike brought
the entire region to a standstill.
Once I crossed the border into Goa,
finding something to eat was a priority. From there, it was only a short ride
to the beach town of Palolem. Along the way, I met another cyclist heading
south. We exchanged stories about our journeys, shared tips about the road
ahead, and even bonded over our love for cycling. It’s always delightful to
chat with fellow riders, sharing where we’re from and where we're headed.
After crossing the border into Goa, my
first priority was to find something to eat. It was just a short ride to the
beach town of Palolem. Along the way, I met another cyclist heading south. We
exchanged stories about our journeys, shared tips about the road ahead, and
bonded over our love for cycling. It's always a delight to chat with fellow
riders, sharing where we’re from and where we’re headed.
Palolem is situated along two beautiful
bays filled with beach huts, and it didn't take long to find a suitable one to
stay in. I couldn't recall the last time I had seen so many white people in one
place—they all looked alike to me! Hahaha!
Micky’s was the ideal spot,
complete with a bar and restaurant on the beach—a true paradise. They hosted an
open-mic night in authentic Goan style, and I was amazed by the talent on
display. Choosing to stay for two nights was an easy decision.
18 January – Palolem Beach – Agonda – 10
km
I felt ready to move on, but I didn’t
get far because just over the hill was the picturesque Agonda Beach.
There, I found rows of beach huts, a restaurant, a bar, and shops selling all
sorts of trinkets and clothing. I loved everything they offered, from the jewellery
to the colourful hippie-style clothing, and if I could, I would have bought it
all. Instead, I decided to rent a beach hut and relax for the rest of the day.
Before sunset, I went for a 20-minute
jog and was pleased to discover that my toe seemed to have healed. I still
hadn’t tried running with my running shoes, but I planned to give it a go next
time, as I didn’t think I would ever become a barefoot runner.
19 January – Agonda - Panaji – 80 km
I was slow to leave and ended up
departing from my comfortable accommodation quite late. The ride was hilly, to
say the least, and the last 15 kilometres were along a road that was being
rebuilt—what a mess! Still, I was quite impressed with this ambitious project.
Panaji, the state capital, is a
laid-back, easy-going town known for its historic Portuguese quarters and
traditional Portuguese-style architecture. I cycled through the narrow streets
lined with brightly painted colonial-style buildings, looking for accommodation.
There were plenty of options, though most catered to higher-income
tourists, so it took some time to find a suitable place to stay.
20 January – Panaji – Arambol – 45 km
I left Panaji on a ferry across the
Mandovi River, which even had a floating casino. The cycling route to Singuerim
was smooth, and I made a quick stop at the Aguada Fortress.
As I cycled along the old Portuguese coastal
trade route, it struck me that much of what I’d learned in school wasn’t
entirely accurate. The discovery of the sea route to India from Europe, via the
Cape of Good Hope, was under the command of Vasco da Gama. What was often
omitted was that the great Mr. da Gama hired an Indian navigator to help sail
along the Kenyan coast to India. In the typical arrogance of the time (1498),
he never bothered to record this person’s name. Without this unnamed navigator,
da Gama might never have reached India. I wonder if anyone knows the name of the Indian who contributed to one of the most significant discoveries of a sea route.
Once I arrived in Arambol, I found the
Peace Garden, which had a restaurant and a few nipa huts. The huts were quite
basic but had a bathroom, and since they cost only 400 rupees, I
decided to stay.
Originally, I planned to stay just a day
or two, but by the second day, I enrolled in a five-day yoga course and ended
up staying much longer than I had anticipated. Goa had changed tremendously
over the years, but I still considered it the largest gathering of alternative
individuals anywhere—except maybe in Dahab, Bangkok, and Otres. In the
evenings, Arambol Beach turned into a lively scene, with dozens of aspiring
artists practising their newly acquired skills or selling their creations. Few
things brought me more joy than strolling along the beach at sunset and taking
in all that was happening around me.
Feeling
a bit bored, I decided to use the Internet. During this time, I ordered a few
supplements online, something I probably shouldn’t have done. Unfortunately, by
the time my yoga course finished, my order still hadn’t arrived, and I waited
(not very patiently) for the next two days. With not much else to do, I spent my
time playing with my camera.
A
friend asked about the forehead markings often seen in India. I know these
markings are called tilakas or bindis. I’ve seen sadhus, or holy men, with
horizontal white lines across their foreheads and others with vertical lines
going from their noses to their hairlines. Some have big red dots between their
eyes, which I believe are known as tilakas. Women mainly wear bindis. Indian
women traditionally do not wear wedding rings; instead, they wear a red dot on
their forehead, which is said to protect against negativity. I enjoy wearing
the sparkly, sticky bindis from time to time because they are beautiful, though
I’m not sure if it’s considered inappropriate.
In my opinion, tilakas mainly indicate a
person’s religion. Those who worship Vishnu or Krishna typically wear two
vertical lines, while followers of Shiva wear three horizontal lines that
symbolise Shiva’s third eye. Red powder markings are typically associated with
worshipping the goddess Devi or Kali. As I mentioned, please don’t quote me on
this.
After waiting an extra week for my
online supplement order to arrive, I finally packed up and left my humble hut.
3 February – Arambol – Kankavli – 85 km
I was exactly five kilometres into my
planned route when I veered right onto a tiny rural road. Cycling down these
small lanes is always exciting, and the villagers were equally surprised to see
me. I decided to head slightly inland, as I had already cycled the coastal route twice. The inland path was quite hilly, making the ride somewhat
slow. Towards the end of the day, I returned to the main road since there is
usually a better chance of finding food and accommodation along the larger
roads.
As I crossed the Janavali River, I
spotted not one but two hotels. I chose the River Lodge, which was slightly
cheaper at 800 rupees. After two weeks of living in a hut, having a decent room
with a hot shower was a real pleasure. I took the longest shower ever and was
shocked when I saw my reflection in the mirror, as I looked far worse than I had
expected. LOL.
Later, I strolled across the road and
had dinner at a slightly more upscale restaurant than my usual street-side
dhabas. As I was their only customer, I was treated like royalty.
4 February - Kankavli - Rajapur - 55 km
I returned to the hilly road, and it was
indeed very hilly. The route followed the foothills of the Western Ghats, with
hardly a kilometre of flat road in sight. Only once did I reach a high point
where I could see the hills below me, but soon after, the steady climb
continued. The villages along the way were tiny, and not much happened aside
from cycling past a few cashew nut farms.
Around midday, two friendly Indian lads
stopped and invited me to lunch. How kind of them! After enjoying an omelette,
a Seven-Up, and a bottle of water, I felt my energy replenished and was ready
to tackle the hills once again. When I left, the waiter handed me a hotel card
for a place a few kilometres further north, which helped me decide.
Though it was still early, I decided to call it a day, do my laundry, and
relax.
5 February – Rajapur – Kolhapur
Some days are more surprising than
others. As I left my abode, which was located opposite the bus station, I
suddenly had the idea to check out the bus to Kolhapur, situated on the eastern
side of the Western Ghats. This wouldn’t only save me cycling up a steep
mountain pass but, most of all, it would get me off the narrow mountain road.
As luck would have it, there was a bus right then, and in no time, the bicycle
and panniers were loaded onto the bus. I sat in front with the driver, the bike wedged between us.
It was a hair-raising journey, and all I
could do was hold on for dear life. I was happy not to be on the bike, as there
was no space for a bicycle on the narrow road. Vehicles passing had to do so
with two wheels off the paved section. I say paved section, but it was more
“what was left of the paved section”. Our bus crawled up the pass, overtaking
anything moving slower than we were, whether or not we could see what was ahead. We arrived in Kolhapur shortly past three, after flying
down the pass at breakneck speed.
Kolhapur is well off the tourist route, as evidenced by the attention my presence drew.
The town is well known for its fascinating temple complex, dating back to 10
AD, and I was also keen to check out a few other spots while I was there.
I discovered that my phone holder had
come undone, making it difficult to navigate the busy town centre. I checked
out a few places, but none of them accommodated a single person. Most of the budget accommodation catered to pilgrims, and a few blocks further, my front pannier broke loose. I opted for the nearest accommodation to fix all that needed
fixing.
The room was more of a storeroom than a
bedroom, and they could do well by wiping a damp cloth over the walls and
floors. Once all was fixed, I took a stroll to the temple, but cameras weren’t
allowed and, as there was nowhere to leave them, I didn’t go inside. Instead, I opted
for a restaurant and had my usual vegetable masala and roti.
It was great wandering around Kolhapur,
especially around the market area. On non-cycling days, I have more time, am more relaxed, and can enjoy people’s daily doings. It was midday when I
got to the market, and vendors were jovial. All laughed as they pointed out the ones
they wanted me to capture and rewarded me with what they had on offer. I chewed
on tender carrots, sweet peas and mandarins as I strolled through the market.
Some came up to me, pointing at themselves, clearly indicating I had missed them.
Although the pics were all wrong and blurry, it was a fun way to spend a few
hours.
7 February – Kolhapur – Umbraj – 80 km
On leaving, I popped into the New Palace
on the outskirts of Kolhapur. Designed by British architect, “Mad” Charles Mant
for King Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and constructed between 1877 and 1884, I
understood it’s still in the hands of the king’s descendants. The ground floor
has been converted into a museum and features a rather bizarre display of
stuffed animals, a result of wildlife hunting, a royal sport in those days. The
exhibition featured silver elephant saddles, stuffed tigers, tiger heads, wild
dogs, sloth bears, wild buffalo, lions, rhinos, black panthers, wild boars,
bucks, deer, and a Himalayan black bear. As if that wasn’t enough, photos
depicted the Maharajah with his hundredth dead tiger. Too dreadful!
The road north of Kolhapur ran past
sugarcane and corn plantations, and there was no shortage of sugarcane juice to
fill my bottle. The main road to Pune was flanked by a minor road, making it a relaxed cycle route. However, a road sign indicated Pune was was another 140
kilometres away, and it made sense to call it a day and make the next two days short
rides to Pune.
8 February - Roadside Hotel – Roadside
hotel - 95 km
The secondary road continued, as on the day before, running alongside the highway, offering all the conveniences of
a main road without the traffic. For most of the day, the ride was gently
uphill except for a few mountain passes that slowed the pace considerably. A
headwind further hampered efforts, and it took most of the day to cycle the 95
kilometres.
I snapped a few pics, but later realised
the camera was set on manual instead of AV and all the pics were overexposed.
So, I’d had enough of the hills and kept an eye out for lodging, as it’s called in
India. There were quite a few to choose from,, and I picked thebest-lookingg onh. Unfortunately, hot water was only available in the morning.
Still, the staff brought me a bucket of piping hot water, making it easier to wash
off the dust and grime. February is mid-winter in India, and the nights and
early mornings can be nippy. Smelling fresh as a daisy, the downstairs
restaurant provided paneer masala and garlic naan - delicious.
9 February - Roadside hotel – Pune – 56
km
On leaving the hotel, I discovered the back tyre was flat,, which I thought was was surprising, as it had been rock hard the night before, but a slow leak can do that. I, however, had a feeling someone had fiddled with
the bike. So instead of unloading the bike and replacing the tube, I only
pumped the tyre and, surprisingly, it held the entire day.
Indian food is one of my favourites, but it's it's not substantial enough for a day of cycling. Although the previous
night’s food was plentiful, I lacked the energy for the day’s slow climb.
Twenty kilometres further, a roadside restaurant served a much-needed breakfast.
Still, I think it was the “Thumbs Up” (a brand of soda in India) that did the
trick and helped me slowly make my way over the hills.
Fortunately, the map indicated a short
ride to Pune, albeit with a long climb. Therefore, you can understand my joy in discovering
a tunnel that considerably shortened the uphill climb. Surprisingly, on the
other side of the tunnel, a massive city appeared, resembling one of China’s
“New Cities”. High-rise buildings stretched as far as the eye could see. I flew
downhill, reaching speeds of nearly 50 kilometres an hour, and that was into a
breeze. Still, it took me weaving through a confusing part of the city to
get onto the road to Pune.
Cycling into sprawling Pune took a fair
amount of concentration. Still, I found the hotel I had in mind in a surprisingly pleasant part of Pune. The rest of the afternoon was spent
walking around this interesting area, and it felt like I never stopped eating
until it was time to go to bed.
10 February - Pune
I slept like a log and only got going
around 11 a.m. My first stop was at the Aga Khan Palace, built by Sultan
Muhammed Shah Aga Khan III. Legend has it that the palace was built as an act
of charity to employ people from neighbouring areas of Pune who were severely
affected by famine.
The palace is also where the British
kept Mahatma Gandhi, his wife Kasturba Gandhi, and his secretary Mahadev Desai
prisoner during the Free India Movement. Both Kasturba Gandhi and Mahadev Desai
died in the Palace during their captivity. Today, the palace serves as a
memorial to Gandhi, and his ashes are interred in the garden.
Then it was on to the Pataleshwar Cave
Temple, a rock-cut cave temple carved in the 8th century and dedicated to the
Hindu god, Shiva.
It appeared that the cave temple was
left incomplete for some reason, possibly due to a fault line discovered at the
rear of the sanctum or to political upheaval at the time.
My last stop was at the Shaniwar Wada
fort, built by Peshwa Bajirao 1 in 1730 as a home for the Peshwas. It is
said to be one of the most haunted places in Pune, which is understandable given its unfortunate history.
According to legend, the 13-year-old
prince, Narayanrao Peshwa, heir of the Peshwa dynasty, was killed by his aunt,
Anandibai. His spine-chilling cries of “Save me, Uncle!” are said to haunt the
fort’s walls. Then, in 1880, the British captured the fort, and the owners were
forced into exile. Finally, in 1818, all except the foundations went up in
flames. Today, the fort is in the heart of the old city, but residents claim
the cries can still be heard on quiet nights.
12 February – Pune – Ahmednagar – 121 km
Following an extra day in Pune and feeling well-rested, I was ready to take it slow and enjoy a leisurely cycle.
The Ellora Caves, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, are about 260 kilometres north
of Pune. I understood it’s one of the largest rock-cut cave temples in the world,
dating to 600 – 1000 CE. It all sounded well worth exploring.
The route north was dusty as the dry
season was in full swing. I didn’t spot anything of interest and continued to
Ahmednagar, about halfway to the caves. Ahmednagar offered plenty of
accommodation, but I wasn’t in the mood to search and settle for a
modern-looking place with a slightly higher price tag than usual. However, it
had a room as large as a dance hall and a popular restaurant. I ordered a thali
and was served a huge and delicious meal. Hungry as I was, I couldn’t even
finish half.
13 February – Ahmednagar – Aurangabad – 111 km
Twenty kilometres beyond Ahmednagar, the
earth fell away, and I dropped 200 meters in three kilometres. I flew downhill,
panniers flapping in the wind. The rest of the day passed through typical
Indian rural areas, where the ox was still used daily, from ploughing to
pulling carts and extracting juice from sugarcane. Once in Aurangabad, I found a
decent hotel. The plan was to stay for two nights, allowing me enough time to
visit the Ellora Caves.
Breakfast consisted of paneer paratha,
curd, and chai. Once done, I hopped on the bus to the Ellora Caves. “Caves” are not the right word to describe these structures, as they were chiselled out of solid rock between 600 and 1000 AD. The temples were carved out by Hindu,
Buddhist and Jain monks (and their helpers, I guess) over many decades. In total,
there are 34 temples, some more elaborate than others. I understood the Kailasa
Temple was cut out of a massive rock by 7,000 labourers over 150 years. One
can’t help but be in awe of what was created. To give an idea of scale, the Kailasa Temple covers an area twice that of the Parthenon and is twice its height.
The planning boggles the mind. Not only are these remarkable temples extraordinary
from an engineering perspective, but the detail in the carved panels is also impressive.
By the time I was finished, it was three
o’clock, and I caught a jeep to Aurangabad. The bus ride to the caves was far
more comfortable than the jeep, as the driver piled in as many people as possible.
I counted 17 and was more than happy to get out at Aurangabad.
14-17 February – Aurangabad – Alibag (by
bus) - Thailand
Irrespective of the length of one's
visa, all visitors must leave India every 3 months. I thus
arranged with my sister, Amanda, who was planning to visit, to meet me in
Thailand for a few days, after which we would return to India for a beach
holiday in Kerala. Fortunately, my friends Anil and Janhavi, who lived in
Alibag, didn’t mind storing my bicycle and panniers until my return.
The bus ride to Alibag was long and
tedious, but I was grateful for the opportunity to see my friends. After a huge
lunch, Anil took me to the Mandwa ferry on the back of his Royal Enfield. The
ferry took me to the Gateway of India, from where it was a short taxi ride to
Janhavi’s aunt’s house, where I stayed the night. Again, I was spoiled rotten
and ate more than I should have of the delicious Indian food presented.
My flight was at midday, and Usha’s driver drove me to the airport. I, no doubt, felt like the Queen of Sheba being chauffeured to the airport. Again, I was lucky, as the flight was dead on time. Once in Thailand, I noticed a bus leaving for Jomtien at that very moment. With all my luck, I got to Jomtien much earlier than expected, collected my key from Glenn at Starlight Bar, and settled into my emergency bunker until my sister arrived.
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