India – January 2026
I arrive in Karaikkudi, Tamil Nadu, on the first rainy day I’ve had in a while. Stepping off the bus from Madurai, I’m surprised by how little attention I attract. Later I realize that, compared to other destinations in India, not many foreign solo travellers pass through this countryside town by public transport. I call my homestay owner, Vijay, who tells me to find an auto at the taxi stand. Easier said than done in the rain and with limited English around. Eventually I hand my phone to a driver so Vijay can explain the location directly. After confirming the price, we head out of town until the road turns into mud. The driver clearly wants to drop me early, but knowing the auto can make it, and that I already paid enough, I refuse to walk through the rain.
At last we arrive at “Vyugen Villa,” where Vijay greets me with an umbrella and proudly shows me the house he designed himself. Inspired by architecture from his travels across India, he built it largely with natural materials and using traditional construction methods. Warm wood tones and an open kitchen-living area make the place feel instantly homey, especially with Vijay’s mother preparing tea and lunch. As the rain continues, I spend the afternoon reading by the window with fresh chai. Over spicy chicken stew, Vijay tells me about the sights around Chettinad. His parents are skeptical that I’ll manage them all by public bus, especially with Pongal starting the next day. But that sounds like a problem for future me.
That evening I join Vijay’s mother in the kitchen while she prepares Appam, the South Indian rice pancake made from fermented rice and coconut batter. She swirls the batter around a small rounded pan so it forms crispy edges with a fluffy center. My own attempt is far less graceful, but thankfully still edible. We eat the appam with vegetable curry for dinner and sweet coconut milk the next morning. After confirming bus timings through a mix of gestures and Google Translate, I head into town. The bus arrives on time but without working doors. Back at Karaikkudi’s bus stand, I spend ages trying to find transport to Kanadukathan before finally locating the correct bus at another terminal 2km away.
On the way, Pongal preparations are everywhere: sugarcane, flower garlands, and bright coloured powders filling the market streets. Walking through Karaikkudi’s antique district, I get my first glimpse of the famous Chettiar mansions’ architecture. Built by the wealthy Nattukottai Chettiar trading community during colonial times, the homes blend Tamil, Burmese, and European influences with teak wood, marble, Belgian glass, and intricate tiles. Thirty minutes later I arrive in sleepy Kanadukathan, where even the palace seems closed for the holiday. Instead, I visit AR House, one of the best-preserved Chettinad mansions. Family photographs, safes, study desks, and furnishings remain in place, giving the house an almost frozen-in-time feeling.
Nearby, the Chettinad Handloom Weaving Center is quiet during lunch break, though a shopkeeper happily shows me colourful cotton sarees. By early afternoon, the heat becomes exhausting, and I take shelter in another old mansion before setting out toward Athangudi. Finding transport there on Pongal proves difficult, so I negotiate with an auto driver for a return trip including waiting time. Soon we’re rattling down countryside roads toward a tile workshop, where artisans demonstrate how Athangudi tiles are made by layering cement with coloured pigments inside metal templates before flipping the finished tile upside down to set.
Nearby Athangudi Palace showcases these tiles at their most extravagant. The mansion represents the height of Chettinad architecture: huge courtyards, stained glass, Burmese teak, Belgian mirrors, and hand-painted ceilings. Despite the tropical heat, the interiors remain surprisingly cool thanks to thick lime-plastered walls and passive ventilation. My favourite detail is the pair of intricate peacocks decorating the entrance. A bit tired from sightseeing in the heat, I ask the auto driver to take me back to the other village early.
The bright green bus back to Karaikkudi is packed, people hanging from the open doors while a Tamil action movie blasts through distorted speakers. At the bus stand, two young girls immediately latch onto my arms, following me through the crowd while I try to figure out which platform my bus to the homestay leaves from. For a moment I’m completely stuck with them dangling from both sides of me until an older man finally notices the situation and loudly shoos them away. During nearly three months of travelling through India, this is the only time anything like this ever happened to me.
I return home just before sunset, proud that I managed to cover everything without my own vehicle and for less than 1500 rupees. In the meantime, Vijay’s mother has cleaned the house for Pongal, and everyone is excited for the next day’s celebration honoring the sun god Surya. The following morning, I find her at the entrance drawing a colourful Kolam on the ground with powdered pigments. Vijay’s father proudly shows me the Ganesha statue in the yard, decorated with coconuts for the occasion, before taking me to a relative’s impressive mansion. There, maids cook Pongal (rice boiled with milk and jaggery in clay pots) over open fires until it overflows. At that moment, symbolizing abundance and prosperity, everyone shouts “Pongalo Pongal!”
After dessert served on banana leaves and one final spoonful of sweet Pongal, Vijay drops me at the bus stand on his scooter, and I continue onward through Tamil Nadu. Stay tuned for temple towns and the food paradise of Pondicherry.
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