The Chaos began immediately. My wife and I had just arrived into Chennai airport on the South Eastern shores of India and on entering into the customs hall we were greeted by what appeared to be the entire world’s population. There was barely any room to move and I quickly became aware that personal space was a thing of the past. Everyone had just piled to the front towards the desks and there was clearly no queuing system in operation. It was a total free for all but me and Anna struggled to deviate from our Britishness and attempted to create our own queue. Suffice to say we were getting nowhere fast and people just basically walked in front of us.
After what seemed an eternity we finally got towards the front desk and came face to face with a ruthless-looking Indian man with a very well-trimmed mustache. I straightened my hair, which had become unruly after months of traveling and self-cutting, and handed my passport over. I was feeling confident and was ready to walk through when suddenly the officer barked at me in some foreign tongue. My obvious confusion caused the fellow to revert to English and I realised that he was saying the word “hotel”. His English seemed limited to this word and he began speaking in Hindi and making exaggerated hand movements towards my documents. I looked to Anna for wisdom but she was equally as confused. Another flight had obviously just landed and the hall began to fill up once again. Sensing our predicament, the customs operator took customer service to a whole new level and simply ignored us until we stepped away from the desk.
After stepping out of the ‘queue’, a large Indian woman approached us and asked us to follow her. We were taken into some small room, which had definitely seen better days. The crumbling walls were stained with brown marks and there was literally one chair and a desk. For some ridiculous reason I had decided to watch ‘Banged Up Abroad’ on TV before traveling to India and this room looked very similar to the ones where smugglers were taken on this program. I became paranoid that something had happened to our bags, particularly given the stern gaze from the lady who had sat down behind the desk. We stood awkwardly until eventually, the lady spoke to us.
“What do you want?” She demanded
This seemed like a perfectly logical question. What on earth would anyone entering an airport possibly want? Obviously, we had just flown to India to stand in the customs hall for two months. After some further conversation, we discovered that we couldn’t just simply turn up and find a hotel in Chennai despite having a visa and the guy at the desk would not allow us entry into the country because we didn’t have a confirmation letter.
The world’s happiest lady told us to find a hotel and gave us access to her phone. Hurriedly we looked through our travel guide, hoping for inspiration. We didn’t really want to stay in the city as we knew we were in for a huge culture shock and we wanted time to adapt. The travel scriptures spoke of a small coastal town called Mamallapuram which was only two leagues south of the citadel. We found a suitable hotel and sensing our predicament, the guesthouse owner decided to charge us treble the original price. Having no choice but to accept, we agreed on the cost and were dismissed from the office. We were then shuffled back to the front of the queue where we were finally able to enter India.
At least two hours had passed when we eventually entered the baggage collection area and immediately I felt uneasy. None of the conveyor belts were moving and there was literally nobody else around. I could sense oncoming panic from Anna, but before she could fall into madness I told her that the logical thing to do would be to find an information desk, as surely in a country with a high threat of terrorism they would not leave two very large rucksacks abandoned in the middle of an airport and then I spotted them, lying on the floor, abandoned in the middle of an airport. I simply them picked up (which technically any other citizen could have done) and walked towards the exit. I already felt like I needed to have a lie-down and I hadn’t even ventured outside. If you think the airport was stressful, then I would recommend having a lie down also before carrying on, because beyond the gates was a world of utter carnage.
The automatic doors opened and I was hit by a wave of heat, noise, and colour. I was literally mesmerised and for a moment all I could do was just stare at the madness. Never before had I seen so many people, cars, animals and rubbish in one area. The women were dressed in magnificent colourful Sarees and many of the men were dressed in a lungi, which is almost like a long shawl tied around the waist and is the traditional dress of the Tamil Nadu Province. The sky was a hazy blue and the fierce heat of the sun pierced the skin. The dust and smog were almost unbearable and I felt my lungs protesting at the sudden change of environment. It felt like I had literally entered an entirely different world where there were no rules. The traffic was particularly manic and part of me wanted the doors to close so I could return to the safety of the airport. Horns blared loudly and it appeared that motorbikes and rickshaws were allowed to travel on any side of the road or even footpaths. Rubbish was piled against walls and the aromas which filled the air were anything but pleasant. I looked towards the road and my first feeling was that I had seen a mirage. Wandering nonchalantly down the centre of a dual carriageway, oblivious to all the carnage, was a huge white cow. After seeing this, I instantly understood all the warnings about culture shock.
After taking in this incredible scene, we finally managed to venture beyond the doors and into this manic pit. Instantly we were surrounded by every Auto rickshaw driver and his dog. Hypnotic words buzzed around me like flies as I tried to make my way through this crowd of men. Each driver promised a good price and some of the more cunning ones tried to pretend that it was not possible for us to get a bus anywhere. It was almost like they were trying to use Jedi mind tricks by repeating the same phrase over and over again.
We had been told by a member of airport staff that there was a bus station just outside the airport, however, after about 30 minutes of searching, we could see no sign of such a building. Looking towards the road I saw numerous buses passing by and I suddenly realised that what they meant by bus station was basically the road. I looked to my left and saw a bus approaching. I waited for it to stop and confusion turned to amazement as I witnessed numerous locals literally chasing down the bus and then leaping onto it whilst it was still moving. Entire families of people were running after buses and they were all packed to the rafters, with people hanging from the doors. Realisation dawned upon me that if Anna and I were to get anywhere then we were going to have to do the same with our huge rucksacks and shoulder bags. I was known locally as Sunderland’s Indiana Jones and thus I was confident I could make such a jump but Anna started to fall into despair and she refused to believe that this was the only way.
“This cannot be, we must make for the airport and seek further council” She cried
“The wise have spoken. We have no choice but to make this jump, a bus comes from yonder. We must move NOW. . .”
A dusty blue bus approached and I positioned myself at the side of the road, ready to make the jump. It literally slowed down for about two seconds which was barely enough time to throw on all the bags and Anna. The bus then started to gather pace and I still wasn’t onboard. I rolled back the years and picked up the pace before jumping and grabbing onto a metal bar. It was literally like a scene from an action movie. The locals clapped and cheered and burst into songs of old, it was a jovial time but it was also only the beginning. Our entire focus was consumed by getting onto the bus and we hadn’t stopped to think about where we were supposed to be going, where to get off or whether this was even the right one. Anna attempted to ask one of the locals but they just smiled and nodded. Everyone seemed to be staring directly at us without trying to hide it. I felt slightly uncomfortable and anxious. I had no idea where we were going but we had no choice but to go with it.
Despite the anxiety, I was finally able to sit back and take in my surroundings. The sheer amount of rubbish which was piled up at the side of the roads was incredible. Cows were found just helping themselves to scraps and there was a less than savoury smell coming through the windows. The pollution from the cars and the dust from all the crumbling buildings had left me feeling quite nauseous but the heat was so intense that I had no choice but to keep the windows open. All the buildings seemed to be built from every raw material ever created with random bits of sheet metal stuck onto wooden framework and each one seemed to sell mobile phones or electronics. Locals sat outside waiting for customers which I am sure there was no shortage of given the huge number of people squashed into one city.
After around twenty minutes we finally arrived into a central bus station, which was basically another road with buses parked down the side. We had literally no idea where we needed to go to find a bus to Mamallapuram, the signs were all in Hindi and it was difficult to guess what any of it meant as the language is written more in symbols than letters. We followed the road which appeared to have some form of an open cesspit at the side of it. Only the gods know what devilry was floating in that pool of fifth but I steered well clear. Suffice to say, there was no chance of me buying any fruit from the stalls which were literally 10 centimetres away.
As a man from the British realms of men, I was finding it hard to cope with the lack of order. There was literally no organisation to anything. Simply getting on a bus to another place was like trying to understand Quantum Physics. The heat was getting worse and we found ourselves walking around aimlessly with our bags not having any clue as to what we were supposed to do next. At one point there were so many people on the path pushing passed me that I almost fell into the pool at the side. We literally spent around an hour in this haze of confusion trying to find transport. Eventually, a kind citizen sensed our predicament and as luck would have it, he was also going towards Mamallapuram. He led us on safe paths to a building which did look vaguely like a bus station and bade us wait.
I unshouldered my bags and sat down breathing a sigh of relief. I finally felt like I was able to relax and I was hopeful that we would finally escape the boiling cauldron of Chennai. The chaotic scene surrounding me was just mesmerising. Traffic driving in all directions and pedestrians wandering into the middle of the road oblivious to it all. Indian people seem to really enjoy near-death experiences. There were people who were literally inches away from getting knocked down, but they were so intent on getting to the other side of the road three seconds quicker, that they didn’t seem to care. There were also people literally hanging off buses, and rickshaws which contained an entire family and all their furniture. Dogs and Goats just wandered around freely, searching for scraps and it wasn’t a difficult task given the rubbish. I was totally in awe of this place and I had only been to India for two hours.
Just as I came to this conclusion I was suddenly awoken from my trance when all the people nearby began sprinting down the street. The bus to Mamallapuram had turned up but obviously, in India, it doesn’t make sense for it to stop at its designated area and once again I had to roll back the years and leap onto it whilst it was in motion. Travelling India was going to be a challenge. This was going to be a real adventure. . .
If you Have enjoyed this then you may also enjoy my American Travel Adventure which is available on ebook and paperback. . .
