Puri for the backpacker

The Indian backpacker circuit is pretty well defined now. Saunter its analogous boroughs and ubiquitous signage winks back at you. From Little India to Pumpernickel Bakery they’re all there to extend a reassuring welcome. Only local backdrops change as Old Manali dittos Rishikeish dittos Leh dittos Jaisalmer dittos the trendsetter of them all, Goa. The circuit adds new spots like Gokarna quite regularly. One recent discovery though that took me by surprise was Puri in Orissa being an old-timer of the trail.

Restless sea and siesta
From amongst the country’s beach-towns Puri is my top pick. I’ve been here quite often but never felt the need to surf the town; perhaps the reason I remained oblivious to its backpacker district. A holiday in this coastal town for me begins and ends with its beautifully-rough sea. I’m particularly drawn to its playful restlessness, the way its waves teasingly rise and forcefully crash, before coyly submitting themselves to the shore. It’s like a sprightly companion and I can sit for hours watching its antics.

Sea, swim and siesta, all perfect weekend ingredients, keep me quite occupied here. Throw in a daily massage and life is a beach! It’s an effort to exert and at best I stroll up to the bustling-with-tourists Golden Beach market to catch the evening buzz. 

Little else matches the enjoyment in having a munch, watching the waves coming in; and a lot of choice is on offer here. My favourite amongst hawkers is the singhara-wala, whose ware includes piping-hot singharaas (potato-filled fried savoury) and an assortment of chhana mishti (milk-based sweets). The fare is typically stocked in a series of aluminium pots swinging on two ends of a bamboo staff, merrily balanced on his shoulders. It’s been this way forever; the man and his trade being part of uniquely-timeless Puri.

When a friend from overseas recently dropped by holding that venerated bible for lonely travellers of this planet, did I stumble upon Puri’s backpacker information. I was curious. Seizing the first opportunity and armed with details I arrived in town to experience its not-so-new ‘new face’.

Then and Now
Puri is now directly connected with a number of trains, which usually run packed. As soon as I stepped out from my coach, I was swallowed by a sea of humanity on the platform. Whoever says Indians don’t travel needed to be there that day! Since my previous visit, the number of three-wheeler autos has shot-up and I was surrounded by a frenzied bunch of drivers offering to ferry me at “best price”. When I mentioned the hotel I was booked into, one of them said, “Oh! Angrezi taraf jana hai...You want to go to the foreigner-end,” and disappeared. I finally settled for one bargain and was happy to be out of the chaotic station. En route the driver re-confirmed if I had a hotel booking or was a walk-in customer. Apparently they got “no commission” at the backpacker-end and found it profitable taking passengers to the popular Swargadwar Road or Puri Hotel-end.

Nothing is too far in Puri and I reached my destination in a matter of a few minutes. It was a bumpy ride through mucky roads and I can’t resist my rant: when will we as a people learn to dress our towns? We’ve become conscious in (television) dressing ourselves but keeping it clean is also fashionable! It was a let-down seeing Puri dirtier but a few hours later I was glad at a redeeming factor: its beach was clean, very clean, the administration prudently having involved local fishermen to keep it such.

One of the first signage to greet me as I turned into Chakratirtha Road or CT Road, was, well, Little India! Not overtly backpacker when compared to other towns, this side of Puri is diametrically opposite to the popular end and blissfully quieter. On my friend’s recommendation I headed to a hotel whose old-world air had pleased her. It turned out to be a stately bungalow and in essence was a non-hotel hotel, but disappointing. Yes, it did let the spirit of communion develop among travellers through its non-intrusive ways but lacked modern amenities and a certain style. As in oft-seen cases, I felt, it was running on the sheer might of an entry into the sort of venerated bible my friend had been toting. Or maybe I’ve been spoilt by what heritage hotels in India now offer the budget spender. No, Z Hotel, yes that's the name,  was not value for my money. 

CT Road
CT Road has developed over the past few years, but it essentially remains an area where you can find your space and share notes with an interesting mix of easygoing travellers on sidewalks, cafes and of-course the beach. An Italian couple I met had been touring the region on scooter as it reminded them of home. A New York resident was here to study 7th century temple architecture while an Indian based in the UK was doing a project with stone sculptors near Konark. A 60-year-young Swiss was researching dolphin breeding patterns. Not everyone was here with an agenda, though. A trio of girls from Australia on sabbatical had been in Puri for a week with no plans yet of going anywhere further. I couldn’t resist asking them what kept them glued to the Puri beach when Australia had some of the best the world offered. They liked the “slow pace of life here, the untamed sea and warmth of the locals. A little hygiene would make it perfect”, they chorused. I agreed. During an interaction I was let in on a tip (from a travel bible) of getting the best views of Lord Jagannath Temple from Raghunandan Library opposite it, but to beware getting conned into paying a small sum for the views.

Expectedly the shops lining CT Road are tuned in catering to the requirements of an international clientele and fairly well equipped. The Enfield is on hire here and yoga/mediation classes are on offer. There are a number of internet cafes, a few lovely bookshops where you can sit quietly and browse, curio and antique shops that are not overly overpriced, apparel stores and quite a few open-air restaurants offering an assortment on its menu. As most businesses shut down during off-season (February to June) I had to settle for traveller reviews on places like Xanadu restaurant serving “fantastic sea-food”. One cafe which gets my top marks is the inviting Honey Bee Bakery and Pizzeria. If there’s any reason for me to return to Puri apart from the sea it’s this! Run by Debabrata ‘Debu’ Tripathy and his Japanese wife, it has a tranquil ambience and offers scrumptious breakfast, delicious cakes, good bread and a largely Italian spread. The ice-cream with chocolate sauce served in an off-beat blue glass cup-saucer was a divine treat. It’s its artistic presentation and passion that goes into freshly preparing every order taken which elevates the experience.

At this end, the beach shacks of Pink House Restaurant are very popular. They adjoin the fisherman cove and you can choose fish from the daily catch and get it cooked to order. There are some stand-alone shacks too that offer chairs on the beach for Rs 10, massage for Rs 50-100, and “meals” which essentially means, well, Maggi noodles and omelettes accompanied with masala chai or tender coconut water. The more things change the more ubiquitous they get in the backpacker world. No one’s complaining, though.

Quick Facts
Air: Closest airport is in Bhubaneshwar 57 km; Railways: Direct connections from Delhi and Kolkata; Stay: Plenty of budget accommodation in the range of Rs 500 – Rs 1,500. In the off-
season hotel rates are down by 50 per cent

Published in JetWings, July 2011

Indian Folk Art: Badhia, Raghurajpur

Badhia painting, Raghurajpur, District Chandanpur, Orissa. Artist: Swain

He claimed the paintings had been made decades ago by his award-winning father, thus the "antique" look. Hmmmn... The one on the wall is also by dear dad. Now, that looked genuine. But the house surely was  limewashed? Yes, every year. But the painting area was never touched. Hmmmn... (Above): painted wall in the village and artist at work on  a scroll 

Published in Deccan Herald, July 2011

Cascais: Do it like Bond!

 I enjoy good cinema, the kind that produces magic, whether it portrays reality, fantasy or comedy, but am not a movie-buff rushing to catch the Friday opener. Certainly there’s no testing my patience in front of predictable, uninspiring scripts. Nonetheless there’s one genre, okay one character, whose movies I can view anytime, despite them being awfully predictable and childishly fantastical. The James Bond flicks! It’s the silken ease and finesse with which 007 performs his craft that makes them engaging. Suspense aside, the locales of these films are mouth-watering, having been chosen from amongst the best the globe offers. One of these happened to be Cascais, Portugal, where I was heading with a group of fellow travellers. The Bond-connection made it the pick of the itinerary for me.   
A little-heard place outside of Europe, some parts of Bond’s ‘On Her Majesty’s Secret Service’ were shot here. And it didn’t take long to know why. Picturesque and brilliant as an ocean-side can be, Cascais appeared made-to-order as an  escape that let’s you truly unwind. Its sun, sand, surf, song and salubrious air has been reason enough to draw them all: royalty, nobility, celebrity and the Joneses. 
Those attributes aside what I found most attractive was it being a lovely train-ride away, all of 30 minutes, from the capital sights of Lisbon (Lisboa to the Portuguese). What's more, for the major part of the journey the rail track runs along the Atlantic Ocean. It couldn’t get better than that, could it! Though I stay away from comparing places, I can’t resist asking you to visualise Goa being a few km beyond Delhi. If the mere thought is relaxing you’ll know why Lisboans cannot be found at home on the weekend. 
Our Portuguese host Ana, a loyal Lisboan who’s now relocated to Holland, shared her childhood memories of cycling and walking along the ocean, from the outskirts of Lisbon, to Cascais (25 km). “Oh! I do miss the trail. Those were wonderful times,” she reminisced. “It would seem the whole city was moving out. Surf-boards, beach-umbrellas, cycles, boats etc stacked atop cars or as baggage in trains was a common sight.” 
It appeared quite similar to us as we boarded the commuter train at Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. The seater coaches were delightfully packed with feisty passengers in beach-wear, with a lot of them carrying gear Ana had mentioned. Apart from handful tourists like us, the majority were locals, clearly reflecting the ‘sussegado’ temperament of the Portuguese, the carefree legacy of theirs that’s happily stereotyped the Goans too. When travelling by train to Cascais, there’s a grab for seats on the left of the aisle, quite simply as the ocean borders that end.  We were a little late in boarding the train and had to be content peeping over shoulders to view the aqua spread. Very sportingly those seated by the windows would shift around to let us catch a glimpse, with some graciously offering to swap places. The Portuguese are disarmingly friendly and it’s their warm, welcoming spirit that leaves a lasting impression.
Ana wanted us to experience the joys of walking on her favourite path, flanking the ocean, and made us hop out at Estoril station, two stops before the destination. Estoril is the twin city of Cascais and a 4-km waterfront pathway connects the two. Walking towards Cascais turned out to be very leisurely, with views of the ocean being constantly impressive and beaches filled with sunbathers and sun-shades providing immense colour. Of what I recalled from the Bond flick, Estoril was shown to be a spot famous for its casinos. Ana confirmed casinos remained the biggest draw of the town and pointed out the location where scenes of the film were shot; at the five-star Hotel Palacio, almost adjoining the famous Estoril Casino, amongst the largest in Europe. 
The Estoril coast was pretty but Cascais certainly exuded more appeal, coyly flaunting itself as one of those postcard-perfect beach towns, all cosy, compact and cosmopolitan. It was our ‘day-off’, so to speak, after a hectic tour of Portugal and the agenda for the day was to relax by the ocean. It would have been worthwhile to spot some city sights (see fact file) but on the flipside there was a definite charm in being a local on foreign shores and not go tick-marking. And we did that quite spectacularly by settling ourselves in a buzzing open-air café by a cliff, where we lazily—oh! sussegado is so, so contagious—tucked into succulent Portuguese marine food. We ordered quite a variety and our tables were soon bursting with vibrant platters of gambas al ajillo (garlic prawns), ameijoas a bulhao pato (fried clams), robalinho grelhado (grilled bass), pescada c molho camarao (hake with prawn sauce), and yes, febras de praco na brasa (grilled pork scallops). Sangria was sipped as an accompaniment even as the eyes dreamily drank in glorious views of the vast, sapphire Atlantic. Near us a fado singer strummed his guitar and belted out quick numbers to add distinct flavour to the afternoon.    
Post-lunch the historic city centre beckoned. It was typically old-world with elegant pedestrian pathways typically cobbled with beige-black stone blocks recreating wave patterns. Inviting souvenir and apparel shops, snug bistros, lively restaurants, colourful houses with quaint balconies and trailing bougainvilleas lined the paved paths making the montage picturesque. The royals of Europe had found Cascais an ideal getaway and many had villas here. At present it’s the address for the rich and famous, and their luxurious properties dot town. Many can be spotted browsing around and sometimes are roped in by fans for a photograph, just as a popular Portuguese television anchor was when we were wandering the markets. A lot of Bangladeshi nationals have set up shops here and one of them gave me a generous discount on my purchases on account of being “neighbours back home”. Most cotton-attire stalls were retailing the ‘Made in India’ label and it was heart-warming to see bit of your country and its neighbourhood around.      
Back on the train we had a new lot of passengers. This time around there were tanned bodies and composed faces. The thought of going back to work the next day after a splendid seaside holiday universally makes everyone exhausted. If wishes were horses... the return journey would have had nobody on board. Cascais is one of those sort of places you would never want to leave. Else, Bond would not have been here!  

Quick Facts: 
Air: Lisboa International Airport, 25 km from Cascais, has daily flights to and from hubs of Europe that connect with India. 
Train (www.eurail.com): Cascais is reached by a breezy journey from Cais do Sodre train station in Lisbon. (This station is the final stop on the Green Metro Line). 
Road: Connected with the A5 highway and the scenic EN 6, the national marginal road along the ocean.  
City sights: Museu do Mar (Museum of the Sea); Museu do Castro Guimaraes (housed in a mansion of the Counts of Castro Guimaraes); Forte de St Jorge;  Boca do Inferno, a stunning cliff ; Church do Nossa Senhora da Assuncao (decorated with 17th-century paintings of artist Josefa de Obidos); Guincho beach, featured in the Bond flick and a haven for surfers
Published in JetWings International, July 2011 

Porto: Call of the wine country

THEY were a picture of contrasts. Our Portuguese host Ana, a top-ranking official from Lisbon or Lisboa to locals, and Jorge, a Porto resident and our city guide. The senhora was a freewheeling spirit, with cascading laughter, twinkling eyes and not shy of faltering. The Porto senhor was solemn, duty-conscious and I can’t recall him smiling. The two provided a visual display to a common maxim in Portugal: ‘Porto works, Braga prays, Lisbon plays’! The adage is used to describe the country’s north-south divide (a la Delhi-Chennai but in reverse equation) between the apparently more traditional and hardworking Northerners, and the flamboyant Southerners, flaunting and flirting with power. Industrial Porto is an economy booster, but seemingly doesn’t get due credit. That it wears a chip on its shoulder came through as our tour progressed, with Jorge often making it a point to stress certain attributes of his city being “more/better than Lisbon” much to Ana’s amusement.
It appeared the two geographically-diverse cities — Lisbon (with its sun-baked plazas) and Porto (where cool mountain air wafts in making it semi-Mediterranean) — agreed to disagree on almost everything. Except, when it came to Port wine! The pride of Portugal, the wine is aged and marketed from Porto. Jorge knew he had no competition here and proudly said: “Portugal and its famous wine get their name from my city.” Maybe, just maybe, a faint smile lit up his face then.
Porto, or O Porto (The Port) as Portuguese refer to it, is the country’s second largest city and amongst the oldest provincial settlements of Europe. Dating back to AD 3, it features on the Unesco world heritage list. It’s on the estuary of the lovely Rio Douro (River of Gold) that meanders through the Iberian Peninsula before embracing the Atlantic Ocean.
Around 90 km north of Porto, its waters form the Douro Valley, where the wine is exclusively produced in over six-lakh acres of quintas (vineyards). In times gone by, wine casks were sent down the Douro in rabelos or flat-bottom sailing vessels, to be stored in adegas (cellars) at Porto and its sister city Vila Nova de Gaia, just across the river. It was bottled and exported from here, acquiring the name ‘Port wine’ or ‘Vinho do Porto’.
Vila Nova De Gaia — linked to Porto by the famous arched Dom Luis I Bridge (featured in many a Hollywood movie) engineered by an associate of Eiffel — is where we headed for a tour of the ‘wine caves’ (as cellars are called) at the circa 1859 firm, Calem, one of the leaders among the over dozen lining the Douro.
Our dishy Greek guide briefly introduced the fortified wine, consumed as an aperitif or dessert, before leading us to a casket-shaped room to view a short film on wine production. “You are sitting in a casket, if sweet enough you’ll turn into wine,” he joked. None of us did! Next up was a walk through the caves packed with oak casks and getting acquainted with different ports—Blanco or White, which was gaining in acceptance; time-honoured Ruby and Tawany that could be stored after opening; and the delicately-fashionable Vintages. The quick tour gave a wine novice like me a feel of the deal and concluded with a tasting of red and white port in a sparkling hall, with a live band adding to the mood. Expectedly, each of us picked up a bottle of port as souvenir.
Porto’s history shows a series of conquerors, from the Romans to the Moors, stepping on to its shores and dominating for centuries. Their assorted influences are visible in the compelling architecture found within its labyrinth of cobbled alleys, edifice façades with distinctive blue ceramic tiles, Gothic churches (the pick of the city sites for me being Igreja de São Francisco or Church of Saint Francis with Baroque-style gilt edged wood interiors) and the classic town square, all coming together to lend a quaint yet atypical medieval look.
The river-front or Ribeira is the most atmospheric part of the historic city, packed with open-air cafes, restaurants and pubs. It’s nice to sit by the river here and soak in the spirit. Adding to bygone charms are the sailing rabelos. Though no longer in use, these are a tourist attraction for cruises. On St John’s Day, June 24, crowds gather by the Douro to watch rabelos take part in the annual regatta.
And of course, celebrations mean the vinho do porto flows unrestricted and diligent Porto lets its hair down.

PORT WINE BRANDS TO PICK FROM: Fonseca,Taylor’s, Calem, Romariz, Sandeman

HOW TO REACH: Air: Several low-cost and regular international carriers fly into Porto.

Train (www.eurailtravel.com): From Lisbon stations (Gare do Oriente or Santa Apolónia), take the train for Campanha (3 hours), from where there’s the choice of changing to a train heading to Sao Bento, the city centre (5 minutes, no extra ticket required), or taking taxis.

WHERE TO STAY: Tiara Park Atlantic Porto (www.tiara-hotels.com), Porto Palácio Hotel (www.hotelportopalacio.com)


Published in The New Indian Express, July 2011