Chidabaram to Vailankanni (old name Velanganni) - 95 km
This entry was posted on 1/27/2007 9:19 AM and is filed under Daily Itineraries.
Chidabaram to Vailankanni (old name Velanganni) - 95 km
January 27, 2007. Road surface excellent sealed most of the way to pot-hole poor. Total elapsed time 5:00 hrs. Humid with cloud cover about 85 degrees. Fuel: Not enough, no breakfast!
Marcus and I had spent most of the night prior pouring over maps, discussing distances, routes and departure dates. Two things became abundantly clear: Hercules was not living up to his name and Ganesh was keen on staying on the coast. There were essentially two potential directions for the day: continue south or go west. Marcus agreed to research the Temple Tour west into the interior to the temple town of Kumbakonam and I opted to continue south along the Indian Ocean. I had heard about a small seaside town of Velanganni, site of the Roman Catholic Basilica of Our Lady of Good Health. With a name like that, how could I refuse? We agreed, as a fallback, to meet again in 2 days in Tanjore.
The ride south was particularly lovely with relatively quiet flat roads and a nice layer of clouds covering the coast. There really is no winter or summer in Tamil Nadu; it's either hot or very hot and wet. Now it's just hot. In the mornings you can work up a sweat just latching your panniers to the bike but once the breeze kicks in, it's more pleasant on the bike than it is walking around. Someone forgot to tell the locals how hot it is. On several occassions over the last few days, I've seen the Indian equivalent of a 'beenie'. It's the old-fashioned kind that my Mom would wear sailing the Lido 14 -- knitted with stripes coming down over the ears and then tying underneath the chin. I'm guessing they don't have mirrors (or thermometers) in these thatched homes because they really look quite humorous in 80+ degree weather barefooted in their thin saris wearing beenies.
At the Sirkazhi junction I veered south east following the signs for Tharangambadi. This turned into a perfectly paved single-lane tertiary road with idyllic one-way bridges and the requisite palm and banana trees. I wanted to let my mind and eyes drink it all in but every time a car or ox-cart passed, it required a full-stop off the side of the road before starting up all over again.
There was also the little matter of the toilet paper. I've been out of it for a full day. My singular mission (besides riding south) was to find some as soon as possible. I performed arguably my best pantomime routine in the next two towns, Karaikal and Nagapattinam, both of significant size. I went successively down the row of stalls; to the pharmacist, the all-purpose water, sweets and condom shack, I even tried the chipati man. You've never seen such confusion on their faces. One young boy understood 'paper' and brought me a nice binded book of stationary. The eager female next door brought me a case of maxi-pads. Tired, hungry and out of luck, I pushed on. Surely, at Our Lady of Good Health I could find some.
I held my breath and rode fast for 20 minutes in the scummiest part of town. I had crossed into the Pondicherry District where, apparently, big Brandy Stores are allowed. One after another they lined a street marked by truckers, tent housing and trash. Like most of the street scenes so far, the slums suddenly changed back to Indian-normal. The upper end homes lining the coastal road leading into Velanganni had me imagining the most: guesthouses on the beach, roof-top restaurants, fresh seafood and toilet paper for sure. But, alas, my imagination was just that. The 'charming' seaside town of 10,000 is nothing close. It boasts an Indian pilgrim population of at least 10,000 more. All whom arrive on bus after bus after bus on the same single lane road at about 60 miles an hour, honking the same loud horns and blaring the same obnoxious Indian music. Velanganni is really India's version of another spiritual place with no soul - the French town of Lourdes.
The only redeeming feature of Velanganni I could possibly find was the affable Restaurant Afta. It wasn't so much a restaurant as it was an extended street stall. I dined cheaply ($1 USD) and astonishingly well on Chipata and a number of different spicy curries recommended by the attentive waiter Anthony. A few ear plugs, squirt of more mosquito repellent for good measure and I was down for a sound slumber.
