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15 March
An early morning taxi ride from the heart of Delhi dropped me at the Delhi airport. Flying in India is an experience in itself. After showing your ticket at the door, a nice security guard lets you in far enough that you can put your checked bags through a scanner where they're tagged and have a plastic band put around them (think heavy duty cardboard box with the annoying thin plastic bands around it making it semi impossible to get at the goodies inside). Then you check in. And then I sat around for a while. Unbeknownst to me, the rule about getting there early really doesn't apply when they don't even let you into security until the flight is actually boarding. After hopping into the Ladies' queue which has one metal detector versus the men's FOUR, walking through, getting patted down in the privacy of the pat down booth, learning that the tags they hand out in check-in MUST be affixed to your carry-on bags otherwise you have to go back, fill one out and go through security AGAIN, the FINAL CALL sign was flashing for my flight. In an absolute panic, I realize that "final call"
merely means "hey guys, want to think about lining up now?" So I made the flight. No worries. And a short time and a delicious vegetarian snack later (Hindus are awesome. You don't even need to request special meals), I arrived in Chennai. Chennai (or Madras) is in the heart of Tamil Nadu. The language (Tamil), the writing, the people, though still very Indian, are wildly different from their northern counterparts (yes, Ben, I like commas!). The pre-paid taxi stands, however, are the same. And thank goodness for that.
Beyond arriving in Chennai, I really saw very little of the city beyond the Catholic Church that was on the way to the beach. The beach was less than exciting and I ended up spending most of the time staring alternately at the horizon and crabs to avoid making any sort of eye contact with the Indian men desperately seeking attention. After the beach, I hopped in a tuk-tuk with two lovely Aussies and headed to a tapas bar for delicious food.
16 March
From Chennai a one and a half hour bus ride to the south brought me to the lovely city of Mamallapuram. The city
Playing at the Orphanage.
This smiling child is the one who stole my dumptruck and ran off laughing. is a teeny one, but with massive bas reliefs and full temples carved out of granite boulders. It's quite the site. And I assume there are easier ways up the tops of the temples than following the goats. Goats can be very misleading. They make rock climbing look so easy. Of course, they're not wearing sandals and carrying a 2 litre bottle of water and a camera. And once you're past the goats, a leisurely stroll up to the lighthouse seems innocent enough. But the discovery that the lighthouse monkeys are out for blood changes that. Ok, so they're actually just trying to take water bottles, but they're very aggressive about it. From the climby fun temple areas, we took a short walk past heaps of masterful carvers (it's a shame a 3-ton statue of Shiva wouldn't fit in my backpack). They're noisy. I expected men squatting in sarongs with a chisel and hammer. They have electric drills and power saws. Consider my bubble burst. Beyond the carvers and back through the center of town and past the Shore Temple (yes, a massive temple on the shore. Clever.) there is a beach! It's not really a great beach and many westerners here are severely disrespectful, trolloping around in bikinis. It's a working beach. There are loads of restaurants with a view (one of which I hunkered down in for the afternoon). And the view is of miles and miles of fishing nets with little fisherman bouncing around fixing bits and untangling others. Every once in a while loud mooing breaks over the sound of the ocean. The cows that seem so normal by now in every other part of India still do not belong on beaches. Especially not when they get stuck in fishing nets. And holy as they are, they must be rescued from entanglement.
In the late afternoon, I went with a few others from my tour to a local orphanage to play with the kids. In every other part of the world, children are attracted to me whether I want to play or not. In India, children hate me. They do not want to play. They will instead steal the dumptruck from me and run off. They will take the badminton racket out of my hand and giggle. And run off. They will throw the cricket ball at my face. They do not explain games, but laugh heartily when I apparently lose. At least they had a good time...
17 March
Today I discovered why I should never ever ever share a room with a middle-aged German woman. Not only are there awkward nudey times when I must avert my eyes and pretend to be doing something, ANYTHING, but the fan in the room was just not enough to stay cool. So she opens the windows. The carnage on my bed in the morning - about 30 mosquito bits and splotches of my own blood all over the white sheets - was evidence enough that I'd apparently been involved in a vicious life or death battle all night. And the itching all over was further proof.
A long train ride lasting most of the daylight hours brought us to Madurai. We had a delicious dinner on a rooftop from which we could see the silhouette Meenakshi temple.
18 March
More itching. Fever. Dizziness. Hundreds of spots. After walking to the Meenakshi temple (which is worth image searching, since it's fantastically colourful and beautiful and huge), I headed to the local "hospital." My now out of control bite situation definitely required medical attention. I had no idea that nurses in India start working at age 12. So from the start I had great confidence that I would be getting all the care I required. On examination of my measle-esque skin, the lady doctor wearing a purple sari determined that I had heat rash, an allergic reaction to medication (of which I'd taken none), and bites. The first step of treatment? A good injection in the bum. I was lead into an exam room with a bed, told to lie down, roll onto my side and before I could think to say anything, two nurses and the doctor were in the room. Nurse One grabbed the waist of my pants and pulled them down, the doctor jabbed the needle in, and as soon as the injection was over, Nurse Two (who could not have been any taller than 4'6") rubbed the injection site vigorously. I was then handed a list of prescriptions to battle all three of my possible ailments. But the doctor only begrudgingly changed the one I have an allergy against. So next door to the pharmacy we went, discovered that the new medication was one I am also allergic to (I am allergic to a grand total of 2 medications), walked back to the doctor, brought her to the pharmacy. Had a nice row with her and the pharmacist. And left with 3 of the 5 medications she originally prescribed. I spent most of the day after that in bed. I did go out for palak paneer. And then to the fancy shop that sold lots of western junk food to stock up on comfort food (choc chip cookies and doritos). That night we hopped an overnight train out of Tamil Nadu to Kerala.
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