How long does it take for a flâneur to find that little blister in the fabric of the city to be able to start peeling its layers away?  A few days? A week? A month? How many years?

Certainly more than a single day, spent walking around in flip-flops under a 30 degree Centigrade sky, meeting the incredulous amusement of the local auto-rickshaw drivers, and the mostly closed doors and windows in Pondicherry’s French Town – very French, a little Indian and just a vague hint of old Dutch.

The only hope I had then, was to bring you back a day’s walk’s worth.

A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
A day's walk's worth in Pondicherry
Yet, a day’s worth doesn’t quite fit into a single post. More tomorrow.

 

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