A good title for all of the next seven entries could be "India: Incredible or Intolerable?" It is really both and an adventure that we will never forget because of our seven-day overland tour with Max Holidays for seven people--Pat, Bev and Brent, Diana and Jean Guy and us. Sara dedicates these entries to her good friend Pat and her father Sherman or Sham, one of the nicest and happiest people she knows, who just turned 85 and had passed on his fascination with India from World War II to his daughter. Sara looks forward to seeing Pat, who live in Countryside outside of Chicago, and Peg at their annual reunion in Pittsburgh in June.
As the Pacific Princess docked in Port Blair in the Andaman Islands, the heavens opened to let the rain pour down even though this is not the rainy season. This was the third straight day of rain in the Andaman Islands with the possible cause being bantered about that the earthquake in Japan changing the weather patterns.
The purser's desk had asked us to be in the Bistro/Steakhouse on Deck 10 at 11:45 a.m. to meet with the Indian customs officials who were coming on board so we could depart as soon as possible. As we were to learn throughout India, time is relative in India and certainly not precise. We completed multiple forms that were returned to us multiple times for additional information or a signature. (At one point, we were asked for our signatures, and Sara asked if we should complete the short form also. The official hurried away and returned about 15 minutes later to have us fill in the forms. And we thought applying for the Indian Visa was complicated!) We had already completed a declaration form in our room that morning inquiring about the number and cost of cameras and videotape equipment we planned to take ashore. An official handed back the completed forms to us so that we could add "personal effects" and initial it. We thought we were ready to go until one official inquired about our air flights. Pat Lucas, who had arranged the tour, replied that all the information was on record at the purser's desk on Deck 4. So the official sent a crew member to the purser's desk to retrieve the records that the customs officials laboriously copied. Finally, we were granted permission to debark the ship. The whole process from start to finish took two hours.
When we finally got off the ship in the rain, we wondered why we had wanted to speed up the process. Our tour guide was not there. Pat, our fearless leader, decided to ask several official-looking men who were standing under umbrellas near the guards' station if they knew where our van could be. One man loaned her his cell phone to call our travel agent in Delhi, who told her our tour guide was sitting outside the gate waiting for us. Unfortunately, this subcontracted tour group in Port Blair did not have a permit to enter this cargo port, and we were not permitted to walk the half-mile to the main gate, nor did we want to do so in the pouring rain. He couldn't get to us and we couldn't get to him. Our shoes were soaked, and we were actually cold. Is this really India in March?
The guide and driver of a back-up shuttle for the ship's tours made us a deal. For $45, they would take us to the Fortune Resort. However, we did not want to go there unless we knew that our real guide was still outside the gate. By now, it was two hours after we thought we could meet him. So we asked if the shuttle could drive us to the gate. The men told us that once our luggage was loaded in the van, they would not unload it until we reached the hotel. It was a take-it or leave-it deal so we took it telling him that if our guide was not waiting for us or we did not have a reservation at the hotel, we wanted him to return us to the ship. The guide told us that the price was fixed no matter what we did and that he was not trying to take advantage of us because they had to pay a hefty fee for a permit that allowed their vehicles to enter the cargo port. Sure, we didn't believe him. Our port lecturer Richard had told us, "Expect to be taken." We don't want to count the number of time that someone tried to take advantage of us because it seems that everyone in India, including government officials, has a hand out and wanted money for anything and everything even if they had already been paid.
When we arrived at the gate, Pat and Brent got out of the van and found two Winger cars waiting patiently for us. They followed us to the Fortune Resort where we unloaded our baggage, checked in and were escorted to our rooms. All we wanted to do was change into dry clothing and shoes.
For all of you that travel, did you know that soft-sided luggage is not waterproof? Every part of clothing that touched the sides was soaked. All we did was change our shoes and were off again for a tour of the island. Our drivers were supposed to speak English. Unfortunately, either they did not or we did not ask the right questions. When Bev asked our driver, "What is your name?", he answered, "Anthropological Museum." The right question would have been, "Where are we going?" For the rest of our tour, he turned up the music loud, and we listened to lyrics that included, "She's going Hollywood tonight," "I like the way you touch me...kiss me...love me," and "He's a monster, a monster, an animal."
The Anthropological Museum was actually very interesting with it depiction of how aboriginals since prehistoric time had inhabited the Andaman Islands (the Tribes of Negrito origin) and the Nicobar Islands farther south (the Mongoloids). We saw weapons, tools, housewares and models of three different types of habitats. We decided that AAA would give the lean-to structure one star, the structure with the sleeping area in a loft off the ground two stars, and the two-story structure built on stilts three stars so that the Fortune Resort would be a four- or five-star hotel. What we did not know then was it would be the only hotel we were to stay at in India that did not have a security system similar to one at an airport.
After we exited the museum in the pouring rain with rivers of water crossing the sidewalks making us slouch in our shoes, we drove through the downtown area past the clock tower and along the ocean where we witnessed the waves wash up almost to the top of the retaining wall. Two potentially award-winning photographs would have been a young girl with her flowered rain poncho over her backpack making her look like a humped-back camel and a group of baby goats trying to find cover from the rain.
When we returned to the hotel, we all agreed that a drink was in order. However, the bar was outside, and the restaurant did not open until 7 p.m. We asked if we could take drinks to the room but the bartender told us that we had to drink alcohol in the bar. By now the wind's velocity had increased as did the rain so we agreed to go to our rooms, dress appropriately in rain ponchos and return to the outdoor bar that was undercover. Dinner that night at the bar consisted of Kingfisher beers and sodas, and snacks of French fries, chicken McNugget want-to-bes and toast with cheese that was very spicy. We watched the Pacific Princess sail away and wondered if we were doing the right thing or if we should be back on the ship. Our guide had told us that the gale-force wind velocity could keep us from flying out tomorrow. Sitting in the bar area, our first wish was that the wind would subside while our second wish was that tomorrow would be a better day.
Needless to say, the Sound and Light Show at the Cellular Jail that honored the Freedom Fighters was rained out. When we returned to our room, the cable TV went out so we were in bed by 9 p.m. Pat fell in her bathroom during the night and hurt her leg while Bev woke at 3 a.m. and finally got out of bed at 5 a.m. All of our clothes and shoes were still wet when we were to leave the hotel in the morning. This was an incredible experience.
No comments:
Post a Comment