Bird’s eye view
So excited were we at the prospect of a brand new road trip, that neither of us got a good night’s sleep, like a couple of kids anticipating the start of summer holidays. We were up and about at 5.30 am sharp.
Today’s drive of 250 km went well, taking around 6 hours with the brekker and coffee breaks. We had been warned about a lingering depression on the Orissa coast, but that didn’t dampen our spirits. Nor did we see any sign of it except for the occasional cloud wiping the sweat from the sun.
Roads were good, as expected, except for the last 15 kms to the beach, which rattled us a bit, suspensionwise (no suspense though).
Leaving Kolkata (6.40 am)
We had already loaded half our luggage the previous night, so our getaway was fast and furious. Normally we leave after 7.00 am, and that half an hour gain saved us from a good bit of traffic. Soon we had turned left on NH16, and were bouncing between lumbering trucks like a bagatelle on a board. We could feel that our Punch was happy to be off the leash and it purred happily along.
Breakfast at Uluberia (8.15 am)
We were soon rolling into our usual joint for fuelling both man and car on this route, the ubiquitous Azad Hind Dhaba. Incidentally, this place was just 28 kms from our home, but given the traffic, it usually takes 1.5 hours, placing us ideally at breakfast on the timeline. A dosa for me and a paratha for Panna did douse the flames and we sidled onto NH16 once again.
Roadside coffee at Danton (11.00 am)
It is a principle of driving that every two hours one should take a break, not only the driver but the passengers as well, in order to get circulation back into the legs. Moreover, what with the tossing and turning at night, I was feeling a bit sleepy. So I thought we will take a coffee break, without considering the challenges of finding a coffee provider among the mushrooming tea stalls, who were suitably bemused to learn that a passing Bengali wanted something other than tea. We ran the gauntlet, and finally found a seller who agreed to make black coffee, served in a kullar. It was as rigorous a process as Bond turning a Russian mole. The coffee was good, though.
Arrival at Dublagadi (12.45 pm)
NH16 threw us off somewhere along the Orissa border and we started on a state highway, which was also nothing to sneer at, 80 being the speed limit. We had told the resort that we would probably arrive around 2.00 pm, but somehow, without deliberate intent, we arrived an hour earlier. The last 15 kms were pretty rugged village roads, and we could suddenly get a whiff of the sea.
We had chosen Wow Eco Resort simply from a reasonable budget point of view, but it is a fact that some of the eco resorts are rustic by default and not by design. Five small huts and an eating shed comprised the property, though, to be fair, the cottages were clean, but basic.
We dropped our bags and learning that lunch will not be ready before 2.00 pm, took off for the beach.
The approach to Dublagadi beach (maybe 3-4 kms of a sandy stretch) is through a 200 metre walk through casuarina trees. We suddenly burst upon the flat beach. Looking left and right, we could see just one more person moodily kicking some sea shells around. The whole beach was practically ours! This being a couple of hours after high tide, the water was still reachable, and Panna dutifully wet her feet.
This being a small fishing village, I think Dublagadi is just creeping into the tourist map. It was a nice start to our journey.
We returned to the resort (I am being kind) to find four more cars parked, with the place teeming with people, all very well-dressed. There was music belting out, vaguely sentimental, the decibels decimating any hint of romance. This seemed to be a pre-shoot wedding party! So much for our quiet exclusivity.
We promptly put on our nose bags (the package was meal inclusive). Although Panna had defined “no chilly”, somehow it had been lost in translation. Or - and this is my theory - the cook was unsure and she added a dollop in every alternate dish, with the result that we could eat only half the dishes. The fish was nice, but the crab ordered by Panna seemed to have been massaged by a sous chef using a baste of chilly paste. Anyway, the party animals were going to partake of the same, and probably the spice meter had been calibrated in their favour.
Sunset at the beach (4.30 pm)
We hit the snooze button for an hour and a half, and hopped out of bed to target the beach for the sunset, although, being east facing, sunset would be over land. The premises were deserted, with the cars standing guard.
As we approached the beach through the casuarina, we could see glimpses of chairs, people, then a small yellow shamiana, and - dear me - a bride and a groom sitting, dressed in all finery. A beach wedding, no less, at godhuli lagna. How utterly romantic! We were carrying a couple of folding chairs, and we settled down to a grandstand seat a few metres away, dividing our attention between the setting sun and the wedding party dutifully gathered around. Although the beach was no longer ‘ours’, we did not mind sharing it for such an occasion.
The party, and we, wound up at 6.00pm, encouraged by battalions of mosquitos.
We walked back through the dark, the narrow path lit by my torch, the casuarina stems eerie and watchful, freezing in position when our light fell upon them.
By 7.00 pm, most of the party had left, leaving us to our own devices. We had opted for a simple dinner of roti, potato fries and boiled egg, not to challenge the sous chef further.
So I write this today while munching on some pakoras and sipping tea (which was salty for some reason; maybe made from casuarina).
Tomorrow we travel to Barkul beside Chilika lake, after catching a beach sunrise.
Photo credits: Panna Rashmi Ray
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