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Making change here is a maddening experience. Supposedly, the government
has stopped producing currency in 1, 2 and 5 rupee denominations.
The bills in circulation are in terrible condition and are often not
accepted by the shopkeepers that disperse them. Not all the blame
can fall on the government. At one popular temple, there is a 5-rupee
charge for every tourist who wants to use a camera. However, the temple
could not make change for a 10-rupee note.
Social etiquette is surprisingly similar to a drunken fraternity
party. Burping is perfectly acceptable (louder seems to be better)
and doing it mid-sentence is an art form. Spitting is common and is
usually advertised in advance by a loud "hokking" sound. "Farmer blow"
open-air nose blowing is the preferred method for both sexes. This
last practice must be considered rude in buildings, because polite
people go to the nearest window, balcony or roof ledge to clear their
nasal passages.
I am constantly asked if I want to have my shoes shined despite the
fact that neither of my pairs of shoes (gore-tex hiking boots, sandals)
are shine-able. Perhaps I should accept the offer one time and see
what they do.
Most toilets have signs prohibiting the disposal of toilet paper
into the toilet. However, most toilets do not provide an alternative
place to dispose of used toilet paper.
All these quirks are interesting and disturbing, but pale in comparison
to the gross inefficiencies associated with travel in India. Trains
tend to be 3 to 5 hours late on average and are more likely to be
12 hours late than to be on time. The train stations seem to have
minimum capacity regulations keeping them stuffed to capacity at all
times (vertical in the daytime, horizontal at night). I wonder if
there is some magic time when all the people lie down wherever they
are, or if there is a special night shift. The stationmaster (the
man with the most phones) is the undisputed king of the chaos. We
sought him out when our twice-delayed train from Dehli to Jaipur suddenly
disappeared from the departure board. We found him in a small office
receiving and making calls simultaneously (presumably to find out
where the late trains were). The other employees either sat or stood
nearby and watched the master at work, referring all inquiries to
the man on the phones. Occasionally, the stationmaster would look
up and answer one or two of the questions that bombarded him. When
the number of people in the office reached a certain level, he abruptly
stood up and left. The other employees lingered a minute or two before
filtering out, leaving us travelers alone to ponder our fate. Presumably,
after we too had vacated, the station manager returned to pick up
a phone or two and the whole process began anew. Our train magically
arrived (unannounced) and we had new challenges to face.
When our midnight train from Bodh Gaya to Dehli finally arrived around
4:00 AM a few passengers got off and everybody else crushed in. Luckily
we were on the right car (not to mention the right train). Still,
it took us 15 minutes to fight through the mass of frustrated and
tired humanity to discover that our two reserved bunks were occupied
by no less than 6 people. Carrie had a harder job of evicting the
squatters from the bottom bunk, but I gave her strong moral support
from above. After the bunks were cleared, I assumed a yoga-like position
to fit my body and full backpack in a space about the size of a bathtub
turned on its side. Resting (sleeping would be an exaggeration) in
this contorted pose did provided an unusually confident feeling that
my luggage could not be disturbed unless my legs were removed first
(which was not impossible considering I soon lost all feeling below
my waist). Come morning, my bunk became storage and the lower bunks
folded into seats that were ergonomically designed to comfortably
hold any box shaped object. There we sat for the next 10 hours, patiently
watching the countryside pass by in a blur (not because we were going
so fast, but because the windows were scratched and filthy). Train
travel is vastly superior to busses.
"Deluxe" tourist busses have the advantages of being more timely
than trains and often cheaper. Furthermore, the traveler is relieved
of the responsibility of watching the bulk of his/her luggage as it
is locked under the bus (hopefully until you reach your destination).
These advantages are quickly diminished as a journey begins. In my
case, my smaller carry-on bag was stolen from the overhead rack before
we had even departed. There is no better way to get to know your fellow
passengers better than delaying their departure while you ask them
each if you can search their belongings.
Once the "reserved" passengers are suitably comfortable, the bus
stops to pick up non-reserved passengers who first fill the empty
seats, then sit (on stools provided by the bus), stand or even lay
in the aisle. Given 10 or eleven hours to ponder the question, I concluded
that there were three distinct reasons why the aisle people bothered
me. First, they made it much more difficult to exit and enter the
bus at the frequent (and painfully long) rest stops (no, they didn't
bother to get up). Secondly, some of the men on stools (it is almost
always men) view their location as an opportunity to familiarize themselves
with western women who are unlucky enough to have aisle seats. I was
captivated by the efficiency of one clearly experienced aisle man
I watched. His progression started by grabbing control of the armrest
when the unsuspecting woman relinquished control to take a sip of
water. From there he smoothly slid his arm up the armrest past his
elbow and rested his head on his bicept. This left his hand free to
dangle randomly and find the woman's leg every time the bus veered
or hit a bump. Even this lecherous behavior did not bother me as much
as my third reason for resenting the aisle dwellers: The people laying
on the floor seemed far more comfortable than I was.
The once-padded bus seats do recline generously. This enables the
person in front of you to lean back into your lap a few inches lower
than your knees. A person with long legs is well advised to travel
with a loved one who will let them spread their legs to avoid permanent
damage. In this case, I was sitting next to a man I did not know (let
alone love) who was not so accommodating in his allocation of space.
As the ride progressed, so did his space requirement. Soon, he was
intimately (and apparently comfortably) sleeping against me despite
frequent nudges suggesting my displeasure. I have termed this phenomenon
the bus-seat-sprawl because it is common. In fact, it was the expectation
of this sprawl that led me to trade places with our friend Susan to
spare her from the experience.
Unable to sleep, my attention usually turns to observing the drivers
at work. These observations have concluded that bus drivers are typically
talented (though impatient) young men who would surely excel at any
of the driving video games popular in the states. In their real-life
driving game, I have deduced that they get bonus points for passing
vehicles (which they do with amazing frequency regardless of road
conditions or oncoming traffic). To avoid disasters during these maneuvers,
the drivers have developed a communication system with other vehicles.
A series of honks means "I am passing you whether you like it or not."
Flashing headlights at oncoming traffic means, "I know I can't possible
complete this ill-advised pass before we collide, so please slow down
or veer to the shoulder until I can cut off the vehicle I am passing."
One long honk means, "I have just exchanged headlight flashes with
the vehicle racing toward me, so I am now going to cut you off." Suffice
it to say that the horn is used often and any vehicle would be deemed
inoperable were its horn to falter.
I won't even go into the horrors involved with taxis and auto-rickshaws.
Suffice it to say that compared to Indian taxis, New York cabs are
clean, safe, friendly and honest.
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