i think we could write abook about the intricacies of rickshaw fares -- how drivers decide how much to ask for and how passengers negotiate. there are so many factors in this delicate game: time of day, traffic, type of street, side of street, proximity to posh stores or bus stops, weather, driver's intoxication level or hunger, speed with which they are driving by when they see you, presence of a map, your english/tamil use, authority with which you give directions, number of other drivers around, the extent to which you can capture the perfect combination of incredulity and disgust in your expression, how you walk away/shake your head/wave the driver away, the driver's desperation for a fare, how fast he reduces his first offer, etc. i think our driver last night had TB or emphasema. also, you can't ask drivers for directions -- they will pretend the place is very far and offer to drive you. we were only one building away from the hotel we were trying to find, but when we asked which way to walk some drivers started pretending they didn't know which hotel we wanted. they got into a long discussion in tamil about our situation, trying to figure out how many circles around the block they could make before we would realize what they were up to. we kept saying, "we don't want a ride, we will walk!" i asked a vendor and he pointed down the block.

cranky lady on bus kept trying to intimidate me off the bench i was sharing with her and a woman with a baby. all her shoving was just causing me to squeeze the mom off the bench. i know if i'd stood up, TWO other people would've taken my spot.

saw laundry drying on the freeway overpass rails today. those clothes will neither be clean nor smell good after a few hours like that.

saw an ad with a quote, "so fa (sic), so good." a bakery sign reads, "worth the taste" which i assume they meant to say, "worth a taste." as it is now, i get the impression that it means something is "worth the sacrifice of the taste." sort of like "worth the wait" means something is worth putting up with the wait.

when people step on someone's foot or personal belonging here, they make a gesture with their hand as a sign of apology. everyone does it a little differently but most put one hand up vertically in front of their lips or between the eyes (or even kiss their fingers -- like we might gesture that something is delicious -- or touch an eye). i actually saw someone do this gesture to an object -- he's tripped over a chair.

we drive past some waterways on the highway south and you can see people's heads just above the water's surface. i think they're setting fishing nets. some other guys along the road were teetering at the top of some scaffolding -- no idea was they planned to do up there. nothing but barefoot men balancing on bamboo.

when i first glimpsed the beach promenade it was deserted. i was trying to find a place to stay and only caught sight of some thatched umbrellas, red sand and still blue water. later when i went back, the crowd had arrived along with the trinket vendors who either made some noise or blew bubbles into the air. people climbed onto the statue of gandhi and posed for photos. i walked down the path above the black rocks and to the pier and saw some folks on the other side enjoying the sand or their sorting fishing nets. saw some old french government buildings and small military monuments. guys selling little bags of florescent pink cotton candy attached to a long pole made jingling noises everytime they took a step. near a pink catholic church some men played something like bocci ball.

the french quarter, which seems to consist of a few streets, was pretty lifeless compared to my expectations. there were a few nice buildings and small colorful homes with plants and fences/balconies out front and green courtyards inside. a few bicycle rickshaw drivers napped in their vehicles. at night is was dark except for a few motorbike's headlights. just a street away was a thatched hut slum. on the other side of the filthy dried up canal bed, the more typically indian area is bustling with honking motorbikes, dust and vendors. there are no streetlights or stop signs so drivers honk contantly to avoid slowing down at intersections. there can be no one on the street at all, but you'll hear someone laying on the horn. a kid was setting off bomb firecrackers on one street corner.

went to the popular ashram. left my shoes across the street with the attendant, filed into a courtyard with a tomb covered in flowers in tight design like the alfombras/flower carpets in guatemala. some people knelt down and put their heads on the marble edge to pray. one british guy with a physical disability walked laborously around the perimeter and sat with some others in mediation.

had dinner at place recommended by LP for great french and italian food in a nice courtyard. eggplant in walnut sauce ended up being slices of eggplant skin drowned in canned mushroom soup with cold mashed potatos made with sour or spoiled curd/yogurt. tried to get pizza at a place where the server recommended another restaurant instead (thought it was a bad sign) but when i got there that place didn't serve pizza at all. tried again at a place called rendevous which had a bamboo and thatched roof terrace. about 7 waiters stood in a line watching me wait for my order. one yelled into his cell phone and another brushed his hair over the place settings. four guys in big white chef hats stood talking in the kitchen. of the six empty rows of a dozen tables each, the waiter sat a couple of guys at the table right next to me, their chairs facing me, so they also could watch me chew my salty pizza.

the pondicherry museum is a little three-room curiosity. the test is whether you can figure out what is on display and what is left-over maintenance material or old furniture (for example, some old shelves, stacks of yellowed newspaper lying on a desk, and a pile of bricks and pots lying on the floor under a display case). the glass cases are locked but cracked so i could just slip my hand into it to take a piece of ancient pottery of mysterious origin if i was inclined. some pieces were labeled "greek" or "roman." did see a cool palm leaf manuscript, long and bound together like old paint swatches, with tiny script written across it. kids climbed all over some carriages that were used to carry or push bigshots back in the day. some young men preened in an antique mirror while squatting over some cannon balls.

took a couple hours to find a hotel room. all the cheap popular places were booked up for the holiday even though some locals said i'd have no problem finding something. one clerk said she'd call a place charging 1500 rupees for me! i caved at a place called "golden shower" which might have had more to do with the name than the fact that i was so hot and tired from searching i thought i'd cry. they only had double rooms and charged 600 rupees ($15). i was annoyed but the room turned out tothe best part of my trip -- AC, cable TV, hot water, large bathroom, 24/7 water and electricity! the downside to the luxury is that it made me realize i prefer a warm shower after a cool night's sleep than a refreshing cold shower when i'm hot. i'd stopped noticing how little water pressure we have in chennai until i experienced that pondy shower. someone rang my room buzzer at 9:30pm and then again at 9:30am when i was still sleeping. only in a place as noisy as india would hotel rooms be fitted with their own door bells.

snuck onto a performance hall next to a school and saw some girls doing traditional indian dance for rows of spectators. they jingled as they jumped around and their costumes shined in the video camera's light.

i can see why people who've been dragging themselves around india for months might find the place refreshing -- to eat overpriced pretend french food, drink cheap alcohol, rent a motorbike for a drive to the beach, stroll around with a little drum around your neck.

wondered about all the huge vats of briyani i see at street-side food stalls. they're as big as those inflatable wading pools people bust out for their kids in the summer. i think those vats belong somewhere with that surreal rectangular foam i saw earlier, if not on a PBS educational show, then a salvador dali painting or performance art piece.

maybe i figured out why i don't feel comfortable on motorbikes. they're particularly designed for women to sit side-saddle. there's a foot rest on the left and a hang-on-tight handle on the right.

lots of bus ticket collectors do this thing when they want people to pay up, or it seems they do it to signal this. as they walk up and down the aisle holding on to the bar running down the length of the ceiling, they will flick their middle finger hard against the ceiling which makes a clicking sound with their fingernail.

saw more signs on the road: "heavan can wait -- avoid speeding" and "turn left and enter heaven on earth."

the rain stopped by the time we were on our way to pondicherry and it seemed like the streets reflooded with people who'd been waiting for the sky to clear. we swirved around traffic barriers without slowing down, blasted smaller vehicles out of our way with our gutteral horn. some stretches of road were nicely shaded by trees arching overhead and meeting each other halfway. the bus was lively with what might be called rowdies or trouble makers. some people slept through the rambunctious group's shouting and jokes. men ate packets of what look like Ramen noodles seasoning but is betel nut powder, i hear. white puffy clouds seemed to stand up from the horizon like a fire's smoke or nuclear bomb explosions. villagers walked around bare chested in white skirts and headwraps and shovels propped against their shoulders. we'd get glimpses of sea and palm trees, and then stretches of dry dirt, and then areas of lush rice paddies dotted with farmers planting rice and cows eating it.

on the way back, the station was so crowded we needed to buy reservation tickets (5 rupees for a ticket which says which bus and seat you have). luckily there was a separate and short women's line at the ticket booth. the 5pm non-stop bus left before my 4:50 "selected stops" bus. people without reservations crowded into the aisles. i was sandwiched between a guy with an old-school hard case suitcase and a woman with a potbelly and bags stacked up to my waist. i'm worrying i'll need to pee again, even though i'm sweating head to toe from the humidity.

while i'm watching a guy nonchallantly puke off the platform, his friend continuing to pat his chest and talk with him, another guy who smells like he's been drinking strikes up a conversation with me. we go through the typical script of questions and answers and i send him on his way when he starts repeating himself. he said alcohol that usually costs 100 rupees only costs 30 in pondy -- i tell him that's probably why he can't remember what we've already talked about. the girl next to me in the ticket line calls out to me to say our bus is on the other flank of a group of chennai-bound buses and we scramble on. later

on the road back we had to drive around an accident. i'm not surprised -- it was rainy and the road was dark and curvy. (the shared auto rickshaw i took to the bus terminal in pondy also got in an accident. bumped into another auto just as we were pulling up, so we avoided having to sit through that argument.) speaking of arguments, the potbellied lady next to me got into it with the ticket collector to the point her friend had to slap at her and shush her with her finger to get the woman to simmer down. i think the guy had been complaining about all her bags in the aisle but then kept stopping the bus to let on more passengers. i think she was complaining about having to pay full-price to stand up all the way home. finally we stopped cramming more people on and just drove by rowdy groups of men whooping and hollering for it to stop. a girl vomited from motion sickness when we were almost to the terminal.

waited at local bus stand for an hour for a bus that wasn't running anymore and eventually shared an auto with a kid going in the same direction. it took eight hours to get home, in the end, from a town 3-1/2 hours away from chennai.

on my way to the bus terminal (for pondicherry), i saw few sad lonely bulls streaked with rain like dirty buildings or crying mascara-ed women. quite a contrast to the ones with their horns painted bright colors.

took some photos of the chalk designs people put on the sidewalk outside their doors. some folks go all out and add colored powder to fill in the spaces. someone told me the designs are supposed to welcome in the goddess of wealth (same reason people always leave a light on in their homes). same guy told me there is a story of some god who has two wives -- one dark and all dressed in black, the other white. he said he's atheist and doesn't believe all the intricacies of hindu belief but that he sees the point of a story like this: to ease tension between the dark dravidian people in the south and the fair aryan people in the north.

the holiday this weekend seemed more about giving thanks and respect to the machines that help us do our work. that explains the bindi powder (red dot) the cleaning lady put on all the computers and all the garlands, banana leaves and paint markings people decorated their cars with. they had similar holiday in guatemala -- they'd parade their decorated vehicles in front of the church. here, men stopped their cars in front of a temple, light a small flame on the ground in front of the car, smash open a coconut or watermelon by throwing in on the ground, and do some puja or prayer before driving off again. and everyone who'd normally be honking away just waits patiently till they're finished. some streets were lined with decorated cars parked with their headlights on. tried to get some photos of a crew of ambulances being decorated and whipping around the block.

the hotel decorated each room door with three white horizontal paint streaks and a red dot in the center. a bottled water shop was doing puja with its employees. other shops hung paper streamers of colored flags and banana leaves and other folded plant leaves from their awnings and marked up their doors with paint and powder too. i guess the holiday extends to paying respect to teachers too.

at one temple, people handed coins or grass to an elephant that would wrap the gift in its trunk and then tap them on the head in the same movement. they would put their hands together in front of their faces in prayer and thanks and respect. the elephant got kinda riled up at one point when a dog ran by -- he snorted out some air, picked up one huge foot and darted its pale eyes around. you could tell some folks weren't big fans of the elephant, kind of like you can tell some kids are creeped out by santa, and gave it wide berth, diverted their gaze and whimpered a little till the coast was clear. the guy collecting 1 rupee for watching our shoes asked me if i had a Bic pen when he found out i was american. he said, "i like bic!" like i'd immediately understand him. he seemed surprised i didn't have an extra handy for him. sadhus (holy men) walked around in their orange robes and walking sticks and begged for money.

my first helmeted motorbike ride was like i was experiencing another world! some of it must have been psychological (of course, once some car came screeching to a halt in front of us, i lost my sense of security), but the fact that i didn't have to squint or keep my eyes down opened up whole new neighborhoods to me. beggar kids in slum areas chased after rickshaws with wealthy passengers, some dude was napping on large rectangular pieces of foam like he was on some surreal set of a sesame street episode about shapes and colors, a particular neighborhood seemed to do nothing but sell car parts. i overlooked the increasing fogginess of the helmet visor in exchange for the great reduction in wind, dust and noise. amazing. i think i want to wear a helmet even when i'm just walking around town or riding the buses!

friday nights in my neighborhood turn the place into a carnival. the main road is lined with vendors selling underwear, girls plastic shoes, fake jewelry, trinkets and toys that make annoying sounds. it's hard enough to cross the street without all the carts keeping you from being able to dodge out of the way. it's like the red rover game when you can't break through. speakingof jewelry, i need to get photos of some of the stuff women where on their faces. lots of gold stuff -- nose rings shaped like flat orbs so large they cover the tops of the nostrils, dangling earrings with chains that loop over the ear, wrist bangles and anklets that jingle, necklaces. all this decoration and celebration of a million little holidays makes me wonder how people making 20 rupees a day feel about keeping up with the joneses. even people who seem to struggle to make ends meet go all out on the paints and flowers and streamers. some guys at a snack shop at the bus stand were burning a big plate of incense and wafting the smoke over their bicycles. the smell took me back to mandatory high school mass.

went alone to mamallapuram (or mahabalipuram). can't pronounce either!

actually chennai is so spread out, we were on the road for an hour and still in chennai technically. then the road started running near(ish) the coast and i could see a weird combo of palm and pine trees, thatched huts and dry desert-looking land. men with glistening black skin chopped wood and loaded various things in carts.

the town was really small, dusty and smelled of sewage, but the people were friendly (ie, trying to sell something, wanting to practice english, or curious). you'd think they didn't have tons of tourists by the way they said "good morning, good evening, where are you from? hello! what is your name?" shop keepers would say, "you are looking, mum" or "you are shopping, mum" not as a description of my activity but as an invitation. one said, "you are looking on the way back? say yes, mum."

signs advertised yoga and massage, and stores sold touristy bags and shirts. it's a place famous for its sculptures and the buzzing sound of saws and the tink-tink of chisels were constant from every angle of the town. saw some cool but small temples. the first was set in a huge rocky area with temples sculpted right into the rock face and far-off views of the water. (one round rock called"Krishna's butter ball" perched precariously --could it be perched any other way?-- on a slope and offered shade to brave nappers and snacking goats).

some kids on top of one of the rocks caught on that they were probably showing up in some of my photos so they clammered around to check out the results. asked for a few more. funny people want their photo taken even if they can't have the photo. a group of college-age boys asked me to be in a photo with them, using their camera. i just laughed and posed. most tourists were locals who lounged in pairs in the shade. families of monkeys posed for photos too or shielded their babies from strangers. one drank from an aquafina bottle to the delight of some japanese tourists.

saw some street performers who needed to improve their routine. big drum rolls leading up to puny little handsprings or cartwheels. some bollywood dance moves. two little girls pleading for coins. think they did more talking than performing.

saw the shore temple near the beach. nice brown temple turning to sand because no one is keeping tourists from climbing all over it and touching it's carvings. same problem at the five rathas. people were climbing on the sculptures of elephants and waterbuffalo to pose for photos.
the sculpture museum had the same lack of preservation -- just looked like someone's shed or storage room. all different styles of work -- indian, chinese, greek - with worn colors, cracked materials, missing limbs.

snacked on my porota near a mossy old pond with lilly paddies or whatever they're called floating on top of the water. reminded me of a decrepit version of the beautiful fountain areas in china, surrounded by white marble stairs and sculptures. this one was surrounded by hungry goats and some workers cutting stone into pieces. a little girl busied herself with sweeping up with some twigs held together and then got distracted with a canvas bag she'd thrown over her head and seemed unable to remove.

at a more modern temple by the bus stop and white embassador taxi stand, chopped down banana trees were propped up against the entrance way. men were chipping away at long bocks of wood making what looked like stakes for some construction. nomad-style hippies were wandering around in family units selling necklaces.

my hotel room was 100 rupees, cheaper than an rickshaw ride to the chennai bus terminal. the place was in lonely planet and had singles. when i asked how much the room was, he said, "how much you want?" i just quoted the price in the two-year-old LP and he said fine. later i found out why. the fan couldn't be turned higher so it just spun around in this lazy way and barely bothered the air. it was urination central outside the window of my bathroom. i guess any stagnant pond, trash heap, or green slimy creek naturally welcomes wanderers looking to pop a squat. the room kept having power and water outages. the water had black flakes in it. at first i thought i had something caught in my teeth from dinner or something and then realized i was spitting out too mcuh water with black pieces in it, for it to be me. one thing going for it was the cool velcro window mesh you could peel off to open or close the windows. mosquitos were bad outside but didnt bother me inside.

in the evening i went to the beach, which is pretty cool and breezy at that time. lots of fisherman's boats coming in, some with tourists. they'd have to rig up a rope over the back end and slide a long thick stick through the top of the rope loop, and then shoulder the stick (and the boat with it) into shore as the waves helped push. some women gambled with what looked like metal pieces serving as die near a temple so new it hadn't been unwrapped yet. still had some plastic billowing from it's highest tower, revealing its bright newly painted colors. men stuck in the sand the played cards they were dealt in order to keep them from flying away. cows and puppies lounged in the cool sand or nuzzled some trash. one sign, near all the refuse and sludge, said, "keep beach clean." boys played cricket and a woman sorted through rocky sand -- not sure what she was sorting -- sand or rock? a community hall, school and play ground lined the beach. a chai seller strolled along with her thermos, and a guy showed off his horse to entice potential riders. what looked like an indian-american couple strolled along the beach holding hands while everyone watched with curiosity. a woman selling cloth asked if i had interest in her wares. i kept looking at her (her face was powered yellow), and not her items, shaking my head. she seemed tired too. a group of male "students" kept asking me questions just after i'd found a nice sturdy boat to lean against. decided to head to dinner.

had a whole fish, head and all, in a great garlic sauce. the"sweet" lassi was neither sweet nor cold. warm sour yogurt is not refreshing. read about aryuvedic massage so decided to try a head and neck massage. turns out that means "throat" massage in aryuvedic! very unpleasant. guy puts some good smelling oil on your head, plays some relaxing music and massages away for half hour.

in the morning, everything was slow to open and the beach was stiffling. some guys were busy untangling their fishing nets. left early for the bus and saw a family of pilgrims with shaved heads and yellow powder covering their domes. ladies sold cucumbers at the bus stand. i could smell trash burning and thought of paraguay's favorite trash disposal technique. a woman squatted on the floor beside me and rolled her paan/betel nut chew. a woman drink water from her soda bottle by holding the rim far enough away from her mouth that the water blew into my face from the force of the wind. another woman got on and decided she could kill two birds with one stone by begging me for money the rest of the way to the chennai terminal. an autorickshaw driver also got ahead start by soliciting my fare through the window while i was still sitting on the bus. our driver scraped the bus along a rickshaw or something so after half an hour of heated debate with the police, he got us all off and piled onto another bus. it's amazing how quickly the cops show up and how long it takes them to resolve the matter. that driver's day was finished.

one state government hiv program in NE india couldn't release funds to ngos because of threats from rebels. statistics on hiv infection in sex trafficked girls/women are enough to make you want to slit your wrists.

went to the asian film fest about sexuality yesterday, which was showing at a film studio, and saw three dwarves (midgets, little people?) dressed/painted up as aborigines. tried not to look too closely. down the road is the AVM studios where they film all the tamil movies, which rival the bombay bollywood films, i hear. wonder what they were filming that required short people from the forest or desert or whatever?

stoop sitters consist of very specific groups of people: old retired men, drunk young men, beggars and women selling jasmine flower garlands. wish i were one of these types so i could people-watch in peace.

keep eating porota for lunch. buy it in the morning while my buses pass me by. guy flattens out the dough like a pizza and then folds up the corners like it's a gift and then cooks in on a large flat griddle over a gas stove. when it's browned a little he takes them off the griddle, stacks them on top of each other on the table. he cups his hards around the sides and squeezes them in a ball with a "pop" and then pounds them flat again -- i guess to release the air -- and some flakes fly everywhere. then they wrap them up in newspaper and toss the greasy mess into a plastic bag and i'm on my way. they always encourage me to try the sauce but i know the plastic bag will burst in my purse on the crowded bus ride.

little mangy dog i always see lying around got up today and walked off -- a little sideways, it seemed.

saw a man under a flyover meticulously stacking empty burlap sacks of different sizes on the back of his bicycle. they were completely burying his seat so i'm not sure how he planned to proceed.

think i saw the equivalent of paraguayan mandioca being sold on a cart when i stepped off the bus last night. ugh, brought back memories of that dry tasteless waste of chewing.

ate lunch at a place i thought was the equivalent of KFC - chicken sandwich was just a spicy pulverized chicken-flavored veggie burger or something. ja found what looked like a hair but the staff said it was ginger!

met menal and ja, kind of late, at a hotel where they wanted to have thai food. it was interesting to people-watch at such a place. all the expats and visitors eating and drinking at the modern bar with waiters/bouncers who kick out men not looking up to par (ie. rich enough) and who wear really tight black t-shirts and big black and metalic punk belts that make them look kind of feminine.

the girl i have to work with first said she liked my "costumes." she said, "i wear clothes like yours as my nightshirt at the guesthouse." i knew people thought of shorts as underwear and stare at men wearing them on the street. i didn't realize people think i'm wearing pyjamas to work.

the chaiwalla, or tea guy, who comes to our office is straight from some reggae band, i swear. he's got the greatest frizzy curly hair (you see waivy hair, but not this) that he parts on the side. of course below the neck he wears a collared shirt and that skirt-wrap men use here so it blows his ya mon vibe completely. he rides around on his bike with big thermos of tea, and brings up little plastic cups of the liquid on a round metal tray every morning and afternoon.