Joris

“When in India, remember the 3 Ts – things take time”

Joris (pronounced you-ris) was keen on getting me adjusted to life in India as quickly as possible.

Notwithstanding the fact that administrative matters in India are a little clunky, my first 48 hours in India has just been a whirlwind.

As a foretaste, I’ve given my only other pair of jeans away, participated in blowing up a stadium (exaggeration), realised that toilet paper is not used in Vellore (for the most part), got lost, and ate cake. Yes, cake.

But let me first tell you the taxi story.

As you know, 48 hours ago I arrived in a country where I didn’t speak the language, didn’t know anyone, and didn’t have a clue where what I was supposed to spend the night. So imagine my relief, when, as I walked out of the terminal, I spied someone holding a piece of paper saying,

“James Wei. CMC Vellore. International Modale Hostel” First base!

As the vehicle which possessed no side mirrors sped along, I learnt that my driver was a Christian. A recent convert, who faced a fair amount of rejection from his family for his decision. In a sense, that put to rest thoughts of the possibility of being kidnapped, and halfway through the 2 hour journey, I began to dose off.

“You want tea?”

He was offering me tea.

“Sure!”

He pulled off to the side, and we got out. In my dream-like state, I could barely make out a wooden stand in a little clearing. Something was brewing.

Tea was pretty good. Sweet, as most Indian beverages are. He paid for our tea before I could say “gobsswabble”, leaving me feeling a little bad for the rest of the journey.

Eventually, we got to a gated compound with a security guard. Second base. After a brief exchange, we continued puttering down a dirt road. We pulled over in front of a compound with a gleaming marble floor. A sleepy eyed attendant emerged from an adjoining room, and took a seat at the reception desk. After shuffling some stationery, he produced an envelope. I could see that it had my name on it.

“Read it.”

I proceeded to open the envelope, thinking that this was a really cool adventure. Out fell money, together with a letter. The letter instructed me to pay the taxi driver the 1700 rupees (slightly under A$50), or more if I felt like giving him a tip. The note also told me that the people who had received me would take me to the Modale hostel. Third base.

“How much is the taxi ride?”

“Ah...1600 rupees?”

I thought he was such a nice guy, so I decided to give him a little more than the standard fare and he left with 2000 rupees.

So that’s how I met Joris in pyjamas peering out of room three of the Modale hostel at 2am in the morning. In case you’re wondering, Joris is Dutch.

“Um, sorry, there’s someone else sleeping in your bed for the night...”

So in the wee hours of the morning, we went pulling out the cushions from the sofa chairs in the common room.

“You'll have to wait 10 minutes for the hot water”

That’s not too bad, I though. I was pretty much expecting to have to boil water and use a bucket and scoop the old fashioned way for a hot bath. 20 minutes later, fresh after a nice hot shower, I crawled into my sleeping bag on the cushions and fell asleep. Fourth base.

Joris and Me