It’s 4 in the morning and I am in a Hell of digestive proportions. I am sick of being sick, and this is a doozy. I’m so sick I have to take off my shirt because of the cold sweats, and the sad thing is in this busted bathroom of the train there is no decent spot to put it. I feel like a cracker, popped and pulled at both ends, but the surprise inside me is neither festive nor pleasant.
The overnight we took to Madurai is one I’ll likely not forget. Bloody food poisoning.
So, now we have come to the deep south. Dan and I are adjusting yet again. As the weather in Kochi proved tropical and humid, the dusty heat here in Tamil Nadu is another hurdle for our bodies to overcome. When our train gets to Madurai, we are greeted by a surprisingly clean train station, obviously very new and expensive, with marble inlays and branches from nearly all of India’s banks arrayed outside for our convenience. Too bad the machines were all out of order. You see folks, that is a juxtaposition of India (one of many): the new stuff is broken, while the old broken stuff kind of works. There is a government metaphor in there somewhere.
We wandered the noisiest streets in the country looking for a decent place to stay, trying to bounce off a pestering tailor/hotel tout/buzzing drunk. After a few false starts, his damned head wobbling yes&no sticking to us, and doing our best to feint in one direction while slipping off to the other, this poultice kept clinging like toilet paper on the shoe. Dan finally expressed her feelings to him with a good finger and a loud ‘F*ck OFF!’ I wish I had a water gun to squirt him with.
Well, after bumping into a retired sushi restauranteur, we ended up at the seriously underwhelming state run Tamil Nadu Guest-house. You got to hand it to the staff there at doing there best to annoy the shit out you (easy in my case, having food poisoning). There is nothing more comforting than being told by the desk clerk at 2 in the morning that bedbugs are normal in all Madurai and a flat refusal to move us to a new room. You can be sure that Dan would have loved to kick his teeth in at the arrogant attitude she received. Good thing the manager the next day moved us to a much noisier but bedbug free room. Our proximity to the street, laden with men, rickshaws, buses and insanely loud speakers belting out a cacophony of chants, political slogans and traditional music at all hours of day and night helped make for a very restful sleep.
Well, after a day of fevers and chills and antibiotics, Dan and I wandered our way to the crowds of pilgrims marching their way to one of the largest temple complexes in India: the Sri Meenakshi Amman.
This massive structure is impressive in its scope, with 50 meter gopurams (towers) that are absolutely loaded with carved deities, heros, demons and all manner of symbols. It is quite a site. Inside the colourful complex we found numerous carvings and statues, but most interestingly we found Laxmi, the temple elephant. People lined up by the dozens to be ‘blessed’ by the elephant, as she is representative of Ganesh. Of course she is prodded and poked by the handlers who accept the ‘offerings’ of people (curiously, also called laxmi, by way of money). The elephant is certainly a money maker for the men there, and one cannot help but see a sad resignation in the eyes of the animal. The irony of it to me is, in hindu teaching, Ganesh is the remover of impediments, and here the symbol is chained and impeded from a life beyond the temple.
Well, after a two days wandering the temple and then being kicked out very rudely by a money grubbing acolyte who we refused to pay, we figured it was time to move on. He actually grabbed Dan by the arm, yelling at her for money. She refused and pointed out the others with cameras that he ignored. (She looked like a boiling kettle)
Our next train was bound for Trichy, where we thought we might explore a day then be off to the coast. Well, we didn’t. I was still not well, and Dan managed to acquire one of the many respiratory afflictions that seem so common here. Another day spent in a hotel room sick. Our immune systems sure are getting a workout.
We gathered our strength and headed for the state bus station, and grabbed a cheap as borsch rusty bus to Pondicherry, the curious coastal colonial French quarter.
After a nice and crowded ride for 5 hours we arrived in a surreal blend of indian and french, woven into a touristed brocade, both expensive and gaudy. The colonial aspect of the city is quite small, bordered by a granite dike pretending to be a beach, and an open sewer called le Canal, making the Ville Blanche (White city). Opposite and extending beyond the Canal, is the loud and honking Indian part of town, the Ville Noir (Black city).
After usual hassle of getting a room, we set out to explore this bizarre town populated by vacationing Delhiites and french yoga-yuppies, all the while trying to keep under budget, as Pondi is quite possible the most expensive place we have stayed in all our time here in India. At least the money bought us good food. Good coffee, good salad, decent croissant. It was a nice change from masala.
As it proved costly enough for the both of us, and that there is little else to do but wander the waterfront, we headed north by bus to Mamallapuram, an other bizarre beachside hippy-hangout.
Once a simple fishing village with surrounding ruins and temples, it has now become a bloated tourist spot replete with kitsch and crap aplenty. There is a small 1400 year old Shore Temple at the beach, slowly being eroded by salt and sand, and restored by the local historical society.
The beachside would be fantastic if it weren’t for the fetid open sewage pit that pours out filth right into the sea and sand next to all the local fishing boats. It is quite picturesque however, and for once Dan and I got to see great clouds as huge rainstorms rolled through each day. We stayed at the quirky Bob Marley Cafe in a great cavernous room with T.V. and A.C. and waterfront view. The Bob Marley moniker was explained to us as the owner of the ‘joint’ came downstairs to greet us in his cafe, grinning ear to ear like an idiot with a glazed look in his eyes. He was obviously a very happy fellow, especially now he was celebrating his wife’s new pregnancy with ganja. Truth be told, our time here was nice and relaxing, spent wandering the beach when it wasn’t too scorching hot, but Dan’s patience with the googley-eyed staring is wearing on her (it’s the overwhelming maleness of India). However, things are good, and the food here is dirt cheap, the coffee is fresh, and the locals are friendly. Mamallapuram was a good break for us to get our fortitude up so we can face our next challenge: the bee-hive insanity of Kolkata.
The mystery of the Gopuram reaching to the sky.
The Baba walks by, chanting and begging.
The vertical man mirrors the vertical temple in the business of Madurai.
A man walks.
Contemplative or just tired from the heat, men sit.
Anytime, anywhere, anyhow, sleep is had by the local men. (Showoff)
The middle of the night spares not the ears on this street, outside our hotel, where bedbugs and noise are bedfellows.
Classical civilization with modernity thrust upon it.
Here in these halls within the temple are found all sorts of plastic goodies and junk for sale to all pilgrims and tourists alike.
The dichotomy of the natural and the civilized, and in between is religion and tradition.
With a colour scheme reminiscent of peppermints, the temple complex is both massive and intriguing.
The Thousand pillared hall and the intensely coloured works on the ceiling.
Blessings for a puny baby from a massive animal.
The gopuram rises in the evening light in between pilgrims and shopkeepers.
Stick in hand, waiting for the next round and a pensive pachyderm.
Many people pray here to carvings of Hanuman, the monkey god.
Idols hide between the shadows and the light.
Illumination awaits.
Pious prayer in the sanctum.
Chaat, children, Delhiites and Gandhi: this is modern Pondicherry.
The rare bit of colonial charm.
This is the view of all the waterfront. As can be seen, it is geared for chaat.
Abstract of the city.
This was the only pocket of sand to be found in Pondicherry, only to be chased away by police.
The granite beach. Inviting, isn't it?
Men become boys at the site of the ice-cream cart.
There is not much to differentiate from one cart to the next.
Candy floss.
Here are found the worst and most mistreated of the dogs in all of India. Each plagued with mange, eye infections, and the cruel bruises of unsympathetic locals.
The beach has a fair mix of colour.
Pockets of colour are to be found in the rare calm street.
The setting sun in the Ville Blanche.
School boys march in the evening heat.
Child-hawker with his blowy-thing that buzzes.
The Gandhi statue surrounded by frightening bunny rubbish bins and the ever present jack-daws.
There is a sexual tension here.
Carnival trio.
Finally clouds in the sky, great for breaking up the constant blue.
An evening storm pushes waves on to ruins at the beach at Mamallapuram.
Sunrise over the Bay of Bengal.
Brightly coloured boats ready to harvest the sea.
One of many clouds that rolled over our heads in the week spent on the coast.
The fetid pit of putrid shit and unimaginable filth that pours into the beach from the open sewers. The smell is atrocious, and strangely, is where the locals always congregated and hung out at all times of the day.
Abstract of the beach.
Jack-daws on a raft.
The striking sky here looks like laughing.
The rare shade offers respite from the sun.
The clutter of this beach makes it unwise for bathing suites or bare feet.
Another evening storm rolls in.
The sky goes intense in the moments before the rains pour down.
The Shore Temple in the distance, rimmed with clouds and colourful nets.
A whimsical take on puppies and beach-bums.
The parentless pups on the beach, full of mange, pathetic and afraid, show here a brief moment of curiosity with me.
A dog eats a turtle's head as a storm builds.
The Shore Temple.
Despite efforts to restore the temple, the constant buildup of garbage is always present at this UNESCO site.
An odd fellow who claimed to maintain the grounds at a putrid pond with a shrine to Shiva in the centre. He disappointed me with the usual demands for cash after I photographed him. The constant harassment for money is one of the most distasteful practices of this county.
The city is highly regarded for stone work carvings. Here, outside a shop in the sunset, granite dust fills the air.
Many newly-wed Indian couples come to Mamallapuram for their honeymoon.
Around side of the temple can be found the Indian corner of the beach, filled with people, chaat, kitsch, and garbage.
Boys attempt to climb some ruins in the surf.
Arms raised in triumph.
Are you guys planning a final chapter ? I’d be curious to have more details on your everyday life there (traval tips, street smart stuff minus the sickness
sort of like a guide to surviving India or I you planning to include that in a book ? 
Hello my beautiful friends! Despite the sickness and the mental exhaustion you`ve managed to see the beauty in the midst of it all. Wishing you both the much deserved success. May your way back home be a smooth and kind transition… Thank you again for having shared your journey with us. love you!
Once again, my eyes and spirit delighted to see some wonderful work by two talented photographers traveling through an incredibly unique country.
Namaste, hope to see you next summer, wherever we may be
“A dog eats a turtle’s head as a storm builds.”
Oh boy. You can’t make that stuff up.
Another great blog, you two.
Sounds like you’re really taking a mental beating.
Dont give up, you’ll be home soon.