Culture Shock: Indian Re-entry

We arrived back in Belahiya at the border and the Indian influence was evident: auto-rickshaw drivers were charging a fortune from the bus station to the border and exaggerating the distance. We ignored them and set off on foot, but just round the corner a minibus was about to leave for only Rs10, but we had to sit on the roof again. There were no mountain passes on this short journey so we jumped on and overtook all of the auto-rickshaws that had left the bus station. We stopped off for lunch before crossing the border to savour our last few minutes in Nepal. It was much hotter now that we were back on plains.

As soon as we crossed into India the temperature seemed to jump several more degrees; filling out our immigration forms and swine flu disclaimers sweat was dripping off our faces. I didn't border to change the rest of our Nepali money back into Indian as I am absolutely certain I'll be returning to Nepal soon, and it's nice to have a little something when you arrive in a country, just to tide you over to the first ATM. Dominik had heard that you can share a Jeep to Gorakhpur for Rs100, which is about double what the bus costs, but we thought it would be faster and more comfortable. I doubted we could get it for that cheap, but Dominik went over to speak to driver and then waved us over. It seemed quite a good deal but I could imagine waiting for ages before they had enough passengers. Before putting our bags on top I asked what the maximum wait would be before they left anyway and I was told ten minutes. Completely forgetting just what India is like, we agreed and started waiting. At ten minutes I asked whether the Jeep was leaving or we were getting our bags down and heading for the bus. OK, leaving when these passengers arrive, we were told. There were some more people coming, so we waited for them. A few minutes later when I asked again we were told just five more minutes, so I said if we didn't leave in five minutes we'd be getting the bus. Five minutes came and went so I started taking the bags down, whereupon a different Indian guy ran up and asked what we were doing, as the bus is about to leave. This pantomime went on for ages with me threatening to take the bags down, taking them down, then some other story was made up, we were made to change Jeeps so that we could leave “immediately” as if there was some problem with the car, but we just ended up waiting in the second one instead. Finally they started asking people for money and in every case asked for more than had already been agreed. Nobody was budging, least of all the Jeep driver. By this time the car was full and everyone was saying things like “Welcome back to India” then a bit later “Bloody Indians!”. They tried to charge us Rs150 each, then they tried to charge us Rs10 per piece of luggage and every time I refused and asked for our bags back. Eventually they let it go and everyone paid what they had agreed, although this did vary from Rs100 to Rs150. Finally the Jeep pulled off over an hour after we had been promised ten minutes and so packed with people that it was less comfortable than the bus, now also going to arrive later than the bus. We had forgotten: bloody Indians! We would have been much better to get the government bus than try to enter into any kind of private financial transaction. Dominik looked shocked. He had never been to India before as he'd flown into Kathmandu. Once we were moving everyone was laughing about it and discussing how complete the culture change is, just fifty metres from the border. Later we spoke to other people who had been into Nepal and everybody seems to agree that the culture shock coming back from Nepal into India is much worse that anyone is prepared for; after all so many things are similar between the countries that forget what India is like and it really takes you by surprise. It's so wearing, always having to argue about everything, never getting a smile. Even the driving is worse.

Back in Gorakhpur, the Jeep stopped one kilometre from the train station with a flat tyre. Of course I assumed it was a con, but getting out the vehicle we could see that it was true. We just waited for him to change it and then he took us the rest of the way after all. Inside the station more culture shock: huge queues for tickets, people sitting or lying all over the floor inside and out on the platforms. Poor Dominik's eyes were almost popping out of his head. Where was he going to get a ticket? We were a bit uncertain of ours as we thought we might have to re-confirm it after the internet booking. After wandering around the crowds in a daze for a bit, we found a ticket counter that was for “foreign tourists” where several Indians were pushing each other out of the way to get to the front. The queue was only about one tenth of the size of all the others though, so Dominik joined it. After fifteen minutes or so, getting nowhere, we went up to him and told him that you really have to push your way to the front. It was as if he had only been treading water. There is a rule of Indian queues it seems, that an Indian never has to queue behind a white person. I had noticed it several times in queues and Dominik was suffering from the same problem. Most of the time Indians will loosely collect in a line, although people try to drift up past the person in front at all times, however a white person standing at the back seems to be a signal to start two new separate queues, one to each side, starting just in front of where the poor tourist is left stranded. No further person will stand behind and join the real end of the queue. Eventually he did get to the front and was told that he could not get a ticket for our train, but some Koreans he had met in Pokhara were also trying to get to Varanasi and he joined forces with them. Meanwhile I had been searching the platform in vain for the reservation charts that usually appear on the platform before the train. Having no luck I too joined the tourist queue but deployed my elbows from an early stage and made it to the front unskipped. The guy behind the counter told me it was already confirmed, raising his eyes heavenwards, and pointing to where on the ticket it said “CONFIRM”. We had thought that meant we had to confirm it but, displaying brilliant clarity it actually meant it was already confirmed.

Waiting for the train

At last the train arrived and we were able to get on and settle in to our luxury cabin. The main attraction for us was that entry into the A/C cabins is restricted, whereas it seems like anybody can get on Sleeper Class, whether they have a ticket or not. We hoped this would mean we could worry less about our bags and we would be disturbed less by all the comings and goings. Straight away we saw the difference when we were able to stow both of our big bags under the chairs, instead of having to wait for people to get off. Joanne seemed pretty happy with the arrangement, although it was much less sociable than Sleeper Class. The snobby Indians on 2A clearly liked to keep to themselves. Or maybe it was just the ones in our cabin.

It turned out that we had just not prepared well enough for the air conditioning. We had read that we were given bedding in the A/C cabins, but it was nowhere near thick enough to keep out the arctic wind blowing through the cabin from the air conditioning unit. I drank the remains of the rough apple brandy we had bought in Pokhara and managed to pass out for an hour or so, but Joanne apparently got no sleep whatsoever. We arrived in Varanasi totally shattered.

written by  The Happy Couple on June 15, 2009 from Gorakhpur, India
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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