Damn, I was in Delhi for the past two weeks !!!!
Also, Yay, Prince posted.
Prince, please, eh, start a thread on your own visit... if you have time and feel like it...
Of course 'yay, Prince posted'. Why didn't he tell us what he was up to? Or did he?
Maybe I am being too herding in my ways here. Do you all want all about India to be on dag's diary thread? (not to suppose The Prince wanted to start a thread, just talking here.
So, I'll be quieter on that. I was trying earlier to get Brahmin to start another thread as well.
(more threads, more google?)
whatever, as long as dag doesn't mind.
As long as I don't lose track of what's being posted.
For your information, Clary and I have decided to go to India together around 18th November.
That's after she's been to another three or four countries first, I kid you not.
No doubt she will post on her Traveller thread.
I hope I may continue to chip in here with the occasional comment. If I manage to do a travelogue I will post it elsewhere, so as not to clutter up this thread.
Well i started a "dairy"... hope you like the products.
ossobuco wrote:Maybe I am being too herding in my ways here. Do you all want all about India to be on dag's diary thread? (not to suppose The Prince wanted to start a thread, just talking here.
It's like "my" New York thread. I have moments of intense irritation that anything other than travel ideas went into it - and then I revert to coping. Herding posters and cats isn't easy. <shrug> Craven says that someday we'll have an ::answered:: option for threads. That'll be a happy dance day for me.
I go back and forth on it. I often like digression, even on more serious threads, if it circles on back...
the prince wrote:Dag was in India ??? The same time as me ?? How come we did not get to meet ??
Delhi is having one of the hottest Augusts - now it explains why.....
damn! were we in delhi at the same time? that can't be! how foolish, i should have checked what you're up to before i went to india!
anyhow, now i'm home, tired, smelly, dirty and sick. some of those are easily fixable with water and sleep. i'll post tomorrow.
ossobuco wrote:I go back and forth on it. I often like digression, even on more serious threads, if it circles on back...
The butterfly minds of the world have to be catered for...I yield to no one in my infinite capacity to digress. Sorry. But about India, I'd rather read than post. I'm here to learn...and will try to follow all threads.
Butterfly minds. Perfect description...
Well, here are the first two days of the trip. Rest will be written up when I have some/any energy. Still tired as hell, I expect that will last a few days...
Indian Diary of a Worldly and Street-smart Traveler II.
Friday 12th August.
I sit on my little suitcase and for the third time I try to convince the zipper to close. It doesn't budge. Gore-tex jacket has to go. And a few this and thats, too. Finally everything is trapped inside. Mustn't accept any gifts or buy anything bigger than a latke, I vow. I don't know why or where I would get latkes in India anyway.
At Schwechat, I already know there is free wi-fi at the C terminal, so I gaily fire off emails to all corners of the world about my upcoming adventures. To my surprise I find out the flight from Frankfurt to New Delhi is only 7 hours long. I expected 12 or more. Good good. Journey is exceptionally uneventful, I watch some Bollywood movie about family drama involving broken hearts of a multitude of people, random dancing in the rain, shy but very very meaningful glances of couples at each other with a hint of a possibility of a kiss - the usual. I read the training manual that I, David, and Jasmine put together for trainings in India. What on Earth am I going to teach Nagas from Nagaland and business students in Kerala? Anyway, I'll deal with that later. My only goal is to get myself from international to domestic terminal at the airport in Delhi. Should be easy enough.
I get to Delhi shortly after midnight. Collect my little ready-to-burst suitcase (did I mention that it is little, though? I am very proud that I managed to limit myself to a tiny little suitcase) and look for some signs. No signs. Great. I ask around. What airline am I flying with? Damn. If only I could remember. The worldly and street-smart traveler forgot to print the information, as well as address and phone number for Hillel and David in Delhi. "Air India", I offer. Puzzled looks. Air India does not fly to Kolkata. I put forth the Indian Airlines instead, just wanting to get to the domestic terminal. Well, there's a bus going from around the corner. Merrily I proceed to the bus. I need to show my flight ticket. I don't have it. Hillel has all the tickets and I am to meet him, David and Jasmine at the check in. I curse under my breath and kick myself in the shin again for not printing out anything. I am sent upstairs to the Indian Air office at Gate 1. I drag my suitcase, computer bag and purse upstairs. Hot and humid air mixed with dust and smoke hits me immediately. Carefully I step over tens of street people sleeping on the pavement. At the Gate 1, I am again asked for the ticket. I explain that that's why I'm there, to get a replacement, or at least some sort of a paper certifying that I am on that flight so that I can get on that bus. No no no, I must go to gate 3. From Gate 3 I am sent to Gate 4 and from there again to Gate 1. I patiently explain again. Determined not to move unless somebody helps me I stand in front of the guard silently and produce the most pleasant and helpless smile, batting my eyelashes. After awhile, he brings some Indian Air representative. It's simple, I should just take a pre-paid taxi from downstairs, where I came from. I curse under my breath again, smile firmly cemented on my face. Downstairs again through all the sleepers. After some time I manage to exchange some money (sounds easy, but you go try it at the Delhi airport in the middle of the night) and locate the prepaid taxi. I only spent hour and a half at the international terminal and am already on my way to the domestic terminal. Hooray. I have all the time in the world, the flight leaves at 7am.
At the domestic terminal, surprise surprise, they demand the flight ticket from me. Otherwise I cannot enter. I ask the guards whether I can stand there with them for the next five hours before my colleagues come with the tickets and practice my newly learned skill of a helpless cheerful blonde. They caucus for awhile what to do with me, and finally let me in. I have to sit where they can see me. I sit down, exhausted yet wired up, excited to find out I can get online. Not five minutes pass and I am joined by a character in a white linen suit and a hat, considerably drunk and eager to talk. Well I am a courteous young lady, so with the character I talk. It seems he has spilt at least one or two full cups of coffee on himself. I am soon to understand why. He is making rounds around the terminal, buying everyone cups of coffee and chatting them up if they aren't able to resist him. I ain't. During our conversation he claims he is a political science professor, journalist, jazz musician, a poet, hotel owner and Lord knows what else. I am online, so I check him out. Mr. B., who is on the other side of the instant messenger, does some detective work too. There is indeed a Baljit Malik who is a jazz singer, there are even at least two journalists by that name, who knows. He hands me his small collection of poems about jazz. They're not bad, either. Unfortunately later he took it back and gifted it to two Brazilians sitting across from us, whom he brought into the conversation. "We will see each other soon" he explains to me. Baljit brought me three cups of coffee within the three or four hours he shared himself with me, so I am all hyper by the time Hillel and David get to the airport. People from the café give each of us a complimentary box of coffee and a cup - Baljit must have really gone to town there. Damn. First gift. No space for a box. I force it into my computer bag. Jasmine comes, we get her through the security guards, armed up to their teeth, and off we fly to Dimapur in Nagaland.
Saturday, 13th August.
Nagaland looks very Naga-like from the plane. I know the Naga are hill people, so I expect to see hills. Hills there are. Many, everywhere. There are rice paddies on the hillsides, not much else. When we land, we are surprised to see about 50 soldiers guarding the clearing around the one and only short runway with automatic rifles pointed into the fields. Naga are tribal people and there was a lot of violent history among themselves as well as between them and the Indian army, but is it that bad? Wearily we proceed to a terminal that's even smaller than Bratislava's (there should be a competition for the world's smallest airport in any given capital city). Neichu and Akum are waiting for us, even though we are some two or three hours late. After Neichu fills out a half a meter tall stack of paperwork to accompany out restricted area permits for the Naga government, Indian government, Naga intelligence services, Indian intelligence services and who knows who else, we are loaded into jeeps and off we go to Saramati Hotel. Nagaland looks very much like Nepal or Tibet to me. Not that I've ever been Nepal or Tibet, but that's what I imagine Nepal and Tibet looking like. People here are Mongolic, they don't look like Indians at all.
After what seems like weeks of traveling without sleep we check into our rooms. Our ?'deluxe suits' are quite simple, rather run down rooms with bare floors. I meet a new friend in the bathroom - a big bug, size of a five year old child's fist, with long antennas and a quizzical look. He likes to camp between the sink and the bathtub. We learned to tolerate each other's presence, though after a day or two my friend started to claim the center of the bathroom and when the light bulb blew and my only source of light was from the room, I had to pay extra attention to his whereabouts.
TV in Nagaland has every channel you can think of. I fall asleep to the American Chopper episode, which I thought was a quite bizarre experience. Who'd ever thunk one could (or ever would) watch such things in a land of head hunters and giant cockroaches
Sunday 14th August
Today we start the training. Bright and early, for nine or ten hours almost straight. Luckily we have everything more or less set up, with plenty of exercises and role plays. Nagas are very reflective people. Deeply spiritual, even though they are way too humble to admit it. Training combines training in practical mediation skills - as active listening, seven elements of mediation, process options and somesuch things, with reconciling differing historical memories and traumas. Our Nagas com from all over everywhere - some are from church organizations, others from foundations and from human rights organizations. I am thrilled to see how much they get into role plays. One minor problem is that Neichu's phone doesn't stop ringing. Every single intelligence officer in Nagaland wants to know who are we and what do we want. Perhaps it wasn't the best of ideas to come during the Naga Independence Day (albeit unsuccessful independence, celebrated today) and Indian Independence Day, celebrated tomorrow. Something always goes wrong on independence days. Things blow up, people protest and clash, traffic halts and life is generally annoying.
We retire to our deluxe chambers early, to keep company to our insect friends. I have a deadline for and article for SFPA, actually due days ago. Impact of G8 on Africa. I'm not sure if I know more about that then I do about Nagaland, but such is life. Tough
I watch Seinfeld and Friends - since they are on TV. It would be rude not to
I shall get back to G8 and other villains tomorrow.
I always like your writing, Dag - you make me feel that stress in not getting to the domestic terminal, feel the tiredness, see the hills, see that bug, hear that phone ring ...
yeah it was very good. after reading the latest installment from Dag, i realised that i should maybe give up on diaries and concentrate on dairies instead....
