Fleeing Chennai

16/1 - Up early to meet the checkout time, walked down the steps out of the hotel and straight into a rickshaw driver. I reckon I was his first customer, I disturbed a swarm of mozzies in the back. I have a plan I'm afraid. Worked out the price for the rickshaw, which is what the driver asked for anyway, go to Kennet Lane, bit of breakfast, blog and to the station. We got to Kennet Lane, "Drop me here please?"
"No Boss, I know a great hotel just down here"
"Drop me here please, I don't want a room."
"No boss......"
"STOP STOP STOP".
About 100m down the road he got the idea that I didn't want a room, so I got out and wandered back for some breakfast. The rest of the plan went pretty well. Until the station. Because I am flying, I packed my stick. Bloody steps. There was a bannister after the first few, so managed OK from there, well in my eyes I did. I was a bit slow and it was funny listening to the locals behind me chuntering. They are always in a rush when travelling. I got to the top after a few scowls, but to be fair, when I smiled at them the smile was returned and when I asked a bloke at the top which platform it was for the airport, he insisted on walking me along to it. He wanted to hold my hand, but I managed to avoid this. I don't know whether it is a gay thing or an Indian male thing, a lot hold hands and walk with their arms around shoulders. I will have to check it out with my mates. Mandy and Mick, check out your resources.
I removed all my valuables from my pockets, as I suspected this would be a sardine affair and it was, but not unpleasantly. Loads of lads were giving me advice where to get off, but some of them looked like they could be Walters mates, spaced out. I'd been offered weed twice in the 100 metres to the train station.
I got off at the correct stop, but there was no sign of the airport and no signs, so I asked. "Right then left" in a Chennaian accent. Went right, still no sign and getting a sweat on. Went right and a sign, but no terminal, getting more of a sweat on and then, ah ha, the terminal and look some inconsiderate person has used a trolley and just left it by the side of the road. "Thank heaven for inconsiderate people" said the not so grumpy old man.
I'm here and saved my self Rs344, I am chuffed. Sweaty and knackered, but chuffed.
Not so knackered actually. I deserve a treat, well I am having one anyway. One of my Western indulgences in India, an Ethiopian coffee at the Coffee Day string and a bonus of a piece of Black Forest gateaux. Not as good as the gateaux back home Jim.
A bit of people watching, catching up with the log and checkin time, through security and all very painless, plus they never threw out the essential deodorant Kelly bought me. The passengers around me will be pleased.
Time to board and the locals have been out-queue jumped, not by Germans either, they look like Yanks going by the stainless steel case and stars and striped emblazened on one of the T-shirts. Mind you there was an Indian family close on their heels. An old lady sneaked passed me, although there was not much sneaking, she is a big old dear.
I could tell you something sexist, but............ OK I will then. The Indian ladies are stunning in their sarees, but they know how to fill out a uniform too, if the Air Deccan ladies are anything to go by. Very nice. Only sexist in the nicest possible way????
I was going to make a plan for my arrival in Kolkata, but forgot to get my book out of my bag. Lucky break ay?
I forgot also, to tell you the name of the hotel I stayed in Chennai, The Whitehouse, a definite spelling mistake.
I was right to have doubts about the river, we passed it in the rickshaw, it was part of the local refuse tip, full of rubbish.
From the air, Chennai looks like an American city, laid out in a grid and quite smart. It was not the impression I got from what I saw.
There is an old bloke on the plane who looks like a monk, well he had a long white beard and orange gown. As I walked passed him, he was sorting out his MP3 player. It made me chuckle, but he probably wasn't listening to Led Zeppelin or Kaiser Chiefs, but what do I know.
Descending, the pilot tells us it is 26 degrees and 3 Km visibility, so the rush hour must be over with that good a visibility.
It is the normal rush, like back home, to get off the plane. Even the monk is up and ready, but in a more orangely, serene sort of way.
The baggage reclaim is a shambles and I saw my first case of "Baggage reclaim rage", perhaps the next killing rage to hit the world. Some young lass lost it with some blokes. Women aren't given the courtesy here they get in Europe.
I played it cool. Got my bag, sat down, picked out a few guest houses from LP, phoned them, booked one and jumped into a taxi. All of a sudden I am transported to Alton Towers on a death ride. How he never killed anyone I don't know. I understand now what a red traffic light means in India. Sound your horn louder and put your foot down. Nobody passed us until we hit town and then we went from "bat out of hell" to "gently gently" mode. I think it was something to do with the clunking coming from the gearbox and he didn't know where we were going.
Although the ride was breakneck, it was interesting. We went through lots of different areas. Some very westernised and lit up, some very old fashioned India and if I am honest more preferable. Stalls everywhere, selling all sorts. It's like India gets a wake up call at 18:00, then it is 100 mph for the night. Still not fast enough to catch this driver. I thought the crazy taxi driver stories were a myth. WRONG. The drives are just not commonplace.
My digs, the Sunflower Guest house, is setback off a dingy back street and on the fifth floor, BUT it has a lift. Bonus. The lift is as smooth and quiet as a Rolls Royce and older than Henry Ford.
The lad on the door is helpful and the room has a telly, so I can have a Saturday night football fix. I'm going nowhere, I'm a tadge sleepy.
Kolkata is a lot cooler than Chennai and although I feel a bit guilty for not giving Chennai another day, I am glad to be here. A good move.