I arrived back in the UK this morning (finding out on the journey back that England is referred to as old blighty by some - hence the name of the story) but thought I should fill in on the last week in India via a travel journal, partly because I have managed to upload some photos which was very exciting! Calcutta was amazing to go back to, it felt like I had never really left and it was lovely to go somewhere where I had been before and knew people. James kindly sent an email reminding me of my traveler roots and to cut out the 5 star route, but I tactfully ignored it as I have decided that comfort is not something that I want to compromise on if I can at all help it! I have tried to be a super duper studenty backpacker type, but frankly I think these people would go the air conditioned route if they had the cash, and in India I am wealthy so I might as well enjoy it while it lasts (mastercard means I can delay the financial shock of having a luxurious holiday as a currently unemployed graduate). In Calcutta I went back to Mother Theresa’s home for the destitute and dying, which led to the same feeling that I want to volunteer there long term at some stage in my life. It also reminded me why I’m not going into a corporate job in which I make rich people richer and reaffirmed why I am doing what I am in my life at home. It was lovely to get it back actually, especially since as the holiday drew to a close I was wondering why I wasn’t doing some ridiculously well paid but very dull and worthless city job, which suddenly seemed to be getting more and more appealing…
We also went to another Hindi film which was truly terrible, saw the ganges, and hung out with some great NA guys. After Mother Theresa’s home we went into the Kali temple (where you can watch them sacrifice goats every morning – one of the best invites I refused last year) in which there was a huge crowd of people shoving and jostling around a doorway about 2 foot wide and raised about a foot. We were spotted by the holy man and dragged through the crowd, up onto the doorway ledge where a little fire burnt which we had to step over, all with loads of people shoving and heaving behind us. We got a little red mark put on our foreheads, were blessed and then asked for money (of course), initially they wanted loads of money, but we gave them a couple of pounds and ran away! I did the necessary pashmina shopping in new market with less hassle than last year, I think the presence of a post 6 foot white shopping companion helped some!
We got back to the flying cattle truck on Friday, this time we took air deccan, who had better food than spice air who we flew with the first time, but instead of using a computerized system at the boarding gate, they ticked off your name on a list, and rather worryingly, despite having extra security checks of luggage due to the terrorist stuff I suspect, they didn’t look at our passports once! However this did mean not too much flashing around of the very dodgy photo in my British passport so there was a great payoff for the obvious security threat it posed…
When we arrived back in Bombay we checked into ‘Hotel City Palace’ which adhered to two of the words in its name, not bad statistics to be fair, and booked into a ‘super deluxe double’ room, which was about 2 ½ metres squared, so god only knows what the ‘double economy’ room was like. The air conditioning made it feel like we were trapped in an ice storm in the arctic with only a swimming costume for warmth and I have been sniffing and feeling a bit ill since (am also concerned to note from the lonely planet guide that cold symptoms can mask the beginnings of dengue fever or malaria, both of which I am now wondering if I have contracted). The last day in Bombay was fab. We saw the gateway to India where the Brits marched through when they left, which is only about 4 metres wide so you have to wonder how many brits were actually there? Perhaps only a few? Mysterious stuff never the less. We also saw Gandhi’s lodgings which had his old library still intact, some great pics (including one of him with Charlie Chaplin which was rather odd) and letters including one to Hitler which was ace. It basically said that he hoped hitler didn’t think he was taking the piss as they obviously weren’t the best of friends, but he thought Hitler should think again about his actions and maybe consider peace as a viable alternative to his aggression as he thought Hitler might regret it if he acted with violence. Bet Hitler was chewing at the bit in that bunker when he realized Gandhi was right all along… Also found out that Gandhi got what he wanted a lot by refusing to eat, which seemed slightly like a temper tantrum. When I was a little thing I remember refusing to eat or leave my room (although never for very long as food and company were perhaps more important to me than they were to Gandhi?) if I didn’t get my own way and everyone would laugh at me for having a rubbish temper tantrums. Well Gandhi never had this experience as a child obviously as he continued doing it through into adulthood. People would fight and not do as he wanted, so he would go on hunger strike until they did what he said, I applaud him for his resolve in temper tantrums! Upstairs they had the most bizarre part of the museum. In little boxes raised at waist height, about 2 foot squared with glass top and front scenes from Gandhi’s life were reenacted by posing rag dolls. A massacre was shown by a big pile of ragdolls covered in red paint etc. It was obscure yet fascinating, there was something very disturbing about the juxtaposition of these childish dolls and play objects showing horrific scenes of political and moral injustices. More than that though it was just weird and I kept getting the giggles at very inappropriate moments, the massacre of the rag dolls for example had me snorting with laughter which didn’t impress the other museum visitors too much.
The flight home was not very fun and had very little entertainment, security was tight, at one point I had my shoes x-rayed, at another I had to take off my belt for it to be x-rayed. My trousers were so big they wouldn’t stay up without it so I had to hold them up and pray the metal detector didn’t go off in which case I would have had to spread my arms for the manual detector and potentially suffered much embarrassment. There was also a special moment when the underwiring in my bra set off the manual metal detector, when I told the woman she said ‘you have METAL in your bra??’ and was so shocked, like she thought I was some sort of Madonna type with metal pointy cones under my tshirt. When I explained about underwiring she got very confused and finally let me go. I think I might have saved her from a life of boobs sinking towards the knees – I hope she remembers me for it! Richard had a special moment of his own regarding his kangaroo poo branded t-shirt in which he was asked primarily if he was Australian, and upon replying that he was indeed British was asked why he chose to have a t-shirt with the word ‘poo’ on it. He tried to explain a little about brands and fashion, to which the airport security guard called him strange, declaring that Australians were strange, and the Brits were even stranger!! Not sure what this means for me considering I have just graduated into dual Australian-British citizenship?!? On the flight we had a lovely breakfast stop in Milan (coffee and pastries in Milan for breakfast dahling…) and finally got back to the UK this morning.
For those of you who I drove mad last year talking about India ALL the time I think you might have to suffer it all over again so it is lucky that you all love me enough to forgive me it (!!!) and once again I can’t wait to get back there. Bad news is neither can Richard, who is already talking about a pre Christmas return, which I could not join on as I will be responsible job owning adult person (sob sob). Was a lovely trip though, and I cannot imagine that I won’t go back there again and do the rest of the country!
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