30th June 1992 Day 346

The Diary

I went across to the HK island and caught the peak tram up to the top of Victoria Peak. The view was amazing and very photogenic. I then walked up Mt Austin Rd and looked over the other side of the island. Back down to Des Voeux Rd Central and I picked up my plane ticket and then booked a return trip to Macau on the Far East Jetfoil. As ever, it was all easy and efficient.

I went back to Kowloon and just managed to pick up my passport before the China Travel Service closed. Good job I got there as I need the passport to get to Macau. It was the last day for my credit cards so I used them to phone Christy before consigning them to the bin. After that I went swimming at the Kowloon Park swimming complex, along with several thousand HK Chinese. It was a bit crowded, to say the least, and I only managed 1/2 mile. I'm so out of shape that that was quite enough. I filled up at Pizza Hut & went back.

2012
Out of shape was an understatement. I wasn't really aware how much weight I'd lost over the last few months but you can see from the photos how much weight I'd lost.


Macau was handed to China by the Portuguese in Dec 1999, quite a few years after this. In the late 90s when I was working in Asia I would have to go to Macau as a staging point to get between Taiwan and China as direct flights were not allowed. Nowadays I think it's just the Chinese version of Las Vegas.

29th June 1992 Day 345

The Diary

Found Access Travel and my documents were all present & correct. Efficiency is a bit of a shock after India. They couldn't help me with flights home though. I then went to HK Island and visited Poste Restante. Tom Jones had written and he said I can have my job back starting Sept 1st. We'll have to see. I then went to Thomas Cook and they were very helpful & got me a cheap flight from Stockholm to Gatwick on July 20th.

I then went back across to Kowloon and applied for a China visa. After all my organisational efforts I decided to have a rest and went to see Lethal Weapon 3. I enjoyed it but I bet Oz would have disapproved.

2012
These were the docs and tickets for my Trans-Mongolian Express trip.


Tom Jones was a partner at Price Waterhouse in Leeds - not 'the' Tom Jones.

28th June 1992 Day 344

The Diary

The plane left at 1:00am and arrived at Bangkok 3 1/2 hours later. During that time I was made to suffer breakfast, had a glass of orange spilt over me and failed to sleep. I had a 3-hour wait in Bangkok during which time I phoned Christy & she told me she'd quit. By this time I was feeling very tired. On the flight to Hong Kong I had two spare seats next to me and kept curling up to grab 40 winks. 

Unfortunately the turbulence was very bad and the stewardesses kept waking me up to put my seat belt on. In fact the worst bit of turbulence was on the first flight when it really did feel as if we were on a rollercoaster. The whole plane was oohing and aahing in unison.


At Hong Kong my luggage turned up. As it had been checked through to HK by Indians I was a bit worried. I caught the A1 bus and then the MTR and easily found the YMCA International. I relieved my bowels for the umpteenth time in the last 24 hours. India wouldn't let me go without leaving it's legacy. Then I crashed out for a few hours. I'd been awake over 26 hours.


I went out, found McDonalds and then wandered around for a while. Once it started pouring down I gave up and caught the MTR back.


2012
HK was still a British colony in those days.

27th June 1992 Day 343

The Diary

How to waste a day in Delhi. I spent a lot of time looking round the bookshops and then chatted to an Aussie in Wimpy's. GB beat Australia RL 33-10. Good of him to tell me. Then I walked to Parliament House & back. Went to the hotel for my last meal and caught a rickshaw back to Wimpy to catch the airport bus.

At the airport I chatted to an Austrian who was taking his mountain bike to Jakarta. His English was not very good but he thought my accent was easy to understand and I even had to translate at the check-in when they wanted to let his tyres down. I then talked to James & Polly and we swapped travel stories - she had gastro-enteritis in Nepal and the Delhi-Kathmandu bus took 72 hours. I gave them tips on Bangkok and they gave me a copy of Viz. Fair swap. We watched the last 5 minutes of the European Nations Final & then it was time to go.

26th June 1992 Day 342

The Diary

Oz's last day and he did as little as possible. In fact he was so quiet during the morning & early afternoon he might as well have already been home. I had a last check of Poste Restante. I think dad's letter has gone to Old Delhi but as they only keep them for 1 month and it's at the other side of the city I can't be bothered to check.

No Oz

In the early evening Oz loaded up his rucksack for the last time & we headed to Connaught Place. We looked around a few bookshops & took our time over a meal. At around 9pm I left him waiting for the airport bus and surrounded by beggars.

2012

342 days down and Oz and I parted ways. He was off back home to the real world of 9 to 5 work, sensible temperatures and domestic bliss. I, on the other hand, was off to do the lone traveller thing across China, Mongolia and Russia. Still travelling back home but by a slightly more tortuous overland route.

25th June 1992 Day 341

The Diary
We tried out the local buses & actually got something done. We visited the Qutub Minar, Safdarjung Tomb, the Lodi Tombs and the National Museum (best museum in Asia?) all for a handful of rupees.

Qutub Minar

Safdarjung Tomb

We caught a rickshaw from the National Museum to Connaught Place & ate at Kwality restaurant before returning to the Metropolis. In the evening we chatted to John (Australian) & Heather (Kiwi). He worked for an environmental agency and was in India to plant trees. He'd been to India lots of times and had the advantage of speaking Hindi. We talked about all sorts of subjects & I think J & H detest US policy as much as I do.


2012
The National Museum may have been good but it's current website is useless.


I've no idea what my issue with US policy was - what was going on in the world at the time? The Gulf War? George Bush? Too much Spitting image? Coca-cola? McDonalds? Carl Lewis not making the Olympic team? Who knows.


India was the only country we went to (in fact, I've ever been to) where you couldn't buy Coca-cola. Lehar Pepsi was all you could get.

24th June 1992 Day 340

The Diary

We visited Old Delhi today. The air was thick with dust and totally unsuitable for photography. The Red Fort was impressive outside but disappointing inside. Chandni Chowk was maniacally busy & hopelessly congested (as TW said it would be) but the Jami Masjid was big & impressive both inside & out. We climbed to the top of the minaret showing respect ie. paying money, at various stages all the way to the top.

Jami Masjid

Dust over Delhi

We walked back to Connaught Place had a chilli con carne at Nirulas & walked round the bookshops. We returned to the calm haven of the Metropolis & had our evening meal there. We also discovered Carl Lewis is out of the 100m in the Olympics, done by the US trials. He finished 6th. I don't think the 3-time world champion, double Olympic champion & world record holder would have been left out of the UK team!

23rd June 1992 Day 339

The Diary

The day we tried to change money. 

• Indian banks open 10am-2pm
• The daily exchange rate arrives around 12 noon and they won't do an exchange until the rate is in
• When the rate is in, the State Bank won't change AmEx or Citibank TCs
• The Punjab & Sind bank staff are not around
• The Bank of Baroda advise you to go to their main branch
• The main branch of the Bank of Baroda won't take TCs without the receipts (Oz leans over counter "Why are you all so fuckin' hopeless")
• The doorman of the AmEx bank won't let you in
• The commission at ANZ Grindlays is extortionate 

Eventually you crack up at the whole system and decide to take the Grindlays sting as the black market won't take TCs either. Then the Indian bureaucracy comes into its own:

• You fill in several forms
• Wait 1/2 hr while the forms & your passport are passed around 5 desks
• Just as the money is about to reach your sticky fingers, the cashier runs out of staples. 
• Old age comes nearer as you wait for him to order the requisition chit for a new box of staples
• which must be filled in in triplicate 
• and authorised by the manager, senior manager, assistant superintendent senior manager 
• and the lazy git sat by the door holding the 19th Century rifle.  

At least when you die in Grindlays the surroundings are pleasant & clean unlike most Indian banks that are dark & grimy and where they wouldn't be able to get your body out the door anyway because there is only a 6 inch gap in the steel grill that has been padlocked over the door.

 After we'd recovered and Oz had verbally abused several more people including Shansh marnie men & the "you want tourist information about Kashmir, Ladakh" men, we went in search of the Gandhi memorial. But couldn't find it. Then we went in search of Delhi Gate & somebody's pillar. No sign of them. We did (eventually) find Raj Gaht, where Gandhi was cremated.

Back at the Metropolis we chatted to Elizabeth an English girl who was returning home after 21 months travelling and the 3 of us purged our souls of all things India. How is this country one of the worlds major industrial powers? They are all totally inept. A sweeping generalizaton but it can't be far wrong.


2012
A month in India at the hottest time of the year had pushed us over the edge. Oz was demob happy to as he was only a few days away from returning to the peace and quiet of The Cotswolds and Maidenhead - and inept UK banks.

This "bank" day sticks in my mind. Mild mannered Oz turned into a raving, crazed, serial killer of bank staff. Our infinite patience motto had run out. We'd gone to infinity and beyond.


I'm sure today everyone in India just uses ATMs......

22nd June 1992 Day 338

The Diary

Moved our stuff to the Metropolis into bijou room 107. First stop in Delhi - Poste Restante, 3 letters each, Oz got cuttings about Carry On Columbus and the England football team and I discovered Christy is thinking of quitting her job. Stupid girl. Then we walked to Connaught Place only to discover Thai International had moved. Fortunately, not too far. We reconfirmed our flights and then we went to Cathay Pacific around the corner & I confirmed Bangkok to Hong Kong. The service in both places was good but then they are not Indian companies.

Then we set off to the Jantar Mantar and received our welcome to Delhi. We were surrounded by a group of women shouting "baksheesh" and pulling and jostling us. They stopped bothering me and concentrated on Oz and we both realised why at the same time. Using her sari as a cover one of them had her hand in Oz's bumbag. Oz swung a kick at one & I pushed another away but we escaped with the bumbag contents intact. Close shave.


Next was Parliament House and then the National Museum - it was Monday & closed. We walked along RajPath to India Gate & then settled down for some soft drinks, water & ice cream. Then we did the long walk out to Humayun's Tomb. Very Taj Mahal-esque. We caught a rickshaw back to the Main Bazaar and walked the few hundred yards to the hotel fighting our way through the crowd.

Disaster struck. Somewhere between the rickshaw and the hotel someone had managed to remove Oz's money from his bumbag. Luckily passport, flight tickets, etc were still there. But we were both really pissed off. After 4 months someone finally pulled a major one over us.


We ate in the Metropolis restaurant, mainly because we'd lost the urge to go out. We met a young English girl who had just arrived in Delhi to do 2 1/2 months voluntary work. She was shell-shocked, culture-shocked, couldn't stand the heat or the smells and was scared to go out. I don't envy her. 5 days here seems like a long time. 10 weeks as a lonely, female must seem like a long time in hell.


2012
I remember the young girl well. We'd had months travelling round SE Asia as preparation for the shock of India. She'd just jumped off a plane from the UK not having a clue about what she was going to encounter. She was close to a nervous breakdown. 


Things you need to know about India (and which the young girl obviously didn't). The following is purloined from http://www.scottstours.com/



BARGAINING
Everything in India can be bargained for except for hotels, meals, "fixed-price" government handicraft shops, many clothing and shoe stores, and some taxis that have meters. At first you may not feel comfortable with bargaining, unless you come from a bargaining ethnic group or you’ve had experience in other countries. But you learn it fast and it can get to be fun. 


Indian ethics goes like this: "You are a foreigner, you can afford a vacation to come to my country, you must have lots of money, therefore you should pay more to subsidize someone else who needs this item or service but is poor." 


Items and some services will be verbally marked up to as much as three times the local price. You usually have a good deal if you can get them down to below 50% of their original price. 


Bargaining goes something like this: 1) First decide in yourself what you’re comfortably willing to pay. 2) Offer 25–50% of what they are asking and work up toward your final predetermined price. If they don't offer it to you at or below the price you’re willing to pay, start walking away; sometimes they'll come after you and continue to bargain; in this way you know you have the upper hand. If they don't come after you, it means they won't bargain any lower; you then have to decide whether to bite the bullet and meet their final asking price or move on and look elsewhere.


BAKSHEESH
Baksheesh can be defined as a “tip,” but it is actually a lot more. Think of it as paying for services ahead of time; judicious baksheesh will open doors, find missing letters, and perform other small miracles.


If you’re going to be using a service repeatedly, an initial tip will ensure the standards are kept up.


Many Westerners find this aspect of Indian travel the most trying–the expectations that because you're a foreigner, you'll tip. However, from an Indian perspective, baksheesh is an integral part of the system. It is expected and accepted by both sides of the Indian culture 


BEGGARS
Although most people think of baksheesh in terms of tipping, it also refers to giving alms to beggars. Wherever you turn in India you'll be confronted by beggars; many of them (often handicapped or disfigured) are genuinely in dire need,. 


You will experience many, especially young children, begging from tourists. Their style is to follow you, tugging and whining repeatedly, until you give something just to get rid of them. In general, it is better not to give them money, because you will be quickly mobbed by other street beggars and you encourage them to hassle tourists. So if you are moved, buy some food and give it to them as you are leaving a place (not when you're standing around). I once made the mistake of giving some food to a sweet young boy in the Calcutta railway station; literally two minutes later, twenty children from all directions were seen running full speed towards me.


It's a matter of personal choice how you approach the issue of beggars and baksheesh. Some people feel it is best to give nothing to any beggar as it only encourages them so, instead, they chose to contribute to a charitable institute such as Mother Teresa's Hospital in Calcutta or make a donation to an ashram for the feeding of the poor. Others give away loose change when they have it. Some insulate themselves entirely and give nothing. It's up to you. 


One final thing. I used to be very harsh with beggars, not looking at them and if necessary, ordering them away from me. Then I met an American woman in Varanasi who had been living in India for some time. I watched,one day, how she responded to a poor woman begging for food: she looked the older women steadily in the eyes, and with hands folded in namaskar position, she said, "Mata-ji, I am sorry I have no money for you today." When "ji" is added to the end of a work, it signifies respect. I was very moved by the humanity in that moment and since then, I've tried to be kinder and more respectful.


By the way, genuine sannyasins (holy men) don't beg or hassle tourists. They sit outside temples or near ritual bathing tanks, patiently waiting with their rice bowls. 

21st June 1992 Day 337

The Diary

India Gate, Delhi

At breakfast an Indian couple appeared. Maybe there are more guests after all. We walked to the bus & caught the 10:15 to Delhi. Another good bus & this time less than half-full. A rarity. The English lad with the Rio t-shirt that we'd seen in several Indian trains was also on the bus. He was his usual lonely, uncommunicative self. We caught a taxi to Connaught Place after a rickshaw-wallah had asked 80rp. You could catch a train half-way to Bombay for that. The hotels around the Janpath  area were small grotty and full of hippies. No luck we went to Wimpy for some food and to decide what to do next. 



View Larger Map 
We decided to try the Puri Yatri GH recommended by the Atithi GH. We eventually got there despite the rickshaw driver going in totally the wrong direction. It's a good job I can read a map. It was very nice but as overpriced as the Janpath GH's. We tried to bargain the owner down but 300rp for a 5 night stay was his final offer. We booked in for 1 night at 350rp.


We then went to the Paharganj area in search of hotels. We checked quite a few out. They were mostly grotty but we eventually put a deposit down on a 200rp room at the Metropolis. We then ate there to the melodious strains of AC/DC's Highway to Hell. Far better than Hindi music. We then returned to our sauna like room for the evening.

2012
Bombay. Mumbai nowadays.


Looking at the websites of these guest houses, they've either been completely renovated or they're different places with the same names. 

20th June 1992 Day 336

The Diary
A lie-in, and then we wandered round the corner to the bus station and booked on the 12:15 to Jaipur. It was all too easy. Lazed around the tourist bungalow for a couple of hours & then caught the bus. The best and coolest bus so far only spoilt by the petulant baggage handler refusing to drop us off near the Atithi guest house because we hadn't paid our 2rp baggage charge. We were furious, he'd only had 7 hours to ask for it. In the end it didn't matter because it was easier to book our bus to Delhi while we were at the bus station.


They were glad to see us at the Atithi and gave us our old room back. I wonder how many guests they've had. We went to the Rainbow restaurant round the corner & Oz ordered chicken tikka masala for the 3rd time. I had chicken fried rice, french toast & a chocobar!


2012
Some random images of Jaipur that I nicked from the interweb

19th June 1992 Day 335

The Diary

11 months since leaving home. An awful nights sleep as it was very hot and we didn't have an air cooler. Up before 6 for breakfast and then a not very leisurely stroll to the bus station for a bus I was convinced we'd miss because we didn't know where it was going from. It turned up and sat in front of us were Graham & <someone whose name is lost in the mists of time> from Hartlepool & Leeds. They'd passed through our mud hut the previous evening and were in the last week of a 9 month trip round the world. Their first taste of Indian buses was not good as the bus had very little leg room and was a 5 seats across bus. It also rapidly became the most crowded bus we'd travelled on in India. I had the misfortune to have a heavy steel case fall on my head as the bus lurched from side to side. Not a word of apology from anyone although someone asked "any blood?" and Oz had to stop them putting the case back up above us.

Amazingly the bus made it to Jodhpur in 5 1/2 hours and we walked to the Tourist Bungalow, had a snack and chatted to our 2 English friends. They left to try & get on a train to Delhi and we crashed out. Later on we tried to reserve a seat on the train to Delhi but it was full. We managed to find the exclusive and highly recommended Kalinga restaurant and Scotland beat CIS 3-0 and Holland beat Germany 3-1. That means Holland & Germany are through.

Team	Pld	W	D	L	GF	GA	GD	Pts
Netherlands	3	2	1	0	4	1	+3	5
Germany	3	1	1	1	4	4	0	3
Scotland	3	1	0	2	3	3	0	2
CIS	3	0	2	1	1	4	–3	2

2012
Things have been a bit different in the Euros this time, Holland out, France and England through. As ever, the Germans are also through.

18th June 1992 Day 334

The Diary

Changed hotels then walked into the desert to take photos of the fort. We wandered round the streets for a while before going back to the hotel to wait for the jeep ride at 4pm. We talked to Rupert & Barbara who'd been staying at the Paradise. Rupert had his date of birth as 23/11/66 in the book. I would have guessed 56. I also chatted to a Brummie called Keith who was trying to top up his tan on the hotel roof.





Just before we went for the jeep ride we saw Alan & Sarah. Alan as usual was full of world news & sport. England & France out of the European Nations Cup.

We shared the jeep ride with 4 Brits, Steve, Adam, Dave & Claire who'd spent 6 months in India and 1 in Nepal. Sooner them than me. The journey took us from one desert village to the next to buy 'cold' drinks from the locals. We eventually stopped at a little hut by some sand dunes where the occupier sold cold drinks, chai and hired out camels. Oz did a camel sprint and crushed his plums and I stayed to chat to Steve. We spent several hours sat in the hut with the rat, the scorpion, the bird and the dung beetles waiting for the sunset. When that was all over we were driven back. At least it only cost 55rp.

17th June 1992 Day 333

The Diary

Our alarm call / wake-up never happened but luckily I woke up at 5:45, 15 minutes before the bus was due to leave. It was a good job it picked up at the Tourist Bungalow though. The bus only took 5 1/2 hours as promised but as usual the Indians succeeded in making it uncomfortable. Too many people on the bus including 10 in the driver's cabin, very loud Indian music and a howling hair-dryer gale from the skylight. 

Looking a bit thin

Call an electrician

Along with another English couple we were talked into staying at the New Tourist Hotel in Jaisalmer. It was ok for the money but they kept trying to sell us an expensive camel trip. Jaisalmer was a sort of cross between Kathmandu, an arabian fort and a cattle farm. Cows everywhere, even inside people's homes. We also found a book exchange - the first one in India. We bumped into Alan & Rupert and saw lots of other white faces - how did they all get here, they never travel with us?


We were tipped off that the Hotel Paradise inside the fort was better than the New Tourist so Oz put a deposit down on a room there and booked us a jeep ride.