The train itself was exactly as we had seen in the documentary. Green and yellow on the outside pale powder blue inside, old and well loved , worn out dented ceilings, brown plastic covered seats. Pale blue shaky wooden window frames and very dodgy doors.
The slow 30 mile an hour journey was every thing we had dreamed of , washing away the images of over built up "Ooty on the hill ". The train track cut through the mountain side , dropping rather too profoundly on one side. Here the little villages were exactly as they should have been, dotted around the hills , triangular images of vividly coloured patchwork surrounded by semi circular orange terraces of fertile soil hoed into small neat rectangles of earth waiting for planting , some already covered with fluffy sharp green carrot tops.
We were sharing our carriage space with a young Indian couple celebrating their second wedding anniversary, they were from New Deli and worked in Bangalore in IT. The train made a few stops on the way down. At one stop we got lucky and we were joined by a station master. He was just great. Really dark faced, laughing twinkling eyes and curly hair. He sat opposite Franco. Now any of you who have travelled with Franco will know that he becomes blood brothers with the indigenous people with in minutes. He and the station master hit it off in no time and our journey was made. This man had worked on the railways for 24 years as a station master, a highly respected job. He has three daughters all of whom he must supply with dowries when they marry. Franco offered him his sincere sympathy on that expense which caused great hilarity . The young woman from New Deli said the dowry must include gold,lots of heavy gold.
Then suddenly, " looklooklook, elephants" and sure enough below us were three dusty greyish brown wild elephants. Oh! How cool was that?
There were rivers in ravines far below us which in the monsoon must be spectacular. The local traffic had to stop as we passed over level crossings. Beautiful. But then something has to knock you back to even things up ,this is India , there is the sting in the tail that brings you back to the reality of life.
I was aware of the smell of "l'eau d'India" wafting towards us as the train chugged slowly downwards following the edge of a deep slate coloured rocky river bank. On the opposite side,literally clinging on to steep sloping slabs of rock , a group of 20 or 30 huts were woven together. Made up of dried washed out faded palm leaves, incongruous bright blue plastic tarpaulins, bits of drift wood and a mish mash of other stuff. What held them to the bank I have no idea- a mini slum. From the back of the huts there was a cascade of curdled rubbish and god knows what else falling inevitably down into the long suffering river. Will that slum resist the monsoon that will clear away the rubbish? Will those poor people have to rebuild their river view dwellings? Poverty is so visible here in India and it is real base line poverty. India is "Life in full view" there are so many people around all the time , there is a tangible feeling of networking. Communities of hundreds of people stretching endlessly along the road sides like ants ,all going purposely to SOMEWHERE on their own personal errands , earning their daily bread following or going against the traffic , human type or other forms of.
The journey was everything we had hoped for and more , lovely afternoon. Thank you India.
As we arrived at Metttaplalalyam or something like that, I saw a face I recognised, relief, there standing on the platform was valiant Victor our driver ready to collect us.
We drove for two hours in a never ending sprawl of towns and rush hour traffic to our super western style hotel.
Real beds, clean bathrooms, shinny new appliances , sparkly surfaces and Oh the hotel restaurants promise WINE ! YES ,WINE!
We select the Afgan grill in the garden by the pool. Dreaming , steak western style, with WINE. A salad maybe?
But this is India , nothing is as it seems, sorry to be repetitive . When will we learn to approach things from round the corner.
Well now, the wine. Let's start there.
"wine madam, no madam totally no wine madam except Chablis madam. 4000 rupees (thats about £40) madam 1200 r. a glass" that was the first let down. At the risk of sounding like a group alcoholics who have completed the first quarter of their drying out period, that was such a huge gigantic let down we sat stunned. " But it says in the room , printed clearly in your book of words that there is Sulla( indian ) wine. 1200 r.
We settled for gins , vodkas and a tiger beer. So not all bad.
We ordered .
One Caesar salad ( Elaine) . When this arrived it was a solid 1/4 block chunk of ice burg lettuce with a few cherry tomatoes round the edge and some unidentified brown splattered on the top. This along with the wine was an early warning sign . You can take a hotel out of India but you cannot India out of the hotel. The slab of lettuce was taken away and what came back was same same different , but very different indeed . The night went from bad to worse. The men got there food but no cutlery , the girls got, no food. It went on and on until eventually Franco stood up and took the waiter by the shoulders and told him in no uncertain terms that he should never go near a restaurant (he does have a fair bit of knowledge of these things) They got their knives. Us girls got something after two hours. My lamb cutlets were still frozen in the middle. That was it!
" this meal is free" I told the waiter. " yes madam, most definitely madam please let us possibly cook you something else, a sandwich is it madam? Or PASTA!!! "
PASTA ! for gods sake. Desperation had obviously set in on all sides. We got up and went to our rooms. When we got out of the lift on the fourth floor there was a waiter standing with a plate of chicken sandwiches . We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, in order to get there before us he must have literally run up the stairs.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
The slow 30 mile an hour journey was every thing we had dreamed of , washing away the images of over built up "Ooty on the hill ". The train track cut through the mountain side , dropping rather too profoundly on one side. Here the little villages were exactly as they should have been, dotted around the hills , triangular images of vividly coloured patchwork surrounded by semi circular orange terraces of fertile soil hoed into small neat rectangles of earth waiting for planting , some already covered with fluffy sharp green carrot tops.
We were sharing our carriage space with a young Indian couple celebrating their second wedding anniversary, they were from New Deli and worked in Bangalore in IT. The train made a few stops on the way down. At one stop we got lucky and we were joined by a station master. He was just great. Really dark faced, laughing twinkling eyes and curly hair. He sat opposite Franco. Now any of you who have travelled with Franco will know that he becomes blood brothers with the indigenous people with in minutes. He and the station master hit it off in no time and our journey was made. This man had worked on the railways for 24 years as a station master, a highly respected job. He has three daughters all of whom he must supply with dowries when they marry. Franco offered him his sincere sympathy on that expense which caused great hilarity . The young woman from New Deli said the dowry must include gold,lots of heavy gold.
Then suddenly, " looklooklook, elephants" and sure enough below us were three dusty greyish brown wild elephants. Oh! How cool was that?
There were rivers in ravines far below us which in the monsoon must be spectacular. The local traffic had to stop as we passed over level crossings. Beautiful. But then something has to knock you back to even things up ,this is India , there is the sting in the tail that brings you back to the reality of life.
I was aware of the smell of "l'eau d'India" wafting towards us as the train chugged slowly downwards following the edge of a deep slate coloured rocky river bank. On the opposite side,literally clinging on to steep sloping slabs of rock , a group of 20 or 30 huts were woven together. Made up of dried washed out faded palm leaves, incongruous bright blue plastic tarpaulins, bits of drift wood and a mish mash of other stuff. What held them to the bank I have no idea- a mini slum. From the back of the huts there was a cascade of curdled rubbish and god knows what else falling inevitably down into the long suffering river. Will that slum resist the monsoon that will clear away the rubbish? Will those poor people have to rebuild their river view dwellings? Poverty is so visible here in India and it is real base line poverty. India is "Life in full view" there are so many people around all the time , there is a tangible feeling of networking. Communities of hundreds of people stretching endlessly along the road sides like ants ,all going purposely to SOMEWHERE on their own personal errands , earning their daily bread following or going against the traffic , human type or other forms of.
The journey was everything we had hoped for and more , lovely afternoon. Thank you India.
As we arrived at Metttaplalalyam or something like that, I saw a face I recognised, relief, there standing on the platform was valiant Victor our driver ready to collect us.
We drove for two hours in a never ending sprawl of towns and rush hour traffic to our super western style hotel.
Real beds, clean bathrooms, shinny new appliances , sparkly surfaces and Oh the hotel restaurants promise WINE ! YES ,WINE!
We select the Afgan grill in the garden by the pool. Dreaming , steak western style, with WINE. A salad maybe?
But this is India , nothing is as it seems, sorry to be repetitive . When will we learn to approach things from round the corner.
Well now, the wine. Let's start there.
"wine madam, no madam totally no wine madam except Chablis madam. 4000 rupees (thats about £40) madam 1200 r. a glass" that was the first let down. At the risk of sounding like a group alcoholics who have completed the first quarter of their drying out period, that was such a huge gigantic let down we sat stunned. " But it says in the room , printed clearly in your book of words that there is Sulla( indian ) wine. 1200 r.
We settled for gins , vodkas and a tiger beer. So not all bad.
We ordered .
One Caesar salad ( Elaine) . When this arrived it was a solid 1/4 block chunk of ice burg lettuce with a few cherry tomatoes round the edge and some unidentified brown splattered on the top. This along with the wine was an early warning sign . You can take a hotel out of India but you cannot India out of the hotel. The slab of lettuce was taken away and what came back was same same different , but very different indeed . The night went from bad to worse. The men got there food but no cutlery , the girls got, no food. It went on and on until eventually Franco stood up and took the waiter by the shoulders and told him in no uncertain terms that he should never go near a restaurant (he does have a fair bit of knowledge of these things) They got their knives. Us girls got something after two hours. My lamb cutlets were still frozen in the middle. That was it!
" this meal is free" I told the waiter. " yes madam, most definitely madam please let us possibly cook you something else, a sandwich is it madam? Or PASTA!!! "
PASTA ! for gods sake. Desperation had obviously set in on all sides. We got up and went to our rooms. When we got out of the lift on the fourth floor there was a waiter standing with a plate of chicken sandwiches . We didn't know whether to laugh or cry, in order to get there before us he must have literally run up the stairs.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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