What the Autobahn said to the Indian Highway: A Story of Next-to-Pakistan-and-Bangladesh continued

Readers, readers, please be still! I have promised you the tale of Bratwurst, Sauerkraut and Smorebro, and I will not fall short on my promises, not once, not ever! As you can tell I'm also busy devouring the fifth book of Game of Thrones instead of consuming the Booker-prize winners I told myself I'd be doing whilst out of school... Oh well.

Where were we... That's right, time had stood still, and to be fair the story hadn't really begun, since I technically haven't even described my descent upon India in the fiery beast that was Qatar Airways (and my walk of shame in Doha airport covered from head to toes in loose clothing yet still feeling like a promiscuous Western wench) because it is irrelevant! I get ahead of myself and then stumble when I go backwards.

Either way, I'll plow on. We--Sauerkraut the Saucy, Bratwurst the Brawny and Smorebro the Sun-Kissed Goddess of the Northern Lands, Ruler of Scandinavia and... eh, well--WE, the Golden Girls of Germanic-Nordic Gallafalidaldi we're in Mammalapuram outside the Dusty City that is Chennai, also known as Madras to those of us with a colonial inclination (and boy did it feel strange to see British travelers in India, "surveying their former colonies," as I think the Brawny one put it).

One quick recap from Mammalapuram, also called Mahabalipuram (does that sound more familiar? I thought so...), as I can hear your parched throats scream at me in unison: BUT DID YOU EAT KRISHNA'S BUTTER BALL?

Well, since you ask:

Yes, I did, and I did it with pride and a great appetite.

BUT WE CONTINUE ON THE PATH! For where did the windy road that actually isn't so windy but Indian drivers are reckless and make it so? India, oh India, the land where any three-file autobahn will feel like the Karakoram Highway snaking through the Khunjerab Pass (highest in the world as highways go, and my fellow travelers, if you want to take me there I will NOT SAY NO), you are a beauty disguised in the beatings of my heart as I actually feel safer keeping my eyes off the road than on.

I digress, for we moved on after having divulged in caste politics (non-PC) in Madras Cricket Club and shopped on other people's money (actually that was just me). A government museum was also visited, and you may not believe it, but they have a prize-worthy collection of holographic images. Whatever that conjures up in your mind, the reality is much, much stranger, I can assure you.

A sneak peek on the next legs of the road:

Will Sauerkraut buy the Reclining Ganesh WITH A LAPTOP for her Honorable Mother?

Will Smorebro get her tongue unstuck from the devious water bottles sold to trap tourists in Chennai airport?

And has Bratwurst turned into a boat on which her friends continue the journey through Kerala, the place where minimum wage competes with dosa as the peoples' favorite dish?


Images are either private or (in the case of those juicy-juicy portraits of The Three Thistly Tarantulas) they are taken from here, here, and here.