Courtesy of Karnataka State, I will now present: The Five Things Absolutely Necessary When Travelling In India (the link to Karnataka is the following: due to the shocking road conditions I spent the night on the bus between Bangalore and Mangalore having random thoughts since sleep was unattainable). So here goes:
1. Your own personal blanket
2. Comfortable flip-flops
3. Canned music of some sort
4. Toilet paper
5. A good sense of humor
All those thinking of visiting should please pack these items prior to boarding the plane. Thank you.
Sonntag, 24. Januar 2010
Freitag, 22. Januar 2010
Dressed to Kill (the Indian Way)
I admit, there have been other occasions when I have needed longer than half and hour and the support of 2 other people to get dressed. This usually involved a big night out, the contents of at least two different closets and about 300 different combinations which all have to be tried on and then discarded (the girls out there know what I'm talking about).
But here was a novel situation: I knew exactly what I was going to wear and STILL needed all the above resources. Let me introduce you to the Saree, the traditional Indian formal dress item for women. It is widely spread and even in big cities there are many women who wear it instead of the Western option of Jeans and T-Shirt. So, you might think (as I naively did), it surely can't be so hard if everybody wears it? WRONG! The process involved in getting the 3 meters of cloth to stay on your body consists of folding and tucking and pinning and (of course), abundant cheek pinching by the Indian girl who has volunteered to do all this for you (to express her happiness at seeing you go through the torture she endures every morning). The wearer (me) is reduced to standing there like a mannequin with her hands in the air and being turned this way and that.
The result can be admired above. No fear, there is no danger of unintended slippage. (The one good thing is that the feet, perpetually dirty as mine tend to be, are thus obscured. Can lead to stumbling hazard though).
Mittwoch, 13. Januar 2010
The Shopkeeper
So far, in India, I have had to learn to do without. Without electricity for 24 hours at one stretch, without a shower (I have a tub, for all those of you who were wondering), without knife and fork, without a washing machine…the list goes on and on. But man is a creature of habit. Besides, there are some advantages which all the modern necessities of the Western world couldn’t offer. Take for example the shop right next door to my room. Or I should say next window, for there is indeed a window which connects my room with the shop (it’s made of wood, there’s no peeking through). The advantage of this getup is, as you can imagine, that I can buy whatever I want whenever I want. A knock is all that’s needed. And when I say whatever I want, I mean whatever I want. The shop stocks everything from soap over lemon-ginger juice to fresh, homemade samosas. And should we be lucky enough to have electricity, I can even get a tea. Or a Nescafé. Even noodles. What more could you want?
The best part of this is however and without a doubt the shopkeeper himself. A more friendly, genial person I have yet to meet. Always ready with a smile with a “good morning” on his lips (even at 5 in the afternoon, but who’s counting?) Apart from that I should like to see the face of a shop assistant in Germany should I decide to jump behind the counter to take a closer look at the merchandise. But luckily I’m in India, where this behaviour is even encouraged.
And believe you me, there is nothing better against homesickness than a lemon-ginger juice and a “welcome, welcome” through the bars of a wooden window which leads right into your room. Really.
The best part of this is however and without a doubt the shopkeeper himself. A more friendly, genial person I have yet to meet. Always ready with a smile with a “good morning” on his lips (even at 5 in the afternoon, but who’s counting?) Apart from that I should like to see the face of a shop assistant in Germany should I decide to jump behind the counter to take a closer look at the merchandise. But luckily I’m in India, where this behaviour is even encouraged.
And believe you me, there is nothing better against homesickness than a lemon-ginger juice and a “welcome, welcome” through the bars of a wooden window which leads right into your room. Really.
Donnerstag, 7. Januar 2010
A very quick word of wisdom
Should you ever wake up at 3 am in the morning to the sound of cats fighting in your room, DON'T ask yourself how they got there. And on no account should you start imagining what other creatures might be hiding in your room (i.e. snakes, rats, cockroaches). It is absolutely not conducive to a good night's sleep and is likely to leave you grumpy the next morning.
Just in case it happens to you sometime.
Just in case it happens to you sometime.
Montag, 4. Januar 2010
2 for 1
And because I’m in a good mood because I just came back from 2 weeks of the most incredible holiday, there’s a special 2 for 1.
Said holiday took place in Anjuna Beach, Goa, and the fantastic (though maybe a little daunting) city of Mumbai. Whereas Goa was all about relaxing and revelling in the everyday pleasures of a proper shower, Mumbai was…well, Mumbai.
But let me start off by saying that Christmas on the beach is not something that is absolutely NECESSARY to have experienced to lead a full and happy life. It was nice, mind you, the food was excellent, as was the company, but to my mind at least it just doesn’t cut it. This isn’t my first Christmas in bikini, but I still haven’t learned to love it.
But the interesting part was certainly Mumbai. We (5 girls) went from sleeping in a train station (now there is something I recommend, if only to be able to say you’ve done it. And if you’re still under 25) to Bollywood via the Salvation Army. What happened was this: the train arrived at 1:00 am in the morning and rather than risk the dodgy taxi-driver, we decided to try our luck with an incredibly rickety looking table in the ladies waiting room under the hawk-like eyes of the matron in charge (I comforted myself by telling myself that if the table were to crash, it would be worse for the person underneath than for me. I must have left my altruism on the train.)
Anyway, the next morning deposited us bleary-eyed in the Salvation Army Hostel, the best value for money in Mumbai (according to the traveller’s bible), and lo and behold we got a room. Not quite installed, we were told we had the chance to play in a commercial with the Captain of the Indian cricket team. Though there were only 3 available spots, all 5 of us decided to pile into the bus and drive 3 hours. I didn’t participate (as everyone, myself included, appreciated after seeing the size of the dresses), but I did score a picture of myself and the cricket captain.
And since we are in India, I was only mildly surprised when the bus broke down halfway back to Mumbai at 11:00 pm…
Anyway, Happy New Year to all of you out there, I hope your party was as fun as mine (if it wasn’t, try sitting in the sticks for 3 months, after than almost any party seems phenomenal) and I do hope to see all 7 of you personally for next New Years!
Said holiday took place in Anjuna Beach, Goa, and the fantastic (though maybe a little daunting) city of Mumbai. Whereas Goa was all about relaxing and revelling in the everyday pleasures of a proper shower, Mumbai was…well, Mumbai.
But let me start off by saying that Christmas on the beach is not something that is absolutely NECESSARY to have experienced to lead a full and happy life. It was nice, mind you, the food was excellent, as was the company, but to my mind at least it just doesn’t cut it. This isn’t my first Christmas in bikini, but I still haven’t learned to love it.
But the interesting part was certainly Mumbai. We (5 girls) went from sleeping in a train station (now there is something I recommend, if only to be able to say you’ve done it. And if you’re still under 25) to Bollywood via the Salvation Army. What happened was this: the train arrived at 1:00 am in the morning and rather than risk the dodgy taxi-driver, we decided to try our luck with an incredibly rickety looking table in the ladies waiting room under the hawk-like eyes of the matron in charge (I comforted myself by telling myself that if the table were to crash, it would be worse for the person underneath than for me. I must have left my altruism on the train.)
Anyway, the next morning deposited us bleary-eyed in the Salvation Army Hostel, the best value for money in Mumbai (according to the traveller’s bible), and lo and behold we got a room. Not quite installed, we were told we had the chance to play in a commercial with the Captain of the Indian cricket team. Though there were only 3 available spots, all 5 of us decided to pile into the bus and drive 3 hours. I didn’t participate (as everyone, myself included, appreciated after seeing the size of the dresses), but I did score a picture of myself and the cricket captain.
And since we are in India, I was only mildly surprised when the bus broke down halfway back to Mumbai at 11:00 pm…
Anyway, Happy New Year to all of you out there, I hope your party was as fun as mine (if it wasn’t, try sitting in the sticks for 3 months, after than almost any party seems phenomenal) and I do hope to see all 7 of you personally for next New Years!
Incredible India
I sincerely believe the Indian Department of Tourism did a good job when they came up with this slogan. India is incredible, especially for someone who has never been there and experienced it first-hand. Yet whereas the Indians themselves would probably only point out the positive connotation of the word incredible, I will tell you things which are truly and simply not believable, I’ll wager.
But as a short introduction, I am indeed in India (duh). For those of you with whom I had the luck to confer personally, this will be old news. But for the other 3 readers to whom I have not yet wailed over my plight, here a short summary. I had somehow convinced the German government to finance a year for me in Cairo, but 20 days before I was set to get on a plane, the same government decided (in true GDR style, it has to be said) that the risk for German citizens was too big for them to carry, effectively forbidding me to enter the country and thus I got to spend 3 months at hotel Mama. It could be worse. But once it was clear that the Egyptians borders were not meant to be opened again for us luckless travellers, I switched to Plan B. More like Plan “I can’t spend another day at home without going crazy so I’ll just take the easiest option”, but whatever the name, 2 weeks later I was headed for Bangalore. From there to Ranganapalke (don’t let the fact that Goole maps can’t find it deter you, it’s a thriving metropolis….err…for those of you who do want to have an idea, type in Udupi. That would be the next biggest “town”), to Little Flower English Medium High School. For the next 7 months I am a teacher cum study-help cum object to be starred at by Indians who have never seen a white person. So until July (whenever I have the patience to try my steadily declining luck with the local internet connection) I will give those who want to know a small insight into life here. Because, believe it or not, it is incredible.
But as a short introduction, I am indeed in India (duh). For those of you with whom I had the luck to confer personally, this will be old news. But for the other 3 readers to whom I have not yet wailed over my plight, here a short summary. I had somehow convinced the German government to finance a year for me in Cairo, but 20 days before I was set to get on a plane, the same government decided (in true GDR style, it has to be said) that the risk for German citizens was too big for them to carry, effectively forbidding me to enter the country and thus I got to spend 3 months at hotel Mama. It could be worse. But once it was clear that the Egyptians borders were not meant to be opened again for us luckless travellers, I switched to Plan B. More like Plan “I can’t spend another day at home without going crazy so I’ll just take the easiest option”, but whatever the name, 2 weeks later I was headed for Bangalore. From there to Ranganapalke (don’t let the fact that Goole maps can’t find it deter you, it’s a thriving metropolis….err…for those of you who do want to have an idea, type in Udupi. That would be the next biggest “town”), to Little Flower English Medium High School. For the next 7 months I am a teacher cum study-help cum object to be starred at by Indians who have never seen a white person. So until July (whenever I have the patience to try my steadily declining luck with the local internet connection) I will give those who want to know a small insight into life here. Because, believe it or not, it is incredible.
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