Ajeesh washed his car so we could clearly see the damage that someone had done to it. There's a note in my diary that my sore throat had abated. I was short of liquid cash again so I borrowed Rs200 from Ajeesh to pay my bus fare. (I was sure I'd find an ATM at Madurai.)
Ajeesh dropped me at Nedumkandam bus stand just in time to get a bus to Madurai via Cumbum, Theni and Usimpatti. For a while during the journey to Cumbum, a 'tribal'-looking granny, father and tiny baby boy sat next to me. I cradled the baby's head to reduce the effect of the road surface on his sleep. I almost wanted one of my own. Granny had amazing stretched ear-lobes due to her piercings.
Later on, I got chatting with a Mr Solomon and his wife. Mr Solomon worked for the Peermade Development Society and Tea Factory in Kerala (Peermade is in the south west of Idukki district, west of Kumily.) At Theni, he got off the bus to buy some refreshments. The bus departed without him, much to his wife's distress. I'd been off the bus to try to escape the stifling heat and leapt on just as it was moving away, grabbing hold of fellow passengers who were crowding the entrance.
Cumbum to Madurai is 80km, my diary tells me. This would equate to 150 minutes of arse-rattle and roll but I was very glad that the roads were at Tamil Nadu standards: far less bumpy than Keralan roads.
At Usimpatti, I saw a picture of that old hero/criminal/joker/genius, Vladimir Ulyanov. The road passed through flat fields in the bright sunshine. Somehow I ended up paying Rs10 for Rs2's worth of peanuts. My diary tells me the bus passed a Biomass Research Centre somewhere after Usimpetti.
Arrival in Madurai made me think 'I'm now back in India'. What a contrast between a cool, damp and friendly Keralan village and a hot, dry and bustling Tamil city.
As soon as I arrived at the bus station (there are 4 in Madurai), I was hassled by auto drivers. I tried to escape the hassle by dodging into a toilet (which cost Rs3), then getting some lunch. I wanted to avoid plastic-bottled drinks, so ordered a chai from a stall. It came in a plastic, throw-away cup and cost Rs3 per cup. The best-laid plans?
After 2 chais and 3 samosas I felt ready to move on. My next move was to take an auto to an SBI ATM which turned out to be near to Madurai's railway station. The ATM was being filled when I arrived. I asked to take a photo of the ATM's armed guard, Mr Balakrishnan. He had a huge shot-gun but was very friendly. I then blogged for a while and found a cheap but good hotel on the edge of the old city:
Hotel International
46/80 West Perumel Maistry Street
Madurai
Tamil Nadu
625001
phone 0452 5377464
Rs200 per night for a non-a/c (i.e. with a fan) single room, clean squat toilet and shower and the cleanest bedsheet I'd seen in a hotel in India. It seemed a shame to sleep in it and get it dirty.
Somehow time got away - I think due to trying to buy a replacement battery charger after mine dropped out of the hotel powerpoint. An electronics shop salesman suggested I buy an extension cable to 'protect my investment': I did so. I also was invited, along with many other tourists to go to the top of a shop near the temple to see the towers. The shops do this partly out of general Indian niceness and partly so that tourists can then be taken past tempting merchandise.
Madurai was still buzzing well after midnight. I was hungry so set off in search of food. My guidebook told me that on a certain street I could get food at 'rock-bottom budget prices' and I was acutely aware of how far over budget I'd become. So I meandered south into the 'non-historical' part of town. A digital studio was open amid the bustle and life. Police were checking bikers' papers. I drank a chai (aarrgghh milk and plastic demi-tasse again!) and headed on up the street, intending to eat at a clean-looking vegetarian restaurant.
I saw two women sitting next to their cooking paraphernalia in an alleyway. The sold iddlis and dosas, served on bits of banana-leaf: they were delicious! Two more rapidly followed them. The women's smiles as they saw me enjoying their produce were wonderful. They only charged me Rs6 for this meal - no wonder they cooked on burners in the street without even an awning! I wanted to show them how much I appreciated their food and its availability so late at night, so I asked to take their photo and asked for their address, intending to send them prints of the photo. Just asking to take the photo for their addresses made them giggle.
Just outside my hotel I was offered 'grass' by an old man. I declined his offer but I was highly amused - I really was back in mainstream India!
© (except the blatantly ripped-off bits) Random Bozo 2006