Puducherry

Sometimes, you book a ticket on a whim, and like all good things that come together easily, when you land in the gentle December sun of Puducherry, you realize you are right where you belong. After a whirlwind year, and holidays brimming with so much to see, and so much to do and so little sleep, Puducherry is what you need. A new discovery, quaint yet Christmasy, and sun and sand and wind.

The mornings start early, yet early is eight. There is little to do but run and then make your way to breakfast: eight different nationalities come together at a giant dining table and over dosas and muesli and chutney traveller tales are shared.This is life. Stories from all over the world and ten eager faces savoring them all. 

There is little to do in Pondicherry. We walk the promenade by day and by night, and we walk to the crowded markets, and dilapidated gardens, and beautiful French quarters and the handmade paper factory, and lesser known cafes, and churches, and the Alliance Francaise. We spend hours eating and mulling over coffee in French cafes, and we rent cycles and tour through Puducherry’s narrowest lanes, and lesser known beaches. The narrower the lanes, the wider the smiles, the better the masala chai. And, on Christmas night, we stand at the church like all the others, and sing along to ‘Silent Night.’ 

This is life. Quiet and slow and wondrous and ephemerally happy. Puducherry allows you to take it all in.

 

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