January 26 Pondicherry to Chidambaram 70km
Smooth sealed road with intermittent shoulder; 4:20 elapsed time.  Fuel: 2 iddlies (steamed rice thingys) and dahl (yellow lentils), 4 small bananas, 3 litres water, 1 Chocolate Outrage Gu

I can't say if it's jet lag or the early morning bang on the door asking 'Chai, please?' 'Coffee Madame?' but I can't seem to sleep past 5:00 a.m.  Fortunate for me, the coffee culture is alive and well in India.  Starting early every morning, on every street corner, in every town (large or small), you'll find large groups of men huddled around the local coffee stall, sipping their morning milk coffee with sugar.  The preparation is really an art.  There's no $5,000 espresso machine requiring a 'trained' barrista to push a button.  No.  It's really more akin to the making and pouring of Moroccan mint tea.  First, coffee is filtered using a rudimentary metal and mesh filtering net.  Then, steaming hot milk from a large vat is juggled great distances three of four times back and forth from one small glasss to another.  The light and frothy milk is then skillfully poured on top of the coffee shot (with a good dose of white sugar) for one of the tastiest coffees I've ever had. 

But here's the best part. I need only say 'Milk Coffee' to a half naked man in a skirt usually with paint on his forehead and ring in his nose and immediately he knows what I want.  In France, I'm required to go through elaborate lip, tongue and throat contortions to say, 'Bonjour, Madame! Je voudrais une cafe o' lait, s'il vous plais' at least three or four times and still I get a furrowed brow implying confusion as to what I'm trying to order.  Starbucks is no better.  And so I found myself, dressed in my Pearl Izumu shorts, at 6:00 a.m. on the corner of Nehru and Ragapanali standing out like a sore thumb, sipping a milk coffee and soaking in the local atmosphere.

Navigating our way out of Pondicherry was not nearly as confusing as finding our way in.  It was just long and wearing. Pondicherry seemed to start 5 km before the city began and it just goes on and on, mile after mile of the usual mix of heavy Indian traffic, near misses and painful ear deafening noise.  Just when I was starting to question the sanity of riding the backroads of a country of over a billion people (which occurred at roughly the same time as a bus pushed a local bicycle into my back panniers), the road opened up into the most scenic stuff.  Really, it was straight from a movie set. 

Despite the obvious differences, one thing that startled me was how similar the South Indian landscape is to some parts of Vietnam. On reflection, there can't be too many variations in the recipe when the ingredients are water, endless rice paddies, blue sky, fishing, palm trees and thatched villages.  For one slightly scary split second I even felt a twinge of nostalgia for those unusual days spent riding the length of Vietnam but then again, perhaps, not.  Very unlike Vietnam, we were blessed with beautiful consistent tailwinds, smooth roads an effortless spin and a remarkable absence of street hawkers or beggars.  A phenomenon occuring mostly in the country or untouristed cities.

I'd be lying if I told you Marcus was seeing the day the same way.  The new Hercules bike was proving to be particularly troublesome to ride.  With a seat post too short and gait more like a slog, Marcus was having to work.  If it weren't for his several stops, however, we would not have met so many Indian boys of high school age who absolutely idolize Arnold Schwarzenegger. 

There's really not much to tell about, Chidambaram, our destination for the night.  Most people come to this dusty lifeless town as pilgrims to worship at one of the holiest Shiva temples in the south.  I'll remember it for the place where my bike computer was ripped off by a pilgrim who had just been to temple!