Maximum Indian Madurai Express

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Trip Start Nov 03, 2009 Previous
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  Madurai, Tamil Nadu, India
Tuesday, November 17, 2009

We leave Varkala on the sunniest day yet, but we managed to get the last day on the beach enough to get the white marks we’ve wanted. Leaving behind a lovely sunset we are a bit down about having to motivate ourselves away from beach bumming but after circumventing Ali trying to rip us off and various other daily tourist bullshit we immediately feel relieved as soon as we’re at the station and away from never-never land. We team up at the station with an old travelling type French guy called Philippe who quite disappointedly tells us he’s never been on an Indian sleeper either. He looks just as disappointed at our obvious ineptness as well, but after maximum head wobbling and nearly getting on the wrong train (conveniently arriving at our allocated platform out our allocated time) we eventually get on the right one, just late.

There’s all kinds of classes on Indian railway classes, varying levels of first classes (a/c,  frosted windows to keep the riff-raff away, locked cabins, meal services) to second class seated (unreserved free for all bun fights). In between is second class sleeper, which are pretty rough and ready but you have a bunk reserved so you can sleep.

Madurai

But that’s about it really. Slightly less filthy than the buses (but that’s not saying much), and not really that comfortable or secure its okay and more importantly £1.30-ish for a 12hr overnight journey. Beat that Virgin, with your poxy super-but-only-on-a-full-moon-if-booked-on-the-first-day-of-the-Chinese-new-year-Apex.  

Walking down the carriage (now fully used to the interested stares) we find our berths and after neurotically padlocking our rucksacks to everything we can find we are joined by an old toothless muslim guy with first (old and grumpy) wife, second (young and pregnant) wife, their two cute kids., and a slightly dubious Indian guy with an over keen interest in us.  He talks to Dan and ignores me (which I’m relived about), but talks about me like I’m not there (‘and what does madam do for working’?)  He then gets very passionate about yoga and demonstrates the special breathing of prana (Dan can‘t really understand what he’s saying and doesn‘t want to talk so its quite amusing seeing this guy do heavy yogic breathing over him), but is most approving of our security measures (this train stops at stations all night and apparently easily rob-able).  Meanwhile I am more interested in the dynamics of the family around me, who are happily picnicking over our rucksacks with the kiddies. First wifey puts on her full burka as soon as there’s too many men about, second wife has the hijab but covers her mouth with her scarf quite a lot. First wife rubs second wife’s belly and obviously dictates child rearing techniques, which although politely adhered too is not without a level of sneaky eye rolling I get on to.  We smile secretly at each other through the night, and I play peek-a-boo with her son and make him laugh. I can’t figure out who’s more curious of the others life. (when the train stops she makes a point of standing up and looking straight at me and says goodbye in English with a big smile and we both say ‘rock on, sister’ with our eyes)

Dan and I agree to take the top bunks so the family can have the bottom four and as I get up panicking about how the hell I’m going to get up there with minimum climbing points. I look up the carriage and announce to Dan that EVERONE has stopped their lives and is watching to see the stupid fat ginger woman fall on her arse. Using Dan as a shield I (quite surprisingly) get up with minimum effort and Dan gets on the other one.   We do manage to get some sleep, although paranoia over our bags, the heat, the overwhelming stench of piss from the adjacent toilets when the train stops and the loud and disgusting hock-a-loogie-ing much beloved of Indian men is enough to keep our sleep fitful.

Madurai

Arriving at 5.00am in Madurai is a blessing. Its cooler, there’s less touts and blaggers and it gives us some space to just walk to where the hotels are and shop around. This is my first big Indian town and I’m nervous, it doesn’t help that as we begin to tramp the streets room searching I’m shocked by the amount of homeless sleeping on the floor, and that gaudy nasal mix of human piss/cow shit/rotten vegetable smell that leaps at you unexpectedly from shadows. A huge pilgrim town, up to 10,000 Pilgrim devotees can visit the  Sundareswarar Temple complex in a day. As such the streets around the railway station and temple are filled with cheap hotels but geared for devotees rather than westerners. We look at a few equally depressing rooms and Dan and I (although Philippe leaves for grander accommodation) grab a cruddy room with a drop toilet after they take us to the roof terrace, which probably has the best views of the temple complex in whole of Madurai. We grab our cameras and head for the terrace as the sun breaks over the complex and we are absolutely blown away. Its stunning.

Madurai

  A French couple in the rooftop room pull open their curtains to smoke fags out of their window so we leave them to it and explore the temple at 6am before it gets too busy. The temples are steeped in history and we join the Hindus who anoint and revere every carving of every deity.  Theres even a elphant trained to bless devotees on their heads with his trunk (for a price of course).

Madurai

Dan takes pictures of people with his 50mm prime lens that are amazing and in the dark temple rooms with his more f-stops and I’m jealous. 

The temple and the people are very special, and by 9am after a masala dosa breakfast and getting measured up by a tailor for some new Indian threads

Madurai

we pass out for a few hours and venture out at three to the Ghandi museum.  A large old building, its as informative as it can be (trying to explain hundreds of years of British subjugation and internal upheaval in 36 storyboards) but we are both impressed most of all by Ghandi’s actual glasses. Still dirty and almost tucked away in a corner, looking like he had just popped them down to go to sleep, we are surprised that something so symbolic and real appears sidelined.

We get into a pedal rickshaw by this old man to take us back to our hotel, and we fear we may kill him. Obviously needing the cash,  but quite frankly pushing his luck with two massive westerners and camera bad weighing more than him, we look on in horror as he peddles up a hill but doesn’t really move.

Madurai

  Our hotels at least 4km away. We are trying to get back to catch the sun setting on the temple on the roof but we don’t want to hurt his feelings by saying he’s not up for the job.  However, after he swings into the fast lane with zero forward momentum we leap out at traffic lights laughing to ourselves and give him the full fare….. his exhausted face saying he was ready to throw in the towel anyway!
We rush up to the terrace and chase some magic hour light, its beautiful. The bellboys are ready (of course) to provide us with ice cold beer, and hilariously want us to take lots of pictures of them. Hair ready coiffured and waiting, they strike bollywood poses in front of the temple while I love the fact that we can make them feel so good. They also want to wear Dans glasses.

Madurai

 

Madurai

Dan and I drink a couple of big bottles of beer and contemplate. The bellboys go and the other travellers in the room leave for a bollywood movie.

Madurai

  Dan and I sit in hues of pink and gold and fiery orange and listen to the toots and honks and bellows and hustles of the roads below, overlaid with a man singing Hindu devotions over a distorted microphone whilst watching monkeys climb over the monkey god statues.

Madurai

  Dan and I  play with our cameras and talk about faith and life and luck until even the sun tires of us and disappears over the mountains.

Madurai

   For the first time, this feels like the India I had in my head. The poverty and hustle and incense and piss and spices and cruelty and colours and beauty and blaggers and religion….. and the skinny cows eating rubbish. There is no definition, if you put every element of humanity, good and bad, under a microscope I suspect it would be shaped like India.

Madurai

NOTE: Inadvertently we have discovered the cure for all culture shock. Alcohol. Go out in the middle of a frantic Indian town at peak night time madness a little bit drunk. Its perfect. Really. Dan and I blasted down back streets, nimbly jumped splattered turds (I’m hoping were from cows), weaved through traffic, got lost, ate crazy roadside fare and generally had a ball throwing ourselves headlong into it all. I felt like I’d been living in India for years.   We were talking with the (turns out Canadian) gang on the roof about acclimatising to India and apparently they say in Canada that the ‘first four hours in India are the worst four hours of your life’. I say, have a few drinkies on the plane and you wont care. In fact, you may not even remember.

More Pictures

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