Flying on the Cheap

You get what you pay for. But here is fair warning for all of you traveling on Jetstar on a national leg of an international flight.

When booking travel through the Qantas site be aware that the suggested itineraries bring up Jetstar (Qantas' cut price airline) flights. I booked a flight to the United States with what I thought was Qantas and was slightly perturbed when I found out that I was flying the domestic leg with Jetstar. Never the less I have flown with Virgin before and their domestic and international arms function like separate companies and apart from queuing up for a ticket I haven't had too many problems. I thought it would be the same with Qantas, after all they were within the top 3 airlines of the world (a couple of years ago).  I couldn't have been more MISTAKEN.

When I checked into my flight, I had a massive cycle case, a check in bag, a roller bag and my handbag. I noticed that the person in Jetstar didn't print out my other boarding passes or tag my luggage to my final destination. Naturally I enquired what the problem was, the Jetstar person, to my absolute horror told me that I would have to get my bags off in Sydney domestic, get to the international airport with my bags and then check into my international flight with Qantas as they were separate companies and their baggage handlers couldn't load my bag onto a truck to get it to the international airport.

So I thought Qantas should be able to help me out, after all I fly with them all the time, Im a valued customer. I could not have been more wrong. The shrew at the desk simply did not want to help, I explained to her my situation with my bags and being unable to catch the bus to the international terminal she very unhelpfully suggested that I catch the train. The train was down three flights of steps! She suggested that I carry my bike case, my check in bag, my trolley all down the stair and then up them again. Unbelievable!

At Sydney I simply cut my losses collected my bags, caught a cab to the international airport (because I only had an hour to check into my flight). I think the $50 that I might have saved on the fare actually cost me as much to pay for a trolley for my luggage, pay for a cab and then pay for another trolley at the international terminal.

In short Qantas are starting to be a gigantic waste of time and money, no wonder they are failing. Qantas needs to realize that their customer service is shoddy and that the little guys like me are going to start flying different carriers. Little guys like you and me actually make up most of Qantas' business, so dont get pushed around. Vote with your money and your feet. Give Qantas a message. I know I will be.

Indian Adventure: Goa (Part 4)

       Goa was an amazing, eye opening and fantastic learning experience. The ride from Pune to Goa was an adventure of its own, but the contents of which are too MA (Mature Audience) to be on this blog as I'm very PG (Parental Guidance) rated. Friends who were there on this experience (and a select few more know the amusing details of that famed bus ride).
        Goa is a juxtaposition of amazing beauty warmth and filth and pollution. Its like a yin and yang, they both weirdly balance each other out. On ground level Goa (I'm talking about ONLY North Goa here), is filled with vibrant life, cafes, beach shacks, shops, road side stalls, vegetable vendors you name it - you've got it. The roads are a bustle of scooters (or Dio's according to my beautiful friend Z), cars, people, vendors selling their wears (and petrol) and yes the occasional dog and cow. All dodging each other, without many road rules, and still amazingly, it just some how flows. There are Palm trees that line most of the roads and you do ride between fields from one area to the next, you pass by old churches, small & large houses, streams, rivers and bridges. Then if you know where to go (Chopara Fort) you catch the breath taking natural beauty of the place. From the top of that hill you can see palm trees for miles, the occasional roof, and fire, the blood red sun, the sweeping beaches and calm lapping ocean.
         Then if you take a ride on a boat along the river you would be exposed to breathtaking beauty and some golden treasures hidden from tourist eyes (because its too far off the beaten track). An ancient banyan tree spanning at least 4 tree trunk lengths, a 200 year old temple, crocodiles on the river and the occasional dolphin at the mouth of the river that meets the ocean. It is truly a marvellous place where you feel that nothing is "out of reach" your troubles fly out the window and you start focusing on just being.
         I think that places like America and the Western world could learn a lot from Goa and Goans. Goans let people do what ever they want to do without judgement. Why does America feel that their way is the only way and why do they feel the need to impose this (by force sometimes) on other nations of the world. Why cant people just all get along? If you think that what I'm asking can only be found in Utopia than I present to you Goa and India. Where your accepted and left alone, where friends go the extra mile for you (Thank you N, Z and R) where everything you want is NOT beyond reach, where you CAN escape your troubles and where (more importantly) you can find yourself.

My Indian Adventure - Part 3 - Pune

     Pune is a large(ish) (and ever expanding) city about 3 hours drive from Bombay. The drive from Bombay was petrifying and stupefying. One thing I will say is, move over "Fast & Furious" and enter the BOMBAY driver. In India road lanes are just a guide, traffic lights are a mere suggestion and giving way is unheard of let alone merging and the horn is an necessity that must be used every 2 minutes. Never again will I complain about having to sit in peak hour traffic in the land of Q. Here we sit patiently for about 10 minutes or so in our respective lanes and wait till what ever it is clears up, no honking of horns, no trying to cut through three lanes, no turning down one way streets (the wrong way) and definitely and most positively no running red lights. Think of everything you know about road rules and safety then turn it upside down give it a good ole shake and there you have Bombay traffic. So the Bombay driver has to have quick instincts, reflexes, quick re-thinking of routes to take and ...oh hell just pure GUTS OF STEEL...AND its like peak hour traffic ALL the time.

     Finally reached Pune at about 3 am and thankfully (and here my faith is restored in what friendship truly is) My Lovely friend (Mr Z) had arranged for the night watchman (chowkidar) to hand me the keys to his place (where I was to stay for my Pune mini-trip). The next day was brilliant my travel companion and I...lets call my companion Captain America (corny but apt) risked our lives getting an auto-rickshaw to a hotel. I got to see the Pune that I loved and missed so dearly but the more I saw the more my heart sank at the dirt, dust and general pollution and lack of trees. But strangely enough through the heartbreak I experienced this surge of warmth...this was MY town I spent the BEST years of my teenage life here. Although I didn't recognise some of it I got the vibe. Captain America was surprised by the sights and a little blown away (but that's a natural reaction).

    That night we were supposed to meet up with a couple of my old school friends. Again I was a little sceptical of anyone turning up. It had after all been more than 14 years, would they bother? To say that I was edgy is an understatement, nonetheless I contacted one of my friends who had organised something and to my utter surprise he offered to come and pick up Captain America and me, I thought this was lovely but I was flabbergasted when I learnt that my friend (Mr N) was driving back from Bombay that day and was THEN going to come pick us up and THEN go to drinks (AND he insisted on fitting the bill). Now listen friends from Q  - THIS IS WHAT REAL FRIENDS DO. 

   Mr N picked us up and it was like we were kids again, no time had passed it was fantastic. I dont really know what I was so anxious about, we went to this cool little place called High Spirits in Pune and as I was walking in someone called out my name and lo and behold it was another childhood friend (Mrs M). She actually made the effort, when I got in I thought "Wow this is fantastic, two friends showed up. I thought Id be the only silly sausage here". To my utter surprise Mr C showed up a little later on (was NOT expecting that one) and then a couple more turned up as well. Words cannot describe how warm and lovely this simple gesture of people turning up made me feel.

     Returning to Pune did more than restore my faith in old friends, it refreshed my spirit. Yes I am of this stock, yes I am that calibre of person. No its not weird to go out of your way for friends, in fact that's how its SUPPOSED to be. I like that people (well my friends at least) in India are not caught up too much by status and still put someone (other than themselves) first occasionally. I actually found a place where I fit in perfectly. After that I couldn't care less about the pollution or the grime, I was in LOVE.

   

*** Now there is a special Mr Z that I haven't mentioned but played an important part in most of my movements in Bombay, Pune and Goa, but that's going to have to wait till part 4 as there is just too much to cover.

My Indian Adventure - Part 2 (BOMBAY)

        Two flights later I arrived in Mumbai (or Bombay (I'm going to Call it Bombay because its what I call it in my mind)). I was sceptical of my accommodation arrangements and the pick up from the airport arrangements.

      When I landed I suddenly realised that I had no plan B in case my accommodation fell through. I don't mean to bad mouth the place that I currently live in but "friends" in this country (lets call it Q) are "friends" of convince (bar a couple). Its quite common to arrange to stay at someones place and then that certain person from the country of "Q" might call up and tell you his/her uncle died and that you cannot possibly crash on their couch or a small area of the floor overnight. You see this has happened a few times (and on a side note people in Q are most willing to kill their uncles and aunties at a drop of a hat if your visit inconveniences them). I'm not judging, I'm just saying that it happens quite frequently and then you have to end up in some youth hostel or backpackers at the last minute. So I have learnt not to rely on friends from Q but to always have a plan B.

      The minute I landed whilst still in the air craft I could smell Bombay, that old familiar slightly stale smell of a big city bustling and bursting with life. After going through the rigmarole of collecting bags and going through customs I was standing outside (my flight was delayed a couple of hours) and there was no one there to collect me. My heart sank as I thought I would have to face the reality of finding my own accommodation in Bombay at 2 am. But something in my called out and told me to call the number my friend had given me (for her driver), I thought "what the heck" and called the driver. To my surprise HE PICKED UP. My heart gave a little leap of joy to know that my dearest friend (whom I hadn't seen in about 8 years) had not fallen through. She was as reliable as ever. After some phone acrobatics I got picked up and dropped off at the arranged accommodation where get this - SHE ANSWERED THE DOOR AND LET ME IN AT 3 am (even though she had a sleeping husband and child).

    She then (bless her cotton socks) stayed up with me and we excitedly chatted till about 5 am. With that  one gesture she restored my faith in my Indian friends (or friends I made in India), that they would never let me down and never kill off an aunt or uncle because my visit was inconvenient to them. She reaffirmed my faith in our friendship and the fact that shes a genuine friend. THIS IS THE SUBSTANCE that TRUE friends are made of. I thought I was the only idiot that would go out of my way for friends, I am continually disappointed by friends in "Q" because I go out of my way for them and they in turn just use me, I was starting to become hardened to this "fake" friendship and starting to loose my memory of what a TRUE friend is.

      As I was to find out that she was only the FIRST and not the LAST person that would reaffirm what a true friend is. Her husband, bless his kind heart reaffirmed my faith in the "Indian hospitality", no going Dutch on anything (although it grated a little with me I was pleasantly surprised as I frequently do not let friends pay for anything and then get idiotically hurt when they don't return the gesture), they both went out of their way to get me to places that had the "food" I was craving and then after feeding me not only dropped me off to the airport (where I was to meet someone) but then continued to make sure I met up with this person.

    Words fail me - I cannot describe how I feel about these two special people (and their most gorgeous son). But they did more for me and my spirit in a day and a half than the land of Q has done for me in 15 odd years.

My Indian Adventure. PART 1 - GETTING THERE

         I moved out of India, with my family when I was about 15 years old. Being 30 years that's about half of my life that I have spent in India. It provided for a rich and colourful childhood and I thank my lovely parents for enabling me to have such a rich experience.

        To say that I have always wanted to go back would be a big fat lie. When we moved out of India I was heart broken for about two years all I wanted to do was go home, I hated where we lived (it was too quiet and too expensive) I hated school (it was a snobby Catholic girls school) and I hated that I wasn't the most popular person in school; I hated the weather (it was hot, sticky and disgusting). In short I just hated being here. 

       Over time as I grew accustomed to the place I gradually found myself hating it less and less and then all of a sudden I was in love with the place. I found myself loving the freedom to wear what ever I wanted, say what ever I wanted, go where ever I wanted in short do anything I set my mind to do without thinking about the social stigmas attached to a single female "running wild" (this would have been the Auntiji's expression if I was still in India).

       As anyone will tell you, when I am hurt or heart broken the one thing I do is run away. No I don't want to stay and resolve it, I just want what ever "IT" is to GO AWAY. No contrary to other peoples beliefs I do not like confrontation. Nevertheless certain events conspired where I HAD to stay and FACE a difficult situation, I HAD to go through with it and see it to the bitter end. No I didn't enjoy it but I DID enjoy the feeling of loosing that monkey on my back.

        This courageous act (for me) of staying and dealing with this horrible situation gave me the strength and the willingness to get back to India. India that broke my little teenage heart, India that I loved so much but was so happy to run away from. India that I was so unashamedly ready to denounce (my heritage). Mother India. I decided that enoughs enough...I had to do this, I was willing to go to get my heart broken again (as most people who had gone always said the same thing "India's gone to the dogs".

 OK I thought lets see if I can do this , it cant be that hard. So I booked my ticket and hopped on two planes, my heart a flutter the whole time....