From Mangalore to the coast....

          Arrived in Mangalore, or rather, survived the 12 hour 300 kms ride north from Kochi to Mangalore.

A lonely beach needing more than one tourist.....

Seems like it was 300kms and 300 stops—exaggerating of course. Should not grumble, just pity the crowd at the back, riding ‘cattle’ class, open windows and no A/c in the blazing heat.

            Mangalore does not really qualify to be included on the tourist list of ‘must visit’ Indian cities. Small by Indian standards with a population at 586,000, it is hilly and the nondescript roads twisty. Just the right size to go out walking and get lost and never be more than $1 rickshaw ride back to the hotel, mine being located just out side the railway station. That reminds me to record that when one asks the man on the street for directions to ‘the railway station’, one is met with blank stares and total bafflement. The louder I shout the greater the bafflement. At last, the proverbial penny has dropped—ask for ‘train station’---miraculously everyone knows the place—no problem, all smiles and sunshine. Just another of the little things that I should have known when I set out on this pan India trip, 2 ½ months ago.

Fellow passengers on bus #44B to Ullala.

                 With time to spare in Mangalore, not to be confused with Bangalore, aka Bengaloru, I decided this morning, to take bus 44B to Ullala, about 40 kms north of the city. Some hardy individuals that I have encountered, have done all their travel around India on local buses and their long distance (and more comfortable) cousins known as ‘Volvos’. Buses in India are kings of the road, with a breed of men known as pilots, at wheel—these men, who could be compared to matadors— seem they were born with out the ‘fear of death' gene. Left side, right side, any side, is my side of the road, is their mantra. Who, on a motor-cycle or on a farm cart, is going to pick a fight with a charging bus, no one except the pilot of another bus. First one to yield is  ‘chicken’!

               Anyway, the ride out to Ullala was completed without disaster and the beach there was as good as described in Lonely Planet. Absolutely deserted. Pounding surf coming in from the Arabian Sea. Hard to understand how in a country of 1 billion plus, that I was the only human to be on a couple of miles of golden

Preparing my coconut drink.....

sand, fringed with coconut palms. At the far end, just before a rocky out-crop, I took refuge from the blazing sun in the Summer Sands Beach Resort for my customary cold lime, (no ice) soda. As so often in India and at most of the hotels where I have stayed, it was totally devoid of tourists—so I enjoyed my cold drink in total privacy. Not a good sign, as the snow and cold takes over western countries, the tourists should be flocking in. Where are they?