The Eurail experience – a lot to be desired
First day of the Hornbill Festival of Nagaland some years ago. Many glasses of zutho, traditional rice beer, later I was winding my way aided by random hands and shoulders out of the Kisama venue to the car park. My crew – we were filming the weeklong spectacle for a travel channel – was supposed to meet me next to a temporary ATM which served more as a landmark than cash dispenser in the ensuing days having run out on the second day itself. We were all drunk or tired or both with just one thing on our minds – bed. The dead beat faces in the distance jolted a realisation through the boeotian ataraxia induced by the foamy ferment – we had no hotel bookings! Actually, I – the guy in charge – hadn’t made any! Driving in from Dimapur that morning we were informed all the hotels in Kohima, the capital city and the town nearest to the festival venue were full. Deciding to try our luck after work we fell headlong into the inaugural ceremony, the Nyalipu dance of the Konyaks, houtho songs of the Angamis, momos and zutho. As I neared the ATM, expectant eyes wafted over me; I turned around and looked at the quickly dissipating humanity for ways to disappear.
Travel logistics have always been a nightmare for me – coupled with being the banausic laggard that I am, also missing is that part of the brain which goes into pulling off a properly planned peregrination. And even when I do bask in the occasional glory of a successful sojourn, one without apparent untoward incident, I discover that stuff was lost along the way – three passports, five Swiss knives and countless Zippos, to name some that mattered. So, in order to cut down on the painful losses – the Zippos were mostly loving gifts; the passport officer asked me without mirth whether I was on the wanted list of the Interpol – and to counter the animadversions, albeit with a lot of merit, and in an earnest attempt to be better organised peripatetically I decided to pick some pointers from the recent month-and-half long Europe trip of the most organised person I know in the world – Minu, in all sense my better half.
Though me and my wife are as different as North Face and Neiman Marcus literally when it comes to travel sensibilities the one thing we agree on is not being a ‘herded traveller’ – then those who go with groups needn’t worry about these anyway.
Booking dot com
The ‘key’ sign – the French says like it is
Hotel reservations were made in advance through hotel room aggregator sites specifically booking.com from India itself. Reservations were made for the Birmingham, London, Paris, Milan, Florence and Rome legs of the journey. But of course, this mandates that you have your itinerary planned well in advance: which means you will have to decide what all to see in advance and how much time you will spend seeing them. Which of course means that you find out in advance what all are there to see and do. Whew! The reservations were made in hotels just a hop skip away from airports or railway stations if the arrival time was evening or later. If not, it was made near the main draws of the destination. Not having to commute large distances to the place of stay is useful to visit as many attractions as possible when time is limited. In case of women travellers, this is also a safety consideration. Then being a male is no guarantee from getting mugged or pickpocketed as those who have been to Italy or Cockney London would know.
Flipside: Though the decisions were mostly budget-based, the rooms of, say, the Comfort Inn, Sacre Coeur, Paris, had barely enough elbow room. The complimentary breakfast was less than basic – with even the staple egg missing. Lesson: Pictorial representations or guest reviews on such umbrella platforms are not to be trusted at face value. However some might still decide to go for it for the discount rates they offer which may not be available elsewhere even on the parent sites.
Minu decided to cancel her hotel bookings and shifted loyalties to homestay aggregators after Paris and stayed at properties listed on airbnb from Italy onward. She still raves about the one in Rome, its natural lighting and spatial extravagance, the well-stocked library, vintage wines and the owner, a budding actor, probably not in this order. Though she didn’t get to meet the host personally she was relentlessly serenaded by the unwitting jocosity in his English – which she relishes to this day. (See photograph of the ‘key’ sign.)
Mapping the way
Download a copy in case of patchy connection
Google Maps were used to find the location, distances, modes and mix of optimal transport to the destinations and even transit time. In Paris for example all sightseeing was guided by Google Maps; this was also because Minu had been here on many occasions before and this time she was gunning more for experiences rather than sights. Yet another reason for taking the recourse is the exasperating non-English assertions of the French. ‘Je ne parle pas anglais’ finally became equally heartrending and scary as Regan going ‘Get away from me’ in Exorcist.
Flipside: Sometimes new constructions or road repairs may render the route mapped inaccurate, tedious and long-winded. Using a GPS-guided map in Delhi I have been told many times to turn right atop flyovers when the intersection was 50 feet below me. It also takes away one more opportunity to interact with a native – many a time simple direction queries have led to deeper and quite insightful interactions for me.
Tip: Save the screenshot of the direction map before you set off in case there of downloading troubles along the way.
Early ticketing
Homestay to the rescue – Minu’s pad in Rome
Queuing up at ticket counters is one of the easily avoidable time consumers. Experienced victims of pickpocketing opine that it is while standing in this sinuous line – the incredulous expression, the nonplussed queries and finally being pointed out that you were in the wrong queue all the while – you foray into the cutpurse radar. Minu purchased her train tickets from the Trainline site for all internal travel in the UK; the site comes highly recommended by regular travellers and visiting ones for its ease of use and clutter-free design. However the same cannot be said about Eurail passes (for train travel between most European countries) that cost a mini fortune at 712 euros (equivalent to over half a lakh rupees): it is only when you reach the station that you are informed that seats are limited for pass holders. The ploy – it is suspected – is to make you shell out money for new tickets. Black market is rampant.
Day Passes can also be bought which covers all types of transport to anywhere valid for 24 hours: in Paris the pass costs seven euros whereas a single trip is 1.80. A rip-off is the bunch of 10 tickets that come for 14 euros – just remember you are not here on some geocaching adventure.
‘The most expensive piece of toilet paper I ever bought,’ is how Minu calls her Eurail pass. The refugee movement had already begun when she travelled which further added to her woes: at the Swiss border the train halted for over two hours and an African in the compartment was whisked away into the night by border guards. All the while his companion pretended not even to know him and kept a stolid unblinking stare in a stoic face. Thankfully a bunch of models bound for Milan boarded replacing Minu’s security concerns with insecurity pangs.
Mr Kezo’s house
At Kisama as I looked around hoping for unseen help it came. Mr Kezo had been following me to return a pen that had fallen on the mela grounds from my multi-pocket vest. I thanked him profusely – it was a Sheaffer from my dad – and he asked me where we were staying. During that instalment of the festival and for two later editions I stayed with the Kezos at their large family house right in the middle of Kohima town.
Flipside: There are not many Mr Kezos in the world.
