Bus rides and some thoughts

hello all,

As my inbox is overflowing from the email love from you all wanting desperately to know what I am up to I suppose I will inform you of my whereabouts (but seriously...email me). Anyways:
after breaking up with my boyfriend, yes just like a 6th grader, I said "Oh yeah you should come travel with me...my BOYFRIEND is me in a week." That was easy enough and to be quite honest he did not seem too heart broken.

Ali and I left Repo Beach on Friday a little 1.5 hour bus ride to Chidambram where we stayed in a shit hole of a hotel for 100Rs ($2). While shitting in the bathroom, I needed a little support after squatting for so long so I held on the the faucet, breaking it off sending water spewing out of the pipe like Old Geyser all whilst my pants were around my ankles and I was squatting. Needless to say that was not the easiest situation to get cleaned up. The following day we bussed it to Trichy. What was suppose to have been a 3 hour bus ride ended up being a 6 hour bus ride. And this was a local bus: packed with people, 3 to a seat, sweaty, loud bumpy gross. I was not in the best of moods after that. Once we got to Trichy we found out that it is wedding season, which was a problem when it came to finding a hotel. By hotel 8 we found a place that had a room...825 Rs. Way expensive for us, but we got a toilet a shower and a TV. So that was our night of being spoiled. The following morning we moved hotels to one for 600Rs, still expensive though. As I was walking there was a wedding precession with a marching band and an elephant. Crazy. Later that day we went to the Rock Fort Temple, which was beautiful. There were views of the entire city. We spent most of the day trying to figure out of exit strategy for today. Our train to Kodaikanal (where my parents met 25 years ago) leaves in 50 min. It is suppose to only be a 5.5 hour bus ride, but by Indian standards I will hope to get there before tomorrow. I will leave you now with some thoughts and observations.

Men holding hands: In India homosexuality of any kind is strictly forbidden; however when two men walk down the street, fingers interlaced this is socially acceptable. I wounder how one grown man in a pink shirt holding hands with another man in tight purple pants is not gay.

Obama: People here love Obama. The question Indians ask before hello or what is your name is "where are you from" which is then immideately followed by "ohhhhh Barak Obama". But do not worry I have no more pins to pass out as to snag myself another hunk.

The HEAT: I am dirty. All the time. I shower and I am sweating as I am showering. My hair ha not felt clean since I left. My clothes, somehow after I was them are dirtier than before I attempted to wash them. I am getting use to my own filth, reluctantly.