HUBBERS BLOG

Some London friends moved to Dubai earlier this year. Mr Wayne (as his workers call him) and Miss Claire are out here saving hard for a year before they return to NZ.

Dubai now has over a million people although only twenty percent are locals. The rest are foreign nationals here for work. On Mr Wayne’s site huge armies of Asians work around the clock for six quid a shift. Mr Wayne as a highly skilled Westerner earns slightly more than that.

Used the internet to find out that we gave the Froggies a good old fashioned All Black style drubbing. 46 to 6. Gutted I missed it.

Sunday is the ideal day for strolling in downtown Mumbai and markets. There are only a small fraction of the traffic and people it was positively idyllic.

Walked past a massive central city park with three serious games of cricket complete with players in white, scoreboards, make-shift pavilions and golf clapping supporters. Interspaced between these matches were scores of smaller games being just as fiercely competed for by groups of local boys. There were so many of these smaller games that in some places the pitches were only five meters apart. Not wanting to be shown up by a group of fourteen year olds I politely refused several offers to play.

My Indian colleague Vijay used to sometimes do this body language thing where he wobbled his head from side to side. If I saw him he’d stop even though I never said anything. I never knew what it meant. They all do it here and after a week of hard analysis I a none the wiser. Sometimes it seems to mean yes and sometimes no. Sometimes something else. For all I know it could mean ‘oh no my head is loose’. Please help.

If I could pick three counties from this trip to see again it would be India, India and India. And not just because I only spent a small amount of time here. India is fascinating. It defies explanation. I have started to read ‘Holy Cow’ a funny book by an Aussie reporter who lived in Delhi for a year and it gives some excellent insights. You should all read this book. For my own part I will be back to work this one out for myself.

The trip to the airport is one of the worst things I have had to do whilst traveling. At almost every set of lights of the way my taxi was approached by beggars in indescribable states. Some thin, some with deformed limbs, some missing parts. All filthy. My personal philosophy is to not give money to beggars. But this was just disheartening. At the terminal I skipped dinner gave all my spare change to the guy who needlessly hand out tissues in the toilet.

Thankfully it did. The 5am train to Mumbai was packed. You’ve heard of cattle class on airplanes well this was cattle class for trains. Each carriage is divided into small sections which in turn had ten beds. The number of beds didn’t seem to place a limit on the number of people in each section. Children especially were everywhere. As I climbed into bed to sleep the other passengers were just waking up. Slept most of the day fast asleep despite a non-stop procession of hawkers who walked past every few minutes loudly proclaiming what they had for sale.

As the train hurtled into Mumbai Central I was waiting in the open doorway of the train (they don’t have health and safety here yet) with my backpack on when a young local guy hurled himself through the open doorway. He was the first of several locals who threw themselves into the open door of the fast moving train to get a better chance of securing a seat for the next leg of the journey. If any of them made the slightest error it could easilly result in a fatal accident.

Tried to catch ABs v France. The very latest bar in town shut at 2am not the ideal time for a 1.30am kickoff. Gutted that is three missed tests in a row.

Walking the streets during the day is a riot of exciting colors, smells and sounds. At night it’s a different story. With all the road and pedestrian traffic gone and the stall holders incense long finished you are able to experience a different side of Mumbai. The smell is more like that of an open sewer and there are people sleeping everywhere on cold hard concrete. I was surrounded by India’s infamous untouchables, the cast that is so low that children sleep in nothing but their rag clothes on the pavement using a clenched fists for a pillow. And I’m staying in a nice part of town.

Rented some scooters but it was all to much like work for me so I gave mine away and went back to swimming eating drinking chilling and sleeping.

Palolem and to some extent Goa are not really India. Just like Koh Phagnan is not Thailand and Dahab is not Egypt. It’s a backpacker community designed to meet the western backpackers dream of a cheap beach holiday. I’m not complaining. This place is one of the coolest I have ever traveled to but I am not kidding myself that I have honestly experienced the real India while staying here.

Finally ran into Patrick an Aussie that Runty said I should look up when I got here. I had given up looking for a Blond Aussie from Tassie so in the end he found me and he didn’t even know he was looking for me. He decided to get me fucked up and pour me into a taxi at 4.30am. We lasted until two when I took the risky decision to grab two hours sleep and hope my alarm woke me…

Swimming, eating, drinking, chilling, cow watching and sleeping.

Tranquility temporarily disrupted by a 200km road trip to the famous once a week Anjuna markets. Nine of us managed to collectively bargain the price down to 2500 Rupees from 2500 Rupees. Damn these local guys are good.

The markets are pretty cool. If you were a hippie you could easily clothe and accessorise yourself for the rest of your life in one days shopping here.

Got off the bus at 9am. Found out the taxi price to the beach was 100 each so I formed the seven backpackers into a little group so we could negotiate collectively. Unfortunately the taxi drivers did the same so we paid 260. They’re good these Indians.

They still have corporal punishment here. On the ride to the beach we saw a hysterical school principal whipping several boy around their heads with a cane in front of the whole school assembly and passing traffic. I tried to get a photo of the sadist in full swing but had to settle for yelling out what I thought of him instead.

Got to Palolem beach and had my first beer in three weeks less than 24 hours after touching down at Mumbai International. That’s good going.

Spent day chilling and swimming. Palolem is like the chill out beach of Goa. Staying here doesn’t so much require changing down a couple of gears as putting it in neutral, taking the keys out and throwing them in the ocean.

The evening entertainment was provided by my recently absent friend Mr Beer.

Heard that Mumbai has 120,000 taxis. Thankfully most run on natural gas so the pollution is way better than is could be.

India is bloody hot.

I have no Lonely Planet but it’s cool I just need to find some travelers and follow them to the beach.

Found a cheap hostel despite the airport hotel booking guy saying they are all closed now. He was sure a friend had told him so. I leant forward, looked him straight in the eye and said ‘I don’t believe you’. Pretty rude I know but he choked up a list of hostels on the spot.

Found some tourist who were going to the beach. Sorted.

Booked a ticket on a sleeper bus that looked great on the brochure. Taxied back to the hostel for my backpack. A local guy helped me and only wanted ten quid for his troubles. He didn’t get it. I told him I was disappointed that someone who called themselves my friend would try something so obviously dishonest. He said if I was disappointed now I would be very very disappointed by the time I left India :)
The actual bus was a little different to the stylish airconditioned vehicle in the photograph. In fact it was very different. It was way more run down and I was asked to pay an additional 300 rupees if I wanted my bed to myself. Eh? I settled for looking scary to get my bed to myself. Got hardly any sleep as we were running with virtually no shocks. It was like trying to sleep on a vibrating bed possessed by the spirit of an ex-girlfriend you had murdered.

Really looking forward to India and not just because I need a beer. My flatmate Charlotte who doesn’t have a nasty or racist bone in her body describes Indians as ‘all thieves’. My travel buddy Greg’s first email from India was about his top three scams on the first day. The following is from Greg’s first email a day after arriving in India:

But in first place….was not expecting this one and yes I got done. Taxi from Delhi airport. Driver chatting on the phone. Sounds like he is giving directions to someone. Fair enough. A little while later… less than 5 mins there is a thud at the front of the car. He has run over a kid of about 14 who is now lying on the road. Holy Moly. We both jump out of the car to see if this kid is OK. The kid runs off at 100Mph. Man. But as I turn around to chat to the taxi man he has already jumped into his car and taken off with all my gear. Everything but my wallet and belt bag. Bugger. I am now stuck in the middle of Delhi with nothing. I don’t panic as such but I am a little concerned. OK I am shitting myself. As I am pondering my next move a police car turns up. How handy me thinks. And they have my gear. They had seen the whole thing and stopped the driver and got my gear back. Yes. Winner. They then take me into the station where I needed to be. And here is the final part which sums India up for me…..they charge me 200 Rupees for the help. Ha.

Wicked, bring it on India.

At the airport I finished ‘The Truth About Christianity’. It had the bitter feeling of one group of fundamentalists having a go at another group of fundamentalists. They made some valid points about who wrote the bible and conflicting statements in the bible but they lost me when they started having a go at alcohol. Anyway as all true believers in Bob (all drink to Bob the merciful) will no doubt have noticed it’s great to see the false religions battle it out to see which is the most ridiculous.

Oh yeah, the eight year old next to me on the plane who I had kindly given my window seat to spilt a full cup of hot tea in my lap. Luckily Emirites don’t serve drinks hot enough to burn your coozer to badly.

Tried the central bank and they can help but it will take two or three days to transfer the money from the UK. It’s an option but not a great one.

Then tried the British Embassy because I am a resident in Blighty and they are way closer to my hotel. Kathy an American working at the British Embassy was excellent and they let me use their phone to call the NZ embassy. Barny at the NZ embassy knew a place that sold airline tickets with plastic. Sorted. He even knew the All Blacks score. ABs 26 Wales 25. Result!

So here it is if you ever get stuck in Tehran with no cash but plenty of plastic contact these guys and they will sell you a ticket to freedom.

Ermitra
No 57 and 59 Kavousi Far St
Beheshti Ave
Tehran(98 21) 874 2121
ermitra@samapardaz.com
My flight is at 4am via Dubai. I couldn’t get on the direct flight with Iran Air because they have no facility for dealing with credit cards. Incredible.

Not sure I am so unhappy about this as I recently found out that you can fly for Air Iran with about 220 flying hours experience. In the West pilots need around 1500. Also because of the sanctions American has placed on Iran they can only buy second hand planes from countries like Turkey. Glad I found that out after I flew with them six times.
Something I have really struggled with in Iran is trying not to do the thumbs up sign. When I talk pidgin English I always use lots of hand signals to help the foreign folk get the drift. Usually I end an agreement by doing the thumbs up. But I have tried (with little success) to stop doing this because in Iran it means ‘fuck your mother’. Not good.

FINAL THOUGHTS ON IRAN

Iran is the only Middle Eastern country in the middle east that has regular elections. But it’s a false democracy. You can only vote for men approved by the ultra-conservative Supreme Council. And they can override anything the elected parliament decides anyway. So where is the point? This is part of the reason why so many young people want to leave.

In my opinion the actions of this government are remarkably similar to that of the old Soviet Union. They are mistrusting of all foreigners to the point of paranoia. And the bureaucracies main purpose is to preserve the status quo regardless of it’s merits or the wishes of the people.

There are some other things that point to general backwardness here. You can’t use overseas cards to withdraw money from any bank. Foreign mobiles don’t work. The internet is the worst of any country I have been to and many sites are blocked. Loads of other harmless media is banned aswell. And at a time when most of the developed world is moving away from nuclear energy Iran can’t wait to get a bunch of shiny new reactors. This is probably just because America says they can’t. I asked what they would do with the toxic waste and it’s cool they are going to bury it really really deep. This is in a country that is so ridden with fault lines they have at least one earthquake of sized six or more every single year. Real sharp.

The local men also have some fucked up ideas about women. Both Iranian and foreign women. There needs to be a huge amount of education in this area before the chicks here get their knickers in a twist.

There is also an embarrassing lack of coffee shops. Shame.

All that aside you cannot deny the genuine curiosity and warmth that you experience from the locals on a daily basis here. Everywhere you go people want to say hello and ask you where you are from.

In short. Government bad. Attitudes to women bad. Coffee situation diabolical. People great.

IRAN AND TOURISM

Iran could be doing a lot more to encourage tourism. Here are my ideas:

• Scrap the visa you’re not going to stop any of the real undesirable. Everyone knows MOSSAD (the Israeli Secret Service) travel on New Zealand passports anyway.
• Have a tourist information office in every major city.
• Open up all of the holy sites to tourists. You never know you might convert a few unsuspecting tourists.
• Make taxi meters compulsory OR have a lucrative point/reward system for running over taxi drivers.
• Get an open top bus tour for Tehran. The main sites of interest are very far apart.
• Import some bloody real coffee
• Respect women