Chettinad to Madurai

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Today we must leave our hotel and move on to Madurai. But before leaving Chettinad we are urged to visit two of the Chettinad clan temples. If you are a Chettiar, wherever in the world you are born, you belong to one of nine Chettiar clan temples - a bit like Scottish clans I suppose, though they do not have temples and Indians do not wear kilts ......some of the temples are better endowed than others, depending on the wealth of its members. First off we visit the Ilayathagudi temple, which is a modest establishment, with the usual four gopurams and an inner shrine. A bored Brahmin engages us in conversation, seemingly just so he can practise his English, not to extort a temple donation. There is hardly a soul around. Each of these Chettiar temples has a red pillar inside the entrance to the temple proper, which apparently is the temple “tree” which shows that the temple is complete and open for business, so to speak. You learn something every day.

On then to the Karpaka Vinayakar temple, a much grander affair, complete with beggars who miraculously appear with extended hands when they see the only white faces present. The place is heaving – it is Sunday morning and everyone has come to offer prayers and make donations. A rat scurries busily around the entrance looking for food – Sara tries to convince herself it is a mouse, but fails.

Inside the temple many people are throwing themselves down and prostrating themselves in one particular direction, not towards any of the obvious shrines, which is a bit confusing. There is a railed walkway leading towards the inner sanctum; we expect to be turned away, not being Hindus. However we are able to bypass the long line of devotees and ascend a raised platform to the right of them, from where we can see the gold plated Ganesh in the sanctum, made in the 2^nd century. David misses his step off the platform, causing much amusement to the women queuing alongside. There are many devotees with shaved heads coated in sandalwood paste. A strange observance.....

Sights seen, it’s back to the Toyota and time to drive to Madurai. The first hour of the journey is through open countryside and is as restful as any road in India can be. Small sights stick in the mind: the little girl bowling a lorry tyre along with a stick, the scarecrow incongruously pinned to the wall of a part-built house (why?), the farmer with his goats disappearing out of view down a trail between two lines of trees, the occasional peasant indulging in what in India is referred to as “open defecation” at the roadside. The countryside is arid and we pass a number of dried up paddy fields that have gone to ruin. The monsoon has failed for three consecutive years round here, putting huge pressure on the farmers and causing rice prices to shoot up. There are lines of palm trees with tall trunks and leaves that form the shape of a small ball at the top, looking like giant allium plants. We go through small villages where the road is lined by tiny shacks selling food and drink or offering bicycle and motorbike repairs. The landscape is flat, but every now and then is broken up by large sandstone outcrops. Many of these are being quarried, and resemble big Swiss rolls being cut up slice by slice. Huge slabs of rock, a couple of metres on each side, lie piled up in rows along the roadside. It feels like a very graphic illustration of the fact that natural resources, once used, cannot be replaced.

Gradually the countryside gives way to little box like houses as we approach Madurai. Mr Hussain’s determination to check our route requires exceptional determination when driving along a double carriageway with no passers by. He winds down his window, draws level with a car heading in the same direction and shouts out his request for guidance. He then pulls up on the side of the road, and the passing vehicle does the same in order to help out. Can’t see it working on the M1! All of a sudden he is driving much faster and somewhat more recklessly than usual. This can only partly be accounted for by the better road. We muse on this, then remember he is going to stay with his sister while in Madurai, and realise that for once he has an incentive to get somewhere promptly.

The traffic in Madurai is as bad as every other big Indian city. It may have been continually inhabited for over 4000 years but it looks like any metropolis – billboards, new apartment blocks, private hospitals, squalor, dust, rubbish on the side of the road, rundown streets, cattle wandering where they please......there is no sense of history in an Indian city, no architecture of merit, apart from the temples or the occasional palace.

There are no road names or signs to provide any guidance on where to go, so we stop innumerable times for directions before finally pulling in to our hotel. It is perfectly pleasant, but suffers from the sense of faded glory we have seen so many times before. It was once the Madurai Club when Our Chaps were in charge here, and it looks like it could do with new management and some new paint. Still, it is something of a haven from the hustle outside. We settle down on the balcony to have a drink and look up where we will visit over the next two days. Our planning has failed us somewhat, as there is arguably only really one day’s worth to see in town, but we are here for two days. It takes an hour to persuade the hotel that their internet is down, but eventually the problem is sorted. We plan our stay, read our books and manage to find Star Sports 2 which is showing English football, thus allowing David to watch Everton. This means we need to eat early as the match starts at 7.35 our time. We get to the coffee shop at 6.15 and order three simple dishes. 50 minutes later, still no food despite multiple requests. Both of us crack – badly. We ignore the golden rule of travelling in Asia, that there is no point in making a fuss, and demand to see the manager. The food then arrives (and is, in fact, very tasty) and the manager agrees not to charge us for it. Result. David promptly and deftly orders two puddings on the back of this offer, which we have delivered to the room. Everton then produce a dire performance, but manage to scrape a draw. The Germans next door probably learned some new vocabulary though if they were listening through the wall.

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