The Wobble

I stood there in disbelief, the words coming out of her mouth.

‘Its over, you have to leave….’.

So after 4 months a divorce is on the cards, the lady at the desk in the FRRO office in dehli informed me that the only visa they could issue me was an exit visa which is valid for 14 days from the day you apply for it. I applied for it 9 days previously so that gave me 5 days to legally reside within the sovereign borders of Hindustan on this visa. I had other options though I could apply to get my old visa re-issued but that would take the guts of 5 days queuing, hanging around a sweltering dehli metropolis, dealing with pedantic senseless government officials. I didn’t come traveling to spend weeks in queues. There was also the option of going to nepal for 10 days and applying for a brand new visa over there. Sounds good in theory but if you are keeping an eye on politcal events in this part of the world you would be aware that they are having presidential elections in nepal for the first time ever on the 10th of april, already there have been trouble from the maoist insurgents. Last week they blocked the road from dehli to kathmandu hoping to intercept a convoy of trucks carrying what they described as weapons and arms to find the expected troubles. The nepalese government denied this, stating that the trucks were merely carrying riot gear ahead of the elections. Add to this election situation the trouble that exists across the border in lhasa has made its way across the border to kathmandu with the chinese embassey being attacked and infiltrated by irate buddhist monks. All in all it makes nepal an unappealling place at this point in time. Going there would be foolhardy.

So the third and last option was to leave the country permanently – my flight from calcutta to bangkok was originally set for the 18th of may. I needed to move this forward to the first of april as the visa expired on the second. So exit plan needed, and needed quickly. First port of call was the Jet Airways office in connaught place in dehli to change the flight. I grabbed a rickshaw from the frro into town, normally it costs about 80 ruppees but the driver only asked for 40. I was flabberghasted, he must be the only taxi driver in the the whole of india that undercuts tourists. alighting in connaught place I threw a 100 ruppee note on top of the requested 40 – he was a happy man!! Changing the flight was no hassle at all, it cost nothing so I was set for the 1st.

It was 6 o’clock on the 27th of april 2008, I was starving and thirsty. I felt like spoiling myself so I dragged my sweaty ass into the Zen restaurant in the middle of connaught place where they had to my delight cans of draft guinness. 1 can cost twice as much as my entire meal but it was worth it. With that good grub inside me I set about finding accommodation for the night, found a place that was both pricey and not very nice but for 1 night it would do. Threw down the bags and went off to the railway station to book myself a ticket on the first available train to calcutta.

The train left dehli at 7.10 friday morning and arrived in calcutta (almost 1500 miles away) at 8.30, sounds quick? I’m afraid it was anything but, for it was saturday morning when I got off the train. I traveled in the 2ac section of the train which keeps the train carriage at a nice temperature for the duration of the journey – it was boring as hell. You cannot look out the windows because they are so thick and dirty, you cannot sit out on the step because it messes with the AC, its not exactly too safe either. The only entertainment I had took place between the two pains of glass that made up the double glazed window as every couple of minutes two tiny mice would jump up and fight over what food they could find in that tiny gap. A much bigger mouse lurked underneath my seat which drove me into keeping my feet up on the seat at all times, all in all it wasn’t the most comfortable of journeys.Calcutta:

When you hear the word calcutta you almost automatically associate it with poverty, filth, disease, death – all the darkest elements of human existance. It used to be the capital of india before the country got independence. Since then though things have gone mostly downhill, the indian government in an attempt to shed any britishness virtually built itself a new capital in dehli and left calcutta short on public funding. The partition of the country into India, east pakistan (later bangladesh) and west pakistan. In creating east pakistan they split the state of Bengal into two which resulted in the largest ever migration of human beings, its estimated 10 million people moved into calcutta. No city could cope with that, famine and all its trappings was inevitable. The situation became dire and attracted the likes of mother theresa to come and work amongst the poor, the sick and the dying right here.

The train pulled into Howrath station on the west bank of the river Hooghly. I had read on the train that traffic in the city was bad and getting from the station across the bridge to where most of calcutta lies is a total pain in the hole. A quicker alternative is to grab the ferry which zig zags its way up and down the river. Out of the station I followed the signs for Baba ghat. The smell of the river was intense, dried fish and emptying sewers make quite an aroma. Once you get used to the smell you can then enjoy the quick trip across. The boat also gives you a great view of the bridge which spans 450 metres, it is some structure, banned from taking any photos you just had to admire the workmanship – (some day dave, some day!!!), it is reputedly the busiest bridge in the world.

Once off the ferry it was off to find some accommodation, calcutta has tonnes of hotels so there is something here for every budget. I got one just off sudder street right in the middle of all the action. My first impressions of calcutta are very similar to the ones I had in mumbai. Its alot more crowded than dehli but people seem to be more laid back than in mumbai. The streets are dirty but there are sections of the town which are affluent and some others retain alot of the britishness of old. Over the first two days there I walked alot, the traffic was too bad to get public or private transport, it was waaay too hot to be packed into a sardine can with wheels besides!! I took a walk out to the maidan which is a massive park that runs close to the banks of the river, there were plenty of cricket matches going on. I sat and watched one for the guts of half an hour, it was bloody hot so I was happy enough to take my time. I took in a walk around the Victoria Memorial building which was in the same park, its a massive building – white marble. Standing up close you needed your sunglasses on, it was a bit like the taj in that respect. From here I walked up park street and across to the darker side of calcutta. Park street first of all is the main shopping and eating out place in calcutta, it is lined up with coffee shops, bars, restaurants, shops etc etc its a good place to hang out and read your book. The food is excellent here with all the restaurants I managed to fit in satisfying my massively high standards 🙂 Down at the end of Park street the affluence quickly comes to an end. I turned up left heading towards Mother theresas Motherhouse, her residence and now where her tomb is kept. I was running a little early so took my time to explore some of the neighbourhood. It was rotten, it stank and was filthy beyond belief. I walked past this rubbish skip where this young lad, reckon he was about 10 years of age was crouched over ontop of it – defaecating into it. He saw me, bent further down to pick up a rock. And this was a rock, he pegged it at me hitting me at the very base of my back. Little prick!!! He then had the cheek to ask for money – ‘chello baba!!’ I shouted at him, its a useful phrase, I advise anyone visiting here to learn it. He wasn’t long on his way…

I called into mother theresas shrine after this little incident, rubbing my back a little from my previous encounter I took a look around what is I suppose what you’d expect, a very modest building. Its mostly used as a residence for the sisters and very little of it is open for access to the general public. The shrine itself is a simple enough large white marbled tomb, I guess any embellishments wouldn’t fit in with the character of the woman. There is also a mini-museum there where they deal with her early life from Serbia to rathfarnham to bengal. All in all its a simple yet fitting tribute to a very admirable person.

From the motherhouse I went to my hotel and retired for the evening. Today was spent chasing my tail getting ready for my flight out of india tomorrow. It has gone so quick, quicker because of the dopes in the immigration office. But more on them later….

Ciao for now,

Phil

I woke up in Manikaran to some perfectly blue skies. All off a sudden I questioned my desire to leave the town, I felt myself wanting to know what was beyond where I turned back the previous day. But despite this pang and the protestations of the hotel clerk who put on an oscar worthy performance when he heard that I was going to leave a day earlier than I had informed them when I checked in, I jumped on the first bus out of manikaran. This bus was just going to the town of kullu which was about halfways to manali so I needed another bus from there to complete the journey. All in all it took about 4 hours, a relative blink of an eye.

The first two hours were complete torture though. I decided to take the front seat up beside the driver as the view was unimpeded and there was plenty of room for my two bags. What I didn’t count on though was the position of the speaker which was directly above my head. For two full hours really bad hindi music blasted out of this noise box, for two hours I plotted a way to sever the wire that connected the antiquated cassette deck to the offending speaker. But it wasn’t to be, I swapped buses in the town of kullu and got on the road at last to manali.

The road up to manali goes through the kullu valley, its pretty wide so it doesn’t have the same impact as the other two valleys I have travelled up. The last few kms leading into the town itself is lined up by either big ugly hotels or bigger uglier signs for hotels that are off the main road. As a first impression for a place it really sucked, though I have to admit from what I have heard of the place I wasn’t that surprised. The bus station is right in the middle of the old town, when I arrived the place was swamped, it was friday after all and the place was full of indian couples around for the weekend. Luckily enough there was a tout at the bus stop who was peddling his last free hotel room, reckoned it was worth at least a look. Managed to bargain him down to half the asking price for a really nice room with hot water and a big tv I could catch the weekends soccer on. Sweeeet out!!

After sorting out the room it was off for some grub and then bed, luckily enough I found a place that served some good pizza to almost, almost banish the memory of the previous nights misadventure. Back to bed and some snooze. Woke up early the next morning and made for the old part of the town, creatively titled ‘Old Manali’. It is such a departure from the new part, traditional black slated rooftops dot the landscape under the inevitable set of snow peaks, the most beautiful ones I have seen so far!! I sat in one cafe and devoured a bowl of muesli while I pondered the climability of the pretty large hill that looked tiny between two of the big peaks. I asked the doode who worked in the cafe if I could climb it and he muttered something not even the enigma war machine could decipher but being a generally optomistic kind of person I reckoned it was a positive response, so off I set. The first mile or so leads up to a fairly well visited temple, after that following the path was a solitary exercise with the exception of some mountain ladies (hardly the most flattering adjective) bringing down rather large bundles of sticks on their back. I figured that they were from the village that the sign back in manali pointed to that was 4 miles out of town. So curious to see what the village was like I went in the direction from where they came.

I met a local along the path who had good english, he was struggling with this big sack – I offeredto help him carry the bag as his load was already full, now its a good job that he didn’t say yes as I didn’t for one second consider the slope, the terrain or the sheer dead weight of the bag. I did give him a hand lifting it ontop of the rest of his load, I’m tellin ya these himalayan men are made of stern stuff. Off he went and I figured I would follow him but after about 20 yards or so he turned and pointed up the hill and said ‘Foreigners go that way’. Hmmmm wasn’t sure what to make of that, obviously my tan and tash needs a bit more work before I am completely assimilated here. I took his order and followed the steep path. After around 5 minutes I found what he was pointing at. The Rasta Cafe – it consisted of about 20 plastic chairs in a small field about 1/4 of an acre. There was also some very basic cooking facilities. I ordered a chai and sat and gasped at the view that this little field had. The little village was perched about 200 yards down from the field, over it you could see the full Kullu Valley over to the other side and up to where it starts with some dazzling mountain peaks. There were countless waterfalls on the other side all contributing to the flow of the Beas river that flows through the valley. I stayed there for the guts of 5 hours reading my book, though the distraction that was the view meant that I didn’t get to read that much…

The following day I was wrecked and went for a walk out another road to a small village, the weather was quite poor so the views weren’t as stellar as before. I had intended to go visit a glacier that day that a few local lads recommended called Rothang but when I inquired at the bus stop as to if I could go up there they simply told me that the weather had turned and it wasn’t possible. I found out later that that same day 15 people lost their lives just out that same road when an avalanche hit their bus. This gave me and the town a massive shock – everywhere closed down as a mark of respect and I thought to myself, tis a good job I didn’t try and find another way to get up there as buses were travelling up.

I stayed in manali another day or two before booking myself a ticket on the bus 17 hour bus to dehli. The bus ride was a mare!!! Didn’t get a wink of sleep, that coupled with the fact that the lad beside me seemed intent in giving me a broken rib with his stray elbow. Never again on a nighttime bus, just ain’t worth it. I arrived into dehli last wednesday morning at 7 and made my way to the embassey where I collected my replacement passport. The muppets in there – one in particular didn’t exactly do me any favours and spoke to me with little more than contempt which was completely unnecessary. The last time I visited he never said there would be a problem getting a full passport, now he produced an 11 month passport saying that because I didn’t have my birth cert he couldn’t issue a full one!! Surely if I couldn’t prove who I was that he shouldn’t have given me a passport at all, even at that I could have easily gotten diarmo to bring over my birth cert when he came to visit me. He was a fckn dick, expected me to bloodywell kiss his feet. Asshole. I will have to go through the same crap again when I get to australia.

Worse was to come, with no sleep I made my way with my flimsy, little better than a photocopy passport to the foreingers regional registration office to get my passport restamped and a visa issued. Now this place is the reason why people get frustrated with india. I had to queue for 4 bloody hours in the sweltering heat, no food, no water. The queue was unbearably slow and their way of processing people was a pure joke. By the time I got to the top of the queue I was told I had to have a letter from my embassey stating that I was missing my passport and pretty much when I arrived into the country. I was teetering on the brink, for the first time in india I raised my voice a little but figured that it wasn’t worthwhile getting thick at an entire country so I jumped in a rickshaw and went back to the embassey to my new best friend where squirmingly I had to ask for the letter which he knew I needed but didn’t bother his hole to tell me. Oooh what would I give to get that lad out in a game of 5-aside, 50-50 tackle…. screw that a 99-1 tackle, he is getting it!!!

Eventually I got my paperwork in order and went into the main square or circle in dehli known as connaught place. I rang the hotel I stayed in before out in the tibetan colony. With all the trouble in tibet this was a little risky but having watched the news things in dehli seemed quiet enough. As I got out of the rickshaw – what I seen really put my own little travails into perspective. All along the walls were pictures of dead monks, their brutal injuries for all to see. There were countless pictures, certainly more than the 9 the chinese have publically stated. In what was a buzzing little piece of tibet in dehli 1 month previous had the air now of a funeral parlour. Every shop was closed, all the stalls empty. All that was on the streets were the clouds of flies attracted my the oppressive heat. I had to knock on the door of the hotel where the cheerful guy from a month ago was ashened faced and looked on the verge of tears. I learnt later that people from the colony were on hunger strike in dehli prison, they wouldn’t even take water. You can picture a prison cell in india being pretty rough, the temperatures got up to almost 40 degrees – imagine no water??

I stayed in the colony to catch some sleep, I watched tv and ventured out as little as possible. I was heartbroken for the tibetan people there, they just looked lost. I left for rikikesh yesterday morning – I will return to dehli, hopefully for the last time on this trip next week to collect my visa. I am going to curtail my trip in india aswell, take it back by at least a month. I have seen all that I want to see bar one or two small things and I am ready for a new country, thailand by the third week of april I reckon….

Adios,

Phil

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