Culture shock creeps up on you without you realising it, then repeatedly
smacks you about the head, leaving you in a very similar state to
the guy that got 'Tango-ed' (British joke, tough to explain if you
haven't seen the advert - have a look at their website if you really
want to find out, it'll be something like www.tango.co.uk).
Very much like dehydration, or salt imbalance or low blood sugar...
Today was very tough. Amazing, and yet just a wee bit too much
for one day. I've never experienced so much 'new' in such a short
space of time before. I had planned to go to the Aussie embassy
to get my visa sorted out early this morning, then, well walk around
for a bit. And that's sort of what happened - ish.
To get from my hotel to the Australian embassy I used an Auto Rickshaw
- 'terror' is not quite strong enough a word to use about this mode
of transport, but it'll have to do until one is invented that adequately
describes the stark abject, imobolising fear that hurtling between
buses, trucks, cyclists and pedestrians, over full roundabouts,
through red lights and overtaking into oncoming traffic imparts
on you. In actual fact it isn't too bad, I think that my brain just
went into 'fairground ride' mode and just pretended that it wasn't
real!
The visa application seemed to go okay until the issue of payment
came up, they don't take cash at the embassy, only a 'demand draft'
from a bank. "How do I get that then?", I asked, hoping that they
would miraculously realise that because I wasn't actually Indian
and therefore didn't actually have an Indian bank account and therefore
probably wasn't actually able to produce one of these things anyway,
would suddenly come over all generous and say something along the
lines of, "Well sir, actually cash will be fine after all." Der,
nope. "Go to this hotel and they'll be able to help you". Now my
rickshaw driver was waiting outside for me (big mistake No1) and
he whisked me off to the hotel. While he waited for me, I just 'popped
in' for a banker's draft. Cue lesson in Indian bureaucracy. Just
bizarre, one guy to do this, another to do that, one guy to get
the tea, and one to act as a sort of agony uncle, or that's what
it seemed like at least, his job appeared to be just to listen to
each of the people's problems in turn nodding sagely, but not actually
doing any work himself. Anyway, by the time I got the draft, the
embassy was closed for the day, quelle surprise. So back to the
hotel, via the rickshaw driver's "brother's" emporium. He said that,
he really did - I couldn't believe it, they say in all the guide
books that they did, but I didn't really believe that they actually
would. Anyway, after he massively fleeced me for the fare ( I actually
got some of the other rickshaw drivers feeling sorry for me later
in the day - or was that jealous for him... can't tell) to the tune
of the equivalent of 6 whole pounds for around three hours work
and waiting that the guy did. Yeah, I know that it was many, many
times what I should have paid, but that sort of money wouldn't even
have got me halfway of the five miles home from Brighton after a
night out in the UK
Task number two was to find an Internet Service Provider (ISP)
while I'm in India, and if you're reading this, then hopefully it's
worked! Note, that I never did manage to get the internet account
to work properly. I walked into the centre of New Delhi Cannought
Place, or CP as it's known. This is where the poverty really starts
to hit you. It sounds harsh, but it looks staged, it's not, I know
- and I'm probably going to get a whole load of hate mail for being
a heartless w*nker, so I'd better try and explain myself. It looks
for all the world as if it were a film, where some Hollywood director
has said, "okay, now, we need that cripple... What do you mean,
which one? Oh, the one with no hands, he'll do, put him over there
at the bottom of the underpass. Put the pathetic old women at the
other end, hmm and those filthy kids... Where've they gone? Just
scatter them about a bit". The thing is that these people are all
desperate, all of them. But it was just too much to take in and
my brain decided at this point to take a break and shut off for
a while. The true desolation struck me when I chatted with some
of these guys. Not the people shouting, "mister, mister... Chess,
mister?" while thrusting some (bound to be) overpriced trinket in
your face, but, for example the shoe shine man, who inquired politely
if I was okay, as I adjusted the plasters that I'd put on my Achilles'
tendons in a vain attempt to stop my new sandals from rubbing down
to the bone. He did ask me if I wanted them (the sandals) cleaned,
but only once, and we just sat and chatted for a bit after I mentioned
that they were brand new, and that they probably didn't need cleaning
just yet. His parting words were poignant, "I'm a very poor man",
he said, cradling his box of polishes and brushes. He didn't ask
for any money. He wasn't pushy. What was scary was that he was maybe
two or three years younger than me, and from the way that he said
the words it seemed as though he had resigned himself to be cleaning
shoes for some time yet.
I think that I've found an ISP, we'll see, I'm going back there
tomorrow because, after going in and discussing my requirements
with the manager, which was quite a challenge and took some time,
as I appeared to blink in and out of visibility and audibility every
now and again, the cashier's desk shut for the afternoon. At least
for him I disappeared anyway. I thought that I was still in the
room, but every now and again, he'd just ignore me, I'd vanish,
and he'd go off and speak with somebody else for five, ten minutes
or so. After a couple of times I became a little bit less polite,
but this didn't appear to help and I resigned myself to my part-time
existence. So, it's back to the embassy and to the VSNL office tomorrow
for me.
Tonight went slightly more to plan - well actually, no, it didn't.
The plan was to find another place to stay - at around 800 Rupees
a night, this place is around two or three times the price of some
of the cheaper hotels. Don't get me wrong, it's good. It's clean,
and the rooms are large. It gives the impression of being relatively
safe, it's just a bit too posh - more than I really need anyway.
I'd heartily recommend it if you're coming into Delhi by plane though
- fax ahead to book your room, and use the 'Delhi Transport Police'
prepay taxi service at the airport. Don't use anybody else - they
may be legit, or they may be a tout, there's just no way of really
knowing. For two of us, with bags cost us around 200 rupees (plus
50 baksheesh or 'tip' to the driver 'cos it was late at night -
despite the fact that the cab was 'prepaid'). I don't know how much
the price will have changed but this is the going rate as of September
2001. Enough of that, maybe useful little aside, and back to the
plot: I ended up walking in to town with a guy from Mombai/Bombay,
doing a bit of email, and then going to have something to eat. The
food was grand. I asked if he would take me to somewhere where I
could get something 'real'. Not McDonalds (although it is a good
place to get clean and free water - well it's the same water that
they use to make up their coke so I certainly hope that it's clean...),
but a Thali or something like that. The place we ate at was popular
(good sign), clean-ish (well cleaner than outside anyway) and I
don't feel sick yet, so fingers crossed! I was a bit concerned when
my dining colleague religiously wiped everything with his paper
napkin, the coke bottle, the spoon, the dishes... I began to wish
that I'd brought my disinfectant wipes wipes... Doh! Still, the
food was excellent; Paneer and spinach (not sag, another kind!)
and daal, with roti and naan each. That, plus a couple of cokes
came to a grand total of 130 rupees - just about 2 pounds the lot.
It was around this time that I'd realised that I hadn't actually
eaten anything since breakfast, the filtered water is quite difficult
to drink (it's so well filtered that it tastes weird - possibly
lack of minerally type things) so I was only drinking when I was
thirsty (i.e. not enough) and I think that I was low on salt. Hmmm,
not the best decision I made then to try and walk to find a new
hotel, it being around ten in the evening... I've just realised,
did I mention something earlier about not letting my Mum read this?
Mum, don't read the last few paragraphs, okay!? And, don't worry,
it's got a happy eanding, nothing nasty happens ...needless
to say I didn't find the place - I didn't get lost, I found CP fine,
which I thought would be the hard part, I just couldn't find the
road back to the hostel (I'd given up on the idea of traipsing around
trying to find another hotel), so I ended up getting an Auto Rickshaw
(Auto) back. Needless to say, my bargaining was a little better
this time. Still, you've got to get ripped off as a tourist at some
point in India - it's probably a law somewhere!
PS Don't expect this much every day! I just needed to write it all down, more
to sort out and store it all in my head than anything else. Well,
I do feel slightly calmer now, this, and the Diarolyte fluid replacement
mixture feel like they've done the trick - my heart rate is down
to with 10 BPM of normal!
And on to tomorrow...
|
|