I woke up before anyone else in town, and caught a 5 am bus to Pondicherry in the dark. The sun rose to the east, along the Bay of Bengal coastline of Northern Tamil Nadu. The drive was only two hours long, and the view was a mix of low-lying rivers with fisherman punting small boats, rice paddies, and coconut tree forests. Interspersed were tiny villages, with grass and mud huts, oxcarts, and thorny fences. No signs of modernity were visible, and it looked the same, probably, as it has for hundreds of years. 70% of India lives like this, and or Gandhi said, “India lives in its villages”. And its places like these that make India a Third world country with a 25% illiteracy rate. I got to Pondicherry, which is a Union Territory of India, and beforehand used to be a French colony. When I got off the bus at the station, it immediately smelled of croissants; not joking. I took a rickshaw to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, famous in Pondicherry. The ashram is simply a really well-maintained building with an outside prayer and meditation garden, with some devotees. It has millions of pictures of the bearded Sri Aurobino and an old white lady, dubbed ‘The Mother’. I walked down the very clean wide, straight, empty streets in the old French Quarter, which had really nice buildings with French balconies, beautiful tropical trees reaching over the streets, and colorful facades. French flags, ‘Merry Christmas’ signs, and French streetnames all added to the flavor. Yet, it still had honking rickshaws, street dwellers, and cows. It reminded me of either French Polynesia or Haiti, minus the enormous Polynesians and military coups. The beachfront promenade was nil, and had same very patriotic French and Indian buildings. I stopped into a touristy garden patio French restaurant, and ordered a crepe and crème brulee because I thought it was appropriate. There was a Tamil movie being filmed; the stars were fat men with moustaches and skinny young girls, and they danced while the crowd watched and policemen in little red cylindrical hats controlled the spectators. A beggar who looked like Gandhi; loin cloth, stick, glasses, and all, came up and I gave him money to take pictures with him; see, at least his earning his panhandle. I ended up finishing the ‘Lonely Planet’ heritage walk within two hours, so I decided, in order to kill time, to take a city sightseeing tour, not surprisingly. The bus was brand new and played hilarious low-budget Tamil films. The guide was Chris Rock without curly hair or an extremely offensive but hilarious sense of humor. We took a tour of a paper-making factory, in which they took cotton from peoples’ household garbage, tuned it into pulp, put it in a press, hung it to dry, and ironed it down, to make beautiful handmade products like cards, albums, or anything else you would find at a store like ‘Fireworks’. Then we stopped at the sad city museum which had fossils sitting next to French antique clocks and china. We stopped for a second at a Sacred Heart of Jesus Church, which was a maroon-and-white version of Notre Dame. Then we stopped at the Botanical Gardens, which really made me feel a world away from dusty, dirty crowded India, No wonder rich Tamils and foreigners come here for vacations. We had lunch thalis before driving around to a fake Keralan backwaters place and then to an under-construction Hanuman temple. We exited Pondicherry proper and drove to Auroville, through some chicken farms and little towns where little children in blue and white uniforms were returning from school. Auroville is basically a project started by again, ‘The Mother’ and basically a place for people across the world to find spiritual enlightenment, who are fed up with the organized religions. Basically, it’s 2,500 square km, with 2,000 people from 40 different countries living in small little settlements, trying to find some deep meaning. It was really secluded, peaceful, and new, but it was damn weird. It’s basically a colony of Bohemian foreigners that make the dreadlock-wearing, Birkenstock-clad, Lonely-Planet-reading backpackers of India look like corporate CEOs, sorority girls, or President Bush. These people are pretty much crazy, and then pray to the Matrimandir, basically a huge golden globe that looks like a cross between Epcot Center, a suction-cup ball toy, or a golf ball. To go in, you have to basically listen to a short presentation about Auroville, much like a condominium pitch. After the tour, I was dropped at the hectic bus station, where I unfortunately had to wait in “line” and fill out a card to get a spot on the overcrowded sleeper buses. They charged one rupee for the application form that you fill out to give to them, which I thought was just them trying to rip me off, but apparently you have to pay for their archaic paperwork. They guy from behind the window started yelling and motioned like he wanted to punch me, and beckoned me inside the little booth. Obviously I didn’t go, and after getting a ticket, I ran away. Then sitting at the bus stand, I was accosted by probably seven beggars; “beggars” meaning ladies who are walking to catch their train, and see a foreigner, and suddenly get sad-looking and walk slowly, asking for money, from me and me only. Then, I wanted to get away from it. all, so I went to dinner on the way, I saw a rat run by, and then a decrepit old man laying on the street, with urine and vomit all over himself, and beggars without limbs pan-handing on the street. This war probably the worst bus station I have seen, and all this was all just minutes away from French Pondicherry, one of the most charming cities I have been to in India. Actually, the bus station is in the grimy ‘Tamil Quarter’ while the beach, gardens, parks, mansions, boutiques, and cafes are in the coastal ‘French Quarter’. Cross the tracks and it’s a whole other world. I’ve taken so many buses in India that I know everything there is to know about the system. Every hour of travel time is approximately 20 Rs. The number of kms is the number of minutes the trip will take. There is a break every four hours, and buses somehow always fill to capacity (and over). The bus seems ratty, but I find, it’s never late (compared to trains or planes), it’s dirt cheap, there are tons of them running all over the country all the time, and they’re the closest to the scenery around. I caught my 9:30 overnight train to Tirupathi, which was not comfortable and I felt like my ass had been amputated by the end.
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