TRIBAL INDIA – ORISSA

A picture is worth a thousand words. It’s an old saying but nonetheless true – especially when it comes to choosing a travel destination. I learned years ago that the best way to get an accurate idea about a place that you might want to visit is to look at photos. I don’t remember where I first saw pictures of the Indian State of Orissa and its tribal people. I doubt that it was on the Internet, because I made my first trip to the area in 2000, a couple of years before the Internet really got going.

But, I must have been impressed because it wasn’t long before I was in touch with a travel agent in Delhi who set me up with a car and driver to visit the area. Incidentally, like so many places in India, Orissa has recently undergone a name change. The state is now known as Odisha. In this post, I will continue to use Orissa, because that’s the way I remember it.

We flew into Vishakhapatnam, a large, coastal city in Andhra Pradesh State, and were met at the airport by our driver/guide. He was an older man who would soon prove to be very knowledgeable about the area and its people. We drove north toward Orissa, initially traversing a section of Andhra Pradesh State. This three hour drive proved to be the biggest surprise of the whole trip. On our previous two trips to India, I had kept my eye open for rural vignettes – scenes of traditional everyday life in rural India – the type of scenes that probably hadn’t changed in centuries. Between the teeming urban centers and the various tourist sites, I really hadn’t seen a lot of traditional India up to this time.

That was all about to change as we left the city limits of Vishakhapatnam and drove into the countryside. Northern Andhra Pradesh appeared to be trapped in a time warp. People were carrying out their lives right at the side of the road – lives that hadn’t changed in centuries. Occasionally, my face would catch the eye of someone at the roadside. I really doubt that these people had seen many western faces. There was no fear or hostility involved – just a look of surprise – or perhaps something more akin to amazement. My face had never evoked a response such as this anywhere else in the world.

Goatherds passed by with their flocks – each one carrying a kid. There were no “pop-up” umbrellas here – the umbrellas were made of thatch. Herds of water buffalo sauntered down the road.

Oxcarts – with wooden wheels – outnumbered motor vehicles 10 to 1. These were scenes I will never forget – scenes that have passed into history decades ago in most of the world.

Late in the afternoon, we arrived in Rayagada and proceeded to check in to the Hotel Sai International. The Hotel Sai International was not exactly what we had in mind. I would have to say that it was about as basic as I am willing to go – although, under the circumstances, I’m not sure what that means since there was no other choice.

We didn’t really want to check out the sheets – afraid of what we might find. Fortunately, we had prepared for such an eventuality. My wife had constructed a couple of thin “sleeping bags” by sewing 2 sheets together. Since there was no air-conditioning, we simply laid on top of the bed inside our makeshift cocoons, taking care not to disturb the bedding underneath us. We certainly did not want to stir up anything that might be living in that area. A pair of small mosquito nets completed our attempt to isolate ourselves from the immediate surroundings, and we settled in for what would be a long, sweaty night. In the morning, we discovered that there wasn’t enough water pressure for us to take a shower. The hotel guys were nice enough to bring up buckets of hot water. You can’t blame these guys for working in a dump – this is India, after all.

The next day, we drove out of Rayagada to a village which was holding the weekly market of the Kutia Kondh. The Kutia Kondh are one of 56 unique tribal groups living in Orissa – the main reason we were taking this adventure. They are known for their intricate facial tattoos.

The next morning, we traveled to Bissamcuttack to visit the market of the Dongariya Kondh. It was important to arrive early to catch the people emerging from the foothills and traveling to the site of the market. The Dongariya women dress in white cotton togas and wear an interesting array of hairpins, ornaments, ear and nose rings and geometric tattoos.

It was about a 4 hour drive from Rayagada to Jeypore, a city we would use as a base to visit the Bonda Market the following morning. We made several stops at tribal villages along the way and didn’t arrive until the late afternoon. This was just as well as the Hotel Hello, our lodging in Jeypore, could only be described as suboptimal – in fact, to call it suboptimal is a vast exaggeration. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that you wouldn’t want to spend your wedding night at the Hotel Hello. The swarm of mosquitos that filled the room was an extra added attraction – fortunately, we were able to rig up our mosquito nets again and managed to get a few hours of sleep.

Jeypore, which is in the running for First Prize in the “Filthiest City in the World” contest, was a good place to leave. Fortunately, we left the city before dawn on our way to Onukudelli and the Bonda Market.

Our first encounter on the road was with the charcoal runners.

This is one of those stories about India that you couldn’t make up – stranger than fiction. These young men apparently leave the Jeypore early in the evening, and travel miles up into the hills on foot – reportedly running most of the way. They then collect charcoal which is sold by the hill people, load it into huge bags, and run all the way back to the city where they sell it for a few rupees to the local charcoal dealer – all in bare feet. It is important that they arrive back in Jeypore before dawn, as the practice is apparently illegal. It’s one of those heart-breaking scenarios that could only happen in India.

We were the first people to arrive at the Bonda Market and were able to see the Bonda women descending from the surrounding hills – a trip of about 15 miles. I was surprised to see that there were only a few other western travelers at the market – but let’s face it, this isn’t an easy place to get to.

Bonda women are naked from the waist up, covered only in beads. They wear a beaded cap on their shaved heads and a number of large, metal rings around their necks and present an altogether striking picture.

It was quite obvious to me that these people had experienced little contact with the outside world. They were every bit as primitive as the tribal people in Southern Ethiopia, but were friendly and had a kind of childlike innocence about them.

The market attracted a number of other tribal groups – Gadabas and Malis among them, and was the site of furious trading activity.

After the Bonda Market, we drove north through Orissa to Gopalpur-on-Sea. This is one of India’s oldest beach resorts where we finally found relief at a charming old colonial “turn-of-the-century” type hotel. From there we traveled north to Puri, home of the famous Jagannath Temple (the source of the word “Juggernaut”), and the site of the most decrepit beach I have ever had to walk on. I’ve never seen so much feces in one place – both human and otherwise.

We spent a night in Puri at a modern, upscale hotel where we were able to recharge our batteries for the long trip ahead. We drove to Bhubaneshwar, the capital city of Orissa State. After a quick look at the local temples, we boarded a train for the long haul across West Bengal and Bihar to the holy city of Varanasi.

I would rate the trip as difficult to very difficult. The hotels were marginal, the roads were deplorable, and the food was mainly vegetarian. But, we must have enjoyed it, because five years later we were back in the same area with a young man who claimed to be the only Muslim Tour Guide in the State of Orissa. I won’t be going back any time soon but I’m glad I went twice, and recommend it to any traveler in search of an interesting, if off-beat experience.