Puri, the seventy-eighth day

The village was actually a city. Walk to the temple, which make the fame of Puri was an ordeal, which I understand it, the majority is loath to do. That apart, I saw the real city, “the Indian side”; on that side, only Indians and thousands of pilgrims. The temple was of course “No Hindus not allowed”, and the library's terrace offering a panoramic view of the inside, closed! It remained the pleasure of seeing Indians on holiday, buying multiple necklaces made of shells, typical appliqués fabrics from the Orissa (the region of Puri) or buying small baskets of sweets as offerings to gods.

 
The beach is not very steep and the surf over more than ten meters. The sand then becomes like an oily area where sometimes the hemisphere of a wave bubble slips in the breeze as light color tones of the sunset. This particular light - because the mirror provided by the sand is much smoother than that the one of the sea, constantly in motion - would bring almost poetic vision of the natives defecating on each high tide along the fishing village.