Mumbai to Delhi to Mathura, India (Mar. 25-27)
I am an accountant, so here is a math problem: travelling to a brand new country by yourself + that country is India + arriving at 2 am + no plan = ?
Well, it isn't smooth sailing with beautiful and affordable accomodation, in case you were wondering.
I am more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type person and prefer a go-with-the-flow travel style, but there are certainly situations where it is best to plan ahead. This was one of them. I had nothing but the name, phone number and address of a hostel from Lonely Planet that I had looked up on the plane. It was 2am, no one was keen on helping me (unlike Africa), and my debit card didn't work in the ATMs. I wasn't entirely sure what to do next. I exchanged the few US dollars I had left (they wouldn't take my Rwandan Francs) went to the travel agencies to try and book a taxi, but they were saying $20-30. I haven't experienced prices like that in so long, they seemed insane: I had heard India was cheap! Even the hostel I was looking at was way more expensive than anywhere I had stayed in Africa. I still didn't even have any idea whether the hostel would be open when I got there or whether there would be space. I always just showed up at a place in Africa, but I would soon learn that India was a whole different game. The taxi place let me call the hostel and I found out that they were full. I think they figured I would get a cab there if I could contact the hostel, but once I found out the place was full, they lost patience with me and just told me there were no hotels and I needed to sleep on the floor of the airport. I finally met a woman that was nice, who told me to just go to the hotel booking counter and find one that way. The cheapest one I could find was around 2,100 rupees a night ($42), but I wasn't really in a position to refuse.
The hotel included a ride there from the airport so at least I didn't have to deal with that, but for that amount of money you would expect a pretty decent hotel. That is one thing I have learned about India, you are generally better to go with cheaper because the expensive ones don't really seem to be any better. For $40 in Africa, you would be living like a king!
I managed to get a late checkout and slept from about 5am to 2pm, then packed my bags and headed out to find the train station. I caught a bus to get to the local train station that costed 5 rupees, which was a very strange comparison to the 2,100 rupees I paid for my room. Travelling through so many different currencies was confusing enough, but India just didn't make any sense.
I bought my train ticket to get to the national train station and set about the impossible task of finding the elusive platform 7. Platforms 1,2,3,4,5,8, and 9 were there, but 6 and 7 were no where to be found. It seemed like no one spoke English or had any interest in helping me. My go-to in Africa was to ask security guards since they always spoke English, but even that one failed. After being directed down every available stairway, I finally found the platform down the street and around the corner.
While I waited for the train, I got my first meal in India; I might have died and gone to heaven at that moment. After 4 1/2 months of horrible, flavourless food that got progressively worse everywhere I moved, culminating in the crusty Rwandan buffets, I just didn't even remember that food could taste that good. I am still not sure whether that Masala Dosa was actually as good as I remember or whether I was just desperate for an flavourful food, but WOW.
I met this strange old man on the train that didn't speak much english, but was very sweet. When we got to the train station, he said it was the wrong one and that he could show me the right train station to go to. I was a bit apprehensive, especially since I don't think I ever once experienced someone in Africa helping me without expecting to get something out of it, but it was the middle of the day in a busy city and I had no idea where I was going. I didn't exactly have people lining up to help me like in Africa.
After a 15 minute walk, we got to the train booking office and the man waited while I booked my train ticket and then walked me to the bank and back in order to pay for it. I still wasn't sure whether to be creeped out that he was still there, or amazed that he hadn't tried to get any money out of me. I had a few hours until my train so we decided to go to the train station area and try to find some food there. The man actually tried to pay for my train ticket, but I insisted that I pay for his since it was the least I could do after he helped me out so much. We found a restaurant and he just ordered coffee and tried to pay for himself again. I paid for the coffee and bought him some dinner. I think in the end I ended up spending about $1 on him. He spent the entire wait with me, made sure I went to the train at the right time, and showed me to the right car before he said good-bye, wished me the best, and left. He told me that he helped me because he believed that one day someone would help him. I think maybe he was just a lonely old man who wanted some company, but either way he was certainly something special. I could barely communicate with him, but I will always remember as the first and maybe only third-world local who helped me with no expectations.
The train car was filled with three layers of beds that converted into seats for the day part of the trip. There was a girl sitting across from me who I ended up really getting along with. It was strange because I felt like I was so similar in personality to this girl, but I soon realized what different lives we had/would lead. She was shocked that I had been allowed to do the trip at all. Your parents let you do that?" she said. "Well I'm 27. What exactly are they going to do about it?" She explained to me how she couldn't do anything without the approval of her community and how her parent's would arrange her marriage within the next year or two. She was actually lucky to get some freedom to live on her own for a while before marriage. That would make me so angry, but she had such a positive attitude about it. For her children, it would change, but for her, she knew she didn't have a choice. If she rebelled, her and her family would be alienated from their community. It just is what it is. Which is the same attitude I learned that you have to take with the men in Africa and India. If you keep expecting things to change, you will just get overwhelmed with anger. I guess part of life is learning to recognize what you can and can not change.
I spent one night in Delhi, then woke up early to catch a morning bus to Mathura. While I waited for the bus to leave the station, I watched the neighbouring community celebrating Holi on top of their garbage pile. The children were running around and laughing as they threw coloured powder at eachother. I got my first taste of Holi when we stopped for our lunch break.
So there I was, two days into India, covered in yellow powder, surrounded by people stained in every colour of the rainbow and no one that spoke English, bouncing down the road towards Mathura.
I got off the bus and started walking down the road, with all of my bags, towards what seemed like the direction of my hotel. Every few steps, someone would run out and try to spray me with something or throw dust on me. I encouraged it on my face, hoping to avoid covering my backpack. The first hotel I got to was full, so I started wandering down the street trying to find another guest house. I was trying to ask people for help, but mostly they just aggressively slapped me with powder despite my protesting that it wasn't the time. One guy poured water right into my purse, which contained all of my electronics.
I realized things were getting nasty and hopped on a rickshaw headed for the next hotel in Lonely Planet. On the way, a group of guys whipped piles of pink powder at me as we drove by. So much for keeping my bag clean.
On my way into the hotel, a child ran up to me and I bent my face down to let him put some dust on it. He put some on my forehead, pinched my boob, and ran. I just stood there with my mouth gaping. That child was about 8. Did that seriously just happen?
I desperately needed food and was lucky enough to run into a group of guys as soon as I got out of the hotel; I think things would have been really bad if I had been on my own.
I was much more prepared for the second kid and I grabbed his arm before he could run away. "sorry, sorry, sorry..." he repeated as I did my best to scare the pervert out of him.
Mathura became like a battle zone, you were never sure where the next attack would come from: an ass-smack from a passing motor-cycle, a boob-grab from a child below, a bucket of water from the roofs ahead, a handfull of powder in the face from behind, or flying powder coming from an open door. I was on constant alert. I started walking on the inside and stopped letting people hug me. I stood back while they hugged the guys, then leaned forward and held one arm over my boobs while I let people put some powder on my face.
We were walking down one side street when a large group of guys came towards us and I used my usual tactic, but there were just two many of them. The guys were all occupied and three big guys came towards me. I told them no hugs and held one arm over my boobs and one arm out keeping them back. The biggest guy reached in and grabbed me anyways. I am not a fighter and I don't think I have really hit someone since childhood fights with my siblings, but without even realizing what I was doing I hit that guy as hard as I possibly could. He looked at me with his mouth gaping; I definitely don't think he was expecting that. His friends started laughing at him and they left. As much as I can laugh at it now, it was actually such a scary and helpless feeling at the time. If I didn't find those guys, I wouldn't have even been able to go out. I think it would have been really dangerous.
I left the hotel with two of the guys to go and find dinner. Basically nothing was open; I guess all of the men were too busy getting drunk and grabbing the breasts of unsuspecting tourists. We finally found a place where I saw a man serving the rice to patrons with his bare and purple-stained hands. One of the guys chickened out and headed back to the hostel for dinner. William and I sat down at the half-broken table on a pile of ashes and garbage, next to a cow eating out of one of the empty bowls, in the middle of a mass swarm of flies, and had an excellent dinner. Yum.
We spent the rest of the night drinking Kingfisher and playing with the street dogs; I fell in love with this one lame dog that had a broken leg.
Despite everything, I ended up having a lot of fun at Holi. For the most part, the people were really friendly and welcoming and really just wanted to include us in their celebrations. I was stained pink for almost a week and I think my bag still has pink dust lurking in the corners, but it was definitely an experience.
I am an accountant, so here is a math problem: travelling to a brand new country by yourself + that country is India + arriving at 2 am + no plan = ?
Well, it isn't smooth sailing with beautiful and affordable accomodation, in case you were wondering.
I am more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type person and prefer a go-with-the-flow travel style, but there are certainly situations where it is best to plan ahead. This was one of them. I had nothing but the name, phone number and address of a hostel from Lonely Planet that I had looked up on the plane. It was 2am, no one was keen on helping me (unlike Africa), and my debit card didn't work in the ATMs. I wasn't entirely sure what to do next. I exchanged the few US dollars I had left (they wouldn't take my Rwandan Francs) went to the travel agencies to try and book a taxi, but they were saying $20-30. I haven't experienced prices like that in so long, they seemed insane: I had heard India was cheap! Even the hostel I was looking at was way more expensive than anywhere I had stayed in Africa. I still didn't even have any idea whether the hostel would be open when I got there or whether there would be space. I always just showed up at a place in Africa, but I would soon learn that India was a whole different game. The taxi place let me call the hostel and I found out that they were full. I think they figured I would get a cab there if I could contact the hostel, but once I found out the place was full, they lost patience with me and just told me there were no hotels and I needed to sleep on the floor of the airport. I finally met a woman that was nice, who told me to just go to the hotel booking counter and find one that way. The cheapest one I could find was around 2,100 rupees a night ($42), but I wasn't really in a position to refuse.
The hotel included a ride there from the airport so at least I didn't have to deal with that, but for that amount of money you would expect a pretty decent hotel. That is one thing I have learned about India, you are generally better to go with cheaper because the expensive ones don't really seem to be any better. For $40 in Africa, you would be living like a king!
I managed to get a late checkout and slept from about 5am to 2pm, then packed my bags and headed out to find the train station. I caught a bus to get to the local train station that costed 5 rupees, which was a very strange comparison to the 2,100 rupees I paid for my room. Travelling through so many different currencies was confusing enough, but India just didn't make any sense.
I bought my train ticket to get to the national train station and set about the impossible task of finding the elusive platform 7. Platforms 1,2,3,4,5,8, and 9 were there, but 6 and 7 were no where to be found. It seemed like no one spoke English or had any interest in helping me. My go-to in Africa was to ask security guards since they always spoke English, but even that one failed. After being directed down every available stairway, I finally found the platform down the street and around the corner.
While I waited for the train, I got my first meal in India; I might have died and gone to heaven at that moment. After 4 1/2 months of horrible, flavourless food that got progressively worse everywhere I moved, culminating in the crusty Rwandan buffets, I just didn't even remember that food could taste that good. I am still not sure whether that Masala Dosa was actually as good as I remember or whether I was just desperate for an flavourful food, but WOW.
I met this strange old man on the train that didn't speak much english, but was very sweet. When we got to the train station, he said it was the wrong one and that he could show me the right train station to go to. I was a bit apprehensive, especially since I don't think I ever once experienced someone in Africa helping me without expecting to get something out of it, but it was the middle of the day in a busy city and I had no idea where I was going. I didn't exactly have people lining up to help me like in Africa.
After a 15 minute walk, we got to the train booking office and the man waited while I booked my train ticket and then walked me to the bank and back in order to pay for it. I still wasn't sure whether to be creeped out that he was still there, or amazed that he hadn't tried to get any money out of me. I had a few hours until my train so we decided to go to the train station area and try to find some food there. The man actually tried to pay for my train ticket, but I insisted that I pay for his since it was the least I could do after he helped me out so much. We found a restaurant and he just ordered coffee and tried to pay for himself again. I paid for the coffee and bought him some dinner. I think in the end I ended up spending about $1 on him. He spent the entire wait with me, made sure I went to the train at the right time, and showed me to the right car before he said good-bye, wished me the best, and left. He told me that he helped me because he believed that one day someone would help him. I think maybe he was just a lonely old man who wanted some company, but either way he was certainly something special. I could barely communicate with him, but I will always remember as the first and maybe only third-world local who helped me with no expectations.
The train car was filled with three layers of beds that converted into seats for the day part of the trip. There was a girl sitting across from me who I ended up really getting along with. It was strange because I felt like I was so similar in personality to this girl, but I soon realized what different lives we had/would lead. She was shocked that I had been allowed to do the trip at all. Your parents let you do that?" she said. "Well I'm 27. What exactly are they going to do about it?" She explained to me how she couldn't do anything without the approval of her community and how her parent's would arrange her marriage within the next year or two. She was actually lucky to get some freedom to live on her own for a while before marriage. That would make me so angry, but she had such a positive attitude about it. For her children, it would change, but for her, she knew she didn't have a choice. If she rebelled, her and her family would be alienated from their community. It just is what it is. Which is the same attitude I learned that you have to take with the men in Africa and India. If you keep expecting things to change, you will just get overwhelmed with anger. I guess part of life is learning to recognize what you can and can not change.
I spent one night in Delhi, then woke up early to catch a morning bus to Mathura. While I waited for the bus to leave the station, I watched the neighbouring community celebrating Holi on top of their garbage pile. The children were running around and laughing as they threw coloured powder at eachother. I got my first taste of Holi when we stopped for our lunch break.
So there I was, two days into India, covered in yellow powder, surrounded by people stained in every colour of the rainbow and no one that spoke English, bouncing down the road towards Mathura.
I got off the bus and started walking down the road, with all of my bags, towards what seemed like the direction of my hotel. Every few steps, someone would run out and try to spray me with something or throw dust on me. I encouraged it on my face, hoping to avoid covering my backpack. The first hotel I got to was full, so I started wandering down the street trying to find another guest house. I was trying to ask people for help, but mostly they just aggressively slapped me with powder despite my protesting that it wasn't the time. One guy poured water right into my purse, which contained all of my electronics.
I realized things were getting nasty and hopped on a rickshaw headed for the next hotel in Lonely Planet. On the way, a group of guys whipped piles of pink powder at me as we drove by. So much for keeping my bag clean.
On my way into the hotel, a child ran up to me and I bent my face down to let him put some dust on it. He put some on my forehead, pinched my boob, and ran. I just stood there with my mouth gaping. That child was about 8. Did that seriously just happen?
I desperately needed food and was lucky enough to run into a group of guys as soon as I got out of the hotel; I think things would have been really bad if I had been on my own.
I was much more prepared for the second kid and I grabbed his arm before he could run away. "sorry, sorry, sorry..." he repeated as I did my best to scare the pervert out of him.
Mathura became like a battle zone, you were never sure where the next attack would come from: an ass-smack from a passing motor-cycle, a boob-grab from a child below, a bucket of water from the roofs ahead, a handfull of powder in the face from behind, or flying powder coming from an open door. I was on constant alert. I started walking on the inside and stopped letting people hug me. I stood back while they hugged the guys, then leaned forward and held one arm over my boobs while I let people put some powder on my face.
We were walking down one side street when a large group of guys came towards us and I used my usual tactic, but there were just two many of them. The guys were all occupied and three big guys came towards me. I told them no hugs and held one arm over my boobs and one arm out keeping them back. The biggest guy reached in and grabbed me anyways. I am not a fighter and I don't think I have really hit someone since childhood fights with my siblings, but without even realizing what I was doing I hit that guy as hard as I possibly could. He looked at me with his mouth gaping; I definitely don't think he was expecting that. His friends started laughing at him and they left. As much as I can laugh at it now, it was actually such a scary and helpless feeling at the time. If I didn't find those guys, I wouldn't have even been able to go out. I think it would have been really dangerous.
I left the hotel with two of the guys to go and find dinner. Basically nothing was open; I guess all of the men were too busy getting drunk and grabbing the breasts of unsuspecting tourists. We finally found a place where I saw a man serving the rice to patrons with his bare and purple-stained hands. One of the guys chickened out and headed back to the hostel for dinner. William and I sat down at the half-broken table on a pile of ashes and garbage, next to a cow eating out of one of the empty bowls, in the middle of a mass swarm of flies, and had an excellent dinner. Yum.
We spent the rest of the night drinking Kingfisher and playing with the street dogs; I fell in love with this one lame dog that had a broken leg.
Despite everything, I ended up having a lot of fun at Holi. For the most part, the people were really friendly and welcoming and really just wanted to include us in their celebrations. I was stained pink for almost a week and I think my bag still has pink dust lurking in the corners, but it was definitely an experience.
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