A novice in India
This has been my first day on my own, without Rebecca holding my hand. So I start it out, of course, with what's probably a classic India experience: you're 99.44% sure someone is trying to rip you off, but that other little fraction of you is stymied by liberal upper-class guilt. Maybe, just maybe, it's you who's about to cheat someone -- and, after all, when it's a matter of cents, you can better afford to take the hit than the other guy. It happened when I was dropped at the train station, in a pre-dawn fog (both external and internal), and had my bag seized by a porter. Rebecca had warned me that this would happen, and also that it was a good thing: the porter would know exactly where to put me on the platform so that my carriage would stop right in front of me (India, apparently, has this kind of efficiency in common with Japan). What she hadn't told me -- or I hadn't remembered -- was how much to tip him. My first instinct was 10 rps., but as I was already feeling guilty about perhaps undertipping the help at the guesthouse, I pulled out 20 for him. He shook his head, and asked for 30. And sounded so convincing: it was the charge, it seemed; he wasn't just wheedling. I hesitated, then agreed. Then he said I'd misheard him (which I might have), and he wanted 80. That I knew was absurd: 80 rps will get you an autorickshaw ride halfway across Delhi. Even 30 will get you a cycle rickshaw for a good distance. I told him no, it was only one bag, and not worth that much. We argued good-naturedly for a while, then I turned out my pockets and gave him what coins I had -- about another 12 rps -- to settle the matter: I simply had no more money.
When I got to Agra, I saw clearly posted signs on the station platform indicating that the charge was 10 rps. for one head load of baggage.
Well, at least my initial instincts had been right.
It's so hard to know what to do when people approach you. Some are genuinely helpful just to be nice; many more are genuinely helpful and nice but also will try to get something out of you because, after all, that's what you're there for. As my driver today told me, while gently trying to get me to visit a marble factory ("not to buy, just to see"), basically all of Agra depends on tourist income. The thing is, in the ordinary course of things, I'd love to see a factory: but I know it won't stop there.
I actually like my driver quite a lot. And this is one of those "how do I tell?" situations. He picked me out on the platform, right as I stepped out of the train (I did not prearrange this), and tried to direct me to the pre-paid taxi stand. I said I needed the luggage storage area, and he proceeded to lead me there, instead -- then to wait for me, lead me to the taxi stand, and arrange my payment. I was suspicious, and would have refused to go along with it, but it was the stand I was supposed to use, and the prices were posted, and they were actually a bit less than I'd been told they would be. So it's very weird: I have this driver, and car, for the whole day: he takes me places, drops me off, and waits outside till I'm done. A few times we've arranged times to meet, so he doesn't have to wait places where he can't park. He's always been there early, etc. He's tried very hard to dissuade me from doing a couple of things I wanted to do, and compromised with my desire to walk to a restaurant in the no-car zone outside the Taj by hiring me a cycle rickshaw. He said otherwise I'd be followed down the street and harrassed. I'm sure he was right: I've been pestered mercilessly (yes, my invisibility cloak is well and truly gone) every time I exit a major site (although not at my lovely little tomb this morning). I've had to pretty much physically push people away several times (basically by hitting them, but stopping a few inches short of them). It's a real bind: I either get overprotected by a nice guy who's made it his business (both literally and metaphorically) to shield me from the hassles of the street, or I get hassled. It's hard when I don't like tourguides, even if they're included in the price of admission, and I don't like being directed. If I hear anybody laughing (Jeff? Marcia?), you will pay later.
Speaking of paying, I've been here an hour, so I think I'll pay up, go grab some dinner and chai, and relax with a Wilkie Collins novel for a few hours.
When I got to Agra, I saw clearly posted signs on the station platform indicating that the charge was 10 rps. for one head load of baggage.
Well, at least my initial instincts had been right.
It's so hard to know what to do when people approach you. Some are genuinely helpful just to be nice; many more are genuinely helpful and nice but also will try to get something out of you because, after all, that's what you're there for. As my driver today told me, while gently trying to get me to visit a marble factory ("not to buy, just to see"), basically all of Agra depends on tourist income. The thing is, in the ordinary course of things, I'd love to see a factory: but I know it won't stop there.
I actually like my driver quite a lot. And this is one of those "how do I tell?" situations. He picked me out on the platform, right as I stepped out of the train (I did not prearrange this), and tried to direct me to the pre-paid taxi stand. I said I needed the luggage storage area, and he proceeded to lead me there, instead -- then to wait for me, lead me to the taxi stand, and arrange my payment. I was suspicious, and would have refused to go along with it, but it was the stand I was supposed to use, and the prices were posted, and they were actually a bit less than I'd been told they would be. So it's very weird: I have this driver, and car, for the whole day: he takes me places, drops me off, and waits outside till I'm done. A few times we've arranged times to meet, so he doesn't have to wait places where he can't park. He's always been there early, etc. He's tried very hard to dissuade me from doing a couple of things I wanted to do, and compromised with my desire to walk to a restaurant in the no-car zone outside the Taj by hiring me a cycle rickshaw. He said otherwise I'd be followed down the street and harrassed. I'm sure he was right: I've been pestered mercilessly (yes, my invisibility cloak is well and truly gone) every time I exit a major site (although not at my lovely little tomb this morning). I've had to pretty much physically push people away several times (basically by hitting them, but stopping a few inches short of them). It's a real bind: I either get overprotected by a nice guy who's made it his business (both literally and metaphorically) to shield me from the hassles of the street, or I get hassled. It's hard when I don't like tourguides, even if they're included in the price of admission, and I don't like being directed. If I hear anybody laughing (Jeff? Marcia?), you will pay later.
Speaking of paying, I've been here an hour, so I think I'll pay up, go grab some dinner and chai, and relax with a Wilkie Collins novel for a few hours.
posted by Ruth | 8:14 AM
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