A Day at the Sea

Puri (http://puri.nic.in/photo.htm) is part of a triangle of Orissa's holy (Hindu) cities, the others being Bhubeneshwar and Konark. We haven't been to the first, and we loved the second, but Puri has been a big bust for us, mostly because our hotel is so ugly and we can't get a shower or a decent meal without a big hassle.

Today was an eagerly anticipated day at the sea--and it was simply great. The Bay of Bengal...if that name isn't romantic enough for you, I don't know what to say. As a boy collecting stamps, I learned the beautiful names of exotic countries, and have lost many of them as they changed to more indigenous ones (Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Malawi, Zimbabwe, etc.). India is still India, but it has changed the names of some of its legendary cities, such as Madras (now Chennai), Benares (Varnasi), and Bombay (Mumbai). But they've left the Bay of Bengal as I've always known it, and today its warm, clear waters swirled around my feet.

The warm, clear waters of the Bay of Bengal swirled around my feet.

The sand is a golden-peach color, and as clean as the water. Miles of it. The sun, not yet at high noon, blazed unabashedly. Somehow it both gently bathed me and fiercely shot through me. To think that we consider people who worship the sun "primitive." Walking by the Indian Ocean, almost naked, sun beating me into submission, it's hard to imagine worshipping anything else.

The two hours of walking passed quickly. And with no computer, no phone, no car, and almost no ideas, with a quieting mind, I felt very much myself. This is not a self I can sustain, but I did visit this self here at the sea in India.

When we'd had enough walking, enough sun, and enough quiet mind, it was time to leave. We walked back to our driver and our guide. We didn't want to see another temple or market, so our guide asked if we wished to see a working fishing village. We quickly agreed, and about 20 minutes later pulled off the seaside road. Between road and sea were hundreds of ebony-colored men, women, and children going about their day, mostly talking animatedly about, we soon learned, the day's catch.

We found this out by seeing the day's catch. It was being hauled off dozens of boats bobbing in the surf. The nets full of fish would be hauled over a thick branch about 12 feet long, put onto the shoulders of two men who then struggled to walk it ashore. Once on the sand they slid the treasure off the pole, and the cacophony began. Various people opened the net, examined the fish, and started haggling over quality and price. When both had been ascertained, some quick transactions were made, and the adults dispersed, leaving the children to ogle the fish and then us.

We alternated watching this scene with watching the boats. I know almost nothing about boats or sailing or fishing, but I can easily imagine that I was watching an age-old scene. Human muscle alternately battled and cooperated with the sea. The gently swelling waves inched the boats toward shore, and when they receded from the land they pulled the boats back with them. People braved the sea--today a friendly sea, tomorrow, who knows--and pulled food out of it. There's another "primitive" idea--worshipping the sea.

The scene that started out so colorful and fascinating eventually became repetitive, so our restless Western minds prepared to leave. We walked back through the village itself--a string of mud huts on both sides of a dirt path parallel to the water. We peeked into a few huts, which were practically bare. We smiled and gestured at many people, who couldn't imagine what white (and, apparently, rich) people were doing among them. We attracted the usual crowd of children incessantly yelling hello and demanding our names. You'd be surprised at how something that's charming for the first 60 seconds could become so overwhelming and annoying, threatening to block out everything else in sight.

We finally got back to our car, drank incredibly delicious bottled water, and headed back to our room. We had finally had a spiritual experience in Puri--at our own temple of the sun.