Prior to this was Pondicherry, a seaside town reminiscent of an out of season English resort - complete with blustery promanade (i think the monsoon is following me, or i it) and delapidated pier. Pondicherry was until the 50s a french colony, so french is spoken widely (tres bizarre) and, joy of joys, there were plenty of croissants and real coffee and proper bread. I stayed at 'Mother's Guesthouse' which sounds a cosy sort of place until you learn that The Mother was chief disciple, mouthpiece and mistress of Sri Aurobindo, Bengali freedon fighter turned mystic guru, whose Ashram dominates Pondicherry. So above my head was a garlanded picture of The Mother with kohl lined eyes and funny hat, with the words "consider that the Mother is always watching you". Looming over Pondicherry is Auroville, the Utopian 'City of Dawn', harbouring thousands of - mainly european- seekers. My cynicism however, did not stop me - oh no siree - from claiming my mealtime tokens - breakfast, lunch and dinner for 20 Rs! Daily would i dutifully line up with hundreds of sombre pilgrims in the big hall, lined with creepy portraits of, yes, Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, and signs reading 'silence at all time' and 'do not waste food'. It reminded me of being at Glastonbury, and, cold, wet and penniless, discovering the Hare Krishnas with their free, hot food (praise the Lord).
Oh and i met some nice people, though this whole business of Meeting People (hide that desperate glint in the eye - very unattractive) is too much like a fresh Freshers Week, every week, where you befriend the first kind, normal face, and then spend the next three years wondering how you're going to get rid of them. What i'd really like is to find a very nice, lone girl-traveller...