I retired in 2007. Almost immediately, two life-changing events took place. First we moved lock, stock and barrel to southern France, and then only a couple of months after that, I went to India – by myself- apart from just over a week at the beginning when I was eased in by travelling in a small group tour of the more rural parts of Karnataka and Kerala. I even bought my first decent-ish camera for the trip.
Both those events meant I wanted to keep in touch with family and friends back in England, and frequent letters or emails to each one of them wasn’t feasible. The answer? A blog. I barely knew what a blog was, and was fairly technically inept. So I chose a platform that looked as if it might meet my needs: Travel Blog. And that’s where I stayed for our early days in France and my Great Indian Adventure. I’ve just looked at it now, for perhaps the first time in ten years, and discovered French posts I’d quite forgotten about. Eventually I moved, first to Blogger, which I didn’t like, and then to WordPress. For all I moan about its technical glitches, it’s here I’ve formed real bonds with bloggers all over the world (you know who you are!), and made more casual links with dozens more. Blogging has proved to be the positive face of screen-time for me, and the only bit of Social Media I engage with.
But hey! This is supposed to be a Lens-Artists Challenge post, delivered this week by Anne – photos obligatory. So here is part of my first blog post from India, typed on an ancient computer with not-always-effective keys in an internet cafe (remember those?) on 9th November 2007. I didn’t manage to post photos that day. So now I’ll include within my post the ones that should have formed part of it. I was even more of a newbie with a camera in those days.
The 36 Hour Day: 9th November 2007 …
…with no photos attached. Bangalore may be IT Central if you’re in the know, and I’m not. These are not good Internet centres I’m finding!
Still, life is very good. I arrived at 4.30 yesterday morning, just as you lot in the UK were tucking yourselves up. And that’s how I lost a night’s sleep. Way too excited to sleep all day. Bangalore for me vacillates between being stimulating beyond belief, and, er, overstimulating.
I loved arriving early. The dawn was breaking, and dawn chorus Bangalore style was a series of exultant yelps and squawks from various unidentified birds of the large variety. My hotel, luckily, is in a quiet corner, and I can tell you there aren’t many of those here. From early till late, all you can hear is the irritated honking of horns as auto-rickshaws, motorbikes, laden bicycles, flash cars, very unflash buses, occasional random cows, all jostle for the same space (today, in an auto rickshaw, I counted 6 vehicles, ours was one of them, lined up across the lanes designed for 2. I’ve learned to jay walk with the best of them. There is no alternative. Really, there isn’t. Despite the warning posters saying how many people have died in the last year on the roads, and the slightly lower number of fatalities. Eh?
I’m converted to Indian breakfasts. Up on the roof terrace of my hotel, I enjoyed their crispy rice pancakes which, because they’re cooked in a curved pan, puddle into a soft light sponge in the centre. 2 spicy dipping sauces, one based on coconut, the other lentils, and the undivided attention of 3 members of staff…this by the way is only a mid-range hotel, nothing fancy at all.
Other early impressions: dozens of women beautifully dressed in saris, in the early morning, crouching in the already busy roads, sweeping and sweeping with handle-less brooms.
Cows tethered to lamp posts on busy junctions, eating the weeds round the lamp posts.
Security guards at virtually every building. Not I’m sure because of a crime wave, but because labour is cheap.
Only time to tell you about part of yesterday. When I finally set off with the intention of exploring for the morning, I hadn’t gone too far when I was picked up by an auto rickshaw driver. Well, he could see ‘Arrived from England this morning’ tattooed across my forehead, I’m sure. He offered to show me round for Rs. 10. I didn’t believe it then, and nor did it happen, but I WAS exhausted and it wasn’t an unattractive proposition. It was such fun! He proved an amiable guide, whose English, while obviously hugely better than my Kannada, often led to mutual incomprehension.
Still, he hared round a variety of sites (‘This is my Parliament building. This is my national bird. This is my Rajah’s Palace’, which I found quite endearing). He waited while I ‘did’ Bengalaru Palace, one of the homes of the Rajah Wodeyar. As the Lonely Planet says, you are personally shown round by an aged retainer who is rather keener to show you fly-blown pictures of the royal family than the quirky furniture and fittings. Seedy but fun. And it’s not often you see cows grazing in royal gardens. My new friend gave me his number and urged me to ring him whenever I wanted a rickshaw. I greatly enjoyed this ramshackle mode of transport. He’s had his rick 15 years, and I see no reason why he won’t have it 15 more.
Let’s see if I can include a photo or two next time. You may have to wait for ‘My Holiday Snaps’ when I come back.
Street scenes from my first day.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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