hola folks, well the next leg of my journey, from the couch in Crouch End to the plane was unexpectedly eventful, a dare say sign, good or bad of things to come. Arrived at Paddington Station, dropped there by sis boyfriend Gary and herself, both of us taking the Heathrow Express to the airport... which was fine. Fine until, well we thought well-on-time until I tried to check in at the desk only to be told I couldn't because bloody British Airways had overbooked the flight and until the check in desk was closed I'd "have to wait and see" if there was a seat for me. So, armed with two complimentary vouchers for the nearby Costa Coffee or whatever chain cafe was there in the brand spanking new Terminal 5, Nu and I sipped our tea and plotted the stalking and downfall of BA... that is, if they didn't put me on the plane.
Eventually, they did. And I was upgraded, Economy Plus, exactly like the cattle grid down the back except with a bit more leg room, I could live with that. However, what they didn't bother to tell me was that with the gate closing sign half going epileptic flashing on the screen saying 'all were boarding', the flight gate was 15 minutes and a train ride away from where I went through security. So with my main bag stowed underneath, I was left to hockey my small rucksack and sleeping bag Linford Christie style through a myriad of sparkly new hallways, avoiding the urge to stop and splash the cash, pre-rupees that is, in the duty free on booze and made it as one of the last on the damn plane.... all part of the experience all part of the experience all part of the experience all part of the experience I keep telling myself. By my own admission I am horrendously gullible though.
Well I made it to Mumbai, stiflingly hot, the entire journey over the guy I sat beside and a girl who also nearly missed the flight because of BA's overbooking kept telling me, they say "assuring me", that Mumbai would be a hell of an experience. As a precursor to the whole India thing BA even served curry on the flight. That was 12.30am at night and I can't rem the last time I did that, prob student days and I was already getting that sinking feeling.
Arrival in Mumbai, well....its 'all part of the experience'.
Immediately, after going through, and I counted, 7 different security checks, from getting what I can only describe as a raffle ticket you'd buy going into a community centre back home only to hand it back to another guy for steps later, spending more than 30 min in their convoluted security area being bashed and bobbed all over the shop I got some of what they call money over here, every note has a Ghandi face on it, I exited the terminus. I was instead, with my happy and dare say stunned big western head on me jostled by all manner of people vying for my attention. I had booked a pre-paid taxi on the advice of many and a guy came up to me telling me "ah, taxi for 2345... whatever it was", I bring you. Not like Floods or Cavan Cabs back home I followed him to the car, he took my bag of me, put it in the car, opened the door for me, I sat in....he was not the driver, just some hanger on looking to prey on stupid foreigners who proceeded to stick his had out expecting money from me... I gave him 10 rupees, about 20c and the cheeky b'tard told me not enough. Seriously, I know the minimum wage is to get worse in Ireland but these bleedin Indians take the piss.
Taxi out of the airport and journey to hotel equally eventful, kid rapping at the windows begging, big skyscrapers built alongside tiny shanty villages... I looked out the window in awe asking myself, "is a person actually going to sleep in that cardboard box inside that burned out car under that bridge tonight", the answer scarily enough was prob yes, and they'd be sharing it with their family and probably 10 others.
We passed the Domestic airport which is separate from the International as we travelled to the hotel, chosen for its closeness to said Dom airport as well as free transfer. If Michael O'Leary could only feckin see it he'd quit his giving out about the new one in Dublin and thank his lucky feckin stars, it looked like a birds nest with the odd metallic bird popping its head out and jetting off somewhere or other.
The trip to the hotel also marked my first experience of road travel in India.... OH SWEET JESUS! it doesn't matter what side of the road the Inidan's drive on they don't give a sh1t, left and right, in and out, honking and beeping their way through the onslaught of other vehicles, buses, trucks, motorbikes, peddle bikes, rickshaws and tuk-tuks, absolute insanity. But I arrived and in fairness the hotel was ok, I laid out my 4 tog sleeping bag despite the fact that I was in 30 degree heat and upped my mosquito net. I tottered downstairs, starving at this stage but thanks to my meal on the plane 'curry fever' had set in. I know, I was warned, "curry morning, noon and night" but I still wasn't prepared, for it, the sights, the sounds, the deluge of people on the roads, foothpaths, hanging out of makeshift "shops", I say with inverted commas. I've said it to some and say it here to, like shopping in Penny's but if Penny's was on a seriously bad acid bender.
After stomaching some rise crap, of course curried, I crashed for most of the day. I have never experienced jet lag in my life and can only liken it to the worst of cider hangovers, my head thumped, joints ached and my feet were still fat from the flight.
Around 7ish however, while I was watching a repeat of the Barca 5-0 drubbing of Real Madrid for a second time, so a re-repeat, the phone rang to startle the sh1te out of me. At this stage, and I admit it, I was petrified and desperate to find any excuse not to leave the room at all... it was the mother! Ann Enright herself, if ever there was a sounder woman I could just imagine her big mammy head on the other end of the line. Typically, she was giving out to me, telling me to cop myself on and see about me, which I duly did.
In the north of the city and beside a major road and bridge junction which divides north and south of the city and walked up and down the road for a bit. I also gained yet another useful insight into the Indian business mentality when I tried to buy a sim card for my phone, "299 rupees sir, you like, you buy", luckily I'd asked at the hotel who told me to pay no more than 60 rps at most. At this stage I was starving so I went into busiest roadside cafe there was, ordered a beer and pulled out my book. Also ordered a plate of 'finger chips' saying to myself, no more curry, oh god please no more curry.... what did I get? curry f'n chips, and not even as good as you'd get at home, lot to be said for the auld packet sauce alright!
Before bed another call from home, this time Nuala from London, happy out, but as we're 5 and half hours ahead, she was talking to me at 7.30pm her time and my watch in India was ticking on 1am. My wakeup call was at 5am and my flight to Thrivandrum in Kerala in the south at 7am... I was hanging, and that takes me up post.... slan
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