Her name is Rio…

29 Jun

Rio – what a place to finish a 10 month world tour. It may just be my favourite city ever, and I’ve only just got here. A tad premature, you could say, but hey, we’ve all been there in the face of something beautiful.

 

Even the descent into Santos Dumont (that’s the name of the Airport, not a young man) was exhilarating.  Christ the Redeemer and Sugar Loaf Mountain on one side, and the beautiful Copacabana and Ipanema beaches on t’other, the views were awesome, in the literal (not the overused, Americanised) sense of the word.

 

The airport was slick and efficient, and even the now battered rucksack shot me a gorgeous, zip-toothed smile as he rotated round on carousel # 1, knowingly survived his penultimate journey before gleefully settling into the hold of a BA beauty, destined for the green, green grass of home.

 

It should also be said, to confirm a theory. That love at first sight, can exist. My heart melted instantly on seeing football pitches, and goals on beaches, in an almost implausible abundance. No wonder the Brazilian’s are good. There’s enough pitches here to make Hackney Marshes look like a council estate back garden in Scunthorpe.

 

Huge waves barreled across the beaches of Gloria, Cafete and Flamingo, while joggers and dog walkers and occasional floaty yoga-types added to the serenity of the scene. The sun bounced off the water and was duly received by the looming cliffs that jut out of nowhere in spectacular fashion.

 

Copacabana and Ipanema were full of more futebol players (prounounced ‘foochebull’ – and yes, I will say it like that for the rest of my time here) to my absolute delight. The Brazilian Conor Burke from Manaus has already put me in touch with his brother who is a professional beach player on Copacabana. TheManFromDelMinty will have his work cut out for him. Let’s hope those Speedos can help to up my game.

 

The rest of the city has much to behold. Trips to see old Christ himself, (no wonder he chose to reside here) hang gliding above the city, favela tours and parties in Lapa where the beats, apparently, don’t stop.  Did I mention there’s some futebol going on?
Time to get my samba on, I’m in love, and Rio’s calling.

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Goat of note

28 Nov

Is it just me, or did everybody else know that Goats have rectangular iris’?  Well if you didn’t, they do. Très strange, I know.

Well they (goats) are everywhere in India, as you will gather from some of my recent posts. I happened to chance across this little fella whilst wandering through a very ‘local’ area of Fort Cochin.  He must have thought I looked about as strange as he did.

Anyway, I was rather impressed by his Elvis-esque hairdo.  If you

One for the money, two for the show, three goats for my curry, now go go go...

look carefully, you can see his beautiful quiff.  I went to get closer, but he made a loud noise.  I think he must’ve been waring me off the blue suede hooves…

Uh-huh, thank you very much.

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Herr Lipp

28 Nov

Stong 'mo = strong man

It may nearly be over, but it’s always Mo’vember in India as this fine man will testify. What a strong example it is too.

Everywhere you go, the mo’ is firmly in vogue. I doubt it ever went out. I for one am a big fan.  TheoldmanfromDelMinty used to sport one back in the eighties, and to be honest, far too long into the nineties too – but it was a good look.

If only my own growth was a bit more Tom Selleck and a little less Tom Thumb, I’d be just like one of the locals…

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Rules, what rules?

7 Nov

Don't forget your horn

There are a few things that smack you in the face when you come to a place like India, which is so far away in terms of western-living.

My main observation is that – or certainly it would appear – there are no rules.

At first, it seems daunting, dangerous even, but you take things with a pinch of salt and get into it. After a few days you adjust, and a few weeks later you barely notice it.

It raises the interesting debate regarding the UK and many other Western countries being ‘nanny states’.

CCTV is an invasion of privacy, smoking laws only benefit the non-smokers, ID cards are a waste of government money, and so on.  My stance has always been that all of the above examples are very much needed, will benefit society and the only people bothered by them are the degenerates that are breaking the law in the first place.

The area that concerns India, is the area of blame and litigation.  Unfortunately most Western societies are following the American model (for the overall purpose of greed) in that, if something goes wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault.

One of the best things about the lack of rules here in India is that if you want to, you can do anything.   Unbeknown to TheManFromDelMinty, while in Delhi I took a shortcut through a building site.  It wasn’t marked off or laden with security and before I knew it, there I was, in the thick of things, but popped out on the other side, much quicker than the long way round.

I know what you’re thinking – that’s not good, it’s stupid, something could have happened.  You’d be right.  However, the Indian people wouldn’t be filing a case against the building firm – and if they did, I’m sure their response would be something like “you walked into a building site and fell on to some iron piling?  What on earth were you doing in there?” With a rather agressive head wobble.

Accidents happen. Yes there are areas all over the place that are unsafe, so, therefore you have to watch what you’re doing. I don’t think this means they want every corner to be a death trap, simply that at home we’re at the other end of the spectrum. “Fall over at work (accidently on purpose) on a slippy floor you shouldn’t have been on anyway, and bang your elbow?” You should definitely tell some insurance scumbag – 6 months off work, that is mate. Now you can definitely take the Mrs to Pontins.

On to the fun part, where in India, the word ‘rule’ has no meaning. The word ‘rule’ does not exist. A world where we can be free, be our own boss, and take life by the balls and say, “I own this, this mutha fritter is mine.”  THE ROAD. Observing as I go, I’ve put together a kind of set of rules I think most people go by, in their heads only, of course:

ANIMALS

- Cows can go anywhere they like and should be avoided at all costs;

- Goats, dogs and chickens can be ignored and passed at your chosen speed;

HORN

- Ensure your horn is working and is as loud as possible. If horn is not working, do not travel – you will be knocking on death’s door and inviting him for tea;

  • If driving a Rickshaw, do not be perturbed by the fact that your horn has no volume except to driver and passenger, and will often sound like a duck being pressed in a vice
  • Use horn at all times: When approaching vehicles, pedestrians, when overtaking, when undertaking, when approaching a corner, when going uphill. Do not be afraid to think of as many uses as possible for your horn. It is your only method of survival

TERRAIN

- Avoid gaping potholes at all costs. If this means radical swerving and being on the wrong side of the road, do not worry. The pothole is more important than a head on collision;

- If you are under 30, all potholes are null and void;

- If you are going downhill, feel free to cut the engine and save precious fuel. If you are going uphill, remember to overtake when you can - more on this later;

OVERTAKING

- When passing another motorist (either side is fine) get as close to the vehicle in front of you as possible, swerve out as soon as the most recent vehicle passes. Do not worry that your vision is obstructed. If there is a bus/tanker coming at speed, you can always swerve back in again. If the other vehicle is of equal or lesser size to you, speed up and drive head on. Something will move. If you have to disturb pedestrians, do not be concerned. Without engines they are lesser mortals. Sound your horn and Shiva will be with you.

  • In all instances of passing, ensure horn is depressed at all times

JOINING TRAFFIC

- We are not quite sure what ‘junctions’ are, but if you need to join a new flow of traffic, do not slow down. Ensure horn is pressed, and pull out at your leisure. Other vehicles ‘should’ move for you;

PASSENGERS

- If passengers are Western, it is your choice on where you take them, even if they are aware of the area and know their destination;

- If passengers are Indian, feel free to squeeze as many in as you humanely can.  In a rickshaw, 7 or more adults is possible, depending on their size. 14 children of all sizes is also possible;

- If you are carrying cargo, do not worry about strapping or securing your load. Realistically you will have to pay for this, and thus incur more overall cost. Advise here to employ 1-2 small boys to sit on top of cargo;

- If driving motorbike, your limit is 5 passengers. If carrying small child (especially those under 1yr old) ensure they sit as close to the front of bike as possible, preferably on the engine or handlebars. Do not wear any protective clothing or items at all. This will unbalance you and confuse other road users, as well as incurring cost.

IF IN DOUBT

- Sound horn

Octopussy

23 Oct

The name's Minty. The man from Del, Minty...

Unfortunately this entry does not end with me in bed with 8 women in a Maharaj style orgy.  Which is a shame.  Much less erotic, but far more realistic, Udaipur in Rajasthan was to be our final stop in the north and ‘proper’ India.

A far cry from the dusty and dirty streets of Jaipur and the vagabond living of Delhi, Udaipur was just what the Doctor ordered. Years ago, it was the scene for the Bond film ‘Octopussy’ and very much lived up to the hype.  Imagine almost an Italian city, all tight streets and bustling atmosphere, but in a way that ignores the tourists and exists in its own world.

Absolutely stunning throughout, and built largely on lakes, the city palace looms large over the place, and glistens throughout the day providing a stunning backdrop for the all the other waterfront places that take on a new, sparkling persona at night.

I will confess, there were several occasions when I drifted off, imagining myself in a Casino with a Russian beauty – crisp black suit, white shirt, black tie (me, not her) – bursting out of the doors in hot pursuit of a one-eyed badman across the lake, after usurping an Indian from his speedboat.  The name’s Minty. ThemanfromDel, Minty.

Don’t get too comfortable, Daniel Craig.

Amazingly the monsoon season had worked in our advantage, as Udaipur ‘The City of Lakes’ is only at it’s best either during, or just after monsoon season to ensure all the lakes and waterways are full.  Amazingly it gets so hot in India, by the end of a hot season they can completely evaporate.  This is pretty incredible when you see the expanse of water.

For us, the sun shined and after our drenching at the Taj felt we had justly deserved some of this.  Wandering through meandering streets to amazing viewpoints, and again some breathtaking historical sights.   Finish off with a beer on a rooftop, usually served in a tea cup, incognito, due to Rajasthan being a ‘dry-state’.

Being a secret agent, has more than it’s most obvious advantages.

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Jaipur bites back

9 Oct

Jaipur - mosquito city central

Jaipur: The Pink City.

Rajasthan was our 3rd stop in the North of India, and held much promise. It’s the largest state in India and encompasses most of the great Indian desert, one of the world’s oldest mountain ranges and Tiger Reserves. I could picture myself atop a camel, sort of Star Wars style, trekking across the desert. Then having a light-saber battle with a Gujarat for good measure. Followed by a beer and a curry.

Unfortunately, that was not to be, as Jaipur nearly proved to be the undoing of us. Before moving on to the desert or the Tigers or the mountains, Jaipur (a city of wonder) had to be explored. However, our western tempers were fraying and our eyes had been feasted on so many incredible pieces of history and architecture, that unfortunately we had been made immune to its charms.

Call me callous and uncultured if you must, but (for the majority of us) unless you’re a historian, a budding historian, or a passionate lover of historical monuments, or variations on this theme, there are only so many times you can be wowed by their charms.

Jaipur had to bear the brunt of our perceptions of the negative side of such travelling. The stares made us grouchy, the touting and hawking made us turn our backs, and some of the architecture was met with a silence precipitated by repetition rather than astonishment.

If you do decide to go to Jaipur, don’t be put off by this. The Amber Fort is quite possibly one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. The old city is practically one big market and the embodiment of Indian market culture – many other things we did were amazing, it’s just that doing them every day for ten days takes its toll.

The second night we were bitten to shreds by mosquitos to further add to our ambivalent mood. To abate the constant barrage of attention, we gave ourselves pseudonyms and became Sven and Ulrika for the day – not many Indians know Sweden so have less chance at sparking any conversation. “Oh, my cousin lives in Gothenburg!” I bet he does mate, but I’m from Stockholm and I’m strictly a one city man whilst in the Motherland. So as they say in Svenska, “do one”.

Our last venture in the old city and we were stuck in the melee of market traffic. Ever the imperialist, TMFDM took the first pedal rickshaw out of there to a more ‘western’ road. On getting out, “temple sir, suit sir, bazaar sir?” You have to have skin like the lovechild of Bob Geldof and an African Rhino.

Smile. Breath. Walk away.

We sought solace in an unlikely place. Never before have I been so glad to see the Golden Arches pop into view, and been comforted by a spotty, uniformed youth, sporting a 5-star burger flipping badge.

We left that night via overnight sleeper bus to Udaipur. City of lakes, romance, the scene for a 80′s James Bond film, respite from the madness a la rooftop beers in the sunset.

We live in hope.

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Behind the times

9 Oct

People, the speed of the computers in the north was the complete opposite of the speed of the traffic, and my suspicion was that many of them were harbouring more bacteria than ‘that’ toilet in trainspotting – hence the lack of activity in the last 10 days.

For this, I apologise. It’s hammering with rain again today, so I will be getting back up to speed shortly.

Watch this space.
TMFDM

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