Diary of Murdo and Agnes’ Cuairt to India
Introduction: This diary was written at the request of Coinneach Mor, who, on hearing that the intrepid pair from Aignish were about to depart for India to attend the wedding of a friends daughter, suggested that they take a minidisk to record the event for his programme. Unfortunately pre-occupation with things festive! meant that the technical know how for setting up the gear was temporarily unavailable, hence the paper version. Coinneach – we owe you one – it would never have occurred to us to record the events in any form, and the diary has given us the opportunity to recall small details that we would otherwise have forgotten. It also allows us the chance to share this with Rudhachs everywhere if the committee so wish. We hope readers will enjoy reading of our adventure. Naturally we would be delighted to do the same again if someone were to send us to foreign climes – expenses would of course be kept to a minimum!!!! Murdo and Agnes
Day 0 19-12-04
In India at last. First impressions – a complete assault on the senses! Senses which are probably dulled by exhaustion and jet lag.Left Stornoway on the 18th on the 1040 BA flight to Glasgow – BA not just on time in Glasgow but 20 minutes early! Also on time to Gatwick – can’t believe our luck until in Gatwick one piece of luggage vanished!! Ah well---- Lost bags traced and retrieved within 30 minutes – Good old BA.
Long flight to India, almost 10 hours, with the last three of these spent in professional mode. A male passenger bleeding fairly impressively and other passengers conking out at the sight of blood. Nursing and Midwifery Council and its imposed professional obligations! Do they really count when flying over Bulgaria? Still was rewarded with a bottle of the best duty free perfume by the aircrew. (Later suggested by someone that it should have been free flights – never mind perfume!). Murdo sleeping peacefully through all this, no doubt appreciative of the extra leg room released by my departure to the ‘sick bay’ at the rear of the plane.
India. First half hour my impressions all begin with C. Cows, Cricket. Colour and certainly in this former Portuguese colony, Catholicism. Also having your bags snatched and carried for ‘….English pound please….’ by energetic men in brown, occasionally gazumped by imps in various colours!
And buses reminiscent of ‘Bus A Leddy’ from Gravir sans the leisurely pace – slowing down only to avoid cows, which appear to have dominance over road rules. Entire families of 6 being transported on a Moped with flapping saris and flapping children perched precariously having to take their chances. Crash helmets appear to be reserved for the patriarchs. The norm appears to be father driving with a youngster on each knee, mother riding sidesaddle behind, with a child between the parents and if necessary another clutching at the rear.Cricket is certainly in evidence in every village – young men seriously applying themselves to willow and wicket – football making only fleeting appearances – no wonder England have such difficulties against India at Lords etc.
Catholicism – Shrines of the important Hindu gods vie at the roadside with evidence of the Catholic faith in the form of statues of the Virgin Mary and crucifixes. An incongruous sight – a stout and stern looking nun standing under a black umbrella directing a ‘corps’ of uniformed schoolgirls doing what appear to be military manoeuvres!
Colours – fabulous flashes of bright saris clash with brightly coloured, if dusty, houses, otherwise the verdant green of the landscape is slightly dampened by red dust. Looking forward to buying a sari for the wedding.
Have I mentioned smells? Driving through the villages the smell of agriculture, which is universal (i.e. cow dung), mingles aromatically with sweet spicy smells and the occasional whiff of spliff!
Following an extended siesta to overcome jet lag a little quantity (!) of G&T has nicely preceded our first Indian meal in India – mouth-watering.
The people seem nice, attractive and friendly. Day 0 has been a good start to our Indian odyssey.
Day 1 20-12-04
First day proper. Culture shock has hit. As usual the idea of living in unadulterated luxury (third world style) sits uneasily with me when less than 50 yards away is abject third world poverty. Separated only by a dusty field where wild but very appealing looking dogs take their siesta. Any brave soul venturing past the dogs is well armed with a big stick. The idea that I’m somehow making life better for locals with my tourist rupees rings a little hollow, as usual. Brave women sneak past when the dogs aren’t looking and hold their babies up for us tourists to see and extend their hands for money until they are chased away by the hotel security guards. Occasionally the women send little children to beg and watch them from a distance. Most of the women dress in saris but one wears a distinctly different from of dress and is covered in silver. Silver chains adorn her face, head, arms and feet and I later read that these women are gypsies. I can see the inspiration for the gypsy style fashions that periodically emanate from the fancy fashion houses of Paris etc.Haggling – oh dear. Everything is outrageously cheap any way but haggling is a must. I felt quite good about acquiring 2 sarongs and a scarf for 250 rupees (about £3) until I reminded myself that I didn’t actually want them in the first place. But persistence wore me down as the delightful, illiterate Sarah, the shopkeeper, (I use the word shop advisedly – a series of bamboo poles under a piece of polythene) held my arm to keep me captive while she negotiated with the sahib!!
Still had another superb meal tonight, main course, puddings and drinks for less than a fiver each – Ali’s will never be the same again.
More incongruity – it seems ridiculous that we are in the run up to Christmas. With the Catholic faith making up the largest minority faith here in Goa (70% Hindu then Catholic) it is of course celebrated as an important festival. Nonetheless the sight of polystyrene Santas, snow scenes etc taped somewhat ineffectually to walls, limp looking tinsel wrapped around pillars and glinting in blazing sunshine seems weird.
Not as weird, incongruous and somehow inappropriate to my well conditioned, indoctrinated brain as real live palm trees festooned with limp fat paper streamers looking like somnolent snakes, with coloured stars made from cardboard seemingly dangling out the mouths of the aforementioned snakes. As I said, culture shock. Christmas is meant to be snow, roaring fires, wintry - but then again I’m just brainwashed!!Snared today by a slightly more upmarket version of a tout selling holidays. Apparently he’s an engineering graduate but makes more money selling holidays. Made no commitment but spent an hour having refreshments at a posh hotel! Also managed to get the young man to give us a list of the places to shop/eat/ buy clothes for the wedding, probably when he was still hopeful of winning over Murdo. Me – I’d probably have signed my life away – still have allegedly won a two week holiday accommodation on Goa in aforesaid posh hotel provided we pay the fare!! Chi sinn!!
In any case tomorrow we are going shopping in Panjim – the capital of Goa.Discovered also why the military style parades by young girls at catholic schools yesterday. Apparently 19 December is a public holiday celebrating the anniversary of the date that independence from Portugal was granted in the 1960s and such parades are part of the celebrations. School kids not too happy about it this year because the 19th was a Sunday and they had a day off anyway!
It’s 11pm and I’m having my G&T nightcap. Today I actually spent some time in the sun – usually unheard of but the climate is just perfect (about 30degrees) tolerably hot –nice to sit in the sun, read and cool off in the pool.
Oidhche Mhath.Day 2 21-12-04
Today’s incongruity (I’ve decided that life here is a one big incongruity) befriended (sic) by a street urchin in the capital, who having first enquired as to our nationality, immediately asked if we spoke Gaidhlig (not Garlic or Gaylick but Gaidhlig) and on hearing our affirmative response immediately asked ‘ Ciamar a’ tha sibh?’. I thought Murdo was going to pass out. Over a billion people in India and we bump into a most unlikely looking Gaelic aware native.
Apparently he met a person from Oban who taught him about Gaidhlig. He intends to visit Oban in the near future. He told us a long yarn about finding the Oban persons wallet and thus the friendship was struck. In any case he became our guide around Panjim and took us all over the place. He wouldn’t accept any money for his services, which I must admit I presumed was the reason for giving us his undivided attention.Got the wedding clothes today - a sumptuous salwar kameez and ordered a sari for collection tomorrow, + bangles, bindi, bag and sandals all for just a little over £100.
Things are so incredibly cheap here – another excellent 3 course meal on the beach tonight including drinks again less than £5 per head. Taxi to the capital today, 30 minutes drive each way and unlimited waiting time for less than £5.
I guess life is also cheap. No evidence here of our revered matriarch Nanny State. Murdo, ever the construction man, open mouthed at the lopsided skinny wooden poles held together with string which masquerade as scaffolding – men in bare feet 20 feet up an electricity pole with neither steel toe cap nor hard hat anywhere in sight. Seems that as soon as one floor of the building under construction is complete the migrant worker and his entire family (sometimes three generations) move in and continue building around the temporary home. The entire family, at least the adults and older children appear to be involved in the building work. Seems bizarre to us that there is no evidence of a wheelbarrow – all the carrying is done in very shallow bowls carried on the head.
The single track …….. well ……. tracks make the golden road look like a super highway! Each man (seldom woman) for himself! Yet another incongruity – there are double humped ‘sleeping policemen’ at regular (ish) intervals so speeding is not a problem, but road rules are non-existent. Drive any side, go in any direction, stop when and where you feel like it. Tonight stuck at a junction behind a man on a moped having a yarn on his mobile while immobile in the middle of the junction.
Murdo still gobsmacked at having been addressed in Gaidhlig by a street urchin and alleged map seller from Rajastan. If I’d been getting led around Glasgow or London with our Gaidhlig aware bi (tri) lingual but illiterate street friend I have no doubt that I’d have been extremely anxious. But here poverty and opulence are cheek by jowl – no segregation into ghettos. Today we were led through ‘mean streets’ with cycle mechanics squatting on the pavements plying their trade right next door to opulent jewellers shops. Felt completely okay – no bad vibes here. Oddly our escort kept his maps hidden on the mean streets for fear of arrest. He’s not allowed to hawk his wares on these streets because they are designated business areas – no such restrictions in the touristy/poshish areas. The penalty for breaking the law is 2 nights in gaol and 200 rupee fine. Our friend believes it’s discrimination because he is from Rajastan.
Notice men holding hands or arms draped across each others shoulders a lot here – doesn’t appear to have any of the negative connotations which it would have in the UK.
Men of course rule. No doubt M (in Victor persona) will applaud that comment!! Last night when we each ordered a bottle of mineral water M got his from the chiller – me – I got lukewarm!! Viva la difference!!! I can just hear several Rudhach men of my acquaintance cheering that sentiment and suddenly pondering on the sagacity of Indian men and how to ape them!!!!Day 3 22-12-04
The eve of the long train journey to Mangalore. We leave here in North Goa at 0515 and get driven to Margaon, 1 hour away, to catch the alleged 0700 train. We are assured that 0700 is really somewhat flexible - if it’s late it’s late and that’s ok, but if it’s early that’s too bad, it won’t wait until 0700. So we aim to get there at 0615.Our host in Mangalore has been on the phone several times to verify all the arrangements. We are to be met at the station by his nephew who works there and who will see to it that we don’t get lost. So far everyone has been so kind and helpful and I’ve no reason to feel stressed about the journey.
Picked up my sari (spelt saree here) today. Made to measure blouse was so tight I couldn’t breathe. Felt sure they’d got the measurements wrong – I couldn’t possibly have gained a couple of inches overnight. Apparently they are meant to be that way. Thankfully the tailor was extremely obliging, not to mention on the premises, so he altered it while I waited. It looks splendid, all gold and reddish – Abair spaideal!
M has a mild touch of the dreaded Delhi belly, so have prescribed an early night, water only + Imodium. Hopefully he’ll be fully recovered by morning or heaven help him on the train. Just off colour really.
Had a pampering today with manicure, pedicure, facial and torture (oops meant threading)!! Ladies reading this, if any, ask me about this quaint procedure involving a reel of thread. It makes waxing seem like a walk in the park, or perhaps more accurately a run through the park! Threading is much more painful than waxing (yes that IS possible) and you can hear the hair being ripped out! It seems that facial hair is a sin bordering on depravity here, at least with the beauticians, such is their enthusiasm to banish any suggestion of it. I never really considered that I had a visibly disturbing full beard until that girl decided to thread my face – now I fear I may end up with one. I must confess I yelled and halted the procedure; I’ll take my chances with a facial hair to rival the best rather than subject myself to that again!!
Still can’t believe it’s Christmas. Phoned Anna last night and could hear the letterbox flapping in the wind. Today’s temperature here 29 degrees – did a bit more relaxing in the sun today. This is the life; although I must confess I’m missing the usual family Christmas and I can’t imagine that Christmas will be a time for foreign holidays for us except in special circumstances. It appears that lots of people do escape for Christmas. Particularly people with young families – the logistics of ensuring the Santa deliveries must surely increase the usual stresses associated with holidays in the sun.
To be continued