Someone smart once said that some things are better late than never, and hopefully the update of this blog is one of those things!
I’m not going to try to cover all of the trip so far in this update, but it’s still gonna be a long one, so if you’ve got some time to kill grab a coffee and read on. There’s more photos on my Facebook profile, which you can see even if you don’t have a Facebook account. The first album is here and the second here.
Singapore: 15-16 January 2008
So it all started in a happy little bar in Singapore. We’d all made it there on our own – Lani from Perth, Simon from Auckland and Me from Nelson. After making our ways into the city (think massive pack, 32 degrees, 95% humidity, and rush-hour on the MRT), we rendezvoused at the Prince of Wales Backpackers where one of my old-mates from high-school, René, kept the beers flowing as he recounted the tales of his 7 years in Singapore. Nicely warmed up on some local Pilseners, we put on the tidiest clothes we had (which isn’t saying much these days) and hit the city to experience some night-life. Being a Tuesday night it wasn’t cranking, but the highlight has to be Orchard Towers (I think that’s what it’s called… René?), where every floor you go up offers a more bizarre experience. Take this bar for example:
What you can’t see is that the bar was full of scantily clad Singaporean lovelies, who would swamp any western guy who walked in within seconds. Sounds like every guys dream right? Well that depends on your own point of view. It just so happens that Lani is the only female in this photo. Yeah we didn’t believe it at first either. Poor Simon was devastated when we finally let him in on the joke. Cheers for your tour guiding René!
Next day we picked up a few odds and ends at Sim Lim Square, the massive (6 storey) mall dedicated to cheap-as-chips electronics stuff. Then we checked out the beginnings of René’s hospitality empire near Chinatown -René has just opened his second restaurant Uluru a couple of doors down from his first one. Very classy, but a little bit out of our backpacking price range!
So after another sweaty rush-hour trip on the MRT to the airport, our stopover was over and it was time to start the journey proper. Next stop, Chennai India!
Chennai: 17-18 January 2008
Our first taste of India was a noisy and smelly taxi ride through the noisy and smelly streets of Chennai. Traffic was relatively light, but the pollution and the driving was something I realised I was going to have to come to terms with pretty quickly. We found the accommodation easily enough, got charged an arm and a leg for our room, and as the excitement of finally being there was taken over by exhaustion we crashed into bed.
Went for a walk in the morning, watching the locals going about their lives, keeping an eye on where we were walking (and what we were walking in), and observing the chaotic symphony of Indian traffic with equal measures of trepidation and admiration. We ended up at Marina Beach which was, well, big. I’m struggling for any more positive adjectives. I’m used to the rubbish now, but that morning I was pretty shocked to see the amount of rubbish -it’s a beach, you’d think they’d at least respect that?! The zone between high and low tides was the only clean part. As well as the rubbish, the beach was seemingly covered in rows of semi-permanent market stalls selling a whole range of crap that I thought only westerners would be stupid enough to buy. I think we’d all seen enough, so we bailed back into Triplicane for some food. At 75 rupees (about AUD$2.20) for brunch we got a feel for how cheap this place is going to be -if only all of our meals were that cheap though.
On the way home we took a bit of a detour down a tiny little lane I spotted, and we were swamped by bunches of happy friendly kids, all genuinely pleased to see us, and find out where we were from. Lani as usual was the star of the show, but we always knew blondes have all the fun. Re-energised knowing there are Indians out there who see us as more than just walking wallets, we emerged back into the madness of Triplicane High Road and headed back to the accommodation.
Buying a couple of Indian simcards that afternoon cost the ridiculous sum of 1000 rupees, but we did manage to avoid all of the beauracracy normally associated with the process -I’ve heard of foreigners who had to provide written references and wait up to two weeks. The process did take best part of an hour and a half, but we were all happily sitting in our new friend Ahmed’s tiny little shop, chatting about stuff (mainly cricket) and drinking chai he’d got some kid to fetch for us all.
We grabbed a rickshaw to check out some of the limited sightseeing in Chennai, and quickly got scammed into stopping at some ridiculously over-priced stores. When the driver realised we were in fact tight-ass backpackers (wow I wonder how long that took him) he soon gave up, asked for a 10 rupee retainer to stay while we checked out a temple, and we never saw him again.
The next day we got to the central station at 0500 on the (supposedly slim) chance we might get on the early Shatabdi Express train to Bangalore. When we got there we booked, paid, and found the right platform with no dramas at all. Before we knew it, we were on our way in a clean, comfortable, half-empty carriage on a train that didn’t stop once the whole way to Bangalore -oh how I wish all of our public transport experiences since then could’ve been that easy!
Bangalore: 18 January 2008
Bangalore was a city we were in mixed minds about spending some time in, and as it turned out we only stayed long enough to get a ride out of there. After three hours of traipsing between the bus and train stations, deciphering timetables, and mastering the art of Indian Queueing (it’s all about the elbows, and massive packs help too sometimes), we had tickets for the overnight bus to Hampi, then an overnight bus 3 days later to Goa. With a few hours to kill we decided to try to find a GPS unit to buy. A dude on the train had recommended a place called The Forum, which an overpriced rickshaw ride later we found to be a massive mall, which even by western standards would be considered pretty darn flash. But alas, no GPS’s. The dude in the Apple store did give me a free universal power adaptor which was nice though. After a bit of wandering around looking at stuff we couldn’t afford to buy (damn backpacking budget!) we explored the streets around the mall looking for a feed. Friendly locals were more than happy to point in any general direction and assure us a restaurant was “2 minutes walk”, and funnily enough we did eventually stumble across one. From across the road it looked clean enough, so we poked our heads in and we were swamped by a whole bunch of highly-excited kids each trying to attract our attention. We soon worked out they worked there (well some of them did, others just kinda hung around, which seems a very Indian thing to do in most retail establishments). After introductions were made, and our countries of origin were determined, the conversation died down a little and we managed to order some food, exactly what at the time we didn’t know, but we trusted their judgement. It turns out it was a masala dosa, which was nice enough. When we asked for some chai, once again a kid was despatched down the road to grab some. All up the meal for three of us (including chai) was 45 rupees, or about AUD$1.20! It was so refreshing to not be paying tourist prices. The kids wouldn’t even accept a 5 rupee tip. So once again bouyed by some genuine Indian hospitality we made our way back to the bus station to catch a bus.
Well here’s where the fun began. Indian bus stations are an experience in themselves. First up we got about three different opinions as to which platform our bus left from. Luckily we narrowed it down to one, then had to resort to asking the driver of every bus that pulled up whether he was going to Hampi, which is a very delicate process as Indians have a charming habit of responding with an enthusiastic “yes yes sir” to any question posed to them. Eventually, almost an hour after we were supposed to leave, we found a bus that was actually heading to Hampi, but not very quickly, and even less comfortably. After showing the ticket to the conductor again and pointing at the class we’d booked, he told us it wasn’t our bus and that ours was 2 buses down. So we jumped onto that bus, and we were told that no, our class of bus to Hampi had been cancelled that night, but we could stay on this bus (which was the same class we’d booked anyway), as it was heading to Hospet which was only 25km from Hampi. Dazed and confused we dumped our stuff in the back, found a seat, and tried to catch some sleep as the driver negotiated the suicidal game that is night-time driving in India.
So we arrive in Hospet about 0600. Once again there was mass confusion as to how to get to the next bus from Hospet to Hampi. The driver is telling us to stay on board cos he’ll drive us, but the conductor is outside telling us to get our bags out of the back and walk to another bus. We didn’t know what the hell was going on, bags are out, then back in. I lose track of where Simon and Lani are. Driver and conductor are both shouting at us to get on and get off respectively. Eventually we reconvene and decide to stick with the bus and driver cos it’s a pretty safe bet. So we get moving, we’re all smug and settling in for the trip to Hampi, and before we even get a chance to sit down properly the bus screeches to a halt on the other side of the bus terminal, and the driver tells us to get out, pointing to the same bus the conductor had been pointing to the whole time! After a solid 5 minutes of pure confusion, all he’d wanted to do was save us the hassle of walking less than 100m to the other bus. Even more dazed and confused this time, we thanked him for the effort and jumped on the Hampi bus a moment before it coughed into life and left the terminal in a cloud of exhaust.
Hampi: 19 – 21 January 2008
After a night of not-quite-sleep on the roller-coaster night bus, we wandered to the far end of Hampi (on the other side of the river) to a hostel called The Goan Corner, which was full of hippies and rock climbers but had a nice relaxed vibe. For a bit of exercise we wandered up the valley and made our way up to the Hanuman Temple (aka the Monkey Temple), where we were rewarded with excellent views of the sun setting through the perpetual haze that blankets even the rural areas of India.
We’d come to Hampi to explore the ancient ruins left from what used to be the political and religious centre of one of the dynasties that ruled the area -I’m sure Simon can fill in the details. So the next morning we hired some bikes and set off into the dust and heat. The first one we got too was Vittala Temple which cost the princely sum of USD$5 to get into. It was quite nice, but didn’t really blow my socks off.
So we wandered back to our bikes via the scenic route and stumbled upon the much less mentioned Achyutaraya Temple and plaza. Now this was impressive. A massive plaza/bazaar stretched hundreds of metres up the valley, topped off with a temple at the end. Spying another temple at the top of a hill over-looking Achyutaraya (there’s lots around) we checked our water supplies (low) and decided to climb up to it. We were thankfully rewarded with 360 degree views of the Hampi area.
Back down by the river we stopped in at a restaurant for an early dinner. When we enquired about a bonfire being set-up on the banks of the river, the waiter told us about his friend who had killed himself the previous night riding home drunk on his motorbike from a festival in the next village. Which is especially surprising because the Hampi area is supposedly alcohol-free due to it’s religious significance. The guy had no family in Hampi, so the town’s residents had all chipped in to build the bonfire (which we now knew was a funeral pyre) so he could be cremated and his ashes spread into the river. Not a particularly cheerful story, but I think it touched all of us.
We didn’t venture as far the next day, but Lani and Simon did get blessed by the resident elephant at the temple in the middle of Hampi (for a one rupee donation of course).
So we got a rickshaw back to Hospet to catch our next bus, and once again had an experience one can only get in an Indian bus terminal. Luckily we had accrued a team of extremely helpful State Transport Corporation employees who did the hard work, and eventually herded us onto the right bus when it turned up over an hour late. We thought we’d been roughing it on the night bus to Hampi, but this bus opened up whole new levels of basic. Simon managed to get our bags on board, taking up a seat on what was at times an extremely crowded bus, which just to make things more fun was constantly stopping to pick up and drop off people, and of course there was the suicidal night-driving which was best to sleep through. Simon woke up at one point to find the girl next to him’s hand prying up his t-shirt, which unfortunately for Si wasn’t an amorous gesture, but instead an attempt at his money-belt. We stumbled off the bus in Panaji at 0700 pretty much at the end of our tether, but thankfully smack bang in the middle of the resort state of Goa…
Arambol: 22 – 25 January 2008
So we found a bus north which got us to a town called Mapusa in about 30 minutes. Once there we thought we’d tracked down a bus to the next step, a town called Mandrem. Not long into the ride I worked out the dawn sun was on the wrong side of the bus, and with a bit of investigation I worked out the bus we’d just jumped on wasn’t heading to Mandrem, it was heading to Panjim, which was another name for Panaji which we’d just left. Too tired to attempt anything tricky, we stuck it out on that bus all the way to Panjim, and then back to Mapusa again where we eventually found the right bus to Mandrem. With a team of locals on the bus ready to tell us where to get off we were eventually deposited in the nice, but dull resort beach of Mandrem. It didn’t take long to determine Mandrem had the atmosphere and ambience of a nursing home, so we grabbed a taxi to nearby Arambol, which had the atmosphere and ambience of, well, I’m stuck for adjectives here. I guess if you’ve just jumped off a plane from rainy Heathrow (which 90% of the people there had), it would be nice, but we weren’t impressed. OK so we’re a tough group to please considering we’d all recently spent time in either Cottesloe, Omaha and/or the Marlborough Sounds. The tourists were predominantly middle-aged hippies of British or European descent, wearing an eclectic assortment of Indian-themed hippy clothes that you never thought people actually wore, and a look that bordered stoned and smugly arrogant.
We headed off to the north end of the beach and found the Om Ganesh Guest House away from the madness around the point.
We’d heard there was a really good market every Wednesday in a little town about 15km south called Anjuna, so the next day Lani and I ventured off to hire a moped (aka scooter) for the day to check them out. After checking a few places which had already hired out all their mopeds, we came across another likely looking shop with a moped out the front. It turns out it belonged to the guy working inside, but he soon saw a few quick rupees o be made and he was happy to hire it to us for the day for a reasonable price. After a quick run-dwon of how it works (it’s been a while since I last rode Hendo’s Nifty 50 at high school) we were on our way, wind in the hair, horn blaring, negotiating Indian traffic with reckless abandon. Once we got there the markets turned out to be a huge turist-trap, with very enthusiastic touts ahrrassing us the whole way. Deal of the day was my 1500 down to 300 rupee effort for a Pashmina shawl for Mummy, which took some hard and creative bargaining, but it was worth it (I promise I’ll send it soon Mum!).
We checked out Anjuna Beach on the way out, and the final consensus is that perhaps the southern beaches are nicer, cos we weren’t impressed with what we saw in the north of Goa!
We were all hanging out for some western food by this stage, and we’d heard a tip about a place called Double Dutch, which turned out to be an idyllic little restaurant with tables tucked into quiet alcoves with overhanging palm tress and lush greenery, and a menu to die for. So Simon and I tucked into a couple of sizeable beef steaks (yes actual beef, which funnily enough is a bit hard to find in a Hindu country). Fully satisfied we strolled back to our guest house, and there Simon and I stayed for the next 24 hours as our bodies purged whatever toxin had piggybacked it’s way into our stomach via the steaks. I won’t go into the details.
So the day after that we left Arambol, and Goa, without too much remorse. I think what dissapointed me the most was the fact that every single local we met (apart from the friendly ones on the bus into Mandrem) had the same agenda -to sell us something. Even the tourists got to us -so many of the hippies were concentrating so hard on being the most hippyish that they totally forgot to relax and have fun. Anyway enough of my hippy-bashing.
We caught a rickshaw to Karmali Railway Station, where a bunch of schoolkids swamped us, while Simon gave an impromptu geography lesson, and Lani wooed the crowd with her photos from home.
It as a fairly uneventful 12 hour train ride from Karmali to Mumbai. The incessant and repetitive monotone cries of “Cheese sandwich, omelette, poori”, “Chicken lollipop”, “Chai, chai chai, chai” would’ve lulled us to sleep if it wasn’t for the air-conditioning, which was on full, even though it was winter. The carriages got so cold that everyone had to wrap themselves in the conveniently supplied rugs, and even the staff were blowing their hands to keep them warm as they walked through our carriage. But I guess, we did pay for Three-tier Air-Conditioning Class, so we can’t complain about not gtting our money’s worth.
Mumbai: 26 – 27 January 2008
The platforms at the main railway station at Mumbai were absolute chaos, as thousands of people fought their way onto the Sleeper Class Carriages of the train opposite. The police were even throwing the odd slap with their hitting-sticks, which fired up the crowd a bit, but did nothing to create any sense of order. We squeezed our way out the masses, and made our way to the only cheap hostel in Mumbai, The Salvation Army Guest House. It was cheap for a reason, but we were knackered.
The next day was Republic Day, which interestingly enough is an alcohol-free day for Indians. Can you imagine the government telling Kiwi’s, and especially Aussies, that they weren’t allowed to drink on their national days?! Anyway after spending the whole day trying to organise transport for the next leg, we finally caught up with Josh, the third of the three owners of the Hilux. After a sunset stroll along the waterfront to Chowpatty Beach, we retired to Leopold’s Cafe (the favourite hang-out of the author of Shantaram) as it was one of the few places foreigners could get a beer, after registering our passports that is!
We managed to find excellent coffee the next morning (our first decent coffee in weeks!) at a place called Barista, which is kind of an Indian version of Starbucks. With caffiene in our veins we jumped on a ferry out into Mumbai Harbour to Elephanta Island, a very highly recommended collection of temples excavated into the bedrock of this small island in the harbour. Don’t bother. I don’t doubt a lot of hard work went into carving them, but balanced with the crowds, the half kilometre climb up the hill through a throng of incessant touts, and the investment of virtually a whole day to see them, it doesn’t really justify it.
So that evening we jumped on a bus out of Mumbai. It’s an interesting city -I think what struck me most was the (relative) wealth around the place. Lots of nice shops, nice cars (who would drive a Maserati in Indian traffic?!), a very relaxed standard of dress for the ladies, and even footpaths -even though they were full of dudes trying to sell us hash.
Aurangabad: 28 – 29 January 2008
The night bus to Aurangabad was luxury compared to the state buses we’d been taking. After a quick snooze we found a local bus to Ellora caves, another set of temples carved into rock, but a hell of a lot more impressive than Elephanta Island.
Then back on bus to Daulatabad Fort, which was set up when one of the old rulers of India decided he wanted to move the capital, so he force marched the population of the existing capital down to Daulatabad. Not surprisingly he didn’t last long, but luckily the fort did because it was pretty impressive. Just as the sun set we got talking to massive group of schoolkids, and Josh wooed them with the guitar, and Lani as usual was a favourite with the girls.
As darkness set in we found ourselves waiting in the dust by the side of the road for a local bus to take us back to Aurangabad. Not many came past, and the ones that did were full, which is a concept we didn’t think the Indians knew until tonight -these buses really were full. Eventually one stopped, so the locals and us all ran to the door, and amidst the shouting and confusion which seems to accompany most dealings with regard to buses, we finally determined it was yet another full bus. Until I noticed the driver waving me over (us bus drivers can spot a fellow driver, it’s an ancient tradition older than the freemasons), so I came round to his side and he waved me up into the cab. Screaming at the others to follow, I clambered up, and we happily drove off into the night perched on whatever we could find, leaving the poor locals we were waiting with in the dust.
The next morning we hired a car and driver to visit Ajanta Caves, yet another set of temples carved into rock, which were even more impressive than Ellora.
That night we took yet another night bus back to Mumbai, then the next morning got a flight back to where it all began, Chennai.
Chennai: 30 January – 1 February 2008
We were back in Chennai to (finally) pick up the Hilux, which was two weeks late because the ship out of Perth was delayed. So first stop was to catch up with our shipping agent Rao, who told us we wouldn’t be able to get a customs inspection for two days. So with time to kill in Chennai we decided to venture beyond Triplicane in search of good coffee. We managed to find a few very funky cafes and restaurants, but as night fell and hankering for a beer took over we were caught out by the fact we were all dressed like backpacker hobos, and the bars wouldn’t relax their dress codes, even for cashed-up foreigners. I wasn’t thirsty anyway.
The next day, in anticipation of finally being reunited with our baby, we did a bit of shopping for camping and vehicle stuff, and I even splashed out and bought some clothes at the very nice Spencers Plaza.
So the big day finally arrived. After catching a rickshaw to the Customs House, we waited almost an hour while our agent Rao and one of his colleagues (I forget his name -we’ll call him White Shirt) were upstairs meeting with the customs officials. Eventually they all came down and we met the Customs Officer lady, who we jumped into a little car with for the drive to the Container Freight Station (CFS). During the trip we got chatting to her, talking about our impressions of India, our lives back home, our families, her work, her family, her kids education. So yeah, it was a very interesting chat. Our shipping agent back in Oz had lost the Carnet, which meant our container had sat at the CFS for quite a few days, and as other containers were shuffled in and out, ours had made it’s way to the bottom of a stack of four, in the middle of a row five deep, blocked at both ends by endless more rows, so there wasn’t a hope in hell of getting the Hilux out without some serious container juggling. Rao was stressing, thinking that the Customs lady was going to kick up a stink that she couldn’t inspect the Hilux properly, but no, once we’d cut off the Australian Customs seal ond opened the container she was happy for me to squeeze down to the front of the container, pop the bonnet, and read off the engine and chassis number so she could check them against the all-important Carnet. After that, a quick look under the tarp lying on top of the stuff in the canopy (more out of curiosity I reckon), and she was done -no more than five or ten minutes tops. Rao and his colleagues couldn’t believe how quick it was -they were expecting an hour or more. He later told us he was chatting to the Customs lady, and she’d mentioned our chat in the car, and he said we’d obviously impressed her. Simon always was a bit of a charmer!
So after such a quick Customs inspection, then came the waiting. It turns out that of the three mobile container cranes, two weren’t in action. Another of Rao’s colleagues (Brown shirt) had been at the CFS since 0700 without any progress, so we settled in for a long wait. Some of the truckies had been waiting for three days for their containers to be loaded. I soon got bored, and before long I was chatting to the operator of one of the big 15-metre tall straddle-cranes that handle the longer 40-foot containers. Trying my luck (and playing the harmless foreigner card a bit), I asked if I could have a look at the view from the top. He had to check with his boss, whose primary concern was the fact I’d get my hands dirty, who then handed me a hard-hat and told me to go for it!
Having come from the extremely OH&S conscious mining industry, to a place where random people can walk around a container handling facility, and climb up a crane, is pretty crazy. After a long four hours of waiting, even our agent had had enough, so he grabbed Si and I and we stormed into the directors office and very politely asked if our container cold possibly be moved, if it wasn’t too much trouble. At least that what I think they said, then they started having a heated discussion which I’m sure was about whether Tendulkar or Dravid were the best Indian cricketers of all time. Either way, not long after we left the extremely ugly, but nonetheless extremely welcome, sight of the container crane rolled around the corner, and after Brown Shirt jumped up to the operators cab and slipped him some rupees, it started pulling off the eight containers blocking ours. Finally our container emerged, and with trepidation we watched it hanging from the crane as he trundled down the row and placed it down in a nice empty space (with a few more rupees going to the operator as soon as it was down -gotta love baksheesh!).
Without hesitation we ripped open the door and started work on the straps and blocks holding it in place. The shipping company in Perth had forgotten to disconnect the battery, but thankfully the Hilux started first time, and with a team of a dozen random onlookers directing me, I backed it out of the container into daylight for the first time in over a month. Finally almost two years of planning had paid off!
After another hour waiting for the agent to sort out the container handling fees, we were free to drive it out of the CFS. We’d been psyching ourselves up for Indian driving for a couple of weeks now, so with horn blaring and foot hovering over the brake, I emerged onto the night-time streets of Chennai. Luckily we had Rao with us for navigation, and we made it back to the guest house in Triplicane without breaking too much of a sweat. First drive in India all good!
