Reality Check

Following my crazy Bazaar Tour I met up with one of the other teaching assistants from the British Council who had come out early, and another girl from my hostel visiting from Qatar but originally from Canada. We had a great day looking at the insanity of colonial history in the fort museum,  still home to many a relic, but also offices for diplomats and other government figures. We went to the beach and ate Poori, small deep fried bread served with chickpea curry and shredded noodles. We drank coffee so sweet I thought it may give me diabetes (there were about two table spoons of sugar to an expresso sized cup!

We walked and walked through the markets and through the streets looking at second hand bookstores, wandering farm animals, shoe makers, chai stalls, sweet shops and so much more. Tiring from the walk, and the heat and the  noise we got in a tuk-tuk back to Mylapore, near to my hostel. We stopped off in a vegetarian restaurant near to the temple and had a feast of Behl Poori (a bit like warm bombay mix)  Masala Dosa (thin and enormous rice pancakes, served with chutney and samba), Lassi (sweetened thick yogurt curd drink). We finished off with some ice cream and then went for an evening stroll around the temple. 

By some stroke of luck we walked into the middle of a classical dance display. A very proud father explained to us that his daughter was taking part. She took lessons every week at the temple, and twice a month they did a public display, for their parents, members of the public, and anyone worshipping in the temple. The girls looked amazing in fantastic outfits, adorned layers of make up and more jewellery than I have ever seen. A great way to end the evening. 


Another day another Dosa.  Sunday morning started with a breakfast of Masala Dosa,  clearly regarded in Chennai as the kind of food you can eat at any meal time. I agree, but i'm not sure this number if pancakes is going to be particularly good for me....A quick pack up of all my stuff and then left the modest hostel for the 4 star luxury of the Residency Tower Hotel. A stark but nice contrast. I can remember on leaving Thailand 4 years ago I vowed not to backpack again, and entering the cool air conditioned reception of The Residency, made me remember why. The crisp bed linen, the roof top bar, the laundry service, am I too old for all of this? Am I going to find myself near the air conditioning unit?

We had 3 nights in the hotel with 2 and a half days training from the British Council. Lots of new learning, lots of revision for me about interactive teaching techniques, and a great oportunity to get to know the other people taking part in the program. We met our host schools and had a chance to work with them looking at expectations and what each of us hopes to gain from this opportunity. It was interesting even in the early stages to recognise some of the similarities and differences between the British and Indian education systems, and the government and privately run schools. 

We had fantastic food, both in the hotel and also on a visit to one of the senior members of the British Council. It was great to meet all the teaching assistants and realise we had such similar hopes and expectations of the projects. We made plans with our host schools and learnt about the students and teachers we would be meeting in just a few days, but all within the confines of the hotel.  I'm really pleased I came out a few days early to see Chennai, and get a feel for what India is like. Although our training was pretty comprehensive in explaining cultural differences and what to be aware of, there's only so much you can say in a air conditioned conference room.......and all the explanations in the world wouldn't really have prepared me for arrival in my new home....Gurgaon.

Me and Tom, also working in my school, travelled with Rina,  the director of our organisation, on the 2.5 hour flight from Chennai to Delhi. Dropped off to my new apartment hot, tired and hungry, I have to say I was a little bit disappointed. We had been told we'd be living on the top for of a house,  with a guard, cook and cleaner. All oft these things are true, but in a juch more modest way than my imagination had chosen to hope for. Reality really hit home the following morning when I sat on my balcony. The cook had brought me banana, apple and cornflakes (with warm milk) for breakfast.  I hate warm milk on pretty much anything, but as the sun shone over my new view I realiased my balcony over looks a slum. I ate all my warm cornflakes. 

Mayhem in Madras

Dibley has arrived in India. I understand that no one is really reading this to hear my ponderings on human nature, my radical views on how to tackle the disressing and abject poverty that now surrounds me or the new found spiritualism i discovered whilst being welcomed into the temple on the corner of my street for some sweet and sticky cinnamon rice and a dance around a giant Ganesh carving draped in flower garlands, instead I will tell you the story of checking in with 1 minute to spare (close even by my standards), and the most aggressive traffic I have ever seen, with a little smattering of rats, cockroaches, insect bites and a couple of bruises. Actually I can't  tell you about the bruises because I don't know how I got them, other than the general hussle and bustle of this overwhelmingly mad, busy, loud, well meaning, friendly, noisy, smelly city!

Arrival was reasonably smooth by my terms. Got the visa, got to the airport, Emirates wouldn't let me check in because I'd changed my destination and my ticket had not been reissued by the travel agent. I call the travel agent, they apologise and say they'll reissue immediately. 20 minutes later no ticket, and I'm still not checked in. The check in manager calls the travel agent, they apologise again and say they're definitely going to do it this time. 'Good' says check in manager because we're closing the flight in 30 mins. 20  minutes later and I am still not checked in and I call the travel agent again and I am in a queue of 2 people waiting to get through. When I speak to someone again it is only 4 minutes from when the flight is closing, I am not crying...yet, then they suggest putting me on hold while they find out why it hasn't been done......I say 'No please stay on the line until it is done.....' with one minute to spare the ticket is reissued and I am checked in. No need to panic there then. One small tear of joy, before I see the queue at security, quick jog through the airport and we're off.

I arrive in Chennai (formerly Madras) at 8.30am. Greeted by a wall of hot and humid air, and surrounded by a statue of every god known to Hinduism. Immigration is a breeze, I sail into a taxi and they even drop me off at the hostel I ask for, the first time. I get checked in, everyone is really friendly, the place is clean and feels safe, happy travels!! Day one starts with some leisurely napping, wandering and practicing not getting run over. It is a fine art in this city, where had been warned by guidebooks, travel blogs, and even my taxi driver on route to Gatwick that the traffic was crazy in Chennai. Buses have priority because they are the biggest. Cars have second right of way because the people in them earn the most money, but the people on bikes, motor bikes and most importantly auto rickshaws don't really care about any of this and think they can fit into the tiniest pockets of road, even if it is a pocket of road that me, the poor pedestrian with no rights, is already standing in. WATCH OUT. Look left look right, look left and right again, set off hear a beep, hear a second and third more aggressive beep step back, then try again. (Don't worry mum honestly I'm fine)

Had an evening out and ate my first Thali platter, bread, rice, lentils, veg curry, pickles very tasty. Washed down with a mango lassi, and Indian sweets which are like mini round donuts soaked in syrup and served in a pool of syrup. Not sure what they're called yet but they're really yummy. Headed back to the hostel (with my two hostel buddies, Anna and Stacey) in a rickshaw with a quick stop at the Ramakrishna temple. We were met by a verh friendly lady explaining that today was the first day of a Ganesh festival. There was blessed food in the temple which she offered to us, and showed us where we could sit a watch the statue of Ganesh being blessed. We then walked on a bit further toward the hostel and found another temple at the corner of our road where they were blessing Ganesh. Four guys had a massive carving balanced on their shoulders and we're dancing the statue into the temple. We started taking pictures, but one of the priests started waving and shaking his hand. I thought he didn't want us to take pictures, but he wanted us to join in. He took us into the temple,  showed us the musicians, made sure we had a great place to watch, and we were given more blessed food. This time a cinnamon flavoured sticky rice pudding, loving the food!

Day 2 was another packed full of Ganesh, temples and interesting smells. We walked to the local Kapaleeswarar Temple,  and again were greeted by friendly locals eager to explain all of the local customs. Unusual custom number one, cracking coconuts outside the temple,  but also offering whole coconuts to the gods inside the temple. Aparently the coconut is a symbol of the ego, you must humble yourself by breaking your ego before going into the temple. It is also a symbol of good luck. Giving it to a god means you will be blessed with good luck.....I'll have to try that one sometime!

The temple is beautiful  and has a large 'Gopuram Tower' covered in ornate carving and images of the gods.

More food......for lunch I had my first genuine south Indian Dosa. Rice flour pancakes, stuffed with spiced mashed potatoes,  and served with coconut chutney, chilli chutney, and a thin spiced tomato/onion broth. For those of you who havn't experienced this delight and don't intend to brave the insanity of Chennai, there are a couple of restaurants on Tooting high street that serve a pretty good version of Dosa! 

We spent the sfternoon on a walking tour through the Bazaar in Georgetown. It's quite hard to out into words this multisensory experience....the noise is loud. Horns hooting constantly, talking, shouting, children playing, the sound of the traffic, the sound of music coming from the corner temple.....the list goes on....The smells range from rancid and rotting food that is strewn into every corner,  with the occasional rat and cockroaches poking about, to the intense fragrances of insence wafting down the street. Market stalls continually prepare flower garlands to wear in hair or offer at the temple, all with a distinct fresh flower smell....then there are the food smells. Frying oil, heavily spiced sauces and curries, shops selling coffee and ranges of spices that i've never even heard of let alone know what to do with.......! Apparently they're not for cooking but for making your face more pale.....and getting rid of facial hair.

Crazy Bazaar in Chennai

Pre-departure Update

10 days to go until I'll be setting off on my little adventure. I'm going to find myself in India...well that's what people keep kindly telling me will happen. I'm not totally sure I know what I'm looking for, but I am looking forward to spending months in hareem trousers teamed with a tie dye t-shirt, bathing in the Ganges and gathering an anecdote or two about life or death riskshaw rides.

I have given half of my worldly possessions to a variety of worthy charities. They are no doubt grateful for all the CD's from the 90's that I have not listened to for 10 years, and most people did not want to listen to 10 years ago. I expect they'll be flying off the shelves of the Balham Oxfam with the dawning age of digital music. The clothes, some with tags still in, that I have never worn, didn't fit , or generally wore to death and couldn't bear to throw away, well hopefully they can recycle the fabric if nothing else. I left a number of seemingly useless pieces of furniture (a wonky bookcase, linen basket with no handles, a picnic hamper with an ill fitting lid and a cat box with two broken clasps) outside the door of the flat, and apparently other people have uses for them as they disappeared in seconds.

Me and dad, well mostly dad, did a sterling job of squeezing the remaining half of my worldly possessions in the back of a Ford Focus. Colin, the cat was the most difficult to pack. We had a 40 minute chase around the flat before forcing him in the cat box, where upon he broke one of the clasps and popped straight back out again. We attempted gaffa taping him in there, but then pictured him tearing through the gaffa tape in a fit of rage half way up the M1 so after a visit to the vets, Argos and the local pet shop managed to purchase a brand new, and highly secure cat box. It then only took 10 minutes, 3 people and 2 pairs of gardening gloves, to get him in and locked down. He was so upset at leaving London that he cried and yowled for a full 8 hours. What a joy when you're sat in mostly stationary traffic through West London for 2.5 hours, then have to contend with variable speed limits, that actually seemed to be a consistent 50 to me, for the remaining 5 hours of the journey. Life goes on. We arrived alive.

Since then life has been a mix of; drinking too much in the name of birthdays, saying farewell to people and celebrating the re-homing of the cat; trying to store 5 years worth of accumulated cake decorating equipment, shoes, books, bank statements and ski socks under the spare bed at mum and dads; and conducting business/life admin. I have successfully closed one credit card account, the addresses on all other banking nonsense, and simply confused myself about all other options because I have too much time on my hands for research.

On previous long haul trips I have packed the morning I leave, with a hangover or still drunk, I book insurance at the airport, buy a Jackie Collins novel at Smiths in departures and buy/borrow any toiletries I would need on arrival. I am overwhelmed at the choice of insurance, although have definitely ruled out the £629 quote from Lloyds, over the top, and £3,000,000 less compensation than one of the other companies if I lose a limb. I am seriously debating the value of the discreet clip cover on the Berghaus back pack vs the Eurohike one (is a discreet clip cover really worth an extra £43?), and simply beside myself at having to decide on what clothing will be conservative yet cool (temperature) enough whilst maintaining a professional and stylish demeanour for poverty stricken children in New Delhi, and goodness only knows what the best method of accessing money over there is, I just don't understand all the transaction and exchange percentages.

But some things never changed. Having finally applied for my visa, the delay was not my fault, I am unlikely to get it back until the day of my flight. I have timed my journey to perfection. A leisurely 8am train from York is bound to arrive on time leaving me a good 30 minutes to swing into the British Council office collect my passport, and then head out to Gatwick for a 15.00 flight....lets hope it's not a rerun of the New Year journey to Chamonix.