Years ago I was introduced to the delightful world of Tamil pickles. Our weekend’s hotel added one to the tally: a sweet beetroot pickle. Other than this the food was well-made but unremarkable. The Family disagrees, but she has to agree when I say “my post, my choice”. In any case, late on the morning of Good Friday we drove down to the bakery in the village. As promised, we found “eatables and other bakery items”.
The bakery is outside the village temple, which was getting ready for a festival to Murugan. Temporary stalls, mostly selling toys, lined the road. Our guide, named after the day’s diety, promised that if we waited for a couple of hours the street would be packed with devotees. We made a quick escape, but caught the first of the revellers dancing at the next cross roads. This was so totally unlike any of my mental pictures of Tamil temple festivals that we stopped to take a few photos.
The group looked like a carnival held a month to late. Was it really Good Friday? We passed a church where a tuneless choir was singing. A little further along the road there was a procession carrying a cross. Relief! We were not taking a vacation on the wrong weekend.