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Published: February 9th 2006
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I'd originally intended catching an early bus to Puri (on the coast), but the unignorable order to find a toilet that my stomach was periodically giving me meant that a taxi was the only mode of transport that would eliminate all possibility of a catastrophe. I was also glad of this decision when I saw how misty it was - the bus system in India has an extremely high rate of accidents at the best of times, so throwing some bad weather into the mix seemed to be asking for trouble. We did pass one freshly overturned lorry along the way.
Once the mist had burned off, I was able to see how lush the surrounding countryside was. Many palm trees, lots of greenery, and the occasional peaceful lake - in fact, how I was imagining Kerala would be. I saw a truck advertising a product called Long Looks, which is apparently an ayurvedic height enhancer. I also saw a roadside sign that contained the words "defecation-free village" - I can only assume I missed some other critical part of the wording that made sense of this, rather than the village belonging to some sect who had vowed a lifelong
abstinence from taking a dump.
The hotel I've chosen seems like another good one. An airy room with all mod cons including A/C for Rs 450. They tried to tempt me with a similar room 2 floors up that supposedly had sea views, but an extra Rs 300 per night to see a sliver of ocean off in the distance was insufficiently appealing.
Puri is beside the Bay of Bengal, and it felt as hot and humid as Bhubaneswar. I wandered along to the beach, which has white sand but otherwise is unremarkable. Despite only being there for about 30 seconds, I had to fend off 2 hawkers selling (respectively) shell necklaces and boating trips.
The sun temple at Konarak was on my agenda for tomorrow, but the hotel owner warned me that a major festival was taking place there then and it would be difficult to get close by any transport, not to mention move around at the place itself, so I took a taxi there in the afternoon. I had to rebuff several highly persistent "government" guides, one of whom shouted at me 6 times before running after me and grabbing my arm to offer
his services. I asked him why he had done this, as my actions indicated either I didn't understand English, or I was deliberately ignoring him. Unfortunately such logic was not appreciated.
The temple itself was very impressive. It's supposed to represent the sun god Surya's chariot, with 12 wheels (1 for each month), and pulled by 7 horses (1 for each day of the week), though only 1 horse could even be remotely considered intact now. The detail of the carvings was very similar to Khajuraho, with many erotic scenes depicted as well as dancing, hunting, etc, but I didn't think they were as well-preserved as Khajuraho. Unfortunately the main tower in the complex has crumbled, but in its prime it was twice the height of the remaining temple, and supposedly housed 2 magnets (between which the king's throne was suspended in mid-air) that wreaked havoc with the tides and caused numerous founderings off the coast.
At a couple of points on the temple, there are green chlorite statues that I originally thought were modern ones but, on reading my guidebook, realised were just extremely well-preserved.
I spent over 2 hours there, taking photos as the sun
dropped lower in the sky, before returning to my taxi and heading home.
Though my stomach was still not in a good state of health, I was drawn into the Mickey Mouse bar by the sound of them playing the last track from Aqua's first album, and had a beer. The waiters were 2 very young kids, neither of whom could have been more than 10. The youngest one could barely lift the beer bottle, even when it was almost empty, and unfortunately this lack of musculature resulted in him depositing a good few millilitres of Kingfisher onto my leg when he was trying to do a top-up. The owner said that over the last 5 years, custom had really dwindled due to Puri being marketed more for the 5 star tour group brigade rather than backpackers. As I sat with my beer-drenched leg drying off in the evening warmth, with no other punters to share the delights of Dr Alban on the stereo, it certainly seemed that he was right.
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