Mamallapuram was Mahabalipuram -- It's nobody's business but the Tamils.

Mamallapuram is a small town a couple of hours by bus south of Chennai. It was here that I picked to chill when I first landed in India. I had heard it was the only "Traveler Ghetto" in Tamil Nadu.

Still reeling from jet lag and culture shock getting of the bus in the main bazaar in town, even at 7 in the morning was still a bit much for me. Getting my bearings I could tell the ocean was just a little ways East. I strapped on my back and headed to the beach. People were getting their days under way. Filling water jugs, opening up small shops and stalls, washing, saying "hello" to the lost fat American as he stumbled past them. The cows, goats, chickens, and dogs also were going about their business.

The beach was beautiful, if a little garbage strewn. An ancient stone temple stood watch as the sun stretched across the the Bay of Bengal. I had made up my mind I was gonna take the first room I found with hot water, no matter what the cost. I guess it is really important to look like you know what your doing in India, especially in a tourist trap. An older Tamil man in a blue lungi came up to me and said, "Are you looking for room? You are very lucky today. I have hotel. You can see my name in Lonely Planet."

I responded with a weak and defeated, "Do you have hot water?"

"Yes, and 24 hour electricity!"

"Okay, lets go look."

After a walk through narrow sandy lanes we got to The Hotel Laxshmi, formerly Laxshmi Lodge. It was a thread-bare two story set around a large courtyard. After the 2004 Tsunami flattened the town my innkeeper had taken the opportunity to build another building closer to the water with AC rooms and a pool. My room had no AC. Just a simple concrete platform with a foam mattress and dingy bathroom. I had no idea what to expect in a room or really what the rate should be. He gave me a price for four nights and I took it. I paid too, much. Maybe twice of what I should have. But I needed to sleep. And take a bath. After I paid him I said, "I'm gonna take a bath." "Very good, I send up hot water." The hot water comes in a bucket, upon request.

I bathed my self. Went for a little walk and fell asleep for almost 20 hours.

A week in review.

After spending a a relaxing few days in the beach town of Mamallapuram, I headed South where I:

• Visited the Dharma Initiative-like Auroville.
• Ate baguettes in the former French Colony of Pondicherry.
• Saw temples in Thanjavur, Trichy and Madurai.
• Spent a cool night in the wooded Cardamon Hills.

Now I'm in Alapuzha (Aleppy), Kerala, the "Venice of the East." This place could still throw me for a loop but I'm starting to feel a little more at home. I will write a proper blog entry and post pics when I find a computer lab with A/C.

Arrival in Chennai on the way to Mamallapuram.,

Landing into Chennai felt very surreal. Granted, landing anywhere after a 20+ hour flight feels surreal. Feeling the heat and the dust just after you exit the plane and you know, you're not in New England anymore, Mr. Jones. Someone who had been to India told me before I left, "The Indians are very nice people, there's just too many of them." Even the Indian-Americans who were on the plane with me had the same furtive look in their eyes. As did the crew from my flight, who I chatted with in line at the money changer. They also felt that Chennai was a bit two overwhelming a place for a vacation.

I was expecting very aggressive taxi-wallahs. It wasn't so. I only got very polite offers from taxi and rickshaw drivers in Queen's English, "Are you in need of a Taxi, sir?" The offers came at the rate of about two per second, however. I haggled two pre-paid taxi booths against each other and got a rate for a ride to the main bus station. Remember, that this is at about 1 A.M. and I've am seriously sleep-deprived. The ride thorough the streets of outer Chennai, even in the wee small hours make you realize how far over-stretched the infrastructure is. And the housing. People sleeping out side, as a matter of course.

The bus stand was a large dome-like affair with giant neon letters in Tamil and English. Moffusil Bus Stand. I had nothing smaller than a hundred-rupee note to tip the driver, a young man about 20. I felt I should tip him something. I felt this for two reasons. One, he risked both of our lives on half a dozen occasions in the 15 minute ride to get me there in a timely fashion. Two, he asked. I gave him the hundred, he smiled and touched the bill to his fore-head, as a sign of gratitude. A hundred rupees is worth little more than four dollars. I later learned this is the price of a three course meal at a touristy restaurant, with tip and drinks.

Inside the stations, I felt like I had entered some Dante-esque vision of limbo. There were, maybe, 300 people sleeping on the floor inside the dome. All the shops were closed. The lights were dimmed. A few street-dogs darted through the throngs of sleeping people. I'm always a little sketched out at big bus stations, but I felt very safe here, for some reason. After wondering around aimlessly, looking for a bus going to any town that I recognized from my guide books a man came up to me and asked, "For which bus are you looking, sir?" He pointed the way to the Mammalapuram bus and I found a place to wait.

Sitting there I began to make my first impression of the Tamil people. A handsome, dark, slight people, they are one of only a few cultures in the world who speak a still-living Classical language.
Very conservative, with women almost only wearing saris and about half the men wearing the sarong-like lungi. While I waited, two teen aged boys began to open the kiosk at my gate. One could not speak English but got his friend over to chat me up. The bus drivers began to wake up from their sleep on the tops of the buses at around 4 A.M. All of them were interested in my travel. I didn't feel unwelcome as they decided which was the best bus for me to take. It was the second one heading in my direction. A grimmy red and yellow thing decorated with pictures of doves. When It loaded the driver and conductor kicked every-body off so they could perform their puja to the small alter to Krishna behind the driver seat. They lit camphor, incense and played tapes of Hindu hymns. I'm glad they did this. With out help from Lord Krishna, I'm sure this thing wouldn't have rolled. The bus wasn't too crowded, thankfully. I even had enough room to put my bag on an empty seat next to me.

The sun came up just as we pulled out of the stand. This is when I saw India in the light of day. Before that, I could only asses anything out side my immediate surroundings by smell. The smells of burning garbage, and exhaust and feces, with subtle hints of incense. Now I could see. Again, the streets were already crowded beyond my level of comfort. Buses, motorcycles, rickshaws, cars trucks.

And then I saw them. Cows in the street. Small round things with asymmetrical horns, meandering down the lanes, holding up traffic and browsing through garbage heaps. The ride through outer Chennai let me see people beginning their day. Women were out side their houses sweeping, filling jugs of water, making sand paintings in their door-yards. Men sat, and talked or walked to work. Children began their chores and headed off to school (or work).

I relaxed in my seat as the city slowly turned to broad, wooded coastal country-side. It finally dawned on me that, for better or worse, I had finally made it to India, and my destiny was up to me.

HOLY CRAP I'M IN INDIA

As I write this I've been up, more or less, for the past four days. In a brief summary here's a recap (I'll add prose later):

--Woke up at my friends' house in Portland, Maine at 5AM Tuesday morning.
--Got to the bus station and grabbed one to Boston South Station.
--Grabbed a Chinatown bus down to Manhattan.
--NYC Subway out to Bushwick, Brooklyn
--Stayed at a friends house. They just moved in and didn't have heat, hot water or electricity.
--That didn't stop a late-night song-trading session.
--It also didn't stop me from taking a cold shower, in the dark, and then sleeping on the floor. Yeah, that's how tough I am. I also had a bowl of gravel and sand for breakfast.
--Train out to JFK. Way too early.
--A really long flight is something that messes with you perceptions of a lot of things. I write about that in particular.
--Land in Chennai.
--Realized I was in India. But there is really no way I could be any where else. Like, India. For real. India. Cows in the street. Women in saris. The kaleidoscope of smells and colors.
--Auto rickshaw to the bus stop, crazy bus ride down the coast at dawn.
--Landing in Mahabalipuram.
--Found a room got a bath and now I will sleep.

I'll write it out more detailed-style tomorrow. When I'll be, hopefully, somewhat more coherent.

Call me Mr. Inbetween.

In a few days I will be boarding a plane in New York. This plane will stop briefly in Brussels then it will drop me off in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, India.

The first thing most people have asked me since I told them about this scheme is, "What are you going to do in India." That makes me always feel a little woozy. I don't have an answer. It seems like I should. I've quit a steady job, moved out of a living situation that was great, in a city that I love. I should have a good reason. I don't. At least not one that is satisfies that sort of question.

I may be going to find myself, or learn how to play the veena, or make friends with an elephant, or connect with people from a vastly different culture than mine, on their turf, on their terms, or get myself out of my habits so I can finally make a plan about what I'm gonna do when I grow up.

Maybe, or maybe I just want to find the best coffee house in Bangalore. Have you heard about South Indian filter coffee? It sounds great.

There were two earlier Westerners who found themselves in South India with out a clear plan.

I've been thinking about them a lot lately. One was Saint Thomas the Appostle. Most people called him Doubting Thomas. That's because he wanted to see with his own eyes Jesus after he was resurrected and touch his wounds. He sounds like a pretty reasonable dude. I'd want to see that, too. After having his doubt dispelled he headed East and ended up in India. Working a day job as either an architect or a carpenter, and spreading the gospel.

The other predecessor I've been thinking about is Vasco da Gamma. He went to India to get spices and gold. The Indians didn't want to trade for any thing he brought from Portugal. Vasco's back-up plan was just to take the stuff he wanted. He brought some supplies for his back-up plan. He brought cannons.

I have some doubts. I have no cannons. I'm bringing a camera, a mini disc audio recorder, and minimal expectations. I'll write about what I find here.