Wobble, wobble

STATS: Day count=95; Current Illness count=0 (All three of us in full health at the moment); theft count=0; rip-off count=1; tourist screw-up count=2; Chris’ photo count=1038; Emma’s photo count=51; Laura's photo count=~20

Apologies for the length of this post – it has been a little while since the last one (less internet access around here) so there’s quite a lot in it! Read it in instalments – you’ll get less bored that way!

A few words on our perception of the fashions out here, especially where they differ from those in the West. ‘Gingers’ get a hard time of it in the UK (some would say deservedly so ;-)). Out here, although natural redheads or gingers are, I would guess, unheard of, it seems a fashion for men to dye their hair red. Young men use red dye to ‘tinge’ their hair colour whilst elderly men snub ‘just for men’ hair colouring, and any form of subtlety, in favour of dying their hair, moustaches or beards (or any combination of the above) a bright orange colour as soon as grey hairs show themselves. No doubt a person with natural red hair would be revered out here (and people would try to ‘discretely’ photograph them more than they do us!).

We had a competition between Emma and myself – the first to spot a man over 30 who didn’t have a moustache. It took a while to find someone! I’ve yet to discover if the moustache is just a fashion or some religious significance, but everyone has one (well, most of the women don’t!). Some are magnificent and are undoubtedly the pride of their owners. In Delhi this fashion seems to be slightly less ubiquitous than elsewhere we have seen in India, in that there are some guys without moustaches around!

I could never pass as an Indian – no matter what colour I manage to get my skin. The main reason is that I have to wear really loose fitting clothing – shorts and T shirts – in this heat, whilst the Indian guys, especially around the cities are wearing long trousers and well pressed shirts. I’m just too scruffy to be Indian!

The Indian ‘head-wobble’ is fantastic. “Wobble, wobble” can mean anything at all. We have been on the receiving end of its use to mean “yes”, “no”, “maybe”, “I have no idea” or “I don’t care”. When the head-wobble is not accompanied by any words, which is most often the case, trying to determine which meaning it refers to is a challenge. The Indian head-wobble is an art form they have perfected (along with spitting) and make it completely their own. Even after over a month here I cannot imitate it.

Enough waffle. What have we actually been up to since the last instalment? We took the train out of Goa before we had got bored with the place, but after a great period of relaxation. Headed south to the Kerala region of India. First stop was a stay at a ‘home stay’ (basically a guest house or B&B type place, rather than a hostel / hotel) near the national parks at Wayanad.This was a treat for my upcoming (but now past) birthday – a chance to go into the park and maybe see wild elephants, tigers, leopards etc. It turned out that in an example of perfect planning on our part (hence slight increase in the tourist screw up count), the national park was shut during our stay. Apparently it had been so dry recently that there was a risk of fires, and so they shut the park. Luckily, the area was still beautiful, and there was still a (remote) chance to see wild elephants even outside the park. The place we stayed was lovely – a large, beautiful house set in the middle of a plantation, with rice paddies, coffee trees (bushes?), rubber trees (we were shown how they extract and then process the rubber), great teak and sandlewood trees (apparently the sandlewood trees are often stolen as they are worth so much) and ruined Jain temples. We were staying there with a Dutch couple and had a really nice time.

 

The journey to the guest house from the train station was interesting. It took about 3 hours on a local bus – packed with people and threatening to fall apart at every bump in the road (and there were plenty of them!) but the driver was showing no mercy. I understand how the Pope feels when he kisses the ground on disembarking in a new country – perhaps his pilot is an Indian ex-bus driver. The road was your classic hairpin-bends-up-a-mountain journey and the driver of the bus seemed to forget that he was in a bus rather than on a motorcycle – the fact that he couldn’t actually see what was coming round the corner didn’t stop him trying to overtake the bus in front on the blind bend. Nor did the archaic brakes on the bus cause him to drive cautiously or slowly at any point. The regular gaps in the low concrete walls at the edge of the road, presumably where previous local buses had misjudged the bend and were now lying at the bottom of the high mountain, didn’t phase him either. It was fun. In the same way that watching The Blair Witch Project on your own in a dark room at night is fun.

Upon our arrival at the nearest town to the guest house, we attempted to get a rickshaw to the place, which was called Ente Veedu. Emma asked many taxi and rickshaw drivers if they knew how to get to ente veedu and most just looked at her blankly. It was only later that we discovered ‘Ente Veedu’ translates to ‘my home’. So Emma was asking all the locals if they knew where her home was. No wonder they looked blankly!

We decided to climb a mountain.  The last time we climbed anything that could remotely be called a mountain (Skafell Pike, followed immediately by Skafell, in the Lakes) I said what I always say after a hard (for me!) day’s climb - “Never again”. Obviously I am rubbish at sticking to that conviction as the mere mention that there was a mountain nearby – the highest in the region at 2100m – and I was keen(ish) to try it out. After paying a ridiculous fee to climb the thing (luckily the fee was shared between all four of us, but it is starting to grate a little when foreigners are charged a lot more than Indians – I mean I can understand it when it is a historical monument that is part of their culture – but to climb a mountain?) we headed out. 3 hours later, very hot and very bothered we reached the summit – pleased that we had managed it (the Dutch couple had given up a couple of hundred metres short). The walk down was, as usual, tough, especially as it was now midday and really hot. Never again.

The following day we accompanied the Dutch couple for some of their onward journey, as it passed through the national park (which was still not open, but the road through it was) and there was a chance to see elephants apparently. We didn’t, although the journey in the cab was ok, and the scenery was really nice, and the bus journey back was another back-of-the-bus roller coaster ride. A few deer and some monkeys, but no wild elephants. Apparently the taxi driver later that day, on his way back after dropping the Dutch couple off in Mysore, saw a herd of 20 elephants that blocked the road. Ho hum. C’est la vie. I actually like the fact that sightings are rare and definitely not guaranteed – it implies a level of freedom for the animals that zoos and safari parks (and ‘guaranteed sightings’) don’t give. At least that’s what I tell myself :-)

After a nice, but elephant-and-snake-free stay on the plantation (our ‘guide’ on the mountain climb did point at a dead worm and say “snake”. I think something got lost in the translation) we headed further south to Kochi (previously Cochin) – a relatively big town / small city on the south-west coast. Under recommendation we stayed in the Fort Kochi area which was a really pleasant place to stay – relatively quiet, friendly people, cafes, guest houses, narrow streets, lots to see. Reminded us a little of a small Cornish village in the UK. With lots of Indians and 40 degree heat, of course.

We only stayed a couple of days, but really liked the place. On the second day, before we flew up to Delhi, we visited an Elephant Training Centre. No wild elephants, but a few elephants that are trained for working in the forestry department. I think they are used more for manual labour rather than the admin side of things. We got there in time to ‘help’ (rather ‘watch and generally get in the way’) bathe the elephants – 3 young ones and 2 adults – which was really an experience. They seem really well treated, albeit they are still ‘captive’ elephants, so are still chained, though it seemed to be more for public safety (in case the elephants got angry and upset) rather than as a cruel captivity enforcement, though it is obviously difficult to tell from a couple of hour visit. The only down side was a small zoo that was on the same site that we visited – that really was awful – probably no worse than a small UK zoo in the early 70’s but still no fun to see the various animals penned in far too small cages with absolutely nothing but cage bars and bare concrete floors to look at. Cruel and upsetting, but hopefully in the same way the UK has progressed from this level of cruelty in zoos, India will too. We did make our feelings known to our guide / taxi driver, the guy back at the hotel who organised the trip, anyone who was within earshot of us at the time! If more tourists express their displeasure at such things maybe they will die out and leave only ‘good’ zoos in  the future.

(as I’m sure many of you can imagine, I have lots of photos of this!)

Flew to Delhi and spent a day orientating ourselves before Emma’s sister, Laura, arrived to join us for a week. We were pretty apprehensive about Delhi, as although we were growing to like India (I wouldn’t go so far as to say love it!), our experiences of large northern cities (i.e. Kolkata and Varanasi) were not great. However, first impressions were good. Delhi is a big city – 15 million people – and has built-up modern areas alongside more run-down old areas. There is building work going on everywhere – much of it preparing for the hosting of the Commonwealth Games later this year – which adds to the general pollution and dust around the city, but all around you can see much more pride and long-term vision than we encountered in Kolkata (and Varanasi, although we didn’t really see enough of that city to be any judge of that). Even the ‘dirty’ areas were cleaned by the storekeepers every morning, urinals have been built to try to at least reduce the tendency for people to use any space (however public) as a toilet, and there is an obvious, if uphill, battle against littering and even spitting. People seem friendlier here than elsewhere we have seen in the north, and even the hassling to ‘just look at my shop’ is less confrontational and in your face. Maybe we have just got used to things more, but Delhi does seem nice.

It’s hotter here than in the south – definitely well into the 40s during the middle of the day – but it is more of a dry heat which is a lot more bearable. Still not a great idea to go out for a long walk between 12 and 3pm, but that never stops us. Good metro system, although it doesn’t (yet) cover much of the city and even the rickshaw drivers don’t try to rip you off as exorbitantly as we have found elsewhere!

Laura arrived in the early hours of Monday morning after a roundabout route via Moscow (best not to ask!). This was my actual birthday and Laura’s arrival meant I got cards and presents! Thank you :-) We expected her to collapse and sleep for most of the first day here after a long flight, but she was raring to go. Until about midday. Unfortunately by midday we were over on the other side of the city after a window-shopping excursion to the commercial area (yeah – I’m in a city renown for shops, with two women :-( ). Luckily we managed to get back to the hostel without anyone collapsing. Reinvigorated the next day we headed for the Red Fort (fairly dull, and not worth the (foreigner) entrance fee, but a nice place to sit and have lunch!), the Jama Masjid mosque (where we were, or rather I was, refused entry unless I paid a 200 rupee ‘camera fee’ even though I was not intending to use my camera inside. Being somewhat stubborn (yeah, really), I refused, so didn’t get to go in), a really interesting (at least for Emma and Laura) set of narrow, winding shopping streets selling jewellery and saris (sarees?), a cool Jain temple which had an attached bird hospital and finished off with the ‘Sound and Light Show’ at the Red Fort in the evening, which was not a patch on the Kolkata one. It had some interesting facts and historical information in there, but well buried amongst waffle and padding and a few coloured light bulbs. I’d recommend it only as a cheap (60 rupee) way of seeing the inside of the Red Fort (albeit at night, and you cant wander round).

 
In an effort to present a new and refreshing viewpoint on India (as we are now jaded travellers!) here are Laura’s unedited initial thoughts…

Luckily, Chris and Emma prepared me well for my trip to India. However, what took me by surprise was the change in Emma and Chris. Firstly, having travelled half way across the world to see them, my once generous sister refused to pay 50p to come into the airport to meet me. Secondly, I was shocked by Chris’ sarcastic responses to the locals’ friendly enquiries. (Although by the end of the first day, I was totally on his wave-length.)

India is a fascinating place. It is completely different from any other place I have ever visited. Crossing the road has been my biggest challenge so far. Even just walking down the street negotiating all the rickshaws, dogs, cows and goats is tricky. I love trying the local food, although I am struggling to remember all the names. 

This is the first time in my life that I have been in an ethnic minority and it has made me question my own values and think about my own treatment of others. I don’t like being stared at and people randomly taking photos of me. As foreign nationals, we have our own prices to pay (way above those for Indian nationals) and sometimes even our own queues. Everyone is out to get our money, from the toilet cleaner who tried to charge Chris for using the free toilet to the numerous stall holders who hassle us to visit their shops.

 

We headed out to Agra on the train – it’s the usual tourist route, though many tourists take tour buses. We’re staying in a nice hostel near to the Taj Mahal – many of the nearby restaurants have rooftop areas with ‘Taj views’, which for many is true in the literal sense, albeit you only get to see the top of the dome and minarets. There are very frequent power cuts – usually one every few hours lasting from a few minutes to a few hours – there are local generators, but they are reluctantly used. You really appreciate a ceiling fan when it stops working!

Not getting to see the Taj Mahal fully before you get to visit it properly is no bad thing, though, as the main impact that the Taj has is when you first see it as a whole. The entrance fee is astronomical by Indian standards – Rs750 per person (just over £10) – for foreigners, of course, Indians get in for about Rs20! This is higher than any other site in India, I believe. However, it is worth it. Despite knowing exactly what it looks like from the copious photographs and TV pictures of the mausoleum it still has a great impact when you see it. I think a lot of it is the setting – the place is serene and peaceful (even with all the tourists) and its location, and the town of Agra, is such that when you walk through the large gateway to get your first sight of it, nothing else is visible to spoil the view, so it seems like you are in a different area altogether.

We three managed to drag ourselves out of bed to get to the gate when it opened in the morning, at around 6am.  There were still a fair number of tourists around, but it was relatively quiet and it was really cool seeing the light hit the different aspects of the place as the sun rose.

I won’t describe it any more, as I doubt I would do it much justice – neither will the photos as you will all have seen them (and better ones) before. Kipling described the place as ‘the embodiment of all things pure’ and who am I to try to rival Kipling in my description? I hope those of you who have seen the place will agree, it is worth the visit, and the cost, and the crowds, and it is well described as one of the most beautiful buildings in the world (it is probably the most photographed -it’s pretty photogenic!). See it if you ever get the opportunity.

Agra is nice – at least the bit we are staying in (i.e. the cheap backpacker part!). Lots of souvenir shops with very persistent shopkeepers, but the persistence is good-natured and doesn’t really bother us too much. After the Taj we went to Agra Fort – much better than the Red Fort in Delhi. Brief history lesson for those that haven’t read / heard the background behind the Taj: In 1631, after his wife died giving birth to their 14th(!) child, Emperor Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as her mausoleum (and she is still buried there, as is he). A number of years later he was deposed and imprisoned by his son, who locked him in Agra Fort (in the part of it that he had previously built) for the last 8 years of his life – where he had a great view of the Taj Mahal in the distance.

On the following day we caught the bus to Fatehpur Sikri, a town about 40km west. This has a large mosque and palace ruins. Well worth a visit, though all the red stone buildings are starting to look very similar! I think we need a break from all these historical sights before we start to get them all mixed up.  The local kids, who usually spend their time trying to get us to buy tat, seemed keen (and I mean really keen – to the point where they offered to pay us Rs30 for them) for us to give them our used entry tickets for the palace when we came out. We couldn’t work out why, and still can’t. The ticket is obviously used (as part of it is ripped off) so they can’t resell it (unless the buyers are really stupid!). No mention of it in the bible, sorry, I mean Lonely Planet guide to India, where most of the scams are described (and most of them we have experienced, though luckily not fallen foul of) – any ideas, anyone?