Coming into the trip, we had been told a lot of different stories about India, and what to expect.  After 6 weeks in, here is a bit of our take on what we’d been expecting, and what we have actually experienced.

We had been warned that it would be an assault on all our senses, at the same time.  They were right; the colours are stunning. There is no doubt about that.  The pujas (offerings) for the temples lining shop after shop, the vibrant saris which would stand out even at a Pride Parade in North America, and the rich green rice paddies, all manage to converge into one perfect photo, for the thousandth time.

Colours of India

The blaring of the horns is incessant, but I’ve had more of a headache being woken up to a call to prayer that seemed to be emanating from speakers placed just outside my window (but was in fact from a mosque on the hillside a kilometre away), or a million roosters competing to be the one to announce it was dawn.  Or a church ringing its bells seemingly in competition with the mosque on Sunday. 

True, the smell of public latrines can be undeniable at times, but that’s nothing new.  As for taste, when we occasionally have a bad meal here, we look at it as a wasted opportunity, for the food is so good.  If I’m completely honest though, Malaysia’s teh tarek and roti still beats out India’s chai and paratta.

Paleek Paneer

We had been told we would love the country and hate it.  But they didn’t say that would happen simultaneously, again and again. 

We had been told it was one of the few places where we were really better not traveling alone.  But they didn’t tell us it was because otherwise we would face long stretches of loneliness with too much time for contemplation.  They told us it was because men would arbitrarily grope us in the streets if we were alone.  That happened with five of us (including one male) in our group.  And again when we were a pair immediately after leaving our guesthouse.  Alas, the culprits were speeding by on a motorbike, so no, I didn’t have time to throw a punch. You never do.

We had been told it would be extremely tiring and hard to travel.  But we thought they meant the trains would be late (they are), cramped (unreserved looks scary), hot (are actually quite cold at night), and dirty (pretty clean actually).  Not that we would spend two hours in five different line ups trying to buy a ticket for a train that was already sold out.

Love and hate at the same time

They told us we would get “delhi belly”.  More than once.  Even without eating meat.  They were right.

After 6 weeks in South India, we find the country beautiful, generous, and far easier to travel than we thought.  Perhaps the strong reputation that circulates through the rattan chairs of reggae bars across Thailand is why there are so few backpackers here.  Everyone we stumble across seems to either be solo on a yoga retreat or a couple with a set 3 week itinerary.  It is nothing like the carefree, footloose backpacker scene in Southeast Asia or Central and South America.  Which is interesting, as really, getting around here is not so different than the rest of Southeast Asia.  So, while India has defied its reputation for the most part, there are still a few situations we’ve encountered which scream to us, THIS IS INDIA:

• when you show up at the government tourist office to book a 3 hour trek costing 300R per person, only to be told that because this trip requires 4 people, you have to pay 1200R between you to cover the cost, unless you can recruit two more people yourself, and split the 1200R between four people.  The answer to the obvious question, why they can’t group you with two other people who have already signed up, will never be answered.
• When you then decide to do the 9 hour trek for 3000R per person instead, with a 2 person minimum, and show up in the morning and there are 5 people in your group with the guide.  For some reason, now you can be grouped together.
• When you arrive at the trekking starting point in the morning and are told you have to walk 2km back in the direction you just came to buy the additional national park entrance ticket, even though you had asked about it the night before when you booked your trek, and they insisted you walked to the starting point instead.
• When you decide to speed up the process by waving down a tuk tuk and stumbling across the most understanding, fastest and ambitious driver yet who takes you straight to the office to buy the national park entrance ticket, then back to the starting point, to the cheers of the other 3 members of your trek, all for the price of 50 R ($1 CAD).
• When you go to drop off your laundry and the woman feels the need to ensure you are not being overcharged (as the price for laundry is by piece of clothing, not weight) by picking through every article of extremely dirty clothing, in front of her whole family.  You soon learn to wash your underwear in your room.
• When you go to collect your laundry and the woman invites you into her home while you wait for her to fold your clothes, only to have her point to her apparently deceased family (one by way of beheading, according to her gesturing), and begins to cry.  Whether it is the anniversary of his death, or she’s looking to score a sympathetic tip, you will never know.
• When tuk tuks constantly honk their horns and insist you need a ride when you are enjoying a 5 minute stroll in the cool, early evening, but seem not to notice the two glaringly white women struggling up the hill at midday to the bus station 3 km away.
• When your travel buddy is evidently resisting the urge to puke her guts out in the lobby garbage can, and the two receptionists find it necessary to photocopy both of your passports and visas, insist you fill out a hotel registration card, and a government registration card, only to look at you blankly when they ask for your passport number, at which point you snap back “you have my passport”.
• When the inquisition continues with the receptionist insisting you must have a local address in India to complete the form, as otherwise you would not have been allowed into the country.  When you try to explain that you in fact had a pre-approved visa to come into the country, and that the answer to how you got here was “by airplane”, but the receptionist still sees confused by this so called visa concept, even after you point out that he had in fact already taken what must be ten photocopies of it.
• When you try to ask for toilet paper from the same receptionist, as there is NEVER any supplied, become frustrated and go in search of the nearest roll from a shop down the street, only to have the receptionist entreat your sick travel buddy, who is now in bed, to hand back both of your passports, as evidently, the photocopying process was not complete.
• When you walk into a restaurant and are generously afforded a menu and a few minutes to look over it, reach a decision, but upon verbalizing this decision, are informed that only one item is actually available.  Inevitably, this is a dosa.  Luckily, you love dosas.
• When you optimistically glance over at the meals in a restaurant and see that something other than dosas is being served, implore the waiter to bring you whatever it is the occupants of the next table are devouring, and are instead brought a dosa.  Luckily, you love dosas.
• When you’re cautiously optimistic when you see the restaurant is serving idlly for breakfast, an item that you know the name of, and is not a dosa, and you confidently voice your order to the waiter, only to be told that actually, idlly is not available but perhaps a nice dosa would be good? Luckily, you love dosas.

Elusive idlly

• When you try another restaurant and are informed that no, idlly is not possible, because “holiday”.  Whether “holiday” means it is a holiday and the chefs therefore don’t want to spend the time making the labour intensive breakfast item, or idlly itself is on holiday, you will never know.  Luckily, dosas are available.
• When your hotel would definitely keep its promise of free wifi advertised, if it wasn’t for the fact that wifi is difficult to obtain when the power is always out.
• When your hotel would definitely be happy to cook you breakfast which you have already paid for in the room price, but only if you want it after 8 am, as the cook will not be up.  And no, it is not possible to leave out a few slices of untoasted bread for you to grab on the way to your trek.
• When you wake up the next morning at 7am to find the cook milling about, offering you a cup of chai that apparently takes 15 minutes to prepare, but is unable to toast two slices of bread for you.
• When the French woman in front of you, implored as to whether she was married, answers negatively, only to be concernedly reproached by the ticket seller who insists he does not like this.
• When it is your turn to try and secure a ticket for the show and are inevitably also questioned on your marital status, only with the additional confusement of the 70 year old man behind us, who surprisingly, no, does not belong to us.
• When you wait twenty minutes for the courier service to finish packing your very delicate parcel of scarves and a mosquito net with impenetrable bubble wrap, before you can acceptably show up at the post office with a chance of being able to send it home, and are charged a hefty 250 R ($5CAD) for this service.  To be fair, you haven’t yet seen the Indian postal service in action, and these seemingly extreme measures may be well advised.
• When you bring said bubble wrapped package to the post office for shipping and are asked why you didn’t put the mailing address underneath the bubble wrap, to which you really have no answer, other than to mention the fact that it was the post office that implored you to go to the courier service in the first place.