day4

Day 4 : Bus ride to Pondicherry?

Five thirty in the morning soon comes around, I was feeling a little dazed, and my ears were buzzing with a strange sound, my eyes opened like a roller blind on recoil to be greeted by the sight of the helicopter still hovering overhead, only now it was sounding twice as loud.

Nick was already up and about, and was just putting the final touches to packing his rucksack in preparation for our bus ride to Pondicherry some 90 km south west from here. We sorted out four tee shirts that we would not be using again to give to the room boys.

Opening the door to our room we found that not only was hairy ears waiting for us all smiles and wide awake, but also his sidekick Hamboo, who we thought had a day off today?
He told us that a lot of Indian people had checked in last night, and as these people demand to be waited on hand and foot, the manager had insisted he stay on at work, so this was his reason for still being there? And as he was still there, could he get us anything? "Yes we'll have a nice pot of tea please, with an extra pot of boiling water also" We took our morning tea on the porch outside the room, watched intently all the time by the two room boys! who were sat on the floor just a few feet away.

After packing my rucksack and a shower I wandered over to the right hand side of the hotel to look out on the wasteland again. It was only just after six in the morning, but everyone was up and going about their daily routines. The children had again spotted me, and soon came running over looking for more pens and sweets.

I had my camera with me and took a few more shots, and much to my annoyance the aperture ring on the new lens which I had bought to replace the one I had smashed on the previous trip to India, had also now stopped working. And to make it even worse the bloody thing was a purely electronic lens, so I could not even switch to manual to set the aperture! This really pissed me off, but at least I'd had the sense to pack a spare just in case.

Meanwhile hairy ears had returned with two flowers that he had picked from the hotel garden, he gave one to each of us as a parting gift. I'm not used to receiving flowers from another man, or woman for that matter, but I appreciated the gesture and got the message.

We gave them their Baksheesh and the four tee shirts we had sorted out for them. While being grateful, they both still looked a little disappointed, so Nick asked if there was a problem? They had hoped there might be a shirt with a collar in it for them! Nick had a rummage through his rucksack and dug out two of his polo shirts to give them, smiles came across there faces then they were happy as sand boys, or should it be room boys? They now had six shirts between them, and we needed to buy some more, and a little sooner than expected in Nick's case.

We had to wake the man at reception who was laid out on a sofa with a blanket covering him, this obviously doubled as his bed at night. He seemed a little surprised that we were checking out so early in the morning, but understood when told we wanted to catch the early bus and avoid the rush.

There were quite a few people about as we walked up to the bus stand, and we were lucky enough to see some fresh Rangolis artwork on a few doorsteps. These are intricate patterns drawn out with coloured rice, or rice flower on special occasions by the women of the house, and as it was a holiday weekend a few women had gone to the bother.

It's a shame that the cows and pigs then come along and eat the Rangolis, as they look so attractive. But this is what is supposed to happen, as it is accepted that animals and insects will eat the rice powder, which is auspicious, and will bring good Karma for the home as they are giving food to the poor as such.
Although the drawing out of Rangolis are meant to indicate that the home is not adverse to giving food and help to those in need, such as Holy men. It is not really followed to this end; it is now done more out of tradition, and is not so widespread as it once was.

We were a little early for the seven a.m. bus, which had not arrived yet, and looking around we could see that there were not enough people to fill a bus, so were confident of securing ourselves a good seat.
The man at the ticket booth told us that we should pay our fare on the bus, and that it would be along shortly. So we sat trying to be inconspicuous, or at least as inconspicuous as two white men can in a town of purely dark skinned people without actually walking around with a banner over their heads, but were soon the targets for a couple of old beggars who obviously got up early just in case.

We gave them what change we had and off they went, only to return a few minutes later to tap us up again. Surely they had not forgotten that we had already given them something! It was not as though we were that forgettable, as we were probably the only two westerners in the whole town. This all seemed to amuse quite a few of our fellow passengers sitting around us.
The bus turned up soon after, and if you recall a little earlier I wrote that there was approx 14,000 people in Mamallapuram, well it seemed that nearly every one of them was already on the bus. I couldn't believe it, there was already people hanging onto the sides, but as yet no one on the roof, and we were not going to be the first, that's for sure! Where did these people get on? I thought the bus started from here!

The man from the ticket booth came rushing over to tell us this was our bus when he saw us make no move towards it. He seemed most put out, and could not understand our reluctance to get on, but I can tell you that even if there had been a couple of Japanese railwaymen there to push people on, we would never have got in.   As I said, there were already people hanging from the side, and he still expected us to get inside the bus, was he for real, or working on some kind of commission?
Unless there was to be a parting of the passengers similar to Moses and the Red Sea, there was just no way we were going to get on board with our rucksacks and day bags.

We said we would wait for the next one, but knew we wouldn't, as it was likely to be even more packed than this one. I don't mind roughing it on crowded buses, but had to agree with Nick when he suggested we get a taxi, as the loading on this bus was really just a little bit dangerous.
We thought that the taxi would cost around twenty times what the bus fare was, but we were not trying to save money at any cost, and to be honest we could easily afford to travel in the relative comfort of a taxi.

As it turned out the taxi driver who approached us seeing our reluctance to get on the bus was not too bad. He quoted some ridiculous fare to start with, but soon came down in price when we said that we would rather wait for the next bus.   We were working out what to pay for a taxi on the basis of around 6 rupees per kilometre, and as Pondicherry was roughly 90km along the coast, we reckoned that the final price of 700 rupees we haggled down to was not that bad, considering the driver would have to come back, making it a 180 km round trip for him.   We also made sure to tell the driver that this price was to include all toll fees, he did not seem too happy about that, but agreed none the less.

The drive down was going well, and with there not being too many other vehicles on the fairly good roads we were making good time, apart from the usual hold ups as we passed through some smaller towns where bullock carts were the main form of transportation.

Around 9 a.m. we were approaching the first toll road we had seen on the journey, but rather than go via this road the driver turned off the road and down an unmade road to the right. He stopped a little way down and spoke to a couple of men on the side of the road, a bit of head scratching followed, then roars of laughter with them pointing in several directions.

It was now obvious what was happening, the driver was detouring to avoid paying the 50-rupee toll fee. We drove around in circles for a few miles as the driver tried to find his way back to the main road. I was really glad that we had told him that we would not pay the toll fees, as we were now having a great time seeing the real villages and people who lived away from the main towns. It was really quite a revelation as these people were obviously very much tribal people, and were living in homes made from natural resources such as wicker and palm leaf covered roofs.

We passed by some Temples that looked fantastic, and had probably not been seen by any tourists ever. These were the kind of places I would have loved to explore, but as Nick said at the time, it would have felt like we were prying on these people, who all looked astounded seeing two strange looking men riding around their villages in a taxi. Little did they know we were not there out of choice?

The taxi driver was very pleased with himself after finding his way back to the main road after around a half an hour's detour. He turned to us looking for some kind of acknowledgement for his avoidance of toll fees. For us it had been a great experience, but I don't know what he gained in terms of the extra fuel and time it had cost him. Still he was happy, and we were even more pleased then him.

It was just after 10 a.m. when we arrived in Pondicherry, the driver asked us which hotel we wanted to go to, then in turn asked a local man on the street for directions.
The first hotel we had wanted to go to was hard to find, so rather than sit in the taxi all day we asked the driver to drop us off down by the seafront as we had another one in mind.

Pondicherry still has a very big French influence, being a former colony of France, they having pulled out some fifty years ago now. The street names are mostly still in French, and a good majority of the buildings, especially near the seafront were built in the French colonial style. The French tri-colour flag still flies proudly over what was once the town hall, now turned into a hotel. Even the local police wear the red French style Kepis (caps) and belts. The town itself is quite easy to navigate, being laid out on a grid plan, but finding people who know the hotels is a little harder! Having been dropped off in a side road by the beach we walked around looking for a hotel as recommended by the Lonely Planet, we found the road, but could not find the hotel! Even now in the area the local people were at a loss to help us.

We decided to take the services of a Cycle rickshaw so as to try and find the original hotel we had intended to use back in the main part of town. The boy said he knew where it was so we climbed on board and watched him sweat like a fountain as he pedalled like fury to take us back to where we had come from. It was now so hot I felt sorry for the lad; he rode around for what seemed like an age, offering to take us to this hotel, or that hotel, before finally admitting that he did not know where it was!
He came out with some story about misunderstanding us in the first instance, then insisted we pay him more for the extra work he had done! "Yeah nice one" we said and walked away giving him what we had agreed on in the first place.

I was feeling more than a little pissed off by now, Nick thought it was hilariously funny. We hailed another auto rickshaw and went to another hotel, and this time it was where it was supposed to be.

The Jayaram Hotel was very nice, and probably a little nicer than we were used to. The room was air conditioned, had softish beds, television, e.t.c and looked not too dissimilar to a good standard Travel-lodge.

The cost of a double room here was 700 rupees a night, surprisingly good value for what we got.
It made a change to get fluffy white, white towels, not grey well worn hard ones, and also to have a shower that actually did let out hot water from the hot tap, there was also toilet rolls, soaps, combs, television e.t.c.
Unfortunately it was going to waste on us as we are really more used to the slightly less salubrious hotel you find travellers use in India. Still what the heck, we were on holiday and could well afford it.

Pondicherry is another busy town with a large market area taking up all the available space for a couple of blocks. We walked through this extremely busy area on our way back to the front, where we found a nice looking restaurant in which to take some lunch, having already gone without breakfast we were by now feeling very hungry. As this was lunchtime the restaurant was only serving Thalis, which is a South Indian traditional dish served around this time of the day. The usual way for this meal is served is on a Banana leaf laid out in front of you. A bed of rice is then put on the leaf and you are brought no end of various vegetable sauces to mix into it, all of which is normally done with the bare hand.

It is also important to remember to use only the right hand for eating your food, as the left one is used for other things, namely replacing toilet paper.

I being naturally left-handed find it hard to use my right one for anything useful! We used the spoons that were placed in the serving bowls, rather than have the embarrassment of spreading the food across our faces like two year olds sat in a high chair.
Both Nick and I had been looking forward to our first Thali, especially after reading so much about them. We were to be disappointed as they were really not that good, and thought that maybe we had a bad one, and hopefully they were not all like that.

We ate as much as we could stomach before heading back once again out onto the seafront to explore a little further. The buildings in this area were very pleasing to the eye, with their muted pastel colours that were standing out in the afternoon sunshine. All of the streets around the seafront area were surprisingly neat and tidy, and kept surprisingly very clean by Indian standards. This was the area, according to the guidebook where the better class of hotels and restaurants were located, now if only we could find someone who actually knew where they were, we would be laughing.

Along the seafront the main attraction was the large lighthouse situated a good way back, and the statues of both Ghandi and Nehru, apart from that there was not really to much else to catch the eye. Everybody in the world knows who Ghandi was, but just in case you don't know, Nehru was the Indian leader many years ago, who also did great thing for this country, or so history tells us.
A quick tour of the town took us to the few large catholic churches in the area, and then onto the local Botanical Park, which I thought was really run down and in need of quite some work. Of course Nick took a different point of view and disagreed with me, he preferred to think of it as looking natural� Natural my arse, I think it looked a mess and Nick was losing his marbles.

After the park we walked up to the local train station to find out schedules for our next stop Madurai. The first thing we saw as we approached the station was a little signal box with its door wide open, and the signalman fast asleep on the floor. Still I don't think he was tired from the strain of having to operate the levers, there are only a few trains that run through here each day.

There was only a handful of people in the booking hall, all of them queuing at the one open window. The other window had sign saying "Closed for Tiffin"; the open window closed shortly after and displayed the same sign. Thoughts of Sid James and Hatti Jacques in the carry on film "Carry on up the Khyber" came into my mind for some reason when I saw these signs.

It turned out that there are only four trains a day from the station, (no wonder the signalman was tired) and to get to Madurai where we plan to go next, would mean having to go to Villupuram which was 40 km away, then change trains with a wait of several hours.
We decided that we would find out the price of a taxi direct, we just did not care to be hanging about railway stations for hours on end, when we could travel direct at not to great an extra cost. And at least with a taxi you can always stop wherever you like, and whenever you like if something takes your fancy.


We walked around the town in the afternoon taking in as much as we could, having decided that we would not hang around for to long as there really was not that much here for us to see.

A little tired from walking we sat on a white bench in government park having a smoke (I've started again!) and just watching the world go by. The park had a white picket fence in need of a repaint, I mentioned this to Nick and instantly wished I hadn't. He thought it looked all right, like he would! What an argumentative fuc*k he was today. I think he's got a bit of sunstroke as he only answers yes or no, or disagrees with me on purpose.
Really though, I think he is just trying to wind me up after earlier saying I was an argumentative person, and of course I denied this, to which he said that I was even arguing this point. Yeah-good wind up mate!

As we sat there various people passing by stopped to talk to us as usual, and one man in particular was quite interesting, for a short while at least. He was telling us that he was in Pondicherry working for a friend doing some translation work. Then he went on to tell us that he was in fact a sailor who had been all around the world, but now he had fallen on hard times having lost his passport, and was stuck in Pondicherry unable to get back to his home town in Kerala? He was also penniless and starving! I admit he was on the thin side, but looked fairly well dressed.

I thought he had just told us he was working as a French translator, and then two minutes later he's a shipwrecked sailor without a bean? I think he was probably getting his tourist stories a little confused and had forgotten which one he'd started with. We wished him well in his search for his passport, and his journey back to Kerala. I felt a little guilty as I walked away, feeling that he might not have been making this story up. I felt that I should have tried to help with some money, I turned around to look back at him but he was gone, blending back into the crowded park with the paint peeling from it's grey picket fence.


When we got back to the hotel we went to the reception and enquired about a taxi for the morning to take us on to Madurai. The young man behind the reception was very helpful and said he could arrange this for us, it would cost 2250 rupees. That was ok by us, as it seemed reasonable enough for a journey of around 300 kilometres.
It was now just after five, Nick went and had a shower, and I fell asleep after switching on the T.V.
I could have been in Spain the amount of siestas I was having, but none the less, I felt a hell of a lot better for it around seven when I woke. We caught a rickshaw outside the hotel and asked the driver to take us to the Rendezvous restaurant, "Ok" said the driver, even though he did not have a clue where it was!
We virtually had to direct him from the small map in the Lonely Planet. It's all right having all these fancy French names for streets and places, but this can be a bit of a bummer when the taxi driver can't even read his own language, never mind another one. Of course when we got to the restaurant the driver claimed to have known where it was all the time, and to be honest he should have done, as it was quite a swanky place.

The guard standing to attention on the door really looked the part, with his military style uniform and handle bar moustache. He directed us to the rooftop Restaurant which was very nicely decorated with it's gingham table cloths, wicker chairs, overhead fans, nice cutlery and it even had a palm leaf covering for a roof.

The menu was A La Carte, with prices to match, but not so expensive that it would be restrictive to our pockets, it just seemed expensive for India, and especially from the places we were used to.
A few tables were occupied, mostly the people were French speaking tourists, there were no Indian people eating here at all which I did not find the least bit strange as it did not feel as if we were in India. Had it not been for the waiters you could have been in France.

The meal had been good, so we had nothing to complain about as we walked back to our hotel. The market area was still very busy, so we had a quick look around, but it was all food stalls, cheap cottons and tacky plastics. Pondicherry is a fairly large town with around 800,000 people who all had to be fed and clothed, so I guess this market served its purpose adequately.

There were a lot of people sleeping rough on the streets, and one couple in particular made me smile. It was a really touching scene with the old man asleep with his arm around the old lady, just as though they might have been had they been in a bed. It would have made a great picture, but it was dark, and it would not have been right to take a picture, but worst of all, I did not have my bloody camera with me at the time.