I am in India, and have been for some time now. As you may or may not know.
I arrived in Delhi, and was immediately shocked and appalled by the mad fatalism that Indian roads run on. Driving here involves a healthy disrespect for your own life, and your passengers', as well as a strong right hand, used for beeping the horn every 3 seconds. Every car goes at absolute full throttle all the time, and everybody overtakes everybody regardless of whether it's necessary, least of all safe. It's a weird, frightening system, but there's a demented logic to it: little bikes and rickshaws make way for bigger cars, and the
cars make way for the big trucks. Having said that, I've seen more crashes here in two odd weeks than I have in five years in Australia.
On one trip I went on - 10 hours through the Himalayas, from a swanky ski resort I was staying at in the sleepy mountain town of Manali, to the typically dirty but nice town of Chandargar - the roads were one lane most of the way. Which would usually be alright, except that the roads were, for the most part, 100+ metres above the sea, twisting and snaking around the mountains. Plus, my drivers didn't feel the need to slow down at points that most western drivers would consider really fucking retardedly dangerous. I genuinely pondered my death a few times, and then figured I'd leave it up to karma like everyone else here does.
Obviously, I survived that. Although the two or three slides towards the edges of dirt roads that overlook massive, almost comically deadly drops, really drained my adrenaline, and as such I'm now half-sick with exhaustion. Sure, it sounds like I'm a girly man, but I have photos to prove that the Manali trip should only be taken by the genuinely suicidal.
Moving on from the exciting topic of roads, I've had some very pleasant, non-sickening times.
I met two cute, interesting Indian girls under a tree at a rose festival. Most people in Chandagar - and indeed much of India - stare at you like you're a leper, a renowned criminal or a movie star. White skin will do that. These two girls were one of only few to come up and talk to me. The others were groups of rowdy males desperate to talk to an Australian about cricket. The girls showed me around Chandagar yesterday, taking in a huge rock garden sculpture thing which is incredible, a big lake where doomed couples occasionally commit suicide, and other sights. Having them around meant I didn't have to pay the White Man tax, in which every price in every commercial transaction is either doubled or tripled, depending on what they think they can get away with.
I also bought a motherfucking sitar. In Australia, you'd be lucky to fork out $1500 for one. Here, I scored a beatiful handmade one for around $150.
I am, of course, ludicrously rich here. Relatively, money pours from my pockets. I give people $3 tips and they seem outraged at the incredible generosity. It's good to be a little more well off than the poor, cheaparse student / writer I am at home.
Indeed. But then, the riches come at a cost: the predictable coming to terms with the ludicrous poverty and ugliness here. Dying or dead dogs line the streets. Nice old donkeys with mottled fur, roaming the streets until they fall down and can't get up. Beautiful children in ragged clothes following me about, begging for half a rupee (about 4c). Many beggars are terribly disfigured, with limbs missing, eyeballs falling out. There's a lot of ugliness here.
And a lot of beauty. The Himalayas are - shock horror! - spectacular. I've never seen so much snow. The crowds here are something to behold. The women are beautiful, all colourful saris and jewellery.
I'm back in Delhi now, away from the snow of Manali and the relative quiet of Chandagar. I just ate an abhorrent pasta dish at an American chain restaurant called Ruby Tuesday. It cost around $40, unlike the Indian meals I have. Which usually cost about $1.50. And they're delicious. Yet another reason to despise those fatcat Americans, poisoning the worldwide culinary well.
Now I'm off to watch a Delhi street from the balcony of my hotel. Which is a nice way to spend a night, even if I do still feel a little seedy from exhaustion and gross pasta.
I arrived in Delhi, and was immediately shocked and appalled by the mad fatalism that Indian roads run on. Driving here involves a healthy disrespect for your own life, and your passengers', as well as a strong right hand, used for beeping the horn every 3 seconds. Every car goes at absolute full throttle all the time, and everybody overtakes everybody regardless of whether it's necessary, least of all safe. It's a weird, frightening system, but there's a demented logic to it: little bikes and rickshaws make way for bigger cars, and the
cars make way for the big trucks. Having said that, I've seen more crashes here in two odd weeks than I have in five years in Australia.
On one trip I went on - 10 hours through the Himalayas, from a swanky ski resort I was staying at in the sleepy mountain town of Manali, to the typically dirty but nice town of Chandargar - the roads were one lane most of the way. Which would usually be alright, except that the roads were, for the most part, 100+ metres above the sea, twisting and snaking around the mountains. Plus, my drivers didn't feel the need to slow down at points that most western drivers would consider really fucking retardedly dangerous. I genuinely pondered my death a few times, and then figured I'd leave it up to karma like everyone else here does.
Obviously, I survived that. Although the two or three slides towards the edges of dirt roads that overlook massive, almost comically deadly drops, really drained my adrenaline, and as such I'm now half-sick with exhaustion. Sure, it sounds like I'm a girly man, but I have photos to prove that the Manali trip should only be taken by the genuinely suicidal.
Moving on from the exciting topic of roads, I've had some very pleasant, non-sickening times.
I met two cute, interesting Indian girls under a tree at a rose festival. Most people in Chandagar - and indeed much of India - stare at you like you're a leper, a renowned criminal or a movie star. White skin will do that. These two girls were one of only few to come up and talk to me. The others were groups of rowdy males desperate to talk to an Australian about cricket. The girls showed me around Chandagar yesterday, taking in a huge rock garden sculpture thing which is incredible, a big lake where doomed couples occasionally commit suicide, and other sights. Having them around meant I didn't have to pay the White Man tax, in which every price in every commercial transaction is either doubled or tripled, depending on what they think they can get away with.
I also bought a motherfucking sitar. In Australia, you'd be lucky to fork out $1500 for one. Here, I scored a beatiful handmade one for around $150.
I am, of course, ludicrously rich here. Relatively, money pours from my pockets. I give people $3 tips and they seem outraged at the incredible generosity. It's good to be a little more well off than the poor, cheaparse student / writer I am at home.
Indeed. But then, the riches come at a cost: the predictable coming to terms with the ludicrous poverty and ugliness here. Dying or dead dogs line the streets. Nice old donkeys with mottled fur, roaming the streets until they fall down and can't get up. Beautiful children in ragged clothes following me about, begging for half a rupee (about 4c). Many beggars are terribly disfigured, with limbs missing, eyeballs falling out. There's a lot of ugliness here.
And a lot of beauty. The Himalayas are - shock horror! - spectacular. I've never seen so much snow. The crowds here are something to behold. The women are beautiful, all colourful saris and jewellery.
I'm back in Delhi now, away from the snow of Manali and the relative quiet of Chandagar. I just ate an abhorrent pasta dish at an American chain restaurant called Ruby Tuesday. It cost around $40, unlike the Indian meals I have. Which usually cost about $1.50. And they're delicious. Yet another reason to despise those fatcat Americans, poisoning the worldwide culinary well.
Now I'm off to watch a Delhi street from the balcony of my hotel. Which is a nice way to spend a night, even if I do still feel a little seedy from exhaustion and gross pasta.
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youre welcome for the ruby tuesday's BTW.