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We fled the Raj Res with little sentimentality, but a lot of relief and vowed to inspect all rooms from that day forward. On the heavily littered street we threw our packs into the deceptively spacious "Tardis" Auto-Rik-Shaw (ARS), and headed to the terminal. We scored a friendly driver, which is apparently very rare in Tamil Nadu who was in good spirits and heading home to his village mid-morning due to the Gandhi holiday. Finding the correct bus at the station was too easy and after grabbing some sweet potato and chilli baajis we climbed aboard the 1970's style vessel.
The 4 hour bus journey was absolutely brilliant, leg room and ventilation far out-doing Sardine Air. Once out of Chennai it followed the coastline on a main highway through the honking traffic, dodging the wandering cows through villages and farmland. Rice paddies lined the horizon on one side, lush and green, on the other; salt pits were used to retain water in low tide to be later shoveled out and dried for sale. The Romans many centuries ago used to sail to the Tamil Nadu shores primarily for this purpose. Solitary goat herders took shade under the sparse tree canopies or strolled behind moving stock. We watched with interest the design of the village homes weaved with dry palm leaves and cane, realising that some of the coastal areas along this stretch are still suffering the effects of the 2004 tsunami. Not a lot of the area had been damaged however as I was told that Ashram had a pact with Mother Nature and she was not to enter this province.
Lana's remarkable ability to fall asleep came into play once again. This was despite the constant aggrevating whirl of noise, hard braking (for cows and oncoming traffic) and at times putrid dusty air bellowing through the open windows resembling well established open sewers full of god knows what! A man in the seat behind however, won the "Best person sleeping on a bus in 2009" award with one-eye open, and a gaping mouth you could hide Ganesh in. 1 hour into the journey, Adam, who's bladder was about to burst, got into conversation with a couple of guys who were headed to Pondicherry, who's sole purpose was for a booze run due to the region's cheap, tax-free liquor. (1 Kingfisher 650ml = 35 INR/90c AUS). It was a welcome distraction, however now with this additional attention from other passengers, any potential opportunity to utilise the pee bottle bought for late night relief when Mountaineering in Nepal, was impeded considerably.
Pondicherry came into view, to Adam's relief and immediately made an impression on us both. Its French Colonial Architecture, blended subtly with common Indian features created a different vibe to the hustle of Chennai. For a brief moment, Pondicherry could have been in the Mediterranean but that idea was short lived as we were confronted with a painfully thin and stooped over elderly woman, no larger than a child begging for Rupees. The poverty of India and the abysmally shocking lifestyle forced upon far too many people is really heart breaking. It tugs at your senses, and imparts feelings of guilt on your own fortunate lot in life. Everything you have ever owned, taken for granted or thrown away and everything that belongs to you in that moment makes you terribly frustrated at the injustice but also highly aware of your own selfishness.
Bargaining with another stubborn Rik-Shaw driver, we settled on a fair price and headed to our guest lodge. Everywhere was busy and filling fast due to the holiday, but luckily we found a decent hotel in a perfect location on the sea front and edge of the French quarter. Dropping the bags once again we headed out to find some brunch. Walking through the comparatively quiet, paved side streets we encountered neat colonial style hotels, European restaurants and French government/embassy buildings interspersed with only marginally tattered residences and controlled piles of garbage and debris. This certainly was not what we were expecting and after admiring the history and architecture that this part of Pondi had to offer, we quickly crossed the canal that unconsciously divides the town and the stark contrast of the tourist-friendly Euro-India and the real India in all its shabby glory, decent prices and genuine cuisine.
We have thoroughly embraced the Indian dining culture, and have been getting stuck in without the aid of cutlery. Eating with your right hand is customary here and it's quite an art form, yet one you learn very quickly as small meals and lots of them throughout the day seem to be the way forward! Any urge to utilise your left hand to grab or tear food needs to be suppressed as your left is reserved for alternative purposes regarded as being unhygienic and thus highly offensive. No further explanation needed? Good.
We established quickly Pondicherry had a good vibe. It's a smallish town, easily managed if you like walking, but for the brave with sufficient reaction speed to avoid collisions, potholes and other road dwelling undesirables that spring up on you in an instant, you can hire a two-wheeler and get amongst it! We wandered through the nearby streets and then took a stroll down the beach to find all the action was a stones throw from us. Awesome! Along the beach front promenade we swatted off persistent hawkers trying to sell an armfuls of colourful beaded necklaces and drums, whilst sweating profusely in the mid afternoon heat. There were food stalls setting up along the seafront selling snacks and candy floss sellers pedaled slowly up and down the narrow makeshift beach. A small market with stands selling copied DVDs, kiddies toys and cheap ornaments and other knickknacks made of shells, was already buzzing opposite the 20ft tall Gandhi monument which was the centre of attention on this special day.
A white stone, red carpeted staircase on the beach was completely occupied and the queue to the attraction snaked for about 50m below. The landing at the top of the last step was level with Gandhi's head carved in deep black shiny marble, heavily adorned with scented garlands of flowers in vivid red, orange, pink and cream. They were all paying their respects, touching, plucking or adding flowers and sharing a prayer.The pagoda he was framed within was lit up during the evening as the sun was setting. The atmosphere was awesome!
There was an amazing sand sculpture under a big marquee just before the market area, of Gandhi's head and the three see, speak, hear no evil monkeys in front of a city scape with 'save the planet' messages along the base. The highlight of the day however was the feeling you got from the locals faces everywhere sporting massive white smiles. Indians from all over came to town as this was one event on the calendar not to be missed and Gandhi's birthday celebrations were well underway!
Sucked in to the continental side of Pondy, we found a cute little cafe called La Space run by a couple of sister's from New York. We sat and chilled out there over a coffee to kick start us into the day. Our first experience of a restaurant in the French quarter and the most authentic Indian one we could find was fronted by the overweight owner who appeared to be operating the restaurant as a cover for other business activities. As we'd just finished our biryani and omlette, a group of 5 men came in, hiding a bottle of whisky. Smartly dressed in long-sleeved shirts, pants and shoes with a serious Mafia air, the owner appeared nervous as Lana got up to pay. Adam sat at the table observing, ready to jab a metal fork into anyone's neck who wanted to start trouble!
Swiftly away from the tense environment of the restaurant, we hiked up the canal and took some fantastic photos through the poor residential areas at the south west end of town past the department of agriculture displaying an effort at growing turf alongside the boundary wall, to where the old lighthouse and leprosy rehabilitation centre are located. Goats, roosters and cows were roaming freely; people were going about their ordinary day around the cheerfully painted but dilapidated houses. Following the main street running around the outskirts of town we paused to check out the Sacred Heart church.Built by the French in the late 1700's, the European design, more akin to Italian design, is portrayed in the architecture of this semi-gothic attempt at this Catholic place of worship. Somehow surprising to us it was fairly busy and a group of school girls were seated in the wing for one of their lessons or a school outing. The decor inside was fairly traditional in terms of what you would expect to find in any church of the Western world but the hint of India was evident in the colouring of the painted sculptures. Continuing on to the botanical gardens we were relieved by the shade of the leafy canopy through the park. A 20 million year old fossilized tree truck was deserved of some attention, as was a poor barn owl, blinded by the daylight and already damaged, being preyed upon by a pack of vicious crows. We decided to not stay and watch the pending slaughter...and went for lunch instead at a strange 4th floor cocktail bar, decked out in 70's black and white retro, and enjoyed our first Kingfisher beer!
We undertook a self-guided temple tracking tour, which led us through a maze of interesting unnamed streets, which compounded further, our orientation of which direction we were headed in. At the first temple we came across we were kindly greeted by a holy man sporting a lungi and prominent face paint. Removing our shoes, we were ushered inside. With a small donation for the Ganesh image enshrined in front of us, we were both blessed and handed a pinch of fresh pink flowers and a little stapled paper package. With one complete circle of the shrine which occupied almost all of the space within the little temple area, past some giggling ladies, we emerged complete with our first forehead silver smudge, red dot combo.
The following day started in much the same fashion, with copious amounts of Space coffee, a read of the Hindu Times and a chat with a Senior Subject Matter Analyst visiting from Pune, near Deli. We regret not looking at his business card properly before we parted company so we could have asked exactly what an SMA entails...
A little 'over' the whole French scene, we headed directly across the canal. After some more intended temple trailing we stumbled into what appeared to be a Sunday Market through a section of the main shopping streets. Stalls were jammed together on both sides of the streets between shop doorways and the steady line of parked motorcycles. Some parts resembled a car boot sale or swap meet with goods laid out on blankets or sheets of tarp, but the stalls ranged from properly erected shacks with shade, to several piles of clothes spread across the seats of some absent shoppers' motorcycles. A bonus about walking through this market was that it was free of hawkers hassling us incessantly for being tourists. We then came across the official market, hidden in hot, stinking, covered alleyways masked within the block of two parallel shopping streets. Stalls here sold fruit and vegetables, in varying stages of freshness, rice, herbs and spices were displayed in pyramids on counters or in Hessian sacks. The section selling fresh flowers for tying together in arrangements for offerings at temples or to bring luck and protection was rammed, and the sweet smells an absolute contrast to what was about to follow...unable to escape the one-way system we couldn't avoid the fresh meat section. Chickens sold by the bunch, tied together by their legs, inverted and carted away. The stench of the tiny cages stacked to the sides would be enough to send any animals rights activist to war, but the scene which followed has stayed with us, and eliminated any desire to even try meat dishes whilst in India. A barely live white chicken lying contorted on some electronic scales, whilst the proprietor bartered with the prospective new owner.
If the poultry department wasn't bad enough, mind over matter prevailed as we consciously took control of our gag reflexes at the stench of the bloodied alleys, avoiding looking up as we passed the 'fresh' but absent of any refrigeration measures, meat section. Thinking we were safe, we turned a corner and scampered away, passed a couple of ladies begging, and were promptly confronted by the fish area. It was now getting too much to bear, and a beeline to the nearest exit was necessary.Back in the street, the now familiar faint smell of rotting garbage mixed with a hint of open, untreated sewer, was almost refreshing!
Unsure of our location after the market mayhem, we struck gold and stumbled up a dingy staircase into a backstreet bar. This was definitely a bloke's pub. The front room in which we went through to had 4 tables occupied. Open to our conspicuous demeanor, we took a table in the centre of the room and ordered some water, 7Up and a beer for Adam. This had to be the cheapest place in town for beer at Rs 49 ($1). Lana felt too self-conscious to drink alcohol as Indian ladies do not drink or go to bars, plus she is also trying to go tea-total :) The room was two tone deep green with seriously peeling paint, and had polystyrene ceiling tiles stained with dark, streaky brown goo from years of cigarette smoke. The overall appearance can only be described as having been trashed, some weeks previously. Rubbish was strewn in corners and under table on the worn-shiny concrete floor, empty beer and whisky bottles cluttered sticky table edges. A couple of thin young cats roamed the floor for food scraps or jumped tabletops to lick around finished dishes. Unperturbed however, we ordered some pakora paneer (spicy dry coated cauliflower) and chilli eggs to snack on.
After several beers we found ourselves discussing the recent tragedy of the Bangalore floods with 3 guys who had fled to Pondicherry to avoid the mayhem, and shortly following we shared some photos and moved back down to the street and embarked on the chaos once more. Avoiding the heat we decided to head back to the hotel to wash off the mornings grime, cool down and take a rest. Along the way back however we miraculously stumbled across an ancient temple that we were looking for the previous day, and to our delight there was an elephant giving out blessings for a rupee! To obtain the blessing firstly you had to work up the courage to get near it and then stand still in front, try not to gaze into its piercing eyes for too long, hold out your hand and drop the coin into its snout as it then curls and lifts its trunk and taps you ever so gently on the head. Great control for a big fella! These creatures are amazing and for a first encounter, this one is going to be hard to beat.
On an absolute buzz and slightly enlightened we were still feeling the pinch of the Indian sun and made a beeline for the Beachside lodgings. Passing through the side streets trying to find some shade and a shortcut we heard what appeared to be the rumbles of a brass band parade. Slightly further along we were confronted with a pretty somber mood and a group of people in the street seated in organised rows of chairs. We figured that seeing such order in the streets in India for the first time, it must have been a significant occasion. There were a group of men weaving huge cane pieces into what looked like was going to become a float for a parade. A 5 piece band was set up behind an empty cart, lined with palm leaves. The band pounded out traditional music, heavy beating drums fed the percussion, accompanied by crashing symbols, but topped by a trumpet overture, possibly the most powerful we've ever heard. It sounded amazing and we stopped to see what was happening, before realising the somber atmosphere in the crowd. We were about to break out into a little jig when it dawned on us that it must be preparation for a funeral procession. Our own mood changed by this, we paid our respects and quickly continued on trying not to make such a personal event into a tourist attraction.
That evening we kept pretty low key as the constant traveling since leaving Australia and unrelenting heat had finally caught up with us and we needed to sleep and recharge. Dinner was early along with bed as we had to get up quite early to catch the bus to the historic coastal temple town of Mamallapuram a couple of hours south of Chennai!
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