When we landed in Bangalore early in the morning of 13th
May, we didn’t know what to expect. Each of us had his or her idea of how
things would turn out in this country.
After a small scare at the airport involving Stella and her “missing” invitation letter, we took the slightly more than one hour drive in cabs to the Sai Renaissance hotel, where we were promptly checked in at 6.00 a.m. local time. This was my first experience of jet-lag, because it was 3.30 a.m. back in Kenya where my biological clock was still attuned. By coming to India, I had effectively lost two and a half hours, and the only way to recover them would be by going back to Kenya.
Biological clocks aside, I was bursting with excitement and I could not sleep beyond 8.00 a.m. I woke up, freshened up, and went down to the dining room of the hotel. I was obviously not the only one who was excited as a few minutes later; Peter joined me, looking as fresh as ever. For breakfast, I took toast with baked beans, tea, and traditional Indian yoghurt, which is served in a bowl and sweetened with honey. Peter, the picky eater, only took cheese toast, and tea. We were now ready to see this town, or so we thought.
Having arrived in darkness, we were not able to appreciate then, the sheer size of the city of Bangalore. The Sai Renaissance hotel is located five kilometers away from the edge of the city centre. Peter and I had imagined that we could walk into the city centre, change some money, and have some fun. This was not to be, at least not just then.
We left the hotel gate and turned left. We walked for close to an hour and I figured we had covered close to three kilometers towards where we thought would be the city. That which was appearing from a distance to be shopping malls, turned out to be massive apartment blocks. We had to stop and ask for help. We found man, who appeared to be in his sixties, walking a cute white dog on a leash, outside a posh looking compound with tall blocks of apartments. Thankfully, he spoke good English so we were able to communicate.
We were embarrassed to be informed that we had been walking away from the city while we thought we were walking towards it. We should have turned right at the hotel gate. By now we were more than seven kilometres away from where we needed to be. We could take a bus or tuktuk (rickshaw) into town as there was no way we were going to walk that long distance in the now apparent high heat of Bangalore. There was one problem; we didn’t have any local currency. We only had hundred dollar bills. We told the man of our dilemma and he called his son on his mobile phone. The son was well built – he obviously worked out a lot – and he was as friendly and helpful as his father. He said he could call a friend who operated a forex bureau and who he could convince to meet us right there and change our money. We agreed and he called the friend who unfortunately, as out of town. We were stuck.
In an unexpected gesture, the old man offered to lend us money to board a bus into town with the promise that we should refund the money later in the day. He gave us forty rupees which would be enough to pay for the bus fare into town. This was from someone we had just met. He and his son had made several phone calls, given us a lot of information, given us money, and they didn’t even know our first names. It was simply amazing how kind and trusting Indians could be.
Our new friends tried to get us into a bus but all that came along were full. They decided to get us a rickshaw (tuktuk). This would be more expensive, but they were still willing to help out. The first rickshaw that came along stopped for us. Our friends explained to the driver where we needed to go. Wonder of wonders, the driver was willing to take us to a mall, wait for us to change our money, and only then accept his payment. With that new offer, we gave the old man his money back and got into the rickshaw. We were lost for words as we drove off. We had just experienced what we would gradually come to understand as typical Indian hospitality.
The rickshaw driver was chatty and he told us a lot about the city and India in general. The roads were good and though there were many vehicles, traffic was flowing. We had assumed that the cab driver who took us from the airport was unreasonably addicted to hooting. We now realized that loud hooting was an accepted way of life in India. Everybody was hooting, seemingly continuously, but no one showed any anger or aggressiveness in driving. They drive fast but they have few accidents. We got to the mega plaza and the driver had no qualms about getting us out of his sight even though we had not paid him.
We hurried into the mall and immediately sought directions to the forex bureau. We were disappointed to find it not yet open since it was early on a Sunday morning. We didn’t know what to do, and the rickshaw driver was waiting for his money outside. We decided to enquire from a tour operator who had an open desk on the mall floor as to when we could expect the money changer to arrive. He expected it to be soon but could not tell how soon. He however offered to buy our dollars from us at the same rate we could have expected to get from the money changer. We were elated as we took the money and Peter rushed out to pay the driver.
With the confidence that money inspires, we took a leisurely walk around the mall and looked at all that was on offer, from clothes, to shoes, to electronics, and of course, food. By the time we had covered all the three levels of the mall, we were famished. Peter had spotted a Nandos outlet – you see he owes them some loyalty as he had worked with them in Nairobi – and this was the obvious next stop. We really enjoyed our meal of flame-grilled chicken, fries, and bottomless coke (so called because you can take as much as you want without paying extra).
That afternoon we visited several other malls and realised that one could buy virtually anything in Bangalore. A toy company was conducting a demonstration by flying remote controlled toy helicopters in one of the malls’ lobby. There was also a shop selling original handmade Kashmir shawls, which were dyed using natural vegetable based colours. People in the malls were staring at us and we guessed that they didn’t get to see too many black people in this state. We saw many different people and we spoke to quite a number. They had one thing in common – kindness; and we realised that on our first day in India, we had experienced – first hand – a taste of Indian hospitality.
After a small scare at the airport involving Stella and her “missing” invitation letter, we took the slightly more than one hour drive in cabs to the Sai Renaissance hotel, where we were promptly checked in at 6.00 a.m. local time. This was my first experience of jet-lag, because it was 3.30 a.m. back in Kenya where my biological clock was still attuned. By coming to India, I had effectively lost two and a half hours, and the only way to recover them would be by going back to Kenya.
Biological clocks aside, I was bursting with excitement and I could not sleep beyond 8.00 a.m. I woke up, freshened up, and went down to the dining room of the hotel. I was obviously not the only one who was excited as a few minutes later; Peter joined me, looking as fresh as ever. For breakfast, I took toast with baked beans, tea, and traditional Indian yoghurt, which is served in a bowl and sweetened with honey. Peter, the picky eater, only took cheese toast, and tea. We were now ready to see this town, or so we thought.
Having arrived in darkness, we were not able to appreciate then, the sheer size of the city of Bangalore. The Sai Renaissance hotel is located five kilometers away from the edge of the city centre. Peter and I had imagined that we could walk into the city centre, change some money, and have some fun. This was not to be, at least not just then.
We left the hotel gate and turned left. We walked for close to an hour and I figured we had covered close to three kilometers towards where we thought would be the city. That which was appearing from a distance to be shopping malls, turned out to be massive apartment blocks. We had to stop and ask for help. We found man, who appeared to be in his sixties, walking a cute white dog on a leash, outside a posh looking compound with tall blocks of apartments. Thankfully, he spoke good English so we were able to communicate.
We were embarrassed to be informed that we had been walking away from the city while we thought we were walking towards it. We should have turned right at the hotel gate. By now we were more than seven kilometres away from where we needed to be. We could take a bus or tuktuk (rickshaw) into town as there was no way we were going to walk that long distance in the now apparent high heat of Bangalore. There was one problem; we didn’t have any local currency. We only had hundred dollar bills. We told the man of our dilemma and he called his son on his mobile phone. The son was well built – he obviously worked out a lot – and he was as friendly and helpful as his father. He said he could call a friend who operated a forex bureau and who he could convince to meet us right there and change our money. We agreed and he called the friend who unfortunately, as out of town. We were stuck.
In an unexpected gesture, the old man offered to lend us money to board a bus into town with the promise that we should refund the money later in the day. He gave us forty rupees which would be enough to pay for the bus fare into town. This was from someone we had just met. He and his son had made several phone calls, given us a lot of information, given us money, and they didn’t even know our first names. It was simply amazing how kind and trusting Indians could be.
Our new friends tried to get us into a bus but all that came along were full. They decided to get us a rickshaw (tuktuk). This would be more expensive, but they were still willing to help out. The first rickshaw that came along stopped for us. Our friends explained to the driver where we needed to go. Wonder of wonders, the driver was willing to take us to a mall, wait for us to change our money, and only then accept his payment. With that new offer, we gave the old man his money back and got into the rickshaw. We were lost for words as we drove off. We had just experienced what we would gradually come to understand as typical Indian hospitality.
The rickshaw driver was chatty and he told us a lot about the city and India in general. The roads were good and though there were many vehicles, traffic was flowing. We had assumed that the cab driver who took us from the airport was unreasonably addicted to hooting. We now realized that loud hooting was an accepted way of life in India. Everybody was hooting, seemingly continuously, but no one showed any anger or aggressiveness in driving. They drive fast but they have few accidents. We got to the mega plaza and the driver had no qualms about getting us out of his sight even though we had not paid him.
We hurried into the mall and immediately sought directions to the forex bureau. We were disappointed to find it not yet open since it was early on a Sunday morning. We didn’t know what to do, and the rickshaw driver was waiting for his money outside. We decided to enquire from a tour operator who had an open desk on the mall floor as to when we could expect the money changer to arrive. He expected it to be soon but could not tell how soon. He however offered to buy our dollars from us at the same rate we could have expected to get from the money changer. We were elated as we took the money and Peter rushed out to pay the driver.
With the confidence that money inspires, we took a leisurely walk around the mall and looked at all that was on offer, from clothes, to shoes, to electronics, and of course, food. By the time we had covered all the three levels of the mall, we were famished. Peter had spotted a Nandos outlet – you see he owes them some loyalty as he had worked with them in Nairobi – and this was the obvious next stop. We really enjoyed our meal of flame-grilled chicken, fries, and bottomless coke (so called because you can take as much as you want without paying extra).
That afternoon we visited several other malls and realised that one could buy virtually anything in Bangalore. A toy company was conducting a demonstration by flying remote controlled toy helicopters in one of the malls’ lobby. There was also a shop selling original handmade Kashmir shawls, which were dyed using natural vegetable based colours. People in the malls were staring at us and we guessed that they didn’t get to see too many black people in this state. We saw many different people and we spoke to quite a number. They had one thing in common – kindness; and we realised that on our first day in India, we had experienced – first hand – a taste of Indian hospitality.
Nice...Feel like reading more..
ReplyDeleteLovely article. This is a proof that people are naturally born to be good.
ReplyDeleteThats true Maurice. I think evil is acquired.
DeleteLovely article. This is a proof that people are naturally born to be good.
ReplyDelete