Up with the flatulent sparrows at 4:30, which wasn't made easier by the not so early night. A "proper" taxi took us to the railway station where we queued for our morning cuppa and watched the cockroaches scurry around in the food cabinet - We decided not to eat.
The train was punctual, although not the cleanest seat I've ever sat on. (Mind you, nothing prepares you for the toilet). Anyway, we bimbled along for 300kms through stunning scenery and crumbling stations. I'm glad to have made the trip because there was a temptation to just give up at the ticket-buying stage.
However, unlike the 6:40 to Kings Cross, you get served brekkers on the Chennai Express. Just the usual bread and jam plus some nasty vada and something unidentifiable in a foil dish but welcome nevertheless. Not wanting a day-long visit from the Toilet Fairy, we cravenly skipped the foil/foul things
Once in Chennai, we hailed a taxi up to the Enfield factory from "Chiselling Taxis". Predictably, on arrival, the fare had doubled so we gave him the agreed amount and told him forcefully how very unlikely he was to get any more.
Predictably (again), we couldn't find the Enfield factory but this was to be expected since it was down a dirt road, which led off a dirt road. I guess they don't put much store by a business' address in India.
From "Rue de Merde", we walked 2kms to the beach just so we could say we'd paddled in the Bay of Bengal. Then we walked the same distance again back to the nearest approximation to civilisation. It was really quite a lot of walking in the midday sun. Still, we finally jumped into a tuk tuk and chose a top notch restaurant in downtown Chennai, as recommended by Lonely Planet. Well, when you're in the Yuen formerly known as Madras, it would be rude not to have a Madras and an impudent Kingfisher.
The eatery looked very basic and was rammed with locals. So, dead authentic but the service was glacial and the food, not really what we were after and certainly no beer. Still, an absolute snip at £1.60. As we left, we noticed another place around the corner and popped in for seconds, fat knackers that we are. Stonking nosh but an exhorbitant £3.50 and still not a sniff of a Kingfisher.
Having not managed a cheeky beer in Chennai, we headed off to the airport and found, to our immense horror, that the bar was closed for a public holiday. I argued that, with my big ears and nose, I was almost certainly the reincarnation of Ganesha and should be allowed a drink but all I got was a punch in the trunk for my blasphemy. Fair enough, I suppose.
So we killed an hour at the airport in bored abstinence. I could really have done with a toy-drum but they're so hard to come by in India.
Once on the aircraft, the stewardess came marching down to find us. Fully expecting that something was seriously wrong, in fact she just wanted to confirm our meal choice....Ah yes! - When I was booking the flights, they kept demanding more and more useless information and eventually wouldn't let me proceed without choosing a meal, (obvious nonsense on a 1 hour flight). So in a strop, I selected "Bland Meal" and I suppose she wanted to see what sort of person would eat such a thing.
Once airborne, we got our meal and it really was pretty bland. The plain chicken sandwich was safe enough but the watermelon was a bit too racey for me.
Back in Bangalore, we decided that an early night would be letting India win, so we got the taxi to drop us at StoutStrasse for a date with Mr C. In your face, India!
No comments:
Post a Comment