Imagine a stage full of Cossacks singing Kalinka and doing that stomping about dancing. In clogs. Now imagine the stage is made of stainless steel. That’s just how my head feels this morning. No wonder Boris Yeltsin stood in front of that tank. He probably wanted his head blowing off to save him from the misery of a vodka inspired hangover. I only meant to have a couple of glasses but my good intentions went West, or should that be East, as soon as the bottle cap came off. Ah well, what time is it? Bugger! It’s 7.15am and I’m supposed to be up and ready to be out of here by 8am!
Two cups of hot, sweet coffee later (I’m sure they must get Old Nick himself to brew it, it’s that hot!) and I’m good to go. No scrap that, I’m going ready or not. It’s a long drive and my head doesn’t help my concentration at all. I’m silent in the back of the car. Not that I’m Michael Parkinson at the best of times but today, I’d put a silent order of monks to shame, staring dead ahead at the long, dusty road.
Two hours later and we’re in Jorhat looking for Hotel Paradise, a misnomer if ever there was one! You couldn’t plan this any worse if you tried. There are two Hotel Paradises, next door but one to each other and my guide and driver have no idea which one I’m booked into. It would be dead simple to just go in and ask which one has a reservation for the Western bloke. But no, they sit there and argue, stopping only to phone up their boss and ask him which one it is.
Decision made, we stroll into Paradise. If I was writing this from Afghanistan, it would have a whole different meaning! Now who’s the fool? In my alcohol induced state, I can’t find my passport. Check my pockets. Nope. Ah, the money belt in my bag? Nope. Oh no! Check my clothes bag, thoroughly, including the side pockets. Nope, no sign. The receptionists look at my guide and driver, they in turn look back and in turn at me. Ah, a flash of inspiration as I check the side pocket on yesterdays shorts. Hurrah, it’s here!! Formalities completed, I sign in and am accompanied to my room. I don’t think the sink has been cleaned since Gandhi last wore a suit. Goodness knows how it got it’s supposed three stars. No matter, it’s only for one night and tomorrow I’m off to Majuli Island.
I’m being picked up again in an hour to be taken to Sivasanagar for a day out. Blimey, I’m starting to sound like an OAP in a retirement home. Rather than hang about in a hotel room, I decide to head out and sample the delights of Jorhat. I’d only got twenty yards down the road when my guide turned up and decided to join me. It was a further two yards before we decided to go for a drink instead. Ten minutes later I’m having dal curry with chapattis. There’s no end to my financial largesse as I splash out by buying both my guide and driver lunch. It comes to a staggering 60/- (I don’t think I’ve explained to you that the old shilling sign stands for rupees, sorry) that’s almost a pound! No matter with a wave of a 100/- note I settle the bill, waving away their silent protests. Leaving the dhaba I’m accosted by the village drunk. I always seem to attract them. They make a beeline straight towards me. Anyhow, fair play to Manoosh, he dealt with him and I was ushered into the car and away to Sivasagar, leaving the drunk on the pavement shouting out my name to all and sundry.
Sivasagar. The Siva part you might already know? It’s a Hindu God and it’s pronounced “She-ba” the second part is pronounced “Sha-gga” and means ocean. Now put the two together, wobble your head and say it out loud with an Indian accent. See, just what I thought! I was convinced they were saying sheepshagger. No? Just me then I guess. The place is quite famous in Indian history. Dotted about it has several lemon and ochre-brick ruins built by the Ahom monarchs during their 17th and 18th century heyday. Very impressive they are too. There’s also a Hindu temple to be visited. The place was crawling with homeless folk looking for a few paise. One of them looked at me and seeing the steely determination in my eye, turned to his mate and said “Oh look, it’s Rob of Rochdale, we’ll get nowt here Sanjit”. It’s nice to know my notoriety has spread. The temple itself had several priests and Sadhus dotted around it. One was happily puffing on his chillum pipe and gladly posed whilst I took his picture.
To be honest, culture wasn’t my thing today and I struggled to look interested half of the time. It’s a good place. If you get a chance, go! Just don’t have a bucket of vodka the night before.
I was relieved to get back on the road to Jorhat and even happier when we stopped at a roadside dhaba. Bless them, I bet they’ve never had a Westerner stop there before and they pulled out all the stops to ensure my food was good. I even tried black dal which was bloody gorgeous. I ate with my fingers and I looked a real mess when I’d finished. They were also keen to find out if I’d enjoyed the food and were delighted when I said it was barely passable. I josh. I didn’t say that at all. It’s just my attempt at instilling humour into this missive.
Back to the hotel and oh happy day, kalu kalay! The hotel has net access! But only in the conference room, which turns out to be a large room with chairs set out and two chest freezers stuck together as a table up front. Still, I manage to plug in the laptop and get my email from home. If you’re reading this, thanks they really are appreciated. If you’re my bank manager then the internet is still not working and I haven’t received mail in months.
I’m back in my room now and at the second time of asking, room service have brought me a bottle of Kingfisher beer. A whole 650ml of golden pleasure. I’ve just happened to glance down at my fingers bringing you this crap and a thought enters my head. Oooh, they’re still bright yellow from the dhaba’s dal and curry. But, tonight, the room actually seems more comfortable. I feel a bit brighter. In fact the world seems just a tad nicer.
I’ve also just realised why. The beer they’ve brought me is Kingfisher strong and a quick read of the label informs me it’s around 8% ABV. Here we go again. ..I love you lot, yer me beshtest mates!
Friday 26 February 2010
Rhinos, winos and lunatics
I’m never touching the stuff again! I only had two glasses, honest guv’!
One quick slurp and then I tried reading my book.
The first chapter was six pages long! No full stops, commas, or any other punctuation marks.
I admit it, I was blasted!
Vodka? Never again.
Still I’m up at three thirty am, showered and dressed. I’m off on an elephant safari! I do hope that makes it sound like I’m hunting elephants with a blunderbus and pith helmet?
Bugger it, I’ll be honest; I’m going to be riding an elephant in Kaziranga national park looking for rhinos.
I’m outside my room before five waiting for Manoosh. He’s young and doesn’t show till 5.15am. Ok, onwards and upwards! We arrive at the park and the elephants, already fully laden with tourists, are setting off. We are, proper late. There’s one elephant left, looking miserable, left on the shelf… I know the feeling. I’m immediately reminded of the phrase “elephants never forget” as my elephant gives me the eye! I’ve dated some big lasses in the past but nowt can compare with straddling this bugger. Good God, it hurt! Everytime “Rahul” (for that was its name ) went up or down an incline, pain shot through my groin area. Every time the mahout felt we were lagging behind the others, Rahul was made to speed up, with groin inspired consequences for me.
Loads of rhino spotting opportunities though! Now, I’m sure you’d be great with a camera. Mr/Ms Rhino would look at you with a beneficent look in his/her eye so you could catch the perfect pose. I swear, every time I pointed a camera at any of the beasts, they snubbed their nose at me, cocked a snook, (I love that phrase) turned tail and buggered off.
Back to the ranch for brekkie and then out for a jeep safari. In 2007 I was in the Bangladeshi Subderbans and I saw nowt. It was just after cyclone Sidr and the wildlife spotting opportunities were few and far between. Today, however, was different. Rhino, deer, turtles and even a few wild hens, they all seemed to show up. Bless them; they all wanted to be on camera. “Just one more here, Mr. Rhino…yeah, a bit more antler Ms deer, that’s perfect...”
Back to the ranch once more and I bet you can’t guess what lunch was? I should really sing that song now, “If you don’t know me by now…” Yup, I had chicken pakora with Satan’s arse gravy (the hottest chilli sauce I've ever touched!). Oh and chips, if you’re still interested.
Back out, after lunch to a different area, for round three. We’re off to the western region where I’m assured tigers roam. I shall remain to be convinced that tigers even exist. Mind you, I’ve met folk up Todmorden that believe far worse. After one hour and… whaddya know?? Not a tiger to be seen. Even so, I’m not too disappointed. The tigers of the world are now few and far between. If I’d have been one and see me coming towards me, I’d have hidden quick sharp. The authorities were burning the grass. The elephant high grass becomes so dense that they operate a slash and burn policy to thin the area. Ok, it sounds brutal but what are the options? On the plus side, the grass grows back again within two months. The monsoon sees to that. I can’t help feeling sorry for the animals though, soft sod that I am. Most of the languorous rhinos couldn’t give a stuff to be honest. Even the elephants were quite happy scoffing burnt grass. But surely, or am I being thick, the absence of tigers can be put down to one major thing. If a load of burning grass heads your way what would you do? I’m sure that I, being the timid creature that I am… shut yer face you… would move off damned quick!.
Back to the hotel and after a few days of unadulterated ying, the yang comes back to bite. Hard. Now, I’m pretty good when it comes to planning things. He’ll tell you, won’t you? Who me? Yes you! Aye, he’s not bad at planning stuff is Rob. See I told you! I hate nasty surprises so, I’m sure, before setting off for India, I paid for everything upfront. Yep, dammnit, I know I did! So it came as a bit of a surprise tonight when Manoosh came to my room asking for 1500/- for today’s safaris. That’s on top of all the tips I’ve paid today. Hmmmm, I was hoping NE India was going to prove different to the rest of grasping, capitalist India. Goodness, I hope I’m wrong.
Well, I’m buggered if I’m going to finish this post on a miserable down. Not me, no siree bob! Now how can I cheer myself up? I know, I can look at the pics I took today. Then again, there’s a bottle of stolly in the corner and it’s starting to wink at me…...
One quick slurp and then I tried reading my book.
The first chapter was six pages long! No full stops, commas, or any other punctuation marks.
I admit it, I was blasted!
Vodka? Never again.
Still I’m up at three thirty am, showered and dressed. I’m off on an elephant safari! I do hope that makes it sound like I’m hunting elephants with a blunderbus and pith helmet?
Bugger it, I’ll be honest; I’m going to be riding an elephant in Kaziranga national park looking for rhinos.
I’m outside my room before five waiting for Manoosh. He’s young and doesn’t show till 5.15am. Ok, onwards and upwards! We arrive at the park and the elephants, already fully laden with tourists, are setting off. We are, proper late. There’s one elephant left, looking miserable, left on the shelf… I know the feeling. I’m immediately reminded of the phrase “elephants never forget” as my elephant gives me the eye! I’ve dated some big lasses in the past but nowt can compare with straddling this bugger. Good God, it hurt! Everytime “Rahul” (for that was its name ) went up or down an incline, pain shot through my groin area. Every time the mahout felt we were lagging behind the others, Rahul was made to speed up, with groin inspired consequences for me.
Loads of rhino spotting opportunities though! Now, I’m sure you’d be great with a camera. Mr/Ms Rhino would look at you with a beneficent look in his/her eye so you could catch the perfect pose. I swear, every time I pointed a camera at any of the beasts, they snubbed their nose at me, cocked a snook, (I love that phrase) turned tail and buggered off.
Back to the ranch for brekkie and then out for a jeep safari. In 2007 I was in the Bangladeshi Subderbans and I saw nowt. It was just after cyclone Sidr and the wildlife spotting opportunities were few and far between. Today, however, was different. Rhino, deer, turtles and even a few wild hens, they all seemed to show up. Bless them; they all wanted to be on camera. “Just one more here, Mr. Rhino…yeah, a bit more antler Ms deer, that’s perfect...”
Back to the ranch once more and I bet you can’t guess what lunch was? I should really sing that song now, “If you don’t know me by now…” Yup, I had chicken pakora with Satan’s arse gravy (the hottest chilli sauce I've ever touched!). Oh and chips, if you’re still interested.
Back out, after lunch to a different area, for round three. We’re off to the western region where I’m assured tigers roam. I shall remain to be convinced that tigers even exist. Mind you, I’ve met folk up Todmorden that believe far worse. After one hour and… whaddya know?? Not a tiger to be seen. Even so, I’m not too disappointed. The tigers of the world are now few and far between. If I’d have been one and see me coming towards me, I’d have hidden quick sharp. The authorities were burning the grass. The elephant high grass becomes so dense that they operate a slash and burn policy to thin the area. Ok, it sounds brutal but what are the options? On the plus side, the grass grows back again within two months. The monsoon sees to that. I can’t help feeling sorry for the animals though, soft sod that I am. Most of the languorous rhinos couldn’t give a stuff to be honest. Even the elephants were quite happy scoffing burnt grass. But surely, or am I being thick, the absence of tigers can be put down to one major thing. If a load of burning grass heads your way what would you do? I’m sure that I, being the timid creature that I am… shut yer face you… would move off damned quick!.
Back to the hotel and after a few days of unadulterated ying, the yang comes back to bite. Hard. Now, I’m pretty good when it comes to planning things. He’ll tell you, won’t you? Who me? Yes you! Aye, he’s not bad at planning stuff is Rob. See I told you! I hate nasty surprises so, I’m sure, before setting off for India, I paid for everything upfront. Yep, dammnit, I know I did! So it came as a bit of a surprise tonight when Manoosh came to my room asking for 1500/- for today’s safaris. That’s on top of all the tips I’ve paid today. Hmmmm, I was hoping NE India was going to prove different to the rest of grasping, capitalist India. Goodness, I hope I’m wrong.
Well, I’m buggered if I’m going to finish this post on a miserable down. Not me, no siree bob! Now how can I cheer myself up? I know, I can look at the pics I took today. Then again, there’s a bottle of stolly in the corner and it’s starting to wink at me…...
Kolkata to Kaziranga
When David Cameron hears the words, “may I join the party?” he probably rejoices and gets the membership forms out. If he ever goes to India and someone asks the same question, he’d best check his flies.
I think I’d better explain this hadn’t I?
Ok, let’s start at the beginning. Remember I was in the Lytton Hotel in Kolkata, slowly getting wazzed on vodka? NWell, it’s not a situation I’m too used to you understand. So, understandably enough, I fell into the arms of Morpheus in lickety spit time. Or maybe it was jet lag? Yeah, I’ll go for that, jet lag! Well, I was up wit the lark and had a stroll around Sudder Street. If you’ve never been to India, then Sudder Sreett is all your stereotypes in one. Cows wandering aimlessly, people sleeping and washing in the street, rickshaws and their touts jockeying for business and more street traders and touts than you can shake a lathi at. Something the local police do with alarming regularity. But there’s none of the threatening demeanour that the tourist encounters in Dheli, Jaipur or Agra. It put a proper smile on my face! I even managed a smile at a sign indicating the local piggery. A particularly persistent tout took my chuckles as sign that I wanted more of the same. Grabbing my arm he attempted to take me to other similar establishments. At least that’s what I hope he was doing with his entreaties to “Please come, you see meat, I have meat for you lots down here, this way, please come”
After breakfast it was a brief flight to Guwahati via Argatala. I don’t know where they get these air stewardesses but by gum they can buckle my seatbelt anyday! My contact, Jyoti, was waiting at the airport for me and I was soon settled in the Hotel Atithi. Jyoti left me to unpack. Me, not him… oh you know what I mean! After an hour he hadn’t come back so, camera in hand I set off to explore Guwahati. Trying to take decent pics in the dark is hard enough, when you’re surrounded by a crowd of curious Indians, it’s madness! Still, everyone was in good spirits and didn’t feel threatened at all. Luckily I managed a few decent shots but there’s more blurred rubbish if I’m honest.
“Just round this corner and then back to the hotel”, thinks I before bumping into Jyoti. He says he can take me to a restaurant where they serve traditional Assamese food, would I like to go? Well, why not! Twenty minutes later and I was stuffed. I had a cracking Assamese thali and my lips were on fire because of the amount of chilli used. It was daamned hot going in, I hope it’s not the same going the other way!
Back at the hotel, I attempted to use the hotel’s “free wi-fi” internet access. Two hours later and the manager and I are still struggling. I eventually settled for sitting in the coffee house and got access from the ground floor server. Mailed a few people and then went to bed. Oh, all right then, I went back to my room and had a couple more vodkas. There, happy now?
Next morning, after breakfast, there’s a knock at the door and a chap introduces himself to me as my guide, Manoosh. Into the 4x4 and we’re off to Kamkyha Temple. What a place. I’m, blown away with it all. The temple used to be renowned through India for performing ritualistic animal sacrifices. They tell me they no longer practice that and the red on the goats and doves is just vermillion. I’m not totally convinced by that and neither are the animals. I’m sure I saw a worried look in that goat’s eye.
The place is wonderful. Priests and pilgrims by the bucketload and more smiles than all the X factor finalists put together. We stroll around, totally unhassled. I’ve no idea if that’s a real word or not. MS Word doesn’t seem to think so but I like it and it seems appropriate. The temple is on a hill overlooking the city and yet further up, is another temple. The place is deserted. Clear views over Guwahati and the holy Brahmaputra are a bonus. Culture, serenity and a scenic view! Come on, what else do you want?
Back on the road and stopping only to pick Jyoti up on our way out of Guwahati. We’re heading for Kaziranga National Park, the home of the one horned rhino. What? Yes, I know, you read all this and still heard nowt about any party. Look slow down, get yourself a drink, it’s coming soon… a bit like who killed thingymabob in “Eastcorryoaks”… or whatever it’s called. Now where was I. Ah yes, back on the highway to Kaziranga. Well, highway is a definite misnomer. It’s nowt but a dirt track, followed by a mile or two of tarmac, then a few hundred metres of concrete and then back to dirt track. It’s backbreaking! Kaziranga is about 190km from Guwahati. I guess for us in the tarmacced West that would take about, what shall we say, a couple of hours? Yes, I know you’re all a bunch of cloggers but I’m being good here. Here in NE India, it’s going to take about four hours, so we decide to take a break halfway for a spot of food.
So there I am in this roadside dhaba. Now these places are basic. They’re the Indian equivalent of a “Greasy Joe’s café”: Good honest food, for travellers. So I’ve ordered rice, dal, dry fry chicken and a bottle of water. All accompanied with fresh chillies and two pickles. There’s still change from three hundred rupees when I pay the bill. After I’ve burped hearty congratulations to Mr. Chakrobaty, the chef, I decide that a wazz is in order before continuing on that bloody road/track. I think I better start a new paragraph, it’s worth it!
Ok, you’ve waited long enough. This bit comes complete with a drumroll….”dddddddrrrrrrrrrrrrr”…Hey, hang on, I just had a thought! Perhaps you could imagine a host of cherubic angels blowing trumpets. They can be descending from their heavenly abode upon a triumph if you really wish? Go on, imagine them in their little crash helmets and leather jackets, with “Heaven’s Angels” on the back….maybe not eh? Can you tell, I’m still ploughing my way through the stolly? Right, back to the plot…
Where was I? Oh yes…so there I was, out back of the dhaba. No inside toilets here. Just a bit of a brick leanto with a couple of footplates and a channel for the waste. As I’m there, contemplating existence, as it were, I have a feeling of somebody behind me. I turn my eyes as far as I can without moving my head. You lads will know how to do it. It’s just not done to be wazzing and to be seen having a look about. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Manoosh waiting to use the leanto after me. I do hope you’re still reading this; I’ll be setting an exam later. Anyhow, once I’m done, I let on to Manoosh that I’ve seen him. His answer confused and amused me in equal amounts… “Oh hello, may I join the party?”
See, now you’ve read it, you’re disappointed! Well bugger you, it made me laugh.
Next day I had to ask Manoosh why he used that phrase. He’s only a lad. Twenty four to be exact and, last year, he was going to Kolkata for the first time. His mother, wanting him to behave appropriately at all times advised him that mentioning bodily functions in public was not the done thing. You know, even though I laughed at the time, I now feel guilty. Maybe he did use the wrong words but it’s a damned fine better phrase than some of the filth that the kids I work with come out with. It was done in all innocence and, if I could speak Hindi, I would hope any lingua faux pas of mine would be ignored.
Back in the jeep and two hours later we stop on the road outside Kaziranga national park. I’m ecstatic that I see two rhinos in the distance. Chicken pakora for my dinner. Bugger me, it comes with two dips. One, a tomato sauce, is reet enough. The other, a chilli sauce, is like Beelzebub’s mouthwash! I thought the Assamese thali was hot. This one takes that to a party, gets it drunk and snogs its mother…just for a laugh!
Oh yeah! I had a beer tonight. 100/- for a 640ml bottle of Kingfisher. The Indians put glycerol in the beer and I really don’t like it. So, I order two cokes and hit the stolly again. Na night all.
I think I’d better explain this hadn’t I?
Ok, let’s start at the beginning. Remember I was in the Lytton Hotel in Kolkata, slowly getting wazzed on vodka? NWell, it’s not a situation I’m too used to you understand. So, understandably enough, I fell into the arms of Morpheus in lickety spit time. Or maybe it was jet lag? Yeah, I’ll go for that, jet lag! Well, I was up wit the lark and had a stroll around Sudder Street. If you’ve never been to India, then Sudder Sreett is all your stereotypes in one. Cows wandering aimlessly, people sleeping and washing in the street, rickshaws and their touts jockeying for business and more street traders and touts than you can shake a lathi at. Something the local police do with alarming regularity. But there’s none of the threatening demeanour that the tourist encounters in Dheli, Jaipur or Agra. It put a proper smile on my face! I even managed a smile at a sign indicating the local piggery. A particularly persistent tout took my chuckles as sign that I wanted more of the same. Grabbing my arm he attempted to take me to other similar establishments. At least that’s what I hope he was doing with his entreaties to “Please come, you see meat, I have meat for you lots down here, this way, please come”
After breakfast it was a brief flight to Guwahati via Argatala. I don’t know where they get these air stewardesses but by gum they can buckle my seatbelt anyday! My contact, Jyoti, was waiting at the airport for me and I was soon settled in the Hotel Atithi. Jyoti left me to unpack. Me, not him… oh you know what I mean! After an hour he hadn’t come back so, camera in hand I set off to explore Guwahati. Trying to take decent pics in the dark is hard enough, when you’re surrounded by a crowd of curious Indians, it’s madness! Still, everyone was in good spirits and didn’t feel threatened at all. Luckily I managed a few decent shots but there’s more blurred rubbish if I’m honest.
“Just round this corner and then back to the hotel”, thinks I before bumping into Jyoti. He says he can take me to a restaurant where they serve traditional Assamese food, would I like to go? Well, why not! Twenty minutes later and I was stuffed. I had a cracking Assamese thali and my lips were on fire because of the amount of chilli used. It was daamned hot going in, I hope it’s not the same going the other way!
Back at the hotel, I attempted to use the hotel’s “free wi-fi” internet access. Two hours later and the manager and I are still struggling. I eventually settled for sitting in the coffee house and got access from the ground floor server. Mailed a few people and then went to bed. Oh, all right then, I went back to my room and had a couple more vodkas. There, happy now?
Next morning, after breakfast, there’s a knock at the door and a chap introduces himself to me as my guide, Manoosh. Into the 4x4 and we’re off to Kamkyha Temple. What a place. I’m, blown away with it all. The temple used to be renowned through India for performing ritualistic animal sacrifices. They tell me they no longer practice that and the red on the goats and doves is just vermillion. I’m not totally convinced by that and neither are the animals. I’m sure I saw a worried look in that goat’s eye.
The place is wonderful. Priests and pilgrims by the bucketload and more smiles than all the X factor finalists put together. We stroll around, totally unhassled. I’ve no idea if that’s a real word or not. MS Word doesn’t seem to think so but I like it and it seems appropriate. The temple is on a hill overlooking the city and yet further up, is another temple. The place is deserted. Clear views over Guwahati and the holy Brahmaputra are a bonus. Culture, serenity and a scenic view! Come on, what else do you want?
Back on the road and stopping only to pick Jyoti up on our way out of Guwahati. We’re heading for Kaziranga National Park, the home of the one horned rhino. What? Yes, I know, you read all this and still heard nowt about any party. Look slow down, get yourself a drink, it’s coming soon… a bit like who killed thingymabob in “Eastcorryoaks”… or whatever it’s called. Now where was I. Ah yes, back on the highway to Kaziranga. Well, highway is a definite misnomer. It’s nowt but a dirt track, followed by a mile or two of tarmac, then a few hundred metres of concrete and then back to dirt track. It’s backbreaking! Kaziranga is about 190km from Guwahati. I guess for us in the tarmacced West that would take about, what shall we say, a couple of hours? Yes, I know you’re all a bunch of cloggers but I’m being good here. Here in NE India, it’s going to take about four hours, so we decide to take a break halfway for a spot of food.
So there I am in this roadside dhaba. Now these places are basic. They’re the Indian equivalent of a “Greasy Joe’s café”: Good honest food, for travellers. So I’ve ordered rice, dal, dry fry chicken and a bottle of water. All accompanied with fresh chillies and two pickles. There’s still change from three hundred rupees when I pay the bill. After I’ve burped hearty congratulations to Mr. Chakrobaty, the chef, I decide that a wazz is in order before continuing on that bloody road/track. I think I better start a new paragraph, it’s worth it!
Ok, you’ve waited long enough. This bit comes complete with a drumroll….”dddddddrrrrrrrrrrrrr”…Hey, hang on, I just had a thought! Perhaps you could imagine a host of cherubic angels blowing trumpets. They can be descending from their heavenly abode upon a triumph if you really wish? Go on, imagine them in their little crash helmets and leather jackets, with “Heaven’s Angels” on the back….maybe not eh? Can you tell, I’m still ploughing my way through the stolly? Right, back to the plot…
Where was I? Oh yes…so there I was, out back of the dhaba. No inside toilets here. Just a bit of a brick leanto with a couple of footplates and a channel for the waste. As I’m there, contemplating existence, as it were, I have a feeling of somebody behind me. I turn my eyes as far as I can without moving my head. You lads will know how to do it. It’s just not done to be wazzing and to be seen having a look about. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Manoosh waiting to use the leanto after me. I do hope you’re still reading this; I’ll be setting an exam later. Anyhow, once I’m done, I let on to Manoosh that I’ve seen him. His answer confused and amused me in equal amounts… “Oh hello, may I join the party?”
See, now you’ve read it, you’re disappointed! Well bugger you, it made me laugh.
Next day I had to ask Manoosh why he used that phrase. He’s only a lad. Twenty four to be exact and, last year, he was going to Kolkata for the first time. His mother, wanting him to behave appropriately at all times advised him that mentioning bodily functions in public was not the done thing. You know, even though I laughed at the time, I now feel guilty. Maybe he did use the wrong words but it’s a damned fine better phrase than some of the filth that the kids I work with come out with. It was done in all innocence and, if I could speak Hindi, I would hope any lingua faux pas of mine would be ignored.
Back in the jeep and two hours later we stop on the road outside Kaziranga national park. I’m ecstatic that I see two rhinos in the distance. Chicken pakora for my dinner. Bugger me, it comes with two dips. One, a tomato sauce, is reet enough. The other, a chilli sauce, is like Beelzebub’s mouthwash! I thought the Assamese thali was hot. This one takes that to a party, gets it drunk and snogs its mother…just for a laugh!
Oh yeah! I had a beer tonight. 100/- for a 640ml bottle of Kingfisher. The Indians put glycerol in the beer and I really don’t like it. So, I order two cokes and hit the stolly again. Na night all.
Away we go
It doesn’t take long does it? If things are going to go wrong, they’ll go wrong from the off. Sunday 21st February 2010 and the day of my trip has finally arrived. I’m up with the lark and ready for action by 6am. Then I take a look out of the window. A few flakes of snow are gently drifting down. I bet you can picture the scene? Twenty minutes later and it’s like ice Station Zebra outside my house. The car is under several inches of the white stuff and it’s looking decidedly bleak for travelling.
Now, I love my car. Not like some of those saddos on “Top Gear” who seem to fly into orgasmic delight whenever a Ferrari flange sprocket whatchamagig is mentioned. But I do like my car a lot. It’s only a Seat Leon but it’s probably the nicest car I’ve had so far and when it’s dry, I can motor for hours. Did you see what I did there? I used the words,” When it’s dry”. Because when the snow comes, it’s a useless heap of junk. The slightest covering of ice and I’m skidding all over the place. That’s if I can move the damned thing in the first place. So today, the day I have to get to the airport, is not the day I want to see Santa’s grotto being formed on my driveway. Deciding that I’d better shift the damned thing, I clear a layer of snow off the car and gently edge onto the road. Jeez, it’s like Ice road truckers! I’m dropping my house key off at my friend’s house. He only lives 5 minutes up the road. I’m at it again; can you see the operative word there? Up. And there my problem lies. Not a cat in hell’s chance. I have to leave the car at the bottom of his road and, like Scott of the Antarctic, I battle my way to his house. I do hope you read this Dave because there’s something I have to say. You have the tightest letterbox I’ve ever known. (ooer missus) It’s so damned tight; I cut my hand whilst squeezing the key past the draught excluder brushes. So there I am, battling a blizzard, on foot, with blood pouring down my wrist. Oh joy!
Back on the road and if I was Captain Oates, I’d have stopped in the tent rather than brave this lot. I hate it, absolutely hate it. And when I’m attempting to pull up at the traffic lights, gently squeezing the brakes in plenty of time… nowt happens! I’m slowly careering towards the car in front. Oh God, No! Not today! Even applying the handbrake doesn’t work and as I’m just getting myself into the crash position, with eyes half closed, the lights change, the car in front pulls off and I’m safe! Huzzah!
Luckily the motorway is relatively clear and I’m soon dropping my car off at the long term car park and I’m soon whisked away to the airport by shuttle bus. Now the last time I used Emirates, the check in was a nightmare. Forty seven thousand families all jostling for a front row start. Not today though. There’s me and three others. Wuhooo, things must be going right for a change!
Me and my big mouth! Called to the check-in desk and told that because of the snow, my flight can’t land at the moment and so the departure time has been put back to 14.50. Not too bad, seeing as it should have gone at 13.30pm. Unfortunately, this delay means I’ll miss my connection in Dubai. By ten hours.
Ying and Yang were two acrobatic tumblers that toured the music halls in the 1920’s. So why a bit of bad luck, followed by something good happening is named after them I’ll never know. There you go folks, there’s something to while away a miserable February afternoon for you. However, my bit of bad luck has also been tempered with a bit of good luck. Emirates are taking responsibility for the delay to my itinerary. Hooray! I didn’t think it was them that made it snow but there you go, you learn something new everyday. Seeing as the delay is over eight hours, when I get to Dubai, they will put me up in a hotel room until my re-scheduled flight is ready.
Well and good as that is, I still need to get hold of my contact in India. As you know, I’m travelling alone, so I have to contact my contact (does that sound right?) and get him to meet me off the later flight. Oh what to do?
I sometimes feel like Jones from Dad’s Army, yet whilst my head is running at full tilt screaming “Don’t Panic” my sensible side takes over. Surely to goodness, with all today’s modern communication methods, I’ll be able to get hold of my contact, inform him of what’s happened and get things sorted? Actually, it’s a doddle if I’m honest. There are PC’s dotted about the airport for traveller’s use. And even though the thieving swines are charging £1 for ten minutes, I pay up and send a mail. Now let’s hope he looks at his email.
Red Stripe Lager comes all the way from the tropical West Indies. And at over £3.40 a pint, they’re determined for me to fund every inch of its flight. What the hell, I’m having one. And a big brunch. Why can’t they just call it a full English breakfast? I sat there, looked at the beans and thought “hmmm, I’m getting on a plane soon with a couple of hundred other folk, is it really wise to be having beans?”
In less than no time at all (just what does that phrase mean?) I’m onboard Emirates flight EK018 to Dubai sat next to the prettiest lass in Lancashire. What’s more, I’m sure she’s giving me the eye. Unless she’s boss-eyed of course which, knowing my luck, is more like it. Here goes.. Rob, be calm, be natural, stop sweating profusely and have a conversation. No sooner had I formed the word “hello” in my mouth than the handsomest chap in Lancashire got on, sat on the other side of her, licked his own eyebrows and promptly swept her off her feet. Bah! I hope they’re both happy together. Boss-eyed bitch and smarmy Jack.
At least the beans held off. Until we reached Dubai that is. Walking off the plane I thought, I’ll just let a little one slip. I’d been good and held it in for how many thousand miles? No-one will know and I’m walking that fast, the smell can be blamed on someone else! I’ll just…oh bloody hell! It was like the trumpet voluntary played non stop for four minutes. There was no stopping it. Reveille, if you will, for the semi-comatose travellers. The noise followed me all the way up to the x-ray machine. If they were looking for WMD’s they’d just discovered one. In my pants! Ah well Rob, welcome to Dubai.
Could I find the transfer desk to inquire about my free hotel voucher? Not a chance. Luckily there was a Bangladeshi chap off the Manchester flight and we looked for it together. I had to laugh. He saw some other Asian folk and said to me “These are my friends, I’ll just ask them” After a couple of minute’s conversation, he came back to me. “Fuckin’ shits, bastards. Bloody Indians! Talk to me like I’m shit… come on we don’t need them…fuckin’ Indians” Well, it made me chuckle. Worse was to come for him I’m afraid. When we found the transfer desk, they point blank refused to give him any hotel vouchers. They said he was delayed for less than eight hours and, as such, they could offer him nothing. He was up in arms! But they remained adamant. Bless, I bet he’s still there now.
I don’t know if any of you have been to Dubai. I’ve been twice now, for the same reason on both occasions. I needed a stopover before flying right back out of the place. Not my kind of place at all. All fancy and swish. All nice and clean. Not a grain of sand out of place. Yet there’s something missing. Ah yes, there’s no soul. It’s a heartless block of cement in a desert. Even the immigration officers sneer as they give you that all important stamp in your passport. No matter, it’s a free do for me and that always makes me happy. Oh, I have to mention this. Whilst sat waiting for the shuttle bus to take a few of us to the hotel, I glanced up and noticed something. The chap opposite was the campest camper in Tentville. Nowt wrong with that to be honest. I couldn’t give a monkey’s what he gets up to. He and his friends then decide to have a very loud conversation about whether homosexuality is legal in Dubai. Now, call me old fashioned but if a host is kind enough to put you up for the night (I wish I’d worded that somewhat differently) maybe, just maybe, you could keep your views to yourself? And not, as our friends did and begin shouting about their gayness to all and sundry. It was as if Larry Grayson had said “Shut that door, look at the muck in here and oooh my friend Everard likes me to do him up the wrong ‘un” In other words, it’s not needed and uncalled for!
At least the hotel in Dubai offered me the chance to plug in my laptop and catch up on emails. At a cost. The bastards charged me $15 for two hours access. Not that I’m bitter, much. My contact had emailed me back. I managed to get his mobile number, the contact in Kolkata’s mobile number and confirmation that they were waiting for the later flight. Let’s just hope they’re there.
Quite a low key flight to Kolkata. Nowt much happened. Plane flew. Meals were served. Free drinks were consumed (well, you have to don’t you?) and movies were watched. To be honest, I can’t get enough of Willy Wonka (stop it!). Up to immigration and there’s a great rush to fill in forms declaring oneself free of HN1 or whatever it’s called (swine flue). Into baggage claims and out into Kolkata, to be greeted by my contact’s contact! Thirty minutes later and I’m here at the Hotel Lytton, sipping Stolly vodka tapping away into this laptop, telling you lot what’s been happening. Looks like I can’t upload it though, I need and Indian sim card to get net access. See lots of ying and, just to balance it out, a bit of yang. Let’s see what tomorrow brings and get my head down for the night. I’ve been awake now for twenty or so hours. Besides anything else I’m sure the stolly has started to kick in. I swear I can hear a snake charmer in the street below… hang on, no. It’s just the antique lift squeaking its way upstairs.
Now, I love my car. Not like some of those saddos on “Top Gear” who seem to fly into orgasmic delight whenever a Ferrari flange sprocket whatchamagig is mentioned. But I do like my car a lot. It’s only a Seat Leon but it’s probably the nicest car I’ve had so far and when it’s dry, I can motor for hours. Did you see what I did there? I used the words,” When it’s dry”. Because when the snow comes, it’s a useless heap of junk. The slightest covering of ice and I’m skidding all over the place. That’s if I can move the damned thing in the first place. So today, the day I have to get to the airport, is not the day I want to see Santa’s grotto being formed on my driveway. Deciding that I’d better shift the damned thing, I clear a layer of snow off the car and gently edge onto the road. Jeez, it’s like Ice road truckers! I’m dropping my house key off at my friend’s house. He only lives 5 minutes up the road. I’m at it again; can you see the operative word there? Up. And there my problem lies. Not a cat in hell’s chance. I have to leave the car at the bottom of his road and, like Scott of the Antarctic, I battle my way to his house. I do hope you read this Dave because there’s something I have to say. You have the tightest letterbox I’ve ever known. (ooer missus) It’s so damned tight; I cut my hand whilst squeezing the key past the draught excluder brushes. So there I am, battling a blizzard, on foot, with blood pouring down my wrist. Oh joy!
Back on the road and if I was Captain Oates, I’d have stopped in the tent rather than brave this lot. I hate it, absolutely hate it. And when I’m attempting to pull up at the traffic lights, gently squeezing the brakes in plenty of time… nowt happens! I’m slowly careering towards the car in front. Oh God, No! Not today! Even applying the handbrake doesn’t work and as I’m just getting myself into the crash position, with eyes half closed, the lights change, the car in front pulls off and I’m safe! Huzzah!
Luckily the motorway is relatively clear and I’m soon dropping my car off at the long term car park and I’m soon whisked away to the airport by shuttle bus. Now the last time I used Emirates, the check in was a nightmare. Forty seven thousand families all jostling for a front row start. Not today though. There’s me and three others. Wuhooo, things must be going right for a change!
Me and my big mouth! Called to the check-in desk and told that because of the snow, my flight can’t land at the moment and so the departure time has been put back to 14.50. Not too bad, seeing as it should have gone at 13.30pm. Unfortunately, this delay means I’ll miss my connection in Dubai. By ten hours.
Ying and Yang were two acrobatic tumblers that toured the music halls in the 1920’s. So why a bit of bad luck, followed by something good happening is named after them I’ll never know. There you go folks, there’s something to while away a miserable February afternoon for you. However, my bit of bad luck has also been tempered with a bit of good luck. Emirates are taking responsibility for the delay to my itinerary. Hooray! I didn’t think it was them that made it snow but there you go, you learn something new everyday. Seeing as the delay is over eight hours, when I get to Dubai, they will put me up in a hotel room until my re-scheduled flight is ready.
Well and good as that is, I still need to get hold of my contact in India. As you know, I’m travelling alone, so I have to contact my contact (does that sound right?) and get him to meet me off the later flight. Oh what to do?
I sometimes feel like Jones from Dad’s Army, yet whilst my head is running at full tilt screaming “Don’t Panic” my sensible side takes over. Surely to goodness, with all today’s modern communication methods, I’ll be able to get hold of my contact, inform him of what’s happened and get things sorted? Actually, it’s a doddle if I’m honest. There are PC’s dotted about the airport for traveller’s use. And even though the thieving swines are charging £1 for ten minutes, I pay up and send a mail. Now let’s hope he looks at his email.
Red Stripe Lager comes all the way from the tropical West Indies. And at over £3.40 a pint, they’re determined for me to fund every inch of its flight. What the hell, I’m having one. And a big brunch. Why can’t they just call it a full English breakfast? I sat there, looked at the beans and thought “hmmm, I’m getting on a plane soon with a couple of hundred other folk, is it really wise to be having beans?”
In less than no time at all (just what does that phrase mean?) I’m onboard Emirates flight EK018 to Dubai sat next to the prettiest lass in Lancashire. What’s more, I’m sure she’s giving me the eye. Unless she’s boss-eyed of course which, knowing my luck, is more like it. Here goes.. Rob, be calm, be natural, stop sweating profusely and have a conversation. No sooner had I formed the word “hello” in my mouth than the handsomest chap in Lancashire got on, sat on the other side of her, licked his own eyebrows and promptly swept her off her feet. Bah! I hope they’re both happy together. Boss-eyed bitch and smarmy Jack.
At least the beans held off. Until we reached Dubai that is. Walking off the plane I thought, I’ll just let a little one slip. I’d been good and held it in for how many thousand miles? No-one will know and I’m walking that fast, the smell can be blamed on someone else! I’ll just…oh bloody hell! It was like the trumpet voluntary played non stop for four minutes. There was no stopping it. Reveille, if you will, for the semi-comatose travellers. The noise followed me all the way up to the x-ray machine. If they were looking for WMD’s they’d just discovered one. In my pants! Ah well Rob, welcome to Dubai.
Could I find the transfer desk to inquire about my free hotel voucher? Not a chance. Luckily there was a Bangladeshi chap off the Manchester flight and we looked for it together. I had to laugh. He saw some other Asian folk and said to me “These are my friends, I’ll just ask them” After a couple of minute’s conversation, he came back to me. “Fuckin’ shits, bastards. Bloody Indians! Talk to me like I’m shit… come on we don’t need them…fuckin’ Indians” Well, it made me chuckle. Worse was to come for him I’m afraid. When we found the transfer desk, they point blank refused to give him any hotel vouchers. They said he was delayed for less than eight hours and, as such, they could offer him nothing. He was up in arms! But they remained adamant. Bless, I bet he’s still there now.
I don’t know if any of you have been to Dubai. I’ve been twice now, for the same reason on both occasions. I needed a stopover before flying right back out of the place. Not my kind of place at all. All fancy and swish. All nice and clean. Not a grain of sand out of place. Yet there’s something missing. Ah yes, there’s no soul. It’s a heartless block of cement in a desert. Even the immigration officers sneer as they give you that all important stamp in your passport. No matter, it’s a free do for me and that always makes me happy. Oh, I have to mention this. Whilst sat waiting for the shuttle bus to take a few of us to the hotel, I glanced up and noticed something. The chap opposite was the campest camper in Tentville. Nowt wrong with that to be honest. I couldn’t give a monkey’s what he gets up to. He and his friends then decide to have a very loud conversation about whether homosexuality is legal in Dubai. Now, call me old fashioned but if a host is kind enough to put you up for the night (I wish I’d worded that somewhat differently) maybe, just maybe, you could keep your views to yourself? And not, as our friends did and begin shouting about their gayness to all and sundry. It was as if Larry Grayson had said “Shut that door, look at the muck in here and oooh my friend Everard likes me to do him up the wrong ‘un” In other words, it’s not needed and uncalled for!
At least the hotel in Dubai offered me the chance to plug in my laptop and catch up on emails. At a cost. The bastards charged me $15 for two hours access. Not that I’m bitter, much. My contact had emailed me back. I managed to get his mobile number, the contact in Kolkata’s mobile number and confirmation that they were waiting for the later flight. Let’s just hope they’re there.
Quite a low key flight to Kolkata. Nowt much happened. Plane flew. Meals were served. Free drinks were consumed (well, you have to don’t you?) and movies were watched. To be honest, I can’t get enough of Willy Wonka (stop it!). Up to immigration and there’s a great rush to fill in forms declaring oneself free of HN1 or whatever it’s called (swine flue). Into baggage claims and out into Kolkata, to be greeted by my contact’s contact! Thirty minutes later and I’m here at the Hotel Lytton, sipping Stolly vodka tapping away into this laptop, telling you lot what’s been happening. Looks like I can’t upload it though, I need and Indian sim card to get net access. See lots of ying and, just to balance it out, a bit of yang. Let’s see what tomorrow brings and get my head down for the night. I’ve been awake now for twenty or so hours. Besides anything else I’m sure the stolly has started to kick in. I swear I can hear a snake charmer in the street below… hang on, no. It’s just the antique lift squeaking its way upstairs.
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