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The reporter suggests that flying to Mangalore, and hiring a driver for the remaining 140 miles is the best course. The road leads along the coast, and the obstacles (livestock, pedestrians, oncoming trucks, huge potholes, rapacious police, etc) are considerable. The reporter and a companion made the trip in a three wheel auto-rickshaw, a scooter which was uneven competition for giant trucks and buses
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In Mangalore, steel-and-glass shopping malls have made incursions, but the city's charm is in its shrines. A taxi takes us from our hotel to Kadri Mandir, a 10th-century Hindu temple just minutes from the city center. We enter the temple's open-air grounds and immediately notice that the racket of street traffic stops at the temple gates. Families and lone worshippers walk barefoot among the shrines and water gardens.
At a far edge of the grounds, we ascend worn stone stairs and find a crowd gathered around a small alcove and an idol of Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god for auspicious beginnings. A stream bubbling around the holy statue cascades into the floor; temple lore predicts the stream will never stop flowing. I follow the worshippers inside. Perched cautiously on rocks to keep our pants dry, we pray and take a sip from the stream, continuing a centuries-old ritual.
On the grounds' highest level we find the temple's centerpiece: three ancient bathing pools. Four boys splash about in them, shaded by the stone temple walls, while birds chirp in the trees. I wonder what history these walls have seen, and the city 100 yards behind me seems far away.
Inland from Mangalore are the Western Ghats, the ethereal mountains that are the setting of the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, the ancient Hindu epics. Pilgrims travel to the Ghats from across India to worship at temples and holy sites from the first millennium. Among the most famous is the Hindu shrine at Shravanabelagola, where the 60-foot-tall statue of a saint erected in the 10th century is considered the world's largest structure made from a single stone. Nearby, at the Jain temple at Moodabidiri, nearly a thousand hand-carved pillars line the temple's ground floor; supposedly no two are alike, although wear-and-tear makes it hard to tell for sure.
Then, the Arabian Sea pops into view on our left, disappears and reappears just feet from the road. Lighthouses and traditional fishing communities dot the beach. To the east, dark backwater mingles with palm trees. We stop where the highway traces a thin line between the two bodies of water. Storm clouds hang overhead; the air smells of rain. We take a photo. A thunderclap announces an Indian downpour, and in it we continue our journey.
Small roads lead off the highway to secluded beaches where, during the monsoon season of June to September, warm water is too rough for swimming. Far away from crowded, commercialized Goa, the beaches here lack most amenities. Even restrooms can be hard to find, so it pays to plan ahead. We stop at a beach where our only company is a gnarled local fisherman. With little more than a bored look at us, he throws a fishing line into the waves and squats under the noontime sun to wait.
Later, we stop at Udupi, a town known for its cuisine and the Shri Krishna temple, one of India's most sacred, where we head first. Unlike calm Kadri Mandir, Udupi is chaotic. As at most Hindu temples, visitors have to take off their shoes before entering. We find a crowd of slippers, sandals and sneakers around a sign reading: "At your own risk." Hannes and I look at each other and give our shoes to the shopkeeper next door, for a rupee (about two cents) each.
The dimly-lit main building holds a number of idols, most garlanded with flowers and smelling of incense. But what's most striking is the air conditioning -- highly unusual among India's sweltering places of worship. In nooks throughout the temple, groups of friends and families pray, talk softly, or just take a break from the heat. Outside but still on temple grounds, we head around the corner of the shrine and come face to face with an elephant believed to harbor the spirit of Ganesh. I walk to the gate of the elephant's pen with a two-rupee coin in my hand. The elephant ambles up, takes the coin with his trunk and pats my head. I've been blessed.
At one of Udupi's many restaurants for lunch, we order a masala dosa, a thin pancake filled with spicy vegetables and served with different curries and coconut paste to tame the spice. It's the dish to order in Udupi: Restaurants in Mumbai often boast about their "Udupi-style" dosas. Despite the coconut, the dosa burns in the mouth and all the way down. I break into a sweat. It's delicious.
We stop for the night at Murdeshwar. Continuing the next day, we finally reach the interstate border crossing into Goa, and it starts to rain. The Goan guard won't let our auto-rickshaw pass through unless we pay 150 rupees -- a bribe. Unwilling to argue or wait indefinitely, we talk him down to 100 rupees and pay. With my shirt already soaked, I get back into our vehicle and look over my shoulder as the coast fades into the distance and the timeless past.
At a far edge of the grounds, we ascend worn stone stairs and find a crowd gathered around a small alcove and an idol of Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god for auspicious beginnings. A stream bubbling around the holy statue cascades into the floor; temple lore predicts the stream will never stop flowing. I follow the worshippers inside. Perched cautiously on rocks to keep our pants dry, we pray and take a sip from the stream, continuing a centuries-old ritual.
On the grounds' highest level we find the temple's centerpiece: three ancient bathing pools. Four boys splash about in them, shaded by the stone temple walls, while birds chirp in the trees. I wonder what history these walls have seen, and the city 100 yards behind me seems far away.
Inland from Mangalore are the Western Ghats, the ethereal mountains that are the setting of the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, the ancient Hindu epics. Pilgrims travel to the Ghats from across India to worship at temples and holy sites from the first millennium. Among the most famous is the Hindu shrine at Shravanabelagola, where the 60-foot-tall statue of a saint erected in the 10th century is considered the world's largest structure made from a single stone. Nearby, at the Jain temple at Moodabidiri, nearly a thousand hand-carved pillars line the temple's ground floor; supposedly no two are alike, although wear-and-tear makes it hard to tell for sure.
Then, the Arabian Sea pops into view on our left, disappears and reappears just feet from the road. Lighthouses and traditional fishing communities dot the beach. To the east, dark backwater mingles with palm trees. We stop where the highway traces a thin line between the two bodies of water. Storm clouds hang overhead; the air smells of rain. We take a photo. A thunderclap announces an Indian downpour, and in it we continue our journey.
Small roads lead off the highway to secluded beaches where, during the monsoon season of June to September, warm water is too rough for swimming. Far away from crowded, commercialized Goa, the beaches here lack most amenities. Even restrooms can be hard to find, so it pays to plan ahead. We stop at a beach where our only company is a gnarled local fisherman. With little more than a bored look at us, he throws a fishing line into the waves and squats under the noontime sun to wait.
Later, we stop at Udupi, a town known for its cuisine and the Shri Krishna temple, one of India's most sacred, where we head first. Unlike calm Kadri Mandir, Udupi is chaotic. As at most Hindu temples, visitors have to take off their shoes before entering. We find a crowd of slippers, sandals and sneakers around a sign reading: "At your own risk." Hannes and I look at each other and give our shoes to the shopkeeper next door, for a rupee (about two cents) each.
The dimly-lit main building holds a number of idols, most garlanded with flowers and smelling of incense. But what's most striking is the air conditioning -- highly unusual among India's sweltering places of worship. In nooks throughout the temple, groups of friends and families pray, talk softly, or just take a break from the heat. Outside but still on temple grounds, we head around the corner of the shrine and come face to face with an elephant believed to harbor the spirit of Ganesh. I walk to the gate of the elephant's pen with a two-rupee coin in my hand. The elephant ambles up, takes the coin with his trunk and pats my head. I've been blessed.
At one of Udupi's many restaurants for lunch, we order a masala dosa, a thin pancake filled with spicy vegetables and served with different curries and coconut paste to tame the spice. It's the dish to order in Udupi: Restaurants in Mumbai often boast about their "Udupi-style" dosas. Despite the coconut, the dosa burns in the mouth and all the way down. I break into a sweat. It's delicious.
We stop for the night at Murdeshwar. Continuing the next day, we finally reach the interstate border crossing into Goa, and it starts to rain. The Goan guard won't let our auto-rickshaw pass through unless we pay 150 rupees -- a bribe. Unwilling to argue or wait indefinitely, we talk him down to 100 rupees and pay. With my shirt already soaked, I get back into our vehicle and look over my shoulder as the coast fades into the distance and the timeless past.
Seafood is the best choice
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On the road to Goa, stop halfway in Murudeshwar and stay at the three-star RNS Residency. The hotel sits on a peninsula jutting into the ocean, making for a wonderful sunset view from the room balcony. Rates start at 2,000 rupees (plus tax) for a double-occupancy room with air conditioning. Phone: +91-8385-260060. Web site: www.naveenhotels.com/rnsyatrinivas.html.
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Where to Eat
Be sure to have seafood in Mangalore, known through its country for its fish fry and fish curries. Try some at the Kudla Family Restaurant on Balmatta Road for about 500 rupees a person.
On the way north on National Highway 17, make a stop at the Hotel Kushi near Santhekatte (about five kilometers before Udupi). Sample the masala dosa -- an Udupi favorite and often quite spicy. Have as much as you want. It shouldn't cost more than 300 rupees for a meal.
Be sure to have seafood in Mangalore, known through its country for its fish fry and fish curries. Try some at the Kudla Family Restaurant on Balmatta Road for about 500 rupees a person.
On the way north on National Highway 17, make a stop at the Hotel Kushi near Santhekatte (about five kilometers before Udupi). Sample the masala dosa -- an Udupi favorite and often quite spicy. Have as much as you want. It shouldn't cost more than 300 rupees for a meal.
