Civilisation returned in Pondicherry where, in the neat, French-colonial grid of streets, we were able to blend in for a few days, among the coffee shops and wine bars (and yes, EU flags), being the cosmopolitan types what we are.
Our guest house, La Maison Radha, only just on the wrong side of the tracks in 'Indian' territory, was run by fuss-budget Ravi, with his list of house rules and a little too ever-present style.
He was a nice guy really, just a bit keen, spending the first hour of our check-in poring over a street map marked with every tourist attraction, shop, cafe, restaurant and event in the area.
An exhaustively handwritten list of Indian food types and yet more touristy stuff filled the back of the sheet.
He wasn't taking any chances on us having to ask questions or miss out on anything, so he talked us through that as well.
Everyone got this slightly obsessive welcome. Not odd at all.
Anyway, we loved Pondicherry. The parks, cafes, wine bars, eateries (although we did eat at the same South Indian restaurant four times it was so nice!), boutiques, beach, gendarmes and promenaders were a pleasure to walk around and watch.
So clean, tidy, quiet, ordered and leafy, the Frenchified flavour even extending to New Orleans on some of the quiet side streets.
A walk across the tracks (literally a dingy canal) put us back on the Indian side.
We were able to enjoy again the madness of the Grand Bazaar and get our daily traffic fume and car horn fix.
Blazing sunshine intermitted with rain and, by the final few hours of our stay, a Biblical deluge had us almost marooned in the hotel Ram, to where we'd decamped for a couple of nights.
Luckily, the flooded streets were to our left, the railway station to the right.
Bon voyage and bon chance, Pondy!
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