Text-isles.

Life here in the Besant Nagar neighborhood of Chennai moves along at a comfortable, leisurely pace. While traffic may brush past with horns honking, very few people actually appear to be in a hurry. The horn is more of a cultural inclination than an effective driving aid. It implies "If you don't move over I'm going to hit you because why would I possibly embrace such notions as right-of-way." India and I are in love.

I've joined a Keralan martial arts (South Indian style of self-defense) class that meets three times per week near the beach. Held the former home of one of India's most talented national dancers, the class is by far the hardest physical activity I've ever engaged in. Imagine kick-boxing combined with yoga in 85 degree weather with 90% humidity - I've never sweat so much in my entire life. We practice in the courtyard of this beautiful Raj-era home. The structure is hundreds of years old, and the stones literally breathe with humidity, mold, and a kind of calm energy. I'm excited to continue the class, if only to meet people (both foreigners and locals) and add a kind of structure to my days.

Photos: Fishmarket at night. Nina and I at a nearby Indian restaurant. Me and my shiny face trying to correctly pour South Indian coffee (which, by the way, is the only way anyone in this wide world should prepare the coffee bean. Lots of milk and lots of sugar...brewed fresh for every cup).