TravelStream™ news feed for member jemeredith on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/jemeredith en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 16 Feb 2008 04:47:49 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jemeredith/1/1202743980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jemeredith/1/1202743980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jemeredith/1/1202743980/tpod.html Sat, 16 Feb 2008 04:47:49 -0500 Indian experience - from Delhi to Ponducherry

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Cochin, India

I really could have spent far longer in Goa. The warm water, cheap seafood and curries, and splashings of European honeys tanning themselves in perfect mild sunshine is ever so enticing. But the show must go on, and to Kerala I headed.

Fort Cochin was my first stop in Kerala, another former Portugese and Dutch colony that also had a share of Chinese merchants and fisherman in days go by. I can't say I liked it all that much. The old Chinese fishing nets are interesting to watch working, and the seafood is pretty good, but there was something about the place I did not like. Perhaps it was old festy men appearing from nowhere at all times of the day offering me the 'gunge' for a 'good price'.

The major highlight of my time there was being interviewed by an Indian documentary team after I visited the Indo Portugese Museum. I actually thought the very small museum was a little rubbish - it contained a few maps of old Fort Cochin and a great number of religious artefacts that really were not overly interesting. But this documentary team were so enthusiastic about the place that I felt obliged to talk it up far more than I should have. The documentary is to be shown around India and parts of south-eat Asia. Who knows, my face could be shown around in those places talking something up that I thought was downright mediocre!

Vypeen Island just across from Fort Cochin is far more beautiful. Better buildings, nicer beaches and just a general better ambiance.

Also had a meal by chance with a French women who has been coming to India for thirty years. She actually got interested in India be her desire to practice her English. She got a penpal in India (still baffles me why it was not England) wrote to him for ten years and then got on a plane to meet him. She has come back every two years or so ever since. She now works with an NGO that raises money for poor children in Chennai to be given schooling and learn English. Interesting people you meet along the way.

I spent a night in Allephey, a nice place with beaches and canals which lead to the famous backwaters. A met a German guy on the bus down there and we hung out a bit. He was a bit thrfty despite his high salary (which he boasted to me about). We took a canoe ride in the morning to see some of the villages in the backwaters. The homestay manager promised us that we would get breakfast and a trip around the villages to see various activities close-up. And you guessed it, all we got was a canoe ride that started at a ridiculous hour and that was it. The old man who propelled us along for about three hours looked tired and sore by the end. I gave him a small tip of about 40 rupee because I could not be sure that the home stay manager was going to pay the old man his dues. My German friend only had 50 and 100 rupee notes on him when we finished to canoe trip. Despite my suggestion that he give him a fifty as it was three hours, he asked whether I had any other smaller rupees. He would pay me back later. I said that the 40 rupee was the last of my small notes. So the German guy refused to pay a tip! Fifty rupee is close enough to one euro. Nice enough kind of guy, but I just could not get over that he refused to give the guy a tip!

From Allephey I headed back to Cochin and then took a hair-raising bus ride up the mountains to the tea plantation town of Munnar. Amazing scenery. Rocky mountains ride high above the patchwork of green tea plantations, and water cascades through narrow gaps in the rocky mountains into streams and rivers below. I took a small trek through the tea plantations down to one of the waterfalls. I got quite lost enroute (the rickshaw driver and I had a miscommunication about directions...) and ended up walking into small villages, greeted with looks of 'what the fcuk are you doing here, westerner?'

That afternoon I took another State bus to Kumily, close to the Perihar Tiger Sanctuary. Tigers are rarely spotted; there are only 43 in the large sanctuary. I was not one of the lucky ones on this occasion. I still managed to see elephants, bison and deer on the boat trip roaming free in the "wild". An enjoyable enough two day stay there. I walked across the Kerala-Tamil Nadu state border the next morning to catch the bus to Madurai.
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Goa, India

Mumbai and Goa seem a distant memory. A little over a week and a half have passed since I was last in Goa. I will do my best to update you on the highlights of Mumbai and Goa.

The train ride between Jaipur and Mumbai was interesting. I think I was targeted for a thieving exercise. Dodgy things happened. Halfway through the trip a whole Indian family sleeping around me were upgraded by a shining white knight from third class (which was all I could get) to second class, and they seemed to be hastily replaced by a new set of shifty looking characters. During the night I woke to find my sleeping bag zipped down and a Muslim guy across from me started saying something about a money bag (which was tied around my waist) to another person in the next carousel, immediately shutting up when he realised I was awake. Fortunately for me I was not carrying any cash on me at the time. Just my wallet, cashcard and credit card. I immediately cancelled my credit card when I got off the train. Cancelling your credit card is a pain in the arse, but I knew I could use my cashcard at most places.

Mumbai is frantic overpopulated city that I could not wait to get out of. Still, the harbour boat ride was a good chance to get close to the old British fort, and eating panu puri at Chowpatty Beach while watching the sun go down was a good way to spend half the day. I was also hoping to visit some time visiting the law courts and watch a few cases proceed (my love-hate relationship with the law will always continue) but was struck by a violent bout of diarrhea which made me feel like ratshit for about three hours. Wandering through the hotel I found the likely culprit. Dodgy bottled water. The hotel had given me bottled water a few hours before my bout. Air-conditioner units were on the outside of the many of the rooms and the hotel was collecting the drip in the bottled water containers. Now I can't be sure that they were then resealing them and then passing them off as bottled water. But I still think there was enough circumstantial evidence to sue them for under the Indian law of tort in the Mumbai Law Courts! Wanky lawyers will probably also see the analogy between Ms Donoghue's snail contaminated ginger beer and my dodgy water....

The full day fourteen hour train ride down to Goa was a pleasant enough experience. However, I did have a rather uncomfortable moment enroute. I was surrounded by Scottish students heading down to Vagator Beach on their university break, sleeping all day after a long flight into Mumbai. Being on the top sleeper berth, I had no window view. I did not feel like waking one of the Scots to allow me to sit next to a window. I was pretty keen to see the amazing country side between Mumbai and Goa. The doors near the end of the carriages could be opened allowing you to sit on edge with your feet on the step, watching ride paddies, palm trees and wide rivers pass you by. I opened the train doors and sat down. I was in heaven for half an hour, enchanted by the countryside and chilled by the soothing sounds of David Gray on my MP3. Suddenly, I felt a wetness on my legs and smelt something familiar and unpleasant. Very quickly I realised that I had been splashed by someone's urine from the adjacent toilet! Indian train toilets are opened at the bottom. You can see the ground rush by in the small dish sized hole where waste drops through. If the train is moving, wind gets under the train and pushes air outwards, splashing innocent young men like me with their feet out the door! A couple of fresh wipes and alcohol rub soon fixed the problem.

I spent the first morning visiting Old Goa. The churches there are quite magnificent, although I find the whole St Francis of Xavier remains in a glass box thing a little odd. It is like the church is still attaching itself to medieval Christian mysticism For those who want to read more about the story of St Francis of Xavier's remains go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_of_Bom_Jesus

I met Jo at the airport at lunch, and we made our way south to Bhati Kutir, Palolem Beach http://www.nivalink.com/bhaktikutir/index.html. Bhati Kutir is a very nice place to stay, a little more expensive then other huts closer to the beach, but much nice surroundings. Palolem Beach is a great place to chill, relax, swim, drink and eat seafood. There is no real party scene there. I liked it so much I stayed a week, the last three nights in a hut next to the beach.

The only real dramatic moment in Goa was being involved in a bus accident. I was on a bus returing from Madgoan in the north of Goa that hit the back of a stationary water tanker. The driver must have thought the tanker was moving. We did not hit it at great pace but it was enough to lodge the bus's bumper bar on the back of the water tanker. Only the girl in the middle back seat hurt her shoulder when she flew forward onto the bus floor on impact. The rest of us were saved by the seat in front. Hindu women got off the bus and vomited, adding to th drama. They did not return to the same bus, seemingly thinking that the bus was spooked or full of bad karma.

Okay, and maybe I should have paid more for the car-taxi when returning from Madgoan the next day. That forty minute taxi motorcycle ride sans helmet (my driver wore one..) at speeds of about 80km/hr, weaving in and out of same direction and uncoming traffic was certainly a frightening yet exhilarating experience.
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Jaipur, India

After the Taj debacle I had another day in Delhi to recuperate for my next adventure to Jaipur, a mere 200kms south-west of Delhi. Jo had decided to join me for the weekend, and we booked the 6pm train to Jaipur from Delhi CNTT station, the closest station to Jo's work. We had booked the second best class, 2AC, and reasonably assumed that this would be towards the front of the train. How wrong we were. The train did not stop for long at the CNNT station and not finding the 2AC carriage, we just hopped on at the closest carriage as the train started to depart. We very soon realised on boarding that we were far from our seats, mostly with help of some very nice Indian middle aged men. The door between the carriages were blocked so we could not walk to our carriage through the train. The Indian men told us that we had to wait an hour for the train to make a five minute stop at a particular station giving us enough time to find our carriage towards the back of the train with our backpacks.
'2AC is approximately eight carriages.' One of men said in that very polite Indian manner.

Jo was having none of the hour wait in our current seats. She looked at the train timetable which indicated a two minute stop about ten minutes away.
'Are you going to make a run for it with me at the next stop, JM?' Jo asked.
With my masculinity on the line - what more could I do but agree?
As the train started to stop, I put on my large backpack on the front and my smaller backpack on my front, waited for the train to slow then busted out of blocks like Ben Johnson at the 1988 Seoul Olympics. Nothing was going to stop me from getting on 2AC this time. I stampeded through the crowds of locals all busting to find the best spot in cattle sleeper class; men, old women and children knew to make way for the westerner hunting the 2AC carriage. Those that didn't skittled to the platform concrete with blows from my elbows or my backpacks. Poor Jo had to sidestep or jump around the fallen, not knowing whether to offer help, apologise for my blatant disregard for their safety, or just keep moving. She chose the latter.

Remember the Indian men estimated it was eight carriages. Well it was more like sixteen. We made it though, welcomed with a lukewarm train dinner of cold curries and lukewarm rice that said, 'Eat me and you will spend the next three days on the toilet!'

We stayed at this rather plush hotel in Jaipur, complete with hot showers and freshly cooked breakfasts. The only problem was that it was near a bend in a road. This meant that every time a rickshaw, car or truck went around the corner, it beeped its horn - a common practice in India. And guess who choose the front room closest to the street. Me. Silly me! I hardly got any sleep on that first night.

Jaipur is okay, a relic of the old Rajasthan state, some parts keep in immaculate condition, others withering under the pressures of modern thriving India. There is also a battle between the maharajas and the Government about the upkeep for the old palaces and forts. If they were in Australia, they would be preserved liked Don Bradman's batting gloves. It is just one of those things about India that you just have to accept. Still it appears things are on the up - repairs were taking place at a number of tourist places while we were there. The Rajasthani Government is probably cottoning on to benefits of the tourist dollar.

On the night by myself, I went to the Raj Mindar, a famous Hindi film cinema. Architecturally, it is gaudi as buggerey. I could not help but be amused by the fact that they did not serve chai tea inside - just expresso coffee! What the?

I got a little bored of Jaipur after three days and caught the bus to Pushkar, a hippy touristy place, famous for its lake and ghats and general beautiful surroundings. Hindu pilgrims come here to bathe in the lake. I loved it. Could not have been happier. I caught local buses to get there (cheap as chips) and was the only non-Indian on the bus. However, I recommend that you get a taxi to pick you up from the local bus stop - traveling on the back of a motorbike with a heavy backpack on you back and a smaller backpack on your front through windy streets is a sure way to void your travel insurance!

I got up early to climb a nearby mountain with the Savitri temple atop (thanks Lonely Planet - one hour? bullshit, make it two!), blocking out my lack of sleep headache caused by an Israeli couple arguing about something next door (probably money) and a Spanish couple on the other side, I had earlier shared a 'herbal refreshment', doing the horizontal salsa in a rather loud fashion. You pay 100 rupee a room ($A3), you pay the price...

In fairness to Lonely Planet, my route to Savatri was not straight forward. Large dogs guarding the makeshift cafes near the bottom of the mountain snarled and took swipes at my legs, causing me to backtrack and bush-bash around them. The fear of rabies was not lost on me.

The view was spectacular as the sun rose over the lake and nearby snake mountain. Treasured moment. Pushkar is way cool! After breakfast and hot water (the hotel was okay, I had to wait a ridiculous amount of time [Indian time] to get breakfast and hot water) I had to make my way back to Jaipur to catch the 2pm train to Mumbai. I got a taxi to nearby Ajmer and got on the next bus to Jaipur, hoping the bus took its stated two and a half hours to get there. Luckily it did and I got on the train to Mumbai with a little over ten minutes to spare. Not up there with my best time management, but I got on the train!
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New Dehli, India

Yes, you may not believe it, but I almost did not make it to the Taj Mahal. Surprisingly, reasonably priced days tours to Agra are extremely difficult to organise from Delhi. I had wrongly assumed that I can just go to one of the Lonely Planet recommended tour agencies and go from there. However, trying to find the recommended one was extremely difficult because they all use the same name. The cunning bastards know who Lonely Planet recommends so they all use the same or similar names! Anyway, I chose one and walked in. I asked to go on a day tour to Agra the next day, being the Wednesday. "No problem, please sit down" was the owner's reply. So I sat down and then he said that he would book the ticket. However, before he booked the ticket he wanted me to consider some of his recommendations. Of course, he recommended that I hire a taxi from him for the day to show me the sights and a full three day tour of Agra and Jaipur. I said, 'No thanks, I just want the day tour.' He then proceeded to stress the value of the tour and the value of hiring the taxi. After about ten minutes of the owner continuing to tell me that he could not book the train ticket because the internet was down but it would be up shortly, I began to realise that I was not getting a day tour until I booked the three day tour and the hiring of the taxi. So, I thanked for his time, and walked out.

After that I sat and had a coffee then walked around Connaught Place (CP). CP is a place to avoid. Touts breed like rabbits there, all recommending a tour company, a taxi service or someone rickshaw, all acting as though they want to be your friend. I eventually tried another company, and asked how much it would be to hire a car for the day to Agra. It was going to be $A90 and take about three hours. A two hour return train ticket would have been no more than $20, and a much more pleasant ride. But it appeared as if booking a train was not going to be possible so I thought about it for a while. I was annoyed that it was so difficult to book a tour and figured that $A90 was not a bad bet. It was not likely that I would ever get to see the Taj Mahal ever again in my life! After a few moments of thinking (a bit like a champ on Sale of the Century thinking about whether he will come back the next night) I said that I would think about it.

To escape the touts and the hustle and bustle of CP, I rode a rickshaw to the Museum (okay, nothing exciting) and the Mahatma Ghandiji Smitri (fascinating, the new age multi media exhibits make it well worth a visit), with the customary unrequested stop at an emporium along the way. When I returned to where I was staying (Jo's palatial three bedroom four bathroom apartment) that afternoon, I decided to book a taxi to the Taj Mahal at a stand nearby. They agreed to a reasonable price and that I would meet them there at the taxi stand the next morning at 6.30 am.

This may sound very difficult to believe, but the taxi was not waiting for me the next morning. There was a guy in the taxi stand booth who made a few calls for me. No taxi was coming until 8am. That was going to be far too late because it was going to take at least three hours to get there and I needed a full day to catch all the sights at Agra. So I decided to reschedule to the next day and visit Old Delhi that day. Suffice to say that I was not all that impressed with the taxi company.

During the day I decided to try and get a train ticket to Agra. The taxi to Agra was cancelled. The rest of the day was spent at Old Delhi - Jama Masjid and the Spice Markets being the main highlights. Jo and I partied a little that night at an ex-pat bar whose claim to fame is a wall with erotic Kuma Sutra inspired statues sticking out from a wall. We did not return home until about 2.00am. One of us was rather ill on Indian rum mohitos that night. I will not embarrass either of us by revealing who was ill. I seem to recall that mohitos and beer were free for ladies that night...

The taxi dropped me off at the New Delhi Train Station around 5.45am, giving me plenty of time to figure out the platform from which to catch the express train. Maybe it was too much time. I got on the wrong train; it was the Shantabi Express, it just was not the Shantabi Express to Agra. I put getting on the wrong train down to one thing: pure and utter incompetence.

Fortunately for me the inspector was checking tickets immediately after the train left the station. It was he who pointed out that I was on the wrong train. He was very helpful and told me to get off at the next stop and catch a passenger train back to New Delhi train station. Getting back to New Delhi train station was my first experience of getting on a train that does not quite stop and where the concept of personal space does not apply. There was a nice Indian boy studying in Atlanta who said that I could get another train to Agra at around 10.30am.

I had read my Lonely Planet so I new that I had to be careful about people claiming to be from the foreign tourist train ticket office around New Delhi train station. Even armed with this knowledge I followed a tout across the road to the alleged foreign tourist train ticket office and was taken upstairs. I asked the neatly dressed man to get on the next train to Agra. He picked up his mobile phone said a few things in English "First Class...Second Class" and finished the conversation in Hindi. With a look of disappointment on his face he told me that the train was full. I did not believe him. I was getting desperate and asked whether he had a taxi available to take to me to Agra. He said it would cost me $A150. I initially agreed until he asked for upfront payment. Upfront payment is not a good idea in India as they seem to add funny taxes after they begin providing the service. I said that I would pay him when we returned. We had a stand off for about two minutes; I refused to make payment and he refused to call the taxi. He gave me the usual stuff about having to pay a tourist tax (absolute BS). I have never been one for playing the bad Aussie tourist but I decided to play that card now. The lack of sleep and the frustration at the possibility of missing the Taj manifested itself into a twenty second screaming monologue that included phrases like 'fcuking corrupt cheating bastard' and 'bad karma is coming your way my friend'. I may have even clenched my fist and held it close to his face with a glare that only Mike Tyson could match. I stormed out of the office.

And this is where the story gets even funnier. I went back across to the train station and found an Indian man who seem to know what I had been through. Without a word he pointed to a small office saying 'reservation counter' which was full of Indians. The 10.30am train was not full and booking a ticket could not have been easier.

The day in Agra went off with only one hitch and I got to see the Agra Fort and the Taj (for only a half hour). The hitch was that my driver decided to take me to a marble carving shop after seeing the Agra Fort when I had very little time to spare - the owners of the shop, surprise, surprise, claimed to be descendants of the builders of the Taj. I had to pull a swiftly and pretended to receive a phone call two minutes into the marble carving explanation. I said it was my friend who needed to meet me at the Taj immediately. The owner was obliging but the taxi driver was a little cynical. He wanted to know why I arrived in Agra on my own. I made a cock and bull story about my friend catching the earlier train.

Waiting in the queue for over an hour and a half to see the Taj, I began to wonder whether it was all worthwhile. I had seen photos, it looks impressive, but it is just a building. People who want to see the Taj can rest assured of one thing. Your breath will be taken away when you walk through the arch and the full splendor of the building is revealed. I think it is a bit like seeing Uluru for the first time. You have seen the pictures from all angles, but when it is before you you can't help but go 'Wow'.

It was all swings and roundabouts with my viewing of the Taj. I got to see it at sunset when the petrochemical polluted sky provides a changing pinky-purpley-red background for the glowing white Taj. I wished it could have been longer than twenty minutes. At least I got to see it.




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