What a time in Pondicherry. After our delicious breakfast on Saturday we strolled through the French quarter to get our first glimpse of the Bay of Bengal. We three gals had naively put on our swimsuits under our kertas in the hopes we might lay out in the sun. After arriving at the beach and watching women clad in full saris wading in the water, we realized three American women in bikinis would cause something equivalent to a riot with all the stares we were already getting from the young Indian men prowling the beach for glimpses of skin. Instead we walked along the rocky beach, watching groups of schoolgirls spalshing in the waves, their hair in braided pigtails wearing soaking wet saris and baseball caps.
We then set out to find the shopping area for gifts for friends and family back home, but soon got overwhelmed by the crush of people and heat. Like an oasis, I spotted a sign that said "A/C. Cold beer. Snacks.", and the group was immeadiately sold. Not only did they have those treasured conveniences, but delightful 80's music and a clean bathroom to boot! We sat and had two rounds of icy cold Foster's and some tapas while discussing our first week in India, people back home and our plans for continued travel in India. We finished our afternoon with some purchases made at the open air market, then stopped for pre-dinner fortification at the finest of Indian dining establishments...Pizza Hut. In our defense, both Roshan and Krishna had told us back in OKC that we must try the Chicken Tikka Masala pizza from Pizza Hut while we were in India as it was superb. We were quite pleased with the flavor and it was the perfect blend of the comfort of home and the delicious spices of India.
We took some much-needed showers at Les Hisbiscus, followed by a late-afternoon nap. I was awakened by loud music and chanting from the street below, and opened the wooden shutters to catch sight of a large funeral procession below. An elderly woman chanted as a flower-adorned altar with pictures of the deceased was bourne aloft by several men. We dined in a palm-frond covered hut at the Bamboo Garden that night, and fell asleep to the quiet sounds of a night in the French quarter.
Sunday brought another beautiful day, and we enjoyed our fresh watermelon, papaya, pineapple and black coffee (yes!!!) in the breakfast room, filled with scent of incense and sunshine filtering onto the red tiled floor. We bid farewell to Bascarane and went for another walking tour of Pondicherry. I was approached by a young girl who introduced herself as Lakshmi, and asked to take a photo. She thanked us after we arranged ourselves for her photo, then shyly asked me,
"Now just one of you Madame, please?"
I couldn't help but giggle a 'sure' as I smiled for her camera, but she still wasn't satisfied with the arrangement.
"Madame, can you please make a stylish pose?"
This brought a fit of laughter from Mike, Cristine and Jules as I placed one hand on my hip and jauntily leaned on a nearby pole with my ankles crossed.
"Thank you Madame, you're so cute." Lakshmi beamed as she head bobbled.
I did my own little head bobble, told her she was cute as well, and we continued on away from my litle papparazzi friend.
We searched for the ashram and found the area where it was located near the ocean. An old man was seated on the curb outside, and I greeted him with a "hello" and a smile, and asked him if we were indeed at the right place. With hands pressed together in the Indian greeting of gratitude, he said,
"Yes Madame, namaste. I know that you have much compassion. Namaste."
I repeated his gesture and namaste, and felt grateful for his blessing and kind words, hopeful that what he saw in me is how I truly am. The ashram was so serene and peaceful, seemingly miles away from the screech of horns and din of daily life outside it's white-washed walls. We were asked to leave our shoes outside and were then permitted entrance to the peaceful realm. We walked along the path lined with some of the most enormous and vibrant flowers I've ever seen. The closest flower I can relate them to are zinnias, but these were of brilliant fuschias and oranges, and the size of dinner plates. We paused in the area of the alter, a white marble rectangular structure on the ground. The top of it was completely covered in religious mosaics made entirely of different flowers. I tried to be as silent and unseen as possible, because there were people all around the alter praying.
Thankfully we found the correct bus to Vellore at the bus station, no easy feat considering the amount of buses with no identifying destination on the front and nobody seems to be able to direct you where to go when you ask. Again it was full beyond capacity with people standing in the aisles for the several hour trip home. I was thankful for the woman in the brilliant blue, gold and red sari standing beside me, because the scent of fresh flowers in her hair masked some of the pungent scents of India that tend to be almost everywhere in the cities. Taking public transportation in India is always an adventure, and this time was no exception. Julie, Cristine and I exchanged several wide-eyed terror-stricken glances as the bus leaned precariously as we bumped down dusty dirt roads, and at one point we were at a standsill in traffic for one hour. Many of the people got off the bus at this point to relieve themselves (directly in the line of sight of the bus, I might add), and I asked a man standing beside my window what was going on. In broken English he explained that the Indian home minister was being inaugerated in Chennai, and that was the reason for the traffic where we were. Though I couldn't see how this was completely plausible since we were still many miles from Chennai, I just smiled and thanked him for the explanation. The traffic jam caused us to take some 'back routes' which were in even more dire shape than the ones before, but the bus driver didn't seem to slow his break-neck spped one bit. Although we could have hired a car and driver roundtrip for 5,500 rupees for the weekend as many international students do, we wanted to travel like locals because it's one way to experience a part of real India. Round trip bus fare to Pondicherry: 96 rupees. The experience of sitting on a grimy bus with adorable Indian children crawling in your lap, people vomiting on your shoes (poor Michael), horns blaring, people hanging off the sides of the bus and feeling the bus sway as if it will tip any second: Priceless.
Other than the bus ride being completely chaotic, the journey was scenically beautiful, and from my window seat I enjoyed the firey blaze the sun painted across the sky as it passed lower and lower and finally disappeared into the dusk. It left behind soft streaks of pink, orange and sienna that wove together to make an endless tapestry more beautiful than any of the incredible colors I've admired here in womens saris. I was fascinated by the numerous small temples and altars I saw in the rural areas, sometimes even in the middle of the field. Ganesh in all his many-armed glory seemed more appropriate next to the beautiful countryside than in some of the extravagent temples where I had also seen him in the cities. I feel closest to God in nature, and maybe the people here have similar feelings with their gods as they worship.
Tomorrow I start my second week at CMC on the internal medicine wards and I am so excited. On Wednesday Mike, Cristine, Julie and I will visit the leprosy hospital outside of Vellore. It's sure to be another week of new experiences and lots of fun. Just hope I don't have to take another bus any time soon....:)
We then set out to find the shopping area for gifts for friends and family back home, but soon got overwhelmed by the crush of people and heat. Like an oasis, I spotted a sign that said "A/C. Cold beer. Snacks.", and the group was immeadiately sold. Not only did they have those treasured conveniences, but delightful 80's music and a clean bathroom to boot! We sat and had two rounds of icy cold Foster's and some tapas while discussing our first week in India, people back home and our plans for continued travel in India. We finished our afternoon with some purchases made at the open air market, then stopped for pre-dinner fortification at the finest of Indian dining establishments...Pizza Hut. In our defense, both Roshan and Krishna had told us back in OKC that we must try the Chicken Tikka Masala pizza from Pizza Hut while we were in India as it was superb. We were quite pleased with the flavor and it was the perfect blend of the comfort of home and the delicious spices of India.
We took some much-needed showers at Les Hisbiscus, followed by a late-afternoon nap. I was awakened by loud music and chanting from the street below, and opened the wooden shutters to catch sight of a large funeral procession below. An elderly woman chanted as a flower-adorned altar with pictures of the deceased was bourne aloft by several men. We dined in a palm-frond covered hut at the Bamboo Garden that night, and fell asleep to the quiet sounds of a night in the French quarter.
Sunday brought another beautiful day, and we enjoyed our fresh watermelon, papaya, pineapple and black coffee (yes!!!) in the breakfast room, filled with scent of incense and sunshine filtering onto the red tiled floor. We bid farewell to Bascarane and went for another walking tour of Pondicherry. I was approached by a young girl who introduced herself as Lakshmi, and asked to take a photo. She thanked us after we arranged ourselves for her photo, then shyly asked me,
"Now just one of you Madame, please?"
I couldn't help but giggle a 'sure' as I smiled for her camera, but she still wasn't satisfied with the arrangement.
"Madame, can you please make a stylish pose?"
This brought a fit of laughter from Mike, Cristine and Jules as I placed one hand on my hip and jauntily leaned on a nearby pole with my ankles crossed.
"Thank you Madame, you're so cute." Lakshmi beamed as she head bobbled.
I did my own little head bobble, told her she was cute as well, and we continued on away from my litle papparazzi friend.
We searched for the ashram and found the area where it was located near the ocean. An old man was seated on the curb outside, and I greeted him with a "hello" and a smile, and asked him if we were indeed at the right place. With hands pressed together in the Indian greeting of gratitude, he said,
"Yes Madame, namaste. I know that you have much compassion. Namaste."
I repeated his gesture and namaste, and felt grateful for his blessing and kind words, hopeful that what he saw in me is how I truly am. The ashram was so serene and peaceful, seemingly miles away from the screech of horns and din of daily life outside it's white-washed walls. We were asked to leave our shoes outside and were then permitted entrance to the peaceful realm. We walked along the path lined with some of the most enormous and vibrant flowers I've ever seen. The closest flower I can relate them to are zinnias, but these were of brilliant fuschias and oranges, and the size of dinner plates. We paused in the area of the alter, a white marble rectangular structure on the ground. The top of it was completely covered in religious mosaics made entirely of different flowers. I tried to be as silent and unseen as possible, because there were people all around the alter praying.
Thankfully we found the correct bus to Vellore at the bus station, no easy feat considering the amount of buses with no identifying destination on the front and nobody seems to be able to direct you where to go when you ask. Again it was full beyond capacity with people standing in the aisles for the several hour trip home. I was thankful for the woman in the brilliant blue, gold and red sari standing beside me, because the scent of fresh flowers in her hair masked some of the pungent scents of India that tend to be almost everywhere in the cities. Taking public transportation in India is always an adventure, and this time was no exception. Julie, Cristine and I exchanged several wide-eyed terror-stricken glances as the bus leaned precariously as we bumped down dusty dirt roads, and at one point we were at a standsill in traffic for one hour. Many of the people got off the bus at this point to relieve themselves (directly in the line of sight of the bus, I might add), and I asked a man standing beside my window what was going on. In broken English he explained that the Indian home minister was being inaugerated in Chennai, and that was the reason for the traffic where we were. Though I couldn't see how this was completely plausible since we were still many miles from Chennai, I just smiled and thanked him for the explanation. The traffic jam caused us to take some 'back routes' which were in even more dire shape than the ones before, but the bus driver didn't seem to slow his break-neck spped one bit. Although we could have hired a car and driver roundtrip for 5,500 rupees for the weekend as many international students do, we wanted to travel like locals because it's one way to experience a part of real India. Round trip bus fare to Pondicherry: 96 rupees. The experience of sitting on a grimy bus with adorable Indian children crawling in your lap, people vomiting on your shoes (poor Michael), horns blaring, people hanging off the sides of the bus and feeling the bus sway as if it will tip any second: Priceless.
Other than the bus ride being completely chaotic, the journey was scenically beautiful, and from my window seat I enjoyed the firey blaze the sun painted across the sky as it passed lower and lower and finally disappeared into the dusk. It left behind soft streaks of pink, orange and sienna that wove together to make an endless tapestry more beautiful than any of the incredible colors I've admired here in womens saris. I was fascinated by the numerous small temples and altars I saw in the rural areas, sometimes even in the middle of the field. Ganesh in all his many-armed glory seemed more appropriate next to the beautiful countryside than in some of the extravagent temples where I had also seen him in the cities. I feel closest to God in nature, and maybe the people here have similar feelings with their gods as they worship.
Tomorrow I start my second week at CMC on the internal medicine wards and I am so excited. On Wednesday Mike, Cristine, Julie and I will visit the leprosy hospital outside of Vellore. It's sure to be another week of new experiences and lots of fun. Just hope I don't have to take another bus any time soon....:)
Reading this was a great way to start my day. Your writing style is vivid and elegant, but also comfortable - I love it! Hope to read more soon during another quiet nursing session. Hugs to everyone there!
ReplyDeletexoxo- Andria
If you do decide to hire a driver, it can be a lot of fun if you keep using the same one. Mr. Deepak was my driver when I went to Nainital and we had many fabulous adventures together! :) So jealous of your adventures!
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