Sunrise, Selfies and Off-Setting the Cost of Travel
After 36 hours to get here, Mamallapura seems like the perfect place to recover from jet lag.
- Small town? Check.
- Friendly people? Check.
- Beach and poolside opportunities? Check.
- Inexpensive restaurants and shopping? More or less, though you can feel the money drip-drip-drip away more quickly than expected.
Everything you need including opportunities to access your favorite libation even in a country that apparently frowns on alcohol consumption as ‘low class.’ There’s only one thing that they fail to mention—this is a pilgrimage town.
You see, in India apparently large numbers of people decide to collectively go on a pilgrimage to a holy site or to one of India’s numerous ashrams. When they do, the trip becomes like a religious holiday and they stop at points of interest along the way.
Mamallapura happens to be one such point. The town has a well-documented collection of ancient rock temples, the most famous of which is the exquisite 8thcentury Shore Temple, that was built by the Pallava Kings and sits—you guessed it—on a rocky bluff overlooking the Bay of Bengal. According to my sources, during the South East Asian tsunami the water receded far enough to reveal a number of further temples that also might once have stood on the shore. There are also other amazing sites with temples hewn out of single rocks—the Five Rathas, or chariots, come to mind where the rocks have been hewn into four small temples and a life-sized elephant, not to mention a huge Nandi (bull steed of Lord Brahma).
There’s the aptly named Butterball, a huge freestanding rock on a granite hillside that has stood there for time immemorial even though people frequently try to push it over. An ancient lighthouse and its less ancient replacement stand on a prominence that overlooks the town and send light to lost sailors far out to sea. And then there is Arjuna’s Penance, a masterpiece of carving with serpents, elephants, warriors, gods and—most importantly—a cagey cat dancing for an audience of mice. God only knows why. Perhaps the ancient Dravidians who carved these places had a sense of humor…
But every day 10 or so huge busloads of pilgrims arrive in Mamallapura intent on visiting all these ancient places. They come from all over the country and pile out of the busses clad in red and yellow saris (the women) and red shirts and sarongs for the men. Apparently the red and yellow signify the sacred feminine. I’m not sure why.
Some pilgrims, I believe, stay on the busses, while others stay in hostels. The hotel where I’m staying has a hostel section and every morning I’m greeted by a sea of these gentle people who barely come up to my shoulder as I walk out to explore the city. Apparently many of them are from very small towns that don’t get a lot of foreigners visiting. Needless to say, a six-foot-tall strawberry blonde is about as foreign to these parts as they get.
In the early morning if you go down to the shore temple, you’ll be following a river of these crimson and saffron as they head, not to the temple, but to the shore. It seems stepping into the ocean here might be a holy experience or else they’re simply enjoying the feel of the waves, regardless of the signs by the beach that keep score of the number of drownings so far this year, men, women and children step into the waves and, if they survive, they enjoy the carnival rides and many kiosks selling souvenirs, food, jewelry, tattoos, and images of their favorite gods all for purchase from a local gypsy or businessman.
Which brings me to the smiles.
One of the things I love about this place is the way that so many of the pilgrims look at me first with surprise and then with suspicion and then, when our eyes meet and they see my grin, 19 times out of twenty, the grin is returned.
That’s where the selfies come in. Maybe it’s the camera I wear around my neck, or maybe it’s my height or the fact that I’m blonde (okay, many of you know me and that my gray is showing, but in the right light it’s still blonde), but I can’t seem to set foot on a beach or a street in this town without having pilgrims asking for a selfie with me. I don’t mean once or twice. I mean every five minutes having five-ten or more people ask to take my picture. While this could be flattering, if you saw my attire and the condition of my hair, you’d understand why I shake my head at the fact that I am going to be in so many family albums. Today I even caught a young man surreptitiously snapping my photo just like I do of them when I think they’re not looking. I laughed and told him it would cost one rupee. After all, a girl has got to offset the costs of travel somehow.
