The streets were full of clothes vendors, dogs, chai stands, an elephant, and women wrapped in saris as usual. However, the unfamiliar to us seven white Americans in India, was the prevalence of westernized cafes, tourists in shorts and sleeveless, the
aroma of homemade Italian 
spaghetti, as well as the constant, accented, flowing French words on street signs, books, and clothing. Walking through the streets of the city no matter what time of day was extremely quiet. French Town was streaming with Indians, French, and tourists on bicycles. A very large statue of Gandhi taking an infamous step forward was staged above the waters of the Bay of Bengal crashing into the rocks on shore.
We had our second trip to Pondicherry a couple hours’ drive south. It is quite famous for its French influence. Within this state of India, Tamil Nadu, there were three main colonists up until the 1940s and
1950s: Chennai with much Portuguese, a majority of the state of English, Dutch in several places, and finally the French in Pondicherry. It is a small beach city attracting tourists and families with links back in France. From the first tour we took with our wonderful supervisor, Pondicherry felt much more relaxed and casual. It was a few days in which we were able to stress less about our clothing. We were not the only white people around and therefore less of a godlike presence.
Additional to the relaxation and casual feeling of Pondicherry was the familiar western/European culture of cafes’ and restaurants along with the delicious variations of ethnic cuisines. From day one we started with the popular (returned to many times) French café (open twenty-four hours!) and iced coffee drink, walked around the French city, and finished with a delicious, little Italian restaurant situated on the sixth floor of a hotel, overlooking the entire city, with a breeze flowing through the open aired rooftop and the spotting of lights surrounding. Don Giovanni’s was not a one-time visit deal; it was inevitable that we would return to the aroma of homemade Italian pasta, freshly baked focaccia bread of garlic a
Coffee, cappuccinos, Americanos, mochas, croissants, Italian pasta, and scrambled eggs, whether it be plain, in a French baguette, or in a homemade croissant, spinach tart, guava juice, eggplant masala, paratha…
I had such a wonderful time in Pondicherry. It was difficult, just like any vacation, to return to reality and day-to-day procedures. However, after only being back to the urban, metropolitan life for one night now, I am still consumed by the town. I still think about the delicious Italian and French food we ate, but also about our last meal at our supervisor’s house in the countryside, with homemade Indian food. It was the first time I have finally been able to witness and participate in the making of this beautiful and delicious cuisine. We learned to mak
e stuffed parathas, pooris, several curries, 
and ate popcorn and a variety of spiced, roasted chicken. Even though the family of four informed us of the most venomous snake in India being spotted the previous evening, we were able to forget about it and relax and socialize in the coastal breeze and stuff ourselves with more amazing food. After being away from the chaotic and somewhat stressful city, , walking along the beach, witnessing a community full of zen and meditation, and being immersed in the culture of food, I would never be opposed to becoming a foodie.
aroma of homemade Italian 
spaghetti, as well as the constant, accented, flowing French words on street signs, books, and clothing. Walking through the streets of the city no matter what time of day was extremely quiet. French Town was streaming with Indians, French, and tourists on bicycles. A very large statue of Gandhi taking an infamous step forward was staged above the waters of the Bay of Bengal crashing into the rocks on shore.We had our second trip to Pondicherry a couple hours’ drive south. It is quite famous for its French influence. Within this state of India, Tamil Nadu, there were three main colonists up until the 1940s and
1950s: Chennai with much Portuguese, a majority of the state of English, Dutch in several places, and finally the French in Pondicherry. It is a small beach city attracting tourists and families with links back in France. From the first tour we took with our wonderful supervisor, Pondicherry felt much more relaxed and casual. It was a few days in which we were able to stress less about our clothing. We were not the only white people around and therefore less of a godlike presence.Additional to the relaxation and casual feeling of Pondicherry was the familiar western/European culture of cafes’ and restaurants along with the delicious variations of ethnic cuisines. From day one we started with the popular (returned to many times) French café (open twenty-four hours!) and iced coffee drink, walked around the French city, and finished with a delicious, little Italian restaurant situated on the sixth floor of a hotel, overlooking the entire city, with a breeze flowing through the open aired rooftop and the spotting of lights surrounding. Don Giovanni’s was not a one-time visit deal; it was inevitable that we would return to the aroma of homemade Italian pasta, freshly baked focaccia bread of garlic a
nd olive oil, and the beautiful art of tiramisu for a second time only to try something different. Italian food with an extremely friendly Italian owner was only a taste for what was yet to come of the four-and-a-half days we were in Pondy (its nickname).
Day two was all about food. It was maybe my first experience of really being a “foodie” and I truly believe that it could be my lifestyle. What a better way to spend your life, travel the world and eat food; only several times did Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmerman come up while we sought out hole-in-the wall cafes, local restaurants, and ethnic cuisine. Other than walking along the beach, going to a bookstore of novels in English, Hindi, and French, walking slowly through the nearby Catholic cathedral, and getting dressed up for an evening out, food (and some beverages) made up the majority of the day. After an early morning walk along the ocean, a café Americano, my breakfast was a cheese croissant and an espresso from the bakery near to our guest house. Second breakfast was a homemade apple juice on another rooftop café. Lunch was scrambled eggs with a tomato, mozzarella salad. We had to take a break from the heat with a chocolate ice cream and then later an Australian imported beer. Without these things our bodies would have fallen apart from the heat and stress of the trip…. We only had to take another break before heading back to the room to clean up and dress up for dinner. Our destination was the popular twenty-four hour coffee house for my favorite of the day, a chocolate croissant. Dinner was pizza from a f
ired-oven stove. My mouth may have opened slightly when I saw my simple yet mouthwatering margarita pizza with big, bright green basil leaves placed on top.
Day two was all about food. It was maybe my first experience of really being a “foodie” and I truly believe that it could be my lifestyle. What a better way to spend your life, travel the world and eat food; only several times did Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmerman come up while we sought out hole-in-the wall cafes, local restaurants, and ethnic cuisine. Other than walking along the beach, going to a bookstore of novels in English, Hindi, and French, walking slowly through the nearby Catholic cathedral, and getting dressed up for an evening out, food (and some beverages) made up the majority of the day. After an early morning walk along the ocean, a café Americano, my breakfast was a cheese croissant and an espresso from the bakery near to our guest house. Second breakfast was a homemade apple juice on another rooftop café. Lunch was scrambled eggs with a tomato, mozzarella salad. We had to take a break from the heat with a chocolate ice cream and then later an Australian imported beer. Without these things our bodies would have fallen apart from the heat and stress of the trip…. We only had to take another break before heading back to the room to clean up and dress up for dinner. Our destination was the popular twenty-four hour coffee house for my favorite of the day, a chocolate croissant. Dinner was pizza from a f
ired-oven stove. My mouth may have opened slightly when I saw my simple yet mouthwatering margarita pizza with big, bright green basil leaves placed on top. Coffee, cappuccinos, Americanos, mochas, croissants, Italian pasta, and scrambled eggs, whether it be plain, in a French baguette, or in a homemade croissant, spinach tart, guava juice, eggplant masala, paratha…
I had such a wonderful time in Pondicherry. It was difficult, just like any vacation, to return to reality and day-to-day procedures. However, after only being back to the urban, metropolitan life for one night now, I am still consumed by the town. I still think about the delicious Italian and French food we ate, but also about our last meal at our supervisor’s house in the countryside, with homemade Indian food. It was the first time I have finally been able to witness and participate in the making of this beautiful and delicious cuisine. We learned to mak
e stuffed parathas, pooris, several curries, 
and ate popcorn and a variety of spiced, roasted chicken. Even though the family of four informed us of the most venomous snake in India being spotted the previous evening, we were able to forget about it and relax and socialize in the coastal breeze and stuff ourselves with more amazing food. After being away from the chaotic and somewhat stressful city, , walking along the beach, witnessing a community full of zen and meditation, and being immersed in the culture of food, I would never be opposed to becoming a foodie. 
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