There is an ad campaign out on TV channels around here. I watch virtually no TV here, but when I tune in on BBC News or Deutsche Welle, you can’t ignore the latest Dokomo ads with the catchy jingle. Nor can I imagine that you can watch anything these days without the omnipresent ads that come to you by the courtesy of the Indian tourism board urging people in no uncertain terms to visit their country.
There’s a guy, supposedly a white foreigner, mowing through Indias’s crown jewels at breathtaking speed, always managing to put a happy face on it all, despite the apparent cultural differences. So somebody just smothered you with dye? Throw it back! Take a photo of a couple at the Taj Mahal, ride an elephant (past a yawning tiger), hit India’s bitchin’ nightclubs and then write a postcard home with the simple words Incredible India. Clever. Whether you actually leave India with a smile is open to dispute.
We didn’t need an ad campaign to tell us where and when to go to India. Kathmandu does not have a large (or modern) airport by any stretch of the imagination, but as a capital city you can still catch direct flights to Seoul, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Doha in the Middle East. Not bad at all. We thought that the Taj Mahal around Valentine’s Day would be an ideal fit for us. There would be a Nepali holiday on Friday (Lord Shiva’s birthday) and an American on Monday. Good for two days and a trip to Delhi.
Delhi is little more than an hour away, otherwise I don’t think we would have bothered making the trip. Luckily for us, the baby has been an angel (compared to his big brother at a comparable age), so we know we can make the trip with the kids. Ironically, the trip from Delhi to the Taj Mahal takes much longer. We book two nights at the Shangri La in Delhi. We book tickets for a fast train from Delhi to Agra, the city hosting the Taj Mahal. The boys will get a kick out of taking a train, and we can even rest on it, which we fully expect to. We will have plenty of time to take in Delhi and see the Taj alike. Good deal. We'll have the stroller with us at all times, so the boys can rest whenever they want to.
We make a mistake we have long laughed about when committed by other people. We are smug in thinking ourselves as veteran travelers, skilled and street smart, infallible in our judgment. Somewhere the Board of Tourism is laughing themselves silly at us.
The lesson is: never assume anything abroad. For the third world that often translates as: never expect anything. I still can’t believe we got whacked the way we did.
But I digress. First comes the part of executing the three part plan that should find you warm and safe at your destination:
I. Making it to the airport
Seems like a given, right? Four miles from home, piece of cake. Not quite. With no traffic lights in this city, anything can happen and will happen if the stars are aligned (or the buses, motorcycles and tuk-tuks are not). One knucklehead can cause serious jams for hours. Then there’s the holiday. On Lord Shiva's birthday the kids will build tolls on the road. You roll down the window, give them a rupee or two, then be on your way. Their barrier: a string, made taut by two kids, one on each side of the road. These kids are already learning about bhands and which material hopefully not to use if they wish to receive the desired result. That said, the kids are only a minor obstacle, and we arrive at the airport with time to spare. There is the additional challenge of avoiding any meltdown by the boys should they become impatient and hyper and demand to be let out of the car. This part of the plan goes relatively smoothly, which leads us to the next challenge.
II. Getting on the plane
First things first. We get through security and check in. As is custom, you always serve the disabled and women with little children first. This (supposedly) works at any airport. Check. Works like a charm. The officials in Kathmandu are friendly and take time to slobber over the boys. We have a half hour to spare. We wait in the overcrowded boarding area, where we watch passengers board a plane to Singapore. Then an announcement: plane to Delhi is delhi-d, as in delayed. I look at the weather. Fair enough. It’s quite foggy out there, although I have no idea how the Singapore plane will get through that any worse than we can. The officials say the weather, the weather, and we kick back. We should have been in Delhi by noon. Now we know we’re not going to even fly by noon.
To be continued.
There’s a guy, supposedly a white foreigner, mowing through Indias’s crown jewels at breathtaking speed, always managing to put a happy face on it all, despite the apparent cultural differences. So somebody just smothered you with dye? Throw it back! Take a photo of a couple at the Taj Mahal, ride an elephant (past a yawning tiger), hit India’s bitchin’ nightclubs and then write a postcard home with the simple words Incredible India. Clever. Whether you actually leave India with a smile is open to dispute.
We didn’t need an ad campaign to tell us where and when to go to India. Kathmandu does not have a large (or modern) airport by any stretch of the imagination, but as a capital city you can still catch direct flights to Seoul, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Doha in the Middle East. Not bad at all. We thought that the Taj Mahal around Valentine’s Day would be an ideal fit for us. There would be a Nepali holiday on Friday (Lord Shiva’s birthday) and an American on Monday. Good for two days and a trip to Delhi.
Delhi is little more than an hour away, otherwise I don’t think we would have bothered making the trip. Luckily for us, the baby has been an angel (compared to his big brother at a comparable age), so we know we can make the trip with the kids. Ironically, the trip from Delhi to the Taj Mahal takes much longer. We book two nights at the Shangri La in Delhi. We book tickets for a fast train from Delhi to Agra, the city hosting the Taj Mahal. The boys will get a kick out of taking a train, and we can even rest on it, which we fully expect to. We will have plenty of time to take in Delhi and see the Taj alike. Good deal. We'll have the stroller with us at all times, so the boys can rest whenever they want to.
We make a mistake we have long laughed about when committed by other people. We are smug in thinking ourselves as veteran travelers, skilled and street smart, infallible in our judgment. Somewhere the Board of Tourism is laughing themselves silly at us.
The lesson is: never assume anything abroad. For the third world that often translates as: never expect anything. I still can’t believe we got whacked the way we did.
But I digress. First comes the part of executing the three part plan that should find you warm and safe at your destination:
I. Making it to the airport
Seems like a given, right? Four miles from home, piece of cake. Not quite. With no traffic lights in this city, anything can happen and will happen if the stars are aligned (or the buses, motorcycles and tuk-tuks are not). One knucklehead can cause serious jams for hours. Then there’s the holiday. On Lord Shiva's birthday the kids will build tolls on the road. You roll down the window, give them a rupee or two, then be on your way. Their barrier: a string, made taut by two kids, one on each side of the road. These kids are already learning about bhands and which material hopefully not to use if they wish to receive the desired result. That said, the kids are only a minor obstacle, and we arrive at the airport with time to spare. There is the additional challenge of avoiding any meltdown by the boys should they become impatient and hyper and demand to be let out of the car. This part of the plan goes relatively smoothly, which leads us to the next challenge.
II. Getting on the plane
First things first. We get through security and check in. As is custom, you always serve the disabled and women with little children first. This (supposedly) works at any airport. Check. Works like a charm. The officials in Kathmandu are friendly and take time to slobber over the boys. We have a half hour to spare. We wait in the overcrowded boarding area, where we watch passengers board a plane to Singapore. Then an announcement: plane to Delhi is delhi-d, as in delayed. I look at the weather. Fair enough. It’s quite foggy out there, although I have no idea how the Singapore plane will get through that any worse than we can. The officials say the weather, the weather, and we kick back. We should have been in Delhi by noon. Now we know we’re not going to even fly by noon.
To be continued.
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