Railfan Corner

Know Your Bible

Pregnant Goat, Dead Frog

Brangelina

Being a (white) foreigner in India is what I imagine it's like to be somewhere between a D to C-list celebrity. While the mobs don't exactly chase you down the street, you still get your fair share of attention by the average Jayaprakash six-pack. Children wave and cheer as you walk by, adults stare and point, and I don't even want to think of how many Indian teenage boys have my sweaty face stored on their camera phone.

Our favourite moment so far has been on a beach somewhere north of Pondicherry when a young couple begged us for a photo. We obliged happily and before we knew what was going on, they threw their defenseless child in my arms, and declared: "Here, take our baby... and SMILE!"

Paste Bucket

I liked the hue and civility of this communal paste bucket outside the main Pondicherry post office. Nobody likes the acrid taste of envelope or stamp glue.

Indian post offices are great places. The stacks of dusty, dog eared ledgers betray a strained but resilient bureaucracy, and the lack of decorum in queues rewards those with sharp elbows.

Good Coffee

Good coffee from Le Cafe in Pondicherry. Craving a cold coffee drink, I was unsure what the menu's "Coffee on the Rocks" would yield, but I was highly satisfied with the strong south Indian organic espresso poured over cinnamon bark and a lemon wedge onto large ice cubes that awaited their melty fate with nobility.

Pondichéry

J'adore Pondicherry, a lovely town of 200,000 on the Bay of Bengal.

This little enclave was colonized by France in the 18th century. Like another former French colony that I know and love, Pondi has hung on tightly to its French roots. The coffee shops are cafés and the restaurants serve passable coq au vin. Furthermore, Pondi has extremely low liquor taxes, so you can purchase a 600 ml bottle of Kingfisher froide from your local dépanneur for a mere 40 rupees. (Half what one would pay in the rest of the conservative state of Tamil Nadu.)

As a haven for tourists, ex-pats, and ashramites from France and Switzerland, Pondi doesn't need Bill 101 to preserve its French culture. Guesthouse owners, waiters, autorickshaw drivers, and yoga instructors speak a more refined French than most Anglo Quebecers. Present company included...

Vive le Pondi libre!