Two headed monster or stray with a bitten off tumour..?

Mamallapuram, the town that no one person pernounces the same. To sound savy I asked the bus driver at Chennai's Bus Depot if he was heading to "Mamammallalapuramammasdaf.....mumble mumble mumble."

-head bobble means go.

Arrived in the town I determinedly put my head down and ignored all the annoying touts trying to tell me the hotels were the other way down the road. Yeah yeah yeah right next to your silk shop/massage parlour/opium den. Psh. I marched down the beach searching for these beach hotels that were bound to appear on the horizon but nay. The army barricade finally convinced me that despite popular beleif, the map outside the bus station doesnt actually point north but to the beach. Duh.

Bounced back and forth from backpacker hotel to shnazzy suits deciding whether or not to splurge. I was followed the whole way by the owner of a so called Lakshmi lodge with a swimming pool and private patio for 6 $ a night. As if. It was getting dark and I decided to whip the old Lonely Planet and just do eenie meeni meini mo (how is that actually spelt...?). Noticed a blurb on Lakshmi lodge, praising it as the best valued hotel in town with swimming pool and patios for cheap... it had a side note - "mind the overbearing owner". I was sold.

After my first swim in 4 months I meandered lazily around the main street and segweyed up some stairs to the Rose Corner Cafe. And Huzzah! The first foreigners I had seen in 4 days. I invited myself into their cardgame. Met some surprisingly uncrassly traveling american students, brits from Newcastle and a very pretty Dutch girl, Sanna, who's attention was repeatedly stolen from me by the flirtatious waiter who forgot my dish for a good 2 hours. Spent the following day blazing through Angels & Demons (which I highly recommend!!) on the beach. Nodded off and woke to saliva dripping on my face from a panting stray dog that had either had another head at one point or a tumour bitten off from his neck. Lovely.

Sat down and carved a sandstone face with a local sculpter; to be honest I just mhmmed and ahhhed and watched him correct my mistakes. Still, I came away with a little pendant for a necklace resembling the face of either Buddha or that guy in the adds for white spot. Did as many laps in the pool as I could while local boys jumped from the surrounding roof into the shallow end. We're just too pampered in the west! Arthritis is like the common cold here when they have everything else to worry about I guess. Hoped on the bus to Chennai to meet mum and said bye bye to Mamamusa;lfdsjahfkjdshfkj.

Paaaniii, Cold DriiiIIIInk, Maaaango Juuuiiice!

Thought I'd snag in a few quick facey-bee posts at the Kolkata station before my trek down to Chennai in Tamil Nadu (Yes! Where the Tamil Tigers come from). The grime covered, flickering "Cyber Cafe" sign couldn't have been more inviting.

"Sorry umm where's the cyber cafe?"

Group of soldiers laugh.

"Upstairs sir."

"Cheers".

Three flights later........ kill. me. now.

I come out on to the roof and find a lovely and very much abandoned, solitary computer sitting without a keyboard and the screen kicked in. The soldiers had already left. I think I would have smacked one. Open hand.

Jumped on the train after splurging on a new copy of Angels & Demons to ease my anger with some simplistic catchy writing. I nearly fell off my sticky bunk in shock when we left on time.

People say India is like a collection of little countries all under one name. If that's true then the happenings inside the trains should be renamed ... Crazyland. Being the only westerner on the carriage I was interrogated for hours on subjects of my wife which I was suppose to have, my mother's surprising competence in being able to run a company as a woman and why I couldn't attend the greasy, shirtless old man's family diner the following evening.

Luckily I was rescued from his grubby claws and wavering, lonesome tooth about to fall out by the local lady boys that hopped on the carriage. Never had I seen anything in unison in India until then. Traffic never goes in a straight line, no one crosses cross walks together and you'll never see the same head bobble twice.

-----BUT! When those dudes in drag started clapping there hands in some form of aggressive dance, everyone questioning me seemed to melt away and fall casually asleep with their hand stuffed in their wallet pockets.

My bunk-mate beckoned me up as if we were on a train to Birkenau and Goebbels had just jumped on for a surprise inspection. One unlucky, unsuspecting bastard below was surrounded by four of these sari-clad pretty boys and after much guttural noises, clapping and groping was left at least 200 rupees short. I've never been so confused in my life and no one has been able to explain to me what the hell happened since.

Anyway, arrived in Chennai (ON TIME!!!) and was invited to dinner with Joseph, my bunk-mate savior. He worked for HSBC in Kolkata and was headed to Kerala to visit family for Xmas. He had some buds in Chennai who had promised to rescue him from train food for the night and have him back at the station for his next train to Kochi.

It was like being with uni kids from anywhere in the world. These guys talked only of a big night coming up at one of Chennai's only clubs, of how shit the service was at the restaurant and of how the pair of exposed legs and cleavage that just walked in was the first seen in months. We had some good laughs and groans when I told them of Barcelona's nude beaches...one I think even nipped to the loo for a ... pee.

Said farewell to Joseph and his buds and checked into a modern looking "must be clean and cockroach free" hotel. I was half right. The owners turned out to be cockroaches.

Notes to owners:

1) Toilet paper does not equal wet baby wipes

2) No I will not pay for my broken AC

3) Tell your bellhop to knock before he walks into my room and subsequently into my bathroom.

4) Please don't take one hour to photocopy/clone my passport down the road while I'm trying to leave.

5) Sorry about the luggi on your welcome sign...I was upset.

Love to Hate factor for India tipping in favour of the latter... for now.

Koolkata. Rawr.

Kolkata. Finally a city that knows how to be one. The difference between village and, well, anything bigger is pretty obvious in the west. The lovely part about India is, however, that cities are villages that have had everything multiplied on photoshop. People x10. Rickshaws x10. Cows x10....select all x10.

The old Raj capital, however, looks over its clean (ish) and organized shoulder at the chaos of Rajasthan and Uttra Pradesh and frolics. Street food was more than paletable, foreigner prices weren't the usal 25x the Indian price and the Victoria Monument looks dazzling from the northeast corner!! For once Lonely Planet was right!!

Marc and I were surrounded by some uniformed and very curious school kids while in line for the old Vic and we made the mistake of asking if they liked a good drink.

Blank stares.

Max notices name of school on sweater- Mohammed College Preparation Institute.

Cover up mistake with smiles and group picture, works every time.

Since being at the end of the tour we manned up and tried some sugar cane juice, pinneaple juice and orange juice. All literally freshly squeezed by the side of the road. Took the subway to the main shopping area and came out a communist rally entirely lost and surrounded by chanting Kolkatans. The only other people whose mouth's were wide open and maps dangling at their sides were two lovely girls from Delhi.

Tina and Priyam turned out to be regular teenagers that seemed to be confused and living in India as if it were California. Or so we guessed. Our first intro to the hip, modern and rich of India was nearly as confusing as seeing Mao's face waved around the streets in the world's largest democracy. They turned out to be Wiccans and were meeting Rahul who was auditioning for MTV India's new VJ position. Talk about cultural confusion. I even spilt hot choc all down my front in the starbucks after he practiced his speech for us. Left with a burnt belly and even more confused with this country within a country within a country.


Visited Mother Theresa's house, guided by a sweet little street girl who (looking so prim and chatting so well) conned me into buying her milk. Won't be surprised if she hacks my bank account one day, the cheeky buggar.
Last dinner with the group chez local chinese restaurant.

Eva: " I just like to thank you Anant for such a great trip, you've taken such good care of us and I think I can manage India a lot better now that...that....wait...where the hell is my purse?"

Drinks and clubbing cancelled on account of thorough investigation to find 1000 rupees (20$). Gotta put your foot down sometime!