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June 15, 2003
Germany If chaos, probably the natural state of humanity, is epitomised by the swirling disorder of India; arriving in Europe via Vienna and Hamburg suggests that its polar opposite is Germany/Austria. Think of an adjective to describe India; think of its opposite meaning and that word is likely to apply to Germany. What can you really think about people who proudly display heron statues fashioned out of 2 metres of pebble dashed concrete in their gardens?
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chello EuropeIts never easy to say goodbye to India - even if its only for a month - but its made slightly easier if you're escaping from a heatwave in Summer.
Delhi in June could reasonably be described as the "Forge of Vulcan", even in an average year where temperatures peak around the mid 40's centigrade, with a low of about 27 deg C at night in June. This years heatwave has pushed temperatures to the highest level in 50 years apparently, with both highs and lows about 5 deg C above the seasonal average. 5 degrees extra doesn't sound a lot until you actually experience it, and this heatwave has killed around 1,200 people, mostly in Andra Pradesh. Night-time temperatures in Delhi were around the 34 deg C mark for a few days. The only mercy is that it is dry instead of the filthy humidity coming a month from now.
In these temperatures, joy becomes any brief encounter with an air conditioning system, breakfast in air-con heaven; Nirula's, copious amounts of cold Lassi at the fine Lassi shop in Main Bazaar, and drinking 5 or 6 litres of water a day. A dust storm in the capital just before we arrived spared us the worst, blocking out the sun and taking the edge off the top temperatures.
The "dishnet DSL" Internet place in Connaught Place continues to slip further toward closing, and now wont even run their aircon, making temperatures inside higher than on the street. Unsurprisingly it is usually empty bar a few hardy souls substituting it for a sauna.
One of Delhi's great pleasures becomes even more popular in the summer heat; an ice cream from Nirula's eaten on a leisurely stroll around the inner circle of Connaught place. Saturday is by far the busiest day, with hundreds of middle class families turning out, heavily outnumbered by the myriad beggars, and hawkers selling balloons, toy steamboats, mobile phone cases, handicrafts, fragrant jasmine and film posters. Connaught Place on Saturday night is perhaps the most obvious place where the faultline of India's rich / poor divide is exposed. The poorest and most destitute rub shoulders with India's emerging class of aspiring Nouveau Riche at the point where Lutyens vision of Imperial India interfaces with the sprawl of Old Delhi.
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farewell to Bureaucracy Indira Gandhi International airport provides visitors to India with the final opportunity to taste full strength Indian Bureaucracy.
Anyone who reads the English language press while in India might be imbued with the firm belief that the Indian government is genuinely concerned by India's poor performance in attracting tourists in the numbers it should. Many articles and op-ed pieces lament India's relatively small share of world tourism considering the riches the country offers to the visitor. The government tries to make changes to the tourism infrastructure by providing facilities intended to encourage both domestic and overseas tourists.
The concern however, does not seem to stretch as far as most peoples first and last contact with India; the airport. The building itself is a great improvement on what it was 10 years ago, having been somewhat modernised and the aircon improved. But what goes on inside still leaves a lasting impression that does nothing to improve the countries attractiveness as a destination.
Flights to India almost uniformly arrive and depart at the most unearthly hours of the morning, and the airport insists on check in 3 hours in advance; with good reason. You are only allowed in 3 hours prior to the flight, and the resulting chaos of people trying to get in more closely resembles a refugee crisis than a queue. A security wallah scrutinises your ticket as if he knew what all the numbers meant, and your name was Bin Laden, then grudgingly allows you to pass. Once inside, an unmarked baggage x-ray of hold baggage awaits. Inexplicably, the baggage is vaguely sealed with security tape, but you are then allowed to keep hold of it even though your hand bags remain unchecked.
You can then go to the check in. We were lucky enough to be flying Austrian Airlines who had exercised a bit of Teutonic efficiency and introduced 4 Genuine Queues at their check ins, enclosed by tapes. Less lucky were the baying mob next door at the Air India counter who were happily re-enacting the fall of Saigon before the check in had even opened. An exasperated Air India staff member had to stand on a desk and yell at the mob, trying - with only partial success - to cajole them into lines in front of the counters.
Watching the people at the counter in front of us (while keeping our eyes open for any of the crafty - but - unsubtle queue evading flanking manoeuvres so beloved of Extremely (Self) Important Indians) made us feel humble about the odd extra kilo we might have been carrying and wonder about the arcane concept of aircraft takeoff loading. Indian families travel with vast suitcases apparently filled with gold bars that weigh a ton. One tiny old Lady in a saree had three huge cases that could comfortably have contained her entire extended family with their furniture. Yet none of them ever seems to attract any excess baggage penalty.
Having eventually checked in, we proceeded unusually painlessly through passport control to the duty free area. The airport can trip up the unwary at this point; many Arab carriers require passengers to identify suitcases for the hold, but no-one at IGI bothers to put up a sign to let you know this.
Like all government buildings in India, IGI is a no smoking zone, without the smallest corner for us addicts looking for a pre-flight opportunity for nicotine loading. Courage comes from numbers, however, and its usually possible to find a quiet corner and a few unreconstructed compadres to form an impromptu smokers zone without official interference. I recall on my first trip through the airport in 1993 getting screwed for 30 rupees for a disgusting cup of tea. Things have greatly improved, and a decent cup of coffee can now be had for twenty.
You'll want it to stiffen your nerves for the upcoming security check and the queue for it. Four massive and slow moving lines stretch the depth of the duty free hall for a procedure that is low in logic, high in irritation. Another security wallah reads every character on your boarding card and then stamps a "security clearance" on the cabin baggage tag of any luggage. Woe betide anyone who didn't pick up one of these freely available labels - no label, non passeran.
Step through a door and dump your delicate cameras / laptop etc on an unruly pile of luggage waiting at the x-ray machine, where they will be processed faster than you are and left in another unruly heap. You head through metal detector designed to go ping even if all the metal you have on you is your tie-pin. In any case you will be hand searched with the emphasis on roughness, not on thoroughness and the first inexplicable confiscation - your cigarette lighter - will occur. You are now free to try and extricate your valuables from the pile - unless they have been earmarked for Further Rough Handling after x ray.
The list of things you cannot take on a flight out of India is bewildering, inexplicable and growing by the day. While some make sense (knives, betel nut cutters, propane cylinders(!)) most will provide you with an interesting guessing game for the first 4 hours of your flight. Post Sep 11th, it seems a new Bureau was set up by the Indian government to make a list of things to ban for carriage in the cabin. The department was given few powers, but an awful lot of filing cabinets which they gleefully set out to fill with lists.
Should your bag be selected for further investigation, any loose batteries will be removed - even those in sealed packets. Should you wish, these dangerous terrorist devices can be given to cabin staff and returned at your destination - if you are very lucky. Why loose batteries should be a threat to aircraft safety (while those installed in walkmans etc are not) evades us entirely, unless of course the concern is that 20 or so "AA" cells could be used to power a Buck Rogers Kill O Zap raygun that had been smuggled aboard by Osama's boys. Any other coincidentally delicate items in your baggage will be pulled out and treated as if they were Pakistani cricket balls, and rather cheap ones at that.
Another confiscatable item is that fearsome terror weapon, the coconut, also banned from carriage aboard, as are pickles. Admittedly some Indian pickles and chutneys could eat their way through an airframe in minutes, but I fail to see the threat posed by Coconuts, unless the concern is more that India doesn't have enough and exporting them will leave even less.
Assuming you and your baggage have survived this last check, you can head into the gate area, find a quiet corner and indulge in a final dose of illicit nicotine loading in the minutes you have left before the final desperate scrum to board first.
Perhaps it is churlish to moan about Indian airports, but somehow the experience of passing through Indira Gandhi International always winds me up. True, India is a poor country and we should not expect the same standards as European airports. My problem, however, is not with the airport, but with the ridiculously bad organisation - something that really should cost very little money to fix - and the amazingly bad attitude of some of the staff. The airport handles a very insignificant number of flights compared to most countries airports, and shows serious signs of stress even with those. Should India's tourist numbers actually increase as they wish, I fail to see how they could cope with the extra work. And at the end of the day they DO want more people to visit and spend their foreign currency, particularly high spending wealthy tourists. If I was a rich middle class type, I think I would reflect on the IGI experience before returning to India or recommending it for a two week holiday to my friends.
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