Some useless advice

No matter how much you read about India nothing can prepare you for the madness that swirls around this country.

With this in mind, I am going to provide more written information about India that, if you were to travel here, probably won't help you until after the said event and you think back to that time Hana mentioned this would happen.

So, a few tips from a lone New Zealand woman travelling the streets of a booming Indian city (a list which is by no means exhausted, but just a start) -

*If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is - If an auto driver is promising to "show you the sights of Bangalore" for 20 Rupee, you will probably be taken to all of his mates emporiums. Yes everything here is cheap, but 20 Rupee to see Bangalore is too cheap.

*Don't ignore - A polite "no" leaves little room for interpretation, an ignore could be interpreted as "she hasn't heard me, I must continue to try to sell her this bongo drum until she does hear me".

*Always carry an umbrella - Even if the sky is blue the clouds can turn on you in an instant.

*Smile - On the most part this opens you up to people, sometimes very interesting people. When I got here I thought I must not smile at anyone for fear of giving them the wrong idea, but, as long as this said smiling is not done down some small alley way (or Cubbon Park - where just today I got a "hello darling"), everyone here is very friendly and often just want to practise their English on you.

*Read - books here are so cheap. Store up all those novels you have planned to read for the past year, curl up at a cafe with a (usually) sweet tea and read until your heart is content. Or your reading list has been exhausted.

*Time is not important - Traffic rules the clock here.

*Do not fear if you don't see a female for an entire block, they have not been kidnapped, I don't think - Seriously, men are everywhere and, well, women are not. Often these men will be holding hands or walking with their arms around each other - affection between the men is everywhere, young and old. I'm yet to see it with the females.

*There are three versions of the shaking of the head - where we have a nod for yes and a shake for no, India also has a head wobble. It means "OK, OK". I learnt this after two weeks of me shaking my head at Lewy, the cook, and not understanding as he continued to load my plate up with more food while (I thought) I was saying no. I must have been saying OK.

Notes from the newsroom

I am already almost half way through my time at work - how time flies.

On the most part I am averaging about one story a day. Usually Rasheed, my chief reporter, sends me out to cover some event - usually a fairly minor event, which I'm sure all the other reporters have already refused to do. So off I toddle to a quiz, or apple fair, or book launch. It's not the greatest test of my reporting skills - but I couldn't report on much else here without having a mild panic attack. Everything is that much more complex here, on the most part just because of the sheer number of people - and I am struggling to get my head around anything more complex than a school gala. Although the stories themselves might seem like a bit of nonsense, I really enjoy covering these events, mainly for the journey there and back. Every time I get to see a different part of Bangalore - a part I probably would not have otherwise seen.

Yesterday, however, was probably the first time I felt in over my head, and wanted to retreat back to the apple fair. I was sent off on the newly opened Metro (five years in the making, opened last Thursday, massive for Bangalore) to talk to people about connecting the existing train system with the Metro, and thus opening up more opportunities to travel from out of town and then around town - sounds simple enough, but like everything here, it's not. I didn't know where the preexisting train network ran, or who would want to use a connecting system like that. It basically resulted in me picking out young people who were more likely to speak English and asking them a few basic questions, which Rasheed had sent me off with. I had very little idea where the story was going.

But through this blind madness an interesting point was made. I wanted to talk to a ticket master, so found one, only he very quickly said he couldn't talk to me about facts. I desperately wanted comment from a ticket master so probed him, asking him if he could at least give me his opinion.

"Of course, as a citizen of India I can say what I think," he replied.

He was very open with me, and the most interesting person to talk to. It got me thinking though, in New Zealand so often, as reporters, we are shrugged off and told to talk to someone who deals with the media. In India I can imagine the consequences of speaking out of line are more severe, yet here, everyone is happy, and almost wants to, talk to the media - to exercise their rights as an Indian citizen. New Zealanders could learn a thing or two. As a democratic country, surely we all have the rights to speak our minds - so why is everyone so scared to?

I have also become the "expat" reporter. If there is not much going on in the newsroom I am sent out to talk to "expats" about various topics - auto drivers, the opening of the Metro or Diwali celebrations. Initially I sighed, and thought "just because I'm white, seriously do I need to tap into that field", but after my first time out pounding the pavement looking for 'white' people I realised I enjoyed it. It gave me a chance to talk to tourists. Because of where I am staying and working I have really only been communicating with Indians (which has been fantastic in so many respects, and means I have learnt a whole heap about the Indian culture and life I never would have had I been staying in a hostel) but sometimes it's nice to talk to other travellers. Usually I hit them up with my questions, then spend the next ten minutes talking to them about other things.

The tourist comes out to play

Coconuts, temples, alligators, palaces, beggars - there is no doubt I am in India.

On Saturday I embarked on my first real tourist trip. Until then I had seen quite a bit of Bangalore, and ticked off many of the top spots recommended in the Lonely Planet, but Bangalore itself is not really known as a tourist hot spot, it is a city that gets on with day to day life. In a way it is the perfect place to be based for six weeks. Instead of visiting numerous parks and temples I am quite content with walking around the streets, getting a feel for big city India, because, really, that is what it does best (or worst, depending which way you look at it) - the parks and temples are to come.

But on Saturday I had my first dose of park and temple travelling. About 120km south of Bangalore is a "smaller' town called Mysore. It is known as much more of a tourist hotspot - Lonely Planet describes it as "one of the most flamboyant places you could visit in South India". Everyone had told me I needed to go there. So I organised a driver and a car (something very common here) to take me. I also invited Cheeku along, partly because it would be nice to have some company and also because I was a bit worried about driving around with a strange man (which, as it turned out, I need not have worried about, the driver was lovely, and I think - though can't be positive - he has invited me to his families' Diwali celebrations, akin to me inviting someone to my families' Christmas dinner).

So off we toddled to Mysore - although it is about 120km, the drive took three and a half hours...each way! I don't want to bog you down with too much detail, so will lightly skim over each activity - safely assume I was blown away by each and every thing I saw.

On the way we stopped at Cheeku's family home, a lovely home nestled in a small village surrounded by picturesque farmland. Then on to Srirangapatnam, 16km north of Mysore. It is an 'island', surrounded by rivers and riddled with history - for most of the 18th century it was the de facto capital for much of southern India under rule by a man called Tipu Sultan. We visited and went inside a Hindu temple here, holy men praying and all. Then on to Tipu Sultan's summer palace - a well kept garden and palace where he would spend his summers. The inside of the palace was the particularly stunning part, covered in amazingly intricate artwork (I couldn't take photos unfortunately, though doesn't seem to matter since this dam blog is still refusing to upload photos). Then on to Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary. I wasn't particularly excited about the bird sanctuary (sorry Jane, I know you will not be too impressed with your niece right now), but like everything I have seen in India so far it pleasantly surprised me. The birds themselves were fairly ho-hum, it was the alligators that caught my attention. We went out on a river in a small row boat with about ten others to see all the birds, and alligators. I saw two - but was told there was about 50 swimming about in the river. Also saw a tree full of bats, ugh! After leaving the bird sanctuary we finally made it to Mysore where we had lunch (palak paneer) before going to its main attraction - Maharaja's Palace. A massive palace oozing with money from every crevice. Interesting side note - apparently there is a curse on the royal family which live there which means none of the kings can have children, so they have to adopt in every new king - imagine being adopted into that family! Then we went up Chamundi Hill - one of the eight most holiest hills in southern India (so a sign told me on the way up). It had amazing views of the area and another stunning temple. The particular highlight of this leg of the trip was seeing monkeys - Cheeku couldn't quite understand my excitement when I saw the first one, then we turned the corner and saw about 20 - you can only imagine my squeals of delight. By this stage I was exhausted and full of information so we headed home, but not before getting a well deserved sweet coffee.

Interesting note - as a foreigner I had to often pay ten times as much as Cheeku at every attraction. It was official and everything - on the price board there would be a "local" price and a "foreigner" price. For example, at Maharaja's Palace, Cheeku paid 20 Rupee, I paid 200. I'm not sure what happens for people who aren't obviously a foreigner but aren't from India, or who look like one but have lived in India their whole life. I can imagine there are a few arguments at the pay counter.

Just the way it is

I am beginning to understand I will never understand India. And every time I think I have it sorted there will be another hole in the footpath, another tiki tour in an auto and another stinking hot day.

I realised this as I was walking to the internet/cell phone top up store for the second time in two days. It's a boring story in which I needed to top up my pre paid internet - a seemingly minor event that turned into an annoyance. But as I was walking back from there today, after yesterday's attempt didn't seem to work (there's 500 rupees I will never see again), I realised I will never understand this place. I still don't know if my top up is going to work, or whether, like today, it will crap out half way through a skype conversation. But that's half the fun isn't it?

I am full of questions, and very few answers.

Why, for instance, does everyone ask me for my "good" name?

Why does no one even attempt to use the footpaths?

And why does someone need to sit in the lift to push the up and down button, all day long?

I spent my first two weeks here trying to make sense of the place. But I have come to realise that the trick to surviving this ten week adventure is to try not to understand.

Just accept there is a man in the lift that will take me to my floor, the footpaths seem to be redundant and, as far as I can tell, my "good" name is Hana (or at least that is what I have been telling everyone). Why? I do not know, it's just the way it is.

India is just the way it is. Call it what you will, annoyances, quirks, or just plain living, but for whatever reason it is just the way it is.

Photos

Note - I have got a camera now, in fact I have had one for the majority of my time here, but for the life of me I can't seem to upload photos to this blog. It doesn't make for a very pretty blog unfortunately and I continue to try to upload photos, but in the meantime I'm afraid it's only words. I will continue to try, but to ensure my computer isn't destroyed as I throw it out the window in frustration, I dare only brave it every now and again. Email me if you would like to see some photos and I can email you them, otherwise I have been putting photos up on Facebook.

"Indians are noisy, they like noise"

The often heard cliche of India is "it's an assault on the senses". I had always taken this to describe all the colours and smells of India - forgetting about one major sense. Sound. My ears have been under attack since arriving in India.

For the most part this comes down to the constant tooting. I have briefly mentioned this before, but it continues to be a defining force in Bangalore. I was talking to one woman about it and she commented that sometimes she will be driving around and there won't be any tooting, so she just decides to honk her horn for the sake of. I laughed. She shrugged, "Indians are noisy, they like noise".

Like most things in India, I'm yet to figure out exactly why everyone toots. My best guess is it's used as a way to let the other traffic know they are there - but when every second vehicle is doing it every five seconds it begins to lose its value. Despite this, there seems to be some sort of ordered chaos behind the flow of the traffic.

My favourite horn is one I often hear coming from the autos. The best comparison I can come up with is it sounds like a bleating goat. As a bus zooms past the small auto, the bleating goat certainly sounds very comical.

Like all extremes, it has made me aware of silence. There have been two occasions when I have noticed silence. The first happens every night when the city goes to sleep - and this city does at least seem to sleep some of the time. Bars even close here at 11.30pm. The second was an isolated, more surreal occasion. I was walking towards work one day last week, when as I approached MG Road (one of the more major roads in Bangalore) a rope barrier was put across the intersection. All traffic was brought to a halt, including foot traffic. I wasn't sure what to do at first, so just took cues from those around me, no one seemed to be walking past the barrier so I too stood just outside the barrier, shuffling my feet. After a while I noticed something, every vehicle had turned off their engine. Silence. Within a couple of minutes a procession of official looking cars drove past - I'm yet to figure out exactly who it was, but to be honest I don't really care who they were - I'm just amazed they managed to silence a city that "likes noise" so much.

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my

I am glad I have a home in New Zealand I can retreat to at the end of this. But if I was a lion, I would want to retreat to Bangalore.

Today I went to the Bannerghatta Biological Park. A nature reserve 25 kilometres south of Bangalore (which equates to about a 45 minute drive). It's a 11,330 hectare enclosure where the Karnataka Forest Department rehabilitates lions, tigers and sloth bears who have been rescued from circuses (you can thank Lonely Planet for the handy facts). It puts Wellington Zoo to shame.

The guy who helped me out with getting accommodation here, and helping me just in general, suggested I go. So today he sent a driver with his car (something very common here) to pick me up and take me there.

The drive there was even interesting. It is the first time I have really left the main part of the city, apart from my drive in from the airport on the first day. It was a strange mix of massive, multi-level apartments and small street-side vendors making their living. I could see why Bangalore was seen as the IT capital - some of the office buildings were huge, something you expect to see in Auckland, or New York for that matter.

The safari itself was very neat. It's the first time I have done something like this. You go in a bus with about 25 other people and drive around the park on an asphalt road. The road sort of detracts from the nature, but I guess how else do you do it. It seems to be a very popular place - I had to queue for about 30 minutes just to get on the bus and there seemed to be another equally as long queue just over from me (like most things in India, I couldn't make sense of why there were two separate lines). For once there was a benefit to travelling by myself - I was able to sit up the front of the bus in the other single seat beside the driver (although, as I learnt later, this would cost me).

The safari was about an hour long. As we drove around we had to pass through a series of gates which seemed to cut each type of animal off from the others. There were plenty of each type of animal - not like at Wellington Zoo, or any zoo for that matter, where you can spend 20 minutes looking for the two tigers who have hidden in the shade at the very back of the enclosure. I probably saw about five bears, five lions, 15 tigers, and three white tigers. Because I was at the front of the bus the driver would often take my camera and take photos for me from his side of the bus. When I went to get off the bus though I was asked to tip him. Ah, another tourist fitting into the tourist stereotype.

Street vendors and auto drivers

I am constantly on high alert in India. This might be me being extra cautious, but I also feel it is necessary. I stick out like a sore thumb in this place. Every shop I walk past and slightly gaze at I get "yes ma'am, just come inside ma'am, much more inside". Every auto I walk past "yes ma'am, auto ma'am". I am yet to figure out whether this is because I clearly look like a tourist and they know they are more likely to get more money out of me, or whether they do it to everyone. Either way, it was fun at the beginning, now it is just plain old annoying. I have also succumbed to the tourist stereotype. Locals hate tourists because they give auto drivers and street vendors more money. But as I have quickly worked out, if I want to keep my sanity and be taken directly to the place I want to go, I can give them an extra $NZ1 or so and they will take me directly there. No detours to silk shops.

Also, I am a terrible barterer. I never thought I would be good, but I am seriously bad. The problem is, when I convert how much they are asking for, it works out to be nothing in New Zealand dollars. I know that's not the point though, and that's why the locals hate the way tourists do things here.

I am yet to brave a street-side food vendor. I have been to a couple of small restaurant type places, which have had amazing food, but I have gone to these places on recommendation from others. The fear of vomiting for a week, at this stage, far outweighs my curiosity to try the street-side food. Plus, Nina is feeding me so well, I hardly feel like eating when I am out anyway.

There are three main types of food sold on the street (aside from the many takeaway/restaurant places), usually from a man with a cart. Sweetcorn, guava, and peanuts. They all seem to be very popular, and all look quite delicious, but are at the top of my "to avoid" list. Interestingly, these men are the least likely to harass me as I walk past. Maybe they have figured out tourists won't eat it.

Work has begun

So the reason for me being here has begun. I started work on Monday, and I think it is going to be an interesting five weeks. I think there will be a lot of sitting around, not really knowing what to do with myself and probably never getting my head around the ins and outs of the place, but in amongst all that I hope I will get to see and do some fun things.

I am part of the "Metro" desk - a team of 10 reporters covering general news in Bangalore. That's 10 reporters covering almost 9million people. And I thought my office was small.

Yesterday I went out with another of the reporters to something he was covering. To be honest I have no idea quite what it was. I think it was a citizen's group coming up with ideas on how to provide Bangalore with enough water as the population continues to grow. It was quite interesting, but I was glad I wasn't the one having to write a story from it. The best part about this was getting to and from the venue (anyone who loves me probably does not want to read this next part). Everyone here gets around on motorbikes - they seem to be an easy way to dart between the traffic and maybe get you to your destination 5 minutes earlier than those in cars. Also, the large majority of people don't wear helmets. I often just watch the roads amazed with how many people can fit on a motorbike, or how young a baby is in their mother's arms as she rides side-saddle on the back of her husband's bike. So there I was, on the back of one of the reporters motorbikes, helmetless, travelling through the streets of Bangalore. A large part of me had my mother's voice racing around my head, and I was holding on for dear life, but the other part of me found it exhilarating. I was a part of Bangalore for those 5 minutes. Not a tourist, but one of them, getting around the same way everyone does. Doing my job.

Also, it is worth noting I caught an auto home from work - the first time I have dared brave an auto after my last experience. It was relatively drama-free, I got home without any detours to silk shops and without taking the extra long route, although I think I did get charged far too much - 50 rupees (about $NZ1.50 - I can hardly complain, it's still nothing for me).

Can't believe I have already been here for a week. At times it has felt like the longest week of my life, particularly as I navigate the streets of Bangalore in the sweltering heat, getting more and more frustrated that street signs are few and far between. But at other times it has flown by, in the crazy swirl of colours, smells and sounds that make up this booming city.

Turn your meter on

Today I had my first real 'India' moment, actually it wasn't a moment rather a two hour escapade.

Let me explain. The woman I am staying with, Nina, had told me a few times I needed to go to Commercial Street - a typically Indian street filled with stores selling everything - and today she was meeting a friend for lunch near it so suggested we could jump in an autorickshaw together, and I would then just have to find my way back. Only her friend was sick and couldn't make lunch so I decided to go by myself. Auto drivers are notorious for taking people the 'scenic route' and not turning on their meter. I knew all this and thought I was prepared, so when I hoped in the auto I firmly told him to take me to Commercial Street. I hadn't really thought this through though, because although I knew he would take me the extra long way to get there, I didn't actually know where it was, long route or short route. After about 15 minutes he pulled up outside a silk shop and said "you go in for five minutes, I will wait here and then we can go to Commercial". If auto drivers drop someone at a shop and they buy something from there the driver gets a commission (something I learnt after this). A few firm words were exchanged, including him demanding even more money from me because he was so nice and put the meter on - something he is obliged to do by law - and me threatening to get out and not pay him a cent, before eventually a man from the shop came up to the auto and said something to him in Kannada and we drove off. Two minutes later and we were parked outside another of these shops (which might I add, looked beautiful and I did really want to have a look in, but knew I couldn't cave to his demands). We had an almost identical conversation again. Eventually he drove off, but I was soon realising this could potentially go on for hours, and with not actually knowing where Commercial Street was, I really wasn't in much of a position to demand him to take me there. I could see I was fighting a losing battle so ordered him to pull over to the side and let me out. I had no idea where I was, but figured it was better to hop out on a street which was full of people, rather than drive aimlessly around with this auto driver. In my 23 years of life I don't think I have ever been so blunt and rude to someone. I still paid him though, something I regret now.

So there I was, somewhere in Bangalore - that much I knew - with no map and little idea if I was even near Commercial Street. It's interesting when you are by yourself and you have to make these decisions. I can imagine if it was David and I (or anyone for that matter) we would have stopped to think about which was the best way to walk and discussed it for a while, probably not really coming up with any real answer, but maybe feeling a little bit more mentally prepared. But I didn't have him, so instead I just walked. There was no real reason why I took the path I did, other than it was the opposite direction to the auto driver. I must have looked lost because after about 10 minutes a man came up to me and asked me where I was going. He pointed me in the direction of MG Road (a major road, which the Deccan Herald is based on). I tell you, I have never been so pleased to have somebody point me in the direction of work. Just yesterday Cheeku had taken me to the office and shown me how to walk from there to the place I am staying at, so although this man didn't point me in the direction of Commercial Street, he did point me in the direction of a place I at least recognised the name of.

To cut a long story short, I then walked for about an hour and a half in the vague direction of home in the sweltering, muggy heat. I have never been very good with directions and this really tested my skills. A few mad crossings of intersections - including one where I seemed to get stuck in the middle of the road with traffic coming at all angles (sorry mum, probably something you don't want to hear) - and I was home. It was probably the closest I have ever come to kissing the ground.

Next time I will take a taxi.

Follow Road Rules

At the risk of bogging you down with details I finally feel I can start to explain what is going on here, so this blog might be a bit longer.

I spent the first night here at a homestay I found and booked online from New Zealand, the family lived downstairs and there were a few hostel rooms upstairs but I was the only one there. Leading up to this though one of the more major dramas occurred almost as soon as I stepped foot in Bangalore. I had arranged with the homestay to pick me up from the airport and they told me to look for a sign with my name on it – can you see where this is going? – only when I found all the people holding signs with names, mine was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately my cell phone worked over here (god knows what I would have done if it didn’t work) so after a few frantic phone calls to the homestay and a man here who has helped me out with finding more permanent accommodation, I was sitting in a taxi bound for the homestay. I was shattered and the trip was about 45 minutes in the dark so it was hard for me to get my bearings and see beyond the edge of the street – which was enough alone to consume all my attention – so it will be interesting to see what it is like when I make the trip to the airport again at some stage. I got to the homestay about 11.30pm and was absolutely shattered.

After a restless sleep I woke the next morning with no idea what to do with myself, so after breakfast I went for a walk. Wow, what a walk! It’s hard to sum it up, so I’m only going to focus on one aspect at this stage – trying to cross the roads. Imagine this - every single car in Wellington driving down Lambton Quay at the same time. Each car then toots its horn every five seconds (I am prone to exaggeration but, I assure you, this is no exaggeration), and every cyclist is actually on a motorbike with at least one passenger on the back swerving between the larger vehicles. Then, throw in some autorickshaws for good measure and maybe a few cows and buses, and now, bearing in mind the only road rule that seems to be followed is you drive on the left, imagine trying to cross that road. I tell you, it isn’t easy. My favourite moment came the next day when I saw a sign “Follow Road Rules” – easy to say that is probably just a token gesture. Either that or I have seriously missed the point to driving in India.

As I write this I am coming to the end of day three in Bangalore and staying at a new place, the place I will be staying for the entirety of my time in Bangalore. It is a modern apartment, which I am told is in the middle of town, although I’m yet to figure out exactly what that means and where ‘town’ is, with an older woman and her cook. My mum’s workmate knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who owned this place. I think I have fallen on my feet with it and feel very lucky to have somewhere safe and settled to stay for the entire time (something I think my parents are also very pleased about).

Everything is new at this stage and I can’t even begin to sum it up. Everyone keeps telling me all these things I must see and do while I am here, but at this stage even walking down the street is an adventure in itself.

Here, in one piece too

So I made it. India is everything I expected and yet nothing I expected. I've heard all the stories about India - "an attack on your senses", "a world in its own", "an experience, not a country" - and I thought I had it sorted. Then I got here, and it all hit me at once. This is something I could never have prepared for, who was I kidding to think I could.

I'm yet to come up with any remotely cohesive thought about India, in fact I probably never will. But for now, I have found some bottled water and an ATM machine, and might call it a day at that.

Also, managed to leave my camera at Auckland Airport, so for now, I'm afraid, it's just words.

Two days to go

I never thought this adventure would begin in hospital.

And yet there I was, the week leading up to my first real overseas trip, sitting in hospital holding David's hand as he was wheeled off to surgery.

Rewind a few days to the dance floor of BoogyWonderland and you will hear this madness begin with David clutching at his side, saying to me: "I think I have another hole in my lung".

Since February, David has had about five holes in his lung and was on the waiting list to have an operation to fix it. Usually when he does get a hole it fixes itself in about an hour. This time though, we woke the next morning to more side clutching.

Without bogging you down with details, David has spent the past week in hospital and had the operation on Tuesday. For the record; he's doing ok, and was discharged today.

So, instead of spending the past week organising myself for India, I spent it frantically running between work and hospital. In the few moments I did have to myself I spent them staring at my bag hoping it would pack itself (I've never been very good at packing, even at the best of times). In the end, my packing consisted of me chucking anything I thought might be slightly useful into my bag to bring to Hamilton for Mum to then organise for me. At 23, I can comfortably say I still need my mum.

So here I am, in Hamilton, two days out from my big adventure, with a massive pile of clothes scattered on the floor and an ever-expanding list of things to do.

I don't know what to expect, I am a bundle of nerves, but most importantly I cannot wait.