Tasty China

From riding elephants, boat tripping along the Ganges, and visiting many (many, too many) temples, I find myself sitting in a room near the top of a tall university accommodation block, looking out over other skyscrapers and (because the pollution is not too bad today) in the distance, some mountains. Now, here's the thing. I can also see what looks like a large path snaking and curling over the mountains. BUT I am not going to be the first tourist to ask, over-awed and ignorant, if that is THE wall. That's like going to Paris and asking if an electricity pylon is the Eiffel Tower. I'll keep the question to myself, that way, without an answer I can kid myself that I can actually see the Great Wall of China from my window (even typing that sentence solidifies the unlikelihood of my observation).

 My room is very nice, and well equipped - TV, fridge, kettle, en-suite- but I'm more concerned about the mug sitting next to me. The mug should be filled with green tea. It looks like green tea, it sort of smells like it, but the seaweedy foliage at the bottom of my cup does not look like green tea. Similarly the milk in my fridge looks like milk but it doesn't really taste like milk. When I asked someone about which milk to buy, they used worrying adjectives like, "this brand is trustworthy, it is safe". No one needs those words floating in your head when you're trying to enjoy a quiet bowl of cheerios. SO, forget the view, forget my room, am I drinking seaweed tea and flushing it down with [insert any other animal apart from cow. eg. cat] milk soaked milk? AM I? Because I've seen a lot of strange things in my first few days here, and this isn't necessarily unlikely. 

On my first day here we were required to meet at 8am for a tour of the campus and registration. 8 am is the new 9am and trotting is the new walking- no one aside from the internationals walk, everyone trots at a fairly speedy pace that is really unnecessary at any time of the day. Nonetheless, we trotted around campus and to registration. It could catch on. Anyway, day one threw me an awful lot of admin- sorting out Chinese mobile phones, buying WARM CLOTHES (its -5), setting up internet- the sort of jobs that are a pain to do when you first arrive at university in England. Swap the English alphabet for organised scribbles and replace 'helpful' English speaking staff with a blank faced non-English speaking receptionist who's only expression is 'I'm tir-red spak slow laaay'. Oh its 'hilarious' trying to tell her that your fridge doesn't work. I did manage to piece everything together, hence why I can sit here typing on my blog (internet and new proxy included), sipping from my mug (purchased from 'Wu Mart'), checking my 'China mobile' whilst wearing my new plastic, fur hooded puff jacket and fur lined, gold-studded boots (I dare anyone to find me a coat that isn't plastic and furry. I look like a Chinese cartoon. I'm lucky I was able to find one that wasn't pink). 

Day 2 and at 8am (obv) they tested the level of Chinese. It was one word long ("nothing") and therefore brief. It being only 8.10 (!!) I was left with the day to play with. Except that a small South Korean girl attached herself to me. I'm not sure how it happened, I just found her walking next to me and she asked me what "we" were doing. 

"I don't know," I replied, staring at her familial expression, "I genuinely don't know". 

Well we chat for a bit, she followed me to the gym and then we had lunch. This was a useful activity in any event because she could translate some of the food descriptions for me. 

This is essential. It is not an exaggeration to say that the Chinese eat anything and everything. They do. Now, I've been told that dog is a delicacy, so you're not likely to find that in a uni canteen. However, any part of the usual animals- pig, cow, sheep, lamb, etc- can be found. But the parts are not easily identifiable having being fried, soaked, chopped, sliced, strung or covered in MoMo. On Day 1 a fellow English girl ordered what seemed to be a fairly safe option, chicken noodle soup. It was. Until she got to the bottom of it and she found various eggs, of all sizes and colours sitting at the bottom of her bowl (quail eggs? reptile eggs?? None of them looked the size of a chicken egg) So continuing along that theme, you can buy 'duck parts' together with the egg (to remind you of the cycle of life??) for a bargain price of 80p. You can buy offal, heart, and yes my friends, CRAB STICKS....like you've never seen them before. Give me a plastic packaged, wobbly Tesco crab stick any day. These ones look dry, fermented, more like the real thing. 

I haven't just had an unlucky first impression with food. Everywhere you go you will pass shop windows and stalls displaying crispy duck heads (picking the brain out is a delicacy), sheep trotters, chicken's feet etc. etc. Now SURELY when something smells bad, putrid even, SURELY you wouldn't then eat it. Well guys, now I've seen that they really do eat everything and anything, the doubt is crystallised. I don't trust anything. I generally avoid the 'dubious' or grin and bare the necessary (cat's milk and cheerios. I need cereal in the morning, therefore I will have to continue to experiment with milk). That said, we were taken  out for an all expenses paid meal last night at a Peking Duck restaurant (a Beijing speciality), and it was delicious. Weird also- the Chinese cook with a pepper that can also be used as a drug (its banned). As a food ingredient, it completely numbs your tongue when you eat it. My tongue literally went floppy in my mouth when I was trying to enjoy my genuinely, Chinese crispy duck pancakes. The one thing I completely recognise and my taste buds, nerves and overall tongue are having a nap. Hear me now, I will triumph over Chinese food and maybe I'll make it my mission to try something weird every week. I'll start with 'green tea' flavoured crisps.

 I'm off out now, but will resume later this weekend with news on my explorations of the city so far. 

India

DISCLAIMER: This post comes with the warning that the contents are simple thoughts and therefore likely to be  rambling, inaccurate, wrong, false, nebulous, painful generalisations, incomplete etc. etc....especially because I am not at all well read on the subjects of my observations, have limited research facilities (other than my eyes and Lonely Planet) and they are, after all, observations. I apologise in advance and welcome any corrections!

APOLOGIES: for any sweeping generalisations. I am aware that there are many. And sorry this is rather long.


Travellers will tell you that visiting India can be a huge cultural shock. Abject poverty, an apparent lack of hygiene, overpopulation and radically different pallets of colour, smells and sounds all contribute to this commonly held belief. Though this country may seem alien to the cotton wool clad Westerner, India can no longer remain an exotic travel destination that only the 'brave' (mad or hippy) visit. Possessing the tenth largest economy in the world and, more importantly, one of the fastest developing, India is a country that needs some serious attention beyond the meditations of a yoga enthusiast.

In 2010 India's economy grew by 10% compared to our measly 0.4%. This bleak statistic was one of the many awkward elephants in the room when David Cameron's £280 million gift aid to India was this year turned down by finance minister Mukherjee as "peanuts compared to our total development spending". In other words, it's about as embarrassing as offering to take Madonna for a shopping spree, and giving her a ten pound voucher to spend in Primeark ("But ten pounds is worth quite a lot in Primeark!" Britian cries). Ouch. India- the country, not the tourist location- means business. Taking this into consideration, it is further suggested that, alongside China, India could form part of a new global elite.

But hold on just a second. A successful economy is not the sole making of a country. Suicidal roads, crouch-holes for toilets, water that you drink and pollute at the same time...these don't look like the markings of a potential first world country; and that's before you address the bigger issues of, for example, India's 'ever-improving' democracy, and shady enforcement of Human Rights across a population of over 1.2 billion people. India might appear impressive on paper, but in practice will it ever compete in the same league as other Western countries? One of the many answers to this enormous question lies in India's train services.

The trains, as far as I can figure out, come and arrive at whatever time they want. Across India, this is expected and people make allowances for it. But can you imagine if any station or underground in London chose 'approximate' times for its trains (all jokes aside)? In India this system creates chaos at the stations. When a train finally arrives, hundreds of people hop over the tracks to get to the right platform, whilst others bundle onto the delayed train for fear of missing it and waiting yet more hours. It is completely chaotic. And you don't just get this degree of crowd carnage at stations. Bus stops, roads and markets all exemplify the pervasive chaos that seems to extend across India. What does it signify? Faulty communication systems? A lack of accountability? The misapplication or intentional disregard for rules, law and.....order. It is this disorder which terrifies the Western traveller, and yet it is India's most frank and unsubtle indicator of the country's development. On paper, the country might testify to a thriving economy, a working democracy, and an established infrastructure, but whether these 'successes' filter down to the daily workings of the country at street level is another matter. And it is at street level that the traveller is perfectly pitched to observe.

Chaos comes in many forms in India, whether its ignoring whatever rules of the road that exist, or picking your toilet spot based on its location (does it provide good views, sunshine or a space for several to chat?). Whether or not it is hygienic to impart yesterday's diet on a little brick wall beside the road doesn't seem to bother an enormous number of people. And it's the unpredictability of this toiletry habit, or any other, that will catch you out. You could be gazing out the window of your train at the sun rising over a haze hung field and a couple of brazen men will chose that moment to empty their bladders in the middle of that field. Or, you're walking along a street smiling at the children chatting amongst themselves when you realise that their huddle is no ordinary huddle, that they are not crouching for a game of marbles. And, if you can predict when a man decides to hoik the tobacco he's chewing, you're winning at Indian snakes and bladders. Me and a couple of girls I've met were assessing which tuk tuk driver to go for. On picking one apparently benign old man from a scruffy crowd of hassling drivers, we took firm steps towards him. His response? To drop his jaw and gutturally expel the snotty contents of his mouth. I've felt that same sudden shift from appreciation to revulsion when stroking my cat moments before he decided to vomit the entrails of a mouse. The old man didn't seem to mind, however.

Neither did the industrious builder in Varanasi seem hugely bothered when he constructed a lean-to, luminous orange stub of a shed shed right next to an old and beautifully sculpted building. I tried to imagine the conversation that went on between the architect (if a tangerine squat needs one) and the planning authorities (if they exist):  Based on the outcome- the very obvious existence of the 'building'- the authorities clearly approved it:
"What a marvellous orange shack you plan to build next to this building of cultural and architectural importance. It looks very sturdy."
Really, orange snugs aren't that unusual in India. There are luminous pink huts, pop-up shops and, as far as I could figure out, if something needs constructing you just get yourself a couple of spades, some bamboo scaffolding, and you're away. Hell, if a pipe needs replacing you just get digging even if it's in the middle of the road. Old and new, the colourful and the cumbersome, they all sit hand in hand together in almost every place I've visited.

Chaos is also a cow sharing the same lane of traffic as a lorry (or, not unusually, a water buffalo grazing on the broken concrete of a roundabout). In fact, every city seems to boast herds of cows that are not owned by anyone. These cows enjoy their Holy status and roam the streets making  alarmingly decisive decisions about which lanes to pick from the hundreds that exist. In terms of the rights they enjoy and the spaces they inhabit, the line between human and animal is almost blurred; a sharp contrast to the penned in live stock you get in England. In fact, if an English cow escapes, it is quickly ambushed into its designated field. So, to the Indian cow that barged me out of the way take that. Who owns you cows? Where did you come from, and how are there so many just chilling? (And who would have thought a cow could bring out the philosopher in me?) No one in India seems particularly bothered by these questions, and these questions are just water molecules in an ocean of unanswered questions, and- in Western terms- inexplicable or bizarre occurrences. Here, the strange mingles with the weird and crazy making each seem relatively normal. Sure, you're taking a poo by the road...whatever.

The Ganges best exemplifies chaos. The stuff you see on the street? That's just disorganisation by comparison- superficial chaos, aesthetic 'not-niceness'. From Varanasi (one of India's holiest cities based on the banks of the Ganges) life and death happen at the same time, on top of each other. This is unfortunate if, like me, you prefer to box up and forget the latter one. In Western society (generally, we hope) birth, death are celebrated or mourned as very separate occasions: usually they demand different ceremonies that take place at different times, in different places, with different dress codes, different words spoken etc. etc....you get the point. Along the banks of the river Ganges, the bodies of people being burnt after death can be clearly observed among the flames. But the silence of mourning families is regularly broken by the ringing bells of numerous temples, and the twice-daily hymns of the prayer services that are blasted from loud speakers across the river. The hymns sung are beautiful and uplifting melodies which loudly praise life and pray for days to come. Yet, metres away someone burns at the very end of theirs. This can be uncomfortable.
 I wanted a tourist tick-box experience that reminded me of what it is to live (to experience things, to travel...) without the smell of bonfires creeping into my nostrils. To see such conflicting states of being (life and death) represented in the same space, at the same time so unapologetically, displays the chaos that festers at the heart of being human: on the one hand we desire to live and assert our individuality, our uniqueness and humanity; on the other hand, we battle with the futility of doing so- death is inevitable and it obliterates the individual, renders us anonymous in history and makes us ubiquitous alongside every living thing on earth.  Visit the Ganges and you have to confront these things simultaneously. They're pretty difficult to reconcile, to order, or to make neater. It's easier to stick to the streets and complain about the mismatched buildings or lack of road signs.

Now, on the days when my patience for India wears thin, I imagine myself shaking a firmly clenched fist at the country and asking, among hundreds of other questions: "Why can't you provide me with a toilet seat? Here's a deal, you do that, and I'll provide the loo paper."; "Please, please, please can you just get a bus that has windows? I don't mind about the door." Will India ever give me the answers that I, or any other Westerner is looking for? I don't think so, and I think this has a lot to do with the country's main religion- Hinduism. It permeates every aspect of life and every echelon of society. Shrines to the Gods are found in homes, shops and restaurants, and 'Pujas' (or prayers) are said by most, daily. This religion is the very stuff of day-to-day living for 82% of India's population. It must surely play a huge role in shaping society values and consensus.

  From the limited knowledge I've picked up, 'God' manifests in three key figures: Brahma the Generator (or creator), Vishnu the Operator, and Shiva the Destructor: 'G','O','D'. All three Gods hold equal standing and importance in Indian society. Surely though, any society that reveres a God of Destruction as much as any other isn't exactly looking for a peaceful and organised life. Furthermore, it doesn't stop at three. There are 3.3 million Gods and Goddesses that Hindus can pray to, each one dedicated to a specific purpose or thing, with their own story and personalty. And Hindus can choose which God or Goddess to worship in particular from this eclectic and colourful mix. So, nearly 1 billion people are choosing different personalities and different stories to encircle with their lives; and, perhaps, as a result, one neighbour might be looking to get slightly different things from life compared to another neighbour, for example...even if everyone stuck to the main ones. One man's Holy Day (you can chose, depending on the God(s) you pray to), is another man's Friday piss-up (so one Indian lamented to me). Maybe it's these competing interests, passions and purposes which play out on the streets of India in all their music, colour and chaos. If its alarming to the Western traveller you have, in part, maybe, perhaps, the God of Destruction and the 3.3.million other Gods and Goddesses to thank for that (or pray to).

Here's. The. Thing. To say that the day to day disorder in India betrays its true 'success' as a potentially elite country, is wrong.
With all this disorder and lack of regulation comes incredible creativity. If there's a niche in the market, you can guarantee a tradesman or woman has set up a stall to cover that gap. How? Because if there's a gap in the market and space to set up on the street, you can go for it. That much is evident from the number of shops I saw that, daily, went up in every town or city I visited. People pull together all sorts of resources- cans, scraps of metal and bricks- to build the shop or stall they need to market themselves. Ok, I probably don't need a 'real genwine sliver bracelet' or a 'please feel me human, its yak wool' jumper, but where there's a tourist there's a way; and Indians will attack business opportunities with a passion that other travellers tell me is unmatched by any other country they've visited in Asia. And India appears to have taken the opportunity bull by the horns because it boasts a huge and diverse range of crafts, products and skills.

And here's one for the girls in particular (boys, perhaps?): As much as we reap the benefits of living in a culture that is heavily stocked with the latest trends in fashion, does it not get dull when all the shops have to offer is pastel pink, terracotta pink or candy floss pink just because a couple fashion houses deem it that way? Indian clothes stalls explode colour and patterns, which in turn decorate and enliven the roads. It's not just about colour either. The hundreds of pop up stalls, street performers, animals and people add to the chaotic- yes- but predominantly exciting hotch potch of sights, sounds and smells. You can walk down a road in London on automatic because the shop fronts- by comparison- are all pretty bland, or you can walk down a street in India and feel, with all your senses engaged, more alive. Everyone should embrace the chaos, if only to be jolted from their daily lethargy, however uncomfortable that may be. In short, if Indians want something to happen, they can make it happen (even if it means digging a hole in the road, or ignoring every traffic rule to get where you want to go), The products of this (chaotic) way of life are colourful, diverse and exciting. Oh, and this appears to support an ever-expanding economy.

Now, I was told on the occasions that I went to Sunday school that you could not ask God to make you 'more successful', 'better at exams', or  simply 'better off', for example. (Again, in my limited experience) you can, however, ask the Christian God for more abstract things like 'guidance', 'love', 'patience' and 'forgiveness' which might help you achieve those ends. Maybe, then, it is useful having a God of fortune and luck- Ganesha- to pray to (as Hindus do) for those things which could directly help you in life. To whatever degree you believe that religion can create real life changes, at the very least (and without meaning to be patronising and undermining), it must boost the confidence of those who believe they have the direct backing of a God specifically dedicated to their purpose. Ganesha also happens to be the patron of arts, sciences and letters...so, if you're struggling to write, you know who to pray to (Dear Ganesha....)
Therefore, many Gods for many purposes illuminate hundreds of paths to pursue in life. Hinduism- again, maybe, possibly, might do- create a stronger sense of opportunity and possibility in people's minds, whilst also providing them with specific back up and resolution. So maybe Hinduism Generates as much chaos, as it helps to Operate, and eventually Destroy. G.O.D.

So chaos is not such a bad thing after all, and, if it exists in India, Hinduism, among other things, provides several answers. The thing is we Westerners are only looking for the solutions we recognise in our own society. Some of the answers to 'the problems' (as we perceive them) are difficult for us to accept. Sitting on a toilet seat, according to medical opinion, is not actually the most efficient (or even healthiest) way to expel waste from the body. Writing to your politician because your parking is obstructed doesn't work (as one fellow traveller explained to our bemused tour guide): 'why didn't you just get rid of the obstruction yourself, and get on with it?' the tour guide asked. If India continues to find ways around the daily disorder, it may well just live up to the reputation its economy is paving way for. Will it ever compete in the same league as other Western countries? I think the answer is no: if India does form part of a new global elite, it will create its own precedent, its own way of doing things. And right now, with the way things are in England, we could probably do with a bit of colour and a couple entrepreneurs hassling us to 'look at this please human'.

After just ten days, chapter one- a short chapter- is over. 

I began its closing paragraphs with an Indian head massage on Saturday afternoon. I joined another girl at the guest house, Jenni (with an 'i'), and her friend for this, and for 30p I also thought I'd try threading. Boys, this is where a woman somehow uses two pieces of cotton string to scissor off and shape your eyebrows. Having (clearly) never attended to my eyebrows, I thought 'why not?' Why. Not. Well, it was successful on one level- my eyebrows look very dapper and I've been enjoying conversations that allow me to use them:

"Really?!" *aghast look, allows you to raise both eyebrows*

"Right." *unimpressed, raise just one*

"No!" *furrow them furiously*

On the other hand, I was also asked if I wanted my upper lip trimming. My upper lip trimming!? (*cock one eye brow, quizzically lower the other*) Never could a little question like this be more threatening to one's confidence (*mould each eyebrow into a sorrowful concave*) BUT (*firm upper brows*) I had my new eyebrows on so I was able to hold myself together and (*relax eyebrows*) politely decline. Now that the true shape (and use!!) of my eyebrows has been revealed to me, I accept, I may have to attend to them in the future more diligently. But, the upper lip? You guys warned me travelling makes you do some serious soul searching.

And, to the last day of Chapter One. I went to a city three hours away called Agra where the famous Taj Mahal is situated. I went with Jenni (with an 'i') who had kindly booked us a seat in Sleeper Class (the lowest ranking carriage) on the train. The views from the window were engaging- it appears the entire population of India use the railway side as a convenient toilet-but we arrived in good time. The Taj Mahal is, thankfully, everything you could want it to be; even if the photographic evidence of my visit looks like a painted background pin up. I'm sure most of you know it was built by (another) Sultan in the loving memory of his wife. The rest, I shall leave to you to imagine so that my descriptions wont taint your experience of it: it really is a life 'must do'. The rest of the day is best summarised in bullet points:

-Breakfast at roof top cafe overlooking Taj Mahal. Whilst all of you were getting in late from your Saturday night out, I was sipping cappuccinos in the Sun and staring at the Taj across pastel painted houses. I have decided that I must have a Taj-like building (the Taj Mogen ) before I accept any proposals in later life. 

-And then, we descended into Agra: a sprawling chaotic city which was celebrating a Muslim festival yesterday so was even more chaotic than usual. This is where our day got progressively worse:

* it took at least thirty minutes to barter an auto down (the tiny green and yellow taxi cars in my video) to an 'ok' price. Even then it was expensive. Agra is expensive because it is home to the Taj Mahal and therefore mekka to thousands of tourists each year. Exhausting arguing with these rude men who lean so proudly against their small Audis....sorry AUTOS.

*Jenni (with an 'i)** was insistent on seeing every tourist attraction. Must have walked ten kilometres in hot weather and paid rather a lot to see more old buildings. Again, they're extremely impressive, when you're not hot, hungry and tired. 

* The attention in Agra was worse- perhaps because there were two of us. Too many people stalking us, taking photos or staring aggressively. When teenage boys continuously try and snap you, you suspect its not because they want to add it to their album of 'albinos sighted'. 

*More awful auto prices, roller-coaster driving and had to forgo lunch and supper as no time! No time for food!  Who has no time for food??

*Waited to come home at some dodgy bus station for an hour. Enough said. 

*Arrived late in Delhi to find more loony auto drivers until eventually the police (who, one does not immediately trust) forced an auto to take us home. 

Now, I think I was tired but I was a little disappointed in myself to find myself asking for: clean toilet rolled toilets; buses with windows that shut; clean everything; and general anonymity. I'm sorry to say that I think my patience for India temporarily wore thin. Nothing like a bit of backpacking for two weeks to rejuvenate the spirits...

I head to a hotel today to meet the group and will be travelling through Northern India for two weeks. I expect I will have internet and will try and upload blog posts as and when! 

** Jenni (with an ‘i’) seemed to be under the impression that I was older than I was- was it my maturity, the depth of my knowledge, my refined sense of humour.....She was 29 I think, and ‘age’ unfortunately became a cross reference point for the things we had in common. So I have had to chortle at the fact that Carly (the hippytaveller) has come to India at the tender age of 20 (I’m 22), I’ve had to laugh at how the ‘youth of today’ behave (I’m 22), and I’ve had to nod my head when she reckoned that the early twenties (I’m 22) was a difficult time to travel to India (I’m 22). Now, I didn’t realise quite how bad this was until I saw on the train ticket she had put me down as 27 (!)- do I have the first signs of a wrinkle? Have I furrowed my brows too much? I didn’t want to embarrass her so when asked questions like “what music did you like when you were younger?” or “how old are your siblings?”, I gave ridiculously vague answers: “oh, you know, stuff, pop stuff, you know the stuff...” or “I’m the oldest. One brother is older than the other”. 

Quatb Minar

More World Heritage Sites today...they're almost becoming the norm. If its not a World Heritage Site, I'm not interested. Delhi spoils the traveller really: it is heaving with Medieval tombs, Renaissance settlements and Mogul fortresses. And I have carried out my role as a tourist with a capital 'T', and visited all of the major attractions. Quatb Minar is one of them. It is a 12th Century tower reaching 72 feet, set in the palaces and tombs of some of the leaders who followed its construction. BUT, every brick has been uniquely carved with patterns or writing. In fact, walk around the entire site and every brick has been chipped at thousands of times to reveal intricate and detailed designs in every square centimetre of stone. I found it strange, therefore, that Indian tourists picked a nearby bush, or nondescript rock for their souvenir photos. Stranger still was the lamp post I walked into, situated in the very middle of the tumbled palace, parallel to the tower. But then again, lose cables, old metal and construction work seem to go hand in hand with these precious sites. India is currently celebrating its 50th year of 'looking after' its sites of extraordinary archaeological and historical importance. I'm not sure that would even be a calendar worthy event in England, given how active the National Trust is.

But, that the Indians have only just woken up to the need to maintain these sights is actually an advantage. Walking around all of them- the Red Fort, Humayun's Tomb and Qutb Minar included- you will glimpse original tile work, original marble, original mirror work on the ceilings, and even original gold leafing on the pillars. This is what an unmaintained, unpolished site looks like. No one's gone round it to replace the marble carvings with 'replicas'. There are no signs explaining that the original motifs have been taken away for safekeeping and inspection. Yes, these World Heritage Sites are a free for all, and in places they have suffered because of that; but, their true character remains. It all makes the National Trust look rather overbearing, even. And, that iron lamp post I walked into? A FOURTH CENTURY iron work column inscribed with the story of the coming of God amongst men. In England, there's no way you'd walk into it because it would be behind glass, de contextualised, and historically anonymous but for the small plastic placard promising museum goers that its 'genuine'.

Now, I told you I was spoilt with all these World Heritage Sites, but, I should not have complained. So far nothing I have seen (and I've scratched at the tip of the iceberg) hasn't already been relayed to me by you or the media. Except that today, as I was crossing an exceptionally busy T-junction, I noticed someone lying in the dust between the pavement and the cement of the road surface. In Delhi, homeless people are able to make a home for themselves in every nook and cranny: under trees, against walls, between buildings, but centimetres from the wheels of a car was a new one. I'll spare the details but it became very obvious the man had been hit by a driver, killed and left on the roadside. My landlady said that the police will eventually pick him up and hopefully identify him to his family. It was not standing over a dead man that shocked me (as much as I thought it would) more that it had been left, unidentified, and missing to the family. As cars and lorries thundered by, people leaned out of the window and looked at the body as you and I would look at cows in a field. I'm sure these things happen often. And so, that's adds a rather sombre note to the videos I uploaded yesterday doesn't it? I'll stick to the less complicated Heritage Sites therefore and not complain when my vision is neutrally entertained.

Translations

"Please madam can I take your cup?" 

I nodded fervently to communicate an emphatic YES.

BUT at the same time I also raised my right hand PERHAPS to convey my greetings to the waiter as an Indian Chief solemnly states 'How', OR- as could be more reasonably assumed- to say NO at the same time I was nodding YES. The waiter, confused, left my empty cup of coffee on the table. Again he came back, again the same spasm overcame me, and again the coffee cup was left. SO firm was my palm that time that the waiter, confused if not a bit apprehensive, left my cup, glass, bottle and can on the table. You see, whilst English is widely spoken in India, it is a common misconception that everyone can speak it. The key players- your auto driver, rick shaw man and waiter- often 'do not' understand English at precisely the time you need them to. Now, this can come in handy when it means they get to try and charge you double for a meagre trip. Oh, and its also really useful when you want little Western women to wear luminous gowns (did I mention the gowns?). But, understandably, the waiter was genuinely confused by my actions, his English being more or less non existent. Not that English would have helped him out here. Why did I gesture with the inane actions of a CBeebies storyteller high on Panda Pops? Because I was desperate to be understood. 

Hindi is a beautiful language that, with time, can be picked up. Even after a few days I am understanding the odd word or so. It is essential, as I said, that you learn one or two phrases in order to successfully bargain with an auto or rickshaw. I have been lucky enough to have Hindi speakers with me so far at those vital times. Failing that and I have to resort to my Teletubby gestures (which, by the way, have been successful once or twice) and aggressive pointing at my map (my map!) Nonetheless, there have been plenty of times when I have been glad not to understand Hindi- namely, when turning down anyone on the street- rickshaws, vendors etc. Pretending (Actually) not understanding is a great excuse for moving on without further engagement. 

There has been one activity so far on my trip that for which I have LOVED not understanding Hindi: watching Indian soap operas. These TV programs follow similar themes of unrequited love and poorly arranged marriages. But aside from that premise, not a lot happens over the course of several days worth of TV viewing. This is because the camera is SO BUSY catching the brooding looks of every man, and the watery eyed stares of every woman on set. For every face shot, a dramatic 'Bong' sounds on a symbol and the camera dramatically cuts (dramatically) to a new face: "BONG" (DRAMATIC). 

Oh, and it works the other way. I see some very odd English written on adverts or shopping bags. e.g.

"Drink Bacari Sweat, the drink that fills you with body fluid".

"Dynamo-istic- the logo of this which is being that it conveys 'creativity', 'dynamism', 'dualism' and 'flexibility' of all appearances per sued'. I mean that kind of construction really messes with your head.

"PlastIndia: rock hard plastic supreme come for it."

Today, however, I was a fly on the wall to a situation which needed no translation whatsoever. I was about to sit on a nice empty bench in a park when an old woman shouted some direction to me. So, together we lifted the cast iron bench (yes, me and this old withered woman) from its perfectly nice location to another arbitrary spot. I was - she gestured- told I could sit at the very end. I was then joined by two elderly men who sat quietly next to each other in the Sun. They were clearly very fond of each other's company. One then began reading the news from his newspaper to the other. Now, here was a scene that I could understand. Two old friends who have a regular bench and meet up at the same time on a particular day to keep each other company. There are, you realise, several things we all have in common- the love of company and friendship in this case- which, in whatever language, is quite apparent. 

So, now cut to my day: I think I've visited every deceased Moghul this city has to offer and marvelled at each and everyone's tomb. I went to the crafts museum today, to a famous tomb (that, the guide book says excitedly, EVEN the Obamas have visited), and wandered around different parts of the city. All of these locations are wonderfully equipped for the English-speaker and everything is neatly translated. This, I've realised today, is getting boring. Its two dimensional because words don't give you the colour, sounds and facial expressions of what's actually going on around you. Yeah, EVEN my HOWYESNO is pretty intriguing- more so, than a sleepy museum. So, sorry Mr entombed Maharajah, I've come to the conclusion that I'm more interested in the untranslated stuff of life . I'll follow this post up in the morning with 'bizarre oddities observed' specifically amongst PEOPLE therefore.

Now, don't draw the wrong conclusions here: I'm not on a redefined quest to discover the glorious manifestations of humanity in all four corners of the globe. No, no, we'll draw a sharp line under my slightly clichéd, candy floss conclusions. I'll kick off my first 'people observation' with one that'll pop any inflated views. People are fascinating but they are also, as I have maintained from the very beginning of this blog, extremely odd.

1) An old woman dressed in pink sari stands by the motorway and, surreptitiously, oh so surreptitiously lifts her shawl to waggle her boobies at the man crawling along next to her. 

I CROSSED THIS BABY.

Old Delhi Take 2

So, a few of you may know that I own a particularly edgy T-Shirt that proudly displays the fact that I have walked 45 miles on Dartmoor National Park in a 'race' known to locals as TEN TORS. The T-Shirt is a striking mottled grey and says in lurid red writing (cleverly sculpted to look like a hill) 'Ten Tors 2005'. Aside from the fact that it betrays my lack of real sporting achievement at school, it does not mention that, as well as walking a heck of a long way with a giant rucksack, you must also be able to read a map. THANK GOD I LEARNT TO MAP READ. This, my friends, is a life skill I have come to cherish as I roam from one identical street to the next in a place where there are no street names, and very few signs in general. So to all you hockey players, netball players, tennis players, football and rugby players (etc. etc.), the only sport you need do at school is MAP-READING. I will therefore BRANDISH my T-shirt for all to see when I'm home, and add to it (if I can find a lurid red pen) 'India 2012'. Back off cool police.

That said, map reading in Old Delhi takes on a whole new dimension. That there are no road names is a given. Contrary to the roads in New Delhi, however, these ones are so tiny and crammed with vehicles and humans that you can't tell where the road you have taken is going, where it will end, or if the turning you need to take off it actually exists. Therefore, you need to study the map to gain a sense of direction and guess, as best you can, the shape and curvature of the road. Now, for those of you who have travelled in packs, I'm sure getting lost has actually led you to discover some incredible things. But if you're on your own, you do NOT want to be chilling with Mr Tobacco chewer and his rickshaw-driving mate, musing on the meaning of life. Whenever I've dwindled a bit I've generally been harassed by shopkeepers, children or strange men. Neither of these things are part of the cultural experience I'm looking for. SO, getting lost or stopping to read a map is a no go. I therefore was visibly RELIEVED when I crawled out of the literal maze of lanes called Chawdri Bazar in Old Delhi, and ended up at the location I was looking for. This was the FIRST time I've missed a companion traveller because I felt deserving of a firm pat on the back. Awkwardly, I gave myself the thumbs up instead. Thankfully no fellow traveller was there to see me do that. Me and that Ten Tors T-Shirt really do belong together then.

So a summary of the oddities and experiences of today.

-Visited Red Fort- World Heritage sight, giant red brick old palace thing. V impressive. Had to cross the biggest road yet though. Took photos. That's what you do when you visit a World Heritage Sight. . . And that's also what you do if you see an albino wandering around Red Fort. In fact, you actually stop the school children you're supervising and point me out, like I'm part and parcel of the whole experience.

-Visited Jami Masjid- Delhi's oldest mosque, also enormous. Nice moment: listening to call to prayer whilst waiting to enter, passing time by sketching and being joined by ten school girls who watched my every moved and looked up at the thing I was drawing when I looked up. AWFUL moment (humorous if not involved): The locals make all Western women wear a luminous coloured, flowery gown to'cover up' even if they are already covered up; I was told by a girl who has been that you can refuse because they're doing it to identify tourists to tour operators etc.; I refused, I was turned away, I had to accept, I entered- not only with a crop of white hair- but now also dressed in a bright pink gown, felt even MORE vulnerable and ridiculously stupid PARTICULARLY because the other Westerners were proudly wearing theirs, believing that they were wearing native, respectful attire; Instead, you look across this huge courtyard and see giant pink and yellow idiots plodding around; how could they not realise the joke is on us??!! Victory moment: climbed to top  of tower and saw panoramic views across Delhi; climbed down, man appeared trying to charge me 50R for my getting my shoes back (which I was told I had to leave at bottom of tower); I said 'NO' and walked off. Oh yerrrr. I'm no fool (but Imogen, you're STILL wearing a pink and flowery gown)...