Travel log II: Culture Shock
Once you get out of the airports in India, it becomes immediately obvious that you are on the opposite side of the world. the humidity is almost a physical presence though not unpleasant. the air smells different. every single detail of life is either subtly or dramatically different from what I was used to.I love it here!
One of the most unexpected hazards to the hapless traveler here is the Indian people themselves. This is not to say that they're in any way menacing or hostile. quite the opposite is true. Indians are almost universally friendly and politely curious towards foreigners. After the first hour I began to wonder if someone had sat the entire population down and explained that it was very important that they be nice to the vaguely idiotic American with the violin case.
This is, in fact, the problem. Indians are so eager to be courteous and helpful that nothing in the world will prevent them from assisting you once they've made up their mind to do so. Not their imperfect grasp of English, nor your reluctance to be helped will get in their way. Even the fact that they have no idea what the answer to your question is won't prevent them from answering it. this is especially perilous when it comes to directions. A citizen of Goa will assure you that the Taj Mahal is a mere ten minute walk in that direction (which they will gesture broadly towards), in spite of it actually being a two day journey by train if they suspect that it will make you happy. i must stress at this point that this is in no way malicious. they really want to help.
My first Morning in India, I was aimlessly wandering the streets of Margao. in an ill conceived attempt to find the Gomati Hotel, where i was to rendezvous with my friend Bryan. I had already, by conservative estimates, waved off at least 83 cabs (Indian cabbies are extremely reluctant to believe you want to walk anywhere and have been known to offer you a ride up the stairs of hotels) i was starting to consider accepting the next lift when a man who was, for reasons best known to himself, carrying a large amount of flattened cardboard and a plastic bag brimming with small dead fish approached me and said:
"Hello Boss, Where you going?"
I told him the name of the hotel and his face lit up. He smiled broadly and bade me to follow him. For about fifteen minutes he led me through the streets of Margao, checking behind him frequently to make sure i was still there. Whenever i fell too far behind he would stop and wait patiently until i caught up. We turned a corner and my guide gestured grandly and announced we had arrived. I scanned the horizon and found it to be completely devoid of any hotel shaped objects. When i asked him where the hotel was, he looked at me incredulously and pointed.
"Right there!" he informed me patiently "Post Office, Yes?"
Sure enough, he had led me unerringly and on the most direct route to the Margao Post Office.
What does one do in these situations?
Under the circumstances, I feel i did the only thing you can do. I agreed that this was in fact a post office and assured my guide that this was where i intended to go. I thanked him for his kindness and watched him walk off to do whatever he originally intended to with his cardboard and fish
Then I set about trying to figure out exactly where the hell I was
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