OznAsia

One of the things I appreciate about the internet is the way it makes it possible for us to communicate with people we would never otherwise meet. Recently I have been communicating with someone in Cairo and I must say that my knowledge of Cairo is scant. My online friend mentioned being caught in a traffic jam which prompted me to wonder just what a Cairo traffic jam is like.

On my last visit back to Australia some friends who live in Toowoomba were complaining bitterly about how terrible the traffic was in Brisbane. To hear them speak you might think that to be caught in a traffic jam in Brisbane was completely intolerable.

I lived a long time in Sydney. For some years prior to leaving, my work required me to visit schools all over the city. When I got the opportunity to move back to Brisbane, the thought of being able to escape the traffic jams of Sydney was an incentive for the move. Let me assure anyone who thinks Brisbane traffic jams are terrible that by comparison to Sydney, Brisbane's traffic moves very smoothly.

I learned to put Sydney's traffic into perspective after I'd spent some time in Bangkok. The population of Bangkok would be more than double that of Sydney and when all those people are trying to get to or from work the traffic is utter chaos. Anarchy is the norm on Bangkok roads. Lane markings mean little and traffic lights not much more. When you notice the inside lane on a Bangkok road is free, you ease yourself into it and fly along for a little way until you come upon a vendor slowly peddling a heavily laden three wheeler ahead of you. If you're lucky he is actually going in the same direction as you are. For pedestrians it is extremely dangerous to put a foot on a Bangkok road and even on the footpath you have to contend with motorcycles that have given up trying to make progress on the road. When I visited Sydney after living in Bangkok I was surprised at how courteous Sydney drivers are.

Last year I made my first visit to India and when I'd spent a little time in Delhi I realised that traffic in Bangkok isn't so bad after all. You haven't really experienced a traffic jam until you've been stuck for a few hours in Delhi traffic getting absolutely nowhere. And when the traffic is moving fast you have to hope you have a good driver because traffic is moving every which way with horns blaring constantly. I have the greatest respect for the ability of Delhi taxi drivers. Without them I probably would never have gone anywhere. There's no way you'd get me behind a wheel in Delhi. Returning to Bangkok after experiencing Delhi I have to say the traffic is quiet and almost pleasant.

Sometimes I wonder how people back in Australia are coping with the economic downturn. On the news here I see garment workers in Wollongong protesting about the loss of their jobs. If you lose your job in Australia you have to contend with the poverty of living on the dole. Let me assure you, your poverty is relative just as traffic jams are. I have friends in Cambodia who even with a job have a lifestyle way below that of an Australian on the dole. My Cambodian friends who are unemployed are even worse off. They have no running water and no money to buy bottled water as I did when I lived there. If they are lucky enough to have a pump, they boil the water from underground before they drink it. Some boil the river water and drink that but that doesn't kill the germs from the human faeces in the water. Most Australians, even if unemployed, have drinkable water piped into their homes.

If you happen to have lost your job recently because of the economic downturn, I'm sorry about that. As you drive to your next job interview if you get caught in a traffic jam and you think you'll be late for the interview, take it easy. Just think of someone in Delhi trying to get to their interview on a broken-down motorcycle or perhaps someone in Cambodia riding through the traffic on the way to their interview on a borrowed bicycle. Stay calm. I hope you get the job.

Labels: Asia, Australia, Bangkok, Cambodia, India, money, poverty, thailand, traffic

My visit to India is over. India is indeed incredible as the campaign claims. There are so many aspects to India, in one month I was barely able to scrape the surface. Perhaps one day I'll return but for now I'd like to revisit my preliminary blog Anticipating India.

Voluptuous and sexy women? Perhaps they exist but the India I saw was quite conservative. Indian women generally dress quite modestly. Saris and variations of them are designed to cover not reveal. However women wear them with style. I enjoyed the bright colours of Indian traditional dress. And a beautiful woman is still a beautiful woman without revealing all.

Enlightened beings? I have never in my life met someone who I could say 100% is an enlightened being, not in Australia, nor Thailand and not in my one month in India. Do they exist or are they the subject of legends? I don't really know. If they do, perhaps they are there in Australia in the same proportion as they are in India but having a much greater population, India may have a greater number just as they would have a greater number of charlatans. As for finding enlightened ones and separating them from the charlatans, let me know if you are successful.

Lofty principles? I'm sure they exist among some of the population. What stood out more for me was the poverty. Perhaps for a vast number of the Indian population their principles are based on the need to find enough food to survive the day. Perhaps it is up to those who have the luxury of lofty principles to address the issue of the great disparity between rich and poor in this country.

Shit in the street? I have been to another extremely poor country where I've seen more evidence of people using the streets as their toilet. However, in India, with the large number of holy cows that wander freely one still needs to be careful when walking in the street.

Bag stealing on trains? I didn't do a lot of train travel. I encountered no problems. Hey, I still have my passport : ). Perhaps we need to be careful wherever and however we travel.

Honesty in business dealings? I've already written about one hotel where they charged over the quoted price. I encountered one travel agent who charged an exorbitant booking fee and had all sorts of reasons to justify it. I didn't believe them. Quoted prices in India often do not reflect the final price. Considerable taxes may be added and people are not always upfront about this. Apart from this, I found the vast majority of Indians I had dealings with to be open, honest and helpful. I believe it is time that more emphasis was placed on these people. Instead of promoting Incredible India perhaps the government tourist authority should be promoting Credible India. How about a campaign to ask travellers to dob in someone who was honest and helpful? I'm sure there are many of them in this incredible country.

Labels: Asia, India, poverty, ripoff, scam, travel

I got the feeling that somehow India didn't want me to leave. When I was about to enter the departure terminal of New Delhi Airport, I was stopped by a security guard who insisted on seeing my ticket. 'Ticket? Ticket? I don't have a ticket. Haven't you heard of etickets?' Lately I usually rock on into the terminal, show my passport and that's all they need to find the details on their computer and give me a boarding pass.

'Who are you flying with?'

'Malaysia Airlines.'

'Go to their office in the building over the road and ask them to print you a ticket. You can't enter the terminal without a ticket.'

Down the corridors of the building over the road I find a door with the Malaysia Airlines name on it. But the door is locked. I hang around for a while; wander around in case there's another but there isn't; wander back to the same door; still no one there. I go back to the main entrance. Fortunately I came plenty early.

He asks to see my passport and then asks again which airline I'm flying on. He goes inside and gets someone from Malaysia Airlines to come out. This guy takes my passport, disappears for a few minutes and returns to confirm that yes I do have a seat on the flight. I am allowed to enter. The guard, by the way, is quite friendly. He's just doing his job.

I join a queue which eventually brings me to a check-in counter. I show my passport and yep, there is absolutely no hassle getting a boarding pass. They have some forms on the counter. I notice others have been taking them. I ask if I need one. 'Yes, and take one of these for your hand luggage too.' She gives me a tie-on label.

I find a seat and fill in the form and label. I find a couple of money exchange counters but neither have Malaysian ringgits. Nothing else to do. No one to see me off. They won't allow anyone who isn't flying to enter. Nothing to do but enter through the immigration gates.

Go through the gates. My form is OK. I'm legally out of India. No hassles. And then I get to the security section.

There are several gates with a guard on each. There doesn't appear to be a reason to choose one or another. I choose one. He wants to see the label for each piece of my hand luggage. I have three pieces and one label. 'Well, what am I to do? I have only one label.'

'Go back outside and get labels for your other pieces of hand luggage.' He points back through immigration.

I go over to immigration and ask if it is possible to go outside and get some more labels. The answer is a definite 'No.'

I ask what I am to do as security won't let me go on. He answers in English but what he is saying is not within my comprehension. I say 'I'm sorry, I don't understand.' He repeats the same sentence a little louder and a little faster and points towards the security gates. He then turns away as if to say 'I don't want any more to do with you.' I still do not understand what he said. I decide to go to a different security guard. He lets me through.

I am scanned and frisked. My bags are scanned and a stamp is put on the label. I go inside and wait. I am quite early. The exit gate is not even acknowledged on the electronic notice board. I sit down and read.

Eventually my flight is called. I join the queue. While I'm waiting a woman says to me that I had better put my small black bag inside my larger white one or security won't allow me to bring it on board.

Eventually I reach the security guards at the exit door. They want to see the stamp on each piece of my hand luggage. I have one on the label that is attached to the largish bag that contains my computer and camera but I don't have one on my white cloth bag.

'You stand over there,' one guard tells me in a firm voice.

I feel like a naughty school kid. 'So, what are you going to do?' I ask. 'Keep me in India?'

The second guard comes over and takes a closer look at the white cloth bag. He finds that the stamp has been put on the bag itself. Perhaps they put one on the black bag too but of course it wouldn't show. Anyway, I'm allowed to board my plane.

Security in India is stricter than I have seen anywhere else I have travelled. I understand. Terrorism from various sources is a big issue in India. Every time I entered a shopping mall in India I was scanned and frisked. I accept that this is for my protection and safety. However, I wish the security guards could be taught how to do their job without having to unduly inconvenience innocent people. How simple it would have been if the security guard I encountered after passing through immigration had a supply of extra labels.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

One of the things I really like about India is that they've banned smoking in public places. One of the things I dislike about smokers in India is that they refuse to accept that a restaurant is a public place.

Labels: Asia, health, India

I wrote before, back when I was in Hanoi, about the way so many tourists ignored the hawkers as if they were afraid they would be forced to buy something. Generally I like to to talk to people in the countries I visit. In India I am finding the need for a different tactic.

When I am in a different place I often stop and stare. Others may not realise what I am doing. In my mind's eye I am framing a picture. I am looking at a scene to see if it makes a good composition. If it looks good then I'll take my camera out and shoot it.

This was happening one day in Rishikesh. I had just crossed the Laxman Julha bridge. Already I had said 'No thank you,' politely to several hawkers. I had turned around because there was a group of people posing for photos with a particularly friendly monkey. I was thinking it might make an interesting shot to show the photographer and the models and the monkey. While considering this I was approached by yet another hawker.

'Would you like to look at some postcards, sir?'

'No thank you.'

'I have some very nice...' I can't remember what it was but these guys have a whole heap of things on their trays. If you don't want postcards then they'll try you with something else.

But I'm still trying to concentrate on framing my picture. 'No thank you,' more firmly.

'I can show you some...'

At this point I lost it. 'Do you understand English? I don't want to buy anything. Fuck off!' I had also lost my concentration and walked off.

I admit I didn't handle the situation well. Later on the same day I was browsing in some shops for souvenirs for my grandchildren. I noticed a way that many of the sales assistants treated me that I found off-putting. If they reached a point where they believed I was not going to buy what they were trying to sell, they would ignore me. The wouldn't politely say, 'Well, have a nice day' or close the conversation in some other way. They would behave as if I didn't exist. Not sure what they were trying to achieve but they certainly ensured I would not return to their shop for anything else.

I decided that if this was the way people behaved in India then in this case perhaps I could learn something. Next time I came across the bridge I was again approached by several hawkers. I stared straight through them and kept walking as if they weren't there. It worked.

Maybe those tourists I observed in Vietnam had visited India earlier.

Labels: Asia, hawker, India, travel

The holy Ganga River passes through the holy city of Rishikesk. Seekers from around the world come to study under the yogis, gurus and sadhus who abound here. Indian people come to bathe in the holy river. It certainly looks cleaner here than further downstream. Crossing the Ganga is another matter. For me that brings challenges.

My mind was open (and still is) to the possibility that one or two of the sadhus had acquired the ability to walk across the water. If that is the case, I have yet to see it but what I do see are sadhus walking across the bridge like me and many others. Let me assure you, if I knew how to walk across the water, that would be my preferred choice but I can't so the bridge is my only option.

There are actually two bridges perhaps about a kilometre apart. They are of similar design—suspension bridges. What I hesitate to call the walkway on the one near me at Laxman Jhula is wide enough for four average-sized people to walk abreast.

Indian people like to pose for photos on the bridge, sometimes alongside the monkeys who hang out there looking for handouts. I don't know how successful they are at getting these photos as the other Indians, the ones not having their photos taken, usually do not wait but walk straight between photographer and models.

The occasional sacred cow (they are quite plentiful in Rishikesh) also wanders onto and across the bridge and invariably drops some holy shit before reaching the other side—just another challenge for us to avoid while crossing.

Pack donkeys are sometimes driven across the bridge. I haven't actually encountered any while I've been on the bridge but I know that the ones in the street give way to no one.

Why I hesitate to call the walkway a walkway is that it is also used by motorcycles. The riders (not all, but many) of these show as much sense and manners as do the donkeys except for the fact that they do beep their horn to warn you to get out of the way. Often they are riding too fast for the situation and often the bridge is so crowded with pedestrians, cows, donkeys and people taking photos that the only way to go to escape the oncoming beeping motorcycle is up.

Let me assure you—and them—that if I had the ability to levitate at will, as they seem to expect, I wouldn't be walking on the bridge. I'm sure it would be way easier to walk across the water.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

I had very little idea of what to expect in Derhadun. I went to escape the cold of Mussoorie and with an open mind as to how long I'd stay.

My taxi driver from Mussoorie recommended Hotel White House, saying it was in a street with restrictions on traffic and therefore quieter. The building looks to be about 50 years old and apart from painting has had very little maintenance in that time. My room was quite large with an attached bathroom. It opens to a large covered verandah at the front and an uncovered area at the back.

When I was inspecting the room the hot water shower was pointed out. Later when I went to take a shower no hot water would come out of it. It would come out of the lower tap but not the shower. I took a bath Asian style but at least with warm water. Later, I mentioned this to the manager who shrugged his shoulders and said, 'That's because the geyser (hot water system) is lower than the shower head.' Yeah, I'd figured that. But why? Later again, I was told that Indian people dislike the problem of getting the temperature adjusted correctly. They prefer to run the water into a bucket and wash from that. So that's how I did it too.

On my first afternoon in Derhadun I went for a walk to check out the town. Visually I found it stimulating. It is a busy town and busy in India means noise and air pollution. Away from the cold air of Mussoorie my nose had stopped running but with all the pollution I'd developed a cough.

I've met some pleasant people in this town, found a good place to eat and the hotel is indeed quiet at night. But with all this pollution I've decided to start making enquiries about getting to Rishikesh.

Labels: Asia, India, noise, travel

I spent eight days in Delhi and didn't get Delhi belly. In fact, I quite liked Indian food. The easy availability of a range of vegetarian foods was a plus. In shopping malls there are often food courts that are entirely vegetarian. Spicy? Well, after all my time in Thailand I didn't find anything that challenged me. Others may need to be careful. In Thailand I often eat street food—not everything. I usually make a hygiene assessment. I was more careful in India and didn't get so relaxed as to try any street food though I suspect some of it should be safe.

In Mussoorie I had become quite relaxed about eating the food. I ate many of my meals in the hotel or guest house plus the occasional meal from a restaurant outside. So, I have no way of knowing what the culprit was but one morning I found myself with a rather extreme case of diarrhoea. It really cleaned me out. I treated it by fasting. For that day I ate nothing and drank water with electrolytes added.

If you know me personally you'll know I don't carry too much spare energy on my body. When I woke the next morning I felt totally depleted of energy. I felt drained even when sitting in meditation. Had some eggs for breakfast. The energy returned and the diarrhoea was gone. I was more careful about what I ate after that and had no further troubles during my stay in India.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

Back when I was in Cambodia, I probably commented in this blog that drivers on Cambodian highways drive with a foot on the accelerator and a hand on the horn. Other driving tools, such as the brake, are of less importance.

Here in India the horn is king and for some drivers and motorcycle riders it is used almost constantly. It's also not uncommon for motorcycles to have musical air horns fitted. Consider the amount of traffic on Indian roads—huge; consider the common attitude of Indian drivers—I'm coming through no matter what; and you learn to expect the constant music of beeping horns in India whenever you are anywhere close to a road.

In Mussoorie, staying at Ivy Bank there was very little traffic but because of the narrow winding roads drivers are still obliged to sound their horns to warn oncoming vehicles of their presence.

For those who don't enjoy this free music, it does fortunately reduce to almost nothing, at least in Mussoorie at night

Labels: Asia, India, noise

I'd prefer to be stuck in 40 degree heat than ten degree cool. For the past six years or more, I've happily avoided temperatures below 15 degrees. And now I find myself in this hill station at the foot of the Himalayas—Mussoorie. The people of Delhi (or at least the well-heeled ones) flock here by the thousands during the heat waves of India's summer months. But I'm not visiting during the summer months. I'm here during early November, the start of India's winter.

My first three days in Mussoorie were spent at Hotel Padmini Nivas which was once the palace (or at least holiday home) of a maharajah. Much of Mussoorie was built on steep hillsides and my room was built to take advantage of excellent views. There is a sun room at the front with floor to ceiling glass. It warms up beautifully during the day and keeps the whole room warm during the night. This hotel also has a reputation for its excellent Gujarati vegetarian food.

Most of the action in Mussoorie centres on The Mall. It's supposed to be for pedestrians and rickshaws only but somehow many motorcycles and a few cars find their way in too. Young guys on motorcycles are not always cautious but they usually sound their horn before they run you down.

Even at this time of the year The Mall is full of tourists, mostly Indians. It also has many vendors and shops selling food, souvenirs, clothing and just about anything else you might need. The Mall winds a bit and goes over a few hills as you might expect here in the mountains. There are also many places to take advantage of the spectacular views.

The booking at Hotel Padmini Nivas was only for three nights because a religious convention was booked in after that. Looking at some other hotels on the mall, Hotel Garhwal Terrace had nice rooms at a better rate than Hotel Padmini Nivas but I think this was only because Garhwal Terrace had already switched to off-peak rates. Hotel Padmini Nivas were due to bring their rates down a week later.

Instead of staying at the Mall, I ended up at Landour, a little further up the mountain. There I found Ivy Bank Guest House and moved in the next day.

This is a wonderful setting. If I feel like immersing myself in the local culture, meeting some of the colourful locals or doing some shopping I walk down the narrow winding road to Landour Bazaar. To immerse myself in nature I walk further up the mountain and enjoy spectacular views including the snow-capped mountains in the distance. I'm told the snow will be coming here too if I stay a little longer.

I love it here. I'd like to stay longer but for the past couple of days the clouds have come in and the temperature has dropped. Ivy Bank Guest House is very cosy but has no heating. I've got thermal underwear, a fleece jacket and a woollen hat with built-in mufflers but this is still too cold for me. I haven't heard what the temperature is but a few days back there were Americans here (from Northern USA) who were commenting on the cold. And now even the locals are wearing their cold-weather gear.

I'd love to come back when it's warmer but then I'd have to contend with crowds and higher prices. We'll see.

As a footnote I'd add that there is a huge range of eating places both in The Mall and Landour Bazaar. Prices are generally reasonable. There are also many hotels and guest houses scattered around both The Mall area and Landour. I gather they fill up in the summer months but if, unlike me, you don't mind the cold there are many to choose from in the off season at very good rates. Like most places here Ivy Bank Guest House has a dining room. They provide Indian style home-cooked meals. For a change, you can get Western style fare at Chhaya Cafe, between the guest house and the Bazaar. Recommended.

Labels: Asia, holiday, hotel, India, travel

I have a seat on the 6.50 am train from New Delhi to Dehradun. A taxi driver and a taxi tout have both quoted me 250 rupees to get me from the youth hostel to New Delhi Railway Station. It seems a bit high. The night before my departure I spoke to the hostel reception clerk. I told him I would be checking out at six the following morning and needed to get to the station. I asked his recommendation for reliable transportation. He said to give ten minutes notice and the clerk on duty would phone a taxi for me. He quoted 150 rupees.

I set the alarm on my phone for 5.15 am and managed to get myself to the counter at 5.40. I told the clerk I needed the taxi for six o'clock and suggested they phone first before checking me out and getting my other bag out of storage. He told me the taxi would cost me 200 rupees. 'Hey,' I said. 'Your colleague told me 150 rupees last night.'

'There's a surcharge for early morning.' Didn't the other guy know that? But this is India and I'm getting used to this sort of thing.

All the business is done before six. He tells me to sit and wait as the driver will come in for me. He arrives at 6.08. Fortunately I'd given myself plenty of time. We carry my bags out and put them into the cab. I get into the back seat and wait. The driver doesn't get into the cab. After about a minute I look out the window to see if I can see him. He's over near the bushes having a pee.

One week in India has taught me that you NEVER make assumptions about price. You don't assume the driver knows the price you've negotiated with someone else. When he gets in he takes off immediately. I tell him where I'm going and quote 200 rupees. 'No,' he says. 'It's 250.'

'I was quoted 200.'

'Usually it is 200 but because of early morning it is 250.'

'No,' I say firmly. 'I was told it is usually 150 and because of early morning it is 200. I will pay you 200 or you can take me back to the hostel.' Partly I am bluffing. I don't have time to muck around. Also I don't know how much English he understands. In any case, he says nothing and keeps driving.

At this time of morning, there's not much traffic and it doesn't take long to get there—well, almost there. The street that leads to the station is chock-a-block with vehicles ranging from bicycle rickshaws to buses and it is absolute chaos. He takes me as far as he reasonably can. I grab my bags and pay his 200 rupees. He accepts—no argument.

The footpath is as crowded with pedestrians as the road with vehicles. I negotiate my way to the station carrying my three bags—virtually all my possessions. I enter through the scanner. I see security staff are checking some bags. Security in India is stricter than I've experienced anywhere else. Thank goodness I don't have to unpack all my bags.

An electronic board lists the departures and platforms—but not Dehradun. I stop, waiting for the display to change. There is a flow of people many carrying as much if not more than me. (All their possessions? Perhaps.) When I stop it seems everyone with a box or large bag bumps against me. The passageway is extremely crowded. After about a minute of this bumping the display has not changed. I decide to move on and climb the stairs to the overpass.

Stairs lead down to each platform and at the top of each set of stairs is a signboard with details in Hindi and English of the train waiting at the platform. There must be a dozen or more platforms before I reach the other side of the overpass. None of the signboards mentions Dehradun. The last one says something like 'Welcome to Northern Line' but no actual destination is mentioned. Not in English anyway.

There is a security guard or policeman (I don't know the uniforms) standing at the top of the stairs. I ask him and he points to this platform. Thankfully I don't have to make my way back through the crowd.

My carriage is right at the foot of the stairs. I find my seat with no trouble. I've made it with time to spare.

The journey to Dehradun takes about six hours and the ticket price includes basic extras like tea, breakfast and newspaper all delivered to your seat. I relax and enjoy the journey taking a few shots of the towns and villages we pass through.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

I find Indian people to be not unfriendly. If an opportunity is presented they'll ask where you are from and then launch into a conversation about cricket or whatever else they deem relevant. Generally, I'd say, Indian women are a little more shy than the men.

From time to time in the dining room of the youth hostel I'd noticed a couple of women, probably in their late 30s, who were usually accompanied by a tribe of kids. On my last full day there, I came down for breakfast and the two women were at a table without the kids. They smiled 'hello'. Breakfast wasn't ready. They were waiting too so I struck up a conversation with them.

I'm coming to learn that Indians don't always look like Indians. If you plonked these two someone in Thailand they'd probably be accepted as Thais—at least until they tried to speak the language. They come from Nagaland, one of the states in India's north-east close to the Burmese border. They told me that their ancestors had come from Mongolia. Their kids go to boarding school in Delhi. This week was a holiday so rather than bring the kids home, the two mums had come to Delhi to spend a week with them at the youth hostel. The kids were a little bored with the hostel's breakfasts so this morning the mums had come alone.

We continued to chat after breakfast arrived and I asked about their home state. 'The people are mostly Christians,' one said. It turns out that the two are sisters-in-law and one of the husbands is a pastor. Asians often assume that if one is a Westerner then one is also Christian. They are usually surprised when I tell them this is not necessarily the case.

Over breakfast we continued to chat about this and that—pleasant conversation. They both spoke good English. When we had finished one of them said, 'You realise it is my duty to tell you about the Lord Jesus Christ?'

'What do you think you can tell me? I was raised in a Christian family, went to Sunday School every week as a child and four of my siblings continue to practise Christianity.'

Generally I am tolerant of religious beliefs of others. I take a live-and-let-live attitude. But when someone starts trying to convert me, I figure they're fair game. In my younger days I had a lot of fun debating with the Jehovah's Witnesses who came knocking on my door. I was polite and respectful to my new friends but I had no qualms about explaining what I considered to be some of the shortcomings of their religion.

The one who thought it was her duty to convert me laughed out loud at times about some of my claims. I wonder, was she laughing at me or was it a nervous laugh. Anyway, we parted as friends.

Labels: Asia, India, religion

I had arranged to meet Nazia near her place and went out from the youth hostel to see if I could find a taxi and negotiate a reasonable fare. There was only one auto there but another guy was standing chatting to the driver. This guy asked where I wanted to go. When I told him he said he could arrange a taxi for me and quoted a fare. It was very reasonable but there was a catch. I had to let the taxi driver take me to three shops. I was not required to buy anything but had to browse in an interested fashion for ten minutes in each shop. The explanation was that the driver gets fuel coupons (whatever they are) in return for bringing prospective customers to the shop.

I'm usually wary of touts but from my angle this seemed a reasonable deal. I could play the game in the shops and have no difficulty saying 'no' when needed. As an experienced traveller I also have an idea of what prices really should be in an Asian country.

I agreed to the deal, a taxi was called and off we went. I didn't even have to lie in the shops. I simply told them I was looking for some shirts for my grandchildren but I wasn't buying today. If they had what I wanted I'd be back before I left. I asked for business cards and jotted down notes. But the reality is that there was no chance I'd go back to those shops. They had some nice stuff but prices were similar to what I'd expect to pay in Australia. Let's face it, there had to be a big mark up to pay commissions to the taxi driver and the tout. There were not many customers in any of the shops and those they had were Westerners. If you buy where Westerners buy, you'll pay Westerner's prices.

The system worked for me if not the sellers who tried hard to entice me to buy. But I eventually found the souvenirs I was looking for in Rishikesh and I paid Indian prices.

Labels: Asia, India, money, travel

Friends, please do not worry. I am not in Mumbai. As it happens I have already moved on from India and these blogs are being posted after the event.

Nor am I in Bangkok. Please don't worry I've reached my next destination and feel very safe.

Labels: Asia, communication, India, news, politics, terrorism, thailand, travel

Many years ago I made a choice to not partake of caffeinated drinks. I find that generally I can get to sleep fairly quickly in the evening and when I wake in the morning I am ready to start my day right away. I tend to have fairly regular sleeping habits.

If I am in Australia and my friends invite me to have a coffee with them, I opt for decaffeinated. I know there are questions about decaffeinated coffee. Apparently there are two processes for decaffeinating coffee beans. One is expensive and produces a product that is not harmful. The other, cheaper process, produces a product that is reputed to not be particularly good for our health. Guess which one is more commonly used. Still, I don't drink the stuff so often I doubt that it is going to do me a lot of harm. Besides, I do enjoy the flavour of coffee.

In Thailand there is a coffee chain that boasts a range of over 20 types of coffee. At the time I checked them out none were decaffeinated. Fine, I decided, I have no difficulty in going without.

On my second day in India Nazia and I had an early dinner—or perhaps a very late lunch. We decided to see a movie at 7.30 and had a bit of time to kill. Nazia was hanging out for a cup of tea so introduced me to the Costa coffee shop in the local mall. 'But they won't have decaffeinated,' I said.

'Yes, they do.' Not only did they offer decaffeinated but the size of the cups! I ordered a medium. To me it was equal to about two regular cups of coffee. Glad I didn't order a large. Still, it helped to fill the time until the movie started.

After the movie we returned to our homes in a cycle rickshaw. I'm trying to set myself a slightly different sleeping pattern while I'm in India. In Bangkok I usually slept from 10 pm to 6 am. Here, I'm aiming for 11 pm to 7 am. At this point my body clock should have still been in Bangkok time so I should have been nodding off at about 8.30 pm. When I returned to my room it was 10.40 and I was still wide awake. I decided to do a little writing until 11. When that came around I still did not feel tired but turned the computer off anyway and went to bed.

I lay for hours not feeling the least bit tired. I checked the time at one point. It was 2.40 am. I still felt wide awake. I probably dozed off around about 3 am. But I didn't feel I slept soundly and woke up several times before getting up a little before 7.30.

Something had kept me awake for most of the night. There weren't any obtrusive noises. The temperature was pleasant. There was nothing keeping me awake. I was just not sleepy.

So, what was the cause? I believe I drank caffeinated coffee. Did the coffee-making person at Costa give me a regular coffee by mistake? Or is their decaf coffee a fake? I have no way of knowing but I shall avoid it for the rest of my time in India.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

My plane arrived at Indira Gandhi International Airport perhaps a little ahead of time. I had rested but not slept on the plane. The tiredness had gone and hopefully was not colouring my first impressions of India.

The airport is big, modern and clean. The queues for immigration were not too long and the process was quick. I did already have a visa so I trust there was not so much that needed to be checked. When I got inside the terminal there was about a half-hour delay to collect luggage from my flight. Perhaps this is normal. I'm not sure. There was no shortage of luggage carousels and appeared to be no shortage of staff but someone explained that luggage from my flight was 'on hold'. When it finally started to come along the carousel they even had a man stationed just after the bend on the end whose only job seemed to be to straighten anything that did not come around the corner too well. But someone else was chatting to him so he missed half of them. Before long my backpack arrived and it took me almost no time to pass through the customs check.

My friend, Nazia, was waiting for me and led me outside where we were immediately surrounded by thousands of flying insects. Is this India I thought. But as we moved away from the lights the numbers reduced. I asked if this was normal in India and Nazia explained that the insects were attracted to something that was burned in the Divali celebrations.

Nazia had come in a taxi cab and the driver was waiting for our return journey to Noida where I had booked a room. The driver drove fast and furiously with the horn blaring regularly. The object seemed to be to keep the cab moving forwards no matter what. And everyone else seemed to have much the same object for their vehicles. Trucks—there are so many of them, delivery drivers must be in plentiful supply—bear signs on the back inviting other drivers to 'horn please' or occasionally the same message with a more creative spelling. And other drivers appear to be pleased to oblige. It makes no difference to the truck. The driver invariably holds his position while other drivers pass on the near side, the far side or anywhere else there appears to be a space.

When I first encountered Bangkok traffic I thought it was anarchistic. I've become used to it over the years. In Hanoi I discovered traffic that was just so incredibly busy and beepingly noisy. Traffic in Delhi is all of the above and more. Did I mention that someone told me, 'Nothing prepares you for India'? As far as traffic goes perhaps they were right.

Eventually we reached the guesthouse where my room was booked and it wasn't long before I was in a comfortable bed and sound asleep.

Footnote: If this blog appears to be out of chronological order, this one should explain.

Labels: Asia, India, travel

The word 'market' in India is used to describe something that is perhaps a cross between a market with free-standing stalls as you might find in South-east Asia and a shopping strip in an Australian (or other Western) town or suburb. The stalls in the Indian markets are permanent like those in a shopping strip but unlike those in the shopping strip, you don't usually enter. It's too small - sort of like a big cupboard.

I needed to pick up a few hardware items and found such a stall. They appeared to have as good a range of small hardware items as you might find in an Australian hardware store. How or where they store it all is beyond me. There is a woman behind the counter and the husband stands on the footpath along with the customers, helping from there.

'I need a small lock.'

She shuffles around for a short while and produces a tiny lock.

'Do you have one a little bigger?'

And out it comes.

'That's good. Now do you have an electric plug adapter?' One is produced but it's not right. She pulls out a few more and I find the one I need.

What else does she have in this stall that is not much bigger than a cupboard but seems to work like a magician's hat? I'm tempted to test her out by asking for a few more things except I'd have to buy them.

After I'd been staying at the Youth Hostel for a few days I decided I needed to go online. My Argentinian friend offered to show me where the nearest internet cafe was. We took a pleasant ten minute stroll to another 'market' and he pointed to the cupboard that contained the internet cafe.

I opened the door expecting to find a passageway leading to a bigger room behind but no, this was it.

It was a two storey cupboard with two compartments on each shelf, ie a total of four computers. The computers were fairly ancient, running an antique version of Windows and the connection was quite slow. It took me back about five years but wasn't really a problem as I was only checking my email.

At one point there were two guys together on the computer next to mine and they needed help from the operator so there were four of us cramped on the one cupboard shelf.

I've used other internet cafes in India since that one and I'm pleased to say they're more like I've experienced in other parts of Asia and usually run XP. Speeds are not up to what I'm used to in Bangkok, in fact no better than I'd expect to find in Cambodia. Maybe there are better cafes elsewhere in India but, so far, I haven't found one.

Labels: Asia, communication, India, travel

When I arrived at the New Delhi Youth Hostel I had to wait a little while at the counter which gave me time to read some of the signs on the walls. I like this one (the spelling and grammar are theirs):

Use of un-parliamentary languages with any of the staffs is strictly restricted

Climbing the stairs I was able to enjoy prints of paintings by local artists. But this sign had me boggled:

BEWARE OF NEW
WHITE PAINTING

I looked everywhere but could not find this dangerous white picture. Later I noticed they had the painters in and realised that this was the Indian version of 'WET PAINT'.

Labels: Asia, communication, India

No one I spoke to had anything good to say about Delhi but somehow circumstances are such that I've just spent a week there.

I asked my friends with India experience where I should stay in Delhi. It seems they all say Pahar Ganj. No one could actually recommend a place they'd stayed. There was no enthusiasm but no one knew any other options. And online reviews aren't enthusiastic either.

I decided to check local knowledge. I asked Nazia what she thought about Pahar Ganj. 'Don't go there,' she said. 'It's full of touts. It's not a nice place.'

'So, where do I go?'

'I'll find somewhere for you.'

Nazia lives in suburban Delhi but the reality is that locals don't know where you should stay. They never have to look for accommodation in their own town.

Online I tracked down a guesthouse not far from her place. She checked it out and said it didn't look too bad but she had reservations.

I emailled and asked what was their full all-inclusive room rate. They wrote back and said 'refer to our website'. The website quoted 1,000 rupees for a single room and made no mention of seasonal rates. That's not cheap for India. We aren't talking about starred accommodation. Still, I emailled back and asked them to book me in for two nights.

The place wasn't all that bad. It was clean, had air-con, hot running water if you could figure out how it worked and most importantly - the bed was comfortable. They served breakfast and the food was OK. When I checked out two days later, I was presented with a bill for 3,000 rupees. When I questioned them, they said the rate in the website was the off-peak rate and this was the peak period (for one more week). Nazia came along to pick me up and joined in the conversation - in Hindi - which meant I was out of it. The clerk referred her to his boss by telephone. The boss said he couldn't do anything but quoted his boss. I stupidly paid up.

I am not mentioning the guesthouse name because I understand this type of practice is not uncommon in India. I present this anecdote here as a warning to all travellers to India. Don't do what I did. I recommend that you do not accept vague references to a website - ask for a firm price. Don't book unless you get it. If they try to change the price, refuse to pay.

So, where to next? I was prepared to try Pahar Ganj but I wasn't going there if Nazia could help it. I had jotted down a few notes off the internet. Top of my list, because of price, was the International Youth Hostel at Chanakyapuri. Nazia was quite enthusiastic about this because Chanakyapuri is a good area. We took a taxi there and yes, this area is very pleasant - lots of trees, little traffic and quiet. This is the area where you'll find all the foreign embassies.

And the hostel? Well, it's certainly not luxurious but it's clean with basic comforts. There are several options ranging from private rooms with air-con to dorms. But if you turn up on short notice, as I did, you might not get what you are looking for. (Check their website and book ahead.)

For my first three nights, I got a room to myself but had to share the bathroom.
For the rest of my stay, I was in a dorm.

I usually avoid dorms, mainly for security reasons but security here was good. You get a locker to which you can add your own lock. It was big enough to hold my main backpack. If you're fussy, check them out first as you're allocated a specific one. Some are in better condition than others. They also offer secure storage on another floor which looks pretty good. I put my computer bag in there as I wasn't going to be using the computer anyway. As an added precaution, I put a lock on the bag.

Weighing up the differences between a private room and a dorm, there are pluses and minuses to each. If you want quiet, the private room is definitely the way to go as people come and go in the dorms at all times of day and night. Some are considerate of others. Some definitely are not. I've also discovered that Indian men are even worse than Chinese men with the noises they make to clear the phlegm from their throats early in the morning.

What I liked most about the dorm was the opportunity to meet others. I shared my dorm with an interesting range of people, none of whom were Westerners. Among the Indians were a couple of guys who were part of a team working on a new political journal. There was also an (almost) retired professor of political science and an historian working on the period before and after independence from a Muslim perspective. Foreigners included two Afghan students. I also met a young accountant (really nice guy) from Argentina.

There were some superficial renovations taking place during my stay but some major work is also needed. The hostel is advertised as being 'eco-friendly'. The main feature of this is the solar hot water system which only operates in the winter months. At the moment it is stuffed so there's no hot water at all which, of course, is still eco-friendly : )

Both of the bathrooms I used were pretty bad in general. The plumbing challenged my understanding of the laws of physics.

The hostel has a kitchen which serves reasonable (mostly Indian) food. Breakfast is included in the room price. Sometimes the kitchen is open for lunch, sometimes not. You have to book and pay ahead for lunch and dinner. There is a deadline for this which may or may not be enforced depending on the staff member on duty. If you miss out, there is a local 'market' where food is available but the range is limited unless you are looking to dine in a fancy restaurant. (The one I tried is quite good.)

Chanakyapuri is not in the centre of Delhi but it's only ten minutes away from Connaught Place by auto rickshaw (similar to a Thai tuk-tuk). There's usually one or two waiting outside the hostel. They will ask you for a fare of 60 - 100 rupees for this. Offer them 40 and walk away if they mention a figure over 50. There is also a bus for much less than this. The nearest stop is a pleasant ten minute walk from the hostel. They can at times be way overcrowded but pick the right time (as I did) and you'll get a comfortable and maybe interesting ride.

If you want to check out Pahar Ganj (as I also did), it's a walkable distance from Connaught Place or take the metro. It certainly is an interesting place to visit. Vibrant is the word that comes to mind. I'm told there are good restaurants there but I didn't try them. Yes, the touts are there but after six years in Asia I know most of the tricks. Inexperienced travellers should be cautious with people they don't know. Don't be paranoid or you'll miss out on the fun. Just don't believe too much of what he says. (So far I haven't met a female tout in India but I'm open.)

Back to the New Delhi International Youth Hostel, if I haven't turned you off (not my intention), I suggest you check out their website and remember to book ahead.

Labels: Asia, hawker, holiday, India, ripoff, travel

My lifestyle has become a mixture of travelling and staying put. It would be so easy to make a statement like 'I love travel'. And considering the lifestyle I have chosen for the past six years in particular, or perhaps my whole life in general, one might consider it would be an appropriate statement for me to make. But it's not true! The fact is that I hate travel. I hate the process of packing. I hate carrying all my possessions which equal more than one third of my body weight to strange places where I don't know the way, am not familiar with the transport systems and may not speak the language. I hate having to find suitable accommodation in yet another new city. I hate having to run the gamut of touts who think that your white skin is a symbol of your wealth and they are only too happy to relieve you of some of it. This is the style of travel that I have chosen and I want to say here and now that I hate it.

Of course there is another way to travel. I could stay in hotels that actually get star ratings. I could take taxis everywhere. I could go on guided tours. I could eat in the best restaurants. But what is the point? Except for the view, a five-star hotel in Bangkok, Hanoi or Delhi is just the same as a five-star hotel in Brisbane or Sydney. OK, so maybe the uniforms reflect the local culture. But believe me, when you are doing this you are not seeing the real Bangkok, Hanoi or Delhi. You might as well stay home and watch National Geographic Channel.

I am also not a typical backpacker, if there is such a thing. Hey, I don't want to stereotype backpackers. There's enough people doing that already. But I would like to distance myself from another kind of travel, ie getting pissed in cities all over the world. Getting pissed in Bangkok, Hanoi or Delhi can't really be all that different from getting pissed while watching National Geographic Channel in Brisbane or Sydney.

While I hate travelling, what I do love is being in places that are, to me, exotic. I love to stay in those places for an extended period of time, living amongst the locals. I don't want to live amongst expats. If I want to live among Australians, I'd go back to Australia and do just that. But I know what Australians are like. I lived among them for 55 years. Now I want to immerse myself in 'exotic' cultures; to live among the local people; to live their lifestyle; to learn what makes them tick and perhaps in some way to give a little back to their community. This I love and for the opportunity to do this, I'll put up with the crap that comes with my chosen style of travelling.

I've just spent seven months living in Bangkok. I lived out of town, in the suburbs. I lived in an apartment building amongst Thai people. Two days a week I went to Thai language class. I travelled on buses and trains, occasionally on motorcycle taxis but rarely in taxi cabs.

While living in Bangkok I did accumulate a few possessions: a small bookcase, a little cupboard, books, DVD movies, clothes. I did much the same while living in Mahasarakham, Kompong Chhnang and Melaka. This means I have to make decisions when I move on about what to do with all those excess possessions, all the stuff I can't carry. Occasionally I am able to store a few things in anticipation of a return but often I go through this process. I sort everything into three bundles: the things I absolutely must take with me; the things I'd like to take with me and those I can live without. When I have the 'must takes' in my bags, there is usually not much more room. I add a few of the 'like to takes' based on what fits and what will be most useful and I say goodbye to the rest. I give it away or throw it out.

I had been reasonably comfortable in my room in Bangkok because as well as the things I'd bought I'd also made a trip to Mahasarakham and brought back a suitcase full of useful stuff that'd been stored there. This meant that the sorting process in this, my most recent moving-on, was bigger than usual.

This is one of the aspects of travel that I hate. I hate trying to fit everything in and I hate having to leave behind things that to some degree I've become attached to. I've always been like this and I've always handled this issue in the same stupid way - I procrastinate.

And so there I was an hour before Ead was due to pick me up for the trip to Suvarnabhumi Airport, the bags half packed and accumulated possessions spread in neat piles around my room but there were one or two things that had still not found their way onto an appropriate pile. In particular, behind my desk there were a few electrical cables including the charger and cable for my Macbook computer.

After I reached Delhi I did a bit of writing. I wrote two blogs, one on my first impressions of Delhi and one on a caffeine incident I experienced. I also downloaded the 100 or so photos I'd taken at Suvarnabhumi Airport and processed a handful of them for my flickr page. When the battery started to get low I looked for the charger and that's when I realised what I'd done to myself because of my hate of travelling and my procrastination.

The following day I managed to get online (not on my computer) and find an Apple dealer that I could reach in Delhi. I got on the Metro and took a train ride to Srinigar Garden and found the Apple dealer who told me a replacement cable would cost 8,000 - 9,000 rupees (very expensive) and would take seven days to arrive. My plan was that in seven days I would be in Mussoorie, visiting one of the hill stations in the lower Himalayas, over 300 km from Delhi.

I thought it through and decided to confront the possibility of an attachment to my computer. I've decided, for the time being, to be computerless. Well, not entirely computerless - I still have the weight to lug around and there are, of course, internet cafes to help me communicate with you. I've also made some tentative steps towards getting my charger forwarded to me but it doesn't look like that will happen.

I had decided not to do any blogging until my computer was intact again but my friend Nazia had other plans. I might add that Nazia is a writer and that it was through our writing that we got to know each other and become friends. She was not supportive of the idea that my visit to India go unrecorded. She didn't argue the point. She simply went out and bought me a new notebook. No, not another computer, the old-fashioned kind made of paper that you write on with a pen. It has been hand bound with Indian fabric. It will be a souvenir of my visit to India in more than one way.

Perhaps my friend has an ulterior motive for her purchase. Recently I explained to her that writing was a form of therapy for me. When I have something on my mind, by writing I am able to get it out and to move on. Nazia has agreed to spend some time with me over the next few weeks. Perhaps she wasn't looking forward to my constipated companionship.

And it's working, already I've got this much down. In due course, no doubt I'll have access to a computer, either my own or one in a cafe and I'll be able to share my thoughts with you. If you're still with me, hang in there. There's a lot of pages left in this notebook.

And sooner or later I'll eventually upload the aforementioned blogs stored on my currently inaccessible Macbook.

Labels: Asia, Bangkok, communication, India, travel