After three days of utter relaxation in Diu it was with mixed emotion that I mounted my bike this morning. It took almost the entire stay just to get over the exertion of our last marathon ride. I'd hoped that this day would be equally rewarding as our last riding day, only with less effort. As our trip winds down I fear that I am finding less resolve to continue. Today Andy seemed in a similar state. He pedaled lazily and was disengaged. We wandered a bit on the island before parting. Andy stopped to chat up a few Germans who were traveling by motorbike and dropped off a French novel for Astrid and Nathalie while I longed to get on with our ride.
Diu retains a foreign (non-Indian) feel. Could it be left over from its days as a colony of Portugal or is it because it is overrun by beach-seeking tourists. Indians are discovering Diu too. Not only because it is one of the few places in Gujarat where one can find a beer, but also because an Indian holiday is not that unless they see some foreigners on their vacation. Our vacation had come to an end as we began pedaling across the island to catch a ferry back to the mainland. Passing empty churches, fields of cane, coconut palms, and bustling villages \--much of the time protected from the sun by a canopy of trees\-- we headed for the boat back to "real"
India. The fishing village at the end of Diu island was far bigger than the town that shares the territory's name. After a little wander we found the "ferry". It was little more than a fishing dory with an outboard motor, already crowded with folks and piled high with firewood. Our bikes were tossed on top of the heap and we boarded while begging urchins flocked around us. The peasants stared at us silently as we made the short crossing. When we arrived at the other side there was no dock. I shed my shoes and waded in the water, guiding the bulky cycles down the criminally narrow gangplank to the beach.
Amongst a crowd of twenty kids we readied the bikes for our departure. It was then that Andy realized his cycle computer had disappeared. He searched his gear, the boat, the sand and considered pat searching a few of the urchins before giving up his search. He concluded it must have been lost at the other dock while loading the bike or pinched by one of the beggar urchins. The microscopic road to Kodinar was well paved and nearly vacant. Understandable considering it dead-ends in the sandy little village where our ferry dropped us. With a kick-butt tailwind, flat coastal terrain and newfound energy I was ready to rip.
Andy on the other hand was feeling energy free and lagged behind listlessly. Halfway through our leisurely eighty-kilometer day we stopped at a dingy little hotel for lunch. Strangely the restaurant and reception were on the third floor. Andy headed up the stairs while I secured the bikes. Somehow on the way up Andy brushed his arm against the sharp edge of a light fixture and cut a gash on his arm. Liability is not something the Indians worry about. Without complaint I bandaged him up and we ordered our lunch. Some sort of political or business meeting was going on in the dining room so they sequestered us in the back room.
The sign on the door said VIP and the blasting air conditioner confirmed we were in a place reserved for big mucky-mucks. We ordered our meal and waited for what seemed to be an hour for our food. Two other tables seated after us had been served before us though they'd ordered afterwards. When the second table was served I called the waiter over to ask what the problem was. We made such a stink that the family at an adjacent table was shamed into not touching their food until we had ours. They just sat and stared at their plates getting cold in the arctic breeze.
Just as we were readying ourselves to leave and try our luck elsewhere, our order arrived and the crisis was averted. Back on the road again the scenery was far less interesting and the road far more challenging. Huge tracts of it were nothing but rocks set in sand. Trucks menaced us by running us off the good portions of the road in order to avoid the bad, without regard as to whether it was on their half of the road or not. I put myself in a trance and pedaled to our next destination lost in thought. We arrived at a massive temple in Patan.
Its majestic carved domes set impressively at the seaside were carved of stone and housed the shrine built by and dedicated to the god of the sea. The temple had been destroyed and rebuilt many times. The last reconstruction/redecoration had cost the interior some of its former stature. The main shrine now looks more like a bus terminal than a temple. Outside we sat on the seawall and chatted with fellow (Indian) tourists and fed the mangy stray dogs and cats with scraps of food from our bags. One kitty was so young we wondered how it would survive without the company of its mother.
We set off for nearby Veraval, where we planned to spend our night. From our guidebook and the town's location on the map I envisioned a charming little port town with lovely beaches and bustling with activity. I had the last bit right. Like every town of size in India it was chock-full-o-activity but sadly lacking in all the other characteristics I'd attributed to it. All the hotels were dirty little dumps except for one run by Christians. We checked in there, sadly disappointing our hosts when we revealed that we were part of the unwashed masses in spite of our waspy looks (ok, Andy's waspy looks).
The port of the town was the main interest, crammed full of vessels of all sorts all engaged in loading and unloading goods, fish and people. Near the docks boats of biblical proportion were under construction. These Noah's Arcs were being built by hand of wood by thousands of workers buzzing about like ants. The town itself was a network of unpaved roads whose dust was in a constant state of churn by the parade of commercial vehicles going to and from the port. Within three moments of walking around I was hacking up dirt clods and hoping we'd find a dust-free restaurant for dinner.
We dined at a dark and dingy place on exquisite and spicy curries and meats, then retired to our Christian quarters. I fell asleep to the *bring-bring* of my bike-bell being rung by the kids downstairs.