Kuala Lumpur 17/10/07

Originally we planned to take the train up through Singapore into Kuala Lumpur then on up through Thailand into Bangkok, however we later discovered that you can also book luxury coaches that are cheap and faster than the train. So we booked seats to KL with a company called Aeroline. It is a shame more countries don’t have a service like this, it is by far the best way to travel through Malaysia, it was like flying first class (and this is saying a lot, because anyone who knows me well will know that I HATE buses. Many years of bus travel with Irish bus companies has left me bitter and mentally scarred for life. I in fact I could give you a big long list why, but I will only end up getting too angry).
When we got on the bus, I sank into my big leather seats, the seats recline back nice and far and there is also a foot rest that pops up from under the seat and you get an extra pillow for your head.
There was also a stewardess on the bus who came around with drinks and a tasty warm meal. The whole experience was very pleasant, we got to travel in a very luxurious cheap way and got to see some scenery along the way.
The journey to Kuala Lumpur took about six hours, we arrived in the center of town in the blistering heat. Fortunately we did not need to look for a taxi as this is never a problem in Kuala Lumpur. This is because taxis here don’t use their meter, they just make up a price in their head and hugely differs from driver to driver, so they are always on the lookout for tourists. Even when you are not looking for a taxi, merely walking along the street they will beep their horn as they pass and ask you if you need a lift, even if four of them in a row are passing you, they will each do the same thing.

Our hostel was right in the heart of Chinatown, in fact it was in the middle of the main street market street in the whole of KL. It was a bit noisy but a very nice enjoyable area to be staying in. The street markets would start at about ten in the morning and carry on till about eleven at night.

Street Market, Chinatown

After a bit of a nap, we arose from our bed with the need to fill our stomachs with some form of dead spiced animal, so we head out into the evening heat to find a restaurant.
After walking down the market street, we did not find any restaurant that took our fancy, and also Christine was on a mission to get some Laksa, so as we neared the end of the street, we started to approach the area where the taxis stop. We watched the taxi drivers excitement increase with every step we took in their direction, and as we approached the end of the street their excitement could no longer be restrained as they ran up to us to zip us off to wherever we wanted to go. (Somebody told me that the taxi drivers in Bali are just as enthusiastic as they are here, one time when he was exiting a taxi, there was already another driver pulling at him asking him if he needed a taxi).
So we hopped into a taxi and we tell the driver that we want to go for a good Malaysian Laksa. Taxi drivers over here are very friendly, it goes without saying that you are going to be ripped off, but at least they are very helpful and friendly while they are doing it. The taxi driver said he knew just the place, so he whisked us away and delivered us at the door of a big traditional restaurant. It was a huge place made to look as traditional as possible for the tourists, that it seemed to look quite fake.
Unfortunately we weren’t able to get Laksa as it was buffet only, but it did give us a chance to try out many different types of Malaysian food at once. We were lead into a large room full of tables and a big stage on one end, there was a show on of traditional dance with traditional music, but as we arrived late it was in fact just finishing.
The buffet circled the entire room, it was quite huge, it even had a large pig on a spit that was stuffed with spiced rice. The waitress showed us around and pointed out where to begin. We then grabbed some plates and began dishing up food. We were in fact the last people to arrive for dinner and much of the room was already empty, so the staff had plenty of time to watch in horror at what could only have looked like a pair of wild ravenous creatures that had just washed ashore after being stranded on a tree stump out at sea for an incalculable period of time, stuffing as much food (sometimes starters, mains and deserts all at the same time) in to their mouths as quickly as possible. Perhaps they thought that we were storing food in our mouths out of fear of being swept back out to sea on our stump. We realized after that our whole dining experience probably did not exceed twenty minutes, a good record by anyone’s standards I would think. This may also have explained why the place was completely empty by the time we lifted our heads out of our plates. At one stage Christine ate something that resembled pink maula that didn’t seem to taste of anything, thinking back now it was probably some sort of table decoration, but at the time of our feeding frenzy we didn’t think anything of it, however it probably added to the staff’s horror.

View from restaurant

After dinner we walked out and admired the view of the twin towers, and decided to take a stroll down to give it a closer inspection. It turned out to be a bit more than a stroll to get there but it was well worth it. The Petronas Twin Towers are the most impressive skyscrapers that I have seen, you never seem to tire of looking at them, especially at night. We sat there quietly for some time just staring at them and talking endless amounts of photos. We also went over to see if we could climb them, but unfortunately they close quite early and you can only go as far as the bridge.

Pics of Petronas Twin Towers

The next day, in my impulse to climb every high peak in the skyline, we decided to go up the KL tower. The walk up to it was quite tiring as it was built on quite a large mound, that took about twenty minutes to climb (later on as we left through the entrance again at the bottom of the hill we discovered a nice free shuttle bus that takes tourists to the top, but somehow we managed to walk by the three meter high sign with big red letters stating ‘free shuttle bus’ with a big red arrow pointing down at a small minibus)

KL Tower

After trekking to the top of the hill we walked into the main entrance at the base of the tower, where we purchased tickets for the observation deck 421 meters up.
We got into the lift, and as we shot up our ears began to pop. The elevator takes only 59 seconds to get to the top and when we got out you could almost feel the building sway slightly. The KL tower is the second tallest tower in the world only outdone by the Toronto tower in Canada which is just a few meters taller.
The view was spectacular, amazingly Christine did not seem too bothered about being up that high, after a good look around we returned to the safety of the solid ground outside.

Views from KL Tower

Next we went back down to the twin towers to have a look around the huge shopping center that was underneath the towers. After seeing about 300 pairs of pointy shoes I decided that perhaps it would be best to split up for a while, so we arranged to meet up in about an hour. After a good look around we went for some food in the foodcourt and head back out onto the street. By now it was dark, so again we sat outside just staring up marveling the tower.
We than head down to the main nightlife street for a drink, the street was full of large themed nightclubs, but as we were feeling a little Dutch we decided to go to a pub between the clubs to avoid paying a costly cover charge.

Street where all the nightlife is at

We sat outside the bar to remove ourselves from some awful karaoke going on inside, when the barmaid came over with our drinks Christine asked for the location of the bathroom, the barmaid nodded and disappeared for a moment and returned with a glass containing some form of transparent liquid with a wedge of lime in it and handed it to Christine. Christine peered into the glass looking puzzled, wondering if she is meant to drink it or pee into it. She decided to drink it and find the bathrooms for herself (we still don’t know what was in the glass or what the barmaid thought Christine asked for).After a few drinks we head back to our room, as tomorrow we would be heading on to our next stop Penang Island in the north of Malaysia, close to the border of Thailand.

Singapore 14/10/07

Examining all our paper cuts from all the various Indian paperwork, we take off for Singapore. By the way, if you don’t know already Singapore Airlines are the by far the best airline you can fly with, big comfortable planes with attractive airhostesses providing fantastic service.
Quite weary of our time in Goa, we arrive in Singapore in the morning after flying overnight and instantly love the place. Everything is very clean (our prospects of cleanliness probably a tad lowered from being in India) and very organized (again our expectations of organization also a tad distorted after our stay in India)
We get a taxi from the airport and go to our hotel. Unfortunately we are told that check in dose not commence until three o’clock, so wearily we unload our bags at reception and expose our sleep deprived swollen eyes to the dry bright heat of the Singaporean sun to find somewhere to kill some time.
We stroll around the area we sample some local Singaporean cuisine at the local Subway (as is much of the world Asia is littered with them which never seem far from a KFC or a Starbucks)
After another bit of a stroll, the sleep we were deprived of the night before makes us hot and weary so we head into a cool internet café till we could head into our room.

After a sleep we head out for some dinner in town, the city is covered in decorative fairy lights lining all the streets, as we later discover the city is just after celebrating the end of Ramadan. The city seems very safe and clean, even late at night down the darkest alley you never feel unsafe. We took the lovely clean air-conditioned subway (MRT) into the center of Chinatown where we went to find somewhere to eat, we find a nice looking place not far from the station, and it was lovely. The food presentation was fantastic, Christine ordered some sushi for a starter which was presented on a bamboo leaf nested on a large bowel of crushed ice. For main course we had Peking Duck, however most impressive was Christine’s dessert, what it actually was I can not remember, what I do remember was it came in a sort of stemless Martini glass sitting on a Brandy glass shaped bowl that had pale blue water with dry ice in it which formed a thin ring of mist pour out from around the underneath of the desert.
After our meal we took the MRT back into the area where we were staying and went to look for a pub, unfortunately Asian pubs all are big into their karaoke, but eventually we find a pub up the road from the hotel and after a pitcher of beer we retire in for the night.

The following day was spent downtown shopping, it was also where we discovered that it was rainy season, however my mood was lifted shortly after when I spotted the cable cars heading over to Sentosa Island. I don’t know why, but where ever we go I always feel compelled to climb all the high structures that the place has to offer (much to the dismay of Christine as this doesn’t go well with her fear of heights). So after some convincing, we agree to take the cable cars over to the Island and have a look around the following day.

Being rainy season we would at some point in the day get a heavy shower of rain which normally lasts an hour or two, however today it seemed to last a good while so we delayed going on the cable cars till it cleared up. We waited for some time, but it seemed to be there for the day, so when it died down a bit we set off for the cable cars.
We bought our tickets and took the lift up the 14 floors to the entrance. As we waited for our car to come around, Christine starts to look a little like a cat stuck high up in a tree, as the man tears our tickets we hop into our cabin and slowly make our way over to Sentosa Island. Christine distracts herself with the camcorder, but between the raindrops on the windows and the gray clouds around us, our footage doesn’t quite make as good a depiction as we would have hoped.
When we arrive at the other end at Sentosa Island we (as in most other tourist attractions, I have noticed) are emptied out into the gift shop so that the spending frenzy can begin. Here you can buy all your lovely cheesy memorabilia of all the stuff you have yet to see!
We weave our way through postcard stands, ornaments and frantic tourists to the other end of the constantly expanding gift shop, and finally we make it to a plaza with signs pointing in all directions. Sentosa Island is pretty much just one big theme park, full of places for the whole family to be relieved of their money.
Before we could do anything, there was some beer to be drunk in order to overcome our recent trauma (cable car for Christine and the gift shop for me). After a beer and a look at the view of Singapore from the terrace, we went and did some Luging. This is something similar to go-carting except instead of having a motor it uses gravity, basically it’s a windy track down a steep hill, good fun though. Also to my delight (and to Christine’s dismay) I discovered that you take a ski lift to get you back up the hill. For some reason Christine found this much worse than the cable car coming over, but fortunately (to Christine’s knowledge) it was the only way back up. I probably could have told her that there was a road back up, even a bus, if we were willing to wait, but that wouldn’t have been any fun!

Ski lift to the Luging

Us on the ski lift

When we arrived safe and sound at the top of the hill again Christine entertained herself with some oversized plastic fruit as we decided what to do next.

We wanted to take the cable cars back after dark so that we could see all the city lights (as this is when a city looks at its best) so to kill some time we went to a rather disappointing 3D cinema. The 3D itself was pretty cool but the film was very very bad, however it passed some time and after another beer and a bit of a stroll it was time to make our way back through the gift shop and back onto the cable car. We tried to take some photos on the way back over but unfortunately they all came out a little abstract!

Pictures from the cable car

When we arrived back on the mainland we went back to Chinatown for dinner. We passed through all the busy street markets to get to Food Street, as we passed through the market stalls we noticed how much easier it was here to browse (since last time we tried looking at street stalls was India, where you could only look straight ahead and walk at a brisk pace, as if you look at something you will be mobbed with people mounding ten kinds of crap on top of you and demanding you buy them). Fortunately over here you are left alone until you express any interest.
We experienced similar courtesy when we arrived on Food Street, where people would point at their menu, and make hand gestures to the entrance, and with a simple smile and a nod would back away when you pass. Just as we mentioned how much more relaxed this was compared to India, two men jumped in front of us waving there arms frantically with laminated cards clenched in there hands, demanding we follow them. They were of course the waiters from the Indian restaurant we happened to be passing, fortunately after a long chase involving a lot of crawling under tables and several taxi rides and a hell of a lot of shouting we managed to make it clear that we were not interested in having Indian cuisine tonight. A little further up the road from the Indian restaurant we found a nice little local place where we sat inside under a fan, where we had a very nice meal (except for the beancurd, that shit is rank, I don’t know how Christine can eat it).

Chinatown

Once we had or fill of food and beer, we headed back through the market stalls for another bit of a browse, then head home for the night.
The following day was fairly uneventful, the weather was not great so we hung out in the town shopping and eating, but at this stage we were ready to head for our next destination, Kuala Lumpur.

extra chris

Goa-The Beginning....

I have always heard how amazing Goa is. Everyone who went there, especially around the 90’s, when the trance party scene was at its peak, raved about it after they returned from raving in it. Later I heard about what a cultural Mecca it was, the Goan cuisine was unique to India, the beaches were largely beautiful and unspoiled, and spirituality, peace and free love still infused the air from the huge hippy influx in the 70’s. In fact it was the one place in India I have ever heard much of anything about really.

So of course when we got to India I had to go there. Sunny and I booked a hostel the second week we were in Bombay. We were thrilled because it was only 7 euro a night. This was not even the cheapest one there. I found one for 1.20 euro a night, but concerns regarding its cleanliness were expressed on some online reviews, and anyway I don’t trust anything that cheap. Robin’s helper, Cecelia, procured us some train tickets-sleeper coach with air conditioning. This too we found to be very cheap-40 something euro for both of us return.

So we got up at 5:30am the day we had to leave. Robin’s driver, Sanjay, kindly called for us early on, at 6:30, and brought us to the train station. Cecelia also very kindly met us at the train station to show us the right train to get on, as the train stations in India can be chaotic and seem incomprehensible to Westerners.

The train station was scary. It was filthy, everything, including the one small shop stall type thing, was brown with dirt, dusty and crowded. Within ten minutes I was inundated with people begging. Sunny was relatively spared, both because he is male and because he is tall, but first women and then children were coming up to me, touching my arms to get attention when I didn’t hear them. Cecelia began shooing them away. Before we got onto the train, when we moved down the track a little, small stunted children who were so emaciated that their actual heads were thin began to come up begging. One of them, a boy of about 8 or 9 maybe, had a small skinny listless baby wrapped in rags in his arms. I have been warned about giving them money, there are warnings also in a lot of the travel books such as the Lonely Planet not to give them money as some of them are harmed by adults to elicit your sympathies, as unbelievable as that sounds, and giving them money only encourages this. You are supposed to give them food only, and then direct them to an El Shaddai feeding programme. Well, I was a foreigner in the depths of culture shock and I had no idea where the nearest feeding programme would be. I felt like an evil shit not giving them anything though. Everyone says “Just don’t think about it”. I’m still not sure how that one works.

The train arrived. Late. Cecelia began running and yelling over her shoulder to us pointing out our carriage. She told us to get on quickly. Everyone was scrambling on in total chaos, people stepping over people and on parts of people. I got on first, and was swept up in a sea of pushing, hurrying men. Sunny was a few people behind me. I heard him yelling “ This isn’t ours. Cecelia says it’s the next one”. I quite literally would have been swept into the train in a tsunami of people if I hadn’t turned around, reached out and grabbed onto Sunny’s rucksack and held on like a crab as he jumped off the train. We got onto the correct train carriage as directed by Cecelia. The carriage hall smelled of urine.

When we got into our train cabin I felt a wave of panic. It was claustrophobic and quite dirty. The reason we had gotten the train was so that we could see some scenery as we travelled. The window was completely covered over with an opaque yellow plastic film on the outside that you could just about make out shapes through. The cabin was tiny, and it was quite obviously old and not clean. Ten minutes after we sat down I was bitten by some type of insect on my elbow which I killed before even thinking. My whole elbow stung and pain began shooting down my arm to my last two fingers. I started to freak out completely as I thought I had been bitten by a poisonous spider or something and scrambled around trying to find the corpse so I could identify the culprit. I finally found its crumpled up bug body on the seat and had a good close look at it. It appeared to be a largish yellow ant.


The train journey was terrifying. I normally like trains and have never actually feared them for any reason. However, in recent years there have been several bombings of trains in India, and for reasons best known only to strange people who bomb trains to pass the time, they tend to favor the Bombay to Goa route. Hundreds of people were killed every time and the last one was as recent as 2006. Knowing all this naturally made me slightly edgier than normal, and I am not generally noted for my lack of edginess. Also the doors on the train were wide open all the time the train was moving-indeed they could not be closed. To go to the bathrooms, which incidentally were unspeakably horrific, one had to pass the open doors on both sides while the train was moving at speed and risk getting flung out if one accidentally stumbled or the train changed course suddenly. The bathrooms were filthy and smelly, but I kind of expected that, so, while they were disgusting, they didn’t shock me. But this next thing did.

A short time after the journey commenced a staff member came around to all the first class cabins to see if anyone wanted to order food. We didn’t understand him at first, but we picked up the word “eggs” and finally copped on. We had packed sandwiches and crisps for the journey as we were pretty sure that Indian train food was potentially lethal. We managed to refuse breakfast but the man really wanted us to have something and he started barking words at us, one of which I understood to be “chicken”. Sunny didn’t understand what he was saying at all and ended up nodding his head and saying “Yes’, the way you do when you have no idea what someone is saying to you but you want to humour them so that they will go away. Delighted, the little man whipped out a notepad and pencil, wrote down our “order”, and departed. I turned to Sunny, grimacing. “You know we’ve just inadvertently ordered Salmonella for lunch, don’t you?”
A while later I realized I needed to use the “bathroom”. I tried my best to not think about it, but it was two hours into a twelve hour train journey, and I had drunk a cup of coffee, a Coke and about 750mls of water already. I went out into the rolling hallway, avoided being flung out the train doors at high speed and just outside the bathroom looked down and got a nasty surprise. Placed neatly in a row on the urine soaked, faeces smeared and thoroughly unhygienic floor, just outside two of the worst bathrooms I have ever seen, were the dinners for this section of the train, complete with little boxes of rice awaiting distribution.
We had had no intention of eating it anyway, but the shock for me was that someone had seen fit to put food intended for human consumption on that floor, in this place, at all. Another wave of pure culture shock washed over me. I hurried off to report my findings to Sunny.

The little man came around shortly afterwards with metal dishes of some type of chicken in a red sauce and boxes of rice. Under normal circumstances it actually probably would have smelled quite nice, but after seeing where it had been, the smell made me feel sick. We had been in India long enough to know if he came back and saw them untouched he would badger us and demand to know why we hadn’t eaten. Sunny carefully mixed up some of the rice into the mix and then scraped both containers out into the bin and tied a double knot in the top of the bin bag. Our food dishes were collected without incident, and thankfully, we weren’t tricked into ordering supper. I couldn’t help but feel guilty though; starving children begging from us at the start of the journey and here we were throwing away food. It would take more than guilt to make me eat it though. It would take semiautomatic weapons pressed to my temple, in fact.

The train kept going through the longest tunnels I had ever been through in my life, and the blackest. There didn’t seem to be any track lights or signs or anything. It was vaguely reminiscent of Space Mountain in Disneyworld. We would plunge downwards sometimes so quickly that our ears would pop, and not infrequently we could hear what sounded like showers of rocks and pebbles hitting the train roof. Sunny kept insisting it was just water, but it very distinctly sounded like stones. I started to wonder about the structural integrity of the tunnels and became acutely claustrophobic thinking of all those tonnes of tall Indian mountain pressing down on us. Then I began to think about how Indians drive, and began to panic a bit. We were probably not even going to survive long enough for the psychos to detonate all the bombs that were on board. We were either going to crash and die in a blazing inferno trapped in a tunnel under a mountain, or the tunnel was going to collapse on us and everyone would die but me because I would be trapped in an air pocket and die slowly and painfully over a period of about a week. A cockroach the size of my big toe sauntered past me in a leisurely fashion. I cried for a few minutes and then decided to take half a Valium. I normally only take these on flights as I hate to fly but if ever a situation warranted tranks, then this did. Sunny found it amazing that I was so freaked out on a train, because usually I reserve my travel related hysterics for turbulent airplane journeys, but did his best to try and chill me out a bit, and killed a fair few bugs in the cabin too.

At one point when Sunny had disappeared somewhere, I sat up and blew my nose, and was rewarded with laughter from the open doorway of our cabin. I turned to look at my bestower of applause. It was one of the cleaning staff on the train. He had a bucket and a mop with him. I wondered what he actually did with them as the place was filth incarnate. He seemed very excited to see a Western woman expelling nasal mucus into a tissue and started talking to me in Indian while smiling and laughing a lot and gesturing. I smiled back nervously. He then began to sing to me. I laughed in a sort of “what the fuck is going on?” kind of way but he didn’t stop. Eventually he didn’t get the response he was looking for, whatever that may have been, and abruptly shut my cabin door with a bang. I waited till I was sure he was gone and went in search of my husband.

Sunny thought the best thing ever was to try and take photos of the Indian landscape by hanging out of the open train doors while the train was blasting along at 100km/hr. Once I found out what he was up to, I insisted on coming along and held onto his back pocket with one hand and a handrail near the bathroom door with the other. I really wished he would stop, especially when he jerked back in quite suddenly once. “What?” I inquired as the carriage abruptly darkened and the view outside became black. “Tunnel” was the reply, as cool as a breeze even though he had almost been decapitated. There is such a thing as too relaxed, you know?

After about eleven hours we started to wonder if we were there yet or if we were long since past our stop and heading down to the tip of the country or what. The name of our stop was Thivim, but since none of the stops seemed to employ electric lighting, we couldn’t see where we were when we did stop. Since we had our delightful opaque yellow coating over our window, we had to utilize the good old-fashioned technique of hanging out of the train doors as we approached a stop and peering out into the gloom for a clue as to our whereabouts. I was wearing a reasonably low-cut top as it had been a hot day, once, as I hung out of the train door staring into a darkened little train station, a couple of Indian men that were sitting there got up quickly and began advancing towards the train door talking loudly and staring at my white chest. I made a hasty retreat back into the cabin and pulled the door closed.

A German man in the cabin next to us called in once or twice to check where we thought we were. He had been tracking where we were by means of times between stations. He showed us on a map he had with him the names of the stops and he had carefully pencilled in the exact times to the second that it had taken to get from one to the next. Germans always seem to do stuff like this when they’re abroad. Unfortunately he was missing a few and wasn’t sure what the last stop had been, but he was pretty sure that we were either past Goa or running late. He eventually hunted down a staff member and managed to find out that there were three stops to go until Thivim. Eventually we reached Thivim and the same staff member kindly went down the carriage yelling “Thivim! Thivim!” and yanking open all our doors so we knew we were to get off. The train stopped for about 8 milliseconds and we hopped off as it began to move away again. I looked back and saw the Germans jump off it while it was still moving.

Thivim was pitch black, no lighting anywhere and we all had to walk through dust and grass and plants along the train track in darkness for a bit before reaching a dimly lit tiny little station. Cecelia had told us to go to the stationmaster as soon as we arrived and find out when our return journey was as it had not been printed on our ticket. We did this, and an unfriendly looking stationmaster barked loudly at us that it was a one way ticket only and there was no return journey on this ticket. When we protested that we had paid for a return, he just said “No! no!” really loudly. This discouraged further protests and we left. I was secretly thrilled because that meant we wouldn’t have to get the Train O’ Terror back to Bombay.

Out the front of Thivim station was a lot of taxis, rickshaws and not a whole lot else. We soon found that we were about 20km from anywhere in Goa. We bumped into the Germans again, who suggested that we share a taxi since we were all bound for Anjuna. There were three of them however, and no taxi was big enough for five people, so we had to go in two rickshaws.

A rickshaw in India is a tiny three wheeled vehicle with a roof. One wheel is in the front and two in the back. It looks a little like the offspring that would result if a car and a motorbike mated and the petrol fuelled union was fruitful. The mule of motor vehicles. The motor makes a sound like a rabid lawnmower. It’s very bouncy with hard seats and not well balanced and it goes without saying that there are no seatbelts or airbags or safety features in general.. Safety does not appear to be a huge priority in India; I guess if there are that many people somewhere there isn’t as big an outcry when someone falls off the perch a little early. I don’t know. It was quite fun to ride in one though, and I’m not being sarcastic. There were absolutely no streetlights and we bounced all over the dark, uneven road and several times into the path of oncoming cars who made no effort to avoid us whatsoever and honked their horns as if to say “Don’t make me kill you”. We always managed to swerve away again at the last second and continue. The rickshaw driver kept up a steady stream of cheerful conversation with an accent like Apu from the Simpsons. Brilliant.

We arrived at our hostel which was called The Orange House. Because it was orange. It was built in a Portuguese style and had a large pile of sand in front with five or six dogs lying in it. The proprietors were very friendly, nice people and our room was ok as well, although I noted with some dismay that we didn’t have air conditioning. We had a ceiling fan instead which did reasonably well. We also had a fair sized balcony to ourselves with some wrought iron benches and tables. Since we had only eaten sandwiches that day we decided we should go and get some food. Sunny managed to pick up a few Kingfishers (the local beer) and some bottled water at the shop next to the hostel, but though we could now be watered, we still needed feeding. We asked the hostel owner where we could get some grub and found out the only thing open this time of night was a Domino’s pizza down the road somewhere which he assured us delivered until midnight. We decided we’d like to see a little bit of the place we’d been through all the circles of Hell to get to. He looked a bit dubious when we said we wanted to walk.

In retrospect I can see why. We were actually in the middle of nowhere once we left the small cluster of shop, hostel, church and internet café where we were staying. The roads were dirt tracks with no streetlights and everywhere there were packs of dogs barking loudly at us. One pack numbered about twenty. I’m not afraid of dogs. But I am afraid of rabies and we hadn’t had rabies shots before we left. Some of the dogs had open sores from infected patches of mange on their backs that could be seen when you got close enough. I scanned them fearfully in the gloom to see if I could detect any frothing at the mouth. We kept walking and turned several times at darkened crossroads in the middle of nowhere, and I began to silently panic a bit. When the hounds weren’t baying all you could hear were tropical insects like cicadas creaking and cricking and sometimes screeching at each other. At one stage we were walking down a long dirt road in the pitch blackness of the night, no light anywhere so that we kept bumping into each other, and I had to say it. “Are we lost in the middle of India, Sunny?” Sunny assured me that he probably knew the way back although Domino’s Pizza was looking a little unlikely, and agreed to ask directions if we chanced upon another human being out here. I knew then we must be pretty fucked, because men in general, and Sunny in particular, don’t ask directions unless in extremis.

We came to another crossroads and in the darkness I could make out the shape of a wagon stacked with bags and various vegetables to one side of the road. It seemed like a strange thing to be at a dirt track crossroads in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. We got a little closer and Sunny exclaimed “Oh look, we can ask him!”
“Him” was the most terrified looking man I’d ever seen, a very dark skinned Indian man wearing some light coloured clothes, a sort of strange hat, and a look of frozen dread on his face as he stared at us, completely horror stricken at seeing two of the palest creatures he’d probably ever seen loom up to his stall out of nowhere at midnight and start gibbering at him in a foreign language as the starlight glinted off our bluish white Irish skin. When Sunny asked him for directions I actually think the man wet his pants. He kept shaking his head and stammering and backing up until he was actually against the hedge and starting to mash himself into it a little. The man’s desperate prayers to be delivered from this terror were answered shortly, as a motorbike suddenly zig-zagged up to us and a voice yelled “You want TAXI?”.
Depending on what situation you happen to be in, this can be the most beautiful phrase in any language in the world.

After a brief discussion concerning our desire to find Domino’s Pizza and our complete failure to do so thus far, we hopped on the back of this enterprising young man’s motorbike and began zipping back through the barking, snarling darkness. This time though, I was much happier, as even the twenty-strong dog pack scattered when it saw a motorbike hurtling towards it. We were deposited at a Domino’s Pizza place just sitting there in the middle of Indian darkness with absolutely nothing else around it, as though America mistakenly dropped it here out of a spaceship when they were seeding the world with K-Marts and Starbucks’. Surreal didn’t begin to describe it. The young guy on the motorbike, who was patently not a taximan, charged us 100 rupees for the ten minute ride. We were glad to give it to him, even though, when we saw him face to face in the light, we realized he was flaming drunk. However, even if I had known this I still would have gotten on that bike.

We managed to find our way back again with no trouble, and after a beer to cope with the trauma, went to bed. Sunny flopped onto the bed and yelped in pain. “Be warned. It’s extremely…firm”, he muttered, and turned over. “Ow”, and turned back again, looking upset. I got in-well technically I got on as it was so hard it didn’t give at all under my weight. I supposed it would be good for my back. I had to get off again to put the ceiling fan on high and close the windows to keep out the mosquitos, and then clambered on again, and hoped for sleep. Tomorrow we’d hopefully find the ivory white beaches and the hippy markets and the authentic local restaurants specializing in Goan cuisine and it would all be worth it.

extra

Nostalgia

When we arrived in Mumbai we were greeted at the airport by Christine’s Aunt and Uncle, Robin and Keron. As we exited the airport we were hit with a wave of hot humid air, it is always this first wave of hot air you get when arriving abroad that assures you that indeed you are in a strange place far from home. Fortunately it was a short walk to the car, and Sanjay, Keron and Robin’s driver was there to herd away the flocks of people with offerings of taxis, hotels and of course maps. We are greeted in the car by a refreshing blast of cool air from the air-conditioning and as Robin hands us a bag of ice cold cans. I select a nice refreshing can of Sprite, and suddenly I get nostalgic as I notice the cans ring pull was in fact an actual ring pull, I have not seen one of these probably since the 80’s, with a smile I pull of the ring pull and take a refreshing gulp!

Mumbai

Kiron and Robins Apartment Block, Mumbai

We began our travels in Mumbai (Bombay), but obviously before we could land in India we had some more paper work to fill, in with ample spaces left on the paper so that it can be stamped by several important people in several different locations before we reach the departure lounge. We did however get to have quite a sheltered experience of Mumbai (which, believe me, we were very happy to have). We were staying with Christine’s aunt and uncle, Robin and Kiron.

Mumbai

Mumbai is like no place I have seen before, the divide between rich and poor is unbelievable. And what seems even more unbelievable is that they live right on top of each other, in a city that often seems to be in complete decay. Yet rising out of this are huge new skyscrapers and shiny new shopping malls, but which incredibly are just in between all the plastic and rusty old corrugated shacks of the poor.