Around the parking lot in Aryaman beach are food stalls. I strolled around the perimeter looking at the choices available. We’d planned on eating at the beach, after the previous day’s spectacular lunch prepared by fishermen in Dhanushkodi. There were the obligatory few ice cream vendors. As you can see in the photo below, they weren’t doing much business. Elsewhere people were just setting up their make-shift stalls and cleaning out pots and pans. It looked like it was too early in the day for customers to turn up.
On one edge of the parking lot someone had already started frying fish. I liked the roof: a canvas hoarding for a movie would lead a zombie life here providing shade (photo below). No coal fire in this stall; the cook was using wood. He’d probably just collected it from the area around him, because the wood was not completely dry. The fire sputtered a little, and produced quite a bit of smoke. The fish sizzled in hot oil. Any time is fried fish time I suppose, but maybe not just before you get into the water. There didn’t seem to be a cooler full of fish with these guys, so either they just shut down their shop when the fish on display was sold, or they got fresh supplies from local fishermen.
Fishing boats were drawn up on the beach. Fishing nets had dried and were bundled up next to the boats. Maybe they fish at night here, like the fisherfolk in Mumbai. We walked along the beach and came across two men washing cleaned fish in the waters of the Palk straits. Sathiamoorthy had many questions for them while I took photos. In the featured photo you can see how gentle the slope of the beach is. Sathiamoorthy summarized the long conversation for us. These were not fishermen, but they’d bought the pan full of fish from the morning’s landing. They are preparing for people who’ll appear for lunch. There wasn’t much choice of catch here, so we decided to drive on.
When I was looking for a hotel in Pamban island, one suggestion thrown up by a search was on Aryaman beach. I searched for this beach and found it described in superlatives: silky sand, long beach, beautiful, uncrowded. But it was ten kilometers away from Pamban, on the mainland, so we decided not to stay here. But it sounded like the perfect place to stop after an early check out when we left Rameswaram. Our plan to spend the morning here, eat something on the beach if possible, and then to go on to Madurai.
Sathiamoorthy was excited about it. While driving he told us that it became famous after it was used as a location for a blockbuster Tamil movie. I filed the information away to check on later. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to search out this movie (if you have a clue, please leave a comment). As he parked he said that something should be done to improve the beach. Why, was it dirty? No, there was just no place to eat here.
It is a lovely beach. The sand is indeed silky smooth. The beach slopes very gently into the calm waters of the Palk Strait. It was a hot day; we saw a few families with children taking dips in the sea. Little fish swam in the shallow wate. We spotted a turtle swim away into the sea. But for our tastes the sea was too calm, almost a swimming pool. The lack of waves also meant that there was no breeze. If we’d been here really early, we might have enjoyed a long walk along the beach. You can see in the featured photo how long it is. But it was getting too hot for comfort, and we called an end to our morning. We had miles to go before lunch.
The high and low tides were at convenient times when we were at Dhanushkodi. The morning’s low tide was at 10:30. This would give us two to three hours at the beach before lunch. We could have a short break after that, before going down to the sea side again for the incoming tide. Sunset was about an hour after high tide. The sun, the moon, and the earth were cooperating with us for a wonderful holiday as we drove down a long narrow spit of land which pointed at the only land border between India and Sri Lanka. That border is a great story, whose beginnings we would see during the day.
Driving to Dhanushkodi at low tide, we saw breakers on the sea to our right. We parked and walked to the beach past a signboard warning us not to go into the sea. I love to tread a path at the very edge of the surf before getting my feet wet; the popping of the millions of tiny bubbles sprays your feet with cool water. This side of Dhanushkodi faces the Gulf of Mannar. The hard packed sand sloped into the waves. The sky was a little overcast, but the contrast of the warmth in the air and the cool water was wonderful. We obeyed the signboards and stayed out of the sea; standing on the beach for breakers to land on our legs.
When we got back in the car, Sathiamoorthy had decided to protect it by laying newspapers on the floor. On the left the level sands stretched far away to the horizon. The waters of the Palk strait was a faint blue line very far away. Clearly this side sloped very little. Sathiamoorthy said something about “soft sand”. Later I realized that this meant quicksand. I would have a much closer look at quicksand later. All I could see from the car was that some parts of the sand looked much more wet than others. I loved the look of the boats beached so far from the sea.
The road now ends at Arichamunai, the very tip of this spit. We walked down to the beach. Along the way we had stopped at empty beaches, but this part was full of people. We walked along the edge of the water, noting the stillness of the water in the Palk strait and the strong contrast with the breakers on the Gulf of Mannar. As we walked, we noticed how the waters are eroding the beach on one side and depositing sand on the other. This turns out to have been studied extensively. The tip of Arichamunai is not a fixed point on the map. It waves back and forth by more than a kilometer when observed for a decade. Sandbars detach themselves, and join the land somewhere else. This is land as fluid as the sea.
When we stepped on to a very wet patch of sand, people around us shouted for us to get back. That’s when I realized that this “soft sand” is quicksand. A policeman had begun to shoo tourists away from this area. It was time for lunch, in any case. We climbed up to the traffic circle. Beyond this beach the extended pattern reefs called Adam’s Bridge or Ramarpalam form a link between India and Sri Lanka. Sandbars accrete around them, some more stable than others. One of the longer lived sandbars, about 15 Kilometers from here nowadays contains the only land border between India and Sri Lanka. If you walked across Ramarpalam from the east, then Arichamunai is where you first know you are in India, from the low-cost version of Ashoka’s pillar planted right at the center of the circle. Some help in recognizing the country is also provided by the rickshaws lined up to take you to Rameswaram, or the many people selling freshly sliced watermelon and pineapple around the circle.
When we came back at high tide the wind had picked up. At Arichamunai the wind was driving the sand very hard. On my legs below my knees I could feel the constant prickling of blown sand. What little I remembered of Bagnold’s classic book verified the evidence of my eyes: the sand grains here are big. The beach is not old enough to have created dust. My slices of pineapple spiced with red chili powder were safe from dust and sand. The sea had come in very close on the Palk strait side. If it hadn’t been for a causeway the Kothandaramar temple (photo above) would have been cut off from Dhanushkodi. I took this photo just before high tide. Right at the horizon you can see a white salt-encrusted sand bar. The day’s tide was too low to drown it.