Hi everybody,

Greg and I were still in Arambol when we decided to go in search of the holy tree: the Banyan tree. We walked past the black granite rocks to the place where the ocean meets a lake surrounded by cliffs.

We asked some tourists if they knew anything about it. They told us there were two ways to get there: Either you swim across the small lake, or you walk around it. The lake looked cold, so we walked. The path was narrow, and I thought that if we met people coming from the other side, we would have to climb over the bulging roots of the trees to let them pass. The whole setting reminded me of Jungle Book – the part where Mogli was walking with the bear! I was, in fact, singing “Bear Necessities” when we bumped into a German couple. We asked them if we were on the right path, and the man in a very strong German accent informed us: “You are very close. It is only three minutes from here. And, if you walk, then it is five minutes.” Wondering what kind of antics would be involved to reach the tree in three minutes, we opted for the walk. It took us exactly five minutes to get to the tree. Later, we spent hours puzzling on how to get to the holy tree in three minutes! We declared this situation as the first of the unsolved mysteries of India.

The Banyan tree is a very, very old tree. Other trees emerge from its roots. A cobweb of branches creates a sort of dome over the wrinkled trunk, and some branches fuse with neighbouring trees. There was the smell of burning incense. A small altar had been set up on a little plateau, where believers placed their offerings: coconuts, pineapples, various holy pictures and flowers.

A small community of hippies actually live there. A guy was playing the guitar and humming some strange song. A mother was playing with her blond three-year-old son, his hair in some kind of strange Mohican style. The strongest chap of the lot was collecting wood, presumably for the evening fire. A large transvestite dressed in a yellow sari sat close by, laughing out loud at his own jokes. There was a guy in some odd yoga position. Next to him, lying on a bamboo mat was a Rastafarian, visibly stoned, in an effort to reach Nirvana.

We gulped, took a mental note of the scene, and turned back. Humming songs from The Jungle Book, we made our way back to the guesthouse. That same day, we decided to go further north just to see what lies beyond Arambol. We found another endless beach, “Querim Beach”, which was still relatively untouched by tourism except for one restaurant.

I ordered a plate of king prawns. To be honest, they looked more like servant prawns, but they were delicious. I sipped the rest of my fresh watermelon juice and watched a school of dolphins play just a few metres off the shore. It is amazing how quickly your mind adjusts to this sort of scene! There I was, watching dolphins, as though it were the most normal thing. Back home, I’d have been looking at the monitor at this time of day. I shrugged the thought away, quickly.

Querim beach ends at the delta of the Telikor River. We had just missed the ferry to cross the river to a recently renovated Portuguese Fort, where we had intended to have tea. Instead we settled for fresh pineapple juice at the jetty. As a consolation prize, a kingfisher showed up and dived from a tree into the water to catch a fish. I had seen this kind of image before… probably on National Geographic. Then an enormous two-metre fish jumped right in front of us, performed two back flips, and splashed back down into the riverbed. By now my mind was packed solid with the images of the day… the Banyan Tree, the Hippies, the Dolphins, the Kingfisher, and now this! I had almost started to feel that I needed to download, to clean out my hard-drive. There I was again, thinking of work! Enough!

Greg shook me out of my thoughts asking me what kind of fish that two-metre monster might be. Salmon? Tuna? A kingfish? A small shark? We decided to ask the barman. With a tone of “let-me-teach-you-something-kids” he announced that it was a jellyfish. I could not hold back, and I laughed rather rudely in this poor fellow’s face. Indignant, in the way that an Indian can be, he insisted that it was indeed a jellyfish.

I leave it to your imagination to picture a two-metre fish made out of jelly swimming in the Arabian Sea and performing back flips! I myself could not figure it out, and declared this the second, unresolved mystery of India for the day.

Our next destination is inland to Hampi. A 10-hour bus drive to the east awaits us.

Take care,

Andrew