Me and Muthu hit the road.

On my second or third day of acclimation to India I was sitting having chai in small chai stall in Mammalpuram. A smiley older Tamil in a pressed white shirt came up introduced him self as Rama and said, "I run tour company ... we talk about tour ... cheap price ... come ... we talk after your tea." and pointed to a bright office across the street.

He didn't know this, but one of my plans was to go on a package tour for a few days when I first arrived, if India was too much for me. India wasn't completely overwhelming, but I could use some training wheels. So, after my tea I went to sit in his sunny office. It wasn't really a tour company, as I would call it. It was a service that included a car, a driver and all the gas. I would be responsible for food and lodging. He wanted to sell me this service for my entire stay. This would be a lot of money, even in Rupees. I told him I just wanted to see some temples in Tamil Nadu and be dropped of in neighboring Kerala state. He still wanted a lot of money for this. Lingering anger at myself for not haggling for my room was boiling below the surface when I tossed out a number that was half of his asking price. We settled somewhere in the middle. After paying half the fare I agreed to pay the rest upon my safe arrival in Kerala, and that I would meet with the driver at 7 A.M. sharp in a few days.

My last couple of days in Mammalapuram where chill. I started to sleep regularly and take solid food. My last night before I left I was in a restaurant when an Australian ex-pat named Rob invited me over to his table. Over luke-warm Kingfisher beer we chatted with his friend who was traveling from England, Dave. Rob had moved from Australia and ran a small diving and surfing business on the beach. He remarked that he hardly ever saw American travelers. And he never saw them by themselves. He was quite impressed that I traveled by bus. I got up from the table early in the evening. "Thanks, guys. It was nice hangin' with you, but I've got to get up early to meet a car." I said. "Oh no mate, did you rent a car with a driver?" Rob asked. "I know," I said, "I'm still a lazy American tourist."

The next morning I had chai while waiting for my driver. To my disappointment, the car we were to take was not one of the ubiquitous Ambassadors. A British car from the 50's that was still made to spec new in Chennai. All curvy stout with a sound like a chainsaw. Instead it was the slightly more modern Indian TATA. A car that all of the sex-appeal of a Geo metro, but none of the class.

My driver, Muthu arrived. He looked a bit like a dark skinned Freddie Murcury in spotless pressed white clothes. We exchanged greeting. He had a look at the itinerary that Rama and I had set up. We headed out, both of us in the front, by bag in the back. A short while out of town we stopped at a small shrine. Muthu had grown up in Mammalapuram. The shrine housed a small black granite Idol that looked like it was maybe a thousand years old. It was the Deity of the village. and people come to pay their respects by hangin garlands of flowers and smearing it with turmeric and camphor. Muthu prayed, and invited me to do the same. As he hummed a hymn. I stood there. I'm not a religious man, but I said a few words to St. Thomas, asking for safety, mostly. I didn't go in to more gory details about accents involving cows, water buffaloes, street children or any other auto-on-mammal collisions.

And with that, I was off. Off in a car that would be illegal in the States with a man I just met, into a country I was fast starting to realize I knew nothing about.