PUDUCHERRY - India’s Frenchest City

One of the best ways to see India is from the back of a bike. However, if you are brokepackers like us, that means you can't afford the beasty Royal Enfield. That post-colonial tank of a bike, too heavy for anyone but a die-hard fan. All Pranoti and I could afford was a scooty. The beat up, younger cousin of a moped, and to make matters worse, we only had it until 6pm.

Okay then, after our late breakfast, we still had a decent part of the day to explore Pondicherry and the mysterious enclave of Auroville right next door.

Strap on your questionably clean “helmets” and let’s get on the road then.

Yawning, and still digesting the morning’s chai, we climbed on to Mr. Scootie Pants (his name changed a lot during the day), and set off from the center of town. Pondicherry is a coastal city in the south-east India. Unlike the rest of the country, this city grew up as a French trading post, and there are still plenty of remnants of the old french style of life. Bakeries (the most welcome french export) littered the street corners offering scrumptious smelling breads and pizzas, the police also had the tall peak capped french style hats that only made me think of Inspector Clouseau, and perhaps the worst thing that french had left behind: Brandy. All the beautiful rums and whiskeys that India makes, or even a few of the passable beers, are better that the cheap brandies that everyone drinks here.

A policeman wearing a kepi hat.

As we drove through the streets, straight grids extending out from the coast line, the architecture astonished us. Unlike the large, overbearing and pompous colonial buildings of Mumbai; the beautiful buildings here seemed more at home on the Mediterranean. Their large windows and balconies, thrown open to the morning sea air, beautiful courtyards and small squares encouraged sitting outside and no high-rise monstrosities that dwarf the citizens into submission. Despite the very Indian traffic and impending midday heat this city had room to breathe.

Weaving, cautiously, through the maze of cars, we made our way towards the coast. There is a wide esplanade that follows the beach all the way through the center of town. Unusually, the main drag was totally pedestrianised. We hopped off the Scootie Bootie and sat for a while, watching the morning parade of Uncles marching up and down, bellies pushed forwards and arms swinging ridiculously up and down by their sides. This is a trend of taking the morning air and providing some stimulation for the body. It’s truly a sight to behold, I guess it is more acceptable than jogging, but in reality, it's unfortunately closer to a goose-step than is comfortable.

There was lots of beautiful doughnut shops and fancy seaside eateries lining the shore, but nothing in our budget, so we headed back into the city towards some strange formations on the map, what looked like a lighthouse, surrounded by a grid settlement, all built into a peninsula that would surely give some good views.

We were getting close to our next destination and the traffic had all but disappeared. Pranoti wanted a turn piloting our tiny bike so we pulled over and swapped. It must have been quite a sight; a 5ft little Indian woman full of tattoos driving a 6ft white boy all knees and elbows. After a shaky start, we were back on our way, except I still had to do the leaning for the corners for the both of us.

Not long later we passed through some open gates into rows and rows of squat houses, all sat in the shadow of a huge industrial estate. High walls and even higher chimneys almost blocked out the light from this little colony. People opened the doors of their rooms and watched us flying by like escaped clowns from the circus.

When we reached the peninsula that we had noticed on our maps, we were greeted by one of the dirtiest beaches I have seen in awhile. It was Indian dirty, meaning it wasn’t just a bit of trash here and there from the passers by, it was an active dumping ground and toilet for the local community. The smell. Braving the stares from the people now gathering to take a look at the firangi, we tried to see if there were any photos worth taking.

That's when I noticed the name of this district on the map: Leper colony.

Okay, back on the bike then. I’ll drive, hold on. We zoomed away, now understanding the curiosity on the peoples faces a bit better. We since researched and now know, there is no way to catch this disease simply passing by. People suffering from this illness suffer a lot of stigma, and so live with their families in these colonies.

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Back on the road again, we headed out of town. Headed towards Auroville, a somewhat mythical place in backpackers, yogi and political circles around the world. Founded as a part spiritual retreat, part anti-capitalist utopia back in 1968, the town is self governed and self-congratulated by it’s 2,814 inhabitants.

As someone who would describe myself as on the left, I was excited to visit. Their principles of self-sustainability and a rejection of money or currency as a form of barter intrigued us both. On the ride over, we wondered about who we would meet, how they lived and if they were having some event or party that we could attend and hopefully get to know them better.

As we arrived into Auroville it was immediately clear that this was a highly organised operation. Car park, visitors centre, gift shop and cafe selling all sorts of fancy drinks and snacks. Not quite what I expected, I was thinking it would be more along the lines of a warm weather Christiania (the drug fueled freetown, ex army base in the middle of Copenhagen). This was more of a spiritual retreat. Here, meditation and simple living were encouraged.

Only they live a simple life, with style. Walking through the museums and watching the videos in the different buildings of the visitor complex it was starting to dawn on us the scale of this operation. There were beautifully manicured gardens and houses that you would see in a new build estate, all copy pasted - with the mod cons included. The biggest shock of all was the Matrimandir, an enormous structure towards the centre of the town (park). It was made of red marble and surrounded by luscious green grass and various amphitheatres made with the same elegant marble. Closed to all but members of the… erm community? So, we had found all the money they were rejecting then.

Desperate to find another side to this place we left the meditation palace guided tour and jumped back on lil scoot and drove further inside. What we saw reminded me of a retirement community, it seems that lots of people live and work in Europe and keep a second home here, a quiet society to escape society. The radical students of ‘68 in their silver years. I was ready to deride it as a sell out, but honestly I could see the appeal. They really are living an organic, off-the-land, lifestyle - even if they do have to fly halfway around the world to do it. Their outreach programs do engage and help local communities, with focus on progressive things such as funding feminine hygiene cooperatives. And as almost comically cultish some of the structures look it was truly impressive the place they had created.

It was time for tea. The afternoon was dragging on and we had to ride back before the bike rental was up or risk the chance of the mechanic charging us a late fee. The Auroville cafe menu prices had us running for the exit so back on Scotty2scootie and away from the hippies we went. Back down the coast road we found an acceptable chaiwala with an odd white tiled store in between four roadside stalls selling every kind of door you could imagine.

• Chai Check: Door district chai 4/5 - Lost points for small cups.

Arms aching from the ride and processing what we had seen today we slipped back into the city. The long shadows and evening traffic had changed the mood entirely. The kepi capped policemen where irritable from the day's whistle blowing, the regal building fronts where filling up with the night stalls and the uncles where taking their evening strut up and down the esplanade.

Pulling Le Scoot back into the parking spot a young kid was sitting there. Recognising either us, or the bike, he jumped us to meet us. Taking the helmets from us as we took them off and grabbing the keys out of the ignition. Still unsure if I was dropping off the bike or being robbed I looked to Pranoti, she didn’t have a clue. The owner soon came out with our deposit, barely giving us a second look. His time to knock off and head home too then I guess.

We headed back to our couch surfers place to watch the sunset and enjoy some of that dreaded brandy. Pondicherry was growing on me. I think I could live there for sometime and try to understand this interesting corner of India.