Island Getaway

Probably the best part of reviewing all the major temples in Tamil Nadu is that I am also working on a supplementary guide reviewing the quality of each temple's resident elephant. I've devised a whole system of marks based on the size, charisma, appearance, and talent of each sanctified pachyderm. I really, really wish this was my full-time job, because nothing fills my heart with more joy than writing "Talent: 3 stars. Fulfills his duties efficiently, but swings his trunk too hard, such that infants are frequently brought to tears" and getting paid to do so.

I began this venture while passing through the great temple on Rameswaram island and realized that many of the temples here have their own elephants. The one in Madurai is still my favorite, but I will keep you posted.

The Ramanathaswamy temple in Rameswaram is perhaps the most famous individual temple in India. It lies on an island in the Indian Ocean halfway to Sri Lanka, and marks the spot where Rama prayed to ask Shiva for pardon after killing a member of the highest caste (who, incidentally, was also the demon king...). Not far away are the beaches from which you can see the chain of sand and rocks that make up what remains of the bridge that Hanuman and his monkey army built so that Rama could cross the sea and rescue Sita. The temple itself is quite impressive. It consists of three quadrilateral corridors surrounding a pair of highly sacred shrines. The corridors themselves are the most famous parts, with their incredible use of symmetry and linear perspective. It's one of the few places in the world that can get away with pulling in visitors to see its corridors. "We have TONS of columns. Check it out." Around sundown the passages facing due west are briefly illuminated by an utterly perfect red light slicing through small windows and the western entrance. It is really a sight to behold.

But this temple isn't one you just see; you have to feel it. Specifically you have to enjoy walking barefoot around thousands of yards of sopping wet stone floors following bunches of soaked pilgrims dripping holy water with every step. Before entering the inner sanctums (whitey not allowed), pilgrims are expected to bathe in a series of 22 holy tanks, wells, and fountains. Often this involves a priest sloshing buckets of water on people's heads, and decorum requires that the vast majority of pilgrims get splashed while fully dressed. This makes for a rather comic spectacle, especially when sari-clad women and lungi-wearing southern men shuffle down the hall as their dress flaps heavily against the stone floors...flap splop sshhlop, and kicks up little splashes in the puddles left by pilgrims before. As a tourist, one becomes even more conspicuous than usual, as non-pilgrims are generally not heaving under drenched articles of clothes. I found it amusing that all this dripping about inside the holy temple was not only permitted but encouraged. In my experience, soaking trails indoors are usually the result of hosting a pool party, and everyone secretly knows to pin the blame on the fat kid who won't take off his shirt.

The town of Rameswaram has its own peculiarites. For instance nobody (including the temple staff) seem to think they are required to stay open all day, or even be present for the duration of their shifts. Walking into any local business, there is about a 60% chance that the person on duty will get up within five minutes and tell you "I'm off for my lunch break...come back at 7pm". At one restaurant I walked in, noticed a lack of activity and asked if it was open. The waiter replied "Yes sir, restaurant open". I began ordering a meal when he interrupted me. "Kitchen is not open". "Well thank God the restaurant is open", I said, "I just cooked myself a five-course meal but I don't have any tables in my house to eat at". I then walked into a wide-open cybercafe for the purpose of typing up a draft of my article on Madurai and found two people clicking away at their Yahoo apps. "You work here?" I asked. "Yes. Shop opening at four in afternoon." "You're not open now?" I asked, standing there at midday in the middle of their store while a half-dozen unoccupied computers' screensavers slowly bounced around little morphing balls. "No sir, opening is four."

In tourism-writing circles (or at least the numerous guidebooks I peruse for my profession), Rameswaram is also infamous for bad food. These people are clearly sissies. My guts have risen up in revolt more times than a Colombian peasant and you don't see me crying. Hell, my dietary life is essentially an anologue of the war in Iraq, except my entire strategy hinges upon trying to prevent a "surge". Yeah, the food in Rameswaram is pretty terrible, but these are the same people who naively applaud the chewy "mutton" concoctions of Mughlai cuisine in filthy North Indian cities where goat heads are tossed casually down the street.

Having come all this way, I was not going to miss the chance to see the nearby Adam's Bridge for myself. Just offshore is a string of rocks placed by warbound monkeys. How could I pass it up? To that end I rumbled along to the end of the island, past the village of Danushkodi ("Rama's Bow"), which is pretty much the definition of 'ramshackle'. The town got obliterated by a cyclone in the 1960's, but it looks like destructive weather is a weekly occurence. Danushkodi consists of about 60 lopsided bamboo shacks on a pile of sand surrounded on three sides by the Indian Ocean where people sit around and seem to contemplate maybe going out to catch some fish. I continued out on the 'road' past the village, which was really just a long stretch of dry shifting tire tracks in the sand with the occasional toe-stubbing outcrop of pavement, now useless for anything besides picking up and throwing at goats. Finally I reached the tip of the island and looked out on the majesty of the famous bridge: a strip of sand. There are rocks and islets along the way, but from the shore you can see one tiny islet and a long ribbon of sand just across a very shallow little strait, where small groups of local fisherman wade out in shin-deep water to pee together. At this point the island is just 18km from Sri Lanka, although you can't see to the other country. The view is by no means awe-inspiring, but if you're going to lug yourself hours and hours all the way out to this inconvenient island, you really are obliged to go look at the geographical curiosity with a thoughtful face and listen to endless retellings of episodes from the Ramayana. Also it's quiet, the breezes are nice, and there's a chance you might stumble across a fisherman staring equally thoughtfully at Italian men frolicking naked in the surf.

I really must be off. I'm just pausing between stops on a busy work day and [GFB]'s Guide to Tamil Nadu Temple Elephants isn't going to write itself. Here's another excerpt, from Thanjavur. "Charisma: 3 stars. Personable and charming, poses coyly with its trunk hanging from its mouth and a stupid look on its face, resembling a 12-foot tall Golden Retriever. Has the unfortunate habit of constantly trumpeting and raising its tail like it's going to poop." I smell a Pulitzer. No, that's a taxi stand.