Indian Retail Therapy

So, I am here nearly a whole week and I am so hot and uncomfortable. Walking around naked isn’t an option here, and my Irish clothes are just not made for purpose. My dad once said to me, if you are in a new place, look to what the locals do. So I went Sari and Punjabi Suit shopping. A Sari is the very long piece of cloth that gets wrapped around you, and the Punjabi suit is loose trousers, a dress over and a shawl. We went to Laxmi Road, the Henry Street of Pune, if you will. But imagine Henry Street with hundreds of bicycles, scooters and rickshaws speeding up the middle and the shops spilling onto the streets, not to mention the shoppers, beggars and temple goers. It is worse than Dublin on the last Saturday before Christmas, and we were there on a quiet Sunday night! I really think a Punjabi Suit will improve my quality of life so we start there, we enter a shop. What I didn’t entirely realise is that you don’t buy a suit, you buy fabric for a suit, and then have your favorite taylor make it for you. But even before you call in the taylor you must have the Dohbi man come and wash and colour fix the fabric. Now there is little bit of ‘instant gratification girl’ inside me that wants to wear it home and is devastated. The bigger ‘I need to control the universe, girl’ inside me is now thinking that I can have the suit made how I like it. I control everything. (MUH huh huh huh huh huh huh huh huh huh) Ok, back to shopping. What colour/fabric/pattern would I like my suit. All I know is I want a light as air fabric, so we select cotton. Little shop guy starts pulling parcels of fabric out, each one with the dress material, the pants material and the scarf thingy inside. I start rejecting parcels, telling him, pattern too big, colour too red, pattern to lurid (that got some looks) I told him I wanted a nice subtle pattern, so he pulled out a few more, this orange one catches my eye and I ask to see the trouser and shawl part, its lovely and mine, for the princely sum of five hundred rupees! We break at this point for Ice cream, mmmmm. Sari shopping begins with the sari itself, that is the fabric that gets wrapped around you. There are literally thousands of fabrics to choose from on Laxmi road. Each shop has a different selection, it is very rare to see two of the same sari. We enter a shop and start with the basics, do I want a daytime sari or an evening sari? Daytime please, this means fewer frills, embroidery, sequins etc... Ok, what colour/pattern? Colour, I don’t know. Pattern, I’m thinking something floral, mmmmm. Little Sari man starts pulling out fabrics and I see a lovely green pattern against a cream, reminds me of Nanno, (my paternal grandmother, died a few years ago) so I buy it for a lovely 150 rupees! Steal! On to get a blouse, or blouse material as I discover and a petticoat. I give a man in the shop my new sari material and he selected from a wall of colour, the perfect green to go with my fabric. Just a cream petticoat and we are good! Happily, we go for some dinner a the only restaurant in the area, there is lots of street food around but I’m not ready for that just yet, best play it safe. HA! Three days of vomiting, sweating and diarrhea later, I feel strong enough to type. But I do have my two new outfits which will look much better on me now I have lost any access fat!

Coffee, Cake and HIV tests

So, here I am, newly arrived in India, shiny new passport and two year visa in hand, filling in the forms so I can register my presence with the appropriate authorities.
I begin to fill in my form, and go through my check list.
I would like to mention at this point the Indian fascination and reliance on red tape and small stamps.Not that this makes getting anything done easier in India, on the contrary, you could stand in line for several hours only to be told you need the form RROTNMJICK-0038478/a and not the RROTNMJICK-0038478/b as you believed/had read online/was told on the phone/was told at your last visit. Only the Belgians could trump the Indians when it comes to forms, paperwork and the appropriate number of passport photos necessary to do anything. (the appropriate number of passport photos is invariably one less than the number you have about your person)
What I do find intriguing and endearing about India is the requirement while shopping to purchase your goods at one desk, then bring your receipt to another desk to get it stamped before you can leave the shop, I love it!
Anyway, as I was reading through the list of requirements to register, I notice that I need a HIV report! Ok, thats weird, I think, so I asked around and discovered that because my visa was for two years and not one, like the rest of the staff, it was indeed a requirement.
Being Irish I assumed this would take months, as it would in Ireland like for any other essential medical test, and mentally started to pack my bags. Then my boss said, “just go to Ruby Hall this afternoon and get it done”, Ruby Hall is a big nearby hospital. Well I nearly fell off my chair, just go without an appointment or life threatening condition and ‘get it done’!
Wow, so I did. I just strolled in with my other boss and her husband and had it done in less than five minutes, for €5.20. (We paid because we can afford it, if you are poor you go to a free/really cheap clinic)
They said sorry, but because it was so late in the day (about 5) we would have to wait a whole day and come back tomorrow for the result, after 12 please.
So we went to a nearby cake shop and had lovely yummy cake and iced coffee.
Another thing I love about India is the spaces here, on my last visit I took this picture, where we sat to eat our cake, the ceiling was no more that 5 foot off the floor. A mezzanine in the true sense!
People warned me about moving here from Switzerland, how life would be so difficult in a ‘third world’ country compared with Ireland. The more I see here the more I believe that we Westerners have a hell of a lot to learn from countries like India then we care to admit.

The Royal Visit

Previously in Katey's World

The 22nd of July 2008 dawned bright and clear, it was a good omen as Richard and Penny (My brother and Sister in law) were arriving of the 3.43 train from Frankfurt. I met them joyously at the train station and delivered them to Des Alps (The local hotel) to rest until I finished work at six o clock. I arrived to Des Alps Later in the evening soaked to the skin as the heavens opened as I left work. Bad omen. So dripping on the Des Alps carpet, I met the refreshed and relaxed and mercifully dry Richard and Penny.

They were very impressed with the Kandersteg Scenery, as you were on your arrival here in our little piece of Alpine heaven. They were hungry so I helped them choose their dinner. They were unimpressed with the simple Swiss food, accustomed as they are to fine cuisine.

We continued the evening with a stroll to view my apartment, the weather had cleared up nicely, some drinks and laughter again in Des Alps. I provided them with instructions on how to find me the next day as I had to work and I bade them goodnight.

The next morning showed promise of spectacular weather. Richard and Penny came to see me in the centre and as they mentioned they had brought their walking shoes and wanted a bit of a hike, I suggested they take a cable car up to Sunbuel and walk down. It’s a nice two to three hour walk along an often steep path with big drops on one side. They mentioned Penny’s fear of heights in relation to the Cable car ride, but it never occurred to me that she might be frightened on a narrow path with hundreds of meters drop offs on one side. That was a mistake. I furnished them with a map, ensured they had adequate water supplies and rain gear and sent them happily on their way. This was about ten am. I began to worry at two when there was no sign of them returning. I understood they were to eat some lunch at the restaurant at the top of the cable car station, so I waited until three before I began to really worry. At three thirty I sent Richard a text, and he replied they were almost back. I relaxed then, they were safe and sound- or so I thought! At four o’clock they arrived in a similar condition as I imagine a person would emerge from the dark forest after a fortnight of being chased by hungry bears. Penny was shaking and pale with fear and exhaustion, Richard was shaking and red with anger and exertion. They were safe but not sound. They had had an ordeal. I seriously underestimated Richards calming abilities and Penny’s paralysing fear.

(I mention in passing this is a walk I would do of a Sunday afternoon to relax, and it is also one of our easier hike routes that we send groups of children on… ) I sent them off home to the hotel to rest and recuperate and I booked a fancy restaurant for dinner that night. Mercifully again the weather held and they were dry. I met them after work and we strolled to the restaurant, the one I brought the dogs past each morning and evening. We had a wonderful meal with fine local wine that lifted the spirits of the intrepid explorers and restored their faith in my judgement. As it was the night of the first Scout Disco of the season, I suggested we take a visit as it is a spectacle the likes of which they would never see again! So away we went for a boogie and some cheap, cheap wine.

In the beginning they were sceptical and felt out of place, then I pointed out the aging and embarrassing adult leaders dancing with gay abandon and they felt better. Until that is, I started introducing them to the various staff members that passed by. Twice so far on their visit, Richard had been mistaken for my Father. We laughed off the first mistake, Penny and I laughed off the second, I tried to laugh off the third and to explain that I had told everyone my family was visiting, which in most languages means ‘parents’ but they didn’t buy it, so after the fifth case of mistaken identity when Richard started protesting hotly that there is only 11 years between us. I decided to remove them from danger and retreat to the relative safety of Des Alps where we drank the night away in peace and age appropriate happiness.

Day three dawned with again the promise of a good day so I decided a trip to Oeschinensee would be just perfect. So Penny the brave soul, ascended the chairlift with calm and composure, Richard by her side. We rode the Rodlebahn and walked to the Lake and looked about, I pointed out the various Glaciers, features and huts as I do with most visitors. Richard had brought his binoculars, and I had quite a time convincing him that walking to the places I pointed out was not only in fact possible but frequently done by families and Scout Groups of varied abilities. There was a group on their way up to the Frundinhutte at the time and we spent two hours tracking their progress up the precarious path. We ate in the overpriced restaurant, watched the walkers and had a lovely day in the sun. I did my Eco Tour Guide thing and explained all about the Hydro power and drinking water being supplied for the village from this lake. Richard was fascinated and he wanted to know more, so I showed him the waterwheel beside my flat. He was like a child at the circus, running up and down looking at the moving parts, when I pushed the button to make it work, well he nearly wet himself with joy. He is an engineer through and through. This small miracle was nothing compared to the Swiss concrete maker he saw in the yard on the way out! (I think this was the highlight of his trip!)

Journey to the centre of the Earth Part One- Bulgaria

I departed Kandersteg bright and early on the 25^th of July, the same morning as Richard and Penny, only an hour later. I left in high spirits and met a friend from the village on the train; she was going to find out the results of a recent English exam she had taken in a nearby town. So I chatted and gossiped my way happily along the first leg of my journey. I wished her well and waved her goodbye and proceeded to the airport to catch my flight to the mysterious Sofia.

I arrived in the airport in good time which was a good thing as I had to answer several questions due to the large tube of pr posters I had attached to my rucksack. They were wrapped rather conspicuously in a black plastic bag secured with yellow duct tape. After convincing the security officials I was not carrying a bazooka and I was a genuine Girl Guide I put my bag through oversized luggage, convinced that it might be months if not years before I was reunited with it. I went happily to my gate and was delighted to find on my way a smoking lounge alongside my gate! Delighted I was as my flight was delayed, no doubt due to the fact that there was a bazooka shaped bag going on board. So I waited, smoked, read, send incredulous text messages and eventually boarded my flight. The plane was spacious, comfortable and the flight attendants even brought me free food and drinks! I highly recommend flying Swiss air! We landed uneventfully in Bulgaria and I proceeded with dread to the baggage carousel. To my surprise, my bag arrived undamaged from controlled explosions and intact! Happy days! So I left the airport and hailed a taxi. I had done some research about Bulgarian taxies and got into a recommended car. Due to a Metallica concert in Sofia that night, a normally twenty minute journey took almost two hours. I saw quite a bit of Sofia and I have to say I was unimpressed. It reminded me very much of certain areas of Tallagh during the eighties. Eventually I arrived at my next destination, paid an extortionate amount of money to the taxi driver, the internet lies, and wandered off to find the bus that would take me to Skopje. My extensive internet research lead me to believe that several different bus companies ran a regular service from Sofia to Skopje and it was a simple thing to procure a ticket for said bus. Nothing could be further from the truth. I went happily and expectantly into the big new shiney bus station, only to find no less than fifty seven bus companies each with a small ticket booth. Ah ha, you might say, just ask at the general information desk and they could indicate the numerous companies operating the Sofia Skopje line. I approached the desk and the girl that was doing her nails, (I kid you not) and asked hopefully for ‘Skopje?’

“Nah” she said.

“English?” I said.

“Nah” she said.

“Deutsch” I said.

“Nah” she said.

“Francais” I said.

“Nah” she said.

“Italiano” I said.

“Nah” she said.

“ok” I said.

“Nah” she said.

So I started, a little worried at this point as night was falling, to ask at each of the fifty seven ticket desks.

“Skopje?” I said.

“Nah” they all said.

After about thirty desks, an older woman took pity on me and pointed out the door to a small market across the street and over a dark carpark.

“Skopje” I said.

“Skopje” she said.

Ok, so off I went, across the street, through the carpark and into the market. I discovered it was not quite a market but in fact full of more bus companies, small booth like ticket offices! So I began again on the search.

“Skopje?” I said.

“Nah” they said.

After I was beginning to lose hope, I spotted a tiny window with MAT written on the glass. Maybe, I thought MAT means Macedonia! Excitement and hope surged through as I approached the window with a shy smile and said-

“Skopje?”

“yes” she said “ Do you speak English?”

“YES”, I nearly cried, “I thought I would never find you”

“Would you like a ticket to Skopje for tonight?” She asked, smiling at my obvious relief.

“Yes, one way please” I said

“I think you are a student”

“Yes but I don’t have a card”

“That’s ok”

I was never so happy to get a bus ticket.

“It’s a blue bus that will arrive at ten to seven in the car park, it has ‘Gregors’ written on the side.”

I was very grateful for this because at a quarter to seven, about twenty busses pulled in with signs in their windows written in Bulgarian. (which has no relation whatsoever to English)

My big blue fun bus arrived in due time and I approached the friendly faced driver, ticket clutched in sweaty paw. He took my ticket and my bag and showed me to the door of the bus. Happy days. I could now relax, six hour bus journey ahead of me, sleepy time!

I was gently woken some time later, and told ‘Pause’ by the nice driver. I assumed this meant we were taking a break, so I got off the bus and stretched my legs, smoked a cigarette and looked around. It was fully dark at this stage and all I could see was the shadow of the surrounding hills, and the small restaurant/bar/general store in front of us. After ten minutes or so the drivers returned to the bus and we were off again. I was delighted to see a movie in English, with Bulgarian Subtitles, playing on the TV that was strapped to the ceiling with what looked like a mans belt. The movie was an eighties made for TV thriller. Back to dreamy land for me, but not for long as we soon arrived at the Bulgaria- Macedonia border.

Bear in mind that Bulgaria is in the EU and Macedonia is not, so this is an EU border crossing.

A Bulgarian EU border crossing.

So we arrive, soviet style watchtowers big scary men with guns, and we are ordered off the bus. Everyone else starts to get their baggage out of the bus and opening it up, so groaning inwardly at the prospect of explaining my mysteriously wrapped tube to Bulgarian border guards, I start to open my expertly, tightly packed rucksack, knowing full well I will never get everything back in if asked to take anything out.

But I was lucky, the big scary men with guns took our passports and left us waiting in the harsh lights and muggy night for an hour and then came out and told us to be on our way. Happy days I thought as I snuggled back into my seat for another nap, how wrong I was. The nice driver saw me settling back for my snooze and kindly informed me we were not through yet. Three more similar check points, three more sets of men with big scary guns. Lots of questions, I an eternally grateful for my friendly bus driver and his free translation service. It took quite a long time to explain where I was going, only I could produce a leaflet in Macedonian explaining the Jamboree I could still be there. (I think the leaflet explained the jamboree, it could have been an instruction manual for a microwave for all I knew.)

Any way, after the three check points and two and a half hours we were again on the road, it was now some time after midnight, but I cant be sure because Bulgaria is in a different time zone from Macedonia, surprise, so between the sleeping and the time zone confusion I am still a bit hazy on when as well as where the hell I was.

Journey to the centre of the Earth Part Two- Macedonia

It’s now the 26^th of July, I think, and the friendly bus driver woke me gently, saying, “we are in Skopje”. I sat up, groggy, and had a look around. It looks much cleaner than Bulgaria, softer. I gathered my things and got off the bus, the driver handed me my rucksack and thanking him, I headed towards a brightly lit, deserted bus station. I scoped out the bus station for a comfy spot to wait for Lepka, who I hoped was going to give me a lift to the campsite, still another two hours drive away high in the mountains that lie along the Albanian border. I spotted a cosy corner that looked promising for what could be a long wait and headed outside a door to smoke a cigarette and send Lepka a text to tell her I had arrived.

I didn’t even finish my cigarette before Lepka and her friend Doncha arrived to claim me. With big friendly smiles, they introduced themselves and welcomed me to Macedonia. We loaded my rucksack into Lepkas Skoda and were on our way. I was quite hungry by this time so I was very happy when Doncha said we were to stop for some food before we left the city. It was at this point I realised I had no Macedonian currency. How could I have overlooked that one, I had Bulgarian Levs, Euros, Swiss Francs but no Macedonian Denars. (In my head I would pick up the different currencies at the various airports. I didn’t think about crossing the border on a bus)

So, mortified, I asked my new friends would the shops here accept Euros, without much hope as no one in Bulgaria would even look at Euros, and they are EU! But Happily Macedonia being the friendly, progressive little country it is, most places will take Euros. But unhappily, not the place we were going to eat. But happily, Macedonians being the friendly people they are, my new friends said they would shout me a snack in return for some beers at a later date. So we picked up two more girls, Rusna and Irina, bit of a squeeze, and head for some food. We went to a Burek place. Burek is a kind of cheesy pastry that you have while drinking a carton of yoghurt. I never tasted anything better than this sour-ish pastry, washed down with this milky sour yoghurt. I was now pretty certain it was 2:30 am, sitting outside this strange fast food place on a balmy night in Skopje, I was so happy.

We bought some water and set off for the mountains. From what I saw of the city, it looked modern, clean and well maintained. Lots of coffee bars and trendy shops.

Doncha, it turned out has a great interest in Ireland. He even had a tape of the Dubliners to play on our journey. He delighted in trying out the IRA slogans he had learned on me. It is a very strange thing to hear 'Tiocfáidh ár Lá' in a Macedonian accent. He is very much a sympathiser to the Republican cause, but I think he is unaware of the ongoing Peace process, I tried to enlighten him but he was having none of it. We left the city and I soon fell asleep again.

The Macedonian Jamboree Part One

When I awoke, I found myself blinking in a very bright security light. It was about 4:30, by my estimation. We got out of the car, yawning and stretched ourselves awake. Meanwhile we were being approached by two big scary men all dressed in black holding very big scary guns. I looked on in terror while my companions conversed in rapid Macedonian with the very scary men. My new friends then proceeded to empty the car. I was too afraid to ask what the hell was going on, so I just picked up my rucksack and tried not to look like I was crapping my pants. Doncha, bless him, must have noticed my terror, because he explained that we had in fact arrived at the campsite (up to this point I thought we were at another checkpoint, big lights in my eyes so I couldn’t see much of the surroundings) and these gentlemen were part of the Counter Terrorist Police unit assigned to guard the campsite. These men were going to wait with us at the gate until one of the event organisers arrived to verify we were actually who we said we were. Happily this didn’t take long. Nikola arrived and confirmed that we were us and he showed us to our tents. I was getting VIP treatment as an international guest and a Pinkey. (Kandersteg Staff) So I got a very nice Jamboree tent! I also got followed around everywhere by my new big scary shadows with Guns. Everywhere. Apparently I was particularly high risk due to my milky skin and super blonde hair. (Freshly dyed for the upcoming wedding, it was literally radiant.)

So new friends and big scary shadows in tow we went looking for the party. I didn’t quite believe there would still be a party going on but my new friends assured me that it would be swinging. It was swinging! The Balkans know how to party. I was a little hesitant as everyone was greeting the others warmly in Macedonian, but as soon as they realised I was Irish I had beer in hand and was getting chatted in their best drunken mix of Macedonian and English. I almost forgot about the two great black hulking figures with big guns outside the tent, peeking in every once in a while to make sure I didn’t give them the slip. Almost. A few beers later I decided it was time to call it a night, it had been a long day and I was tired, also curious about where the two black hulks would be once I was in my tent. I intended to peek out after a few minutes but I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow/rolled up jumper. (I was in a tent!)

The Macedonian Jamboree Part Two

It was now the 26th of July, I woke up with my alarm at seven thirty as per the advice of some of the Macedonian scouts I had met the night before. I had a severe case of fuzzy tongue and a bit of a headache. Nothing a toothbrush, good breakfast and vast quantities of water couldn't cure. Alas, I could only safely have one of the three. I successfully brushed my teeth. The breakfast was a piece of feta type cheese, about the size of a deck of cards and strangely tangy, a hard boiled egg, strangely tasteless (I don't know how you can make an egg tasteless?) and a cup of what I assumed was milk but was actually extremely watery and sour yogurt. 'A Girl Guide smiles and sings under all difficulties', so I did. Well, I didn't sing but I ate my breakfast and looked forward to the vast quantities of water that would wash away the taste of the cheese and yogurt. I was sorely disappointed to discover the water was slightly dodgy for foreigners that weren't used to it. I took an executive decision at that point and decided my immune system was up to the challenge so I filled my water bottle and drank vast quantities of it and felt vastly better.

At this point I needed to use the loo, so I wandered over to a conveniently placed set of port-a-loos. I was not terribly surprised to find the first and most conveniently placed Port-a-loo was indescribably dirty and out of paper, so in foolish optimism I went to the next on to find it even more indescribably dirty and equally devoid of paper. So still with increasingly foolish optimism and under increasing pressure from my bladder, I proceeded with my search.

I was not successful. And it's an experience I am happy to have behind me.

I will not go into detail about the dreaded port-a-loos again but needless to say the situation did not improve, in fact it only got worse as peoples personal paper supplies diminished, and the poor water and food quality took its toll.

I still had my big scary black shadows following me around, they were waiting for me when I emerged from my tent that morning. I smiled and tried to engage them in conversation but nothing doing, nada, either they didn't speak English or they were trained like the guards outside Buckingham palace not to react to anything except immediate danger. I suspect the latter.

So I set about finding my friend and colleague Mihajlo, a Serbian I had met through my work in Brussels, he works for the European Scout Region. I was soon reliably informed that he was in Skopje but would return before ten am. It was now nine am. We were to share an exhibition tent so I found his display, and set up my own PR display alongside his.

This took about an hour so I happily settled in to wait at my stand for Mihajlo to return to give me the low down on the Jamboree so far and fill me in on the plan for the next few days. The Jamboree actually began on the twentieth of July, I was just catching the end.

So I waited, Big scary shadows on either side, and I waited. By midday I was bored, so I sought out some new friends from the night before and discovered a plan to escape the provided lunch, and dine out in a small village not far away. I was duly invited to sample some local traditional Macedonian food with them and I jumped at the chance, not only for the cultural experience but I also needed to pee again. So off I went with three Macedonians, two Croatians, a Serb and a Bosnian, leaving my shadows at the gate, wearing slightly put out expressions.

We arrived in the local establishment and I hurried off to pee while the others moved around tables so we would all be together. To my dismay what greeted me in the ladies was a hole in the floor. I am not exaggerating, It was an Asian toilet.

I like a challenge, and it was a just that. I wont elaborate, but there was paper, some of which I stole, shamelessly.

Anyway, we sat down to the meal, with happily dry shoes. My new friends ordered for us and we began with a salad of black olives, cucumber, tomatoes all covered with crumbled feta cheese. Mmmmmmmmmm. And Rakia. Yes, Rakia with the salad, neat. At lunch time. When in Rome and all that, so I drank and ate heartily. We ate salad and drank a lot of Rakia for about two hours. I was wondering when we might return to the campsite as I was beginning to feel a nap would be in order when the next course arrived! Big plates of chips and slabs of meat, and I mean slabs! There was chicken, beef, pork, venison and some fish. This was served with strong white wine that was watered down with sparkling water. As we neared the end of one platter, another would appear, even more delicious than before. We ate and ate and ate, and washed it all down with increasingly weak spritzer. (It never occurred to me to start with the strongest alcohol and move onto the weak stuff, it works very well. A very happy buzzy drunkenness is the result.) We finished up with a beer at about five o'clock and moseyed on back to the campsite for a nap.

In my happy condition I had forgotten all about the missing Serb, Mihajlo. I only remembered when I ran into a another old friend on my way to the port-a-loo (In my happy condition I had also forgotten to pee before we left the restaurant) and he mentioned seeing Mihaljo the day before. I tried hunting him down and found out that he was still in Skopje! Fecker, he was supposed to be helping me with my work. I couldn't possibly get riled up and angry at that moment due to all the food and happiness. So I let it go and went for a nap.

The Macedonian Jamboree Part Three

I awoke some time later to one of my new friends, not from the epic lunch, waking me for dinner. So I trundled off to the dining hall to suss it out. I had lost some of my previous naivety and did not hold out much hope for dinner.

I was right. Dinner consisted of some sour scrambled eggs and bread, and I fell for the yogurt disguised as milk trick again. It was at this point that I noticed the conspicuous absence of coffee on the site. This was odd, usually a Jamboree runs on coffee. Smiling and Singing in spirit if not reality I ate my dinner and set off for the staff subcamp to see what was going on. My little Serbian friend had still not arrived from Skopje, but I found I was doing quite well without him. I stumbled across the delicious aroma of coffee as I crossed the staff subcamp and traced the alluring scent to a group of Slovenians. I promptly infiltrated the group and procured some of the coffee and a mug. I got to talking with some of the group and discovered how friendly Slovenians are! They even offered me food! On the day they arrived they decided to go to a supermarket, stock up and cater for themselves. Such was the quality of the food. They happily supplied me with bread and nuttella, happy days. I supplied them with the low down on KISC and how to get a staff position. They were misinformed on a lot of points so I cleared it up for them! (That was my purpose there!) They informed me that there was to be a concert that night. A local singer was coming to play. I have to confess that I was less than enthusiastic about this. The usual suspects to play scout Jamborees are not great musicians to say the least. But there would be beer, so I tagged along. It was of course like most things in the Balkans late starting, so we hung out and smoked some cigarettes, and I decided to run back to my tent, big scary shadows in tow, jogging along behind me, to get my phone.

I made a promise to my Mum, when I moved out of Ireland, to text her every time I crossed an International Border. (So she at least knew what country I was in) But the week before the trip to Macedonia, the war criminal Radovan Karadzic was arrested and at the time I left Switzerland, he had not yet been extradited to the Netherlands for his trial. This caused some ‘unease’ in the region so I didn’t tell mum about my travel plans, lest she should worry. But, a promise is a promise so I sent her a text from Bulgaria and from Macedonia. I was expecting her to call and give out to me, so I was leaving my phone in my tent. I was checking for her missed call so I could text her I was safe but had a low battery so she shouldn’t call or worry if I didn’t answer. (A small white lie, but if she called I might have to explain my precarious and slightly illegal route into Cyprus planned for later in the trip and cause her even more worry)

Anyway, there was in fact several missed calls on my phone so I texted her and made my way back to the concert site.

A brief description of the Jamboree site:

The Jamboree was held in a youth facility that was built by the Yugoslavs in the seventies and virtually abandoned since Macedonian Independence in 1993. The facility consists of four large buildings and some camping grounds. The buildings are suffering from a severe lack of use and maintenance. Weeds and even a tree are quickly making the buildings uninhabitable. The concreted sports area is overgrown and cracked. (This is where the concert was) It was like a set from a futuristic Orwellian movie set in an abandoned city. On the up side, the location was amazing! The centre is set in densely wooded mountains and the area has some of the best scenery and skiing areas in Macedonia. And the ground was good for camping.

Back to the story:

So I was on my way back to the concert when I spotted the little Serb! Drunk as a lord, slobbering his apologies, and late for a meeting with the Scouting Macedonia National Board! I told him I would be with the Slovenian staff when he was finished his meeting. When I was again on my way, I was approached by a very excited Frenchman. He had heard me talking to Mihajlo and deduced that I was from KISC. He had read all about the centre and intended to apply for staff! He was part of a volunteer scheme partnership thing between Scouting Macedonia and Scouts and Guides of France. His name was Antoine. He spoke very quickly in a very strong frenchy accent, as I said he was very excited to talk to me. He promptly dragged his friend Emil over to introduce him. Emil was a ridiculously good looking Bosnian, that could not understand his friends excitement at meeting me. The French dude was suspiciously happy, I suspect Rakia, and was treating me like a minor celebrity. Anyway the French dude ran off to be happy to someone else and Emil and I got to talking. He asked me all of the usual questions about my job and the scout centre. He was fascinated by the fact that I am the only girl guide at the centre, there are no girl guides in Bosnia as yet, so the concept was new to him. We had a lengthy discussion about single sex associations, the role of Scouting in society and such things. By the time the music started we were arguing like old friends!

So the music started, Emil filled me in on the singer, she was a big star in Macedonia and all over the Balkans! Her videos are always on the Balkan MTV. She was brilliant, she sang lots of covers of cool rocky songs and really got the crowd going. I was later told by one of the organisers, when I mentioned how much I enjoyed the concert, that the singer was a scout back when they were the Yugoslav scouts and waived her fees! She also talked her band and her manager into waiving their fees and they agreed because they were all x scouts too! We down went for a boogie and some beers with the Slovenians, who heartily approved of Emil, as he lived in Ljubljana for a few years and produced a bottle of Rakia from his coat for everyone to share. I was beginning to understand the lack of coffee on site, this Jamboree was being fuelled by Rakia! We danced and drank until the music stopped, then we retired to the Slovenian camp for some snacks and more drinks. We ate and chatted and sang, every second song they sang was Irish in my honour! I corrected their song book as the lyrics were sometimes very wrong, and explained the meaning of the many Irishisms in the songs. Before I knew it the sun was coming up! Macedonian sunrise! I was beautiful, and I had forgotten how nice it is to watch the sunrise as where I am living in the valley, we never see a sunrise, it just pops up over the mountain. After the sun had come up I decided as I had to actually work the next day I had better get a few hours shut eye. Emil was kind enough to walk me and my big scary shadows back to my campsite. (Its quite awkward saying a nice goodnight with two big scary minders staring at you, but we managed!)

The Macedonian Jamboree Part Four- Day Two PM.

I woke up the next morning, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe! The sun I had so admired just a few hours before had hit my tent and made it so hot you could cook a chicken inside. I managed to throw myself out of the tent, wearing just a wet t-shirt and knickers, and gasping for breath I bade good morning to my now familiar minders. I believe I saw a flicker of a smile cross their lips, but as quickly as it came it was replaced by the usual stern expression. I opened up my tent fully to let the superheated air out, and rummaged for my trousers and a dry t-shirt. Having dressed under the gaze of my minders, I wandered up to find some breakfast. It was as I feared and expected, the same as the previous day. I ate and headed to the Slovenians to scrounge some coffee and biscuits. My timing was, as usual, impeccable. I arrived just as one was pouring and another opening the packet. After a good chat and coffee, I set off to my exhibition tent to start my real work, running a workshop for the younger scouts. I found to my amazement, Mihajlo setting up his wares too. So I was to get the low down on the Jamboree so far.

The Low Down on the Jamboree so far

It was day seven of the Jamboree and things were not going according to plan. Because of the ruckus over the Radovan Karadzic business, a lot of the groups that were to attend did not travel, due to the uncertainty and the risk that borders might be closed at a moments notice. About three hundred people cancelled. It had rained on day three, unheard of in Macedonia during July, it had not rained in July since 1996. So all programmed activities were cancelled, because they just did not know how to deal with rain. Most of the tents leaked, as they were mostly x-army tents donated by the various peace keeping forces that passed through Macedonia over the years of turmoil. Most of the kids got wet and upset. The staff team got pretty bored during this time and resorted to the drink to pass the time. The activities did not resume when the rain stopped on day five and this lead to a staff team that was even more bored and drunk. The hygiene contractors that were to come and empty the Port-a-loos and collect the rubbish did not show up all week which resulted in large piles of refuse around the few and far between bins and the indescribable condition of the toilets. The toilet paper ran out on day two, and no one had the where withal to get some more. It was fast turning into a disaster. The planning team were not speaking to each other anymore so nothing was being done about the situation. The international guests were bewildered, the whole UK contingent left on day four.

Back to the story.

I had suspected that things were not all rosy in the garden, the piles of garbage were the first hint, the drunken staff team was the second. While I was getting the low down, storm clouds were gathering, and just about lunch time the sky opened. My minders at this point leapt quite suddenly into my exhibition tent knocking over a table and startling Mihajlo and me. Persistent heavy rain, the likes of which would soak you in a second was pouring from the sky. The thunder roared overhead and some spectacular lightning illuminated the big dark clouds. Donning our waterproof coats we made our way to lunch. (My minders were not impressed as they were both in t-shirts.)

Lunch was again as I suspected, appalling. Fish, that I believe had been cooking since the Yugoslavs left, sour rice and cucumber. The beverage was something akin to tea. I bravely ate as much as I could stomach and Mihajlo invited me to dinner that night to make up for leaving me all alone for the first day. Happy days. It was still chucking it down when we had finished and as the programme had gone to shit, no one turned up for my workshop during the morning, and I had no reason to believe they would show up for the afternoon, I took a nap. Agreeing with Mihajlo that he would wake me should anyone show up.

Adventure to India begins

Finally, after several of weeks of waiting on tender-hooks for visa/contract/passport/visa again, my journey begins! It starts early on a rainy Monday morning with a weepy Mum, bravely smiling Dad and a trip to the airport. I have a heavy cold- cough, runny nose, aches, chills and general associated misery. I should reach my final destination in about 20 hours.
I go to check in, realise my bags need rearranging, check in again. I notice at this point, quite a few babies around the Etihad check in area. I think, they cant all be on my flight and proceed to wave off my melancholy parents. During the security ordeal, I again notice several babies attached to distinctly Indian looking women. This has me a little concerned as I buy a few overpriced books and bottled water after the two day trek to the D gates at Dublin airport.
Its when I am waiting for the boarding to start that I really take notice of all fifteen babies, fifteen, I kid you not. They boarded first, business and baby class to begin. When I got onto the plane about ten out of the fifteen were screaming, not crying now, really screaming. OK, I think, I can deal with this, I have head phones and earplugs, mercifully the babies are not too close to my seat. There were al least two babies crying at any one time. I heard them over the movie and through the earplugs. I got no sleep (as is my custom) because the air conditioning dried my sinuses out to the point where breathing was actually painful.
Seven hours and two bad movies later, we landed in Abu Dhabi. It was over 40 degrees outside there, so of course inside it was minus fifteen. Why do hot countries insist on having competitions to see how cold and uncomfortable they can make their buildings. I might add that it’s always the buildings that you can’t leave that they make coldest and driest, like transit areas or waiting rooms.
Shivering and miserable I wait for the next flight. Curiously enough the babies have disappeared. This does not cheer me up much as my pessimism leads me to believe they will all jump out as we board. I normally have quite an optimistic disposition, cynical yes but still optimistic. Boarding begins and the two ladies in wheelchairs are first aboard. Then the call goes out to families. I brace my self for the stampede... and none comes. Oh Joy! Even better, they then call lone women! That would be you the man said and ushered me aboard! Things were looking up. Happily, the inside of the plane was not baltic or saharan in climate! I was in my seat and asleep before they shut the doors, sweet, sweet oblivion.
The smiling hostess/steward/whatever other pc title they want, woke me for my meal, for which I was grateful as the food on the last flight was dire, rubber chicken and rocky bread.
I was bitterly disappointed, more of the same. How is it possible to replicate identically bad food worldwide? Surely the bad chefs in Dublin have different ways to make the food suck than the bad chefs in Abu Dhabi. They must be using the same bad food recipes worldwide.
Anyhoo, soon after we landed in Mumbai. I had spotted a few airport workers in Abu Dhabi wearing medical face masks. when we landed in Mumbai, thanks to the human air conditioning on the flight, my nose had started running again. During the flight they had handed out the usual arrival form and another special form for swine flu. So coughing sniffing and spluttering I made my way through the airport, where everyone wore masks, to a section where medical looking people were examining passengers and their forms.
My heart sank, would I be sent home, put in quarantine, put down or suffer some other unimaginable fate?
I got in the queue and sniffed quietly until my turn came. The medical looking person did not even look at my face, she took my form and just waved me along!
With a pep in my step anew I fled the airport, changed my Euros into Rupees and looked nervously for my driver.
The last time I came to India my driver had been stuck in a traffic jam and was late. Of course I didn't know this and emerged happily into the Mumbai heat to find no one to meet me, except about four hundred men meeting other people or looking for a fare. A very nice man, noticing me looking green with worry and standing around like a sore thumb, offered to let me use his phone. He opened the conversation with “I don’t mean to intimidate you madam, but you look a little frightened...”
This time I spotted a very little guy with a sign that had my name. He took my 30 kilo case and placed me at a pick up point.
“don’t move, don’t move, I get car” and off he skipped.
Okey doky little dude. When he arrived some time later with the car, he tried to put my case in the boot, but the little dude looked half the weight of the thing so I tried to help. Immediately four guys materialise beside me and gently prise the case away from me and into the boot, while looking at me like I had two heads. I am a western woman, what was I thinking, lifting my own case?
I got into the car, nice and cool, not baltic, just cool and fell fast asleep. I woke up a few hours later, the sun was rising and I started to recognise Pune.
“five minutes madam”
Super. We arrived, woke up the dogs and night watchman, waved goodbye to the little dude, and filled in some paperwork. Its about six am, but India is all about the paperwork.
At about six thirty I get to my new home, my very own little piece of Sangam.
Breakfast is at eight thirty, and I am hungry, so I decide to unpack and try and kill some time until then, have breakfast and sleep until lunch. I fell asleep at about ten past eight.
Rage.