Temple touring through Tamil Nadu: Trivandrum - Madurai

         Eighty kilometres south from Trivandrum lies Kanniyakumari - India's lands end. Here the Indian ocean meets with the Arabian sea and the Bay of Bengal, a place of spiritual importance for Hindu pilgrims and one where tourists can claim to have visited India's southern most point. It seemed logical enough to begin my campaign north from here.

         Leaving Trivandrum I headed back towards Kovalam and the coast - my intention being to avoid the main highway and cycle in view of the sea. I achieved neither with much success. The beach was screened by palm trees and the only evidence that the sea lay nearby came from billboards advertising private resorts.
         Every few kilometres I would pass a church. Few looked more than several years old and their garish colours and modern designs were somewhat at odds with the green tropical surroundings. I wondered who was paying for them all and whether there was a community of missionaries lurking somewhere near the roadside.
         My tourist map of Kerala wasn't of much help in showing the places I past through, and with only a brief glimpse of the sea I ended up back on the busy highway to Kanniyakumari. It wasn't as bad as I expected however - my time on the highway leading to Delhi several weeks before will be a benchmark for comparison now.

         Exposed capes are often windy locations and Kanniyakumari is no exception. I free-wheeled down to the sea looking for a scenic spot and perhaps a plaque which might read 'This is the southern most point in India', in front of which I could pose for a photo. All I could find however were tacky souvenir shops selling all manner of plastic junk for 5 Rupees.
         Small groups of pilgrims were on the narrow beach - some just paddling whilst others were fully bathing in the sacred surf - the women still fully clothed unfortunately. The scene was livelier the following morning when I dragged myself down shortly after sunrise to witness a sari drying festival. Women and men were standing 5 metres apart (or whatever the standard length of a sari is) and holding the colourful material above their heads for the wind to catch hold of and dry.

         It was into this wind that I battled on up India's south eastern coastline, where towering wind turbines dotted the flat fields ahead and to either side of me. From Kanniyakumari I had planned on heading directly north, inland towards the mountains or western ghats, but the network of small roads hugging Tamil Nadu's coastline had me veering off on a different bearing.

         A sea view proved elusive once again, and rather than billboards advertising private resorts I now past signs that read 'Tsunami Rehabilitation Programme', or words to that effect. Yet with the sea some several kilometres from the road I was on it was hard to know how much damage had occurred here. I found out several days later that around 2000 Tamils had lost their lives from the event.

         I hadn't been in Kerala long enough to note all that much, other than a sense of its relative affluence in the people's clothes, cars and buildings they worked or lived in. In Tamil Nadu one of the first things I've noticed is how dark the people are. And skinny - in the villages anyhow. Here palm thatched houses are a more common sighting than in Kerala.
         Whether it's in contrast to their dark skin, or just the brand of tooth paste they use and their brushing habits, one also can't fail to notice how brilliantly white peoples' teeth are. This is easy to observe as most people I past by greeted me with a beaming smile. And the head waggle of course - a ubiquitous mannerism I've quickly picked up. This seems to have a myriad of meanings, from 'yes', 'no', 'I don't know', 'I agree', as well as just a friendly kind of greeting and an involuntary response throughout much of a conversation. It's very comical to watch and a lot easier and less formal than a bow or a wai (bringing the hands together in front of the face).

         A day of headwinds is as tiring to cycle in as climbing mountains, and just under 100km from Kanniyakumari I arrived in the town of Tiruchchendur. 'Hindu Pilgrim Centre' was written over the map, although the Lonely Planet had obviously considered it too insignificant to include. Here the temple was larger than at Kanniyakumari, consisting of a large tower with intricately carved Hindu gods rising up from a labyrinth enclosure of darkened corridors.
         I removed my shoes and shirt (not sure why the latter) and joined the throng of pilgrims making offerings or pujas inside. I wondered if me being a non-Hindu mattered, like being an uninvited guest at a party? Yet as much as I stood out I may as well have been invisible amongst the darkened mass of bodies moving almost trance like through the temple chambers. The last time I witnessed such spiritual devotion was in Lhasa, where Tibetan pilgrims spun their prayer wheels chanting 'Om mani padme am' as they circumrambulated or did a 'kora' around the Jokhang temple. Watching the people here in India, and realising how strong their beliefs are, reminded me how devoid I am of a spiritual or religious temperament. Yet it was fascinating for this very reason, despite having little knowledge of Hinduism and the temple itself. It still left me wondering however - if, how and to what extent those around me truly believed in the many gods and goddesses of their religion, or if their actions were merely part of a social conduct that has been carried on and will continue to do so for hundreds of years? One thing is for sure; visiting a Hindu temple amongst pilgrims is a whole lot more animated an experience than the atmosphere found in a Buddhist complex.

         I changed my route again (I never really had one other than to principally go north back to Delhi) minutes before leaving Tiruchchender, and decided to continue along the coast towards Rameswaram. This is another important town, perched out on an island beyond a stretch of land that reaches into the sea towards Sri Lanka. Legend has it that Rama, a reincarnation of Vishnu and a central figure in the Hindu epic the Ramayana, rescued the princess Sita, (who'd been captured and taken to Sri Lanka) assisted by an army of monkeys able to jump across the sea on the small islands which acted like stepping stones.

         The wind was against me for the whole 250km and the road mostly pot-holed, but with so little traffic I rather enjoyed the peaceful countryside, dotted with small dusty villages where the inhabitants were threshing wheat on the road and stopping to smile, wave and head waggle as I past.
         The sea, however close, remained out of sight, and the landscape was often a deserted expanse of thorny scrubland and palms - the sandy soil of little use for cultivation. Great camping territory though, and for two consecutive nights I had little trouble in pulling off the road away from curious eyes, other than finding my front tyre punctured 3 times on the first occasion from the thorny bracken.

         Most of the final 70km to Ramweswaram I cycled in a torrential downpour. This came as a surprise as the days should be dry and clear at this time of year. I dodged the heavier downpours by seeking cover in bus shelters, munching bananas and smoking cheap cigarettes whilst watching bony limbed goats lick and pull off film advertisements from the walls to eat.
         In the end I got very wet, not so much a concern for my body as the air and rain was warm, but for my camera, which resides in a handlebar bag with only a shower proof cover.

         The sea was steel grey when it came into view, and I crossed the enormous bridge connecting Ramseswaram island to the mainland with the rain hitting me horizontally.
         Another impressive temple dominated the centre of Rameswaram town - long dark corridors and elaborately sculptured pillars of Hindu gods looking down on pilgrims, who were soaked to the skin from bathing in the temple's sacred water tanks. The atmosphere was very animated again - music, fire, the hum of prayers, even a painted elephant. People were also bathing down on the nearby beach again, some even drinking the sea water or collecting a bottle to take away with them.

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