Last Saturday, (9/13/08) I began my classes in ESL (English as Second Language). 10 out of my 14 students speak a different language at home, so I was very excited that the school is providing this class, paying for it and the graduate credits, providing lunch and breakfast and even paying us to attend! The teachers are great—two teachers on staff I work with teach the class and it makes sense and helps provide strategies and encouragement. The class goes from 9-12. At noon I set of on “Rosebud,” my trusty steed and headed to a neighborhood call Besant Nagar. I had a sketchy idea of how to get there, and I think took a long round about way past homes shops and street scenes. I stopped at small shops and a very strange art gallery where no one was there. It was so hot—the hottest time of day to be on a bike, and I passed an opened gate leading into a shaded and over grown area. I saw a guard sitting under a tree and rode over to him. The sign on the building said Montessori school, and it had a big courtyard and garden, but obviously no kids played there. “Sari shop, Madame,” he informed me. I went into a small entry way where they had dusty fabrics on shelves. The soft pounding drew me further in and with permission entered the weaving shop. Ancient looking looms with complicated stringing hung with stones tied to them. The people loved me taking the photos and soon everyone had to stop for tea to view them. They invited me to sit with them and I spent over an hour there. They showed me the dyes from plants, and how they stamp the material. I bought some small items and when I return to buy more will take them the photos.

I found my way to the beach, where there is a giant famous catholic church. They had a big lighting display of Mary, 20 feet high lit with Christmas lights. It is right next to a large Hindu temple. I wished that there was a mosque there too. The religions seem to live in harmony here, a fact that the southern Indians take pride in. This is no small thing these days—so much fighting and destruction up north. Outside of the church was very festive with garish pictures of Jesus, God and Mary rivaling Shiva and Vishnu for sale.

I found material for sale for 75cents a yard and bought several pieces—now to find a tailor to sew it for me. The bike is a marvelous tool for me. It gives me independence and takes me to all kinds of new places. People greet me and laugh at the sight of me. One of the teachers said I look like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. I feel more like Glenda, and often like Dorothy—this sure ain’t Kansas.

The next day my friend Barbara and I got up and left our homes at 6:00 a.m. We walked and then took a shared auto to the train station where we caught a train out of this area to the Central Train Station. The train station is a huge building just a year old, and it was empty—like a huge parking garage with nothing in it. There are large cement pillars, and there was something horrid on each one. AAHHH!! I hated to look, fearing it was crap or puke, but on every one? It started at about waist high, and I realized it was beetle nut spit—still disgusting but not nearly as bad as it could be. The ticket agent sold us our ticket and then escorted us to the train which came in moments. He rode along with us, as his shift was done and explained how we had to get off, walk across a abridge through the station, to another one to catch another train heading to Ponneri. We did. The people on the train were curious about us, and several people talked to us, and one showed us carefully worn photos of his farm out of the city. Everyone wanting to be helpful People got on one station to sell, “sweets” and other goodies. No one ever took our tickets or checked, but everyone had tickets.

We got off and walded a long way through the outskirts of a village into the main hub, where we caught a bus to PuliKat—our destination.

Arriving in the city by the sea the smell of fish was certainly apparent. WE walked through it all down to the waters edge where we could walk out on spit of land. “I need a boat!” I called to everyone and no one in particular. Sure enough within minutes a man came up to us and indicated that we could hire him to take us out to the island and the peninsula of land that formed the saltwater lake. No hesitation. The motor is mounted on a long pole, and he steers with the other end of it. We headed out through the shallow waters where people were catching small 3-4 inch fish in nets. WE found them later laid out in the sand to dry—“Chickens,” the man answered simply. They grind them up with powder and feed them to chickens at a factory. He took us to a stretch of beach longer than we could see. The wind was gentle, and so were the waves. NO TRASH!!! I have never seen a more pristine beach or beautiful water. I swam and floated until I realized my face was feeling very tight from the sun. We boated some more and watched the fishermen and painted storks. Later in the season this is a great place for migrating birds. I must return.

The return trip proved just as interesting. The puja-man wanted us to take his picture in front of his little temple. Barbara and I got into one train car with all men, when we realized that the train was segregated. People squenched together to make room for us. We arrived back in Chennai sunburned and tired—and happy.