My Summary – Part V
OK this summary is turning into a lenghtier series than Freddy Kruger …
All in all we had a great two weeks. It was tough at times and easier than expected at others. We were expecting our rickshaw to break down at every turn but it didn’t. Not once. Having said that … we didn’t see any broken down rickshaws. This Bajaj company needs to expand outside of India and take over Alpha Romeo.
There were so many little things that happened that I have neglected to mention, funny little things like Manon running over a man on a bike, me crashing into a wall (on purpose) to see if rickshaws need seatbelts, crashing a Goan/French wedding with two of the biggest Russian bruisers you have ever seen backing us up (including a gorgeous Russian beauty), me having a battle with Delhi Belly on the beach eventually having to rush into the ocean … and somebody battling the dreaded disease in the tent *cough cough*, meeting a beggar who professed to have one arm until we lifted up his shirt to find a second arm (which he then lifted up and let drop to his side trying to convince us it didn’t work).
So many small things that we forget but that crop up at random intervals to amuse us. Once we get our hands on the video footage a lot should come rushing back to us …
All in all we are proud of our achievment and want to thank all of those who donated and helped us to raise almost £1200 for The Prince’s Trust. A massive thank you to MeanAndGreen.com, Blacks.co.uk and SimplyHike.co.uk who supplied us with some much needed gear and we would not have lasted five minutes without their generous donations.
The picture below is an example of the many stalls that you will find that litter the streets in India. Is it any wonder that we got Delhi Belly after consuming a TASTIOMELET. Oh no wait … IT WAS A WHAT!!!
Testi Omlet? Are they sure? Is that legal?
My Summary – Part IV
The road to Agra was a good drive. There was lots to see including gigantic statues of ancient Gods, dancing monkeys and an elephant, which overtook us.
However, the highlight of this stretch of Indian dust path was the bridge that we crossed as we neared the fabled masoleum. As we crossed the bridge over the river we could just about make out the Taj on the river bank in front of us and it hit home that we had covered half of our journey in very good time. Easy peasy …
We pulled up in the parking lot and got the electric shuttle to the West Gate to obtain entry to the majestic area. Of course are tickets were the “tourist tickets” costing us £9 to see the sight and we had to wait for about an hour in a queue in the sun. I still didn’t tan one shade.
As we neared the security we were all funneled like cattle through the metal detector things and we saw a female security officer lay out a tourist. Boom.
The area is much larger than I had expected. It is a massive complex with three large sandstone gates, a mosque and a guest house not to mention the beautiful gardens and masoleum. We had a tour guide who seemed extremely bored as he relayed the history to us and then let us wonder off on our own.
It was an amazing place and we spent a couple of hours looking inside and out. Interesting history behind it but I won’t bore you. Wiki it.
Leaving Agra
As we left Agra I was in control of the bucket and trusted another adventurer with the navigation *cough cough*. A slight mishap with the compass saw us travelling north and not south and by the time we spotted our error Delhi was under 100km away and so we thought “why not”.
Delhi actually provided most of the laughs of the trip up to this point (and including the subsequent days). Not only did we have our rickshaw stolen by the people that rented it to us but we were chased and attacked by beggars, met a philosophic man named Sunny and went to the place Gandhi was shot (ok that bit isn’t really funny).
Also saw some lepers. Gross.
By the time we got to Delhi it was evident that we actually had the dreaded “Delhi Belly” which, just because we were in Delhi, escalated. Its like the virus knows when it is home.
It was of course in Delhi where our rickshaw was stolen and ransomed to us as explained in a previous post. We refused to pay the ransom and meant that our rickshaw days had been cut off half way through our trip. We still wanted to rickshaw to Mumbai (the finish line) but this was no longer possible.
We went to the train station and found that we had just missed a train by ten minutes and that the next one to Mumbai was seven hours away (not to mention that it takes 29 hours to get to its destination). Lame. The ticket office was a strange place. There was no form of queue, we just had to move people to get to the desk and when we got there we saw a sign to highlight that we were in the right “queue” because the sign stated that “Tourists and Freedom Fighters” can purchase tickets at this desk. What? Freedom Fighters? Since when do terrorists get their own column and is it really wise to let terrorists mix with tourists?
Only in bloody India.
So we waited. And we waited. And we waited a little longer until eventually seven hours had passed and we only had 29 left. We ran up and down the train looking for the sleeper carriage as this was compeltely alien to us. Once we had scrambled aboard we located our bed. There was only one ticket left in the sleeper carriage and it had to sleep all three of us!
And so began 29 hours of hell.
Luckily, the other people in our area got off at a stop after about six hours which freed up the whole compartment (four beds). I say compartment but what I mean is four beds (2 bunk beds) separated by a curtain. We now had four beds for the three of us and so we spread out a little. The train was a horrible place. Proper skanky. No word of a lie there were rats running around beneath us, thick dust lay all around and it appeared it had not been cleaned for years. The toilets were gross and you did your business right on the track which you can appreciate for the two with Delhi Belly this was a precarious situation, water and electricity DO NOT MIX WELL! Finally there was the annoying twat chaiwalla (tea boy) who would walk up and down constantly screaming “Chai, Chai, veg cutlet, CHAI CHAI CHAI” and tapping the feet of those unlucky enough to be over five foot five whose feet stuck off the end of the bed.
Oh well, it was an experience. A dirty one, but an experience none the less. It marked the first thirty hour period that we had gone without food. Only the Bisleri was keeping us alive (water).
Mumbai
Eventually our train pulled into Mumbai and this meant that we had completed (albeit by somewhat of a different route) our trip. Things were looking up. Manon, who has the hook up in India, managed to get us into a 5* Deluxe hotel for £21 per night (£7 per person per night, WTF).
The Taj Lands End hotel, Mumbai. What a place. However, it turned out that we had arrived here during the state elections and one idiot political person decided that during election time the state should be a DRY state. What? No Booze! Shocking.
We had wanted to party in Mumbai to mark our week of hell!!!
Instead we just gatecrashed the parties being held in the conference center in the vain hope that they would be serving booze at the MTV Press Conference … nope. Still no booze. The launching of the new Chevrolet? Nope, no booze. Eventually they cottoned on to the fact that our charity connections were getting us into conferences that bore no relevance to each other and they kicked us out. Still got free food though.
Due to the lack of booze we decided to end our stay in Mumbai quickly and head back to Goa. We had heard a lot of good things about Goa.
Goa
We got a coach to Goa which took twelve hours on an overnight journey. It was a great idea for the coach stop to be right next to a stagnant pool of water because we all got bitten to buggery as the coach decided to roll up 45 minutes late.
This marked our second thirty hour period without food because we soon found out when we got to Goa that we had spent all of our money in Mumbai! Nilz and I did not have a single bean left on us and Manon was thinking about delving into his mothers credit card!
It was back to the tent for us until we could find a source of cash.
We saw on the news just before we got to Goa that there was a serial killer on the loose. Ten charred bodies had been found in four days. Trouble was following us everywhere. Not only that but there was a terrorist attack (called Freedom Fighters in India) in the city where a motorcyclist bezzed it through and blew himself up. He was the only person killed though. Indian Terrorists – FAIL.
We did get to sleep on the beach though … this was because the Goan beaches were empty! Goa prides itself on its beaches but it doesn’t tell you in your tourist manual that they are all empty!! Grrrrrrrr. No chicks in sight.
My Summary – Part III
The route to Jaipur was a 600km drive and due to us taking so long to learn how to drive our rickshaw we decided that we should hit the highway to make up some time. The N8 would lead us all the way to our next destination which would put us in good stead to get to Agra.
The road was surprisngly well maintained. I thougt it would be a dirt track but they actually used tarmac would you believe! On the road the imminent smell of danger became a norm to us. Zipping in and out of tight gaps between buses and lorries became second nature as we followed other daredevil rickshaw drivers on the path.
We soon became aware that the most important part of our vehicle was the horn. The constant sound of the highpitched wail is still ringing in my ears. People do not use the horn in anger like they do in the UK, they use it as a means of letting the driver in front know that they are about to zip past them because no-one uses indicator lights out there!
The roads are a dangerous place in India. There is no highway code, right of way is given to the vehicle with the greatest mass and our little beast was often left in the dark. Our road rage was constantly mounting, especially mine as I failed to understand how a nation operates on these shocking road rules. I was blurting obscenities that even shocked myself, things that the Urban Dictionary would censor from its pages.
Anything and everything occupies the roads on the sub-continent. Even on highways there were ox-drawn carts and even man-drawn carts packed twenty foot high with crap they were selling in the nearest town. It is really hard for me to describe quite what the roads are like. It needs to be seen to be believed.
Many times as we warmed to the driving conditions we found ourself in imminent danger, being body checked by buses and cars. At times, when there is a jam on one side of the carriage way people would cross onto the oncoming carriage way in order to bypass the jam! This happens a lot!
Where are the traffic police??!?!?!?!?!?
About half way in we made the biggest mistake of our lives. We stopped at a road side “café” for a bite to eat. Manon’s cast iron stomach handled the food just fine but Nilz and I somewhat struggled a few hours after our digestive system had got its teeth into this food. I think my intestines vomited into my stomach at the utter disgust of what I had put into my body. I would have thought that cooking that food would destroy the disease ridden microbes but I could not have been more wrong.
Not long after the stop off Nilz and I were feeling the effects of road side food. I shall not go into details but Delhi Belly is not a nice thing to have.
At this same roadside we met a lorry driver who was intrigued to know why a white guy (who after a number of days in his country had still not tanned) was taxi-ing around two Indians. We explained our story to him and he offered to help us. Lying three planks down from his truck to the ground in a diagonal fashion we drove up the shallow incline and parked on the back of the flatbed. He drove us a good 80km before we parted ways as we chilled on the back. It was good fun and gave us a chance to rest a little and enacting all the movie charades that we could think of.
Jaipur
As we neared Jaipur the terrain took a rather drastic twist. Not only did the sun beat harder but the land turned into a dry, arid desert. The roads were still intact but all around us was just dusty terrain and sparse vegetation. For as far as the eye could see … there was nothing.
This was quite a daunting feeling because it showed us how we really were all alone out here. If something went wrong we would be walking for miles before we came across the smallest hints of civilisation. Lucky for us our little demon did not break down (not once) and we cruised through the desert in the baking sun (and still, I did not tan).
We did not want to be caught in this land, not only because of its bad reputation for illegal highway men and dodgy gangs but also because of the dangerous heat. We didn’t even stop for our siesta (which is common out there between around 2pm and 5pm due to the heat). Siesta is actually when the roads are at their quietest and so we took advantage of this on a regular basis.
As we neared Jaipur we were making really good time and we could even see signs for Agra. The signs for Agra really got us racing and we actually decided to spend the night in a train station and miss Jaipur completely and carry on the next day to Agra as the Taj Mahal awaited …
My Summary – Part II
When it came to actually obtaining a rickshaw this had been left down to Manon. I know, stupid idea right?
Well it actually turns out that all of this “You ain’t Manon Dave”, “There ain’t no party like a Manon Dave party”, “It’s your boi, MDC, with the hook up” and all of that other trash talk is actually, in part, true. He is Manon Dave, he does host parties (not that I have been invited yet) that are unique to him and also he does have the hook up.
So as it began to “pop off” one early morning in Ahmedebad we arose to the beating sun and the typical sound of car horns that pierce the morning still and Manon was outside on the phone. He had been on the phone to two local shysters that he had sourced whilst still in the UK that could get their hands on a rickshaw for us.
They wanted to meet us later that night at a graveyard, of all places, where they would hand the rickshaw over for the cash. They probably needed all day to steal it off a local. The deal was that we pay 10,000 rupees (about £135) for the vehicle and that it would have private plates (allowing it to be driven across state borders). Or at least, that is what we thought.
Where it all began …
With a day in Ahmedabad and nothing to do we decided to go to Shiani. To where? I hear you ask. Shiani is back where it all began. In the days of old when men fought with sticks and women didn’t wash (these rules still apply in rural parts of India) a beast was conceived … a beast that began the Dave lineage. It is the ancestral home of Manon (and he actually has a plot of land there where he farms rhubarb). Shiani is a small and sparse village on the outskirts of Ahmedabad but of course holds a great and powerful history with a force that lives on to this day popping off all over the world.
Whilst it is the ancestral home of Manon, he was still born in Wembley. I wish he had gotten all tearful in the place of his origin, that would have been funny. Let’s pretend he did.
Acquisition
Later that night it turned out the deal had changed and that we were not going to be the actual owners of the rickshaw. They said that they were giving us one of their personal shaws from their somewhat dodgy mafia fleet and that we would have to return it. This of course caused serious issues to our route as we wanted to finish in Mumbai (or Goa if it would make it). After a lot of haggling and arguments the deal was as follows:
We take the rickshaw from Ahmedebad for 5,000 rupees. It had private plates. The rickshaw was on a rental basis and was to be returned to Mumbai where we would part with the other half plus charges for damage.
Try as they might we were not giving 10,000 upfront. The deal was acceptable and allowed us to embark on our journey which is, afterall, why we were there.
Not knowing how to drive the bucket we asked for driving lessons … of course this incurred an extra charge. Shock horror. Bloody India. The next day was spent with one of there fathers, Satish (most likely another shyster) who had been driving rickshaws for 29 years.
A rickshaw is a piece of crap. It is basically a scooter with a shell. It has handlebars used to turn the front wheel. The accelorator is on the right handlebar and turns like a motorcycle. On the left handlebar there is what looks like a bicycle brake handle but oh no … this is the clutch. Yeah, go figure. This handlebar also turns to initiate gear changes. There is only one pedal, the brake (and it doesn’t appear to work). Also it runs on gas. Pfffffffft.
There were also a load of buttons between the handlebars and none of them had any indication as to what their purpose was. After a lot of clicking and playing around we found that it was the indicators, wipers and horn (most important part).
Oh I forgot to mention … you have to start the thing like you would a lawn mower! Pull on string.
Having clocked up over ten years of driving between us I honestly thought that we would grasp this in a matter of hours. It took us the best part of a day before we had the balls to get on the actual road.
Leaving Ahmedebad
We thought that the best time to leave would be night time and so we waiting for dark and started up our motorised can, which I might add makes a horrible noise constantly whining all the time non-stop like some kind of wife (except at least the shaw can eventually run out of gas).
Night time was a baaaad idea. It is much busier at night, the roads are total gridlock once we had hit the outskirts of the city we vowed to never again drive through the night. India has no form of highway code. You go when you see a gap and as for traffic lights … yeah, good luck. One the slight chance that an intersection had lights, people just ignored them anyway. I stopped at a red and people kept beeping me. They failed to understand why I was waiting and even came into the rickshaw to debate this with us. Bloody India.
The highway exiting Ahmedebad was a little better at night, it must just be all the pimps doing laps of the cities in their rickshaws trying to pick up chicks that cause the congestion. As our confidence grew we were zipping in and out of lanes, between lorries and buses fitting through tight gaps at will. We were thrown in at the deep end but we managed to swim without a float.
Next stop … Jaipur via the N8 for 600km.
My Summary – Part I
Back in the UK. Thank VISHNU for that! Especially baring in mind our domestic flight from Goa to Mumbai (before connecting to London) nearly crashed as the pilot decided to land solely on his rear right wheel having to then fly back up and around for another landing. Kingfisher did get busted for employing over 80 drunk pilots and it seems they let some stay on the payroll.
Have seen millions of these
This place is beautiful!!! Crisp cool air that bites that skin and soothes the throat upon breathing deeply. The looming clouds saving us from the blistering sun. The roads that are made of tarmac and the transport that is on time. The quiet streets not filled with beeping horns, crappy rickshaws and more pollution than Chernobyl. Best of all … no ridiculous mustaches in sight!!!
Britain I will never leave your shores again my darling, darling world.
I need a holiday but it is good to be back.
Dhalsim - Street Fighter II Turbo - Token Indian
Thus ends two weeks of illness, disease, serious lung damage (pollution), ear damage (the hideous sound of our 7bhp whining little beast), eye damage (nasty mustaches) and general damage to our whole bodies. We are battered and bruised feeling like we have gone three rounds with Dhalsim.
The trip started off really badly. We were stuck in Goa due to torrential downpours and tropical storms, the worst in over 100 years for the popular region. Our first move was to jump straight onto a thirteen hour train journey to Mumbai so that we could get to Ahmedabad, however, we soon learned that the train tracks were flooded and no trains were in operation. We went to the coach station. All of the highways exiting the state were closed due to flooding and previous coaches were stuck on highway islands awaiting rescue as the waters flooded the aisle.
It was not looking good. We had a rickshaw to pick up from Ahmedabad and we could not afford to wait in Goa for three days for this to clear which would leave us so far behind on our forecasts. Our only option was to get back on a plane and get our asses to Ahmedabad.
The plane managed to fly through the storm and we landed in the northern state of Gujarat and were in our first official port of call, Ahmedabad. Another problem …
The storm had actually followed us. We were in Ahmedabad for about two hours, walking the streets when all of a sudden a blanket of rain just threw itself over the city. Literally within seconds the rain was beating down on us and after two minutes we were already wading through water. We got undercover in a nearby apartment block and we waited it out.
A few hours passed and we decided that we needed to find a place to relax. We got a rickshaw to a temple on the edge of the city (one location that we knew would be safe, what with it being religious and all) and pitched up a few hundred metres from it in the rough. When we were inside, all cost in our sleeping bags we heard the rain beating down again on the canvas. We thought “meh, the tent will be fine,” but we were wrong. As the floor beneath us became a muddy plateau we could heard the guy ropes come loose and ping on the tent. Then the corner caved in and the tent bent out of shape … the loose ground was causing the taught tent to pull up the pegs!!!
Still testing our luck we waited in the tent until we started noticing small spongy indents in the floor of the tent where a lot of weight was being applied. The ground that we were on was forming some kind of quagmire like quicksand. We opened the door (strategically of course it faced down the slight incline we had pitched on) and we were positioned on what looked like a small river! Gushing streaks of mudded water were passing our tent and our weight was causing us to sink. We jumped out of the tent, barefoot, boxer shorts and rucksacks (to the amusement of the locals) and tied it to a branch above and to the side. Each step we took we had to pull our feet out of the ground as the weird mud was just engulfing us. As we got out and our weight lifted from the tent it literally swam away from us on the makeshift river in what can best be described as if a human walked on a trap in the forest and it strung him upside down in a tree. It was eerily reminiscient of a mud slide and goes to show the power that these weird tropical storms can create. Bloody India.
What a damn mess. We were stood on the side of the road, watching our tent flap about, in bits, wearing boxers and rucksacks. Some locals did come and help us eventually and together we got the tent down once the rain had calmed and the floor had stopped moving. Such an embarassing situation to be in and we were not happy at the time but it has been the funniest moment now that we look back on it. We looked like three drowned rats.
The Curse of the Ransomed Rickshaw
OK here is the deal. Our rickshaw has been stolen.
In Ahmedabad we rented the rickshaw from a couple of dodgy mcdodgesons. We rented the rickshaw on the basis that we paid 5000 rupees upfront and then 5000 rupees upon its safe return to this persons friends in Mumbai. 10000 roops overall, approximately 120 quid.
So we get to Dehli and basically we are not allowed to enter any city with our rickshaw because we do not have a “taxi” license so we hav to leave it on the outskirts and we normally get a driver to take us around the city.
So as usual, we leave the rickshaw in what is essentially a “park n’ ride” and pay some dude a few hundred rupees to keep hold of it.
The owner called us at about 4pm India time and asked us if we could pay the rest of the money to him. we thought that this was fine as we had the rickshaw in our possession so essentially had a bargaining chip to make sure we were not getting ripped off. We transferred the money in the ICICI bank to his account.
Lol.
We get a call late last night from one of the guys we rented the shaw from and he informs us that he has taken the rickshaw back and that we now owe him 20,000 rupees if we want to ever see it again. This would take the total to about 350 pounds and this is simply money that we do not have with us.
We did not really believe him that he had taken the rickshaw so we went to the park and ride this morning … low and behold it had actually gone. It was no where in sight and nor was the bastard we left it with.
So what happened?
Well, we think that the guy we left it with saw a white guy driving and decided to make a buck or two. It is possible he contacted the rickshaw owner and they decided to get some money out of us. Well cannot pay another rupee for the tin can and so now we are stuck in Delhi. We only brought cash with us and we simply do not have enough to even cover 2/3 of the ransom price.
Our plan now is to take a train from Delhi to Mumbai which should take us about 29 hours. Once in Mumbai we have finished our trip, albeit not in a rickshaw but we have still driven over 1000 miles in the tin motorised bucket.
Arrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
We are planning to be in Mumbai late tomorrow as we are going to get the train today. This should be funny :-s
WE LOST OUR BABY!!!
Been a long time (We shouldn’t have left you)
It has been a while since we last updated you via the blog but the twitter has been live with some of our happenings. On the road from Ahmedabad to Agra we only had the choice of small villages to really stay at. We managed to bypass our mid-destination, Jaipur, and so as you can appreciate, Internet Cafes were not in abundance in the outback.
We have arrived in Dehli (the capital of Indeeeeaarrr) and are typing to you in a cyber cafe. Just had some grub so will be here for the next twenty minutes or so.
Monkey attacks windshield
On the road we stopped off for our routine bottles of Bisleri and some punk with a couple of monkeys decided to rip us off like a right rickshaw of mugs.
It was pretty cool to be honest. He had the monkeys performing tricks on his wood Gandalf staff. However, it turned a little sour when he asked for money and then gestured for the David Parry lookalike primate sideburns to jump on our windshield! We decided to pay him twenty roops to prevent the monkey giving us rabies or throwing faeces.
You may have seen the twitter pics of us on the way to, and in, Agra. We went to the Taj Mahal (one of the 7th wonders of the modern world) and wow what a place. It was kinda surreal being there as you see it so much on TV but I thnk we were all blown away with the impressive dominance that it holds on the small “City of Love”. Our guide kept asking us why three dudes were frequenting the “honeymoon escape” because it is common for couples to come to this place together 😉 So chicks, holla holla.
Also … small piece of interesting history. The Emporer that build the Masoleum was planning to build an identical black one on the opposite side of the river (some foundations remain). How bad ass is that!!!
The Taj Mahal
So here is a quick sneak peak of the majestic tomb and for those interested here is a little history.
It is a tale of love, betrayl, despair and some dude who was SERIOUSLY UNDER THE THUMB (Mohsen). He needs to learn a lesson from the Fletcher book of tricks. Damn.
We have had some rough nights up until now. One involved a serious muddy issue with the tent that nearly saw it swept away in some kind of mudslide and the tent was literally sinking in this quagmire caused by the final remnants of the monsoon season. If we had been in that tent we would have been swallowed up by Mother Earth for sure.
We were then housed up in a bus station toilet sleeping on the floor which was one of the nastiest experiences of my life but adventure is adventure right? Seriously, I have not come across one toilet in this country that has a routine cleaner.
We got kicked out of the bus station by two armed guards and simply hopped buildings to the train station and kipped on a couple of benches. Life is rough but there are people here who have to do this every single day who don’t have homes and work the streets.
Besides the guards we had to deal with some moustache clad street gang. This guy was taking random photos of us and then his troop gathered. About fifteen ugly dudes staring at us and we just thought it was all normal and genuine intrigue but we were wrong. Sensing the angst we packed up and moved out of the train station only to be charged at. Luckily India has a decent security presence at public transport services and the guys backed off before we hightailed it at 30kms in our beast.
Why are we in Dehli?
Dehli was never a place that we intended to stop at. When we left Agra yesterday !somebody! held the compass vertical and not flat. This of course led to an incorrect reading and we ended up heading North and not South. By the time we started picking up major signs they were reading “Dehli 120KM”. We decided to press ahead as we are a day ahead of schedule anyway and the weather has cleared up leaving no rain pockets in sight.
We are going to check out a few sights here and hopefully get involved in some cultural activities.
Once we leave Dehli we are headed for our final stop, Mumbai. This is the end of our journey and we expect it to take approximately four days from now. Of course, things might go wrong. Manon is going to try and hook us up with a guy he knows and get us a part in a Bollywood movie as extras. This should be funny.
PS. It is forty degrees and I am still white.
Update – The Weather
Having flown out of the eye of the storm that was consuming Goa we thought we were ahead of schedule and ahead of the rain.
We were wrong.
Last night whilst out absorbing the atmosphere of ahmedebad we were caught in some kind of raining monstrosity. Literally one second it was completey dry and then the atmosphere started giving off a damp smell to which Nilz replied”I can smell rain” (must be a good sense of smell) and allof a suden like an Audi being driven like a man late for work it went from 0-60 in 3 seconds. The rain just started slamming into us as we were trying to do a ittle filming. Battering down upon us we ran to the nearest shelter covering the camera so as not to get it wet.
Minutes later the ground was covered in a blanket of water that had mixed with the dusty roads to create a thick muddy paste. Whilst Gandhi’s choiceof footwear was sandals I am starting to wish I had not copied his style. If it was good enough for him he must not have been stuck in a flash downpour.
As the devestation throughout India continues and the death toll unfortunately rises, we are doing our best to press ahead and continue what we started.
The path of desctruction
We are tracing our route via the Indian weather auitority online and these tropical storms are set to precede us on our route. The nature of th e storms is so unpredictable in that one second they are off and then the switch is hit and it is pouring that we are going to be very careful about where we bed down.
The Gods are not on our side.
The major problem here is that the storm is now ahead of us and it is obliterating the roads making them impossible to drive on unless you have a landrover and I am not seeing any of those.
By now Boris Johnson would have declared a London emergency and have us all at home off work but at the end of the day … the natives can do it … so can we.
Hooooo-raaaaaah!
Skin tone advantages
All I hear from this pair is that my skin tone gives me an advantage out here but having spent my entire life (bar two months in China) on the moon-bed I am actually not agreeng with their viewpoint.
My skin tone attracts beggars and rubberneckers who are hell bent to twist their necks 180 degrees to get as much of a prolonged view of me as possible. Although, not much has changed from all the chicks that stare at me back home (lol).
Seriously though, in the bank to change some Sterling to rupees (look its me, looks 12 years old, blond hair, green dress and handling rupees) and fair enough I did not have to queue to get a ticket, I was ushered to a seat by the Branch Manager.
Lol it's me
However, I was then kept waiting for almost an hour as people stared at me. All I wanted was a plain ol’ currency exchange.
Once I was being served and going through all of the necessary checks I was told that my money was “doubtful” in regards to its authenticity. Snore.
It took a lot longer than necessary but eventually I was out with a proper stack of notes, sme of which were crumbling to dust in my hand.
PS these two are growing ridiculous moustaches and I am dashing 100 rupee notes at Manon to sport this hairy monstrosity at work. Pictures to follow (once the growth has reached its full potential.
First Impressions – The Beginning
3pm – Saturday 3rd October 2009 – We land in Mumbai on the first leg of our fiteen \hour flight
(including 3 hour connection time). The Kingfisher plane was kitted our with personal televisions (equipped with an awesome 8-bit multiplayer boxing game) not to mention a volley of top notch flight attendants!
the Mumbai security had clearly not encountered three people like us before. The worlds biggest ego, Britains palest man and our final adventurer masked with a banana entered the security checkpoint in matching t-shirts and were instantly hauled away. Checking through our kit they found a host of items incuding fire starters, tent pegs and highly flammable heximine tablets all of which were deemed to be offensive paraphenalia.
Trying to explain what we were doing was not going to wash with these guys as clearly they thought we were crazier than a story was letting on. Eventually, after a cup of tea and a chat about UK weather they decided we were harmless nutjobs and let us go leaving us with 45 minutes to check in and board our conecting flight!
God’s Paradise – Goa
Or not as it seemed. Goa, dubbed by Adrian “Goan God” Botelho as God’s Own Paradise turned out to be a vast jungle type expanse still feeling the full force of the monsoon. If this was God’s Paradise … he was having a bad day.
It turned out to be the worst rainfall and flooding that the state had experienced in over 100 years!
Whilst we are having a nightmare, it is nothing compared to the catastrophe caused by the flooding to the locals. Our thoughts and prayers go out to those affected, who have lost relativesand those who have been forced from their homes.
The above linked to article will show the devestation that this is causing to the local populace with scores dead and hundreds of thousands evacuated it left us in somewhat of a pickle. Highways have all been shut down due to the flooding, two tourist coaches were marooned on those highways which definitely ruined their holiday!
We got a taxi to the station where we planned to get our first train which was to lst tirteen hours to Mumbai. Yes we are fully aware that we had already been through Mumbai an hour agoand were heading back there. n hindsight we would have thought about this … but they … adventure is adventure right?
Unfortnately, it was not to be. Trains were not in operation due to the flooding and our pre-booked train tickets were now null and void. No refunds and no chance of actually leaving Goa.
So we were marooned in God’s Flooded Paradise, being chewed at by all manner of bugs that David Attenborough is yet to discover and sodden through thanks to the weather. We had a rickshaw to pick up and a route was needed … fast.
Getting in a taxi we headed back to Dabolim Airport and got on the first plane that came along that was headed in our direction. So back we went, just four hours after we had had landed in Goa we were leaving again.
Our flight North was to be handled by the not so scandolous Air India who have been in the news recently for the wrong reasons. Things were really beginning to look bad. We were off to a crappy start.
Things are looking up, however. We are now on track, one day ahead of schedule (and a hell of a lot out of pocket). It is now Sunday the 4th at 8.28pm and we are huddled around a 14″ CRT montiro that was once cream but has turned brown with age. The screen resolution is having trouble with WordPress as it is running 800×600 as its maximum resoltuion and I tap away on the FireFox 1.5.0.2 browser (Manon is currently QCing Darwin and the General will be happy to know that it works)! The keyboard keeps sticking as the keys hit the plate (so apologies for the poor spelling here, I make a mistake and it is too much of a chore to go and correct it).
India in the Internet Age
WordPress ought to have thought about FireFox 1.5.0.2 users with 800×600 reso huh?
Unfortunately, these Windows 95 machines offer us no means to upload our pictures but we have been tweeting a few so check over there.
Two of us coughing with some unknown disease and the other constantly yelping as bugs the size of your fist puncture holes in his sensitive un conditioned skin. Tomorrow we have a trip to the Mother Teresa orphanage and have to pick up our rickshaw (which we hope is there waiting for us). Already being targeted for my pale skin I have a horde of beggars in a zombie like trance waiting for me outside of the internet cafe hell bent on the fact that I am some kind of secret millionaire in my flip flops, combat shorts and Prince’s Trust t-shirt.
Things can only get better … right?
Teaser Trailer
Daaaaaaaaaaaaamn I am so sick at video editing that I should make a career out of it.
The Adventures of Rick Shaw 