The typical dress code for men in Gokarna is modern day hippie

One of the idiosyncrasies of Gokarn is the dress code. The guidebook advises visitors to cover legs and shoulders. And we saw a couple of signs requesting visitors to be modest in their attire.

On the other hand we came across Indian worshippers and hippies dressed very sparingly.

In fact the typical dress code for men is modern day hippie - nothing but a sarong, worn long and occasionally another wrapped around the head. Large sandalwood beads and hair in dreadlocks or left to grow how it wants and caught into a high ponytail or bun when doing physical activities like juggling. No shoes - they are very uncool - even though the town is full of fresh cow pooh. And a carved walking stick, even if it’s not required to assist with walking. A small embroidered suede pouch/bag worn diagonally across the shoulder completes the look. And most of the men are stick-thin with rib well-defined cages.

Surely there’s nothing worse than arriving in a place in the dark, and on top of this, it was hot and humid and we were hungry. But our first priority was to get rid of our backpacks and find somewhere to sleep.

We’d had an exhausting full-day journey from Hampi to the coast and we arrived dirty and irritable.

We left Hampi early morning in a bus that quickly filled. I’ve noticed in India that school children appear to have free transport and yet they don’t offer their seat to adults, women with babies or old people. But then, backpacker’s large bags are also a problem.

As usual, the Hhampi bus soon filled and stopped often. At the railway line just before Hospet it was a free-for-all, similar to horses at the starting gate of a race. As the gate opened another bus tried to pass ours, so close that we could see the dimples on a baby. All we needed now was a train to come and it would be curtains.

It was a three-hour journey to the commercial city of Hubli. On the way we saw paddy fields, maize and women sorting red chillies, and much more.

From Hubli it wasn’t long before we reached trees which covered the slopes on the steep descent to the coast.

The road wound its way through dense forest, making it dark now and then. Of course there was lots of traffic, mainly trucks, ignoring road rules of course. There were a number of break-downs, crashes and a few trucks ended up in the ditch.

We passed a few lodges and a nature reserves and if we’d had more time it would have been a good place to stay for a few days.

After a four-hour journey we caught another bus, our fourth for the day, and a 45-minute trip.

Arriving in Gokarn at 7pm in the dark, we decided to stay near the beach, a 20-minute walk, with Craig’s heavy backpack. The road was not well-lit and twisted its way around temples, becoming narrower all the time.

With the scent of the Arabian Sea, we were disappointed to find that almost everywhere was full, it being peak season, so we ended up staying in different hotels but close to each other.

Time for food and we ended up at the first place that had an empty table. The ceiling fans had only one speed – hurricane - and we eventually moved outside and braved the mosi’s.

It was hot, humid and we were hungry and irritable. We sat and sulked, listening to our neighbour’s conversation. A German guy, dressed in traditional western clothes, talked to a Brit who was covered with tattoos, ponytail and a kikoi. They discussed a Hindu mythology, god-help-them what with the intricacies of Indian religion.

Gokarna or Gokarn as it’s called by locals, on the northern coast of Karnataka, is regarded by Hindus as one of the most sacred sites in southern India. For those who don’t know India, Gokarn is approximately midway along the west coast.

It’s almost, but not quite in India’s state of finest beaches, Goa and is a tranquil place, filled with worshippers. In my opinion it’s a place well worthy of a visit because of its quirky spiritual idiosyncrasies.

Hippies are a common site in both the town and on the beaches of Gokarn. Some have possibly come to find themselves, but many look like they’ve lost themselves along the way.

Whilst on the subject of dress code, I now know where the halter neck top originates. It seems to be the favoured garment of the working women in these parts. They still wear a sari style dress but the top is fitted like a halter neck, exposing their shoulders and back, which is unlike other women’s traditional Indian dress.

Next morning I was woken to the gentle call of the Arabian Sea and a cacophony of crows, particularly in the tall palms separating the hotel from the beach.

Through the fronds I could see a mass of people washing in the sea, or were they fishing. Or, even worse, could they be doing their daily ablutions.

I was in Mumbai of all places when I first encountered this rather bizarre behaviour. A group of Indians squatting on the beach with their lungi's pulled up, making their daily motions. I found it quite off-putting, especially when they wiggle their backsides in the water to clean when they’re done.

Meeting up with Craig we decided to explore and set off on the main street. The previous night, on our way to the beach and blinded by discomfort and hunger, I recalled walking past two huge chariots. We found them and heard that they are used in festivals.

There are eight temples in Gokarn, from which foreigners are prohibited from entering. It seems that many agitated priests argue that they are not sure if foreigners bathe and god doesn’t like unbathed people.

There is a Shiva temple called Mahabaleshwara, a Ganapati temple, a Vishnu Temple called Venkataraman and a couple of temples to Lord Ramachandra - one of which overlooks the Arabian Sea.

Anyway, most of the exteriors of the temples aren’t good photo subjects, the entrances are cramped in small narrow streets, sheltered by bamboo and palms.

As I walked I decided that I liked Gokarn with its narrow alleyways with entrances to temples and doorways.

However, it looks like the whole town is under construction. In a few years, when the beautiful old wooden houses are renovated, it will be even more of a traveller’s gem.

The main street is partly covered, to shade the market stalls which sell holy souvenirs, including colourful Hindu illustrations and brass ornaments.

The town hasn’t adapted to tourists, although there’s more begging here than other places I’ve been to.

One of the refreshing things about Gokarn being almost-untouched by tourism is that we weren’t asked by every second person to answer the same two questions that come up every hour of every day: “What country are you from” and, “What is your good name.”

Even when deep in conversation, eating or reading a book, we are asked these questions. Reaching the coast we took refuge in the sea in order to avoid repeating for the umpteenth time, "I am from South Africa and my good name is Karen". And may god strike me down but they followed me into the sea, fully dressed, and then declared that they could not swim.

Over breakfast of spicy, non-egg omelettes we decided to spend the day exploring the beaches along the southern coast.

Entering one of the narrow alleyways Craig noticed an old man sleeping, obviously a worshipper, and a wonderful picture opportunity.

Following the alley we soon realised that we’d taken the wrong route but suddenly we came across the Kotiteertha tank (dam).

It’s an amazing place, surrounded by old wooden houses with hodge-podge roofs and of course many temples and worshippers – they’re everywhere.

It seemed that we’d taken the long route to the beach, but it didn’t matter, we saw typical Indian life in these parts.

Our aim was to reach the coast as we ascended steep steps through virgin forest before reaching virgin territory of rolling hills before crossing a plateau.

Suddenly we hit the tarmac road and the most amazing view. There were two beaches on either side of a headland/promontory - Om to the left and Kudlee to the right - and a panoramic view of the Arabian Sea, calm and serene - mind blowing.

We started walking along the road, but it was hot and thankfully someone took pity on us and they offered us a lift.

The luxury car was driven by a driver, we couldn’t make out if he was one of the friends of the other young occupants. It was air-conditioned with leather seats and five young guys who were on holiday from the surrounding states.

We made our way downhill to the warm water and beautiful, virgin sand and palm-fringed Kudlee Beach
hugging the shoreline of warm water.

Walking along the beach, one of our new friends asked why people were picking up shells. I explained that maybe they wanted to make crafts. Next thing, I was offered a handful of broken shells. “Maybe you can join them and make a necklace,” he said. I still have the shells.

We wanted to go to the next beach but couldn’t see how to get there. Next thing we know, the guys had negotiated a longboat and we were making our way through warm waves to climb aboard.

The only downside was when one of them threw a cigarette carton into the sea. Even educated guys participate in the garbage game.

As we soared through the waves they told Craig that they were in awe of the fact that his parents allowed him to travel overseas, and alone. They told him to respect his mother. All in all they were nice guys!

As we reached the beach some of the guys dived overboard and when I joined them they told me that they couldn’t swim.

Sadly, they all smoked and didn’t think it was bad for them – another area where the Indian government is lacking.

It’s at this beach that hippies come to stay in bamboo huts, which cost Rs100 rupees (R21) per night, and smoke dope and chill-out.

Landing on Om Beach, we were once again fleeced. As tourists we almost buy the boat, triple figures, whereas locals pay double digits. Ah well! That’s India.

After a swim, for Craig and me, with the others just splashing the shallows and a swimming lesson for some, they ended up playing a game of volleyball. But I wasn’t in the mood, but was in the mood for my book, so I sat in a restaurant and enjoyed it with a beer.

They soon joined me for a few bottles, all the time my mothering instincts coming to the fore because they intended drive about 516km to Bangalore.

Craig and I extricated ourselves from the party and made our way along the cliff path to Half Moon Beach and then Paradise Beach.

The latter is only 60-metres in length, a small protected cove, only accessible by foot or boat.

If you’ve read the books, The Beach or Atlas Shrugged, then you can imagine what Paradise Beach is like. It’s surrounded by cliffs and trees, described as a hippie commune, with bamboo huts and hammocks and only a handful of places to eat.

It wasn’t surprising to see people swimming and sun-tanning naked but, what was unusual was to see how many of the hippies went about their day - wearing not a stitch of clothing of course - as if there was not a problem in the world. Whether it was playing bat and ball, juggling, frisbee, yoga or painting a portrait, all done without a care in the world. Even the daily game of soccer on Paradise Beach is different, naked versus clothed. And rumour has it that the naked team have been undefeated for some time – it's hard to imagine why!

We marvelled at the length of time that these hippies spend at Paradise, as well as question what they do day in and day to keep themselves occupied. These travellers spend between six and 12 months on the beach. I guess it’s fine if you don’t mind turning into a sea urchin.

Gokarn is the kind of place where, if you had the time, you could loose weeks chilling on the beaches, and it looks like a lot of people have done just that.