Mamallapuram was cute. There are charming shops and restaurants, the fish is fresh enough to eat without worry, the main drag doesn't have a constant rush of honking traffic, and despite the ever-present piles of litter strewn about, the water is clean enough to swim in. This does not mean I recommend it, particularly if you're a white chick like me in a sea of Indians.

The holiday we'd celebrated a bit in Chennai turned out to be Pongal, a holiday to celebrate the harvest and observed only here in the state of Tamil Nadu. As such, the best place to see the festival was outside the city and scores of Indian tourists from Chennai and other towns descended upon Mamallapuram for the festival's climactic events on Saturday.

Chris and I went to the beach to see what this Pongal was all about and were not disappointed. About 10,000 people mobbed the beach. Men and boys in their underwear dove into the waves while women and girls in saris made of silks that shone in the sun waded only to their ankles. Totally into what was going on, Chris and I went home to change into swimsuits (a button-up shirt and shorts for me), headed back to the beach and joined the locals for some frolicking and revelry. I had about 30 seconds of fun before I had my boobs and butt grabbed by horny little Indian boys who thought they could get away with it underwater but were sadly mistaken when I yelled at them and smacked them on the tops of their heads.

Taking pictures in India fun. There are so many people everywhere, all the time, doing such interesting things and leading such interesting lives that they are really the only subject worth spending time on. What takes some getting used to is the baffling number of people wanting to take pictures of us.

We spent our last night in Mamallapuram sitting in a jewelry store with Riyaz, a charismatic Kashmiri man who was able to shed some light on a few things for us. He gave a little history lesson on the instability in Kashmir (the northernmost state in India, between Pakistan and China), some tips for being running a successful business, a bit about the corrupt Indian government (more on that another time), and most importantly, an attempt to help us read into the characteristic Indian head wobble.

Chris and I first encountered the head wobble in Chennai at a local restaurant when I asked if I may have the dosai masala and was met with a utterably indecipherable head shake that made it inconclusive as to whether or not what I ordered would actually ever appear.

The technique for the wobble is to move the head from side to side, pivoting from the nose so the head is moving roughly in a figure-8 pattern. Unfortunately the actual meaning of the wobble is unclear. Is it "yes?" Is it "no?" It usually seems to mean something like "what you ask is possible, but only if a) you have the money, b) I can be bothered c) the stars are aligned." It has led to a most frustrating series of encounters with people resolutely wobbling their heads and us trying in vain to get a definitive answer, but it's led to some hilarious moments of Chris and me stifling laughter.

We had Ayurvedic massages this morning, which involved the gratuitous slathering of three different salves and ointments onto nearly every available skin surface, including caked into my hair. Three shampooings in cold water and my hair is still a grease pit. I think I'll pass on the next one.

We're now in Pondicherry, aka Pondy, a former French-colonized town where many locals speak French, Police wear red kepi (hats), coffee is easier to find than tea, many of the street names are in French and the main drag has a mini Arc de Triomphe-type monument. Tonight, we met Raja, a 20-year old tabla vendor from Varanasi who quickly dropped the sales pitch and befriended us, keeping us riveted with stories of traveling around India selling his drums. On the way to dinner together, a tongueless beggar jumped up and began following us, crying "ahhhhh! ahhhhh!" as he came near. It freaked me out. India's like that though; wonderful one minute, terrible the next and always in your face.