Saturday, May 14, 2005
Tourism Blues
(Note: A couple of readers have remarked that this post contains a lot of exaggeration. Incredulous though it may seem at places, I assure you that the whole thing is true and only a couple of phrases at the most are exaggerated)
After getting back from a week in Malaysia and Singapore, I find 3 experiences burnt in my mind. Two of these are pleasant, but then those are better communicated to you through photographs… maybe later.
The third one is not pleasant at all, but it is just as indelible as the other two I’m afraid. The return trip to Ahmedabad from Kuala Lumpur shall be in my mind for all the wrong reasons. It evoked disgust then, though in retrospect it all seems rather funny.
The behaviour of certain Indian tourists abroad is, mildly put, rather objectionable. Examples of these include creating a huge ruckus in places like hotels and shopping malls, tolerable only to the most patient amongst us. Then of course, I shouldn’t forget the complimentary buffet breakfast served at the hotel where they find it extremely normal to cut across lines inconveniencing several others. Littering carpets with burnt bread (which they rather unwisely feed twice to the toaster in spite of clear printed warnings, not in Chinese but in English). I could go on about breakfast, dinner etc. but that would exercise the reader’s patience for several pages, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.
Tourists from Ahmedabad and Gujarat in general (excluding a few) prefer to come in groups of 10 at least. A nice experience, I’m sure, apart from the huge ‘crates’ of luggage that seem to tag along with them. The number of these ‘crates’ seems to inexplicably double itself on the return trip often dwarfing their owners (with 32” television sets and whatnot in the fray). Thanks to the stringent rules concerning hand baggage on aircrafts, the ‘crates’ are transported separately. They play a greater role later on.
So we have these groups of ten or more, with around 5 children in each boarding the aircraft sans luggage with much ado and fanfare. We are seated in the back and left to observe their colourful attempts to enjoy the Malaysian Airlines experience.
The plane takes off and there is a lot of celebration with clapping and cheering heralding this marvellous invention given to us by the Wright brothers. How wonderful that it actually took off! After some forcible restraint during the take-off through the use of some unfair devices like seat belts, the tourists (referred to as gumbal from now on) are soon free.
Children are as a rule, innocent. All that comes out of them is the occasional shout to alleviate boredom and a few runs across the aisles, which I’m sure provides some good exercise aboard the flights. It’s the behaviour of the adults (the male ones ie) that is really exceptional. It all starts (atleast from my vantage point) with the fasten seat belts sign going off and a man in his sixties to my left desperately pleading for beer from the airhostess. She soon comes down the aisle with glasses of beer for the parched throats of the gumbal. Most of the men grab a glass each. Quite understandable. With Gujarat being a dry state and all, such stuff is not available at home.
However, the man (let’s call him Dionysius for now) decides to grab two, much to the chagrin of the man right in front of me, who decides to grab another one to get even. And thus, the unspoken contest starts. Other men start to take beer refills as well. Crunchy snacks in the form of salted peanuts are provided. The man beside me wasn’t drinking, but he wants those peanuts badly. Too bad that the air-hostess doesn’t understand his requests for ‘singh-channa’. I convey the message to her only to see that she’s already gone - to quench the beer needs of the passengers ahead.
Dionysius and his pal ahead of me are now demanding beer cans and Malaysian Airlines comply. Carlsberg, Tiger, Guinness… the whole bar starts coming out. Dionysius is soon into his second can and he and his pal are giving low-fives to each other with slurred words like “Full chill beer ha! Life mei beer peevanu! Majamacho!” The guy ahead stops but Dionysius goes ahead and finishes 4 whole cans taking his beer tally to around 2 litres making him the winner, though another man on the right would probably be close judging from his declarations like, “Khaana, peena, shopping ha!” This guy soon drops off… not being able to withstand the soporific effects of alcohol. Dionysius however stands up and after some acrobatic fingering retrieves his bag from the overhead compartment and rather inexplicably starts distributing his son’s visiting cards to some junta up front. A glowing testimonial for Dio Jr. right there.
After firm refusals to Dio and his buddy, the airhostesses and hosts start distributing food. Dio’s buddy is still rambling incoherently about full chill beer, but the camel, er… Dio after 2 litres of beer attacks the food with gusto before falling asleep halfway. A word here about Malaysian Airlines. The staff deems it fit to attend to the beer-sippers, but conveniently forgets about the others. And end up serving my mother some weird concoction called a ‘vegan’ vegetarian meal. After protests from us and a few others, the staff seemed to remember we existed and supplied us with the proper food that was promised in the menu card. Dio and his cohorts are thankfully asleep. The rest of the flight passes without incident, though the service of Malaysian Airlines seriously leaves much to be desired.
The landing at Ahmedabad is accompanied by the gumbal’s felicitations... probably meant for the pilot. They seem extremely happy that the aircraft actually made it to the right place rather than Timbuktu. Now of course, it’s time for them to exercise their power in numbers.
These people, who calmly cut across lines in Singapore, are now intent on disproving Euclid, showing that there exist multiple straight lines between two points.
And all of the sudden the spyry grandpas and grandmoms who ran up and down the malls in Singapore are now in wheelchairs, no doubt a nice way to finish off their immigration formalities ahead of us. That is atleast acceptable, but to see this agent (travel agent) in a yellow tee (sounds like a bad spy novel doesn’t it?) jumping the queue using some underhanded tactics is thoroughly deplorable.
This behaviour at the immigration counter is very irritating, to say the least, after a four-and-half-hour journey. After some considerable effort the immigration formalities are over and now comes the daunting task of retrieving four small pieces of luggage hidden somewhere between those huge ‘crates’. The whole gumbal (including the babies in prams and the not-babies in trolleys) now has to cover the entire luggage belt to pick up their stuff. After getting in edgeways and wasting around 15 minutes, I’ve managed to pick up only two of our bags. Further searching for some 10 minutes yields the knowledge that the mob, er… gumbal has very kindly stashed the rest of our luggage somewhere out of the way lest it get crushed by their ‘crates’.
The worst task is the final one. A last screening of the baggage to check if we’re all smuggling explosives and drugs from Singapore into Ahmedabad. Euclid is literally rolling in his grave now. And the trolleys piled high with towers make things a thousand times worse. Not to mention the Yellow One buzzing about, cutting lines with the seasoned expertise of a professional. The sane amongst us now lose their temper and few strong-arm tactics are finally deployed (such as me subconsciously kicking a trolley away stranding it amongst a portion of the gumbal). And a few ‘pleasantries’ are exchanged before we we’re finally allowed to proceed home. The sign outside the airport says it all.
Welcome to Gujarat, indeed.
After getting back from a week in Malaysia and Singapore, I find 3 experiences burnt in my mind. Two of these are pleasant, but then those are better communicated to you through photographs… maybe later.
The third one is not pleasant at all, but it is just as indelible as the other two I’m afraid. The return trip to Ahmedabad from Kuala Lumpur shall be in my mind for all the wrong reasons. It evoked disgust then, though in retrospect it all seems rather funny.
The behaviour of certain Indian tourists abroad is, mildly put, rather objectionable. Examples of these include creating a huge ruckus in places like hotels and shopping malls, tolerable only to the most patient amongst us. Then of course, I shouldn’t forget the complimentary buffet breakfast served at the hotel where they find it extremely normal to cut across lines inconveniencing several others. Littering carpets with burnt bread (which they rather unwisely feed twice to the toaster in spite of clear printed warnings, not in Chinese but in English). I could go on about breakfast, dinner etc. but that would exercise the reader’s patience for several pages, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.
Tourists from Ahmedabad and Gujarat in general (excluding a few) prefer to come in groups of 10 at least. A nice experience, I’m sure, apart from the huge ‘crates’ of luggage that seem to tag along with them. The number of these ‘crates’ seems to inexplicably double itself on the return trip often dwarfing their owners (with 32” television sets and whatnot in the fray). Thanks to the stringent rules concerning hand baggage on aircrafts, the ‘crates’ are transported separately. They play a greater role later on.
So we have these groups of ten or more, with around 5 children in each boarding the aircraft sans luggage with much ado and fanfare. We are seated in the back and left to observe their colourful attempts to enjoy the Malaysian Airlines experience.
The plane takes off and there is a lot of celebration with clapping and cheering heralding this marvellous invention given to us by the Wright brothers. How wonderful that it actually took off! After some forcible restraint during the take-off through the use of some unfair devices like seat belts, the tourists (referred to as gumbal from now on) are soon free.
Children are as a rule, innocent. All that comes out of them is the occasional shout to alleviate boredom and a few runs across the aisles, which I’m sure provides some good exercise aboard the flights. It’s the behaviour of the adults (the male ones ie) that is really exceptional. It all starts (atleast from my vantage point) with the fasten seat belts sign going off and a man in his sixties to my left desperately pleading for beer from the airhostess. She soon comes down the aisle with glasses of beer for the parched throats of the gumbal. Most of the men grab a glass each. Quite understandable. With Gujarat being a dry state and all, such stuff is not available at home.
However, the man (let’s call him Dionysius for now) decides to grab two, much to the chagrin of the man right in front of me, who decides to grab another one to get even. And thus, the unspoken contest starts. Other men start to take beer refills as well. Crunchy snacks in the form of salted peanuts are provided. The man beside me wasn’t drinking, but he wants those peanuts badly. Too bad that the air-hostess doesn’t understand his requests for ‘singh-channa’. I convey the message to her only to see that she’s already gone - to quench the beer needs of the passengers ahead.
Dionysius and his pal ahead of me are now demanding beer cans and Malaysian Airlines comply. Carlsberg, Tiger, Guinness… the whole bar starts coming out. Dionysius is soon into his second can and he and his pal are giving low-fives to each other with slurred words like “Full chill beer ha! Life mei beer peevanu! Majamacho!” The guy ahead stops but Dionysius goes ahead and finishes 4 whole cans taking his beer tally to around 2 litres making him the winner, though another man on the right would probably be close judging from his declarations like, “Khaana, peena, shopping ha!” This guy soon drops off… not being able to withstand the soporific effects of alcohol. Dionysius however stands up and after some acrobatic fingering retrieves his bag from the overhead compartment and rather inexplicably starts distributing his son’s visiting cards to some junta up front. A glowing testimonial for Dio Jr. right there.
After firm refusals to Dio and his buddy, the airhostesses and hosts start distributing food. Dio’s buddy is still rambling incoherently about full chill beer, but the camel, er… Dio after 2 litres of beer attacks the food with gusto before falling asleep halfway. A word here about Malaysian Airlines. The staff deems it fit to attend to the beer-sippers, but conveniently forgets about the others. And end up serving my mother some weird concoction called a ‘vegan’ vegetarian meal. After protests from us and a few others, the staff seemed to remember we existed and supplied us with the proper food that was promised in the menu card. Dio and his cohorts are thankfully asleep. The rest of the flight passes without incident, though the service of Malaysian Airlines seriously leaves much to be desired.
The landing at Ahmedabad is accompanied by the gumbal’s felicitations... probably meant for the pilot. They seem extremely happy that the aircraft actually made it to the right place rather than Timbuktu. Now of course, it’s time for them to exercise their power in numbers.
These people, who calmly cut across lines in Singapore, are now intent on disproving Euclid, showing that there exist multiple straight lines between two points.
And all of the sudden the spyry grandpas and grandmoms who ran up and down the malls in Singapore are now in wheelchairs, no doubt a nice way to finish off their immigration formalities ahead of us. That is atleast acceptable, but to see this agent (travel agent) in a yellow tee (sounds like a bad spy novel doesn’t it?) jumping the queue using some underhanded tactics is thoroughly deplorable.
This behaviour at the immigration counter is very irritating, to say the least, after a four-and-half-hour journey. After some considerable effort the immigration formalities are over and now comes the daunting task of retrieving four small pieces of luggage hidden somewhere between those huge ‘crates’. The whole gumbal (including the babies in prams and the not-babies in trolleys) now has to cover the entire luggage belt to pick up their stuff. After getting in edgeways and wasting around 15 minutes, I’ve managed to pick up only two of our bags. Further searching for some 10 minutes yields the knowledge that the mob, er… gumbal has very kindly stashed the rest of our luggage somewhere out of the way lest it get crushed by their ‘crates’.
The worst task is the final one. A last screening of the baggage to check if we’re all smuggling explosives and drugs from Singapore into Ahmedabad. Euclid is literally rolling in his grave now. And the trolleys piled high with towers make things a thousand times worse. Not to mention the Yellow One buzzing about, cutting lines with the seasoned expertise of a professional. The sane amongst us now lose their temper and few strong-arm tactics are finally deployed (such as me subconsciously kicking a trolley away stranding it amongst a portion of the gumbal). And a few ‘pleasantries’ are exchanged before we we’re finally allowed to proceed home. The sign outside the airport says it all.
Welcome to Gujarat, indeed.
