Agra: When you think Taj Mahal you'd expect the surrounding city to be an expanse of white marble towers and paved raods and NO street side urinals and I'd loooove to say that's true. The good part about all that being the opposite is you get monkeys patrolling the outskirts of the World Wonder and fiercely mounting their mates if you should look too interested in them. Figures. Got some ace shots of the Taj from the river bank, from the rooftop restaurant, from the back streets...basically that's all our group found to do.
Marc and I rented two cycle rickshaws (one driver 18 the other about 80, appearing 200), both very kind to begin with and spoke some average english! Until....
"Ok one stop at shop. you look only, i get commission, ok?"
"Fine, just the one."
Meh. Why not, they could use the 10 rupees and we only had to circle an overstocked bazaar (selling chariot wheels made of sandstone) chased around by the two owners who had never before had a customer.
"You like to buy ashtray?"
"I don't smoke"
"Ok, you like to buy pipe?"
Jumped back on our cycles, whipped out of sunbrellas, straigthened out bowler hats and slapped our drivers into action. Mhmm, quite! Marc got a quick shave from a guy on the street, screamed out as they rubbed some ice block-cum-aftershave on his face.
"Ok, now one more shop" -driver
"What? No, no, no. We agreed that was it."
"But I make 10 rupees"/
"I'll give you 20."
Driver still pulls into shop. Lookie lookie? ...The twats. Cue to leave and walk back.
Taj was spectacular of course, sunrise dashing, and monkeys failed to ruin its charm by trying to pinch everybody's camera.
Varanassi, our second last stop, a 2500 year old city on the Ganges was up there with Udaipur for prettiest city award. Totally. Because of all the energy used to power the crematoriums and useless...sorry "in progress" sewage treatment plants, power cuts were pretty regular. Showers go cold, internet cuts while doing banking and toilet contents even came back..not sure if that was related.
Walked along all the ghats (religious staircases that drop into the river) and witnessed the two burning ghats. I had never seen a dead body until then when I sat looking at the woodpiles and one was lifted right over my head on its way to the funeral pyre. WTF! Right next to me some kids played cricket...
Recieved a very unconsentual guided tour of the ghat. Om, yes that was his name, came up to my shoulder in height (!!!) and walked me around to the crematorium where we saw a man that had just falledfallen off a building twenty minutes back being layered with magnolias and gasoline before being hurled into the flames. Wife bawled at his side, I could hardly watch, and as soon as he was placed in the fire she went back to her cleaning. :0
Did a sunset and sunrise boatride on the holy river and left a trail of floating candles, each a wish. Watched the ceremonies at the main ghats. A lot of swinging of incense, covering each other with powder and singing out of tune. Some pictures like you wouldnt imagine.
Holy as the river was, upon reading this stat we all were too afraid to even look at the river...let alone bathe. Did you know!!!??? that in 100ml of bathing water there should be no more that 500 faecal bacteria. The Ganges, well, in all its holiness contains more than 1.5 million per 100ml.
WAaaaaaa!
Dining 1.5 km away form the Ganges that night allowed us to drink a little of our fave Indian Rum and let Anant stop shaking.
"mhmm whiskey is riskey" -Anant
Had T-bone steaks (water buffalo cuz they aint holy), roast taters and boiled veg. Felt like a sunday dinna!
Did some yoga class, medidated and saw some dead bodies. I feel clensed!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
And that's why you dont let whities ride rickshaws...
Trying to keep this story updated constantly requires either missing hilarious details or compacting them into less info. I'm going to do the latter as I am just about seven cities behind - very sorry all four of my lovely followers but you can imagine sitting in front of a screen when there is exotic fly-covered street food to taste is near torture.
Jaipur, my most anticipated city (it had a nice pic of a lake palace) turned out to be ugliest mass of buildings and felt like a funnel with pollution from all over India - scratch that - THE WORLD was blown into this cramped state capital. This placed proved to me that good times had next to nothing to do with the place but with the people.
Highlights included: Marc and I learning dirty words from college boys at MacDix who thought one's virginity was a time bomb that would blow them to tiny unworthy pieces if they didn't get it on before the age of 20. Could have been in Vancouver...
Raj Mandir cinema, most revered in India blew us away with DeDanaDan (found out it means Give It To Me Hard after a dirty look from the hotel receptionist, thinking me a pervert). Ate samosas instead of popcorn and laughed along with the rest of the 600 person crowd at the non-subtitled Bollywood comedy.
And the finale! I was given the reins of a fiery cycle rickshaw by its precarious driver with three people in the back. The bronco wouldn't give, however, and I rode that bad boy right into a park car. Crunch! We all fell out, Marc and I laughed, driver cried, Eva slapped me, Big men surrounded us, Left some money, "TAXI!!"
Bharatpur was a short stop before Agra and the Taj Mahal and for one afternoon with ambled through the "bird sanctuary", first half hour counted about 10 birds, most of which were pigeons. And "exotic wildlife", some stray cows that they had chucked in from the streets. Have to say the walk in the wide, green park was bliss away from the traffic and we even thought we could avoid the hassle. But nay! The only way to safely walk around the park was a dirt road infected with lonely rickshaw drivers that told us:
"park is too big to walk! You must ride rickshaw or leave!"
"We'll walk, thanks"
"Oh...ok"
On the way out, a few bucks did dash across the road and a lost heron did accidentally find itself in a pond so the 250rs foreigner rate/versus the 10rs local rate was almost slightly worth it. We bid the racists farewell and promised them to charge Indians 25 times the price of a Snickers back home.
Jaipur, my most anticipated city (it had a nice pic of a lake palace) turned out to be ugliest mass of buildings and felt like a funnel with pollution from all over India - scratch that - THE WORLD was blown into this cramped state capital. This placed proved to me that good times had next to nothing to do with the place but with the people.
Highlights included: Marc and I learning dirty words from college boys at MacDix who thought one's virginity was a time bomb that would blow them to tiny unworthy pieces if they didn't get it on before the age of 20. Could have been in Vancouver...
Raj Mandir cinema, most revered in India blew us away with DeDanaDan (found out it means Give It To Me Hard after a dirty look from the hotel receptionist, thinking me a pervert). Ate samosas instead of popcorn and laughed along with the rest of the 600 person crowd at the non-subtitled Bollywood comedy.
And the finale! I was given the reins of a fiery cycle rickshaw by its precarious driver with three people in the back. The bronco wouldn't give, however, and I rode that bad boy right into a park car. Crunch! We all fell out, Marc and I laughed, driver cried, Eva slapped me, Big men surrounded us, Left some money, "TAXI!!"
Bharatpur was a short stop before Agra and the Taj Mahal and for one afternoon with ambled through the "bird sanctuary", first half hour counted about 10 birds, most of which were pigeons. And "exotic wildlife", some stray cows that they had chucked in from the streets. Have to say the walk in the wide, green park was bliss away from the traffic and we even thought we could avoid the hassle. But nay! The only way to safely walk around the park was a dirt road infected with lonely rickshaw drivers that told us:
"park is too big to walk! You must ride rickshaw or leave!"
"We'll walk, thanks"
"Oh...ok"
On the way out, a few bucks did dash across the road and a lost heron did accidentally find itself in a pond so the 250rs foreigner rate/versus the 10rs local rate was almost slightly worth it. We bid the racists farewell and promised them to charge Indians 25 times the price of a Snickers back home.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Pushkar: Hassled to the brim, bike tires deflated...invited to a royal Indian Wedding? Que!
Leaving Udaipur was tearful to say the least. Crawled back to the hotel at 5am after a successful night out for the train that morning. Chugged down some steaming Chai on the platform to stay awake and appear untouched from total lack of sleep...aaand passed out two minutes in.
Woke to steel shutter slamming down on Fiona's elbow as the train lurched.
"Ow! What the F**K!" -Fiona
"Ooooo yes, this happen sometime in India, you must just laugh!" Anant, our guide
Hotel Deepak/Sanjive/Rajnak, honestly cant remember, was run by two overbearing, over-handshaking brothers that showed Bollywood movies on the rooftop from their flatscreen at night. Dostana "friendship" was shoved into system and our bums planted onto cushions before we could say chiapatti. Thinking we were laughing with them, the owners were very pleased with their sappy, cheesy and soft core porn big hit of the year.
Marc and I rented some bikes in the morning and flounced through the streets thinking this would avoid hassle. When the wedding procession filled through the rubbish-ridden mainstreet (size and smell of sewage pipe) local boys jumped on our backs and demanded we ride them around. Ronny, the one who picked his nose and ate it, brought us to the cheapest water bottle merchant and introduced us to his rabid pet dog that would have taken my hand back to his lair had I given him the chance.
Had some lunch at the Pink Floyd cafe (the owner didnt know the words to Wish You Were Here) and then back to the hotel rooftop for beers, which being illegal in this holy town with its holy dried up lake, were wrapped in newspaper. Janet, Marc, Eva and I talked for hours and looked out over the hill to spotlights coming from some big wedding going on. Then, like a bollywood hero, Anant pranced up the stairs, shirt flying undone, sweat dripping down his abs....nahhh, but he did lug his whiskey belly up there to pronounce we had been invited to the local Rajput's (king) son's wedding.
More nonplussed than we had ever been, we walked in a dazed state behind a uniformed brass band, a procession of camels, dancing horses, firework launchers and a brightly painted (even his toenails :pink) elephant carrying the groom. You know, just your average walk up the aisle.
Given our own turbans, Marc and I hovered around the open bar for most of the night, only daring to venture as far as the marriage ceremony to witness it all. Bride and Groom, decked out in every possible form of jewellery, walked 7 times around a fire holding hands to cement their marriage, arranged of course. We dinned on the finest of curries, attempted to chat up the modelling waitresses (being ushered away a little too cordially by male hosts) and dragged Janet, certainly not single, away from a 6'5'' polo player with biceps as big as the elephants.
Flopped into the taxi at 2am as the dancing was just starting up :S and zig zagged back to our beds, probably unaware of how lucky we were, being the only westerners at this 3000 person wedding of which the presents consisted of two matching Bentleys for the newlyweds. Wow.
Woke to steel shutter slamming down on Fiona's elbow as the train lurched.
"Ow! What the F**K!" -Fiona
"Ooooo yes, this happen sometime in India, you must just laugh!" Anant, our guide
Hotel Deepak/Sanjive/Rajnak, honestly cant remember, was run by two overbearing, over-handshaking brothers that showed Bollywood movies on the rooftop from their flatscreen at night. Dostana "friendship" was shoved into system and our bums planted onto cushions before we could say chiapatti. Thinking we were laughing with them, the owners were very pleased with their sappy, cheesy and soft core porn big hit of the year.
Marc and I rented some bikes in the morning and flounced through the streets thinking this would avoid hassle. When the wedding procession filled through the rubbish-ridden mainstreet (size and smell of sewage pipe) local boys jumped on our backs and demanded we ride them around. Ronny, the one who picked his nose and ate it, brought us to the cheapest water bottle merchant and introduced us to his rabid pet dog that would have taken my hand back to his lair had I given him the chance.
Had some lunch at the Pink Floyd cafe (the owner didnt know the words to Wish You Were Here) and then back to the hotel rooftop for beers, which being illegal in this holy town with its holy dried up lake, were wrapped in newspaper. Janet, Marc, Eva and I talked for hours and looked out over the hill to spotlights coming from some big wedding going on. Then, like a bollywood hero, Anant pranced up the stairs, shirt flying undone, sweat dripping down his abs....nahhh, but he did lug his whiskey belly up there to pronounce we had been invited to the local Rajput's (king) son's wedding.
More nonplussed than we had ever been, we walked in a dazed state behind a uniformed brass band, a procession of camels, dancing horses, firework launchers and a brightly painted (even his toenails :pink) elephant carrying the groom. You know, just your average walk up the aisle.
Given our own turbans, Marc and I hovered around the open bar for most of the night, only daring to venture as far as the marriage ceremony to witness it all. Bride and Groom, decked out in every possible form of jewellery, walked 7 times around a fire holding hands to cement their marriage, arranged of course. We dinned on the finest of curries, attempted to chat up the modelling waitresses (being ushered away a little too cordially by male hosts) and dragged Janet, certainly not single, away from a 6'5'' polo player with biceps as big as the elephants.
Flopped into the taxi at 2am as the dancing was just starting up :S and zig zagged back to our beds, probably unaware of how lucky we were, being the only westerners at this 3000 person wedding of which the presents consisted of two matching Bentleys for the newlyweds. Wow.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Immaturity is bliss
Tuk-Tuking (yes its a verb) through Udaipur was as near to death as you might experience here unless you laid down on the road itself.
"It's like being a scrambled egg, mate!" - Marc
Before we burned in the pan (slash spewed) however, we arrived at the hotel and all jaws dropped. Udaipur is known as the Venice of India and for once Indian beauty lived up to rumours. The hotel, egg shell white and just plain sexy, and its view of the lake palace five star hotel (where they filmed Octopussy btw), orgasmic to the old eyes.
Best thing about the town was its laid back, I dont give a f**k nature. Our guide's past home town prooved to be his holiday on the trip. Anant spent his days lounging around the local art shop with his old buds, drinking chai and ripping around the area on a honda 50. What a guy!
Three days rolled by with rooftop sunset-smothered dinners, boat trips around the lake and playing poker at the Cool Cafe. Pushkar, its owner, had absolutely no license to sell beer and absolutely didnt give a hoot. We had it out of teapots, known as special tea, and played poker and a funny game of flicking chips into corners of a board. Met Cecilia and Paul and Marc and went back to Pushkar's house to finish the poker game and down some dirt cheap whiskey. Paul, a 47 year old American was one of those guys who likes to annoyingly analyse everything ppl say...mostly Cecilia , a 24 year old lawyer.
"Nope, never been married, no kids, just lots of girlfriends...and a few abortions" -Paul :0
Went to this "cultural village" the next day and Marc and I litteraly gaffawed the entire time at the ridiculousness of it all.
"These aren't f**king rubbies, their made of plastic you knob!" -Janet to scamming shopkeeper
"This, my friend, is a bloc of wood" - Another shopkeeper that had us in stitches.
"There is usually very much going on, but just not today" - owner.
Anyway, the girls lost their patience a bit with our immaturity and for having to wait a good half hour for our rickshaw back home as the driver finished his tea with his mates.
Watched Macbeth in an old colonial house, definite highlight, met Rosy (a sweet girl of 22 that by day sponsored a homeless lady with 5 kids and by night employed workers to cheaply make leather bags to take home to the UK and sell lol), Cecilia and her nonsensical zig-zaging around the world yet very glad I happened to be in her crazy path, and of course the fireworks in the middle of the square celebrating something so unimportant that people didnt mind riding their bikes right over M80s (quarter sticks of dynamite). What a gong show!
Sadly left this blissful (in comparison to the rest) town for Pushkar laughing like preteens.
"It's like being a scrambled egg, mate!" - Marc
Before we burned in the pan (slash spewed) however, we arrived at the hotel and all jaws dropped. Udaipur is known as the Venice of India and for once Indian beauty lived up to rumours. The hotel, egg shell white and just plain sexy, and its view of the lake palace five star hotel (where they filmed Octopussy btw), orgasmic to the old eyes.
Best thing about the town was its laid back, I dont give a f**k nature. Our guide's past home town prooved to be his holiday on the trip. Anant spent his days lounging around the local art shop with his old buds, drinking chai and ripping around the area on a honda 50. What a guy!
Three days rolled by with rooftop sunset-smothered dinners, boat trips around the lake and playing poker at the Cool Cafe. Pushkar, its owner, had absolutely no license to sell beer and absolutely didnt give a hoot. We had it out of teapots, known as special tea, and played poker and a funny game of flicking chips into corners of a board. Met Cecilia and Paul and Marc and went back to Pushkar's house to finish the poker game and down some dirt cheap whiskey. Paul, a 47 year old American was one of those guys who likes to annoyingly analyse everything ppl say...mostly Cecilia , a 24 year old lawyer.
"Nope, never been married, no kids, just lots of girlfriends...and a few abortions" -Paul :0
Went to this "cultural village" the next day and Marc and I litteraly gaffawed the entire time at the ridiculousness of it all.
"These aren't f**king rubbies, their made of plastic you knob!" -Janet to scamming shopkeeper
"This, my friend, is a bloc of wood" - Another shopkeeper that had us in stitches.
"There is usually very much going on, but just not today" - owner.
Anyway, the girls lost their patience a bit with our immaturity and for having to wait a good half hour for our rickshaw back home as the driver finished his tea with his mates.
Watched Macbeth in an old colonial house, definite highlight, met Rosy (a sweet girl of 22 that by day sponsored a homeless lady with 5 kids and by night employed workers to cheaply make leather bags to take home to the UK and sell lol), Cecilia and her nonsensical zig-zaging around the world yet very glad I happened to be in her crazy path, and of course the fireworks in the middle of the square celebrating something so unimportant that people didnt mind riding their bikes right over M80s (quarter sticks of dynamite). What a gong show!
Sadly left this blissful (in comparison to the rest) town for Pushkar laughing like preteens.
Monday, December 7, 2009
"Hello sir, you like camel safari? Good price! ...Maybe massage, joint...jigi jigi?
Gambo, my dear camel, was the spanking best creature I've ever ridden. He sounded like a dying orc and smelt like the rotting smell of a thousand corpses. Drove about 20 k out of town in a cramped jeep, nearly flipped avoiding some stray cattle, then mounted our beasts for a two hour sesh of groinal pain. The "secluded, ever stretching sand dunes" turned out to be three and a quarter dunes, possibly man made, in the middle of an arid spot not 300m from the road. A few other confused travelers were hidden behind the other dune. Still, nothing could ruin a desert sunset, silhouetted with camels with their legs tied to stop em escaping. Enormous beetles thats only defence was to bury its head in the sand. Our camel boy singing local diddles and James Taylor, drumming on one of those water dispenser tanks. Froze our toes off all night and rose for the sunrise, absolutely gorgeous, in fact so gorgeous that my camera couldn't handle it and decided to "system error".
Took a public bus to Jodpur that afternoon - 7 hours of being stared at while sleeping or questioned as to my marrital status and income. No joke! I asked right back thinking I had him, he told me honestly that he was had been married (arranged) since 17 and made about the equivalent of $800 a year. That shut me up.
Stayed two nights in a quaint little homestay, proud parents of a Bollywood cameraman, treated as family. The fort was the most impressive stone erection I have ever seen. Not to bore you with historical details but you must hear this! It had been built in 1469, had suffered over 200 sieges and had never once been breached! Cool right? Yep.
First night out consisted of this swanky, confusedly jungle/country-western style bar, On The Rocks, where Eva, Janet, Mark and I marved at our guide, Anant's incredible dancing skills. A mixture of "unscrewing lightbulbs" and crumping and moonwalking. Put us all to shame. Took the tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw) back on the wrong side of the road. racing an about 60 year old man that I had just seen throwing up in the loo.
Left the dusty yet somewhat dreamlike town after having the best lassi (yogurt, honey and spices) in apparently all of India for Udaipur...where all the laughs began.
Took a public bus to Jodpur that afternoon - 7 hours of being stared at while sleeping or questioned as to my marrital status and income. No joke! I asked right back thinking I had him, he told me honestly that he was had been married (arranged) since 17 and made about the equivalent of $800 a year. That shut me up.
Stayed two nights in a quaint little homestay, proud parents of a Bollywood cameraman, treated as family. The fort was the most impressive stone erection I have ever seen. Not to bore you with historical details but you must hear this! It had been built in 1469, had suffered over 200 sieges and had never once been breached! Cool right? Yep.
First night out consisted of this swanky, confusedly jungle/country-western style bar, On The Rocks, where Eva, Janet, Mark and I marved at our guide, Anant's incredible dancing skills. A mixture of "unscrewing lightbulbs" and crumping and moonwalking. Put us all to shame. Took the tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw) back on the wrong side of the road. racing an about 60 year old man that I had just seen throwing up in the loo.
Left the dusty yet somewhat dreamlike town after having the best lassi (yogurt, honey and spices) in apparently all of India for Udaipur...where all the laughs began.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Hey you! White boy, come make your eye happy.
Jaiselmere, located in the Thar desert of Rajasthan, is what would happen if you gave God a spade and told him to build a sandcastle. The fort curls around this rocky plateau and the bastions look as if the bucket had just been lifted off them. Deepak resthouse, owned by the Deepak family for over 6 hundred years, no joke, was perched off the side of the sandstone ramparts and looked out over the whole town and the desert beyond. Paradise...apart from the bath full of mud. But our lovely waiter, Bapi, made up for any amounts of muck or keyboard keys that got stuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Affectionately nicknamed either "oi Bappers" or "ol' Baps" by Mark (just imagine it in a Manchester accent hihi!), he never once gave back three hundred rupees less than needed in the change, like most of India seems to think they can get away with.
Spent the next day meandering around the town outside the fort, checking out the "stadium" where rows of dilapidated stands surrounded a dirt field as well as a theatre. Unlike our idea of a theatre tho, I discovered through curiosity, this one contained a family of small rats and some toothless schoolboys smoking dope. One grabbed at my plastic travel watch and asked if he could have my rolex.....oh India. On the way home was dragged into a vicious street cricket match and had sewage water dumped on my head for missing the ball four times. In mock anger, I pitched it baseball style and hit one of the younger, "buffed out", kids in the head. Tried to laugh it off but the alley literally went silent...tumbleweeds and all that. Cue to leave.
Did a tour of the Maharaja's (Lord) havelis (palace) and for lack of security walked right into his bedroom and was about to jump in the pool before we were stopped. He had even set up a sign saying "swimming pool --->".... d-bag
On our tour I found a half dead pigeon on the roof, all of its mates looking down at it. Told the tour guide who laughed and kicked it a little. I felt I had no choice, should put it out of its misery... I had my foot up, the pigeons behind (or my conscience) saying "do it...."- but i bitched out. Biggest dilemma and adrenaline rush of my life and it happened on a guided tour of one of the richest men in the state. All for about 25 cents. Inditastic.
Next up: Camel safari :) but now i must go watch Octopussy on the rooftop where it was filmed and maybe find the motivation to look out at yet another sunset....tough life, I know.
Spent the next day meandering around the town outside the fort, checking out the "stadium" where rows of dilapidated stands surrounded a dirt field as well as a theatre. Unlike our idea of a theatre tho, I discovered through curiosity, this one contained a family of small rats and some toothless schoolboys smoking dope. One grabbed at my plastic travel watch and asked if he could have my rolex.....oh India. On the way home was dragged into a vicious street cricket match and had sewage water dumped on my head for missing the ball four times. In mock anger, I pitched it baseball style and hit one of the younger, "buffed out", kids in the head. Tried to laugh it off but the alley literally went silent...tumbleweeds and all that. Cue to leave.
Did a tour of the Maharaja's (Lord) havelis (palace) and for lack of security walked right into his bedroom and was about to jump in the pool before we were stopped. He had even set up a sign saying "swimming pool --->".... d-bag
On our tour I found a half dead pigeon on the roof, all of its mates looking down at it. Told the tour guide who laughed and kicked it a little. I felt I had no choice, should put it out of its misery... I had my foot up, the pigeons behind (or my conscience) saying "do it...."- but i bitched out. Biggest dilemma and adrenaline rush of my life and it happened on a guided tour of one of the richest men in the state. All for about 25 cents. Inditastic.
Next up: Camel safari :) but now i must go watch Octopussy on the rooftop where it was filmed and maybe find the motivation to look out at yet another sunset....tough life, I know.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
"In Delhi, don't eat street food" pshhhh...oh
Instead of replying each facebook message, comment, post, honesty box or jetman forum I thought i'd bow to the ol' peer pressure and write an blog. Having travelled for exactly five months I thought it'd be a nice round time to start filling people in on the interesting bits...not just the boozing in europe as, to be honest, who remembers much of anyway?
I flew into Delhi one beautifully foggy morn (poluted and smelly) having been upgraded to business class and was unwilling to part with my champagne and my Indian friend who happened to own his own flock of horses, or whatver u call em. Stayed with some lovely friends of some even lovelier rellies (relatives) and basically know what it would be like if the brits still ran India...not that I would ever wish such a thing...
The family, who's ex-pat parents worked for Sky News in a foreign posting had their own terribly polite driver, doorman, porter, gate opener, cook, maid and second maid in command. Their four charming children tore me out of bed, already labeled Maxini and was set as the jet-lagged and loopy guard in kick the can. My inner kid boiled up and I ended up crashing into the cabinet "where mummy keeps everything valuable" (fml) and smashing a vase while scattering its pebble contents all over the sofa and floor. All before I met the parents...at least it wasn't anyone's ashes.
The days in Delhi following involved watching copious amounts of Friends and negotiating tarrifs from the 3 inch wasps outside my door, literally. However, just buying sausages for dinner was a giggle or two. Having taken a picture, the store owner asked what I was going to do with it, in a serious manner. Richard, the father of the family and a gifted dry sense of humour told him flat out I was going to report him to health services for violating expiry dates... that was the last I saw of the inside of the shop and Richard's laugh.
Joining my intrepid group on the night of the 27th, all 6 of us met and went through that whole awkward excitement of knowing we were to get violent diarrhea together and share stained single beds together - priceless.
Exploring Delhi was culture shock to every sanitized, sheltered parts of our lives. Cows sat in the middle of the road, pollution was like dementor mist everywhere and Muslims lined up every goat and camel they couldnt spare to slaughter in sacrifice for some festival. Temples were visited, back alleys trampled through and public urinals (in-the-middle-of-the-f**king-street!!!) gawked at. We left on our overnight train flabbergasted by the extent of chaos that is the dirty, smelly capital.
I flew into Delhi one beautifully foggy morn (poluted and smelly) having been upgraded to business class and was unwilling to part with my champagne and my Indian friend who happened to own his own flock of horses, or whatver u call em. Stayed with some lovely friends of some even lovelier rellies (relatives) and basically know what it would be like if the brits still ran India...not that I would ever wish such a thing...
The family, who's ex-pat parents worked for Sky News in a foreign posting had their own terribly polite driver, doorman, porter, gate opener, cook, maid and second maid in command. Their four charming children tore me out of bed, already labeled Maxini and was set as the jet-lagged and loopy guard in kick the can. My inner kid boiled up and I ended up crashing into the cabinet "where mummy keeps everything valuable" (fml) and smashing a vase while scattering its pebble contents all over the sofa and floor. All before I met the parents...at least it wasn't anyone's ashes.
The days in Delhi following involved watching copious amounts of Friends and negotiating tarrifs from the 3 inch wasps outside my door, literally. However, just buying sausages for dinner was a giggle or two. Having taken a picture, the store owner asked what I was going to do with it, in a serious manner. Richard, the father of the family and a gifted dry sense of humour told him flat out I was going to report him to health services for violating expiry dates... that was the last I saw of the inside of the shop and Richard's laugh.
Joining my intrepid group on the night of the 27th, all 6 of us met and went through that whole awkward excitement of knowing we were to get violent diarrhea together and share stained single beds together - priceless.
Exploring Delhi was culture shock to every sanitized, sheltered parts of our lives. Cows sat in the middle of the road, pollution was like dementor mist everywhere and Muslims lined up every goat and camel they couldnt spare to slaughter in sacrifice for some festival. Temples were visited, back alleys trampled through and public urinals (in-the-middle-of-the-f**king-street!!!) gawked at. We left on our overnight train flabbergasted by the extent of chaos that is the dirty, smelly capital.
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