Our last stop in India is Pondicherry which is the most un-India-like place so far. It's an old French town and lots of the colonial buildings, and the people, still remain. It was an odd place to be for our last few days and they were spent in patisseries and cafes eating pastries, croissants and drinking good coffee!

In true Pondicherry style we stayed at a guesthouse owned by a Frenchman, known by the locals as the 'Frenchie's place'. He spent his days like real India men, sat around chatting to his mates and cycling round town on his bicycle.

Being on the coast, Pondicherry has a beach but it's nothing to write home about, and is more of a promenade than a beach with a sliver of sand and a wide open European style road. But, at night, it's where the Indian locals come to hang out and they come , as the French say: en masse. It was actually a little bit special to be part of and we struggled to think of an English comparison where everyone just gathers to chill. There are a few vendors selling snacks so we bought some spicy chickpeas, and a few stalls of tat, but mostly people were just climbing on the Gandhi statue or sat down chatting.

We have mixed feelings about Pondicherry and are not sure whether we like it or not. We really enjoyed the Indian side of the river, and explored the main street, of course called Mahatma Gandhi Rd, and its surrounds. We found an authentic place for our last India thali, and purchased a thali set for ourselves, so we can practice at home or in SK! But the French side of the river we are still a bit dubious about. Sean sums up in one word: pretentious.

Cleaner than the rest of India put together, street cleaners are employed but dumping rubbish also doesn't seem to be a big problem here. The French bar we spent all of five minutes in left us feeling out of place and unwanted which has to be a first for India. The French cafe we breakfasted in similarly had a vibe of be French or get out and the croissants left something to be desired... Ironically our favourite French place was on the other side of the river and was run by Indians. Some great coffee and snacks. We spent a lot of money here. Also it was called Baker Street which left us a little confused as to what message they were trying to give out. French? Got to love the Indian train of thought there.

We also visited the Ashram which is famous for being set up by The Mother who is something of a demi-god. We paid homage at the flower display, to what we're not sure and then sat down in meditation for a while. The enforced silence was a welcome relief but of course the chap in front had left both his mobiles on and they both rang. Loudly. Embarrassing. Egg on his face.

Our journey in was uncomfortable to put it mildly. Having learned our lesson from the previous bus, we snagged front row seats which both eliminated the recliners in front and was a handy safety guard against sliding under chairs. Earplugs went in to drown out the girl to our right who had some sort of plague. This did not however block out any sound from the newborn baby behind us. Newborn. And crying like a newborn. I.e. all night. I don't think anyone slept. Off the bus at 5am in Chennai to change to a local bus to Pondicherry, the transport system on the East side of India is not well developed. We guess the British didn't venture this far and the French always have to be bloody awkward.

Our bus out was not as bad as we weren't falling asleep and being jerked awake at every brake and turn and we left Pondy to a chorus of boys singing Hindu tunes. Party bus. Onto Chennai for our final night before the flight out and onwards.