The second largest city in Andra Pradesh (the state to the north of Tamil Nadu)is Vishakhapatnam. It is right on the coast, boasting of beautiful beaches and near the Araku Valley. A woman at school told tales of visiting there, and I couldn’t wait to take advantage of our 3 day weekend to go. Tim, Barbara and I booked tickets on an all night sleeper bus to leave at 6 p.m. Friday and arrive 6:00a.m. Saturday. We really had no idea what to expect, and were surprised when the bus arrived decked out with no seats but bunk beds, 4 to a compartment. Sounded perfect to me. We stopped after a couple hours at a restaurant where they had these woven benches/beds that people sat on to eat. They served “meals” which is a premade dinner consisting of rice and a variety of gravies on banana leaves for a set price. About 50 cents. They served it out of buckets ladling it out with a generous hand. Other buses pulled up while we were there. Looked like a good deal for the restaurant owner.

I had no problem sleeping, and welcomed the 10 hour stretch ahead of me. It seems about every two weeks I need to sleep 12 hours for a night—this was my chance. We got up at 6 to find we had another 4 hours until we really reached Vishakhapatnam. Why was I surprised? Our hotel was just minutes from the bus stop. The woman at the desk shuffled through a stack of papers, “No reservation. We have no rooms,” she sadly shook her head. As I waited without speaking, I realized I have learned a lot about living here. We just stood at the desk while she looked through the unorganized papers looking sad. After a bit she offered an air-conditioned room. “No, no air conditioning,” I said, settling in for a long wait. I was pleasantly surprised when she offered us one room with an extra bed—just what we reserved in the first place, and we went upstairs to drop our gear.

We booked another all day bus tour to go up the mountain and into the Valley, as the trains were all sold out, and headed out to the beach north of town.

The beaches were what one hopes for in your dreams—long stretches of sand lined with palm trees and clear beautiful water. There were huge signs on the beaches warning of the dangers of swimming in the sea. The local people were gathered and happy, picnicking playing ball and running in and out of the water—but not too deep. If anyone ventured into the water the police would rush over and blow their whistle and scold them furiously. We wandered way down away from the crowds and settled down on the sand. Thousands of little crabs scuttled about us dodging into the tiny holes in the sand. With Tim as our guard Barbara and I wore our bathing suits—I forgot the tabu of a bathing suit. We were flocked by curious well wishers wanting to shake our hands and learn our “good names.” The water was fresh and clean and such a relief to swim in. A lovely afternoon.

We walked up to the road to wait for a bus to come to take us back into the city. 3 People approached us, praising the lord. “Maybe we want to catch a rickshaw,” I suggested, smiling and trying to avoid the Christians. A rickshaw arrived and we scrambled into it, to have the 3 join us. “Do you love Jesus?” and I thought of the perfect song and belted out, “Oh Jesus, I love you—and I love Buddha too Rama, Krishna, Guru Dev, Toa de Ching and Mahommed. . .” There smiling faces were inches from ours, bobbing up and down to my singing. When I stopped they asked us about our religious faiths, and t=Tim started to explain how he was studying to become a Hindi. “A Hindi!!” They were flabbergasted and clearly crest fallen at such a prospect. “Hey, Lauri! How about singing Jesus Loves ME?” Tim suggested, happy to change the subject without changing the subject, I began, followed by a Gift to be Simple. The vision of 6 of us in a rickshaw rocking down the coastal road was at times more than I could manage containing laughing. The absurdity and humor of such a sight tickled me to death. A favorite moment. When we arrived in town and exited the rickshaw we all shook hands with the heart felt connection we made.

We left early on the morning on the bus, winding through the town, and up the hills through little villages. The bus was a luxury bus owned by the state of AP for tourism. We were the only whites—a situation more common than not—I think we were the only white people we saw on the whole trip, come to think about it, so we are frequently objects of curiosity. My goal on this leg of the trip was to see areas where tribal people live. We passed within 13 K of Orissa and into some serious hill country. The landscape of the eastern ghats was stunning, and we were impressed that roads, railroads, and electricity came so far out into the bush.

We stopped along the way to see the vistas, and bought coffee and honey from local farmers. We stopped in small villages and bought fresh papaya and pineapple slices. We visited a tribal museum about life in the hills. The most startling tidbit was that at the wedding ceremony, the man spits water in the bride’s face. A metaphor of life to come? After lunch there was a performance of local women dancers who were bold and stared you in the face. One woman on the street had hair to waist in one continuous dense mat. The women have 3 rings in their nose and a fierceness about them. They danced with precision and grace and humor. Clearly something they are hired to do, but enjoy themselves and each other doing it.
The drums accompanying them.

The day ended in India’s version of Mammoth Caves. Again, filled with Indian families on vacation enjoying the tourist sights of their own state. Friendly and proud to talk about their country.

We got back sometime very late to the city—Tim bought some chicken to eat from a vendor on the street—a real local.

We spent our last day by hiring a car to drive us up the coast to a town that was previously a Dutch
Settlement. There is an old (1700) cemetery there and still traces of their influence. The fishermen use sailing boats here, colorfully painted of course. Along the shore there were many statues built along the coast—as a tribute, or tourism we weren’t sure. Barbara and I wanted to buy baskets we saw the women carrying fish in—before they were used. We stopped along the way and found a woman in the process of making them. Bamboo—strong and beautiful

We lingered on top of a hill outside the city overlooking this paradise near two large statues of 2 of Rama and Sita. Feeling a little antsy to get back to the bus, but savoring the last smell, sight and sound. This is a place I would gladly come back to, but India is a big place, and there is so much to do. . .