Om Beach and Around

Om Beach and Around

Part 8 of our Adventure

Our days are being filled with the simple passing of time. 

Some days we have spent on the hot sands creating and sculpting things without meaning.

Indian and Europeans faces alike come to stand and watch. “What is it?”, they eventually ask.

We pause in our work to look across at what we have made, “I don't know” we answer. 

Then we stand and gaze at our creation with renewed eyes, trying to give reason or meaning to what we have made.

Inspired by the Champion Sandcastle Creator that we met in Morjim, knives and spoons have become an essential part of our sand based activities. 

Walls are built around inner sanctums, 

arches and tunnels open up into courtyards, 

steps lead up to turrets, curve around walkways before spiralling down again into the lapping waves or unused sun bleached sand. 

Each section is built as an individual experiment as we struggle to transform our new ideas into reality.

We now carve overhangs,

cutting curves and straight lines where only dribble castles or bucketed mounds once stood.

It is only when we stop, interrupted by a smiling face or the twinge from an over stretched back muscle, do we actually look at the overall effect of our labours.

Then we too see the city, the landscape, a place of reality created from sand and wonder “What is it?”

Eventually each day we are forced to walk away from our dream worlds, beaten into the sea by the heat of the day, driven from our labours by the lack of moisture in the ground or the encroaching sea.

We leave our castles to their rightful owners. The dogs of Om!

Puppies and dogs roam the beach each day, staking their claims, marking their territories with barks and stand offs. They happily adopt the two legged intruders that settle with their belongings and activities within their patch. Curious at first and then territorially, the visiting human and his activities are accepted to become part of their realm. Vast areas of sand are watched over, possessively guarded, defended against marauding packs of four footed invaders. Our castles are safe as our Alpha dog watches and waits.

At other times the Dogs become the dragons of old battling and playing amongst their own kind, raising man made towers and walls to the ground, undermining bridges as they dig for treasure, destroying hours of work with a single paw.

Other days have been spent climbing over the nearby cliff tops, wandering along narrow tracks with shear drops to the sea.

On the gentle slope of sand below our rooms, the waves wash the beach with a grace and calmness that is almost a caress,

yet 100m around either point, dark and grey waters crash against the rocks, throwing spray into the air, leaving pools of salted water to dry into crystallised pockets of salt.

Powerful waves rush up the sides of huge sloping slabs, moistening hidden colours to gleam out in the bright sun light.

We explore, we climb, we wander and we roam, but always we return to our bay before the sun melts us into the parched earth. 

Some days begin with a welcomed covering of high cloud allowing for forages further away from home, others start with brilliant sunlight that blasts heat onto the world from 8am onwards.

The days are passing and still we find excused not to leave. Our plan had been to move down the coast to Udupi, to visit the huge Krsna Temple, to witness more wonderful sights and sounds but still we remain wrapped in the joy of calmness.

We have managed to ventured out from our bay to Gokarna, the pilgrimage town that had at first been our destination.

Shops lined the market avenue filled with everything a person could desire. An ATM restored our finances. Book shops supplied us with new journals for the children, a map of India, pencils and rubbers. Tiny shops with shelves at alarming angles display fruits of many colours, salads and vegetables, some recognisable, others to be guessed at as we stared. We found Bread Fruit, a favourite of mine from my days in Moorea and added it to our bulging shopping bag. 

We bought a Frisbee for the children, looked at trousers, shirts, skirts and blouses before Peter bought himself a blanket!

We gazed at the colours piled high in bowls ready for the Holi celebrations,

while in other tiny stalls beads overflowed on narrow counters.

Brass pots hung in doorways gleaming in the sun.

Silver necklaces and Tibetan jewellery lay side by side as children ran down the street rolling hoops in front of them.

Sadus and Brahmins wandered past uniquely dressed hippy's, carrying trays of offerings in one hand and mobile phones in the other!! 

We found a roof top café and retired from the heat. 

Temples abound in Gokarna. Little ones, big ones, hidden ones, proud ones.

Some are up long flights of steps on top of hills, others lie down tiny side streets and there are at least two large ones in the centre of town.

On the day we visited a huge chariot stood at the end of the market street, decorated brightly after the recent Shiva celebration, a slightly smaller one by its side.

Enormous wheels dwarfed the passing crowds, fluttering flags rose up to incredible heights, huge piles of coiled rope lay in piles on the floor.

In a few days time the top part of the chariot would be taken apart layer by layer, rope by rope until only the solid wooden base remained.

This would be pushed into a large roofed storage room to await its next appearance.

Gokarna is a sacred site, swimming is not permitted in the sea, sun bathing is also banned.

Those who do enter the water bath themselves in a specific ritual to remove past sins before they enter one of the beautiful temples to receive their blessing. 

The town is filled with the aroma of incense, flowers and coconuts are sold on street corners by smiling women, while men laden down with chanting beads stand in front of stalls selling ghee lamps and offering bowls.

Yet there is another side to Gokarna. Not that long ago one bought bread and food wrapped in old newspaper (like our fish and chips of old) chai was served in clay pots, water was drawn from the well, shopping items were handed over to be wrapped in a shawl, blanket, basket and carried home balanced on ones the head. Each evening the leaves, papers, cardboard not eaten by the cows were gathered up and burnt, the smoke driving the mosquitoes away, the resulting ash joining the dust of the street.

Tourists, as opposed to pilgrims, Indian and Europeans, discovered Gokarna after Goa became too busy. They come, attracted by the cheep accommodation and food, the peace and spirituality. But with the crowds comes the demands of tourism.

Plastic now lines the narrow river that runs into the sea, rubbish and empty bags spill out onto the beach. Cows who once ate 99% of everything thrown away now choke on the plastic bags, their stomachs distended by the none digestible rubbish they have swallowed. 

Water is becoming scarce as flush loos are not only requested but expected en-suite. The pig loo at the bottom of a plot is becoming a thing of the past. (I have some quite diverse memories of the pig loos in Arambol when I first came!) Sewerage and waste now flows into the waterways that wind their way to the beach.

From a distance the world looks green and blue but up close there is the reek of decay. Peoples homes and shops are kept as clean as the dust will allow but the streets are filling with plastic bottles. Piles of rotting plastic gathers behind restaurants, broken plastic chairs, twisted and crushed buckets, broken brushes, abandoned belongings all join together in piles that never grow smaller. 

We returned to the peace of Om Beach with our news paper paper wrapped samosas and our shopping in one of our cloth bags.

We stopped briefly to fill the rickshaw with fuel poured from a plastic bottle kept under the seat and thought again about the number of plastic bottles of water we consume each day and pondered where the county was heading.