The highway from India's southern tip towards the Himalayas bypasses the holy city of Madurai — as do I, for fear of diluting precious memories.
We drove into town 40 years ago on the eve of the Teppam Festival, when Shiva and his triple-breasted consort are paraded from the temple to the Mariamman Teppakkulam lake. Here we met a young Brahman whose father organised the festival, and soon found ourselves on the float amongst the notables — two small white figures seated at the feet of the Gods. I remember the glow of the full moon and the towropes reaching to the lakeshore, the thousands of faces glistening in candlelight, and I remember the music, the drumming of the old master and the young, lifting each other to an ever higher plane — and taking us with them.
However on this journey I turn off the highway towards the Western Ghats and Tamil Nadu's hill station, Kodaikanal. The country road crosses a flat fertile land of rice paddy, banana and coconut plantations, punctuated by small, clean villages.
I stop at a tiny cafe for tea and a small slice of cake. Four young men are my fellow customers. One of the men quizzes his companions for words with which to attempt communication beyond a smile. 'Hi', is all they manage. I can do Hi. Written down, a single syllable may seem inadequate, but the intention counts, a sign of the desire to learn something of each other.
The road climbs from the plains through thick forest. Bison graze the undergrowth and the air is cool and tree-scented. I enjoy Kodaikanal for three days: walk the hill paths, stroll in the evening beside the lake and discuss life with students at the International School.
And then it's on to Mahabalipuram. My memories are of a small village on a dirt track, shore temples, a few boats dragged up on the sand. Last time I was here we camped amongst palm trees above the beach. I remember a cool sea breeze after swimming, and that we built a fire and grilled fresh fish over the embers. Now, of course, it has changed — walls have been built to protect the temples and Mahabalipuram is a warren of backpacker hotels, restaurants, internet cafes and stores selling tourist tat. But my greatest joy of all is meeting an elderly fisherman who recalls selling us fish — and can even describe the open Jeep in which we travelled all those years ago.
On I speed north, 1,400km of four-lane highway in three days. A single-track country road connects the highway to Puri across a glorious countryside of straw-cottage villages, temple ponds shaded by giant rain trees and baobabs, emerald paddy studded with palms. Water hyacinth and water lily cloak the streams. Buffalo bask with only their noses above the surface.
Only another 550km to Kolkata...
Simon Gandolfi is blogging regularly about his Indian motorbike adventure. You might also want to read: Across India on a bike, Across India on a bike: from Agra to Rajasthan, Across India on a bike: from Bundi to Dhariawad and Across India on a bike: from Goa to Kanniyakumari. To find out more about Simon visit simongandolfi.com
