07/06/2013
So we have finally landed
in India despite their best efforts to seemingly keep us out of their country
(do you think word might have reached them that I walked around Auchvietz
covered in my own vomit?). I had
previously thought that a) they would have wanted and promoted tourism and b)
as Brits we’d get a little preferential treatment considering India was once
the ‘jewel in our crown’. But not
so. New Zealand; yes they can get a Visa
on arrival. Vietnam can get a Visa on
arrival and about 10 other countries but not us. Maybe they didn’t take too kindly to us Brits
invading their country and ruling them against their will after all. Who’d have thought?! Maybe NZ get preferential treatment as
they’re still under the monarchy of us scurvy British and the Indians feel for
them. So for us even Brits to enter the
country at all, even for just a day, we needed a Visa costing us £100. On top
of that the visa can only be processed in London so you either need to go there
personally to collect it or allow 8 working days for it to be processed and
posted back to you. As we had naively
presumed that any tourist visa could be completed on landing (as it is anywhere
else I’ve been) we didn’t have time to have it posted nor go to London so we had
to get an agency to do it for us for
£40. In addition to that we needed 2
photos 20x20cm (NOT passport size) which required a specialist shop who felt it
appropriate and justified to charge £20 for 2 photos this size. 2! Had
I known that I’d have paid the £10 admin fee the agency charged to just
grow/shrink any photo to size. They
obviously keep that shop fascia very clean because they definitely saw me
coming!
So after our frantic,
turtle heading internet searching and £160 lighter of the bank account we had
our passports returned the day before we left, complete with a Visa.
We also needed jabs and
Malaria tablets too before we left. I
had a stroke of luck and my prescription was written up on the wrong form. It would appear the distraction of my unusual
name prevented the Dr who signed it off noticing too (I can never remain
unidentified when I do something wrong with a name like ‘Kaiko’ and carving
your name into a desk at school left no chance of denial but it does have some
advantages). So I got my £40 Malaria
tablets for £7.95 I slight consolation
for the whole Visa fiasco but Will wasn’t so lucky. I’m guessing the nurse had realized her error
after I swanned out with £60 work of NHS drugs in my system in exchange for a wink
and a smile.
Attempting to be organized
we tried getting our Rupees before we left but after a few phone calls to
different *Bureau De Change’s we found it was a controlled currency meaning
none can leave the country and you have to get your money on arrival. Of course you do! When all the Indian powers-that-be sat around
and discussed how to make a trip over here as difficult as possible this would
have definitely been on the list after Visa’s, stupid photo sizes and malaria
(granted that’s not particularly their fault but I’m still blaming them)
*why is that phrase always
in French? Did they invent currency exchange? Why do they get dibs on it?
So to step outside of the
airport this morning successfully landed in India was quite an (expensive)
achievement. We concluded that we
probably wouldn’t come back so we’d get the most out of this trip and then save
our money for countries with free/cheap visa’s on arrival and our energy for letting
anyone know who is thinking of coming to
India (or anyone unlucky enough to be around when we want to rant about it) to
be prepared for an additional £200 on top of usual holiday costs. (Oh the
things that £200 could have bought….sigh).
Luckily we’d asked the
chap at the bureau de change how much to expect to pay to get a taxi into the
city so when approached by the standard rip-off merchant looking to pray on
unexpecting foreigners straight off the plane we were already raising our voice
to his quadrupling of the price before he’d even formed a sentence. Not on our watch, buddy! We won and he backed down and we ended up
paying a very competitive rate. They
always try it though! I don’t know how
they sleep at night, I don’t think they even have Horlicks out here!
We passed monkey garden on
the way, awash with hundreds of no doubt rabid reuses monkeys who, after
escaping the shipment to NASA for the next space shuttle launch, were just
dumped there to be fed for free by wandering tourists before being bitten and
cursing not forking out the £150 for a rabies shot.
The taxi driver wasn’t
sure where he was going and Will’s phone had died (which was our only note of
the pre-booked hotel address and my instincts told me now wasn’t the time to
highlight how I always print these things off to prevent this ever being an
issue) so he ended up taking us to the tourist information centre. The driver and Will went in leaving me to
deal with the beggar who had wiped his dirty rag on the bonnet of the taxi then
proceeded to stand at my window staring at me and demanding I pay him. I swear he added more dirt then he removed
and he clearly didn’t understand how taxi’s work. Yes, he probably didn’t understand how 3
meals a day and a warm bed worked either but the cleanliness of a hired cab was
not my issue!
Going into the Tourist
Information centre turned out to be a stroke of luck as it seemed our hotel and
all the surrounding ones in the area had been closed off for a few days for
security reasons. I was thinking’ bomb
scare!’ but it was far more mundane, something to do with them not having licenses. Unlucky all the surrounding hotels that are
running a legit and legal operation as they’ve just lost hundreds of pounds in
lost business.
The chap in the Tourist
Information Centre was very helpful and knowledgeable and he was able to
organize all our onward travel and accommodation including a driver for 3 days
to take us around the Golden Triangle.
Apparently the buses take 7hrs to drive the 185km from Delhi to Agra and
the trains are booked well in advance so it was our only viable option.
Whilst in the office
nature called. I was immediately terrified
that despite having only landed an hour ago and not eaten or drunk anything yet
that somehow the Delhi air had poisoned my digestive system and I was about to
experience the infamous ‘Delhi Belly’.
The office had a ‘wash room’ which was an amusing name for it as I don’t
think it had seen any type of washing since a yeti stumbled in carrying a bag
of his own filth and blew both it and him up about 4 years ago and the works
felt touching any part of his remains would stoke the anger of his ancestors
who would then descend on the office armed with rusty poles and unmanageable
rage. (I don’t know if that’s true but
it’s the only explanation I can think of as to why this toilet could have been
so filthy). As I was now in India and
all toilets would be to this standard I sucked it up and used the facilities, (after
picking up the toilet seat off the floor and balancing on the rim, I was just
glad there was a seat rather than a hole in the floor). There, of course, was no toilet paper but
luckily we had tissues and by a stroke of luck my bowl movement was relatively
normal. Phew! (I hear an audible sigh of relief from you
readers that this blog does indeed include stool consistency. I aim to please).
Our driver for the next 3
days was outside waiting for us so we headed off for a spot of lunch. We both ordered the Tandoori chicken which
was completely different to the tandoori chicken at home. It was half a steaming, spiced chicken served
with jeera rice (rice with cumin seeds) and garlic naan. It was really nice! The chicken was well cooked and the rice was
perfect and the naan was light. When we
had finished eating they brought us some little bowls with aniseed balls and
small green spices (I should have really asked what it was). You mixed them together in your hand and
chewed them and they acted as a pallet cleanser. Very affective! I had a couple of goes to
ensure I was thoroughly cleansed.
Outside we were greeted by
another beggar, this time a woman carrying a baby. Had we any small change I’d have given it to
her just to stop her following us and then banging on the window when we got in
the car but we had only just had our money changed and the smallest note was
just shy of a tenner. She stood there
banging on the window pointing this skinny baby at us whilst her mate tried
shoving paper through the window. Will
had told me about a friend of his who’d been in a taxi in India and a woman had
come up and thrown a dead baby through the open window. The taxi driver had then demanded a pay-off
so to not report him. The guy had
refused and was held in jail for 2 days!*
As she was stood there getting more and more annoyed I was worried she
was going to ring her own kid’s neck there and then and launch her into the car
just out of spite for the rich white folk that wouldn’t help her.
*This did raise questions
that couldn’t be answered though. If
this was some kind of organized racquet how does it work? Surely throwing drugs into a car would be
easier to execute? A dead baby is not
something you can pick up by taking a quick drive down a back street and making
a sniffing noise at a few people. Was it
her baby? Or do they pass them around the like tramps in town and their dogs?
How long had this baby been dead?
(Please forward any answers/suggestions you may have!)
We drove through the city
and our driver pointed out the parliament buildings which were very grand and
India gate, which is similar to the Arc De Triomph in Paris. This area of Delhi was very clean and green
and well presented.
We headed out to the Lotus
Temple which is a multi faith building.
It’s extremely grand and the design of it is beautiful. The walk in was quite scenic though and it
was the first time we’d been outdoors for more than a few minutes since
arriving and it was about 40°! Will was
sweating like a pig and I was my classic beetroot red when a group of guys
stopped us to ask for a photo. We
weren’t sure what was going on at first and thought they wanted us to take a
picture with them. But they wanted a
photo of them with us! There was about 6
of them and 4 wanted pictures taken on their own cameras as they swapped around
being in the picture. At first I was
quite dubious and thought it was a ploy to pick pocket us, but when they
thanked us and left and our belongings were still intact I felt bad for
misjudging them. We continued walking up
the temple and realized from the regular looks and inconspicuous and also very
blatant photo taking by people we passed that they just liked how we
looked! I noticed Will was taller than
everyone and how he dressed was very different to the locals (they all wear shirts
and trousers, you notice a chap is wearing a t shirt or jeans as it’s so
uncommon and I’ve not seen any of them in shorts) and I’m tall-ish for a woman
and obviously have blonde hair and absolutely no tan so we stood out like a
sore thumb.
The Lotus Temple is set in
large, luscious grounds with pool’s surrounding it (how we wanted to just
‘accidentally’ fall in by the time we got there). The building itself is white and looks like a
closed flower. Inside it’s just one
large room with lots of benches and a high ceiling. You’ve already removed your shoes before you
get up to the temple and there’s no talking inside and no photos They invite anyone of any faith to come in
and pray to their own God in the peace and tranquillity. It was a very calming (and cooling!)
place. Definitely worth a visit.
No comments:
Post a Comment