.....To The City

15th Dec - 18th Dec 2014

I had heard that Bangalore was a vibrant, modern city with a glut of pubs, eateries and more importantly a bit of nightlife after staying in a village where the restaurants closed by ten-thirty, finding a rickshaw after eleven pm was almost impossible, and the idea of nightlife was eating paan with friends at ten. I had no idea that Bangalore would blow all my expectations and swiftly become my favourite city in India, just knocking Mumbai off the top spot.
    No more worrying about how to dress, no more searching for modernisation.  We’re surrounded by young, educated, often wealthy, like-minded people who are eager to befriend us and show us around, not expecting anything in return but a few laughs and company. It’s no wonder we decide to stay for almost a month, cancelling pre-booked plans to visit Chennai and Pondicherry in favour of new friends, a buzzing bar scene, great food and every opportunity to shop until our bags are way over the weight limit for the next flight.
   So now that the wonderful city of Bangalore has been properly introduced, I shall start from the beginning:

    We’re so used to being stared at; our faces, attire and the way we hold ourselves instantly giving us away as foreigners or NRIs (Non Resident Indians), that we are actually a little taken aback at suddenly becoming invisible in this bustling, cosmopolitan metropolis. Throughout our stay we end up residing in happening, middle-class areas, so we seem to fit right in. Even as we unload our bulky luggage from the taxi to the hotel – God knows how I managed to accumulate far more than I came with in the space of only a week – no one bats an eyelid. To them we’re just Indians, albeit with a bit of an accent, and perhaps we are a little less well off than the people they are used to that dress and carry themselves in a similar fashion. Our excessive use of please and thank you, good ol’ British politeness, is probably what gives us away as tourists. 

Aaah a bit of luxury... the lovely Elanza Hotel

    It probably sounds rather Western of us that we’re so pleased with amenities of the four-star hotel in comparison to the village accommodation; a basic, but fully functional gym that we make sure to use daily; a complimentary, extensive breakfast buffet, beautiful rooms that wouldn’t look out of place back home, daily house-keeping and the all important kettle, tea paraphernalia and mini-fridge in the room. And it’s a steal at £35 a night, though still rather over-budget for us, with three months yet to go. 

    After being away from modern civilisation for so long, we are itching to grab a bite and hit one of these famous pubs/bars of Bangalore, even if just for the one drink to tantalise our senses for what’s to come. We’re residing in Richmond Town, just south of the centre of all the action (I liked the sound of the area as I hoped it was as well located as the Richmond Town we have back home… luckily I was right). As is customary on our first day, the rickshaw driver rips us off and charges us more than double to get to M.G. Road, which is the main tourist hub. It takes us less than a week to feel like locals, put on an Indian accent and demand the rickshaw charges us by the meter. The trick is to be confident and direct, and our journeys that once cost 100 rupees are down to the normal rate of 25 rupees. 

We frequently snacked
 on amazing Momos

    It’s already past ten pm and we’re actually rather surprised how difficult it is to find places that are open. We later learn that we came at an unfortunate time where until quite recently places to eat and drink would have stayed open till about three in the morning, but a new curfew had been enforced whereby the nightlife had to finish by eleven on weekdays and on the weekends by one at the latest. How disappointing in comparison to Mumbai’s late nightlife… though it doesn’t seem to have stopped the Bangalorean youth, who have adapted quite nicely by simply starting the night much earlier. This is my kind of party city!

   We end up coming across a bar called The Social and are lured in by the music seeping through the walls. Again, as we enter, no one really gives us a second glance, which isn’t surprising as everyone is engaged in conversation, in their own large groups sharing pitchers of beer and nibbles, in a rather classy joint that would rival any of our bars back home. So it’s no surprise that the drinks are as pricey as London, which for Indian standards is virtually unaffordable (just goes to show how truly wealthy and business-forward this wonderful country is, contrary to the impression that the Western media portray. Developing world country indeed!).
   Chirag orders himself his customary gin and tonic and I my favourite cocktail: a Cosmopolitan to toast our arrival to a very cosmopolitan city. I watch with glee as the bartender (yes, he’s handsome just like they are all over the world) skilfully constructs the drink and with a final flourish drops a cloud of candyfloss into the glass for a sickly-sweet twist, which unfortunately dissolves before I can take a picture.
    After we are handed the extortionate bill we vow not to spend so much on drinks again, a promise that we stick to throughout thanks to successfully locating the nearby liquor-shops, numerous pre- and post-drinking sessions at ours and well connected friends that manage to wrangle free drinks at certain bars.



Stuck in traffic inside a Rickshaw... story of Bangalore life

   The subsequent days we spend in Richmond town consist of getting used to the idiosyncrasies of a major Indian city, namely the roads. From the deafening, incessant car horns – the official soundtrack of India in my opinion – to the sheer volume of traffic at all hours that made it easier to walk the twenty minute mile to our destination by foot compared to two hours stuck in traffic. Not to mention the daily, terrifying ordeal of crossing the busy, chaotic roads, where we once stood waiting for an opening in the traffic for almost twenty minutes before a rickshaw driver on the other side of the road took pity on us and dodged through traffic to reach us, and then guide us back to his side of the road. Bless him. Chirag has come up with his own ingenious method of mastering the role of the Indian Pedestrian, which consists of walking directly beside a local that is crossing the road so that in the event of a collision the other person gets run over first, sort of like a safety cushion in the form of a human.

    You will all be pleased to know that we have greatly improved since, learning the way of the locals: just walk willy-nilly, stop an incoming vehicle with an open palm and weave ones way confidently through the constant flow of motorcycles, rickshaws, dangerously old, heaving public buses and the odd flashy car. If that doesn’t put the fear of death into you, I’m not sure what will.

    Early one evening, stomachs growling impatiently, we walk around Richmond Town on a rather

The colourful street sign
 leading us to Arab Town

fruitless mission to find decent food, which I have noticed has always been such a chore when hungry and on holiday. Irritated and utterly famished, we are about to turn back and order room service when we stumble upon a little gem, an amazing take-away, open plan, Persian kebab kitchen in an area called Arab Lane. Think China Town or Ealing Road Little India in London, but the Arab equivalent right here in Bangalore. It is like suddenly stepping into the Middle East; ladies clad in headscarves and loose, modest clothing; the men donned kurta pajamas and lamb-skinned karakul style hats; kebabs being cooked over an open barbeque grill on every corner, and we even hear a call to prayer from the nearby mosque. This also seems to be one of the few places to purchase beef in a predominantly Hindu city, and a lot of the menus plastered on the walls of the casual road-side restaurants advertise beef dishes, which we tend to see very little of in the rest of India. Interestingly, the butchers that sell beef are tucked away in the side streets, embarrassed to be seen lest they be frowned upon.

Trying to hide our disappointment at the rubbish Cubbon Park

   I must admit during these first few days in Bangalore, especially after showing such hygiene vigilance in the village with regular soap/anti-bacterial hand washing, avoiding ice, anything touched by tap water and uncooked or questionable food sources, I have thrown caution to the wind a little and within my luxurious surroundings I almost forget I’m in India. Inevitably I began to suffer from a bout of loose bowels and abdominal cramps, which meant some of the first days of sightseeing had to be scheduled around how my stomach was feeling at the time.

   Apologies, but those who know me are well aware that the topic of my bowels makes a frequent appearance in my everyday conversation. At least now I have shown the kind courtesy of warning readers of this blog.
     Much to my discomfort the visit to Cubbon Park (a disappointing green space that doesn’t have a patch on Hyde Park) and Arab Town are plagued by unyielding heartburn and stomach pains that have me doubling over in pain. In my experience the medicine here in the East, even just a quick trip to the pharmacy, is so much more effective and potent than the Western equivalent. Maybe the difference is that they actually want you to get better here, whereas at home there’s no financial gain to be had from the drug companies if you are immediately cured, is there? I visit a pharmacy after the pain has not subsided for a couple days, purchase two pills for 30p that I’m instructed to take before and then after my next meal, and voila… healthy within an hour.
    I walk myself over to the beauty salon for a much needed pedicure, can’t go wrong with just four quid, and I’m set. Now time to make some friends…