MURUD: FEBRUARY 6
My knowledge of heroin is academic, though extensive. Thus I know that taking a hit develops a hunger for more. Prawns are similar which explains why I am on the road early and racing south from Daman for the small seaside town of Murud. The highway is good. I cruise at 90 kph and cut inland to avoid Mumbai – why risk bronchitis?
I pull in beside a sextet of cops for directions on which road to take.
An officer asks my age.
“Seventy-six, seventy-seven next week,” and I show him my passport.
The cops yak and laugh amongst themselves. Are they going to hit me with a fine for something? No, they are giving me a birthday present: permission to ride up the Pune (or Poona) Expressway (illegal for bikes). A secondary road to the right leads to Pale and so to the coast and a room with three beds in Murud at 450 rupees. Pile all three mattresses on one bed and you have three layers of rock. Walk down the garden and you are on the beach. Beach is rocks ground small.
Showing posts with label DAMAN. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DAMAN. Show all posts
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
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DAMAN: FEBRUARY 5
Daman is on the coast 250 Ks south of Baroda/Vadodaras. The territory was annexed by the Portuguese in 1531 and ceded to the Portuguese by the Sultan of Gujarat in 1539. Prime Minister Nehru ordered the invasion of all Portuguese territories in India on 19th of December, 1961. Thus ended 430 years of Portuguese rule. So much for history...
Modern Daman is in two halves divided by the Daman Ganga river. Nani Daman is a moderately chaotic mix of high rise and bazaar, hotels, restaurants and wine shops, all geared to sell cheap booze to Indian males on holiday from dry States.
Cross the bridge to Moti Daman and the Portuguese fort and enter a quieter more tranquil world. Indian forts are built to guard Maharajas and their palaces. Daman fort sheltered bureaucrats, traders and their families. No palaces here. Trees shade peaceful streets of modest buildings. Even the cathedral is little bigger than a parish church. I sit a while on a bench in the plane white nave. The Eucharist light flickers on the alter. A small elderly woman and her pre-teens granddaughter kneel and light votive candles. A plump grey-haired priest smiles welcome as he passes. I am at peace. This is my culture. I practice dying. Then back to Nani Daman and Nana's restaurant for a splendid fish soup followed by spicy prawns.
Where am I sleeping? First I tried the Hotel Marina where polished wood floors and high ceilings of an old-style Portuguese home promised romance. An arrogant young manager showed me three rooms that smelt stale and damp. The TVs were secured in wooden cages. (when did you last steal a hotel TV?) and he demanded a 1500 Rupee deposit for a 600 Rupee room. No, thanks. Better a clean room with a clean smell in a modern building at 350.
Daman is on the coast 250 Ks south of Baroda/Vadodaras. The territory was annexed by the Portuguese in 1531 and ceded to the Portuguese by the Sultan of Gujarat in 1539. Prime Minister Nehru ordered the invasion of all Portuguese territories in India on 19th of December, 1961. Thus ended 430 years of Portuguese rule. So much for history...
Modern Daman is in two halves divided by the Daman Ganga river. Nani Daman is a moderately chaotic mix of high rise and bazaar, hotels, restaurants and wine shops, all geared to sell cheap booze to Indian males on holiday from dry States.
Cross the bridge to Moti Daman and the Portuguese fort and enter a quieter more tranquil world. Indian forts are built to guard Maharajas and their palaces. Daman fort sheltered bureaucrats, traders and their families. No palaces here. Trees shade peaceful streets of modest buildings. Even the cathedral is little bigger than a parish church. I sit a while on a bench in the plane white nave. The Eucharist light flickers on the alter. A small elderly woman and her pre-teens granddaughter kneel and light votive candles. A plump grey-haired priest smiles welcome as he passes. I am at peace. This is my culture. I practice dying. Then back to Nani Daman and Nana's restaurant for a splendid fish soup followed by spicy prawns.
Where am I sleeping? First I tried the Hotel Marina where polished wood floors and high ceilings of an old-style Portuguese home promised romance. An arrogant young manager showed me three rooms that smelt stale and damp. The TVs were secured in wooden cages. (when did you last steal a hotel TV?) and he demanded a 1500 Rupee deposit for a 600 Rupee room. No, thanks. Better a clean room with a clean smell in a modern building at 350.
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