Posts filed under 'Rants'
There is a supposed difference between travellers and holidaymakers. The truth is that travellers are just holidaymakers visiting lots of places in one go, and on a tight budget.
Of course 95% of these ‘travellers’ never stray from a very well-beaten path across Australasia and the Far East created over the last 20-30 years. They return home with tales of beach parties, lady-boys, treacherous boat and train journeys and filled with depression at the prospect of now finding themselves jobless and back in their ‘real’ world. They start dressing in cheap, badly-made cotton clothes and constantly speak of their new found spiritual home in some corner of Asia or South America as though life in paradise was snatched from their grasp by the evils of scheduled air flight. They scoff at any trip you make that doesn’t involve a long-haul flight and a bout of dysentry.
Most of them could experience the same radical shift in culture that has changed their life so dramatically by visiting northern England, but of course they wouldn’t get a suntan there.
Which brings me to India. I’ve met people that have always wanted to go to India, usually to see the Taj Mahal. I’ve met people that have been to India, usually to Goa. I’ve met people from India, but they all live in the UK now. Most of these people have spoken of India’s various charms. The wonderful people, the amazing architecture, the incredible colours, the fantastic food and above all, the spirituality of the place.
I quickly realised that I had fallen into a trap set by the mainstream. I was left exposed to the realities that I would have normally approached with an educated mind and a healthy cynicism. Thankfully these qualities slammed back into place quickly after my first contact with the rude people, the unimpressive architecture, the dirty colours and the bland food. I’d been had, but this was my opportunity to confirm my suspicions about travelling and my understanding of the workings of the world.
I understand that part of the appeal for travellers is experiencing the ‘different’, but to speak to many ‘travellers’, by visiting India you experience something better than we have here. A way of life and a culture that should be embraced and admired. I experienced much that was different, but nothing that made the advances of Western civilisation seem like the ‘wrong path’. I saw a people crippled by their devotion to ridiculous and prehistoric religions. A country crippled by overpopulation encouraged by archaic views on family. Forts, mosques and temples fashioned from local materials, all in the same tried and tested Mughal style and stripped of their original grandeur and opulence many decades before.
I constantly worried that I was missing something. That I’d somehow been distracted from all that is great about India. Yes, I was part of a tour party rather than being an individual traveller, but the only obvious difference for us was that we stayed in nicer hotels. In theory we would be shielded from the less salubrious elements of the country, not denied it’s treasures.
Upon returning home the jealous masses are left incredulous when you regale them with tales of apathy and disappointment. But worse than that is being told that I ‘just don’t get it’ by seasoned India fanatics. Why is my opinion of the place any less valid than that of someone that returned with a new found interest in Hinduism, or a new distrust of commercialism and wealth. Can we not have different experiences?
Am I supposed to feel privileged to witness first hand the suffering of millions of people caused by centuries of political turmoil and devotion to ridiculous religions and doctrines? Is the advance of civilisation in the West somehow less impressive than the ability of a nation of thousands of millions to remain in a primitive state? Should I be bowled over by a 300 year-old marble edifice, when there are myriad more exciting buildings in the UK with much more history and variety? Must I feel guilty that I come from a part of the world where people, on the whole, are happy to help each other and to work together for the greater good? Where poverty is not merely shrugged off as a person’s ‘destiny’?
Yes, India is the third world. It’s a landscape open to drought and flood and earthquake, and yes, it has been exposed to abuse by more advanced civilisations repeatedly over the centuries, but being a spectator to the aftermath is not a comfortable or enjoyable experience.
As with anything I highly recommend you experience it first hand before forming an opinion, but don’t take for granted the tales of paradise that you will hear from some quarters. And don’t expect to return with some sort of spiritual awakening unless you are the sort of person gullible enough to fall for that sort of thing. Remember that most of what you experience as a tourist (or traveller) is there because you are. Either for your benefit, or because of your influence. Religion, spirituality and the dignity of the poor are as readily available for sale as wooden elephants and Taj Mahal fridge magnets.
March 29th, 2008
The distant sound of the occasional passing Eurostar train is far preferable to the all too regular and alarming sound of planes beginning their approach to Heathrow.
Obviously, with double-glazing I barely hear the trains either, but when out and about the gentle woosh is quite pleasant. In London you get used to the very unnatural sound of constant planes, but since moving down here I haven’t actually seen one.
When waiting at the station it’s a whole different ball game. The Eurostar trains are like a tornado ripping through the place, especially if on the platform next to the tunnel they come flying out of. But it’s exciting more than annoying.
February 7th, 2008
The sign says ‘Sold’, but right now nothing could be further from the truth. A crack, an observant surveyor, and an even more observant structural engineer have conspired together to take a spanner to our dream of escaping London. Dodgy drains appear to have unsettled a corner of our house, and with unsettling comes insurance hell and buyer disinterest and possibly saying goodbye to our lovely cottage in the country for the foreseeable future.
Depressed doesn’t even begin to describe our current state of mind.
July 2nd, 2007
Plumbers. It’s been said before, and it will be said again, but plumbers (and builders) are the most unreliable, work-shy, useless bunch of overpaid scumbags known to man. Why they can’t keep an appointment is beyond me. Yes, work can take longer than you expect, or things can go wrong, but why when Mark from ProPlumb said he would be with us at 9am on Thursday did we get a call at 10am saying his first job that day(!) had over-run and that he would be a bit late? Why then did we have to contact him ourselves at 2pm to find out where he was only to be told he would come Friday morning instead? Why at 1.30pm was there still no sign of him forcing us to call him again, only to be told he had passed the job to someone else who would come Friday evening when we will not be in?!
I wouldn’t mind if this was a one off, but it seems that every, single, bloody time we try to employ the services of one of these characters the same thing happens. ‘Yes, we’ll be there at X o’clock on Xday.’ ‘Sorry, unexpected delays.’ ‘Sorry, we can’t make it until next week now.’ It’s not like plumbing is even chuffing difficult!!
I fitted a bath, sink and toilet myself this summer just to avoid having to deal with these charlatans, and it was easier than tiling the wall! I even rerouted the plumbing to do it!! If I thought I could figure out the boiler by reading a few websites I’d do it myself. As it is I now need to find another plumber who can come in an evening or a weekend as the wife has wasted the last two days of her holiday waiting in for this guy.
I”M AS MAD AS HELL!
February 16th, 2007
The new year weight-loss programme begins today. Originally I wasn’t as against the whole thing as usual as my gut is becoming a problem. I wear a lot of t-shirts, and the majority of those t-shirts are medium in size. Most of those are currently unwearable for fear of looking like Matt Lucas in a PVC fetish outfit. So the plan was to embrace the diet and the regime like my life depended on it.
That was until I had my first ‘Mid-morning snack’ of vegetable juice, mixed with carrot juice, orange juice, lemon juice and watercress. I’ve never been a fan of vegetable in liquid form eschewing Bloody Marys and carrot smoothies in my time, and as I sit here with the rancid taste of pureed gherkin at the back of my throat I can tell this diet has a danger of being very short-lived. Sent off to the safety of work with my tub of vegetable spew there is a distinct danger that I will substitute it for a chocolate Hob-Nob.
To make things worse, Jess has woken with the mother of all black clouds over her head. It could be a very long (and unsatisfying) day.
January 20th, 2007
I’m not really one for bad moods. They come occasionally, but they rarely linger. Which makes it weird that I have been grumpy since Monday. Not outwardly, but bubbling under. On the surface I’ve probably seemed my normal easy-going self, but just under the skin I’ve been angry at the world and ready to kill anyone that messed with me.
“South of Heaven” by Slayer. A great album. A classic in the true sense. Ground-breaking at the time of its release and still sounding good 20 years later. But it’s never a good sign when I feel the need to listen to it at full volume on my way to, and on my way back from, work for three days. Standing bolt upright on the train, staring straight ahead and willing someone to get in my way so I could crush them into a… you get the idea.
I have a good idea what’s caused all this.
Firstly, I got into a bit of a heated debate with a bunch of kids on Flickr. I took offence at some little scrote claiming that a bunch of other little scrotes who snuck into Camden tube station over Christmas and sprayed paint over all of the walls were some kind of heroes. Now I’ve never been a fan of graffiti/tagging, or ever really understood the thrill of mindless vandalism, but this incident in particular got me super-riled. The fact that illiterate teenagers kept responding to my arguments with nonsense just dragged out my anger. I’m still stewing about it now. I feel like someone’s Grandad chasing kids off his front wall. I’m only 31 for Pete’s sake.
Secondly, there’s the constant feeling of frustration at not being in a position to implement The Plan™ yet. I realise that’s in my hands to a large extent, and then I get frustrated and angry that I haven’t done more work to speed things up. I’m grimacing as I write this I’m so wound up.
Other things have kept the anger topped up as the week’s gone on. My old hosting company appearing to do everything in their power to stall my switch to a new host. The postman not delivering my new hoodie yet. Leo Sayer being such a lecherous, idiotic, self-obsessed twerp on CBB. An old friend visiting the UK for the first time in years, but not finding out because the other old friend who he is staying with neglected to tell me, and I found out through someone he did tell (who then went out and had a great time).
Friday just started, but I would like to start this week all over again please. I’m heading into the weekend with a rage the size of a small planet built up inside of me, which isn’t good when I have wardrobe doors to fit.
January 12th, 2007
I always think Christmas holidays last for at least two weeks. Subconsciously anyway. That’s how long they last when you are a pupil or student, and even though I have been neither of those things for longer than I was either, I still expect it.
All of which makes it extra-painful to be thrust into another working day as though Christmas never happened. Ten minutes at my desk and all memories of the holiday wiped from my brain. My USB Christmas tree the only reminder that there had been any break from the pixel-pushing at all. And the chocolates.
A big box of those Belgian ’shell’ chocolates. Guylian or Guiyilian or something like that. A gift from the freelancer who got a surprise invite to the office party. I’m supposed to be off chocolate, and beer, and anything with more than 3 calories. I’ve been informed that we’re doing the Little Black Dress diet from next week, and boy do I need it. Not that I want to fit into women’s clothing you understand.
Since the wedding in April I’ve not only outgrown the expensive and lovely Paul Smith suit my mother purchased for me, but 80% of my shirts and t-shirts. Fat bastard I believe it’s called in some circles. Lack of exercise is a contributing factor, but over-eating is the main problem. So, to the resolutions:
1. Eat less, eat healthier, eat cheaper.
2. Do more exercise, even if it’s just the odd walk.
3. Blog more regularly (You may have noticed that I have quietly upgraded to a fancy new Wordpress blog which makes this all a lot easier. So no excuses.)
4. Take more pictures, post pictures to Flickr, post pictures to Blipfoto.
5. Er…Get my haircut?
Which bunch of averageness brings me to the end of my first post of 2007. Apologies that there is nothing ground-breaking or world-shaking. If I vowed to achieve anything more ambitious I would only fail, and that would depress me. I’m keeping my ambitions to myself for now and if I achieve any of them you’ll be the first to read about it.
Maybe I should have written this before going back to work.
January 2nd, 2007
London’s a strange beast. As we wandered through Westminster today (our first visit for weeks and weeks, in a failed attempt at birthday celebration), dodging the tourists, the street artists, the smells and the smokers it was painfully apparent that we no longer belong here.
I’ve lived in this city for almost nine years now and rather than growing to love it I see it and its people for what they are more clearly every day. I feel a bit like Rufus Sewell in ‘Dark City’, slowly figuring out that something isn’t quite right and wanting to scream about it from the rooftops.
I know people live rich and fulfilled lives here. Do they live in ignorant bliss? Do they just use and abuse the place for their own needs? Who knows? All I know is that escape is coming, and the six hours between 12pm and 6pm did nothing but ram home my belief that I will be leaving behind nothing that I will miss. Absolutely nothing.
November 19th, 2006
I’ve never been one for complaining about the onset of winter, with it’s coldness, darkness and bigelectricbillness. I actually prefer the cold, and I prefer the atmosphere of a winters day to a blazing hot summers one, but for some reason today the change in the season has really hit me and I feel a bit blue about the world.
My lingering headache probably has something to do with it. Jess tries to reason with me, but I have a foolish distrust for painkillers. I don’t really have an addictive personality or anything like that, it’s just that I never suffer pain to the extent where I feel they are necessary. So when the headache eased about half an hour after getting out of bed I decided to head out into the world without them. Now I am paying for my stubbornness.
Is it too warm for October 10th or is it me? I know I’m wearing a wooly hat (bed head cure) but it just feels like the ambient temperature doesn’t match the damp, gloomy vibe out of the window. Being in London doesn’t help. You just don’t get the same crispness and clarity that the change of the seasons brings to a more rural setting. Everything just gets dirty and fuggy. Don’t know if that’s a word. Don’t care.
October 10th, 2006
Maybe it’s global warming? Maybe it’s an obsession with consumerism? Either way, it’s good news for my pre-winter, fattening-up exercise as the Christmas food is in the shops.
I’d heard reports of things appearing, but I hadn’t seen it myself until I almost barrelled into a huge stack of mince pies in M&S at lunch. Couldn’t resist, obviously. Am now worried that with Christmas coming even earlier that the enjoyment is spread a lot thinner. I’m going to make a point this year of not over-doing Christmas.
Plenty of time for that when there are kids around.
September 26th, 2006
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