Travelling in India

Touching down within an Indian airport is usually a shock - the sounds, smells, noises and sheer number of men and women is an absolute bombardment of senses. Indian airports have seen some fantastic modifications in modern times because the Indian Government have pumped money into everything 'tourism'. Once you leave those sliding doors however, the true India needs a hold on you, thrusting you right into a world so detached from your homeland, it is sometimes complicated never to wince.

That is to not say that India is often a bad destination to travel, not even close to it. Every time I have visited India I have left thinking, "That'll be the last time", but the truth is that India can be an intoxicating place, abundant with culture, heritage, fantastic food and in many cases better people. It draws you back, reveals another chapter in its mystical book, and provides you the possiblity to explore its ancient wares and amiable inhabitants.

It all going on my first round-the-world trip. I had been to university and done some travelling before, but had always wanted to visit that spiritual place I had only read and dreamed about. It seemed a long way away but the more I read about the vibrant culture, the hippy hangouts and dramatic mountain vistas, the greater I could not wait to board that plane to Mumbai.

As I left the plane in Mumbai airport, think about hit me was heat. I have never been particularly good in hot places (why was I in India again?) but this became like nothing I had ever experienced. I sweated my approach to reclaim my luggage, passed through customs making my way into the main hall.

"Sir! Sir! Taxi! Taxi!" came at me from all directions. I was being harassed from every angle, my pasty but flushed face and overinflated rucksack acting just like a magnet for every taxi driver in just a fifty-metre radius. They pushed and shoved, shouted louder and louder and occasionally made contact. I had read somewhere to help keep my cool within this form of situation, to experience it simple, never let them know your weakness.

They persisted, gradually wringing out every last drop of sanity from my baked brain. Suffice to convey my game plan failed to last for long and the stress got excessive,

"Leave me alone!" I shouted at several decibels louder when compared to a gaggle of about thirty hungry-for-new-blood taxi drivers, "I'm walking and I DO NOT need a taxi cab!". I stormed outside to the oppressive sun and began marching around the highway leaving a melee of confused men in my wake.

It was at least more than 200 metres before I stopped together to admit defeat. I was young and arrogant, positive that I could overcome the heat and sure that I wouldn't need anyone else's assist to get me to your hotel. I was wrong. Lightheaded and dehydrated, I flagged down a passing taxi (much towards the disdain with the taxi drivers that were still watching me in the airport entrance) and told him to take me on the city centre.

It was then that the real India grabbed me and gave me a hot, sweaty bear hug as if to express, "Welcome for the world you have never seen and in all probability didn't be aware of existed". For anyone who has flown into Mumbai airport, they are going to say something similar. The contrast through the plush airport interior, with a of the worst depravation and poverty known to man, then returning to multi-million dollar high-rises was startling. Is was just like a huge, nasty caste-sandwich but the bread was fat and overwhelming, burying the unpleasant, unsightly filling.

I was shown to your dodgy hotel through the taxi driver. I was drenched with sweat and nervous concerning the next few months with this country of two halves travel. I lay beneath the pathetic fan and planned my next move.

Hi! I’m Carmina, also known as Nana. I love Diy projects, parties, crocheting, and traveling. In this blog I share patterns, recipes, Diy projects, pet tips, party ideas, and travel tips.