This is where I'm going: Melbourne... I'm getting quite exited about it now...
Must apply for my visa!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
burrrrocrrrrazzzzy
fuckit, I am hot... and I am bothered...
Had a good weekend in Bangalore last weekend, and arrived into Mysore on Tuesday. Had a bit of a look around and looked at the different yoga options available. They appear to be as follows:
1. One week's very expensive yoga hanging around with pretensious assholes (who are here for months on end) in a nice neighboorhood,
2. One week's cheaper yoga with cooler people in a shithole of a neighbourhood, spending a lot of time hanging around doing nothing (once yoga is over at eight am)
Either way, it's very hot and unpleasant during the day.
I've weighed up my options and given that my stated goal is to get north asap (cos I feel bad having spent almost four months down south) and that I'm fed up with the heat, I've decided to cut and run.
I'm currently on the waiting list for a 30 hour train from here to Mumbai tonite, but that probably won't work so I'll have head to Bangalore and from there then to Mumbai tomorrow morning.
What a fucking day... I got my first taste of today's theme this morning at breakfast in my hotel. A fairly quiet hotel restaurant... One man shows me to a table (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man takes my order (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man brings my order (having been scratching his arse since I arrived), one man brings my bill (having stood around scratching his arse during my whole meal) and then I pay at the cashier (who has been sitting there playing with his balls since I came in). The restaurant has one maitre d', four waiting staff, three table cleaning staff, two general orderlies, two cashiers, god knows how many cooks... and three customers. Apart from a three second burst of activity twice a day, they all generally sit around scratching themselves and talking shit (actually, that's not fair, I don't know what they're talking, they could be on the verge of discovering the meaning of life)...
So next I go to the DHL office. I have to send a friends camera back to him. There's a boss, a cashier, a package wrapper and a clerk... and I'm clearly the only customer they'll be getting all day. The clerk blatantly doesn't know what's going on in the world... I'm tempted to remind him that he's in a DHL office in Mysore, where he works. After twenty minutes of too-ing and fro-ing about whether I can send a camera or not (including multiple calls to third parties), another ten minutes trying to find out the price, about half an hour trying to share with them the details of the recipients address (which they deem wholly irrelevant to the operation), I finally get to the payment stage. This is when I can't hold in my amusement anymore... The clerk having assured me multiple times that I can pay with credit card, when I hand him my visa card, he, the packager, the boss and the cashier all crowd around it, as if it were a piece of kryptonite which had just fallen from the sky. They don't know what's going on at all at all... With an insubduable smirk, I point to the credit card machine, at which the huddle gasps and moves over to it solemnly. They look at the machine, they look at the card... they know that one is the secret to the other and that somehow all can be made good with their combination. Unlike later on the in the day, when I get authentially riled, I'm still bemused by all this madness and show them how to plug the machine in, how to swipe the card... the bossman puts in the amount of 27 rupees and 25 paise. I correct it to read 2725 rupees (I'm too honest), put in my PIN and all five of us look at the screen... The bossman is astounded by my ability to work the machine, so I tell him I work in a bank to make it more understandable. Out comes the reciepts, which I rip off. I give him the one that says 'merchant copy'... He's points at where it says 'merchant copy', smiling... I show him my copy and point at 'customer copy'... He is verging on the delerious. He points at his copy and says 'signaturrrrr'. I point at the writing saying 'signature not required', but sign anyway... ye know, to make him happy. I shake everyone's hand, thank them profusely... they reciprocate and I leave, grinning ear to ear.
Next port of call... Train station! Oh, oh, I hear you say... the public sector. But atually, the trains are about the only thing which work quite well here. They are effecient and effective and I have no qualms about them. The only problems with them are due to communications with the clerks and also being too lazy to organise anything in advance and leaving everything until the last minute (which is my own problem)...
Then I went to the post office and to the internet cafe. Both were equally shitty organised and I found myself doing my usual trick: When I find myself getting snappy and riled, then I close my eyes, take a couple of deep breathes and say to myself: "Getting worked up won't help this situation, the best thing I can do is to enjoy it and try to make to make the best out of it.... Ommmmmmmmm na ma shivaya!"
I hope my next update will be from Mumbai very soon.
Be good,
Ur man in Red-tape-istan
Had a good weekend in Bangalore last weekend, and arrived into Mysore on Tuesday. Had a bit of a look around and looked at the different yoga options available. They appear to be as follows:
1. One week's very expensive yoga hanging around with pretensious assholes (who are here for months on end) in a nice neighboorhood,
2. One week's cheaper yoga with cooler people in a shithole of a neighbourhood, spending a lot of time hanging around doing nothing (once yoga is over at eight am)
Either way, it's very hot and unpleasant during the day.
I've weighed up my options and given that my stated goal is to get north asap (cos I feel bad having spent almost four months down south) and that I'm fed up with the heat, I've decided to cut and run.
I'm currently on the waiting list for a 30 hour train from here to Mumbai tonite, but that probably won't work so I'll have head to Bangalore and from there then to Mumbai tomorrow morning.
What a fucking day... I got my first taste of today's theme this morning at breakfast in my hotel. A fairly quiet hotel restaurant... One man shows me to a table (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man takes my order (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man brings my order (having been scratching his arse since I arrived), one man brings my bill (having stood around scratching his arse during my whole meal) and then I pay at the cashier (who has been sitting there playing with his balls since I came in). The restaurant has one maitre d', four waiting staff, three table cleaning staff, two general orderlies, two cashiers, god knows how many cooks... and three customers. Apart from a three second burst of activity twice a day, they all generally sit around scratching themselves and talking shit (actually, that's not fair, I don't know what they're talking, they could be on the verge of discovering the meaning of life)...
So next I go to the DHL office. I have to send a friends camera back to him. There's a boss, a cashier, a package wrapper and a clerk... and I'm clearly the only customer they'll be getting all day. The clerk blatantly doesn't know what's going on in the world... I'm tempted to remind him that he's in a DHL office in Mysore, where he works. After twenty minutes of too-ing and fro-ing about whether I can send a camera or not (including multiple calls to third parties), another ten minutes trying to find out the price, about half an hour trying to share with them the details of the recipients address (which they deem wholly irrelevant to the operation), I finally get to the payment stage. This is when I can't hold in my amusement anymore... The clerk having assured me multiple times that I can pay with credit card, when I hand him my visa card, he, the packager, the boss and the cashier all crowd around it, as if it were a piece of kryptonite which had just fallen from the sky. They don't know what's going on at all at all... With an insubduable smirk, I point to the credit card machine, at which the huddle gasps and moves over to it solemnly. They look at the machine, they look at the card... they know that one is the secret to the other and that somehow all can be made good with their combination. Unlike later on the in the day, when I get authentially riled, I'm still bemused by all this madness and show them how to plug the machine in, how to swipe the card... the bossman puts in the amount of 27 rupees and 25 paise. I correct it to read 2725 rupees (I'm too honest), put in my PIN and all five of us look at the screen... The bossman is astounded by my ability to work the machine, so I tell him I work in a bank to make it more understandable. Out comes the reciepts, which I rip off. I give him the one that says 'merchant copy'... He's points at where it says 'merchant copy', smiling... I show him my copy and point at 'customer copy'... He is verging on the delerious. He points at his copy and says 'signaturrrrr'. I point at the writing saying 'signature not required', but sign anyway... ye know, to make him happy. I shake everyone's hand, thank them profusely... they reciprocate and I leave, grinning ear to ear.
Next port of call... Train station! Oh, oh, I hear you say... the public sector. But atually, the trains are about the only thing which work quite well here. They are effecient and effective and I have no qualms about them. The only problems with them are due to communications with the clerks and also being too lazy to organise anything in advance and leaving everything until the last minute (which is my own problem)...
Then I went to the post office and to the internet cafe. Both were equally shitty organised and I found myself doing my usual trick: When I find myself getting snappy and riled, then I close my eyes, take a couple of deep breathes and say to myself: "Getting worked up won't help this situation, the best thing I can do is to enjoy it and try to make to make the best out of it.... Ommmmmmmmm na ma shivaya!"
I hope my next update will be from Mumbai very soon.
Be good,
Ur man in Red-tape-istan
Saturday, February 21, 2009
And they wonder why...
When I was eleven and was living in Germany, my mother got fed up of all my schoolbags breaking and 'invested' in this really good one. It was a big, hard, square, bright green, jungle-motive bag, but I didn't mind cos in Germany, everyone had one and it was the norm.
So then, at thirteen, I came back to Ireland and went into first year in CBC Monkstown. My mother insisted I retain the same bag. However, this monstrosity of a receptacle was anything but the norm at CBC and I was bullied to no end. Inspired by pictures of elephants and lions against a background of ferns and undergrowth, they called me 'Jungle Boy' and 'Tarzan'... sob (Jane might have been more appropriate but how were the bullies to know that, at such a young age!)
I pleaded and pleaded with my Mum to buy me a new bag but she wouldn't 'because any other bag that I got was only going to last a term and would break and I'd need another one'... blah, blah, blah...
Eventually, after a whole year of torture, I told my Mum that I would take personal responsibility for my new bag and that it wouldn't break. I even suggested a make that was known for its durability (and being subtle black was going to bring me into line with the mainstream): Sporthouse.
Eventually she relented although she was still certain that I'd need to reinvest again next term, but she couldn't handle my consistent cries of woe.
So I bought the Sporthouse bag, and in a rare case of 'getting one over' on the oul one, it's still with me 13 years later. It saw out not only the term, but the year and the entire of secondary school, then college, it's traveled the length and breadth of South America and is currently on a South Asian continental trip.
So now, finally, the strap is about to break. I have about ten kilos in it and it's always jammed. I've got to find a shoe maker to do a good job on it. This is one of my projects for the next few days.
I'm in Bangalore now, having finally left Goa. I had a good two days in Hampi on my way down here and will post pics soon. I've only been here since yesterday but so far Bangalore is hot!
I've went through the internet to find a pic of my old bag. This is the closest I can get to it, it's not the same one, but you get the idea...
Ur man in Bengalooru
PS: There's a whole other story when my dad made me wear pink riding shorts with flowers on them to my horse riding classes, but I'll leave that one for another day!
So then, at thirteen, I came back to Ireland and went into first year in CBC Monkstown. My mother insisted I retain the same bag. However, this monstrosity of a receptacle was anything but the norm at CBC and I was bullied to no end. Inspired by pictures of elephants and lions against a background of ferns and undergrowth, they called me 'Jungle Boy' and 'Tarzan'... sob (Jane might have been more appropriate but how were the bullies to know that, at such a young age!)
I pleaded and pleaded with my Mum to buy me a new bag but she wouldn't 'because any other bag that I got was only going to last a term and would break and I'd need another one'... blah, blah, blah...
Eventually, after a whole year of torture, I told my Mum that I would take personal responsibility for my new bag and that it wouldn't break. I even suggested a make that was known for its durability (and being subtle black was going to bring me into line with the mainstream): Sporthouse.
Eventually she relented although she was still certain that I'd need to reinvest again next term, but she couldn't handle my consistent cries of woe.
So I bought the Sporthouse bag, and in a rare case of 'getting one over' on the oul one, it's still with me 13 years later. It saw out not only the term, but the year and the entire of secondary school, then college, it's traveled the length and breadth of South America and is currently on a South Asian continental trip.
So now, finally, the strap is about to break. I have about ten kilos in it and it's always jammed. I've got to find a shoe maker to do a good job on it. This is one of my projects for the next few days.
I'm in Bangalore now, having finally left Goa. I had a good two days in Hampi on my way down here and will post pics soon. I've only been here since yesterday but so far Bangalore is hot!
I've went through the internet to find a pic of my old bag. This is the closest I can get to it, it's not the same one, but you get the idea...
Ur man in Bengalooru
PS: There's a whole other story when my dad made me wear pink riding shorts with flowers on them to my horse riding classes, but I'll leave that one for another day!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The precursor to a plan
Yeeeaaahhh, so it looks like I'm never gonna do Yoga again. When I'm in a city, I say to myself "you can't do yoga here, wait till you get to a beach" and now that I've been at a beach for almost a month I'm beginning to say to myself "don't worry about yoga here, do it when you get to the quiet countryside"... Fook it neway...!
So there ain't too much exiting happening except for the fact that I'm lazing on a beach all day. I try to go to bed early most nights, but for the past three nights, I've lain there like an eejit, not able to sleep, with mossies nippin' at my arse and those stupid fooking muts baying at the moon like some kind of maniacs. I've always ended up getting up at about one in the morning and then going for a few drinks and falling into bed gee-eyed at five. That seems to be the only way I can sleep.
I don't know why the locals don't just kill all the muts here. They must be driven nuts by them as well. They lie about dozing in everyone's way during the day and as soon as the sun goes down, they start barking and it keeps on all night long. If you're walking on the beach at night, sometimes they gang up on you and bark and snarl and go for your legs. There's nothing more satisfying than landing a good kick in the ribs on one of the little bastards. But if there's a lot of them, then things can get nasty as well. There's been a good few instances of mutts ganging up on people and attacking them... I don't know why the Injuns stand for this shit, when a good mallet to the brain would do the job nicely. Don't get me wrong, I like dogs, but when they start killing people, then there's a problem.
Must try to get out of Goa... I've been here far too long and it's far too easy to stay forever. I have multiple pressures on me now. I need to get out of here, so that I can see what I want to see in the South: Hampi, Allepey, Bangalore, Mysore. I need to see these things quickly so that I can get back to Mumbai and start my journey north. The north is where it's all at, and my excuse that there's bad weather up there, is no longer valid.
Peace out for now... I'm going to come up with a provisional plan for my next post... to give me some direction.
Your lazy, sun-bitch correspondant on the beach...
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Package Helliday
wahwahwah... so I'm on Calungate Beach: the absolute worst that Goa has to offer when it comes to overdeveloped, brit/rooski-infused, package holiday, loud, banging mayhem...
However, there are some... eh... advantages... that places like this offer. I went on an absolute mad one last night at some Karaoke place. I was supposed to be detoxing but ended up shaking my booty to some Grease Lightning et al. Also, there are a lot of Indian tourists here, which is interesting. I'm not planning on staying very long, just the weekend, but at sunset today I sat down and people-watched the throngs for an hour. It was cool... I love that shit... making faces at babies and shit. And then I got some of that Bombay-style fast food into me...
Jesus, the Bombay fast food is heaven on earth. They have these things called pani puri, it's a little hollow crispy bubble which they stuff full of potatoe mix. Then they throw over spicy sauce and coriander and a kind of sweet sauce and then they fuck a whole lot of curd over it and sprinkle it with all kinds of shit... ajljkshjfha;sdhfasjdl;fkjalsdf... thinking about it is making me go nutz. Also the Indian salad is called chaat, and they have a quadrillion versions of it, with the most beautiful fresh ingredients, sweet and spicy, crunchy and good. Drooooool.... they have loads more shit, but I'd be here for the rest of my life going through it. Suffice to say that the fast food is good and cheap and the Injuns beam ear to ear when I stroll up and order (Cos I'm a Ferengue, that's like the equivalent of Gringo in India... general white westerner) and they can't believe that I like it. (They always ask me 'not too spicy?' and I always go 'fuck no, spice it up there bi-aatch).
The day before yesterday I thought I was getting an ear infection (which I had in Colombia before and is not a good thing). Your ear is kind of tender and if you apply pressure to it, it hurts. So I started horsin' antibiotics into me like nobody's business and I bought ear drops... but today everythings fine again.
Feic sake, they have the feckin' cyrillic alphabet written on little stickers and stuck onto the keyboard (for the Rooskies), but I'm sweating like a kiddie fiddler in a nursery, and the little stickers are coming off on my fingers... Why is my life so difficult? (sigh)
You're probably wondering why I haven't posted any pics in a while (or maybe you're not and you don't give a shit)... Well, I left my big rucksack in Anjuna two weeks ago and have been scootering around with only my small one. And like a big eejit, didn't I go and leave my spare camera batteries in the big rucksack. But yesterday I popped back into Anjuna and got the batteries so I'll bring my camera out for a spin tomorrow and I'll try to get sum vizuals 4 ya.
Okeepokee then... I'll be going out again tonite (cos it's Saturday) but then I'm going into hibernation for a few weeks...
Be good.
Yur man in Goan tourist hell... C to the bebop!
However, there are some... eh... advantages... that places like this offer. I went on an absolute mad one last night at some Karaoke place. I was supposed to be detoxing but ended up shaking my booty to some Grease Lightning et al. Also, there are a lot of Indian tourists here, which is interesting. I'm not planning on staying very long, just the weekend, but at sunset today I sat down and people-watched the throngs for an hour. It was cool... I love that shit... making faces at babies and shit. And then I got some of that Bombay-style fast food into me...
Jesus, the Bombay fast food is heaven on earth. They have these things called pani puri, it's a little hollow crispy bubble which they stuff full of potatoe mix. Then they throw over spicy sauce and coriander and a kind of sweet sauce and then they fuck a whole lot of curd over it and sprinkle it with all kinds of shit... ajljkshjfha;sdhfasjdl;fkjalsdf... thinking about it is making me go nutz. Also the Indian salad is called chaat, and they have a quadrillion versions of it, with the most beautiful fresh ingredients, sweet and spicy, crunchy and good. Drooooool.... they have loads more shit, but I'd be here for the rest of my life going through it. Suffice to say that the fast food is good and cheap and the Injuns beam ear to ear when I stroll up and order (Cos I'm a Ferengue, that's like the equivalent of Gringo in India... general white westerner) and they can't believe that I like it. (They always ask me 'not too spicy?' and I always go 'fuck no, spice it up there bi-aatch).
The day before yesterday I thought I was getting an ear infection (which I had in Colombia before and is not a good thing). Your ear is kind of tender and if you apply pressure to it, it hurts. So I started horsin' antibiotics into me like nobody's business and I bought ear drops... but today everythings fine again.
Feic sake, they have the feckin' cyrillic alphabet written on little stickers and stuck onto the keyboard (for the Rooskies), but I'm sweating like a kiddie fiddler in a nursery, and the little stickers are coming off on my fingers... Why is my life so difficult? (sigh)
You're probably wondering why I haven't posted any pics in a while (or maybe you're not and you don't give a shit)... Well, I left my big rucksack in Anjuna two weeks ago and have been scootering around with only my small one. And like a big eejit, didn't I go and leave my spare camera batteries in the big rucksack. But yesterday I popped back into Anjuna and got the batteries so I'll bring my camera out for a spin tomorrow and I'll try to get sum vizuals 4 ya.
Okeepokee then... I'll be going out again tonite (cos it's Saturday) but then I'm going into hibernation for a few weeks...
Be good.
Yur man in Goan tourist hell... C to the bebop!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Smiley happy people
alright, so I'm clearly not in blog updating mood... you'll have noticed that. And I know that I promised that things would be better now that I have my laptop. And they're not!
The essential problem is that I've been doing a huge amount of boozing in the evenings and sleeping/lazing on the beach during the day... it's a cycle of procrastination and laziness that grows exponentially and the smallest little challenges become overwhelming, energy-sapping obstacles.
Just as I finished typing that last paragraph, one of the lads knocked on the window of the Internet cafe waving a big bottle of vodka around like a maniac... fuck sake... can I not somehow get out of this situation.
What was I saying... yes, the challenges that overwhelm one on the beach:
1. Buying cigarettes
2. Going to the ATM
Well, that's all I can think of for now (maybe the numeration wasn't necessary), but I can assure you that the obstacles thrown in my way on a daily basis are substantial.
Today, I summoned up an immense amount of energy and went for a ride on my scooter. I needed some 'Conor' time. There are loads of cool people staying in beach huts around me. They're from all over the world and we've had some great nights and days, but today, I needed to get out of there. So I took my lil' girly scooter (it might as well be pink) and I went off on my toblerone.
I drove to a beach called Paradise beach, which was nice, but not paradise! There were a few standard hippy types dancing around the beach drawing big hearts in the sand (Acid is great), and there were dolphins jumpin' around in the water which was quite nice as well. There was even a dead dolphin on the beach which provided a good outlet for some morbid fascination.
The best thing was the drive there and back though; I was bangin' along roads going through paddy fields and then little cute villages. It seemed like everyone I passed gave me a little smile and a headshake, and I was smiling back at everyone. Anytime I stopped to ask for directions, everyone was really friendly and I was pulling funny faces at little kids and all... great craic!
I had to get a little ferry across the river that divides the state of Goa and the state of Maharashtra. The ferry was a tiny little thing, yet there were about ten people working on it, all wearing the standard brown shirt and pants that any Indian involved in transportation wears as their uniform. They were pointing out attractive Russian girls to each other and then generally giggling like a bunch of schoolchildren.
One thing about India, is that a lot of people just stand around doing nothing all the time. Even when they're working, they always have far too many people employed, so everyone just seems to stand around (or sleep on any shaded surface). And they all chat to each other as well... when I was waiting for the ferry today, all the Injuns who were taking it ended up chatting together, while all the 'Westerners' (a lot of Rooskies here, hence the inverted comma's) stood at opposite ends of the boat avoiding all eye contact with each other.
I think maybe cos there are so many people here and everyone lives on top of each other, they're all just used to general chit chat with strangers.
Anyway, that's today's final thought... I'm going to try to sneak back to my hut and grab an early night tonite. But if I get caught by anyone, then I'm fucked and will end up boozing again... so I have to be steathly. I'm gonna finally get off my ass tomorrow and will go south to another beach, so I can at least justify my scooter rental.
Peace out....
The essential problem is that I've been doing a huge amount of boozing in the evenings and sleeping/lazing on the beach during the day... it's a cycle of procrastination and laziness that grows exponentially and the smallest little challenges become overwhelming, energy-sapping obstacles.
Just as I finished typing that last paragraph, one of the lads knocked on the window of the Internet cafe waving a big bottle of vodka around like a maniac... fuck sake... can I not somehow get out of this situation.
What was I saying... yes, the challenges that overwhelm one on the beach:
1. Buying cigarettes
2. Going to the ATM
Well, that's all I can think of for now (maybe the numeration wasn't necessary), but I can assure you that the obstacles thrown in my way on a daily basis are substantial.
Today, I summoned up an immense amount of energy and went for a ride on my scooter. I needed some 'Conor' time. There are loads of cool people staying in beach huts around me. They're from all over the world and we've had some great nights and days, but today, I needed to get out of there. So I took my lil' girly scooter (it might as well be pink) and I went off on my toblerone.
I drove to a beach called Paradise beach, which was nice, but not paradise! There were a few standard hippy types dancing around the beach drawing big hearts in the sand (Acid is great), and there were dolphins jumpin' around in the water which was quite nice as well. There was even a dead dolphin on the beach which provided a good outlet for some morbid fascination.
The best thing was the drive there and back though; I was bangin' along roads going through paddy fields and then little cute villages. It seemed like everyone I passed gave me a little smile and a headshake, and I was smiling back at everyone. Anytime I stopped to ask for directions, everyone was really friendly and I was pulling funny faces at little kids and all... great craic!
I had to get a little ferry across the river that divides the state of Goa and the state of Maharashtra. The ferry was a tiny little thing, yet there were about ten people working on it, all wearing the standard brown shirt and pants that any Indian involved in transportation wears as their uniform. They were pointing out attractive Russian girls to each other and then generally giggling like a bunch of schoolchildren.
One thing about India, is that a lot of people just stand around doing nothing all the time. Even when they're working, they always have far too many people employed, so everyone just seems to stand around (or sleep on any shaded surface). And they all chat to each other as well... when I was waiting for the ferry today, all the Injuns who were taking it ended up chatting together, while all the 'Westerners' (a lot of Rooskies here, hence the inverted comma's) stood at opposite ends of the boat avoiding all eye contact with each other.
I think maybe cos there are so many people here and everyone lives on top of each other, they're all just used to general chit chat with strangers.
Anyway, that's today's final thought... I'm going to try to sneak back to my hut and grab an early night tonite. But if I get caught by anyone, then I'm fucked and will end up boozing again... so I have to be steathly. I'm gonna finally get off my ass tomorrow and will go south to another beach, so I can at least justify my scooter rental.
Peace out....
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