Thursday 21st February - No Kabbadi on the Beach

After last night's late finish we have a lie in this morning. Eventually we rouse ourselves for breakfast. R orders the Indian again, which consists entirely of items that we can recognise - idli, uttapam and paratha. The big ticket attraction in Pondicherry is the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, just a couple of blocks away. After a couple of domestic errands we head that way, passing en route the large Sri Manakular Vinayagar temple, with its flocks of vendors. The street outside the ashram is closed to traffic and there is a huge shoe deposit counter in the shade on the other side of the road. The tarmac is just about bearable in bare feet but it must be uncomfortable in the early afternoon.

At the visitors entrance we are instructed to switch off phones and cameras. There are notices all around demanding silence. We join a queue that shuffles forwards and is reminiscent of the queue for Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum. The difference is that in Hanoi order was kept by white uniformed soldiers, whereas here the upholders of order wear white tunics and a badge saying Volunteer. The queue winds around a few corners, amidst vividly coloured displays of pot plants. The centre piece is a sort of marble dias covered in an arrangement of flower petals, before which people are prostrating themselves. Under canopies around the dias people sit cross-legged, apparently meditating.

The exit is via the bookshop, where D invests Rs 6 in a postcard which is a picture of the centrepiece. This doesn't really make up for the photo prohibition but gives an idea. You just need to mentally add in the supplicants and the cloud of flying insects attracted by the petals. On the way out we see that there is now a serious queue down the street. Our timing has been near perfect. We recover our shoes and set off towards the Cafe des Arts. After a block of walking in the sun the attractions of a cycle rickshaw ride come to the fore. Quite pricey but much less sweaty.

We sit in a back room under the fans and have lassi, banana for D and salty mint for R. It is not busy and there is no hurry. This part of Pondy is so French Colonial that it could be used for a reshoot of Casablanca. The coppers wear very fetching red kepis. You can just imagine Claude Rains in one. 

On our way back to base we pass a building that has lots of people queuing in holding pens on the pavement outside. It was the same yesterday evening. The guide book, the map app and the building itself give no clues. It is next door to the Main Post Office but the queue does not seem to be going there. We continue, unenlightened, and adjourn for our customary siesta. While perusing the news we see an item about  banking staff strike in Tamil Nadu that has meant that some ATMs have run out of cash. After tomorrow we are in TN for four days so decide to get cash now. Having achieved this we walk down to the seafront. Today is the day that a three day beach festival starts, promising goodies such as beach kabbadi. Not a great deal is happening. We make a token effort by getting sand in our sandals, then agree to stick to the paved promenade.

The sea front is mainly shaded from the sun at this hour by the buildings that line the promenade. One of them is a posh shop with attached cafe. R finds a couple of small things to buy, then we adjourn to the cafe. R orders and is careful to ask for black coffee, no milk, no sugar and is charged Rs 220 for two French press coffees. The guy in charge then goes out somewhere. After 20 minutes R asks where our coffee is. We are served two brass tumblers of milky coffee. We protest and after a further hiatus are given two cups of instant coffee, black. D is close to a sense of humour failure and requests a refund. The ladies on the stall appear unable to understand the problem. Eventually the boss returns and refunds our 220. Next time we will go to the Indian Coffee House.

We continue our stroll along the prom, which is more properly known as Avenue Goubert. It is like the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, but with less traffic and more French people. Not only is traffic prohibited, but the vendors of candy floss and squeaky toys are not allowed through the barriers either. Proceeding in a southerly direction we enjoy the sea breej and sniff hopefully for ojone. 

At the southern end of this boon to society there is a level area of sand overlooked by the balcony of the State Tourism Department's Seagull Hotel. We enjoy modestly priced beers and masala peanuts (sorry GD) as the sun sets. There are no floodlights on the beach so not much chance of kabaddi tonight. We have picked a restaurant for tonight from LP. When we get there the door is open but the place is in darkness. From the gloom a voice shouts "We are closed!". We are, of course, in the French Quarter.

A place along the street called Les Saveurs is open and looks quite appealing. The menu is very European, but we can cope with that, at least until March 29th. We have cheese and mushroom crostini to start, then R has baby octupii and D has chicken in white wine sauce. Most enjoyable. We walk home along the promenade, busy with people but no traffic. The balmy breeze makes the midday heat worthwhile.

As we approach the hotel we hear music from up on Mission Street. Something is going on at the small temple as there is a long queue for admission. Opposite the entrance a band sits on a small stage, its music amplified to almost unbearable levels. Nobody has stopped the traffic so two wheelers and the odd car insist on trying to force a way through the press outside the temple. We retire for a nightcap.