Fool on the Loose

Not so known foods on the Indian Railway

2013-02-28T04:17:00.000-08:00

Fatehabad (Madhya Pradesh):

How many of you have heard of a small station called Fatehabad in the interiors of Madhya Pradesh? A needle in a haysack town which fell off the railway map after trains connecting Indore shifted to broad gauge. years later, now that the station has broad gauge once again...the delectable Gulab Jamuns have found their way back into mainstream railway food. The marble-sized sugerballs have survived inflation, obscurity, passionate connoisseurs, brackish housewives who always wanted 5 for the price of 4, arrogant fast-food chains and lived on. And its a promise, they will stir your appetite like none other.

Shoranur (Kerala):

For almost every Indian north of Goa (me included), South Indian food meant various forms of Dosa or Idli. Which is not really a shock because everything south of Goa for us meant Madras too. Thankfully Sarvana Bhavans of the world changed that to a degree. However, what is still severely under-represented in the mainstream food-culture is the state of Kerala. Shoranur, a small but important station in the middle of this small state serves as the gateway to both north and south. And if you land there in the wee hours of the morning, it serves you piping hot egg-curry (spiced with the most authentic, unadulterated of flavors, only found in Kerala and a generous sprinkling of curry leaves) with Idiyappam. Let your basic instinct kick in. Become a witness to the live drama of a small-town waking up, changing gears for a hard days work. And do it with lip-smacking Idiyappam-Egg Curry. Wash it down with "Chaya". Move on.

Warrangal (Andhra Pradesh):

Ask anyone who has eaten an Andhra Mess meal. Or ask anyone who knows anyone who has eaten an Andhra mess meal. The amazing flavors would come gushing back, bringing an involuntary happy reminiscing smile to their face. And as the mind dusts off the memory, it will also rediscover to its horror, the generous use of burning chilly, which seethed their tongues almost permanently. But if you really want to experience the true sense of what they meant...Warrangal is your destination. Right outside the railway station, the road is lined by petty stalls and hawkers serving a sumptuous arrangement of snacks. The deadliest amongst these is the innocuousness looking Idli, served with regular old coconut chutney. This white colored, nonthreatening paste easily creeps under your natural defenses, because you eyes severely under-estimate its potency. Which is why, that small moment, fraction of a second, when your tongue has just finished processing the chutney's flavors, THAT. It'll remain with you forever.

To be continued...

Bia Hoi with Bun Cha

2012-07-15T08:31:00.001-07:00

"I'll tell my grandchildren. I was here. I swam in the emerald waters as the sun painted this masterpiece on the skies. I felt the sun set and had conversations with the wind." - From my diary on July 10th, 2012

In the summers of 1948, the French colonial rulers were desperate to remain relevant in Indo-China. Japanese attacks during the world war and the pillage that followed by the Chinese army had left the ever infallible French, vulnerable and exposed to a disillusioned Annamese populace they had ruled and coexisted with for almost 2 centuries. As Ho Chi Minh's forces gained popularity and strength, the streets of Ha Noi and pristine waters of Ha Long Bay bore witness to uncharacteristic political folly and drama. It was in old quarter of Ha Noi, where the seeds of a thirty year long war would be sown, leaving millions dead, three of the world's strongest military and political powers (US, Japan & France) humbled and perhaps change forever the course of a nation.

Dance practice by the lake-side

The lake in the center of modern day old quarter sparkles with lines of lantern-like colorful lights that surround it. Swanky cars and a million bikes parked all around the boulevard by the lake, bring people from all parts of the city to relax awhile by the banks. Hawkers line the streets selling everything from t-shirts reading "i-pho" (a play on the iconic communication device and the "pho" rice noodle soup, staple in Vietnam) to the surprisingly popular chihuahuas. Vendors clamoring for business offer delicacies like Pho, brilliant stuffed omelettes and Bun Cha (Bar-be-que pork) and freshly brewed teas. Families jostle for spots on the scores of small plastic stools that line the lake-side. The rich exotic smell of fresh food plays the perfect backdrop for laughter and joy it inspires. A puny toddler learns to take his first steps while his family looks on with excitement. In the center of the lake a pagoda scintillates, washed in bright red and golden light. On the far side a bunch of men and women of all ages put out a stereo on the road and start practicing their dance moves. Evening walkers jog along, dragged behind their chihuahuas, paying no heed to such drama unfolding all around them. Ha Noi is still very much the center of a change in course of a nation.

Street food livens up the old-quarter at night

I first thought of coming to Vietnam in 2008 when a friend casually mentioned a road-trip across Indo-China. For a country that is surprisingly close to India (direct flying time is a little more than flying from Mumbai to Guwahati), Vietnam was a classical example of how ill-informed we (Indians) generally and I specifically am of the world around us. This small brave country was for us, merely a fiction carefully woven by umpteen American war movies, a place to be disliked for no apparent reason. Four years of yearning, months of cajoling Abhishek and Yog and weeks of planning (around the freakishly expensive flights). That is the amount of effort I had to put in to challenge this misinformed impression, effort I put in for this: one day in the streets of Ha Noi and a night on the waters of Ha Long.

We arrived on a late-evening flight from Ho Chi Minh and headed straight to one of many hotels in old part of Ha Noi. We quickly unpacked our meager baggage and hit the streets. Both Abhi and were carrying only hand baggage from India for a 10 day holiday!! And yes, it can be done. The french old quarter has long changed since it colonial days. On one end, signs of globalization have taken over history as international brands line the streets frequented by the rich and the famous of Vietnam. On the other, the beautiful street-life which was almost destroyed in the final years of French occupation and the war that followed, has returned with a vengeance. And with it has brought a charm that ever appeals to wandering souls. Tourists from across the world throng to these small by-lanes. It was on one of these small by-lanes we planted ourselves. With generous servings of Bia Hoi (local brew) and Bun Cha, our evening was spent chattering away with the excitement of what was to come.

To be continued...

Getting to Vietnam from Mumbai:

Direct: No direct flights exist between Ha Noi / Ho Chi Minh City and Mumbai. Jet Airways and Vietnam Airlines run code share flights via Bangkok with Luggage Transfer and removing the need for a Thai Visa. (~Rs. 34,000, 3-4 months in advance for 2013)

Cheapest: You can make substantial savings by taking an alternate route, especially if Bangkok is part of your itinerary. The options would be taking either of Cathay Pacific (Select days of the week, most comfortable), Jet Airways (Advance Purchase Fares) or Indigo (generally the cheapest) from Mumbai to Bangkok with a connecting from Don Mueng Airport on Air Asia to Ha Noi / Ho Chi Minh City. Based on dates the trip would cost you between Rs. 20,000 (Cheapest including Thai Visa). Air Asia also allows open jaw tickets allowing you to fly into HCM City and out from Ha Noi or vice versa.

Fastest: Thai Airways connection takes 8 hrs onwards and 12 hrs while returning including the layover

Vietnam Visa:

The visa to Vietnam could be obtained from any of the multiple websites offering the service. A simple Google search should serve the purpose. We did our visas through vietnamvisapro@gmail.com . It is a lot more convenient and time-saving than obtaining the Visa through the embassy which seems long drawn and difficult.

Stay:

Both Ha Noi and HCM City offer options for all pockets. However our serious recommendation would be to stay in the old quarter in Ha Noi. The charm of relaxed evening or bustling markets would sweep you off your feet.

Stay Safe:

Purse-snatching and petty thefts, specifically by motorcyclists seemed to be a problem. We witnessed one incident during our stay also. Simple vigilance and being aware of your surroundings should help you stay safe.

Ha Long Bay Trip:

While multiple websites exist, a trip to Ha Long Bay is best booked directly at one of the many agents in Ha Noi or from your hotel. A reasonable overnight trip on a clean boat with decent food should cost you between USD 80-100 per person. You could also choose from options of day-trip or a two-nights trip. We noticed that people on a two-night trip were asked to change boats on day two as each boat stays in the bay for only one day. This may have been an exception. Some boats offer family rooms accommodating 3-4 people as well. This option is not available through most websites.

The small nuisances:

Bear in mind that the boat would only be 60% of what is promised in the brochures. Instead of being disappointed at what you finally get, simply account for it when you make your purchase decision. The journey to and fro Hai-phong or Ha Long town is part of the package. The small bus would make a scheduled stop at one of the many arts vendors where you would be put through a “forced-guided” tour of the massive shop.

Lycee Khmer - Learning from Cambodia

2011-10-25T10:01:00.000-07:00

When I proposed to my friends that we conclude a lavish holiday in South-East in a nondescript country like Cambodia, the idea wasn't met with much enthusiasm. More so because we wanted to spend a rare holiday cajoling our senses and getting spoiled in every conceivable way. But the enigma of this forgotten nation was enough to make me convince a change of plans. Few know that Siem Reap was a nerve center of Hinduism and a majestic city of a million people when Paris was merely a 500 people community. It was a mammoth settlement spread over a 1000sq km with temples and libraries and such, which were lost to the world until Angelina Jolie's Lara Croft brought the irresistibly beautiful and enigmatic ruins to limelight again. They were stories carved in stone, forgotten but vivid. And I needed to read them.

The trouble was, getting to Siem Reap wasn't quite as easy as deciding to go there and it took some serious effort to figure out a reasonable way.* Little did we know, when we crossed the Thai-Cambodian border at Aranyaprathet-Poipet, that two days in this enchanted Water Kingdom would leave us exhausted but still wanting evermore!

Cambodia is as different as it can be from any of its neighbors. The moment you enter, you've got to switch sides on the road. Thailand, being the English colony drives on the left, while French influenced Cambodians on the right. The countryside is vast plateaus which seem to be devoid of human interference with nature. The sky takes a wonderfully clear blue color untainted by pollution and you could see miles into the distance, and wherever you look, the horizon is a lovely interplay of green land & blue skies. The 3 hr journey from Poipet to Siem Reap passes in no time!

We reached Siem Reap around 6 PM. The first thing one notices on entering this conspicuously tourist town is the number of "heritage" hotels that line the streets right till the Sivatha Boulevard (the city center). While the original plan for us was to stay in a home-stay since we wanted to touch a little more of the local life, our home-stay turned out to be a dingy place quite some distance away from the town. A rapid search on Agoda.com (which runs quite brilliant weekend offers) landed us in the massive rooms of Somadevi Angkor Resort for $40 each.

Just like any other Asian tourist center, Siem Reap is also a bustling town at night. Sparkling lights shower the street-side food joints which boast of exotic meats and intense flavors. The night market a short distance away from the boulevard is perhaps the best place to haggle with the shop-keepers (and flirt with the pretty ones) for your souvenirs. With bright colorful silk and cotton concoctions lining the alleys, interspersed with artifacts and handicrafts, the night market charms you instantly. Street-side shopping in Asia is a lot more about the experience and a lot less about the shopping. The adventure in haggling for that last penny, which both the shop-keeper can let go and you can easily spare, is what makes for the true experience of these markets. So even though the bargaining could bring down the prices by 80% leaving you completely boggled about a fair price and you simply cannot put any faith in the quality of the silks, you find yourself stuck with far too many souvenirs and trinkets. Along with our share of over-indulgence we picked up some feathery light cotton clothing in preparation for next day's hot and humid trip around temples of Angkor and closed the day with some (disappointing) Indian food in Hospital Road restaurants.

Cambodia witnessed a transition from Hinduism to Theravada Buddhism, both faiths originating in its distant cousin India. And in some way temples of Angkor are like pages of history, which have been written, scratched clean and written over again to record this mesmeric transition from one faith to another. A few of the temples of Angkor were originally dedicated to the Hindu Gods but with the ascent of Buddhism were reconsecrated to Buddhism. Notably Angkor Wat, which is perhaps the most important of all Khmer temples was devoted to Hindu God Vishnu (The God of Preservation and perhaps the most revered amongst his trinity peers Brahma, the Creator & Shiva, the Destroyer) but somewhere in the 13th century moved to Buddhist use. As we started for the temples next morning, we planned to visit Angkor Wat & Angkor Thom, Bayon, Baphuon and Preah Khan. While this was an ambitious plan, we wanted to put our solo day to full use and pigged off of an impressive breakfast spread at our hotel to ensure we were ready for the long day.

Pao our driver and guide, picked us up and quickly guided us through the ticketing and brought us to Angkor Wat before sun-rise. Unfortunately a cloudy day prevented us from witnessing a trademark sight of Angkor Wat with a backdrop of the rising sun). Even without the Sun, the sight of this massive temple in the distance, and knowing it has stood here for a 1000 years witnessing kings and then their scions learn, grow, and perish and dynasties rise and fall, fills you with awe. Standing there we made a futile attempt to imagine the processions of hoards of people who would have come here over the last millennium. To imagine how they prayed, how it'd feel to be one of them bowing in complete devotion to a higher power, the sort of undeterred, untarnished devotion that we and our generation may not be able to imagine, let alone experience. It was the kind of devotion that makes fathers and sons and then their sons toil for over 2 centuries to build this mammoth structure brick after brick after brick, knowing a generation in the far distance would get to bow in silence and maybe one lucky son or daughter in some divine moment would witness God.

For wonders of architecture which withstood a 1000 years, these temples were almost entirely reclaimed by the jungles in the short era of Pol Pot, Kampuchea's notorious dictator in a short rule of 3 years. Pol pot contrived to wipe out even the last trace of Cambodia's rich heritage. In 3 years, Pol Pot's armies, destroyed every symbol of intellect, arts, culture or history and even religion and in a first of its kind systematic genocide of the intellectuals, attempted to erase thousands of years of history. Angkor survived. Which is why these phenomenal structures, today, tell more than a mere tale of history. In a simple twist of fate, Cambodia has started to build itself again around these temples, both literally and figuratively. Siem Reap is one of the world's leading tourist destinations and accounts for a great portion of Cambodia's earnings. The symbol of Angkor has come to be connected to with all things suggesting at a resurrection, whether it is a local brewery or an airline. The hope in the eyes of a silent teenager, sitting in the temples of Angkor, the silent determination as he toils away at his English Language Guide....that is Angkor.

*There are three ways to get to Siem Reap from Bangkok, you could fly directly from Bangkok to Siem Reap but Bangkok Airways has a monopoly over the flight routes and charges a bomb (figure this, the return flight was 40% more expensive than our return flight from India to Bangkok). You could save about $100 if you chose to fly to Phonom Penh instead but increase your travel time to about 10-12 hrs including the flight since the road to Siem Reap is a two-lane highway with a lot of traffic. The last and final option was to take an early morning 3rd Class ticket on the passenger train to Aranyaprathet-Poipet broder, walk across and catch a taxi to Siep Reap making the trip in about 10 hrs. However the train has only seating accommodation and you have to stand in the queue really early since there is no pre-booking.

A good option is to make Pattaya your last stop and make for Aranyaprathet. An 8:30 1st class air-con bus, with a built in wash-room, leaves from the North Pattaya Bus Stand, for ist final destination: Mukdahan. It would drop you at Aranyaprathet in 5 odd hours with enough time on your hands to cross the border, catch a taxi and reach Siem Reap before sun-down. We reached Aranyaprathet and walked straight to the border. Having already done our E-visas, we were able to avoid umpteen touts offering a quick visa and finished the immigration process in about 20 minutes. We soon picked up a taxi ($35 for the one way drop, although I thought we were rather lucky to manage that price) and Pao, our driver would accompany us for the rest of our trip in Siem Reap.

PS. We also requested Pao to drop us to the Phnom Penh airport from our hotel in Siem Reap. The one way trip costing us $50 for a comfortable drive.

Update: Cambodia and Thailand now allow a single tourist visa.

Good food in Mumbai. Yep...it's not a rumor!!

2011-01-17T04:41:00.000-08:00

Mumbai Food sucks! Big time. For a foodie who has careened into rich scents and fresh spices of Kerala or swam through the buttery back-streets of Chandani-Chowk or late-night eats at Pandhara Road, for a traveler who has tasted the magical confluence of Mangalorian and Goan food in roadside beer-bars of Canacona (South Goa) or the delicious gajar ka halwa in northern winters , for a wanderer who has hand-picked prawns to be cooked home-style in Bakhali (North 24th Parganas, West Bengal) and has eaten the Sunday Morning servings of Kallu ki Nahari / Nihari (Lamb Shank, traditionally cooked and served before sunrise) in Ramganj Bajar, Jaipur...Mumbai ends up woefully short. So it was a bit of a task for me to grow over the insanely over-priced and horribly over-hyped eating joints of Mumbai or the run of the mill KFC chicken recipe and dominos' standard chicken wings. And there I was trying to locate, bit-by-bit, hidden in this nook or that corner, or sometimes slightly more visible, my favorite eating joints.

And over the next few days I'd try and make a list of such places. Let me begin with Mahim which has turned out to be a refreshing surprise. If you are located in Mahim west you are one lucky bloke. Right across the Paradise Cinema is this hidden little place called Susegad Gomantak. A humble joint with a short but incredible menu, I have had the BEST sea-food in Mumbai by a distance at this place. Mumbai swears by the Bombil or Bombay duck as the best amongst fishes. For those people who have lived in South India and have been brought-up on rava-fried Seer in Goa or pan-deep-fried Aikora in Kerala or curry-leaves tossed Nei Meen in Karnataka, Bombil is a major let-down. For those born and brought up in Mumbai too it is a sad story...they just don't know it yet. Meanwhile, Susegad will serve you the most incredible rava-fried Seer or Pomfret, served with Rice / Chapati, Sol-curry, Rassa (gravy) of your choice (you could choose from amongst typical Goan Fish Curry gravy or go for a home-cooked kind slightly Kolhapurish mutton and chicken gravy) and for the next half-an-hour or so...forget the world and delve into an ultimate sea-food meal. Whats more...when the bill comes up, your wallet would shed all of a 100 bucks. Incredible!

Right next door to Gomantak is a far more popular joint by the name of Kakori Kebabs. The joint, like the famous place it refers to, is a bit of a revolution amongst drab Mumbai food. Kakori boasts of serving World's softest Kebabs (while I'm tempted to give that title to either of Peshawari or Dum-Pukht @ any of the Sheratons, KK comes incredibly close and for the cost its way better). And indeed the Kakori or the Galaoti Kebabs are as brilliant as they can be. Add it to it the perfectly juicy mutton and chicken Biryani (I so detest the dry taste-less plate of rice which Mumbai restaurants try to pass off as Biryani) and you could count on yourself coming there again before the month ends. While Kakori Kebabs presents a formidable menu and spread, the moment you move away from its boasted items, you tend to end up disappointed. The curries are...let me put it this way....very Mumbai.

If you are still not satiated , move down the Sitla-Devi Temple Road towards Tulsi-pipe and on your left about 200 mtrs down you'd fin Icy Spciy. Icy Spicy serves Biryani by the kilo and while not quite in the league of KK, Icy has a bit of a street-cred to claim. And if you think this write-up has become too gory, right next to Icy-spicy is a small joint run by a Sindhi lady. Ask her for her Bhindi-Aloo fried and wash it down with some Chas. This okra-potatoes combination is spiced with dried coriander and stir fried to take a crispy spicy form and goes brilliantly with thin home-cooked chapatis.

Cheers!

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Goa (contd...)

2010-09-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

Part 4: The Utopia

It had started drizzling by the time we returned from Mangalore hotel, giving a perfect finish to what had been largely a sunny day. Sam and I decided to put our legs up in the balcony to take in the mild chill and peace of the night, over some beers. Even while simply sitting, the kaleidoscope of Goa never froze to just make us its own. Right across the street, a Bulgarian couple was plucking gently at a guitar, sitting in dancing light of a few candles, loosing themselves to Elvis. On our right, a few Israeli youngsters were lighting up what they told me was Israeli chillum (which, to my horror, one of them told me was “Charas” moments after I had joined them in their pursuit of Nirvana). Somewhere in the same building as the Bulgarians laughter echoed of merriment. As we turned in for the night, we could only wonder what surprises this small island of utopia, would throw at us the next day.

Part 5: The Fish and the Fishermen

Our plan for the second day of the trip was to visit the village of Agonda and while at it, sneak a peek at the Agonda beach. We quickly grabbed a bite (again at the same tea-stall), this time of home-made sweetened bread (which is fried by the way and not baked, but you would be hard put to find even a hint of oil), tea and potatoes. Just a few kilometers to the North of Palolem, treading on a curvy maze of country lanes is Agonda, another of the beaches that has been spotted only lately. While from July through October one would find no shacks or any sign of life at the beach for that matter, the Agonda village in itself is also quite a treat. We left the beach early, to see if we could convince one of the families to cook for us. Luckily for us, a couple of local homes had opened small bars serving liquor to the locals and after a bit of request the mistress of one agreed to cook us some fried fish, curry and eggs for our mid-day meal. Sam and I left the lady to work on the fish while we hunted for eggs in the village square. A tiny stall, the owner dismayed at a surprise visit from two aliens, supplied us with a small pack of butter, half a dozen eggs and bread. Indian village squares are the highpoint of village life, all of three small shops catering to the locals’ supplies were under the same tree, with another old lady sitting by the road with her bamboo-strips basket of fish.

The lady had accommodated us in the verandah in front of the house. Sitting on the stone benches, the gentle breeze, caressing shade and comfort of a village home had already lulled us into peace. We washed down yet another sumptuous meal of Goan fish-curry, fried fish-lets and omelets with cold beers (that’s another thing about Goa, no matter what you are doing, you’re drinking beer…breakfast, let’s wash it down with a beer, chocolate pudding….how about topping it with a fresh beer!!!!) , we knew the meal was as authentic as it could get. When we asked the lady as we paid her for the beer, how much was due her for food, she refused with an embarrassed smile, however on our goading she charged us Rs. 47/-. Amazed and contented, Sam and I headed back for Palolem (although grudgingly for at that moment, all we needed for a profoundly satisfying sleep was the shade of a tree).

Two ends of the net being pulled in

Net stretching into the Sea

We also wanted to return to Palolem quickly because Sam had spotted something peculiar, the day before and today we wanted to get to the depth of the matter. Luckily the show had just begun when we reached. About 300 meters apart, two groups of 6 to 8 people each, seemed to be pulling on a rope coming from somewhere far into the sea. The rope seemed to be stretching for so long that we were very curious as to what could lie at the end of the rope. On enquiring we found, the fishermen had been at it for the last hour and would only finish pulling the entire fish-net in, by the end of another hour and a half. Apparently one of the common techniques of fishing for small fishermen, who do not have boats fit enough to venture into the deep seas is to use these long fish-nets. The length of the nets is more than 100 meters and both ends are tied to much longer ropes which are held by a few people on the shore. A small boat carries the net into the sea as two groups of people start walking apart on the beach, holding the ropes, thus the farther the boat goes, the further apart the two ends grow forming a huge arc. Once the net is cast sufficiently far into the sea, the two groups start pulling the net in.

The Catch

To experience the enormity of the task, Sam and I joined one of the groups, but in a three hour long tedious exercise we couldn’t even last 15 minutes. It’s hard enough to pull a net which seems tons heavy and add to it the slippery sand, meant that it took you long minutes to gain inches and a fraction of a second to lose ground to the whim of a current or two. One would have expected the catch at the end of such a mammoth exercise, to be immensely rewarding, but what turned it caused us even more alarm!! Most fish, caught in the net tend to be commodities, available aplenty in the local markets and thus don’t fetch a few dollars even. The prize catch (Squids, Crabs, Pomfrets, Mackerels and Tiger Prawns) formed merely two bucketfuls and each containing about 50 Mackerels and 20 each of the rest was sold off for a mere Rs. 1500/- ($30). It seemed almost cruel that the shacks on the beach (who were the primary buyers for the best catch) would in turn make thousands (hundreds of dollars) from the same catch.

One of the Parasites got hold of a Squid (Calamari)

The eagles swooping in...

The fishermen auctioned off the rest of the catch as villagers and resellers alike bought their daily supplies. There were also some parasites around, slippery little people, making use of the confusion to pick the choicest little squid or a fish or two and then simply dissolve into the crowd until the next opportunity, the crows, eagles and dogs in complete contradiction swooped in with arrogance and took their share. The fishermen seemed to have accepted it as a part of the game, as none displayed more than a wry smile in return for our questioning looks. The remaining fish (about 12 baskets-full of the leftovers) were then carried home by the fishermen and their families. It turned out, most of the 12 were only hired hands, and the only reward they could collect was the fish they could take back home.

Sam sitting at the shack, lost..

We also collected our memories, wrapped them up tight around us for it had started to drizzle again and the wind made it chilly, and moved towards the safety of a shack for....you guessed it…more beer. Sam and I are sitting in one of the few shacks which remain open round the year. And I guess this, right here, right now, sums up the trip. Because in this moment, our thoughts, emotions, and feelings….everything stands still, hushed, in respect for that all pervasive feeling that Goa instills in every soul that is touched by its lands…Susegad.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Goa

2010-09-09T04:46:00.000-07:00

Part 1: The Journey

Goa. The one place in India, where India ceases to exist and gives way to a world of aimless wanderers seeking their own unique shapeless whims. It is difficult to say anything new about this incredible state for one would assume the innumerable people who wander into its streets and beaches must have seen everything, described it from all perspectives. The problem is, how can one describe it? How does one put into mere words, the tranquil calm the silent beaches leave lingering in your heart for days after you have left? How does one describe, getting up to an overnight rain and watching the waves trying to have their own say over the thundering rain, each roaring to assert its superiority? But...I've got to give it a shot.

I set out on what will be my fifth trip to Goa this year, to test the theory that Goa is even more beautiful in monsoons, than any other time of the year. Some days back I was checking out some photographs of a random city street, and imagine my shock when I correctly recognized the place as Panjim. That told me I had done northern parts of Goa to death and it was time to move southward and of course the place of choice was Palolem. I called up Sam and he'd be joining me at the Madgaon station from Bangalore. I boarded the Matsaygandha Express (sleeper class fare: Rs. 300/- one way) from Lokmanya Tilak Terminus for yet another mind boggling ride on the Konkan Railway. And like every time, the ride offered some incredible views (whether it be incredible patterns in the sky or trains ferrying trucks…yes trucks!!)

Views from the Konkan Railway

Trains ferrying Trucks, this way truck avoid the dangerous, long
climb down the western ghats and save on both cost and time

...some incredible people (like Sanjay Singh, a Jat from Haryana who non-challantly claimed "The brahmins are making a name for themselves as goons these days, the fact that they have lost four-five youngsters recently is testimony to it" as if it was a matter of pride, or Santosh, a diminituive chap from Gwalior who has been working on the Madgaon station for 4 years now but has never seen a beach or even the panjim city) and some awesome food (lick-your-lips, Kerala / Karnataka style chicken biryani is a given on all Konkan Railway trains).

Madgaon Municipality Building @ Dawn

Before Sam arrived, I set out to explore the Madgaon town and rent a bike so we would be ready to shoot for our destination as soon as sam arrived. Like every other town, Madgaon too looked very diffferent at dawn, with empty streets, barring a few of the cleaners toiling away outside, Longuinho's, my favorite watering hole in Madgaon looking old as ever. I have always been amazed by this particular class of cities, the invisibles: the newspaper hwakers, the milk-vendors and so on. They appear only at those insane hours when the rest of the town is still shrugging off sleep hangovers. Their brush-strokes keeping the city clean or prepping you for a healthy beginning, the sole witnesses to what a city really looks like. Meanwhile, I failed to get anything reliable enough to ferry us for the next 3 days and I returned to Madgaon station to meet Sam.

Part 2: To Palolem

The moment Sam arrived, we began hunting for a bike. Bikes are of course, the favorite mode of transport in Goa for tourists, however, to find one reliable for a 50 km journey is quite a task. Most bikes were not maintained well and had issues some perhaps owing to mishandling at the part of tourists too, which resulted in Sam finding a relatively new and maintained Pulsar after an hour and 7 different vendors, in Colva (10 kms from Madgaon station) and after a humble but brilliant Udupi breakfast of Idli-Sambhar and filter-coffee we set out for Palolem.


Heading towards the Western Ghats in the distance

Although Palolem can be reached by train (which makes it cheaper and quicker) as the beach is just 5 km away from the Cancona station and a local train leaves Madgaon station in the afternoon, and takes about 30 minutes, a lot of express trains stop at the station. Bikes however take you through the incredible countryside of Goa laced with Western Ghats and their tropical rain-forests on one side and the multiple coconut, mango and banana plantations on the other side of National Highway 17. The curvy two lane road is mostly well-maintained but monsoon leaves it marks in some places. The things to keep an eye out are the multiple small and large churches in various villages, road-side stalls serving omelets and tea and the number of bars!! One hears about booze culture in Goa but to understand the real extent of it, you've got to step out into the countryside. The highway is dotted with small liquor shops, some just extension of homes, open right from 6 am in the morning as the village-folk get their morning kick before scurrying off to their odd-jobs.

We arrived at Palolem at 8:30 (an hour from the time we started from Madgaon). The first thing was to hunt for a place to load our luggage, take a shower so we could hit the beach at the earliest. This being the fag end of monsoons, we were in for a shock. On my last trip to Palolem, the going rate for rooms with the basics (hot showers, clean bed and not-so-dodgy-looking land-lords was Rs. 500/--600/-) but we chose to crash right at the beach in Ciaran, possibly the most upscale resort on the beach for a whooping Rs 2000/- for a night. Although clean the place definitely does not merit the price. More so because unlike the beaches in South-East Asia, cottages in Goa are not right on the beach, but quite some distance back on the beach. This time we settled for a clean, well-equipped room with the basics and a TV for as low as Rs. 300/- a night. (Some of the newer buildings are coming up near Cuba, on the main street of Palolem. These buildings are not only well organized but do not have the characteristic dinghy smell that monsoons leave behind in some of the old ones).

After settling in, Sam and I hit the streets, for the Idlis of the morning were long gone and we were hungry. In a small tea stall, right at the turn towards the beach, we had our first glimpse of what makes Goa so incredible. People assume Goa is just an abode for the wanderer, to the pot-smoking Israelis who survive entire summers only on that or the snobbish French, who come to Goa to while away their 2 month vacations or the Indians who flock during the summers and suddenly change the color of the beaches. But if you stop for a moment and look, there is a Sharma Brahmin from Delhi selling artifacts on the streets, there's a Maharashtrian house-keeper who has lived all her life in Goa, their is a Tamil youngster trying to crack a joke to a Bihari youth in his strained Hindi, that broken statement in an alien tongue, bridging the gaps of caste, region or religion, all their hesitation melting away in a moment of laughter. They tell me India used to be like that in the days.

The southern end of Palolem

We settled for a cup of tea at the stall and looked for some food. My father, a seasoned traveler told me to always look for the place which is most crowded, for even if it wasn't the place with the tastiest food, the probability of food being fresher is the highest. We located Sea Breeze, a gaudy lemon yellow colored eatery on the right side of the streets, just before the access to the beach to fit the criteria and ordered our firsts. Although Palolem has limited options for food during Monsoons, we found the cheese omelet more than acceptable and the Chorisos (Goan pork sausages) were spicy and true to the Goan spirit (however they did leave a lingering after-taste). We gulped our breakfast down with fresh brews of our choice and hit the beach.

The Northern end of Palolem

Palolem is one of the most idyllic beaches of Goa, and while the popularity has increased significantly over the years, remains very peaceful during either end of the monsoons. The beach itself recedes in from the sea forming a C shape with both ends training away into small hillocks.On the right (northern end), a small island popular for its "Give if you can, take if you have to" monument and some untouched rain-forests makes for a good day-trip. While a short swim (25-30 mtrs) from the end of the beach would take you to the island, the sand is slippery, dotted with sharp rocks. The sand is also not firm and the water becomes unexpectedly deep and the currents strong, therefore I would recommend a life-jacket or no-go unless you are a good swimmer. Sam and I spent some time whiling away on the island before returning a little too late for our lunch.

Part 3: The Food

Fresh catch being auctioned off at the beach

I am a foodie. Period. The local flavors of he places I visit make or break my day, either it is home-cooked "Hilsa" in the countryside of Bihar, the grilled Rays in Pangkor, the Nasi-Lemak at Madam Kwan's in upscale KL or the fried Crab-Currey in the backstreets of KL (Jalan Alor). And of all things I do, experimenting with local food is my most favorite. And over the years, I have become better at the art. I make sure to visit local markets (in Palolem the fish market for example) to understand what is the real specialty of the place (frankly eating Tuna in Palolem is like an Indian eating Chiken Biryani in NY....waste!!). The second must do, if you are a foodie, is to ask the locals (not the touristy vendors but the watchman at your guest-house or the house-maid walking the streets) for they generally would tell you the places of real local flavor.

We had skipped lunch and after the make-do snacks and umpteen rounds of Pool and beer at Cuba (the table is decent, the food acceptable and the service cheery), our appetites were roused for a perfect Goan meal. A little bit of research in the Cancona town told us that the place to be would be Mangalore Hotel on the NH 17 a little distance back towards Madgaon. The night ride through the monsoon darkness and surrounding hills made it even more amazing as we rode 3 kilometers back to find Mangalore Hotel on our left. The place is definitely not for families because its swamped by the night-dwelling locals.. Neither is it for the unassuming foreigners for the mere smell of the rich spices made our mouths water (and they'd probable make your eyes water). We ordered for a Mackerel fish curry to go with boiled rice, and Kolhapuri chicken along with Chapatis. The fish-curry turned out to be a brilliant concoction of Mangalorian and Goan styles, rich in spices and with gravy that would leave you wanting more long after you've had your full. The chicken was none to bad either and we were sure we'd return the next day for more (which we did, this time ordering an equally good classic Goan fish-curry with rice, the owner was kind enough to accommodate us at 1 am in the morning too - although after a fair bit of banging on his shutter!!). What is more, the food cost us a paltry Rs. 120/- for a full meal for two.

more to come....

An Interviews with Udupi

2010-08-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

Part I: Konkan Railway

"You have traveled through 31 hours of a grueling train journey, and have agonized through a thousand questions you might be asked in an all important interview the next Day. When you finally think you have made it to the last leg of the damned journey and thank God, just then, the train breaks down. How would you feel?" I shot at Chandan, out of sheer frustration.

"Delightful. Blissful." says Chandan.

A Train crawling through Konkan Railway (Chiplun, Maharashtra)

And I knew he was right as I stared down the lush green valley laden with vast spreads of Mango Trees. The morning sun made it look like one of those postcard dream-locations. Right down the valley a seasonal river curled through the mountains, like a sleek serpent disappearing into the bushes and rocks, the water in it, extremely placid. The only noise that punctuated the bliss was the friendly banter of a group of friends in the next compartment. We were in Ratnagiri, the Mango capital famous for its legendary Alphonso mangoes. It was only when I woke up this morning that I realized the place was not just about Mangoes. And the spot where our train, fortunately, chose to break down made it look even more fulfilling.

Chandan is a chap from Delhi. We met in the train the day before only, when he boarded from Godhra (Gujarat, India). We have been friends since. I am from Jaipur (Rajasthan, India). We struck up a conversation and soon discovered our destinations were same: Udupi, a cultural hub and the temple town in the northern part of Karnataka and incidentally we were both headed to participate in the admission process of a renowned Business School.

But at least for the moment we had forgotten all about careers and interview techniques. As the train finally moved after a hiatus of two hours, we started discussing the Konkan Railway. What would you do, after all, when you find yourself on a mountain top trek IN A TRAIN, where the tracks coil through a maze of more than 90 tunnels and as many as 2000 bridges?!! Each time we relaxed feeling this one was the last of those tunnels another one engulfed us with its sudden ghoulish shriek. But it was not scary. It filled us with awe. It is a project one of the world’s leading consultancy firms declared unfeasible altogether, cut out of an incredibly difficult terrain amongst the Sahyadris and Western Ghat Ranges. The track forms the artery which connects southern Maharashtra, the coastal states of Goa, Karnataka and North Kerala to the Northern part of the country and runs along the rich rainforests of Western Ghats. Ratnagiri itself forms the gateway to many virgin beaches and unbelievable backwaters in the Sindhudurg district of southern Maharashtra.

As we reached the borders of the state, the train began to descend. The high hillocks disappeared and the river that seemed like a distant silvery ribbon, suddenly looked as if you could reach out and touch it! It was about 2:00 in the afternoon and we were wondering how late would we get because of that little snag with the train that suddenly the whole place buzzed up with activity. Somebody told me we would soon reach Thivim, the first railway station in the state of Goa. As soon as the train crawled into the station I understood why the entire buzz. The station was loaded with people battle ready. Clad in their best beachwear with surfboards and volleyballs, foreigners and Indians alike, got off the train as yet another hilltop station peered down a small countryside road disappearing into the horizon. Somewhere down there, I wondered, would be the legendary beaches of Goa. And there it was, a signboard on the station told us as much. It mentioned several famous beauties and their distance in twenties (kilometers). "Twenties", my heart gave me a jolt. I was within walking distance (if you consider the 2200+ kms I had covered from Jaipur in the last 25 hours) of the best place on earth and was not going there. Well while I mused, and considered, seriously, making a move towards one of them beaches, the train started to move, solving the dilemma for me.

Margoa or Madgaon, the commercial capital of Goa was our next stop. It was also easily the best-maintained station of India. The newly laid Skybus route could be seen from the station and assured us that the Delhi Metro and Konkan Railway (Incidentally architecture-d by the same person) are not flukes but a part of the nationwide infrastructure revolution. The train halted for a frustrating forty minutes, which was enough for us to sample some brilliant Cashews and even browse through the bamboo artifacts at various small shops oon the platform. As we slowly edged our way out of the sleepy station, we got a glimpse of typical Goan structures. The influence of the colonial era has not been lost even now. The predominant Christianity is celebrated in every structure, as is the happy-go-lucky attitude of Goans. I did not know what it was, the image of Goa portrayed in all those movies and rumors, or reality, but the place did seem to immediately put you at peace with yourself. With poor but cute modifications on antediluvian car models parked beside the newest and the trendiest sedans, Goa portrayed a happily contrasting picture. As the last few images of Goa faded, the sun also started dissolving into the horizon.

As the train cruised through lavish greens of coconut trees and stark browns of the series of hillocks, my amazement only grew. There were a few things about this leg of Konkan railway, which made it absolutely delightful. First, the momentary glimpses of the Arabian Sea, which filled us with childlike curiosity as we raised our necks to the highest window bar to take in as much of the delight as we could. Second the setting of the houses in the countryside, where, each one of them was surrounded by scores of coconut and other greens, with another placid serpent flowing beside. The rivers were wide enough in some parts to be navigated by boat steamers, while in some parts they were a maze of thin tributaries. I realized later that I was witnessing a typical river delta. The tracks are at a higher altitude providing a panoramic view of the beautiful countryside to the passengers of any train. As we watched, mesmerized, a sudden desire to jump out and settle there for till eternity overwhelmed us. I began to wonder how much civilization was good? Well certainly life would be better off without the eardrum shattering noises in any metro, not to mention the choking city air. Do we really need the fast cars and air-conditioners when we can afford to live in this virtual paradise? But the question felt heavy and hypocritical. After all, the reason for this visit of mine was to be a part of that very "civilization".

We were only getting over the sight of a mammoth statue of Lord Siva, in Murudeshwar, which is visible from miles around when someone announced that Udupi was the next station, and the whole train transformed into a hub of activity like a swarm of bees. I was surprised to see how many people were Udupi bound. The fact that they were all my age told me that even their purpose was same as mine. Also it gave birth to an expectation. Right through the past few days and this journey we had pictured an image of how Manipal and Udupi would look? The small town on the border of the southern state of Karnataka and Goa, was popular as the Oxford of India. Manipal had a zing to its name and the stories about that place had filled us with great anticipation. That obviously was until we reached the town.

The train entered a dimly lit petty little station with about ten inhabitants, who all are pushed into reluctant motion at the sight of the train. The trite sight of coconut trees failed to cheer us as we wondered about the "Oxford of India". It looked like a small fishing community town. Where were all the temples of the "Temple Town" and where was the Oxford, which, supposedly was only three kilometers from the Udupi railway station? I was beginning to consider my decision of going there and by the look on Chandan’s face he was doing the same. But, we were going to find out, as always we had jumped to conclusions too soon.

Part 2: Uppi and Maipal

We took the ten-minute ride in an auto-rickshaw to our hotel where I had reservations (Shri Ramakrishna Hotel); it was decided that Chandan would stay with me, as he did not have any reservations. I was surprised to know that all the hotels of both Udupi and Manipal were jam-packed. Our auto-walah informed us that this was a normal routine at this time of the year when students from all over the nation poured in. But
I had perhaps lost the "student" bit in me for the moment. I was more engrossed with the small town. A deserted, barely lit, solitary road led us out of the station, but suddenly it turned and the whole city sort of exploded into our sight. Buzzing market-place resplendent with bright and shiny colors of the typical handiwork of South India, glared at us from all over. Smell of rich spices and coconut oil, invited us from every corner. And the road-side stalls beckoned with an intoxicating smell of fresh home-grown coffee beans (Karnataka is one of the largest producers of coffee in India). But what was the most intriguing was the city in itself.

The east has had its own share of immortal love stories like the Romeo-Juliet, stories of substance and eternal love like . Soni-Mahival, Heer-Ranjha and Laila-Majnu, but at least I never came across one so scintillating as Uppi and Maipal. While Uppi could be a town materialized right out of one of those settings of R.K. Narayan’s Malgudi Days, Maipal looks as if a chunk of Mumbai has been sliced off and placed on a small hammock in the middle of a jungle. This contrast makes the synchrony between the lifestyles of the two towns seem even more beautiful. How the typical Loongee clad fishermen and coconut traders had come to terms with modern Cappuccino drinking and fun-loving youth was heart warming to see.

Oh! For those who are wondering what are Uppi and Maipal, welcome to Udupi and Manipal bus-driver style. Actually, Chandan and I wanted to have a look at the venue of our interviews in advance because they were scheduled for early next morning. After unpacking at our hotel, we asked around for a public transport. The receptionist at the hotel informed us that an auto-rickshaw would cost us a ferocious amount, about sixty Rupees for a ride of about three kilometers, so we better take a bus. So there we were wandering around the local bus stand looking for one, which goes to Manipal. It took us a while to realize that all the busses were Manipal bound only that we were actually supposed to be looking for “Mai…Paaall”, and while returning we were coming to “Uppi-Uppi-Uppi-UPPI”.

I would rather skip the process of interview and its outcome in this narrative. At about 4:30 PM we returned to Udupi. The past few hours had flown past leaving little imprints on my memory. In spite of a discouraging morning, my exuberance to visit around had not died out. As soon as I reached my hotel, I got to the reception and asked for information on the place. The receptionist, with that "another silly north Indian" look, gestured towards a printed guide to the hot spots. This was the second shock I had received on the trip (after the interview that is) but this one was a delight. The place was called Malpe, situated only seven kilometers outside Udupi and it was a BEACH! The last time I had been to a beach was in 1998. Somehow all my vacations and trips after that had either been to Metros or hill stations. My train was scheduled for midnight the next day and we had a full day with only a few formalities to finish with the institute by noontime.
Chandan informed me that some of his friends had already visited Malpe and had been in Udupi since the evening before we arrived. We called over Divyendu, Aditya, another chap from Delhi and Vijay (he was staying in the same hotel as us) for a chat. Over some hot Chicken Hot and Sour, we shared our horrifying experiences in front of the interview board and realized that except for Vijay who was planning to leave earlier, all of us were Delhi bound on the same train. No, I was not the only loser, incidentally all four of us could not get through the interview stage; we were a whole army of losers. So, after a quick shower, good-byes and good lucks were shared with Vijay as the other three, Divyendu, Chandan and I left for Manipal.

Manipal is as modern as any of the other up and coming cities of India. Right from the best coffee shops to great restaurants, from the best-branded casuals to Delhi style roadside garments sales Manipal has everything. It feels as if God has forgotten to bless the town of Manipal with adult life. Those seldom few adults who are there are the teachers and faculties of the various institutes. I just got a sneaking feeling that even they made their level best efforts to look younger. The students here live it up. While on one hand the town has world class teaching facilities on the other it has the scope for some good weekend fun. It also enjoys students from quite a few countries. Overall, it can prove to be a lifetime for a student studying here. Sorry if I sound gluttonous but I guess the word food merits a mention here. Both Manipal and Udupi have great food to offer. I believe it offers the cheapest food in the world. A sumptuous Thali with Rassam, Sambhar, curd, buttermilk and two Sabzis, along with Chapati and Rice would cost you only Rupees seventeen; spiral pasta in white sauce about Rupees fifty. We ended our day with some good non-vegetarian food although a must-try is curd-rice dashed with rich mixtures of spices and curry leaves stirred up in hot oil.

Udupi is a beautiful town. The temples, which we for a while presumed were an illusion, are actually there, and quite a few of those at that. Hence the religiousness of the town is apparent. Also visible is the town’s occupation. While, you would invariably always run into fisherwomen in each bus journey, the shops laden with beautiful handloom cloth tell another story. The specialty of the town would be clothes ranging from handloom made crafty men’s wear to the beautiful Sarees and Salwar Suits. The textures and colors being the specialty of these predominantly women’s clothing, apart from the fine fabric, the shops flaunt the brightest of the colors on their windows.

A "Ratha" or the carriage of the Gods outside the temple (2008)

Next Morning, before the final interviews, we decided to visit the Shri Krishna Mutt, Udupi’s most celebrated temple. The Krishna Mutt is an ancient temple and one of the holiest places of pilgrimage in Southern India. It is said that Shri Madhwacharya, the founder of Dwaita philosophy found the idol of Shri Krishna (an incarnation of the Hindu God, Lord Vishnu – the Preserver) on a ship he rescued from a storm in the waters of Malpe. The idol is placed inside an enclosed chamber and is worshiped through a window with nine holes, called Navagraha Kitiki. Men have to remove the clothing they wear on the upper half of their body before entering the premises of the temple. The experience, needless to say was divine. The Prasada had two ingredients. Being the glutton I am I ate it all up in one go, however, the typical taste of the Prassada was explained when right after my throwing it in my mouth the Swami ji began, "Put the chandan (sandal-wood paste) on your forehead and the flower in your pocket for rakshan (protection)". Well I had to eat what I already had in my mouth and take some more for the real purpose. God always has ingenious ways to teach you, I realized.

Soon we were aboard a fishermen-loaded bus from Uppi to Malpe. It was one in the afternoon. In spite of the acrid smell of the fishermen’s prize catch and the fact that they spoke in rapid syllables of an entirely alien tongue (Kannada) that I could not gather a word of, I was on the seventh moon. A twenty-minute drive from Udupi shall take one to Malpe, they told us in a broken mixture of Hindi and English. I kept popping my neck above all to have a glimpse of the waters. And there it was. Somehow the sight of sea has always enthralled me like nothing else. Perhaps it is the enigma it portrays or the lack of boundaries or the depth, I do not know what, but it is majestic, powerful.

It took me only a couple of minutes to drop the philosophy (and my clothes) and get ready for a nice little swim. Meanwhile, Divyendu and his local contact had also arrived. What followed was raw fun. For the next few hours we had given up being adults. Right from swimming out into the sea to throwing sand balls at each other, from playing football with a group of local youngsters to eating the ever-so-tasty Gobhi-Manchurian (fried cauliflower wrapped in corn flour) and burying each other in the sand, we did it all. By the time the Sun went down we were all dead tired. At the sunset all of us were strolling by the seashore. The soft waves of the sea caressed my toes and went back, the cold breeze, everything, felt blissful. I knew it then that Malpe shall remain in my memories forever.

The only resort around the Malpe beach offers some good shower and locker facilities apart from the legendary good food. Also it has a comprehensive pub to add flavor to the party. As Malpe enjoys good weekend crowd, the general cleanliness and other facilities are fine. With luck you can catch an opportunity to visit one of the islands (The northern-most island is called Daria-Bahadurgad, the middle one Daria-Gadara-Kallu and the southernmost Kari-Illada-Kallu) close to the shore. The local tourism authorities run a boat whenever there is an assortment of 30 to 40 people willing to go out. Unfortunately, we were there on a Monday so could not find enough company. Malpe is perhaps not very popular outside the region and that is what makes it a complete paradise.

We unwillingly made the return journey. It was eight in the evening when we reached the hotel. Chandan and I bid adieu to Divyendu and promised to meet again at the station. But suddenly I realized I had forgotten something. Well it was time for some power shopping as I gathered some artifacts and a Salwar Suit and had a quick dinner (that sumptuous Thali for one last time) and took an auto-rickshaw (another 50 rupees! Preposterous!). Somebody told us that we would not find any means of transport to the station after 9:30 PM.

It is 10:00 PM. and our train is 10 minutes late and scheduled for 0015 hrs. To be truthful even I am fed up of this narrative as you might be by now, but I had to preserve this memory and therefore I decided to write this. For the past hour or so Chandan has been chatting up with a girl he struck up a conversation with in the morning and has met again. Her name is Ashvini (she was one of the interviewees). So, obviously I must be looking a lot less appealing to him now. Sir Cliff Richards has taken refuge in my Walkman somewhere and as he sings "Summer Holiday" in my ears, I am wondering if and when shall I ever be able to listen to that delightful voice of Buswallahs again, calling Uppi-Uppi-Uppi-UPPI

Inside the Kapu Lighthouse

Ps: I returned to Udupi last year to relive those memories. An alternative for the Malpe beach is the Kapu beach which is a lot more popular with the students of Manipal. Because the population is well educated the beach is uncharacteristically clean. Kapu also has a light-house which you can climb up on and it offers an amazing view of the Arabian Sea. Udupi also has some very old Churches and other temples, which are popular amongst tourists and locals alike. And here’s the bomb: Be careful of leaving your stuff around. The locals have trained crows, yes believe it, crows to search through the stuff you leave behind on the shore and identify currency notes! It happens only in India :)

View of the Kapu beach from the Light-house