The good, the bad and the just plain dirty - India part 2

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We were keen to get out of Delhi as quick as possible and booked a bus up to Amritsar, home to the Golden Temple. The travel agents near our hotel sold us a 'no hassle' ticket. It included being picked up from their offices and taken to our bus free of charge, saving us the chore of getting across Delhi to the bus station. This being India though, the reality fell short of the promises.

We got to the agents at 7.30pm for our lift to the bus. At 8.30pm a bloke turned up and told us to follow him, which we did, laden down with all our bags for about half a mile through the back alleys around the main bazaar. At the end of the walk we were dropped off at another office. This one was off a dark back alley that stank of piss and left us feeling a little uneasy. Our friendly English speaking agent had been replaced by a crazy looking old bloke with blotched skin and two lazy eyes, pointing in different directions. The office stank of hash and joss sticks and the smoke was choking.

Gemma was convinced we were being had and started giving the agent grief. This is when we realised he didn't speak any English and Gemma became more concerned and a little bit pissed off with Tom's indifferent care free attitude. A young bloke turned up every half hour or so and got a earful of Gemma as he spoke a little English. His response was always the same, a nervous laugh and telling us the bus goes in half an hour and we'll get picked up soon.

A couple of hours passed before we were led to a rickshaw and driven to a third travel agent, this time at the bus terminal. We had to pay for the lift, something we were assured was included in the cost of our ticket, but by now we were just desperate to get out of Delhi. At the bus terminal we waited another hour or so and were then told to follow another bloke. It was after midnight now and we were led down some pretty unsavory streets. At one point we had to tip toe through a tunnel with homeless people sleeping on one side and a stream of piss and shit on the other.

Finally we got to our 'super deluxe Volvo bus' which looked like it had been built by the Russians at the height of the cold war. Unlike the sleeper buses we had got before, the sleeper compartments in this one were separated by wire mesh and this made us feel like chickens in a battery farm. One of the drivers made the mistake of telling Gemma she would have to pay extra for the luggage. Gemma berating touts, agents and in this case a bus driver was always a great source of amusement for Tom. The driver had no chance and quickly backed down.

We were dropped off at a rickshaw stand on the outskirts of Amritsar. The bus company being too dodgy to go anywhere near a bus station. When we got off there were about 8 rickshaw drivers fighting it out over our bags, although it felt like more. We clambered to the middle of the scrum, retrieved our luggage, told anyone demanding a tip to eff off and then dragged ourselves out. We'd pre booked a hotel close to the bus station so we wouldn't have to deal with these scum but life’s never that simple.

We had to get a rickshaw and negotiated a rate. Another driver tagged along for the ride and we knew what he was up to. At the hotel he'd told them he’d brought us there and demanded some commission. The hotel was already expecting us though and so told him, as we had during the brief journey, where he could go. Traveling around India was starting to become a chore.

We visited the Golden Temple, Sikhism most culturally significant shrine. We read up on it first and dressed appropriately, covering our head and body so not to cause offense. This however didn't stop us being eye balled by most of the other visitors. We got used to being starred at but this was a more of a disapproving glare. We double checked with someone working there that we were dressed ok and we were. We'd read that of the Guru founders had preached about acceptance across religions and encouraged people of different faiths to bathe at the sight. We certainly weren't feeling the one love for all and ducked into the Museum.

Here we read about a British Army atrocity against the Sikh community at the beginning of the 20th Century. Maybe that was the reason for the animosity or maybe it was the severed guru heads we had hanging around are necks. Either way we didn't hang around and went for some lunch.

In the evening we shared a minibus up to the Pakistan border with some students from Delhi and Mumbai. They spoke to each other in English so we were able to get involved in their conversations. It was all too familiar listening to some inter city rivalry and the arguments over which city was best 'to party in'. Their definition of 'partying' did make us laugh though. It appeared that usually they'd go around a cousins place to have a meal and party, however if they were feeling particularly hedonistic they might go to the cinema or a restaurant and perhaps even onto a bar. I don't think Ibiza or Magaluf have to got too much to fear from India's two biggest cities quite yet.

The minivan stopped half a mile from the border and we had to walk the rest of the way. We chatted with two Indian fella's who had been sitting in the front of the van. They were a bit shocked by the number of street vendors who came up to us as we walked along. They asked if it was unusual and we replied that it was all too common but we were getting used to it. They found it amusing that one lad followed Tom for most of the half mile, pleading with him to buy a CD. They said they felt sorry for us for all the attention we got and then asked if they could have their photo taken with us.

The border crossing ceremony was one of the highlights of India. Not least because it's one of the only tourist attractions where foreigners don't have to pay ten times the amount locals do and we actually got preferential treatment. We were seated right at the border gates, 50 feet closer to the action than the Indians. Now call us cynics but we're sure in the past something must have gone wrong in our area and now we're just the buffer zone to protect the locals from possible mortar fire.

The ceremony started with India spectators taking it in turns to charge the 50 feet to the gate, holding up the Indian flag while their countrymen punch the air and chanted enthusiastically. At the same time a similar ritual was occurring on the Pakistani side. On each side of the border a man with a microphone was stoking up the crowd, deploring them to chant louder than the other side. This went on for about 30 minutes. Then the troops came out in their ceremonial dress.

What occurred next was 30 minutes of the funniest goose stepping, knee slapping and speed marching ever to be choreographed. The height the soldiers could kick their legs to was quite remarkable. During the ceremony the Indian and Pakistani soldiers were trying to out do each other while their respective countryman chanted 'Hindustan' or 'Pakistan' depending on what side of the border they sat. The ceremony ended with a soldier from each country shaking hands and doing one last high kick before the gates were slammed shut. The whole episode was both absurd and brilliant. The humor was welcome tonic to the hassle of the previous 24hours.

Lonely Planet describes Chandigarh, our next brief stop, as follows

"Explore Le Corbusier's visionary designs at Chandigarh, India's greenest and cleanest city"

To use the terms 'greenest' or 'cleanest' to describe any Indian city is misleading and requires a vivid imagination. Chandigarh would best be described as an 'Unkempt Milton Keynes' without the concrete cows (or better still, an 'Unkempt Telford' given the ethnicity of its inhabitants). It is a concrete new town that has replaced character with geometrics and neighbourhoods with numbered sectors. However as it is in India and is not the Taj Mahal, it has been left to full into disrepair over the decades since its inception. A lack of maintenance has meant the concrete is stained and in some cases braking away to expose the steel supports beneath. The parks were empty and largely wasted on the population as the kid’s preferred to play cricket in the streets or on wasteland.

The only good thing about the city was the fantasy rock garden and this came as a surprise to Tom (the concept that a rock garden could be interesting). Also for the second time in two days we went to a tourist attraction where foreigners paid the same as locals, on this day the wonders would never cease to amaze Tom. Inside the Rock Garden are some magical landscapes and waterfalls created with house hold waste. However some of the local visitors were keener to have their picture taken with us. Four groups of people in 30 minutes wanted their photo taken with us. Apparently Gemma's freak show had now traveled up to the Punjab.

We got the train back down to Delhi and had a few days before we flew to Goa. We decided to treat ourselves to some 5 star luxuries with a safari and stay at the Corbett Tiger Reserve. Our trip even included being chauffeur driven the 300km from Delhi up to the reserve. The resort we stayed at was lovely and we had our own suite with the most attentive service.

When we arrived a family had hired out the garden for a birthday party and we were invited to join them and play some cricket. Tom was given the chance to bat and this gave the bowlers a chance to practice the bodyliners. Tom's innings was brought to an abrupt end when our nature guide turned up. However it wasn't the Dr Mahendra Negi included in our itinery, it was his boy or somebody’s boy.

Our new guide spoke two words of English; 'kingfisher' and 'ya'. Every question relating to a bird was answered 'kingfisher' and every other question was answered 'ya'. Our nature walk included wading waste deep through a river to get a better look at the fish, or at least that's what we thought he was pointing at. The walk was so bad it was comical.

The rest of our itinery proved to be equally as robust. The next day we were suppose to have a full days safari starting at 5 in the morning. When we got back from our nature walk we met our driver and were informed we were doing an elephant safari in the morning and only a half day safari in the afternoon. The elephant safari in our itinery was planned for the third day before our trip back to Delhi. However we were now told that if we wanted to do anything then, we'd have to pay for it ourselves. Basically we were being skanked out of half a days safari.

We pointed this out to the driver and were bemused with the response we got. Apparently animals don't come out in the morning as they're sleeping, so we shouldn't want to go out then anyway. (We're not sure where they kip, perhaps in the resort next to ours, we were never told).

We pointed out that this was simply untrue and irrelevant anyway as we had paid for a full day and that is what we wanted. The conversation descended into the farcical. It was like trying to win an argument with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the Iranian President. There is no point trying to use logic or reason because every time you pick a hole in his argument or lies, the repugnant and increasing irritating little rat just comes up with another more outlandish lie and claims victory.

In the end we just gave up because we weren't getting anywhere, we didn't want to wind ourselves up to the point that we didn't enjoy the trip and he was now losing the ability to speak English. We decided our best bet was to warn off any other potential customers and give the business a review it deserves.

So if anybody is tempted to book a trip with any of these companies

www.infoindiatours.com
www.corbettnationalpark.com
www.adventuretoursindia.com
www.startadventure.net/index.htm
www.himalayatourism.com

We'd strongly recommend you don't as they're cowboys.

The elephant safari in the morning left us feeling very uncomfortable. The guide repeatedly hit and pocked the elephant with an iron bar to stop it eating. We were just happy when it was over. We did see different species of deers, parakeets, some monkeys and a vulture but unfortunately no tigers. We'd read that there were few Tiger's left in the reserve so we weren't that disappointed, we just felt guilty for the treatment of the elephant.

The jeep safari was equally unsuccessful in tracking down a Bengal Tiger. However we did find some Tiger tracks, Tiger poo and some Tiger scratchings. We also saw a similar variety of animals that we had seen on the morning safari with the added bonus of a herd of wild elephants, free from the abuse of man.

The next day we reluctantly left our five star resort and started the 7 hour drive to Delhi. Half way through the journey Tom completed his last working PSP game and was forced to spend the remainder of the journey looking outside the car. On the buses we had got between towns, we'd never been able to see the road ahead or how people drove outside the constraints of the gridlocked city centers.

Now Tom was sat, paralyzed with fear as he observed how Indians drive on the open road. They're all mentalists, they make the Bolivian's look like they're driving Miss Daisy. Tom is convinced that for driving school tuition, Indians are forced to watch compilations of car chases from movies like the Matrix, Lethal Weapon or James Bond. All the drivers swerve in and out of traffic at brake neck speeds, overtaking when they have really shouldn't and cutting people up without a care in the world.

The lorry drivers are the worst though. Each lorry appears to have an in-built Indiana Jones. Every mile or so he jumps out of the glove compartment and wrestles with the driver, causing the truck to veer across the road for no apparent reason. At one point we drove on a newly opened motorway north of Delhi. It was a dual carriageway with two working lanes in each direction. However as we were heading south towards Delhi, a lorry driver coming north had obviously decided we wanted his own third lane, so drove against the traffic heading south on the wrong side of the dual carriage way.

Like the bloke that Tom saw having a crap on the pavement in Delhi, it wasn't the actions of the offender that Tom found so worrying, it was the indifference of the people around him.

After only two and a half weeks in northern India we were in desperate need for a break. The constant hassle from rickshaw drivers, taxi drivers, touts, beggars, dodgy travel agents and everyone else who saw us as walking ATM was wearing us down. We started to question why we were traveling and whether it was worth it. We’d heard good things about Goa and were hoping it could change the low opinion we held of India at the time.

Much to Gemma’s dismay, Tom’s fear of flying meant we had to fork our more for tickets on Kingfisher Airlines, a more reputable airline. When we arrived at Delhi airport and found out our Kingfisher flight had two stopovers before getting to Goa, the irony wasn’t lost on Gemma, especially as a budget airline was flying direct at roughly the same time. Tom’s anxiety was somewhat eased by the McD’s in the departure lounge though.

Calangute and Baga were our first port of calls. They’re Goa's equivalent of the Costa Del Sol. The only difference being they have managed to maintain the tackiness without having to build high rise blocks. Oh and you can get a mean fish curry. The typical clientele are India's burgeoning middle classes and Brits in their 50's and 60's tired of the Med. The beach is overcrowded with sun lounges. Rickshaw driver's, accommodation and travel agent touts have been replaced by water sport touts, restaurant touts and vendors selling tat to the sunbathing masses.

You could always tell when a girl was sunbathing in a bikini because there would be 5 or 6 Indian fella positioned around her sun bed staring at her. A favorite trick would be to take a group picture next to the girl and then swing the camera around at the last minute. It was beach perving at its worst.

The streets behind the beach had a few bars and restaurants. The large number of British tourists meant you could get a full English breakfast and a copy of any tabloid. One cafe did the best home made steak & kidney pies with hand cut chips that only a Nan could make. The food was probably the best thing about India but after 3 weeks of eating curries non stop, you do crave some good old English grub.

We headed north up the coast to Arambol. The village was completely different to the resorts we had just left, with a mix of hippies, tree huggers sporting blond dreadlocks, Israelis smoking bongs and very few Indians. The village had loads of arts and craft shops but unlike anywhere else we had been in India, you could actually window shop without the hard sell or being hassled. There were also some really good Italian and Chinese restaurants.

The beach was like a woman's refuge, bikini clad girls seeking solace from the perving eyes in the bigger resorts to the south of us. However they were home to probably the most offensive Indian's, the ear cleaners. On our first day we were going for a leisurely stroll along the beach at sunset when a bloke started pointing at Tom's ear as if something was wrong. We stopped and before we knew it he had stuck a metal pin in Tom's ear and was cleaning the wax out quite forcefully, whilst trying to pass Tom a book of 'happy customer comments' and demanding money. He was chased off by Gemma and anyone else who tried the same trick over the next couple of days was met with an angry reaction from us.

In the evening people line the beach practicing Yoga or deep in meditation. We also saw groups of old hippies dancing around like flowers, listening to Bowie and Pink Floyd, trying to keep the Woodstock dream alive. The whole place had a really chilled vibe about it (excluding the ear cleaners). We checked out Mandrem beach, which is suppose to be Goa's finest. It was pretty but still quite dirty considering there was hardly anybody on it.

Arambol is also home to fighting cows. We were sitting on the beach and two stray cows started to have a ruck. The best part of it was once they had started fighting, some stray dogs turned up and antagonised them some more. It was like the dogs were specifically trained to get the best out of the cows. If humans bred cows to fight they'd be an uproar, especially in a predominately Hindu country like India. But as the offenders were stray dogs, it was alright. Even the tree huggers and hippies were enjoying the blood bath.

We then headed to Anjuna, home to three things; the Wednesday Flee Market, the only internet cafe in India where skype (or the headsets) worked and some comedy drug pushers. On the walk down to the beach from our hotel we passed the same blokes every day and the conversation always went as follows.

"you want hash?"
"no"
"you want hashish, good hash?"
"no, I don't want any hash"
"Ah, you want weed, good skunk weed?"
"no I don’t want any dope"
"Ah you want Cocaine"
"no"
"Ecstasy, opium, LSD?"
"no, no and no, I don't want to buy any drugs of you"
"you want to buy some drugs from my friend"
"no, I don't want any drugs"
"you don't want any drugs, so why you waste my time?"

Our week and a half in Goa was a welcome break and we were now looking forward to going to Thailand. We just had another 24hours in Mumbai to survive.

We arrived late into the city and didn't arrive at our guest house until after midnight. Lonely Planet described it as clean and a contender for best bargain accommodation in Mumbai. We're not sure what drugs they're reviewer was on when they stayed there but it certainly wasn't clean. The 'ensuite bathroom' was a urinal that doubled for a shower. The night porter watched TV all night and kept most of the guests awake, refusing to turn it down. Although we suppose we should have been grateful that they provided in room entertainment in the form of three dancing cockroaches. As soon as day light broke we got the hell out of there.

After 4 weeks in India, Mumbai wasn't such a quirky crazy place. Well it was still crazy but quirky had been replaced with irritating. In our last day Tom got in a row with some Hindu Priests. They chased us down Colaba Causeway for about 100m saying "we don’t want money, we don’t want money". In the end we stopped because we were getting strange looks off other people and it looked like we'd robbed their collection box. One of the priests then proceeded to say a prayer to Tom whilst tying some string around his wrist and putting a flower in his pocket. Then he demanded Tom give him 200 rupees as a donation to his church.

It was now Tom's turn to lose it while Gemma enjoyed the show. For 4 weeks Tom had held his composure and he was only a few hours away from leaving India without losing his cool. Unfortunately for him and the priests he just fell short. He ripped off the bracelet and threw it on the floor with the flower, stamping on them and berating the 'holy men'.

They say you either love or hate traveling around India. I think it's safe to say we fell into the latter category. The food was great and we did meet some interesting and lovely people, but the scum that feed off the tourist trade ruined the experience for us.

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