Is it my imgination or bizarrely true that a lot of men in pondicherry have bruised fingers. I've been seeing all these shopkeepers handing me change with queer bruises on their index or other digit. Nearly nauseated when the juice man handed me change with a tip of his index almost hanging out and bloody (bgggg - he made my frigging juice - gagbgaga). What - do their empowered women peck them at night or what?
Also now I'm suffering from partial visual impairment thanks to L'eglise de Notre Dame des Anges. The Church opens out onto the beach with a little patch before with a single high-traffic tennis court behind a marble statue of Joan of Arc. ok.
Now more than a few ppl have been badgering me with: what on earth are u doing in pondi on a holiday with just yourself, sticking to the city, your feet, and going to bed by 10? So this whole trip was never meant to be about fun but being on my own and listening and thinking and some fresh air. Pondi doesnt have a nightlife anyway except the kind you want to make with you partner in your nest, and even if it did - would never be a part of it thanks. Possibly the most exciting public nightlife has been happening in the bar below the room I stayed in - it even called for police a few days back.
Back in my room, I've had some great moments with The Economist and Hesse. For the last few days, I've decided to treat myself to Shanti guesthouse. Enough of the dingy bar life.