When we first went to Puri we went by train. We had a whole carriage for ourselves and Joe and Mary. There was no airconditioning in those early days so we slid the carriage doors open and with our legs dangling over the side of the train as we rolled through West Bengal, Bihar and finally Puri.
Joe was in charge of provisions for the trip and he had come prepared - with a chula! ( For those of you that don't know; a chula is an improvised barbecue and hot plate. It runs on wood and dried cow dung.) The carriage filled with acrid smoke very quickly but before we knew plates of curry, rice and parathas - and it was the food of the gods. Joe had worked his masmorojin and the smoke cleared eventually, although I do remember something about a hole in the middle of the floor!
Later trips were by car and always set off in the very early morning. They always started with violent rows between my mother and my father and then it was time to shoehorn ourselves into the cars. My parents deciding to travel separately - thank God!
In our car there George to drive, Abdul for a holiday and then me, Mum and Janie (unless her boyfriend came too in which case she would disown us and regally waved as they passed us by. The first pit stop was at a Sikh roadside restaurant where the made the best alloo parathas ever. By now West Bengal was behind us and we were about leave Bihar for Orrissa. Once into Orrissa the landscape began to change, the were forests of trees, still lagoons of water and once - on a special day twelve sadhus riding elephants on their way to a mela.
My parents had settles into an uneasy truce and kept sniping at one another every time we stopped - when we saw the elephants Mum wanted to stop and talk to the sadhus about where they going and why on elephants. Dad fumed silently and then got into his car and pushed off leaving us behind.
That last part of the journey was the hardest - we passed Bhubaneshwar, then Pipli and then only 30 miles left to Puri. The journey felt as if it would never end but it did and there was the sea and the sand and the promise of a holiday only India could provide.
To be continued....
Joe was in charge of provisions for the trip and he had come prepared - with a chula! ( For those of you that don't know; a chula is an improvised barbecue and hot plate. It runs on wood and dried cow dung.) The carriage filled with acrid smoke very quickly but before we knew plates of curry, rice and parathas - and it was the food of the gods. Joe had worked his masmorojin and the smoke cleared eventually, although I do remember something about a hole in the middle of the floor!
Later trips were by car and always set off in the very early morning. They always started with violent rows between my mother and my father and then it was time to shoehorn ourselves into the cars. My parents deciding to travel separately - thank God!
In our car there George to drive, Abdul for a holiday and then me, Mum and Janie (unless her boyfriend came too in which case she would disown us and regally waved as they passed us by. The first pit stop was at a Sikh roadside restaurant where the made the best alloo parathas ever. By now West Bengal was behind us and we were about leave Bihar for Orrissa. Once into Orrissa the landscape began to change, the were forests of trees, still lagoons of water and once - on a special day twelve sadhus riding elephants on their way to a mela.
My parents had settles into an uneasy truce and kept sniping at one another every time we stopped - when we saw the elephants Mum wanted to stop and talk to the sadhus about where they going and why on elephants. Dad fumed silently and then got into his car and pushed off leaving us behind.
That last part of the journey was the hardest - we passed Bhubaneshwar, then Pipli and then only 30 miles left to Puri. The journey felt as if it would never end but it did and there was the sea and the sand and the promise of a holiday only India could provide.
To be continued....
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