Puri

I have been here for three weeks now. Outside of work, my interactions with others have been limited to Skype calls home and nonsensical ramblings to the quick-footed geckos in my apartment. The geckos really aren’t such great company, so I figure it’s time to meet people and make some friends.


My lovely gecko friend

There are a large number of NGOs operating in Orissa, many of whom have either international staff or international volunteers. There is thus a wonderful little expat community here in Bhubaneswar, who were kind and generous enough to invite me to join them in the nearby beach town of Puri for a night of revelry. The occasion was the birthday celebration of a fellow Irish woman, Jane. It never ceases to amaze me how far one can travel on this earth and yet always be in the company of Irish people. We are a nation of breeders and we insinuate ourselves in every pocket of the globe. Sorry, globe.


The birthday girl

Puri is 60km from Bhubaneswar and easily accessible by bus. It was my first attempt at taking a bus here, though it was far easier than anticipated. My glaring white skin and shock of ginger hair ensure that everyone knows I am a foreigner and thus no clue of how things work. This meant I was only at the bus stop about 20 seconds before someone approached me and showed me on to a bus. My local pronunciation leaves an awful lot to be desired. You will think that a simple disyllabic word as ‘Puri’ would be easy to convey in the oral tradition. Goodness no. I managed to get it completely wrong. It’s not a laboured and lengthy “poor-ee”, but rather a staccato, breathless “poor-EE” spoken at top speed with a questioning inflection at the end. Lesson learned.

I reached Puri and was given a perfectly pleasant room in the Z Hotel for 250 rupees (about €3.85). I joined some expats on the veranda who had already arrived; another Irish woman (honestly, we are unbelievable) named Olive and a Chester chap called Richard. Both Olive and Richard are working with Gram Vikas, a few hours train ride south of Bhubaneswar. Later we were joined by another 20-odd friendly faces, all keen to trade stories and sip beer. I even got a few sympathetic laughs for some awful on-the-spot puns; I always appreciate being humoured.


Olive, with her beautiful skirt


Richard, delighted at the prospect of a 'gents to gents' massage

The evening was wonderful and hilarious and a real release. There was an incredible thunderstorm which ensured the electricity sputtered off and on all night. This created a magical atmosphere with flickering candlelight, dark spooky corners, and illuminating flashes of lightening. The downside was the ferocity of the local mosquitos. They saw me coming and invited all their friends to feast on my flesh. The Puri mozzies tore me to shreds all over. The results were pretty gruesome, as you can see.



The next day it was back on the bus to Bhubaneswar, slightly worse for wear. I hadn’t realised I was lonely until I had some company; turns out I was gasping for some banter.