Ok, I’ll admit it, I’m a tightwad. If I die with a coin in my hand you’d better hope it’s a fifty pee, at least you’ll get it out of my clasp with a wrench. The other day I beat a beggar to a one rupee coin lying on the pavement that someone had dropped. It almost landed on my head I was down that quickly to pick it up. In comparison to me, Ebeneezer Scrooge was Santa Claus and the tooth fairy rolled into one. BUT I hate shopping and the shopkeepers, stall holders and touts in Kolkata are masters at squeezing every last rupee from their prey… sorry, customers. Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a challenge!
First off, I had no intention of going shopping. I was going to have a leisurely stroll down to the Victoria memorial, laze about a bit taking pictures, stroll back to the hotel, repack my bag for the homeward flight tomorrow and have an early night. I always start off with good intentions. I’ve been very good on this trip. I’ve carried all my photographic gear with me, along with my laptop. When I’ve not taken them out with me, I’ve locked them into my case, inside my locked hotel room. Until today that is. I was halfway down Park Street, sweltering in the morning sun and I had a thought. You know by now how my thoughts go.. Oh bugger, I’ve not locked my case and the room cleaners were on their way in. I had to traipse all the way back to the hotel just to put the lock onto my bag. I must have lost half a stone in weight I was sweating that much. Whether because of the heat or the thought of losing all that equipment, who can say?
Job sorted, I retraced my steps down to the Victoria Memorial. It was built to commemorate Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee in 1901. Unfortunately they didn’t complete it until twenty years after her death. They probably had Rochdale Council on the job. Saying that, it’s a fantastic place and fabulously photogenic. In 2007, I was fortunate to visit the Taj Mahal (no, not the curry house on Milkstone Road) and the Victoria Memorial has that same haunting aura about it. But by God, Kolkata is hot. I was melting in the heat. It was 35C when we landed yesterday and today it must have been the same, or perhaps hotter?
I had to get out of the direct sun and St. Paul’s cathedral provided the much needed shelter. Apparently, according to the Lonely Planet guide, it has a central cranellated tower. Fancy that! MS Word has no idea what that means and neither do I but it’s an impressive place anyway. The memorial plaques inside are all reminders of English gentlefolk that died keeping India, British. Forgive me; it’s brought a tear to my monocled eye.
Once back outside and in the sunshine, it was impossible to settle, it was that hot. So I returned back to the hotel for a much welcomed wash to cool down. Now the hotel is very nice, apart from it being in the middle of backpacker central. There are hosts of young people hanging about, doing nowt apart from trying to look like 60’s hippies and going redder than lobsters in the heat. To the shopkeepers, stallholder and touts, parting the kids from their cash is like taking candy from a baby. But now they have me to deal with.
It all starts innocently enough. Some character sidles alongside you, asks what country you’re from, what your name is, what line of business you are in and… “Would you like to have a look at my friend’s shop? Very good price too! No need to buy, just look” These touts receive commission for every tourist they fetch into their “friend’s” shop who buys something. The tout’s commission has to be made back, so the tourist pays that in inflated prices. I stuck it until the third chap approached me. Until then I’d been quite amenable, engaging them in conversation and then politely refusing the offer of a visit to his friend’s shop. Balls to this, I’d had enough.
“Hello, what country you from?”
“Finland!”
(Somewhat hesitatingly)”Oh, err, very nice… is that in England?”
“No, it’s near Russia and I’m going home now, bye!”
It worked! He buggered off and left me alone. Hey, this is a great game! Hope it works again. Sure enough, I didn’t have to wait long to find out….
“Hello, you looking for something?”
“No thanks, I’m fine”
“What country you from?”
“Wales, Land of my fathers don’t you know!”
(Totally bemused) “Oh, err and what is your name?”
“Dai, Dai Station!” (I could only remember him from Ivor the Engine) “and what’s your name boyo?”
“Errr, Rahil…. You want to see my friend’s shop?”
“No thank you, I’ve no money see, spent it all coming here!”
“Plastic?”
Bugger me, this fellah took some shaking off!
Eventually, I ended up coming from Cornwall and I was called Paul. Paul Perro.
But then came the time I wanted to buy an incense holder. I bought one the other day but true to form, it’s crap. I paid 75/- then and that was with Jyoti with me. I wonder if I can get it for that price on my own. My reputation must have gone before me. I spotted just what I wanted on this guy’s stall. Bent down, picked it up and asked,
“How much?”
“120/-“
“How much? I only paid 75/- the other day and I was ripped off then!”
“Ok, ok, take it, it’s yours, 75/-!“
Blimey, that was a bit easy! Kolkata shopkeepers, hold your heads in shame! In the words of Delia Smith “Where are ya? C’mon, let’s be ‘aving ya!”
Early start tomorrow morning. I have to be up by 4am. It’s now 4.30pm. I think I’ll have a couple of beers, a few free crisps and be back in my hotel room for 6pm. I want to be getting my head down for 9pm. Hey, I’ve just had a thought! I wonder if Kolkata barmen would like to haggle. “How much? I only paid 60/- the other day!” Hmmm, I’d better not, I don’t think I could keep a Welsh accent up for long after a bottle of beer. I always end up sounding Pakistani. Now that really would confuse them!
Friday 19 March 2010
The wheel turns
And so the wheel turns. If you look at the Indian flag, it has a wheel n the centre. This symbolises the circle of life, death, and rebirth. So, now I find myself back in Kolkata some 4 weeks down the line and, in retrospect with a total different outlook to a month ago.
First off, I have to kill time before Jyoti turns up at noon. Oh, go on then, more bloody shopping I suppose. I‘m accosted by every costermonger in town and, I’ve said it before, it’s all tat. The stuff they sell on Rochdale flea market is better value! But halfway into my shopping trip, I feel the familiar rumbling in my nether parts. I think I must now know now what’s causing it. It has to be the glycerol they put in Indian beer. It’s giving me the habdabs. God, I can’t wait to get back to the UK for a proper pint!
Jyoti arrives just before noon and we are soon on our way to the airport. We stop on route to see a south Indian style temple that has been recently built, complete with fancy goporums. I remember seeing some programme on tv a while back, that showed England in the middle ages. The church ruled the roost and if you wanted to get to heaven, the more you prayed and, more importantly, the more money you gave to the church, the more you were assured of salvation. This new mandir (temple) was all this personified. Everything came at a price. Want someone to pray every day for you? No problems that’ll be 10,000 /-. Just once a month? Ok, we can do that, 1,500/-. God, it was awful and I was glad to get out of there and back on the road.
The North East has a chequered history and, therefore, security arrangements at Guwahati airport are strict. It takes me forty minutes to get through check in and the subsequent security checks. Nevertheless, we are soon under way and, in no time at all, I’m back in Kolkata once again.
Your name really stands out when you’re looking for a friendly face amongst the welcoming committee at any airport. So, it was a great relief to see my name so prominent amongst the crowd. One hour later and I’m deposited back at the Lytton Hotel with a promise he’ll pick me up at 5am Friday morning, for my flight back to the UK.
Formalities done and I go for a stroll around Sudder Street. Compare and contrast – what were my feelings first time round in Kolkata? I loved it? I was intrigued? I was glad to be back in India? Well now, after I’ve been in the North east for a month, I bloody hated it. It was swimming with backpackers and it was swarming with lowlife. Twice the same guy offered me hashish and “nice Indian Girls”.
The Lonely Planet guide recommends calling into Fairlawn hotel for a beer amidst colonial grandeur. So, true to form, I did. It was bloody awful. Nose to tail with middle class, western tourists, enjoying the “authentic” Indian lifestyle. Bollocks it was back to my hotel for me and… hey, why not try the bar there? Fair play to the upwardly mobile, new Indians, they might have pretensions of grandeur but they do it well. The place was bedecked in chrome and glass, my glass was never allowed to remain empty and with every new drink, a free bowl of crisps.
Say what you like about the new India, I’d have it any day over the old backpacking tossers, with their silly beards and baggy trousers thinking they’re getting a real taste of the East. Bag of shits, the lot of ‘em!
First off, I have to kill time before Jyoti turns up at noon. Oh, go on then, more bloody shopping I suppose. I‘m accosted by every costermonger in town and, I’ve said it before, it’s all tat. The stuff they sell on Rochdale flea market is better value! But halfway into my shopping trip, I feel the familiar rumbling in my nether parts. I think I must now know now what’s causing it. It has to be the glycerol they put in Indian beer. It’s giving me the habdabs. God, I can’t wait to get back to the UK for a proper pint!
Jyoti arrives just before noon and we are soon on our way to the airport. We stop on route to see a south Indian style temple that has been recently built, complete with fancy goporums. I remember seeing some programme on tv a while back, that showed England in the middle ages. The church ruled the roost and if you wanted to get to heaven, the more you prayed and, more importantly, the more money you gave to the church, the more you were assured of salvation. This new mandir (temple) was all this personified. Everything came at a price. Want someone to pray every day for you? No problems that’ll be 10,000 /-. Just once a month? Ok, we can do that, 1,500/-. God, it was awful and I was glad to get out of there and back on the road.
The North East has a chequered history and, therefore, security arrangements at Guwahati airport are strict. It takes me forty minutes to get through check in and the subsequent security checks. Nevertheless, we are soon under way and, in no time at all, I’m back in Kolkata once again.
Your name really stands out when you’re looking for a friendly face amongst the welcoming committee at any airport. So, it was a great relief to see my name so prominent amongst the crowd. One hour later and I’m deposited back at the Lytton Hotel with a promise he’ll pick me up at 5am Friday morning, for my flight back to the UK.
Formalities done and I go for a stroll around Sudder Street. Compare and contrast – what were my feelings first time round in Kolkata? I loved it? I was intrigued? I was glad to be back in India? Well now, after I’ve been in the North east for a month, I bloody hated it. It was swimming with backpackers and it was swarming with lowlife. Twice the same guy offered me hashish and “nice Indian Girls”.
The Lonely Planet guide recommends calling into Fairlawn hotel for a beer amidst colonial grandeur. So, true to form, I did. It was bloody awful. Nose to tail with middle class, western tourists, enjoying the “authentic” Indian lifestyle. Bollocks it was back to my hotel for me and… hey, why not try the bar there? Fair play to the upwardly mobile, new Indians, they might have pretensions of grandeur but they do it well. The place was bedecked in chrome and glass, my glass was never allowed to remain empty and with every new drink, a free bowl of crisps.
Say what you like about the new India, I’d have it any day over the old backpacking tossers, with their silly beards and baggy trousers thinking they’re getting a real taste of the East. Bag of shits, the lot of ‘em!
I'm just careful with money
Now some folk, some nice folk, would say I’m careful with money. Others, less generous would say I‘m as tight as a gnat’s chuff. I’ll let you, the readers decide. Because round these parts, I’m Mister Moneybags and it’s a strange feeling to be honest. Waltzing about town and if I want it, I can afford it. But… there’s always a “but” isn’t there, there’s absolutely bugger all I, or anyone from the west, would want. It’s all tat!!
So with that in mind, I went shopping in Guwahati. Me? Power shopping! I really wish I hadn’t bothered. I wanted a couple of new t-shirts and there were plenty of stalls eager to sell me rip off branded names shirts. Now the folk round here are little buggers. Either that or I’m a big bugger! So, every place I looked at…. “Sorry no size for you sir!” God, that makes me sound elephantine in stature. Hang on, I’ll just pop me trunk back in my shorts... ah that’s better.
Where was I? Oh yes, shopping. I hate it. I hate it in the UK and I hate it here too. I actually managed to find a large sized t-shirt, paid over the odds and, when I got it back to the hotel, it didn’t fit. Oh and the other things I bought? Well, in the hotel where I was they had agrabathi’s burning in a holder, on a metal tray. Bugger me, that’d look good in my house. So, off I went on a mission. I really don’t know why I bother. I managed to find a agrabathi holder and when it came to arguing the cost I had to laugh. He wanted 135/- and we wanted to pay 110/- (goodness sake is it worth haggling over?). He even weighed the steel tray and to justify his cost, claimed that it would last forever. Even he laughed when I pointed at a plastic plate and said that would last forever too! Sod it, we split the difference and I paid 120/- . I told you, it wasn’t worth it. That’s even truer now after I’ve used the holder for the first time. The damned agrabathis won’t stand upright and look a bloody sorry state of affairs burning horizontally.
Now, there’s no way I’m paying 175/- for a bottle of beer tonight and I need some cash anyway. So, it’s a stroll out to the local ATM and then the wine shop for me. Well, the first ATM was a nightmare. It swallowed my card and, despite pressing every button in sight, refused to return it! Thank goodness, in the end up, it did and it told me to bugger off and go elsewhere… or words to that effect. Twenty minutes later I’m in a manned ATM booth. And the damned machine is in Hindi. Until the security guard chappy comes to life and shows me how to change the screen to English. Hooray! After I’d got my cash, you just know what’s coming… “Baksheesh? Baksheesh!” Bless him; the poor bugger must be on a pittance of a wage, so I pushed the boat out and gave him a whole 10/-. Well, no bugger gives me owt at work!
As Chrissy Hind once said, “With cash, in pocket…..” I went to the wine shop. Now this is an experience in itself. The whole building is encased I a steel cage. The poor old employee must feel like Hanibal Lector on community service. You order yor drink and it’s delivered via a gap in the cage. Bloody awful experience!
Still, armed with my 60/- a bottle beer, I drifted off back to the hotel. Where the manager was waiting for me! He’d found a solution to my internet access problem. Bless him, it’s only took him three weeks (it was a password issue but shhhhhhhh). No matter, I now had internet access for the night and cheap beer. What a heady combination! And then there’s a knock at the door. Room service must have thought, “alky westerner is back, go up there with some overpriced beer, he’ll have it!” Well not tonight Gunga-din! I did order half a tandoori chicken for my tea and then I stayed up till gone 11 pm, what about that then eh? I’m still a rebel at heart!
Yes, being the wealthiest man in town s great for the ego but if all you want is a pint of ale and a meat pie, what good is it to you?
So with that in mind, I went shopping in Guwahati. Me? Power shopping! I really wish I hadn’t bothered. I wanted a couple of new t-shirts and there were plenty of stalls eager to sell me rip off branded names shirts. Now the folk round here are little buggers. Either that or I’m a big bugger! So, every place I looked at…. “Sorry no size for you sir!” God, that makes me sound elephantine in stature. Hang on, I’ll just pop me trunk back in my shorts... ah that’s better.
Where was I? Oh yes, shopping. I hate it. I hate it in the UK and I hate it here too. I actually managed to find a large sized t-shirt, paid over the odds and, when I got it back to the hotel, it didn’t fit. Oh and the other things I bought? Well, in the hotel where I was they had agrabathi’s burning in a holder, on a metal tray. Bugger me, that’d look good in my house. So, off I went on a mission. I really don’t know why I bother. I managed to find a agrabathi holder and when it came to arguing the cost I had to laugh. He wanted 135/- and we wanted to pay 110/- (goodness sake is it worth haggling over?). He even weighed the steel tray and to justify his cost, claimed that it would last forever. Even he laughed when I pointed at a plastic plate and said that would last forever too! Sod it, we split the difference and I paid 120/- . I told you, it wasn’t worth it. That’s even truer now after I’ve used the holder for the first time. The damned agrabathis won’t stand upright and look a bloody sorry state of affairs burning horizontally.
Now, there’s no way I’m paying 175/- for a bottle of beer tonight and I need some cash anyway. So, it’s a stroll out to the local ATM and then the wine shop for me. Well, the first ATM was a nightmare. It swallowed my card and, despite pressing every button in sight, refused to return it! Thank goodness, in the end up, it did and it told me to bugger off and go elsewhere… or words to that effect. Twenty minutes later I’m in a manned ATM booth. And the damned machine is in Hindi. Until the security guard chappy comes to life and shows me how to change the screen to English. Hooray! After I’d got my cash, you just know what’s coming… “Baksheesh? Baksheesh!” Bless him; the poor bugger must be on a pittance of a wage, so I pushed the boat out and gave him a whole 10/-. Well, no bugger gives me owt at work!
As Chrissy Hind once said, “With cash, in pocket…..” I went to the wine shop. Now this is an experience in itself. The whole building is encased I a steel cage. The poor old employee must feel like Hanibal Lector on community service. You order yor drink and it’s delivered via a gap in the cage. Bloody awful experience!
Still, armed with my 60/- a bottle beer, I drifted off back to the hotel. Where the manager was waiting for me! He’d found a solution to my internet access problem. Bless him, it’s only took him three weeks (it was a password issue but shhhhhhhh). No matter, I now had internet access for the night and cheap beer. What a heady combination! And then there’s a knock at the door. Room service must have thought, “alky westerner is back, go up there with some overpriced beer, he’ll have it!” Well not tonight Gunga-din! I did order half a tandoori chicken for my tea and then I stayed up till gone 11 pm, what about that then eh? I’m still a rebel at heart!
Yes, being the wealthiest man in town s great for the ego but if all you want is a pint of ale and a meat pie, what good is it to you?
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Shower, absolute shower!
Q. When is a waterfall, not a waterfall?
Too difficult?
Ok, I’ll try another…
Q. Why is it that when I go to the wettest place on earth, I almost get sunstroke?
You might have guessed that the both questions were a bit rhetorical. The answer to both might be climate change? Wooooaaaaah, hang on there. It’s not a serious blog, don’t run away. I was just thinking out loud. See what’s happened again? As soon as I start thinking, I upset literally thousa…hundre….tens…one or two folk!
Breakfast in Shillong. How often have you been able to say that eh? First time for me too despite it being the second time I’ve been here. I wasn’t going to bother with dinner in all honesty but they made me have it. I got downstairs for just on seven thirty. Jyoti was due at seven thirty and I was under strict instructions that we were off at that time. I paid my bar bill (God, how much??) and then they said those fatal words, “Have you had your complimentary breakfast yet?” I succumbed immediately. The lure of free food is just too great for a man to resist.
Soon we’re on the road and our first destination is Cherapunjee, high in the East Khasi hills. It was, until a couple of years back, reputed to be the wettest place on earth. Many years back I watched a channel 4 documentary on the place and it did nowt but wazz down all the time they were there. The locals wore great big bamboo woven baskets over their entire bodies to protect from the downpours. So with me living in the shadow of the UK Pennines, it’d be like home from home. Crossing the hills, it struck me just how much it was like the moors around Blackstone Edge. Bleak, no trees and a hint of dark cloud always menacing. Even Jyoti remarked, “I think there may be rain in Cherapunjee”
Pah! It was bone bloody dry. Not a drop. Nowt. I was due to visit Nokhali waterfall, the fourth highest falls in the world. The scenery was magnificent. The rock face dramatic. The drop staggering. The water, sadly missing. They’ve not seen rain for months and, as a consequence, the falls have run dry. I walked it down to almost the foot of the falls and it really is a great place, despite the thieving so and so’s charging ten rupees per person. Honestly, they cream you that much; it’s just like Blackpool Pleasure beach! I’m only joking by the way. I’d better clear that up as some bugger mailed me after one of these posts moaning that, “of course it’s cold in Tawang, you’re in the Himalayas, jerk!”
Oh, before I forget. I saw some programme on tv last night and that lisping mockney Jamie Oliver was on. He’d come across some new fruit and he’s bought a bottle of it’s juice for £45!! He mentioned the name of the fruit and said that we couldn’t get it in the UK. No, you’re right Jamie because it’s peculiar to the Khasi hills. Now forgive my spelling, as I still don’t have internet access but it’s called “Souzchou”. The Khasi women let me try some the other day at their market and it was that sour they laughed themselves silly at my facial reaction. Jyoti bought a full bag of the buggers today for only 10/-, so take that mockney Mickey!
Right, where was I? Ah yes, Jyoti then came out with the idea of visiting some caves, followed by an amusement park. Well, sod that! So I told him we’d head back to Shillong (remember, there’s only one road in to most places and one road out) and from there back to Guahati. As it happened, we did stop at one more place just outside of Shillong. Elephant falls. Yep, more waterfalls and this time they were teeming with water. They were teeming with more water twenty minutes later as the heavens opened. It crashed down, thunder, lightening, rain and hailstones. We only needed snow and it’d have been a “full house!”
Bollocks to it. I trekked my way back to the van, stopping only for a cup of tea on the way and said “come on lads, wagons roll, enough is enough, Guwahati or bust!” They didn’t understand a word, so it was five further minutes explaining things before we were back on the road to Guwahati.
After just over three weeks in the remote North East of India, a big city takes you by the scruff of the neck and hangs you out to dry. It hits you full smack in the face. The noise, the bustle, the size, the sheer scale of humanity, it’s all there. I’ve just had a walk around this area of town and they’re an affable lot but I think I’ll wait till tomorrow to make my proper bow. I need to buy some new t-shirts as the ones I brought with me are manky as hell and need a damned good wash. I’ll ask housekeeping tomorrow if they’ll do them but I’m not holding my breath, after all it might rain!
Too difficult?
Ok, I’ll try another…
Q. Why is it that when I go to the wettest place on earth, I almost get sunstroke?
You might have guessed that the both questions were a bit rhetorical. The answer to both might be climate change? Wooooaaaaah, hang on there. It’s not a serious blog, don’t run away. I was just thinking out loud. See what’s happened again? As soon as I start thinking, I upset literally thousa…hundre….tens…one or two folk!
Breakfast in Shillong. How often have you been able to say that eh? First time for me too despite it being the second time I’ve been here. I wasn’t going to bother with dinner in all honesty but they made me have it. I got downstairs for just on seven thirty. Jyoti was due at seven thirty and I was under strict instructions that we were off at that time. I paid my bar bill (God, how much??) and then they said those fatal words, “Have you had your complimentary breakfast yet?” I succumbed immediately. The lure of free food is just too great for a man to resist.
Soon we’re on the road and our first destination is Cherapunjee, high in the East Khasi hills. It was, until a couple of years back, reputed to be the wettest place on earth. Many years back I watched a channel 4 documentary on the place and it did nowt but wazz down all the time they were there. The locals wore great big bamboo woven baskets over their entire bodies to protect from the downpours. So with me living in the shadow of the UK Pennines, it’d be like home from home. Crossing the hills, it struck me just how much it was like the moors around Blackstone Edge. Bleak, no trees and a hint of dark cloud always menacing. Even Jyoti remarked, “I think there may be rain in Cherapunjee”
Pah! It was bone bloody dry. Not a drop. Nowt. I was due to visit Nokhali waterfall, the fourth highest falls in the world. The scenery was magnificent. The rock face dramatic. The drop staggering. The water, sadly missing. They’ve not seen rain for months and, as a consequence, the falls have run dry. I walked it down to almost the foot of the falls and it really is a great place, despite the thieving so and so’s charging ten rupees per person. Honestly, they cream you that much; it’s just like Blackpool Pleasure beach! I’m only joking by the way. I’d better clear that up as some bugger mailed me after one of these posts moaning that, “of course it’s cold in Tawang, you’re in the Himalayas, jerk!”
Oh, before I forget. I saw some programme on tv last night and that lisping mockney Jamie Oliver was on. He’d come across some new fruit and he’s bought a bottle of it’s juice for £45!! He mentioned the name of the fruit and said that we couldn’t get it in the UK. No, you’re right Jamie because it’s peculiar to the Khasi hills. Now forgive my spelling, as I still don’t have internet access but it’s called “Souzchou”. The Khasi women let me try some the other day at their market and it was that sour they laughed themselves silly at my facial reaction. Jyoti bought a full bag of the buggers today for only 10/-, so take that mockney Mickey!
Right, where was I? Ah yes, Jyoti then came out with the idea of visiting some caves, followed by an amusement park. Well, sod that! So I told him we’d head back to Shillong (remember, there’s only one road in to most places and one road out) and from there back to Guahati. As it happened, we did stop at one more place just outside of Shillong. Elephant falls. Yep, more waterfalls and this time they were teeming with water. They were teeming with more water twenty minutes later as the heavens opened. It crashed down, thunder, lightening, rain and hailstones. We only needed snow and it’d have been a “full house!”
Bollocks to it. I trekked my way back to the van, stopping only for a cup of tea on the way and said “come on lads, wagons roll, enough is enough, Guwahati or bust!” They didn’t understand a word, so it was five further minutes explaining things before we were back on the road to Guwahati.
After just over three weeks in the remote North East of India, a big city takes you by the scruff of the neck and hangs you out to dry. It hits you full smack in the face. The noise, the bustle, the size, the sheer scale of humanity, it’s all there. I’ve just had a walk around this area of town and they’re an affable lot but I think I’ll wait till tomorrow to make my proper bow. I need to buy some new t-shirts as the ones I brought with me are manky as hell and need a damned good wash. I’ll ask housekeeping tomorrow if they’ll do them but I’m not holding my breath, after all it might rain!
Drive
“I’ve been driving in my car, honk honk, parp parp, beep beep, toot…..it’s not quite a Jaguar, honk honk, parp parp, beep beep, toot….!” – Madness. How appropriate seeing as I’m in India. I must have lost count how many times I almost met my creator today.
If you’ve ever travelled in the Indian sub-continent you’ll know just how crazy the road users are. Might is right and, despite there being either inadequate or even no pavements, pedestrians have no rights whatsoever. In fact the many cows wandering in and out of the traffic garner more consideration from the motorists.
Ok, let’s start at the very beginning. Which is a very good place to start, according to someone who’s name escapes me. Last time I ordered breakfast in this particular hotel, it took them almost an hour to cook me one fried egg. They can’t be that slow on a regular basis surely? Not quite, it took twenty five minutes for a fried egg and toast. It then took a further five minutes to fetch the tea. A man could die of starvation and thirst in this place. I bet there’s been days when hosts (hang on, I’ve not seen more than four on both occasions) of guests are sat around expiring in front of the staff, their cadavers crumbling into dust.
The food when it arrived was appalling but at least the tea was hot. I’m clutching at straws here to give them a decent mark. Never mind, the egg filled a gap and I was soon on the road and heading towards Silchar. God, it’s an awful journey! Once out of Silchar, the road disappears and for the next twenty five kilometres, it is a dust road. I felt every pot hole. Every one was at least a foot deep. Twenty five kilometres! I have to keep repeating that distance over in my head. I just can’t believe that anyone would leave a road un-tarmacced (is that even a word?) for such a distance. It’s the main road from Silchar to Shillong for goodness sake. You want to go to Shillong, you have to take this road!
Oh, and don’t think that the lack of an asphalt road would reign in the antics of the motorists. Fair do’s, they do cut their speed but only because they have to. If they didn’t their axles would probably break in no time. There are even rickshaw riders transporting their customers along this road. It must be murder on the cyclist’s legs.
Eventually, past several businesses (most of them offering auto repairs!) we arrive at a huuuge tea estate and the road reappears. I’m sure I heard my buttocks yelp in appreciation. The only change being, now that we are on asphalt, is that the driver’s speed increases to as fast as he can get away with.
Oh, I almost forgot the driver’s horn! Indian driver’s love their horn. They are forever playing with it. The least excuse and PAAAAARP! I think use of the horn is officially endorsed and even encouraged. There are road signs reminding drivers to use their horn. Even on the back of wagons, there are signs telling the vehicle behind to “Sound Horn Please!” The resulting cacophony could send you crackers, just like Oliver Hardy in “Saps at Sea!”
So, you can see, Indian roads are not for the fainthearted! But today is Sunday and that throws something else into the mix. I’m sure there are more wagons on the road today. Yep, definitely, as we seem to pass three or four trucks every kilometre! Jyoti confirms that, yes there are a lot more trucks on the road, as Sunday is a special day. It’s the only day of the week there are no regulations put onto the truck drivers. As a result, it’s go for your life. Literally.
On more than one occasion we are stuck in a jam of wagons because a rescue truck has blocked the road hauling yet another wagon from out of the ditch. Some are not too badly damaged and will probably continue on their journey once righted. Others are complete and utter write offs. You know, I say that and in the UK it would be true. But this is India and from necessity, recycling has been elevated to an art form. I see wagons on the road that have been seriously damaged in the past, yet some enterprising auto repair mechanic has renovated it back into a functioning machine. Not the most glamorous looking thing but functional nevertheless.
Eight hours! I’ll say that again. Eight long hours later. We arrive in Shillong. I’m knackered. Goodness knows how the driver is feeling. His head must be buzzing. We are all covered in a layer of dust and I’m so relieved to be here in one piece. On more than one occasion on the journey I stared headlong into an oncoming truck and thought “This is it, death!” Only for the driver to nip into some otherwise unforeseen (at least by me) gap in the row of trucks.
The rest of the night plays out exactly as you would expect. I go out for a stroll; I buy some whopping big bidi, I get my beard trimmed and I come back for a beer.
“Hello, can I order a beer for room number 105?”
“Hello, you want tea?”
“No, beer please”
“Tea? For how many?”
“No, beer….”
God this is so predictable.
It’s my last big car journey tomorrow. Cherrapunjee and then back to Guwahati. I think I’ll end this entry with Iggy Pop. Good old sell out Mr. Pop. I thought he was the business till only a few months back. I loved his attitude, rebelliousness… and then he went and did a commercial for insurance. Insurance! How much more middle class can he get? How much more disillusioned in life can I get? Oh bollocks, let’s go with the flow…. “I am the passenger and I ride and I ride…”
If you’ve ever travelled in the Indian sub-continent you’ll know just how crazy the road users are. Might is right and, despite there being either inadequate or even no pavements, pedestrians have no rights whatsoever. In fact the many cows wandering in and out of the traffic garner more consideration from the motorists.
Ok, let’s start at the very beginning. Which is a very good place to start, according to someone who’s name escapes me. Last time I ordered breakfast in this particular hotel, it took them almost an hour to cook me one fried egg. They can’t be that slow on a regular basis surely? Not quite, it took twenty five minutes for a fried egg and toast. It then took a further five minutes to fetch the tea. A man could die of starvation and thirst in this place. I bet there’s been days when hosts (hang on, I’ve not seen more than four on both occasions) of guests are sat around expiring in front of the staff, their cadavers crumbling into dust.
The food when it arrived was appalling but at least the tea was hot. I’m clutching at straws here to give them a decent mark. Never mind, the egg filled a gap and I was soon on the road and heading towards Silchar. God, it’s an awful journey! Once out of Silchar, the road disappears and for the next twenty five kilometres, it is a dust road. I felt every pot hole. Every one was at least a foot deep. Twenty five kilometres! I have to keep repeating that distance over in my head. I just can’t believe that anyone would leave a road un-tarmacced (is that even a word?) for such a distance. It’s the main road from Silchar to Shillong for goodness sake. You want to go to Shillong, you have to take this road!
Oh, and don’t think that the lack of an asphalt road would reign in the antics of the motorists. Fair do’s, they do cut their speed but only because they have to. If they didn’t their axles would probably break in no time. There are even rickshaw riders transporting their customers along this road. It must be murder on the cyclist’s legs.
Eventually, past several businesses (most of them offering auto repairs!) we arrive at a huuuge tea estate and the road reappears. I’m sure I heard my buttocks yelp in appreciation. The only change being, now that we are on asphalt, is that the driver’s speed increases to as fast as he can get away with.
Oh, I almost forgot the driver’s horn! Indian driver’s love their horn. They are forever playing with it. The least excuse and PAAAAARP! I think use of the horn is officially endorsed and even encouraged. There are road signs reminding drivers to use their horn. Even on the back of wagons, there are signs telling the vehicle behind to “Sound Horn Please!” The resulting cacophony could send you crackers, just like Oliver Hardy in “Saps at Sea!”
So, you can see, Indian roads are not for the fainthearted! But today is Sunday and that throws something else into the mix. I’m sure there are more wagons on the road today. Yep, definitely, as we seem to pass three or four trucks every kilometre! Jyoti confirms that, yes there are a lot more trucks on the road, as Sunday is a special day. It’s the only day of the week there are no regulations put onto the truck drivers. As a result, it’s go for your life. Literally.
On more than one occasion we are stuck in a jam of wagons because a rescue truck has blocked the road hauling yet another wagon from out of the ditch. Some are not too badly damaged and will probably continue on their journey once righted. Others are complete and utter write offs. You know, I say that and in the UK it would be true. But this is India and from necessity, recycling has been elevated to an art form. I see wagons on the road that have been seriously damaged in the past, yet some enterprising auto repair mechanic has renovated it back into a functioning machine. Not the most glamorous looking thing but functional nevertheless.
Eight hours! I’ll say that again. Eight long hours later. We arrive in Shillong. I’m knackered. Goodness knows how the driver is feeling. His head must be buzzing. We are all covered in a layer of dust and I’m so relieved to be here in one piece. On more than one occasion on the journey I stared headlong into an oncoming truck and thought “This is it, death!” Only for the driver to nip into some otherwise unforeseen (at least by me) gap in the row of trucks.
The rest of the night plays out exactly as you would expect. I go out for a stroll; I buy some whopping big bidi, I get my beard trimmed and I come back for a beer.
“Hello, can I order a beer for room number 105?”
“Hello, you want tea?”
“No, beer please”
“Tea? For how many?”
“No, beer….”
God this is so predictable.
It’s my last big car journey tomorrow. Cherrapunjee and then back to Guwahati. I think I’ll end this entry with Iggy Pop. Good old sell out Mr. Pop. I thought he was the business till only a few months back. I loved his attitude, rebelliousness… and then he went and did a commercial for insurance. Insurance! How much more middle class can he get? How much more disillusioned in life can I get? Oh bollocks, let’s go with the flow…. “I am the passenger and I ride and I ride…”
The earth shook for me
Yesterday, at the Mizo festival, I met many many beautiful girls. Today, in the early hours of the morning, the earth moved. I felt it, I’m sure the girls all felt it. I only hope it was as exciting for them as it was for me. I jumped out of bed when it happened. Well, it’s been a long time since I’d experienced an earthquake.
I was happily dreaming of real ale and sausages and then the bed began moving. It took me a second to come back into the real world and then it registered. My god, it’s an earthquake. I’ve been here just about three weeks and the area has undergone three such quakes. This, however, was the first one I’d experienced. I leapt out of bed and thought, “what am I supposed to do?” Well, I did everything I shouldn’t. I went and stood outside on the balcony to see what anyone else would do. I had no specs on, so couldn’t see anything anyhow. So… I went back to bed!
As you might have already sussed, it wasn’t a major occurrence in the lives of the North East peoples. They live on one of the most seismic tectonic plates. The Asiatic plate is still moving after it crashed into the Eurasian plate all those millennia ago. It didn’t even figure on the tv news this morning. They were still concentrating on the world record bamboo pole dancing.
I had the tv on whilst waiting for my breakfast to be served. I’d opted for a fied egg, a plain omelette and a roti (Egg butties you see). I was amazed to be told that a roti was out of the question as the kitchen won’t make them in the morning. Nobody must have told yesterday’s chef as I had two then.
It’s Highway – Not Runway!
Yet another great road sign
It’s a long day today as we’re travelling back to Silchar for an overnight stop before travelling on to Cherrapunjee and Shillong the day after. It’s a seven hour drive and, really, what can one say about a long, hot drive through deep forest? Not a lot really. By the time we got to Silchar my arse was as numb as Wayne Rooney. Ok, perhaps not that numb then.
I’ve just had a walk round a discount shop here in Silchar. I was amazed at the prices. It’s cheaper in Rochdale! The shorts I bought from Matalan before coming out here, I paid the extortionate price of £8. The same kind of shorts were over 500/-, well on the way to £8. I’m starting to sound like an old biddy, I do apologise. Eeeeeh, look at the price of fish too Ada, it’s a disgrace!
Still, I’m out of Mizoram and that means one thing. I’m no longer in a dry state! So, I’m having a beer or two tonight.
Wahey! Yer all me besht mates! What a good evening. Down to the bar and they were showing the IPL, of which I know nowt. The barman welcomed me like a long lost friend. Ok, it might be false but, damn it feels good to be appreciated when no bugger has known you for almost a month. The assembled knew lots about the cricket and the buzz created was great. Want to know the result? Rajasthan Rajas beat Mumbai Indians and that’s as much as you need to know. From there we switched over to Premier League footie. Not the most exciting with Blacburn and Spurs playing but it’ll do for me. Oh, I forgot to mention, instead of giving me free nuts, barman gave me free chips! How bloody good is that?? I then went mad and ordered a half tandoori chicken and two chapattis, how’s that for finger food?
Stuffed and happy as Larry, I retired to my room to watch the rest of the days footie action. Well, sod you, it sounds good to me!
I was happily dreaming of real ale and sausages and then the bed began moving. It took me a second to come back into the real world and then it registered. My god, it’s an earthquake. I’ve been here just about three weeks and the area has undergone three such quakes. This, however, was the first one I’d experienced. I leapt out of bed and thought, “what am I supposed to do?” Well, I did everything I shouldn’t. I went and stood outside on the balcony to see what anyone else would do. I had no specs on, so couldn’t see anything anyhow. So… I went back to bed!
As you might have already sussed, it wasn’t a major occurrence in the lives of the North East peoples. They live on one of the most seismic tectonic plates. The Asiatic plate is still moving after it crashed into the Eurasian plate all those millennia ago. It didn’t even figure on the tv news this morning. They were still concentrating on the world record bamboo pole dancing.
I had the tv on whilst waiting for my breakfast to be served. I’d opted for a fied egg, a plain omelette and a roti (Egg butties you see). I was amazed to be told that a roti was out of the question as the kitchen won’t make them in the morning. Nobody must have told yesterday’s chef as I had two then.
It’s Highway – Not Runway!
Yet another great road sign
It’s a long day today as we’re travelling back to Silchar for an overnight stop before travelling on to Cherrapunjee and Shillong the day after. It’s a seven hour drive and, really, what can one say about a long, hot drive through deep forest? Not a lot really. By the time we got to Silchar my arse was as numb as Wayne Rooney. Ok, perhaps not that numb then.
I’ve just had a walk round a discount shop here in Silchar. I was amazed at the prices. It’s cheaper in Rochdale! The shorts I bought from Matalan before coming out here, I paid the extortionate price of £8. The same kind of shorts were over 500/-, well on the way to £8. I’m starting to sound like an old biddy, I do apologise. Eeeeeh, look at the price of fish too Ada, it’s a disgrace!
Still, I’m out of Mizoram and that means one thing. I’m no longer in a dry state! So, I’m having a beer or two tonight.
Wahey! Yer all me besht mates! What a good evening. Down to the bar and they were showing the IPL, of which I know nowt. The barman welcomed me like a long lost friend. Ok, it might be false but, damn it feels good to be appreciated when no bugger has known you for almost a month. The assembled knew lots about the cricket and the buzz created was great. Want to know the result? Rajasthan Rajas beat Mumbai Indians and that’s as much as you need to know. From there we switched over to Premier League footie. Not the most exciting with Blacburn and Spurs playing but it’ll do for me. Oh, I forgot to mention, instead of giving me free nuts, barman gave me free chips! How bloody good is that?? I then went mad and ordered a half tandoori chicken and two chapattis, how’s that for finger food?
Stuffed and happy as Larry, I retired to my room to watch the rest of the days footie action. Well, sod you, it sounds good to me!
world record attempt
Twenty minutes ago I was disturbed by a phone call.
“Hello, order dinner?
“Err, can I order a bit later?”
“Order dinner NOW!”
“Can I not order later?”
“Hello DINNER…?” drrrrrrrr (sound of phone being hung up)
So now I’ve decided what I want, I’ll phone it through. It can’t be that difficult can it?
“Hello can I order dinner please, for room 308?”
“What?”
“Errr, order dinner?”
“What you want?”
“Chicken curry, plain rice…”
“Chicken curry, how many?”
“Just the one please and plain rice…”
“Pork curry….”
“No, plain rice. One chicken curry, one plain rice, one roti and Sprite please”
“Basmati rice?”
“No, plain rice but just a bottle of sprite”
“Just basmati rice?”
“No, chicken curry, plain rice and a sprite”
“Hmmmm, ok”…. drrrrrrrrr (sound of phone being hung up on me again)
“No race, No rally – Enjoy the valley”
Great road signs number something in a series of a few
No cars, no aching bum, no shocking roadside dhaba’s. I stayed in bed till almost 7am today, ordered a leisurely breakfast and washed a t-shirt in the shower. I left the washed shirt outside, figuring it’d be dry in an hour or so, it’s that hot! Well, it probably did dry but an hour later I went out to check and it had fallen from my balcony and was nowhere to be seen. Either that or the eagles have had it. More to the point, it looks like I’ve had it with seeing that shirt again.
Off to “Chapchar Kut” and, after a walk around the showground for me, we find ourselves some chairs in a prime grandstand position. Gosh, it was busy. The bamaboo poles were all being laid out in readiness for the “world record attempt” at bamboo pole dancing. I was a bit dismissive of the whole record business but these people are deadly serious! I really should try and reign in my natural insincts sometimes. I tend to forget that these people are using this as a community bonding and strengthening device. And it seems to work. Young old alike were enjoying the party atmosphere. You really can’t knock it if it works!
Oh no, I’d been spotted again. I rather hoped I was just a face in the crowd and therefore relatively invisible. Not a chance. Some character from NE TV had seen me and was hot tailing it in my direction. “How would I like to go to the main stage and be interviewed?” Well, I wouldn’t like it at all and I told him so. “Oh, please come, we have Chinese, Japanese and now we have you from UK” Oh sod it, it’s a once in a lifetime thing and no-one in the UK will see it. I’ll do it! I was interviewed by the most gorgeous Mizo girl ever and that’s saying something as they all look pretty incredible to an aging old fart like me! I’m glad I’ve just remembered to tell you this as it reminded me to turn the tv on. Good grief, it seems like they broke the world record and it’s headline news! Looks like they managed 671 sets of bamboo dancing. They danced all up the main street at well as in the showground. Blimey, they deserve a medal for just stopping that awful traffic in the city and letting the people take precedence.
After three rehearsals we were treated to tiffin. That’s not just me using that word at an attempt at post colonial humour, they actually had it on the programme of events; 1pm – Tiffin. The arena was then cleared of non-participants and the attempt proper began. It made me laugh as they had a most impressive countdown to the start of the dance with everyone taking part. The tune began like something of as an anti-climax as it’s a most plinky plonky tune. No matter, the dancers were very good and must have practised lots to be as good as they are. Dance over, the relief was palpable and there were even a couple of girls who had fallen faint. I have to think this is due to the heat, it was burning hot in that showground.
Midway through the day, after the record attempt, they then had local rock musicians on stage. Blimey, the young people loved them! The music was all a bit happy clappy and despite me not knowing any Mizo, I can only guess it was right on church messages they were singing about. There was even a bloke walking about with a “Jesus Loves You” placard. Well, I won’t stick about for religious tunes at anytime, so it was time to go and get a brew and shave.
I don’t believe it, dinner has just arrived. Chicken curry? Yup! well, they got that right. Bottle of sprite? Yay right again! Nowt else. The chap looked crestfallen when I told him I’d got an incomplete order. Meatloaf might have sang about two out of three ‘aint bad but what about two out of four Mr. Loaf? Eh?? Eh???
“Hello, order dinner?
“Err, can I order a bit later?”
“Order dinner NOW!”
“Can I not order later?”
“Hello DINNER…?” drrrrrrrr (sound of phone being hung up)
So now I’ve decided what I want, I’ll phone it through. It can’t be that difficult can it?
“Hello can I order dinner please, for room 308?”
“What?”
“Errr, order dinner?”
“What you want?”
“Chicken curry, plain rice…”
“Chicken curry, how many?”
“Just the one please and plain rice…”
“Pork curry….”
“No, plain rice. One chicken curry, one plain rice, one roti and Sprite please”
“Basmati rice?”
“No, plain rice but just a bottle of sprite”
“Just basmati rice?”
“No, chicken curry, plain rice and a sprite”
“Hmmmm, ok”…. drrrrrrrrr (sound of phone being hung up on me again)
“No race, No rally – Enjoy the valley”
Great road signs number something in a series of a few
No cars, no aching bum, no shocking roadside dhaba’s. I stayed in bed till almost 7am today, ordered a leisurely breakfast and washed a t-shirt in the shower. I left the washed shirt outside, figuring it’d be dry in an hour or so, it’s that hot! Well, it probably did dry but an hour later I went out to check and it had fallen from my balcony and was nowhere to be seen. Either that or the eagles have had it. More to the point, it looks like I’ve had it with seeing that shirt again.
Off to “Chapchar Kut” and, after a walk around the showground for me, we find ourselves some chairs in a prime grandstand position. Gosh, it was busy. The bamaboo poles were all being laid out in readiness for the “world record attempt” at bamboo pole dancing. I was a bit dismissive of the whole record business but these people are deadly serious! I really should try and reign in my natural insincts sometimes. I tend to forget that these people are using this as a community bonding and strengthening device. And it seems to work. Young old alike were enjoying the party atmosphere. You really can’t knock it if it works!
Oh no, I’d been spotted again. I rather hoped I was just a face in the crowd and therefore relatively invisible. Not a chance. Some character from NE TV had seen me and was hot tailing it in my direction. “How would I like to go to the main stage and be interviewed?” Well, I wouldn’t like it at all and I told him so. “Oh, please come, we have Chinese, Japanese and now we have you from UK” Oh sod it, it’s a once in a lifetime thing and no-one in the UK will see it. I’ll do it! I was interviewed by the most gorgeous Mizo girl ever and that’s saying something as they all look pretty incredible to an aging old fart like me! I’m glad I’ve just remembered to tell you this as it reminded me to turn the tv on. Good grief, it seems like they broke the world record and it’s headline news! Looks like they managed 671 sets of bamboo dancing. They danced all up the main street at well as in the showground. Blimey, they deserve a medal for just stopping that awful traffic in the city and letting the people take precedence.
After three rehearsals we were treated to tiffin. That’s not just me using that word at an attempt at post colonial humour, they actually had it on the programme of events; 1pm – Tiffin. The arena was then cleared of non-participants and the attempt proper began. It made me laugh as they had a most impressive countdown to the start of the dance with everyone taking part. The tune began like something of as an anti-climax as it’s a most plinky plonky tune. No matter, the dancers were very good and must have practised lots to be as good as they are. Dance over, the relief was palpable and there were even a couple of girls who had fallen faint. I have to think this is due to the heat, it was burning hot in that showground.
Midway through the day, after the record attempt, they then had local rock musicians on stage. Blimey, the young people loved them! The music was all a bit happy clappy and despite me not knowing any Mizo, I can only guess it was right on church messages they were singing about. There was even a bloke walking about with a “Jesus Loves You” placard. Well, I won’t stick about for religious tunes at anytime, so it was time to go and get a brew and shave.
I don’t believe it, dinner has just arrived. Chicken curry? Yup! well, they got that right. Bottle of sprite? Yay right again! Nowt else. The chap looked crestfallen when I told him I’d got an incomplete order. Meatloaf might have sang about two out of three ‘aint bad but what about two out of four Mr. Loaf? Eh?? Eh???
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