Potholes

It’s impossible to travel afar and not run into scams of some sort. I’m going to refer to them as ‘potholes’. [photo found online] They’re a bit annoying, especially when you’re doing your best to avoid them and suddenly you find yourself bumping directly over one, but they’re also a part of the experience. I like to think I’m fairly well travelled, have a good judge of character, and I’m wise enough not to fall into these little holes in the road. I was wrong.

On arrival into Kathmandu, after 2 long flights and a long 2 hours at the airport, we gained entry into the country. We were tired and gladly greeted by our driver and two porters. It was dark. Our driver had our names on a piece of paper, which was reassuring, and started leading us to the carpark. One porter grabbed the heavier of my two bags and started carrying it above his head. I usually don’t like people carrying my bags, but allowed it on this occasion. Jorien kept her bags on her and so the other porter walked alongside me and striked up a conversation. “Where you from?” he asked. “England” I responded. He slowed his pace and I lost sight of him, but he swiftly returned with a £10 note in his hand, repeating “tips, tips, tips”. Coincidently, the currency of my home country. I was planning to give a tip, but £10 seemed quite excessive. I also don’t like being asked so directly. Before long, in a silent corner of the carpark, the group of two turned to five, who all started peer pressuring for “tips, tips, tips”. By this stage, I was certain these porters were not ‘official’ crew and was quick to grab my bag back. I was a little confused as to why the driver didn’t warn us, but thought I’d address this later. Jorien calmly and firmly said “no” to their alternative request of $20, when they realised we had no English currency. By this point, she was surrounded by the group and swiftly handed her full wallet to me, as I climbed into the back of car. I begrudgingly gave them 500 rupees (about £3.50) and we left. It didn’t turn out badly, but it was a small pothole nonetheless. A lesson learned. I must add that this was a completely isolated event and we didn’t get at all harassed again in Nepal after this point.

I planned to be a bit more vigilant in India and was on high alert when we arrived into Delhi. It took less than a second for the first person to approach us, who immediately started saying ‘taxi, taxi’ and pointing us in the direction of the nearest taxi rank. I had no intention of interacting with anyone before reaching the counter, so ignored him. He followed us to the counter, as we asked the man behind at the desk for a price. Just 400 rupees for a 40-minute journey to our hotel (about £4), which seemed fair. The man waiting, of who we thought was “just another scammer”, turned out to work for the pre-paid taxi service and his colleague handed us a green and pink slip and told us to go with him. I felt a little embarrassed and apologized (in typical British fashion) a few minutes afterwards, after handing him the green slip. (We read that the driver doesn’t get paid unless he returns with the pink slip, so we kept this part.)

Having cleared the first hurdle, we were now on our way. We had read that many taxi drivers wrongly inform you that your hotel is closed and take you to another hotel, where they get a fair bit of commission, so we were certain we weren’t going to fall for that one. Before long, the driver claimed he didn’t know the route and needed to check. Very odd, since the hotel was opposite the biggest railway station in Delhi. How can you not know where that is? Soon after, the driver stopped, saying he couldn’t get to where we wanted because of a festival going on. “Which festival?”, I asked, out of curiosity. “Christmas” he replied. This didn’t sound at all plausible since it was only 10th December, but hey, it’s India. Who knows? I told him to continue onto New Delhi station and we would walk the rest. A short distance further, he stopped at a tourist office and asked us to come inside. The man we spoke with had much better English, was smartly dressed and polite. He checked our hotel address and immediately said it was not a safe area. He found articles online explaining that hotels often scam tourists with fake pictures and reviews and lure them into an unsafe place to stay. He explained that, for the safety of the driver and ourselves, it’s best if we find another place to stay. Difficult to argue, as we’ve never explored the area. For all we know, this friendly man is right. We fell for it. He recommended Karol Bagh, which is a little further from the station and much safer. Meanwhile, our ever so patient driver was waiting for us (commission awaited). As soon as we were back in the taxi, we realised we had just fallen for the exact scam we tried to avoid – a minor pothole. Our driver attempted to take us to a third hotel, presumably where he gets an even higher commission, but we refused. Eventually, we checked into the hotel next door. A much nicer place, which we coincidentally tried to book the week before. The driver shouted at us for a tip, but we politely declined, knowing he was in on the whole thing.

In the following days, we managed to avoid a number of other potholes. There are the beggars, which you simply have to ignore. I’ve read that many of the young female beggars rent the babies they are carrying, sedate them, and have mastered the art of getting money from empathetic tourists. Very sad, if that is the case. There are the rickshaw drivers that ask for 5-10 times the price, knowing that £3 to a westerner doesn’t feel like a lot. Sometimes on your way they stop by their friend’s fabric or spice shop and get you to have a look around. (I didn’t mind this, but after stopping at 3 or 4 different places, it can be a bit frustrating). There are market stalls that try to sell fake ‘cashmere’ scarves. The fake “railway officials” outside of New Delhi station (men holding a pen to look professional), who tell you they need to see your ticket to enter and try leading you to a tourist office down the road, where presumably we find out our train had been ‘cancelled’ and we would need a new ticket. (We eventually got past these men with Jorien’s firm response.) Then, there are the helpful coach drivers – men hanging around the station who inform you theirs is the correct bus, when you’re trying to find the one you’ve actually booked. The deepest potholes we found so far were at the holy lake in Pushkar – the Brahmins (holy priests) who demand large sums of money after giving you a lengthy blessing at the water. ‘Selling karma’ as the locals call it. This is one cost me 1,000 rupees (£10) and Jorien 500 rupees (£5) for the pleasure. It’s very difficult to refuse after you have repeated their mantras word for word, given a holy blessing to named family members and lost relatives, and made a promise to make a cash donation (in another language). It’s also extremely ‘bad karma’ if you don’t pay. I’d rather not take the risk.

It’s all a bit of a minefield, but this is India. This isn’t the UK or Europe, and this is how some people feed themselves and their families – dishonest or not. I can’t possibly be angry. I felt a bit ashamed to get caught out, but I also want to be open to new experiences, cultures, and not offend anyone genuine and kind hearted, and so naively walked straight into it like a young child walking into Toys ‘R’ Us for the first time. (When it still existed.) “Sir, you’ll never be poor, and I’ll never be rich”, the holy man said when I told him the amount was a lot to ask. How can I argue? I happily spend £30+ on a round of drinks back home, so why worry about £10, which will no doubt go a lot further for him and (hopefully) his family. I’ve come here to experience this country – all bells and whistles – the chaotic and blissful place that it is. I’m here to learn and hopefully become a little wiser about the world and my own life. We think far too much in the West and perhaps this is just another lesson for me to learn to let go of minor and temporary potholes. The more I travel – the bigger the world seems to get and the larger the text book of life gets – a bit overwhelming at times, but I feel extremely very lucky and privileged to be where I am right now. Potholes included.