Pondicherry...

Was not as French as we were picturing! The guidebooks describe it as being cut in half, with a French quarter (Ville Blanche) and a Tamil quarter (Ville Noire). The French quarter boarders the Bay of Bengal, with a boardwalk lined with old French-esque hotels and restaurants looking out onto the black rocky shoreline. The French sector was noticeably French: cobblestone residential streets lined with brilliantly colored flowering trees which seemed to inspire the pastel stucco of the airy archways. But the quarter was also undeniably Indian: peeling political posters and re-used shards of broken glass to line the rooftops and ward off the birds. The Tamil quarter was as expected: very rural with congested streets, unforgiving and dusty; old men hauling carts of coconuts with towels wrapped round their heads and bare feet, pant-less little boys playing in the dirt and their mothers fetching water from communal pumps in glistening silver pots balanced on their heads.

After a harrowing, over-night journey on the train to Chennai, where two of our members spent the night taking turns bent over the decrepit train toilet, a bumpy four hour ride on a local bus dropped us off square in the Tamil sector of Pondicherry (or Pondi, or Pondicherie, or Pudecherry—take your pick).

I learned a little something about booking hostels online in Pondi: the ones who actually allow online booking are usually the most expensive, and by no means the most accommodating. Our first night was clean and comfortable, but incredibly over-priced (by which I mean $14 a head for three enormous rooms with private showers) and kilometers away from the ocean. So we found a much more agreeable arrangement for the second and third nights—a 7-sleeper room for just under $3 a person per night. As long as you could wake up and shower before the resident hacker started his morning throat-clearing ritual, there were no complaints. Man was it stuffy and sweaty though.
The best part about the guesthouse, though, was that it sat right next to an historic French bakery that had us downright giddy upon discovery; it had croissants, baguettes, pastries, fresh loaves of brown bread to take to the beach, and best of all—real, strong, black coffee. We took most of our breakfasts and lunches there.

We did find a couple neat places to eat for dinners, though. The info center on the boardwalk had helpful guidebooks which led us to a French restaurant the first night and a seafood restaurant the second. I think the chili garlic calamari at the seafood restaurant wins the award for best fare in Pondi; although the fig and honey sundae I found in a seaside café one afternoon was a close second.

We picked the perfect weekend to spend in Pondi, as Monday was Memorial Day. We got to watch an offshore exhibition of the Indian Navy, complete with Rocket Propelled Grenades and re-enacted rescue missions. There were also fireworks and a massive artisan market, where I (and I’m quite proud of this one) successfully bargained for my leather sandals in French. You can’t stay in the tents for too long though—every single stall vendor calls to you over and over again, and if you pause for a second to look, he’s there with twenty samples, all “special deals”! It’s tiring!

Pondi is known for its ashrams (houses of meditation and worship), most famous of which is the Sri Aurobindo ashram in the center of town. There’s also a beautifully shaded park spotted with statues and fountains that was really useful for taking breaks from the hot sun. We also found an excellent second-hand book sale where I picked up a couple Indian novels and a copy of “Little Women” stamped by a library in Bangalore.

We spent out first full day on Auro beach and made lots of new friends, even if they were only interested in taking pictures of our pale skin or selling us necklaces made of sandalwood. As you can see from the photos, women have to swim draped in their saris, while the men don’t seem to be concerned what bits are left hanging out. So Andi, Michelle, Justina and I begrudgingly rolled up our pants to the knees and joined the guys in the reasonably clean Bay of Bengal (I say reasonably with respect to the rat sunbathing next to us all afternoon). The sands were beautiful and white, littered with shells, and a day lying around on the beach was exactly what we needed!

We found another beach the next night—this one wasn’t listed in any tourist guides but was recommended by another traveler. It was a good 15 km away from Pondi, on the other side of a little Tamil village (which Hakon claims sounded something like Shirivitiputnam), and we reached the edge of the palm trees just after sunset. So we felt our way along the backwaters (looking back—I’m glad it was dark) until we came to an enormous grove of palm trees in which we found an old fire pit. So we started gathering dead palm branches and the boys used their superior scouting skills to get a huge fire going. Note: palm branches burn really quickly! When the guys got tired of feeding the fire, we ventured past the edge of the trees and found a vast, white shore with its waves crashing and catching the moon. Absolutely incredible; being tossed by the waves in the Bay of Bengal, our skin matching the miles of white sand and the foaming surf glowing under the Indian moon—I think that’s what I’ll remember most fondly when I think of Pondi.