Family is my foundation. My rock. Wherever I am I crave the community of blood and/or marriage that accepts and enables me. I like safety and support. (Who doesn’t?)
So it was with great pleasure that I saw French family the day after their arrival in Pondi. We laughed about the absurdity of meeting here; we recounted the past two months in Paris and Auroville. (For the third time someone told me I looked Kashmiri…) They invited me to Monday lunch at their friends’ hotel outside town, and I gleefully accepted.
Monday morning arrived full of angst and I knew I needed to drive. I didn’t know quite how far the Kalaish Beach Resort was.
I buzzed down the ECR and immediately felt better. I weaved my way through Pondi and saw neighborhoods I’d never seen before. I continued along the general directions I was given, and I left Pondi behind.
I kept driving. And driving. And driving.
It seemed like I’d been in the sun forever, and the lunch hour was quickly approaching. Where was this damn hotel? I saw a beautiful church and a large school, and finally—FINALLY—I caved to ask for directions.
I first approached a colorfully dressed woman standing idly on the corner.
“Vanakam.”
But she just stared at me.
“Um, Kaliash Hotel?”
And she continued to stare.
“Is this Pondicherry?”
She didn’t move. Her eyes didn’t even acknowledge my words.
I tried several different pronunciations of the hotel and the city, but nothing moved her. So I moved on.
An old man and young woman sat outside of a shop, so I asked them. Neither spoke English, and the name of the hotel didn’t seem to resonate.
I finally asked two boys walking a cycle along the sidewalk. They too offered no enlightenment.
I was running out of options. Time to make my life line call.
But he wasn’t helpful either. Instead, as I explained my location, he said: “That’s a bit far to go by moped, Catherine.”
It was a tone I’d never heard before. It was my name, which I also rarely hear. And suddenly I felt like a child being scolded for doing something stupid. I looked around at the dirty, crowded, poverty-filled streets and noticed I was the only Westerner, I was alone on my bike with purse and laptop, and I was—in fact—being stupid.
I’ve long said the line between bravery and stupidity is fine. I hover over it all the time.
I was forced to back track but refused to give up. Look how far I’d come! Fine, no one will help me. Fine, no one supports me. Fine, I’ll do it myself. I’ll find family, and I’ll have a damn good time with them.
And then I saw the men in business suits. “Kaliash Hotel?”
They drew me a map, even though they didn’t speak English.
With that map, I found an oasis some 8km away. With that map, I found family.
Monday, February 2, 2009
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