Desperately sad to leave flawless, tranquil Havelock Island, but ready to leapfrog into the next chapter of the trip (and whatever that might bring), the ferry back to Port Blair again reminded us of the many and varied kaleidoscopic contrasts India has up its sleeve – surprises ready to come flying at you when you least expect it, just when you think you’ve finally got it nailed.

This time we were well and truly jolted back to reality against a loud soundtrack of all the huge and latest big budget pop anthems (this one clocking up nearly 300 million youtube views!) – the key ingredients of India’s MTV fodder being at least one, if not two or three, broken-hearted heartthrobs facing off with a greasy love rat (in aviators), a splash of big hair, makeup and choreography for good measure and, if possible, some kind of love story link to a grand Bollywood-esque-fuelled explosive finale.

Hit upon hit of these epic gems on high rotate was enough to drive anyone-who’s-anyone stark raving mad, and certainly gave us the carbonated kick in the pants we needed to burst us out from the lazy, sandy lethargy of the days prior! It was definitely what was required for the chaos that is Port Blair airport, and before we knew it we were winging our way back to Chennai, and jumping in the back of a cab for the 3 hour or so drive south to Pondicherry.

Population 650,000-odd, Pondicherry (or Puducherry depending on which side of the bed you get up from) is a quaint little city, and a magnet for tourists owing to its heavily French-influenced, pretty, tree-lined, cobbled streets. It’s a lot like Greytown or Martinborough, with its chic boutiques, restaurants and homeware shops attracting all the Eat-Pray-Lovers, draped in their expensive cotton kurtas and tunics in all shades of Resene’s tea and alabaster, an (optional) brightly coloured (cashmere) scarf casually tossed over the shoulder, and tan leather sandals of just-the-right and ever-so-slight heel height.

It had been a hot, sticky journey in the back of Brahbu’s cab with no air con most of the way (eventually it came on for us two and a half hours in), but when we finally arrived at the entrance to the city, man! What a welcome it was. As though by some kind of magic twist of fate, a ‘herd’ of India’s big colourful trucks pulled in at the same time, all converging on the intersecting lanes at once, their crazy horns a weird, impromptu freestyle jazz orchestra, trumpeting our arrival.

And when we pulled up outside our boutique hotel hidden in the heart of the old French town, we knew we’d again struck gold – its simple, colonial facade hiding the gorgeous design inside, and we laughed when we were handed the key to our room – gigantic and big enough to rival any zookeeper’s.

We both agree it was here in Pondicherry, in the open-air, palm-tree filled courtyards that we had the best meals of the trip so far – ironically, a traditional Keralan meen moilee (a sumptuous dish comprising fish simmered in a fragrant ginger, green chili and turmeric-infused coconut milk with curry leaves); a scotch egg absolutely-to-die-for (the run-of-the-mill sausage meat we’re familiar with back home replaced with a light and airy masala-spiced seafood mousse, the egg’s runny yolk warm and salty, the curry leaf mayo and lemon gel sophisticated and complex); and a dessert of shrikhand (sweet yoghurt) and candied eggplant, the most unlikely of favourites, but here it was in all its creamy, crunchy, sugary splendour – paired with a north Indian curd adorned with pistachios and saffron. Bon appetit!

The following day was a treat left wide open for us to explore, and we got lost in the cobbled maze, stopping to ask for directions when a hidden rooftop bar beckoned (we truly were obsessed!) or a sightseeing prize still waited to be found, Google Maps having not quite delivered on its promise.

One such attraction, the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception was more Portuguese than French but, steeped in Catholic history, is one of the oldest tourist sites in Pondicherry having been completed in 1791. It was a sight to behold, and here we quietly slipped into the back pew to admire the magnificent altar, and reflect on the colourful paintings and window panels, and statues of saints – their lips ruby-red and solemn expressions full of deep spiritual meaning. Without question the piece de resistance was the Cathedral’s entrance – an exquisite Mary’s grotto and breathtaking statue of Jesus towering over parishioners and tourists alike, welcoming them through the gates.

We didn’t quite anticipate the excitement lying ahead when the alarm went off at 5am the next morning – more than enough time, we thought, to get us back to Chennai airport to meet our flight to the next stage of the trip – dusty and ostentatious, bursting at the seams with history and grandeur, and the pink jewel in Rajasthan’s royal desert crown – refined and resplendent Jaipur.

But a pile-up on the main highway meant absolute traffic chaos, and after a tense series of seven-point turns creating even more mayhem (everyone having the same idea – including truck and bus drivers), plus double-backs and detours, we finally made it in the nick of time to board our flight and, with our bits and bobs stowed in the overhead locker, devices switched to flight mode and seatbelts clasped, we realised that the annoying little tickle in the back of our throats that had suddenly cameo’ed out of nowhere didn’t appear to be here just for the drinks…