We awoke with even more ant bites. After chai, we all piled into the Omni (Sunil, the actual Driver, Nani, Dadi, Joanna and I) with a massive basket of food prepared by Dadi.
Nani gets just as carsick as I do, so I suggested we stop in a field so we could take a break from the winding roads and bouncing Omni and stretch our legs. Jo and I ran into the field close to the area farmers were plowing with their water buffaloes, and took pictures.
It felt great to be out in the open air in the rainforest, so far from the pollution of Bangalore. We came across a collection of flattened, drying dung patties used for fuel.
It reminded me of a book I had read about India when I was young called Homeless Bird by Gloria Whelan. It's a beautiful children's book about a young Indian girl forced by her family to marry, and then widowed young. After observing the dried patties and playing with touch-me-nots, little ferns that close up when you stroke them (so fun!), we piled back in and were on our way.
We stopped next on a bridge to take more photos of rainforest and water expanses.
Finally, we came to a temple by a waterside where we ate delicious soft idli and chutney with plates and forks and napkins. It was the perfect place to eat breakfast, all lazy dogs and hazy air.
Down on the water, Joanna and I spotted an array of paddle boats and canoes and decided we wanted to go for a spin. No other customers were around, perhaps because of the heat, but we went and bought tickets for 25 rupees each (for 30 minutes). The man asked us if we could swim, had us sign a form entirely in Konkani and led us down to the boats. He showed us how to turn and assuring Nani and Dadi we would be safe, we sped off. Okay, more like inched off. Paddle boats are hard to 'speed' in.
We spotted a huge house tucked away in the trees on one side of the river bank and my head swam in envy. What a dwelling! On the other side, we thought we saw the top of a temple far up on the bank and decided we should explore. No one had told us (in any language we could understand) that we couldn't stop the boat anywhere, so we pulled up on a rocky bank and set out to explore. As we got out of the boat, we spotted a lone paddler heading our direction. We were initially worried that it was an employee coming to yell at us, but it turned out to be Sunil, dispatched as makeshift bodyguard in case we couldn't handle the sturdy paddleboats ourselves.
We hiked up to the hidden temple and took two small clay diyas (little lamps that you fill with oil and a cotton wick) as souvenirs. On the way down, Sunil showed us the cashew fruit. The cashew is the only fruit (besides the strawberry) where the seed grows outside the fruit. He explained that the juice from the cashew fruit was drinkable, so Jo tried some. She said it was very sweet with a strange aftertaste.
We headed back to shore and set off again. By the car there was a creek and a bunch of chirping birds in the trees, and Nani and I decided Mummy would love all the little birds if she were here.
Our big stop of the day was Malvan, a small town on the Arabian Sea Coast. Just off the shore is Sindhudurg Fort, built by the Maratha warrior King Shivaji in 1664. It is an imposing structure with an entrance concealed so it can't be spotted from a distance. Today, more than 15 families still reside within the fort although employment is scarce. Before the tide rises during the monsoon season, they have to bring over provisions for four months because it will be impossible for them to return to the mainland.
We bought tickets for 27 rupees, and Jo, Sunil and I elbowed our way through a crowd onto a rickety wooden fishing boat that held 20 people. Jo and I were the only females aboard, and the rest of the passengers were jolly young men singing and joking loudly.
We passed crab covered rocks, and some 10 minutes from the mainland we docked our boat and stepped out onto the sand. Through the winding concealed entranceway, we entered Sindhudurg and immediately climbed a steep set of small stone steps to walk along the wall for the best view.
The inside of the fort, looking down, was pretty, with a lush grassy covering and palm trees. I decided it looked like it should be a tiger enclosure, but there were no tigers. Looking out over the walls, the sea looked majestic and sparkling. There were many small windows and holes cut into the walls (some perhaps for weapons others for looking out) and crouched by the windows, you got a fantastically cool sea breeze.
We tried to visit the temple within the fort, but there were too many tourists and we needed to make it back in time for the boat (coming every hour). We waited on the boat for a while as the 'captain' went to round up those jolly men who were late in returning. Then we headed back to the mainland, accompanied once more by songs and jokes. The men tried to take pictures Titanic style, standing up on the helm of the boat with arms spread, and they laughed raucously with each failed attempt.
A brief stop to a beautiful pebbly beach, very secluded and with rocks stretching out to sea...
Back in Malvan, Sunil led us to the car where Nani and Dadi were napping. We found a small place to eat, tucked away in a little alley. We had to remove our shoes before entering a cool, dark room, low tables with plastic stools. We were followed in by a few other families and soon every table was filled. No menus and no ordering, one meal for everyone. There was no bottled water, so I left the restaurant in search of some. I walked down a small street into a nicer restaurant at the end, where I bought two giant bottles of water for only thirty rupees. I could really get used to Konkan prices. When I was leaving the restaurant, I heard drums beating and bells clanging and a noise that sounded like a gunshot. There was a man dressed in traditional clothing dancing around and smacking a long, dangerous-looking whip on the ground in front of people and stores. Everyone looked scared, and handed him money as he went on his way. He literally ran after people with this whip in hand to get money. I was scared and didn't want to encounter him, so I sort of ran back to the restaurant.
We were served roti, dahl and some sabzi (vegetables) that was all totally delicious. Off we were to Savantwadi, a town that is famous for its wooden crafts. The driver dropped us off at one end of the marketplace and we walked through winding streets to the other end, where we entered a small narrow shop selling exclusively wooden crafts. We picked up presents for people back home, rejoiced at the low prices, and finally headed on back to Kankavli.
Near Kankavli (or perhaps within it, I forget) we stopped at a drum shop.
We watched something like 6 men making tablas and dholaks, two types of Indian drums, and inquired about prices. They were expensive and looked hard to pack, so I gave up on my dream of owning a tabla for now. Anyways, I should learn first.
Another stop that we made was at the cashew factory in a town, a place that honestly looked like a sweatshop. Here I think pictures say more than words...
Back at the apartment, Dadi taught us how to make bajra roti. It is a type of bread that is much coarser than the roti/chapati we are used to. It's called 'poor man's food' because it is much cheaper and easier to make. The poor of India traditionally eat bajra with chili peppers and onions, the two cheapest vegetables. Actually, bajra is delicious and its no-fat no-oil composition makes it a healthy option. It is easier to make than roti, because instead of a rolling pin, you can press it out with your hands. Jo and I had a lot of fun playing with the dough and made some pretty impressive bajras, if I do say so myself. We ate them with this delicious chutney Dadi made from the mangos that were about to go bad.
We rounded off the night with a truly terrible flick on television called Sundays at Tiffany's about a woman who marries her imaginary friend from childhood. (Don't worry, he's real now). Someone actually spent money making that movie.
Nani gets just as carsick as I do, so I suggested we stop in a field so we could take a break from the winding roads and bouncing Omni and stretch our legs. Jo and I ran into the field close to the area farmers were plowing with their water buffaloes, and took pictures.
JO IS SO PRETTY AND HAPPY :)
It felt great to be out in the open air in the rainforest, so far from the pollution of Bangalore. We came across a collection of flattened, drying dung patties used for fuel.
It reminded me of a book I had read about India when I was young called Homeless Bird by Gloria Whelan. It's a beautiful children's book about a young Indian girl forced by her family to marry, and then widowed young. After observing the dried patties and playing with touch-me-nots, little ferns that close up when you stroke them (so fun!), we piled back in and were on our way.
We stopped next on a bridge to take more photos of rainforest and water expanses.
Finally, we came to a temple by a waterside where we ate delicious soft idli and chutney with plates and forks and napkins. It was the perfect place to eat breakfast, all lazy dogs and hazy air.
Down on the water, Joanna and I spotted an array of paddle boats and canoes and decided we wanted to go for a spin. No other customers were around, perhaps because of the heat, but we went and bought tickets for 25 rupees each (for 30 minutes). The man asked us if we could swim, had us sign a form entirely in Konkani and led us down to the boats. He showed us how to turn and assuring Nani and Dadi we would be safe, we sped off. Okay, more like inched off. Paddle boats are hard to 'speed' in.
We spotted a huge house tucked away in the trees on one side of the river bank and my head swam in envy. What a dwelling! On the other side, we thought we saw the top of a temple far up on the bank and decided we should explore. No one had told us (in any language we could understand) that we couldn't stop the boat anywhere, so we pulled up on a rocky bank and set out to explore. As we got out of the boat, we spotted a lone paddler heading our direction. We were initially worried that it was an employee coming to yell at us, but it turned out to be Sunil, dispatched as makeshift bodyguard in case we couldn't handle the sturdy paddleboats ourselves.
We hiked up to the hidden temple and took two small clay diyas (little lamps that you fill with oil and a cotton wick) as souvenirs. On the way down, Sunil showed us the cashew fruit. The cashew is the only fruit (besides the strawberry) where the seed grows outside the fruit. He explained that the juice from the cashew fruit was drinkable, so Jo tried some. She said it was very sweet with a strange aftertaste.
We headed back to shore and set off again. By the car there was a creek and a bunch of chirping birds in the trees, and Nani and I decided Mummy would love all the little birds if she were here.
Our big stop of the day was Malvan, a small town on the Arabian Sea Coast. Just off the shore is Sindhudurg Fort, built by the Maratha warrior King Shivaji in 1664. It is an imposing structure with an entrance concealed so it can't be spotted from a distance. Today, more than 15 families still reside within the fort although employment is scarce. Before the tide rises during the monsoon season, they have to bring over provisions for four months because it will be impossible for them to return to the mainland.
We bought tickets for 27 rupees, and Jo, Sunil and I elbowed our way through a crowd onto a rickety wooden fishing boat that held 20 people. Jo and I were the only females aboard, and the rest of the passengers were jolly young men singing and joking loudly.
We passed crab covered rocks, and some 10 minutes from the mainland we docked our boat and stepped out onto the sand. Through the winding concealed entranceway, we entered Sindhudurg and immediately climbed a steep set of small stone steps to walk along the wall for the best view.
The inside of the fort, looking down, was pretty, with a lush grassy covering and palm trees. I decided it looked like it should be a tiger enclosure, but there were no tigers. Looking out over the walls, the sea looked majestic and sparkling. There were many small windows and holes cut into the walls (some perhaps for weapons others for looking out) and crouched by the windows, you got a fantastically cool sea breeze.
We tried to visit the temple within the fort, but there were too many tourists and we needed to make it back in time for the boat (coming every hour). We waited on the boat for a while as the 'captain' went to round up those jolly men who were late in returning. Then we headed back to the mainland, accompanied once more by songs and jokes. The men tried to take pictures Titanic style, standing up on the helm of the boat with arms spread, and they laughed raucously with each failed attempt.
A brief stop to a beautiful pebbly beach, very secluded and with rocks stretching out to sea...
Back in Malvan, Sunil led us to the car where Nani and Dadi were napping. We found a small place to eat, tucked away in a little alley. We had to remove our shoes before entering a cool, dark room, low tables with plastic stools. We were followed in by a few other families and soon every table was filled. No menus and no ordering, one meal for everyone. There was no bottled water, so I left the restaurant in search of some. I walked down a small street into a nicer restaurant at the end, where I bought two giant bottles of water for only thirty rupees. I could really get used to Konkan prices. When I was leaving the restaurant, I heard drums beating and bells clanging and a noise that sounded like a gunshot. There was a man dressed in traditional clothing dancing around and smacking a long, dangerous-looking whip on the ground in front of people and stores. Everyone looked scared, and handed him money as he went on his way. He literally ran after people with this whip in hand to get money. I was scared and didn't want to encounter him, so I sort of ran back to the restaurant.
We were served roti, dahl and some sabzi (vegetables) that was all totally delicious. Off we were to Savantwadi, a town that is famous for its wooden crafts. The driver dropped us off at one end of the marketplace and we walked through winding streets to the other end, where we entered a small narrow shop selling exclusively wooden crafts. We picked up presents for people back home, rejoiced at the low prices, and finally headed on back to Kankavli.
Near Kankavli (or perhaps within it, I forget) we stopped at a drum shop.
We watched something like 6 men making tablas and dholaks, two types of Indian drums, and inquired about prices. They were expensive and looked hard to pack, so I gave up on my dream of owning a tabla for now. Anyways, I should learn first.
Another stop that we made was at the cashew factory in a town, a place that honestly looked like a sweatshop. Here I think pictures say more than words...
Back at the apartment, Dadi taught us how to make bajra roti. It is a type of bread that is much coarser than the roti/chapati we are used to. It's called 'poor man's food' because it is much cheaper and easier to make. The poor of India traditionally eat bajra with chili peppers and onions, the two cheapest vegetables. Actually, bajra is delicious and its no-fat no-oil composition makes it a healthy option. It is easier to make than roti, because instead of a rolling pin, you can press it out with your hands. Jo and I had a lot of fun playing with the dough and made some pretty impressive bajras, if I do say so myself. We ate them with this delicious chutney Dadi made from the mangos that were about to go bad.
We rounded off the night with a truly terrible flick on television called Sundays at Tiffany's about a woman who marries her imaginary friend from childhood. (Don't worry, he's real now). Someone actually spent money making that movie.
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