We reluctantly left the luxurious enclave of the Grande Bay Resort and a porter carried Christine's bag all the way down the drive to the bus stop about 20 yards away from the drive entrance. This was fortunate as the only sign that it was a bus stop was a disparate gaggle of people waiting at the roadside.
The first four buses came and went, there being absolutely no chance of boarding them as they were already overflowing with passengers. After being assured that the fifth was indeed going to Pondicherry as the destination board was completely in Tamil script, and had space to accommodate both us and our luggage in the narrow aisle as there were no free seats available, we boarded. We had only waited at the stop for about half an hour, and after another half an hour we had seats too!
This trip was more expensive than the last, albeit at 60km somewhat farther, and cost IR140 or 70p each.
We passed across a flat plain, mostly given to cattle grazing, rice growing or coconut plantations. Most dwellings were leaf thatched huts, but many were accompanied by small concrete box like houses too. Occasionally we crossed wide estuaries, one of which had an enormous area of small salt pans all producing ridiculously small heaps of salt using a small army of workers. Completely uneconomic.
Then the surroundings became more urban as we approached Pondicherry. Luckily the bus stopped in the bus station so we didn't have to guess where to alight, nor scramble off a bus impatient to be on its way. Sometimes passengers board and disembark from these vehicles without the driver coming to a complete halt at all.
There were lots of tuk-tuks at the bus station and after only a little discussion and scratching of heads a driver professed to know the way to the hotel address I had written on a piece of notepaper, and off we went.
Le Chateau hotel is on a road parallel to the seaside in the heart of the French quarter, in fact this was a French colony until 1958. Christine upgraded our room to a fine one with a balcony overlooking the road, and by 13:00 we had taken up residence in the beautifully converted old colonial room.
We then went hunting for lunch which was tracked down in le Cafe des Arts on the next road. The French legacy of baguette baking is alive and thriving here. A toddle around the area turned up the Cathedral des Anges and the tourism office, then back to the hotel for a cup of tea ( not an Indo-French cultural strength).
As evening of fell we went for a walk up and down the mile long traffic free promenade with hundreds of locals and a sprinkling of tourists. In all that distance I counted two cafes and a fancy goods shop. No drinking or smoking by order. No bars either, what a waste.
We had an hour before supper so tried to find a bar inland, but failed. An unexpected failure of the French legacy. Eventually we stumbled across an off licence at the bottom of the street the hotel was on. Amazingly it looked like a normal shop rather than a prison, probably because Pondicherry is a union territory of India but not part of Tamil Nadu state, and is allowed to set its own taxes and make its own laws.
Supper was in the rooftop restaurant of the hotel, a very pleasant spot. Christine asked the rather dignified man who gave her a menu whether he was a waiter. "No ma'am", he replied, " I own the place".
The food was good but possibly we had been spoiled by last night's spectacularly good meal, so we weren't as impressed as we were expecting to be.
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