Sonali trying to keep warm in the
I am typing this on my hands and knees in almost total darkness with a torch in my mouth. i have just settled up with mine host after the usual disagreement over the bill. It used to take a week for us to turn into snarling backpackers but this time just a day.
Tomorrow we catch a bus to Jammu at 7am and from there directly to amritsar. weve not booked.
I will add more when i can actually see the keys
View of the Himalayas on the way to Srinagar
from freezing Srinagar actually. Bright, hazy, very noisy and no snow. We’re staying on the Young Bombay houseboat and the thing probably dates from the young days of Bombay. Either you expect a section of floor to leap up and hit you in the face when you step on it or it sags and creaks in a frightening way and you expect to end up in the bilges. There is hot & cold water but the hot water comes in a bucket. The electricity went off three time last night and what comes out of the generator is definitely not 220volts judging by the time it takes for my little water boiler to get hot.
We flew Jet airways from Delhi and I was very impressed that they bump foreign toutrists up to business class.
Mine host Mohammed
Needless to say, our host wants to take us on umpteen tours and graciously suggested a price of $550 to do that and get us to Dharamsala. Har har. That went down to $280 to get us to Amritsar. The coach fare to Jammu - four hours from Amritsar - is all of $10 on a luxury bus - we’ll see about that on Wed when we leave.
We’ve just had a meal in a cafe with three gentlemen with submachineguns on their laps. The whole town is a garrison. We have yet to see another tourist. I also got a long lecture from mine host about the political
Our dingy
Today was telling mine host where to get off day in terms of what he thinks we have to spend. This is the only Internet cafe we have seen so please excuse the writing as I can’t see the bloody letters! I sorted out mail on his ‘Internet’ the other day. the ‘Internet connection’ consisted of a laptop on the boat next door (which he also owns). This venerable machine was on the cabin floor in a room with no light. It was the first time I have ever sent emails on my hands and knees with a torch in my mouth.
The journey was uneventful apart from endless airport waits.The security there was exceedingly tight and I got sick of pulling out the passports. There was a long form to fill in when we got to Srinagar. I tried to get a SIM card but there’s yet another form and three days’ wait if you want one of these in Kashmir. It may change in Amritsar.
A few of the thousand or so houseboats on Lake Dal
The lake is very pretty - particularly if we had come in spring - but the rest of Srinagar - bigger than PMB - is a mess of dirt and snarling traffic. And bloody cold.
Speaking of which, Sonali is giving Dharamsala a miss for that reason.
She wants to come again when it’s warmer and she can spend 5 days there. So, we go direct to Amritsar which eases the pressure on the time we have. I’ll think about a shower in Amritsar - maybe. Sonali is staying away from me for some reason.
Mine host showed us photos of the lake frozen over (3 days after we left it snowed and cut off the passes).
Tomorrow, we’ll take a shikkara tour on the lake for three hours. Our host warned us against visiting the Old City because of trouble from radicals but we did anyway and it was fine. There’s a big mosque there but it looks just like a pagoda. We’re in another part of the town and when I’ve finished this, we’ll take a tuktuk back to the shikkara mooring. I hear Sonali getting a propaganda talk from the mine host. The town is full of soldiers.
Soldiers next to Lake Dal
So far my guts have held together although Sonali had Delhi belly before we even got to Delhi. The food is not exceptional but pleasant and nearly all vegetarian.
So, Day 1 of the hols is over and we’ve had a good, although cold time just doing what we usually do - fending off vendors and mooching about.
Looking at jewellery by torchlight
Go to know the town - and a couple of mine host’s favourite tourist traders. One was invited on this evening selling jewellery and tankhas from Buddhist monasteries. These are very intricate and beautiful religious paintings. He wanted a lot for each depending upon its age but it wouldn’t go in our house anyway. Also, they had been rolled/unrolled s many times that they were cracking. He suggested an irn would sort this out. Right. This character was the only seller I have ever seen who brought his own globe to display his wares.
Nearly all the male locals wear a sort of ankle length poncho made out of grey or brown drab suit material. I tried to find one to buy but then found that tailors make them up on the spot to order - about R60 each.
Under poncho burners
The strange thing about these is the sleeves. They are designed so that the wearer can remove his arms from inside the sleeves and ferret about in what he’s go on underneath.
Example of a one-armed Kashmiri
In the winter, what he’s got on underneath is a small brazier with hot coals in. This he usually holds with one hand so that you only see one or the other hand out of the poncho at any one time. The brazier is a clay pot with a wickerwork outer that also has a hook on it so that it can be hung around the neck. When the locals squat down on their haunches as they usually do (right), it makes a warm little tent.
I bought two but the clay pots as usual bust as a result of the delicate handling of our professional baggage handlers. I will fix them because I thought it would be a good idea for keeping warm after a winter braai - particularly in the Berg..
Buddhist Monastery Tankha
If we can, we try and get away overseas every year - doesn’t always happen but this year, we can manage it. Last year we managed two trips as we hadn’t been away for several years. At the end of the year we went to the UK for three weeks to see family and old haunts and it cost a fortune.
At the beginning of 2008 and far more enjoyable and reasonable was a trip to Vietnam. Laos and Thailand for 5 weeks - more of which in a future post. However, in a couple of days we’re off to India for the first time. More specfically, Kashmir, Himachal Pradesh and Rajasthan for five weeks.
Any trip to that part of the world has to take into account the monsoons unless you want to wear wellies for the entire duration. This restricts the trips to between October and April, generally. This year, we’re going from the end of December to the 31st January.
We put together a rough itinerary and then book the first stop for a few nights while we decide where to go next. Inevitably we don’t get to see what we thought we would and see places that weren’t on the list - which is fine. We’re not package tour folk - 30 minutes to see this, and then back on the bus and then 1 hour to see that etc. - so we backpack about.
The Internet has made things much easier than they were. When we first embarked on these trips, all we had was a Lonely Planet and we’d trudge up and down streets trying to select a spot for the night - jumping on the bed, trying the plumbing. Not the greatest thing to do after a long trip - and often competing with other backpackers.
Now, it’s Hostelworld or Hostelbookers to find accommodation a day or two before. This year its:
Srinagar: The Dal Lake, the gardens, the mountains. Its our first stop and we’ve booked a houseboat on the lake for three nights. The choice from Delhi was a 30 hour bus trip or 1 hour flight. No prizes for the correct choice. The journey from Srinagar to Leh (which is closed with snow anyway) is only a couple of hundred kilometres but takes two full days on the bus, such is the mountainous terrain.
Jammu: the city of Temples so I’m lead to believe. We’re only going here because it’s at the end of a ten hour bus ride from Srinagar.
Dharamasala: to see Little Tibet as my wife is a great Tibet supporter. With luck we may see the Dalai Lama but we met him a few years ago in Durban so it won’t be too much of a loss.
Amritsar: to see the Golden Temple in the lake and to see the stage show at the border with Pakistan.
Bikaner: Funny spot but they do good camel safaris into the Thar desert for three days.
Jaisalmer: Fantastic hilltop fort that half the town still lives in. It’s the only fort of this type in India.
All the Purs - Jodhpur, Udaipur and Jaipur: Interesting forts, temples and festivals (if we’re lucky).
Agra: The Taj Mahal. However, reading the backpacker accommodation reviews and the crowds, I think we’ll miss it in favour of a couple of days in Delhi.
I don’t think that there’s a hope in hell that we’ll see all this in five weeks and we’ll probably end up sacrificing two and maybe three stops and fly to Delhi.
Well, it had better be a postscript.
For the first time today, I wanted to use my card at an ATM and guess what? ‘Transaction could not be completed’. And why (no prizes for guessing here)? The official story was ‘I don’t know’ but the reason for the error was that I was allowed to withdraw zero funds. Having increased the ATM wihdrawal limit to R5000 I asked the teller - ‘Can I go outside and wihdraw R5000 from the ATM now?’ The answer was predictably ‘No’, only the usual limit.
And yet, writ large in every Nedbank is ‘Number One for Service, Two Years in a Row’. Are they talking about this Nedbank, a branch in the Comores? Give me a break.
As time passes, I get increasingly frustrated at what is euphemistically called ‘Customer Service’ in this country. It has always been mediocre when compared with overseas but now has reached the point where it has become a contradiction in terms.
The latest spat involves our favourite folk - the bank. Apart from the surly demeanour of the many of the tellers, one has to bellow through tank-proof glass so they - and the rest of the surrounding 100 metres - can hear what you are saying. This inch of armour plate seems to also insulate them to the point where not only is the bank’s money safe but also their physical selves. They can be as offhand as they like behind it without the sltightest chance that they will be pulled over the counter by their collars.
I digress.
Two months ago, and after two SMSs telling me I had to update my FICA (anti money laundering legislation for those not local) I asked a teller at the local branch what I needed to do. She replied that as they had all my details, nothing further need be done and I could safely ignore it. Two furhter months and a further SMS later, last Monday,. I found my account frozen.
To cut a long and tedious story short, it took several visits to the bank, my bookkeeper - several visits to SARS, and numerous phone calls to get the lock lifted. Only on Friday evening. Now I could use my internet banking once more and clients could pay in. The lady in charge of Nedbank’s upliftment, escalation, exfoliations and desquamation is called Benita.
‘Thank you Benita - now is this unlocking for good?’
‘Yes Mr. Evers’.
This morning - Wednesday - the account was again written in red. An email with 42pt red font was sent to the aforementioned, together with a firm phone call. ‘I’ll ring you back’ she said.
An hour later I was informed that it had been lifted and had been reimposed over the weekend because it had only been a temporary unlocking. Despite that answer to the opposite to my question last week. I swear these people say the first thing that enters their heads.
Now, I understand that bank customers have far worse problems but the point that I am making here is that at no time did anyone say ‘I’m sorry’. No-one took responsibility for this cockup. I was given erroneous advice by an employee and no-one apologised - and this from a bank that has acres of trumpeting about their ‘Service Award’.
I do get the occasional apology - but it is always from a person who is not to blame for whatever fiasco has occurred. The idiot, ‘couldn’t give a toss’ employee who is to blame never apologises to you face to face.
My neighbour bought two Goodyear tyres from the local Hi Q yesterday. He then noticed a steering vibration and changed several bits, including the shocks to try to remedy the problem, to no avail.
Today, he went back to Hi Q and asked them to run the wheels on the balancer. Both tyres had a flatspot.
Now, instead of simply replacing the faulty tyres with an apology, they told him that they would send them back but in the meantime, he would have to buy two more tyres. In a week or so, he might get some sort of a refund. Needless to say it will be the last tyres from Hi Q and the last Goodyear tyre.
This is the time of year when we all say ‘Well, where did the year go?’. I can’t answer that because I don’t know myself. However, this is also the time of year when I decide when it is I am going to pack up and it’s a pleasant feeling. This year it will be between 23rd December and 31st January.
A long break you might say. But, we haven’t been away this year so far except for a short sojourn at Injisuti in the Berg. And that’s the answer to the first question - most of us tend to recollect dramatic events - deaths, marriages and holidays for instance. Without those, everything becomes a uniform grey.
Last year we went to Vietnam and Laos and later in the year, to the UK. So, this year (just) we are off again so will have something to remember 2008 by. On December 27th we set sail for India. Northeast India to be precise - at least to start with. Delhi - Rishikesh - Dharamsala- Kashmir if we can get in - Jodhpur - Jaipur etc. So, we can answer the question regarding 2008 with ‘Yes, went to India’ - and 2009 for that matter.
This brings me nicely to my next point.
I have been thinking about the structure of this blog - well, there is none, just ramblings. So, I thought at least I would divvy the posts up into a couple of sections. The first would be web-related stuff, the second, I think, General Observations and the third, Grumbles. Which is where we start.
I hate security. I calculated that before I get out of my complex, there are 17 locking and unlockings that have to be accomplished. I go to the local shopping centre and get an induction loop up my crotch. Worst of all are airports. Through every one I barely contain myself from going ballistic.
Years ago, I was in Hong Kong and bought some stuff including a Walkman. Before we were allowed on to the plane, all our carry-on stuff was examined and various items put on one side to be checked in and recovered in Joburg. The little Chinese on the other side of the table said “No, you no cally that on prane” and took the Walkman. There then followed what is normally called a ‘robust exchange’, at least from my part.
He was there when I went up the steps to the plane. I told - sorry, shouted at him - that if the Walkman was damaged I’d make a special trip back and rip out his little yellow throat. I recovered the Walkman in Joburg from a huge bag with about a hundred Pearlcorders and other related gadgetry in. No checks were made and I could have disappeared with the entire bagload. My wife hates me for leaving doors and cars unlocked the whole time.
So, we go to the travel agents to pay for the tickets to India. The travel agents are in a house, on the first floor, with a couple of other businesses.
I press the intercom and tell it I am to see Maureen. The door has those magnetic plates rather than the solenoid system.
Scratching noises emanate from the intercom. The door doesn’t budge. I press the button again and repeat the request. Banging noises from the intercom.
Losing patience, I press the button and yell “Open the door!”. Before the latest sound effects emerge, the car guard, standing next to us waves his scan disk and the door opens.
Having climbed to the first floor - and gone through another security door - I find Maureen roaring with laughter, the receptionist with her head under her desk and a variety of faces at ninety degrees peering from behind cubicles to see whose turned up. The whole office of course had been party to this little exchange at the door.
We had a chat with Maureen but I couldn’t help but see the office manageress behind the glass chuckling every time she looked in our direction. Then it dawned on me.
Maureen had heard us at the door and said - ‘Oh, that’s Martin’, and when the yelling started, she had said - “That’s definitely Martin!”.
A very useful website for web designers: webdesignfromscratch.co.uk. Loads of tutorials on website usability. Lots of common sense stuff. savethepixel.org is part of the same site where the site owner sells a distillation of his views on website design as a tome of the same name. I bought it and am presently ploughing through it. More next time.
This may be the start of a long running whinge - our beloved Municipality. A little background first though.
I live in a city called Durban, on the south east coast of South Africa. It is Africa’s largest port and is also a seaside resort of some three and a half million souls. It extends some sixty miles up the coast and thirty miles inland so is of a fair size.
Though the city is called ‘Durban’ after a Victorian governor of the Cape, after the 1994 elections, the newly elected ANC council decided it wanted to make some changes and although it fell short of changing ‘Durban’, it decided, as in other places in South Africa, that it would change the name of the Municipality to that of the area the local Zulus knew it as - eThekwini (the ‘th’ is pronounced ‘t’).
There is some disagreement as to whether this is the correct word but the meaning of this word is ‘bull’s testicles’ - which I am given to believe is the original shape of Durban Bay. So, we all live in a place with the unforgettable appellation of ‘bull’s balls’.
Prior to 1994, the head honcho of the Municipality used to be the Town Clerk who was appointed on the basis of his ability to do the job. After 1994, the Council appointed Dr. Michael Sutcliffe, a town planner academic with no relevant experience to the lofty position of ‘Municipal Manager’ largely, I understand as a result of his vocal support for the ANC.
Since his appointment, he has become, by common consent, the most disliked person in Durban. There is no topic upon which this worthy will not claim to be the sole arbiter, clutching the latest batch of stone tablets. I believe that he is possessed of a resentful, spiteful and vituperative side to his character and will seek to humiliate and discredit those who have the temerity to disagree. This attitude is entirely expected of the local politician but not of the Town Clerk.
Durban had several beaches that conformed to the international standard of Blue Flag - they were nice and clean and bathers didn’t find their patch of the briny was not also occupied by some unspeakable company. As a result of heavy rain, the latter had been finding its way onto said beaches in quantity and the Blue Flag was thus withdrawn.
Correspondence then occurred in the press between the lady responsible assessing the Blue Flag standard and Dr. Sutcliffe. She maintained that the deterioration was as a result of inadequate sewage treatment, mismanageent and undercapitalization. Sutcliffe then, in a very byzantine manner, attempted to discredit her, claiming that the beaches were perfectly safe. I understand he went in himself, surrounded by his 24 bodyguards supporting a huge supermarket bag with Sutcliffe inside. A tug from the harbour was in attendance spraying all with copious amounts of Lysol.
After a further liberal dosing with Dettol on the beach, Sutcliffe announced that he didn’t need the Blue Flag status anyway and would invent his own. I am lead to believe that sewage works may not be totally to blame. Squatters in blocks of flats without sewage defaecate into supermarket bags and throw them into stormwater drains, ready to sail into the sea with any heavy rain.
There has recently been the highly provocative issue of renaming streets but I will save that for another time.
Observation of the post:
What is it about Mercedes, BMW and other expensive cars that indicators don’t work? Are they some sort of optional extra? Are they driven by amputees?
It seems apparent that those who drive expensive Mercedes cars suffer from an IQ loss of around 20 points. Those driving BMWs fare worse - at least 40 points off their IQs judging by their collective standard of driving. Clearly free with each of these vehicles is a course in arrogance and lack of consideration for those around.