Coastal Flavour

As the behemoth shudders, the pungent coastal flavour wraps itself around you almost unnoticed. It8217;s in the chatter of the villagers returning home after a long weekend, the banter floating across green Rexine seats, toddlers being tucked in for the night by doting grandmothers, and, most of all, summed up by a middle-aged gent who announces as the bus approaches Dapoli: 8216;8216;Konkancha suvas havet bharun rahila ahe You can smell the fragrance of the Konkan.8217;8217;

Snaking in and out of deserted bus depots in inky blackness, burning your lips on cutting chai in their dim canteens, squinting at neon markers along the wayside and wondering whether your rumbler will take a tumble off the next ghat, you pull into Dapoli at 6 am.

Greeting the drowsy visitor, a red dawn breaks. 8216;Red8217; is a permanent dye in which Ratnagiri8217;s vast canvas is uniformly soaked. Constantly shedding, the mountains of the Konkan stain everything in a rusty hue.

The trek to Boudhwadi, where you set up base atop one of the many terraced hills embracing the town, is another trembling 20 minutes in an autorickshaw. The macadam ends halfway up, and from then on, the vehicle defies gravity with sheer will-power. The Konkan, it seems, likes you both shaken and stirred.

As morning8217;s yellow disc scales the hilltops, the birds strike up an orchestra on cue. Twittering, chirping, chirruping and hooting all at once, their 7 o8217;clock symphony fills the thickly wooded orchards that crown the undulating terrain.

Dapoli town itself is bite-size and adventure beckons on its fringe. Stand at the traffic circle 1 km west of the bus depot and three roads reach out like fingers to the waterfront.

The options confuse as they beckon all at once. So, flip a coin and it8217;s northward-ho! Flailing arms will flag down an ST bus or share-a-jeep, and you8217;re on your way. A few kilometres on, while your feet compete for space with baskets of surmai and the inevitable theli, you veer towards the Arabian Sea. It hits you without warning and, all of a sudden, you8217;re flirting with white sand beaches and an azure canopy.

First up is Murud beach. Clear blue skies, sky blue water, baby waves laced with surf and fishing craft taking a breather on the shore 8230; Under the balmy sun, take a salubrious dip in the warm water, and you couldn8217;t ask

for more.

Four kilometres up ahead is the port of Harne, whose big draw is the fish auction on the beachfront. Only, this daily ritual unfolds in the evening, so your next stop is Anjarle village, 5 km north of Harne, before you return for the heady spectacle.

Divorced from Harne by the Jog river, Anjarle can be reached by boats that allow only leg-room for each occupant. No seats here. Across the river, palm fronds wave an invitation and it doesn8217;t take long to respond.

Dazzled by the sunlight reflecting off a carpet of shells, pebbles and fine white sand, you head for a rupture in the treeline. It8217;s the doorway to Anjarle. Then, under the stern gaze of a vulture preening its feathers on a coconut palm, you step through the Looking Glass.

Cloaked in silence and coated in red earth, Anjarle enchants. There8217;s a stillness in the air broken only by the swoosh of palm fronds and the quaint, old houses with sloping tiled roofs are an artist8217;s muse.

Back at Harne, the auction has commenced. The larger boats, which haul in the day8217;s catch, are clustered a short distance from the shore, waiting for the smaller boats to come and fetch. The latter, in turn, transfer the fish to bullock carts which wade waist-deep into the sea to reel in the silver bounty.

Once the fruits of a day8217;s hard labour are arrayed on the beach, the Koli women seize the gavel. And, goaded by the rhythmic 8216;8216;Donshe pandhra, donshe saat Two hundred and fifteen, two hundred and sixty8217;8217;, buyers swallow the catch in a couple of hours.

Radiating south-west from the traffic circle at Dapoli is the road to Ladghar and then to Burondi. Yes, it8217;s definitely Ladgar you want. There8217;s an abandoned machaan or thatched shelter on the beachfront, where you can rest those aching feet and slide into first gear.

Treading on fine red pebbles, which offer the illusion of red sand, you are in perfect communion with the sea. Toast under the noonday sun, and if you hanker after solitude, rest assured. Seabirds lunching on the water8217;s edge and the occasional local strolling between villages hugging the shore are the only creatures who share your lazy canvas.

For the adventurist with a bad case of wanderlust, match pace against languor and hop-scotch back up the coast.

It8217;s Destination Bankot, a good 56 km from Dapoli. Change three types of vehicles and fly past four towns before you hit the northernmost tip of Ratnagiri district. Here, there8217;s a double-jackpot in store. The hilltop is graced with a tiny fort8212;Himmatgad to the Marathas and later Fort Victoria to the British. Though access to the fort is near-impossible, you8217;re at a vantage point that offers a spectacular view of the Arabian Sea.

At the base of Bankot village is the southern bank of the Savitri river. Gaze across the water and presto! It8217;s the picturesque town of Harihareshwar, at the southernmost tip of the Raigad coast. The boat ride across the river takes just 10 minutes. But that8217;s another adventure altogether!