Araku, and back, to civilization

Vishakapatnum (Vizak) and Araku

With hardly any sleep from Bhubaneshwar, I was shortly on the 6.50 am train to Araku. To add to my misery I was desperately hungry through not eating during the tour the day before. It’s a very scenic ride through countless tunnels and bridges for over 120 km. At the end of the 5 hour journey I was just about done. Not knowing anything about the hotels in the area I accepted the help of a taxi driver who promptly took me a couple of kilometres up the road to a small cluster of buildings and hotels surrounded by paddy fields. I don’t know why but I was expecting sky high prices, the first hotel looked fine and the price was a very reasonable 300 Rs a night. Wow…Time for washing, eating, sleeping and battery charging.

As you might imagine, by the pictures of Araku, it’s an agricultural area. It’s also a tribal region where the Indian Govt is trying to educate and create employment for these poverty riddled people. The atmosphere is to say the least, after the turmoil and chaos, placid to the extreme. One or two things stick out in my mind like the incredibly overloaded rickshaws. Many carry school kids to and from their homes. A multitude of small brown faces, in white uniforms, stared out at me from the sides and back of these little vehicles, while at least ten school bags hung in a cluster like giant coconuts from one side of these taxis. It also seems that most of the rickshaws are now fitted with boom boxes, those speakers otherwise known as sub woofers that send out a throbbing bass beat of the music being played. Apart from this modern development, the villagers around lived their lives herding buffalo and goats, and tending the delicate dykes that retain the water in the patch work of paddy fields.

It appears that the Araku valley is the chosen place for honeymoon couples, not unlike many other hill resorts. As I said before, hotels were an unknown quantity until I actually arrived because the only information I could find was that there were only a few highly priced places and a government run resort also with prices way above my budget. In fact, not 2 or 3 km from the train station there were quite a few low priced places. Apart from the scenery and fresh air there isn’t much else, but that was all I wanted for a couple of days. I don’t think the place I stayed at has an address except Railway Station Road, Araku Valley. Judging from the small collection of very new luxury hotels I surmised that the Indian boom is having an effect on this idyllic, rather backward, backwater.

Before reading the egg story I would like to explain that fried eggs with toast is a very common breakfast in India, but not in Araku it seems
To be a fried egg or not to be is a very tricky question.
Here in the restaurant at Araku. Ordering a breakfast, which is normally very straight forward, turned into a complete fiasco when I ordered fried eggs just as written in the menu. At first the waiter said it wasn’t possible, which I thought strange because he could supply an omelette. But then he relented and said it was possible. When the eggs arrived they were in the form of four halves of brown shrivelled fried hard boiled eggs. I’m afraid the sight of these abominations nearly turned my stomach. When I told him that I didn’t want his burnt offerings, and that I wanted ordinary fried eggs, he then decided that poached egg was what I wanted. Well, the conversation went to and fro for the next five minutes in which I clearly showed him the difference between boiled and fried eggs with drawings in my note book. He then said that what I should have ordered the poached eggs. But poached eggs are not fried eggs I tried to impress. The whole absurd issue was settled when I opted for the omelette, but I am still completely mystified as to what a fried egg is. I suppose this is typical of India where IS can often mean many things. Confused, don’t worry, that’s just the way it is. Or is it

The cinema, yes there was a cinema, was showing a Bollywood movie in Teligu language. When I was a kid we used to call the small independent places ‘flea pits’, which is more than apt for this one in Araku. During the first half, they seem to have interludes here, I was aware of itchiness around my legs and ankles. Mosquitoes I thought so I didn’t bother with the end of this typical song and dance routine. Back at the hotel I discovered a large mozy had attached itself to my leg. Not pleasant.

I had to catch the 8am (only) bus back to Vizak because a serious problem crept up on me – a dire lack of Rupees. The train wouldn’t have got me back until 9 pm which is obviously a bad time for changing money. The other thing was that it was Saturday and half day for all banks. This is a good example of the kind of problems that one can encounter in India, especially because in many towns, and cities, the only places available are state banks which seem to have a vice like grip on these otherwise simple transactions. While I was on the bus, travelling through some pretty remarkable countryside, I felt another kind of problem creeping up.

By midday the bus was strutting down the long station road of Vizak. Then I spotted a sign for State Bank of India so I quickly grabbed my bags and hopped off the bus which was held up in a traffic jam. My heart sank when the bank assistant said that they didn’t change money at that branch. This often happens. He then told me to go to an office for a financial company two blocks up the road. The office of Weizman Ltd is inside one of those new complexes that are shooting up everywhere in India. I hesitantly asked if they changed Euros, and found to my great relief that the rumour was true. But that still left me with the other problem which was solved not more than 10 metres from the office, behind a door on the corner of the landing. Feeling extremely relieved with a fresh wad of 100 Rs notes I wondered if the manager knew where I could upload my blog, which had been a miserable failure up in Araku. Another company just a few metres away allowed me the use of their private (fast) connection. Somewhat better than two birds, d0nt you think? Anything is possible here.
Plenty of time for writing today on the train to Mumbai. The 1500 km trip takes about 28 hours. Only one drawback is that I have to finish this blog before the battery runs out. No sockets in this carriage, which are usually fitted in AC carriages.
Half way to Mumbai at the moment. Cheers Derek