Hi there,
Here's a "short" tale of my 1-week vacation in India (in mid
July), kindly translated from French by Isobel...
Saturday 15
5am departure: train to Brussels, plane Brussels - Vienna,
and then Vienna - Mumbai (Bombay's new name), for a 10pm
arrival, local time (-3h30).
It had been arranged for a taxi to meet me on arrival and drive
me to a hotel where I could take a shower and then go on to the
domestic airport to take a 3am flight from Mumbai to Bangalor.
And, there was indeed a driver waiting for me at the exit (and,
yes, just like you see in the movies, I had to schlep across the
tarmac on foot). I asked the driver what hotel he was taking me
to and he answered: "Hotel? I'm taking you to the domestic
airport". OK, so here I am, 11pm sat at the domestic airport
with a long four-hour wait stretching out ahead of me before my
flight that leaves at some ungodly hour.
No problem, really, but it wasn't exactly what I'd paid for. ;-)
Sunday 16
Arrived at Bangalor at 5.30am where it had been arranged for a
driver from the group to meet me and take me to where the others
were staying, in the jungle about 300km from the airport.
I got off the plane and - again - there was, indeed, someone
waiting holding a little board with my name on it. I followed
the guy (a taxi driver, a little strange, I had thought that it
was going to be someone from the group, but I figured it was
just another little tweak in the program) and we drove off.
Just as we were leaving, he asked me what hotel he was to take
me to. "Huh?" I answered, trying to use my best Shakespearean
English. "I don't have any idea! You're supposed to know where
to take me." Conclusion: he stopped by the side of the road and
called his boss (On a Sunday. At 6 am. You can guess the rest.)
to find out what was going on. He passed me the phone, even
though their English was incomprehensible to me, and I gave him
the long story of how the driver was supposed to take me
to the jungle. He was as much in the dark about the situation as
I was.
I tried calling the other people in the group, but, of course,
everyone's mobile was switched off. No answer. SMS. No answer. I
tried again half an hour later, still in the taxi at the side of
the road. Nothing. Nada. Nix.
Then it hit me: what if there was a mix-up between the
organizers and there was someone else, someone from the group,
who was also waiting for me at the airport? After a good 20
minutes, I asked the taxi guy to drive me back to the
airport. It was now about 7am, over 2 hours since I first
arrived.
But, yes, there was a second little board with my name: the
group's driver!! He sorted things out with the taxi guy, in
Hindu or some other language I couldn't understand, and, in five
minutes, I got my bags, gave the taxi guy a tip, and found
myself in the second car, driving to the jungle this time.
Impeccable Indian organization...
Four long hours on the road later (of which 2 were spent
sleeping, among the first in 24 hours), I finally arrive at the
"jungle retreat", a little camp at the edge of the nature
reserves and the jungle, located in Mudumalai.
Amazing place. A visit in the jungle (well, OK, more of a kind
of bush) where we passed bison, deer and a snake that was
roughly 2 meters long. Never saw its head. And... first rain
(monsoon season).
In the evening, a tour in the car in the nature reserve, where
we could see elephants and, again, bison.
A short digression on the driving in India. Traffic left a big
impression on me, especially the use of the horn: they honk at
everything. All the time. Not to complain, mind you, just to say
"Hey there! It's me!" (Even when the other cars could see us and
we were on roads that were big enough.) It's nuts. They really
drive by ear. Also, on the backs of the trucks, you'll see
"sound horn" marked explicitly.
Monday 17
Nothing very exciting: we returned to Bangalor by bus, a trip
that took all morning and a good part of the afternoon and then
a train to Cochin.
The night train. This is a pretty horrible experience, even in
first class (category C, anyway. There are better, namely, A and
B). There were about 80 of us in a carriage, sleeping 8 per open
cabin. Everyone, men, women and children, pass by during the
night, whenever they have to go. There are two kinds of toilets:
the "Indian style" (genuine) - what we would also call "Turks'
toilets" - and "Western style".
At any rate, the night train is an experience, even if there
were no goats or chickens (no doubt in second class). We didn't
sleep much, though.
Tuesday 18
Returned to Cochin in the morning. The bus (and here we go again
with transportation) was waiting there to take us to Alleppey,
from where we were to get on a houseboat. We were to spend a day
(and a night) in a kind of barge for 8 people, slowly floating
through the "backwaters".
First, an all-out attack of the mosquitoes.
In all, we had three meals on the boat, including delicious
giant scampi bought along the way from a local fisherman.
Hygiene where preparation of the meals is concerned is, shall we
say, different from what we're used to: pieces of meat are cut
on a piece of wood from the boat, the chef's shod feet just
inches away from the same place. The washing up (at the very
least the saucepans) is done in plain view in the river's brown
waters. All the locals of the region do this. They also bathe in
the river.
But to watch the countryside slip past on these calm waters
nevertheless makes it all worthwhile. And, having said that, the
meals were very good.
Wednesday 19
After a night on the boat, and the return to port, we got back
on the bus to go to our next hotel, at the "backwater ripples
resort".
Amazing "hotel" (in fact, little bungalows) on the river's edge,
with a "structural" pool. A veritable slice of paradise.
In the afternoon, we visited a bird sanctuary. The tour through
the forest was great, but the birds were disappointing. There
were only two kinds: blacks and whites.
Thursday 20
In the morning, I was served a coffee on the terrace of our
bungalow. The boy serving me asked if I wanted milk and sugar. I
said yes at which he promptly poured each into my coffee and
then started to stir very gently for a good twenty seconds so as
to be sure that the sugar was properly mixed in. I had to laugh.
And VIPs, don't they get a blow-job?
We then left for Cochin, a very touristy village (judging by the
abundance of shops and street vendors) where Dutch, Portuguese
and English influences could still be seen. In the port, the
famous "Chinese fishing nets".
In the evening, we went to a kind of silent theater, followed by
a dinner in a restaurant that served continental dishes.
Friday 21
In the morning, five of us went for a real massage (Indian, not
Thai). We could choose between the short one-hour massage and
the longer, two-hour massage. In both cases, the masseur had a
mustache. Bad luck.
Wanting to enjoy the experience, the massage, not the masseur, I
opted for the two-hour massage, while the only other equivalent
male in the group went for one hour.
My masseur spoke no English (of course, they learn English at
school, but you had to have gone to class to be able to speak),
we communicated using sign language: I was given a massage, then
took a steam bath followed by a shower, then was asked to wait
for the second hour...
The wait seemed interminable, while, strangely enough, the other
guy was still being massaged. I asked if my session was
finished, and my masseur said "no". But he couldn't have
understood because 20 minutes later, I got confirmation that
they had messed up and thought that I had opted for the shorter
session...
Well, I finally got my second part (and the other massee paid a
little extra), but the calming and relaxing effect was not 100%.
Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, we got back on a night
train for a 14-hour trip.
Saturday 22
We pulled into Chennai (previously Madras) on the East coast at
6 in the morning.
This time, we were to stay with the parents of the Indian with
whom we had left.
It was hellishly hot during the day: 39 degrees, and the airco
in the car was broken (that or it was the driver, again a
perfect mono-linguist, who didn't know how to use it properly).
In the afternoon, I went shopping for IT books (at less than a
fifth the price in Belgium for the same book, how could I pass
up this kind of opportunity?) while waiting for my return
flights.
Then, at 4pm my long trip home began: Chennai - Mumbai, change
airports followed by a 4-hour wait, then Mumbai - Vienna
(arrival 5am) and ...
Sunday 23
... Vienna - Brussels (9am), then Brussels - Leuven (10am).
In short, a nice week's holiday, even if I would advise anyone
interested to stay longer than my one-week "city trip".