Outbound tourism from India is one of the fastest growing business segments globally, with the number of Indian travellers growing from 3.7 million in 1997 to 9.8 million in 2007, and their spending increasing from $1.3 billion (Dh4.77 billion) in 1997 to $8.2 billion in 2008.
No wonder then that Indian newspapers regularly carry enticing offers of foreign holidays and feature articles on travel experiences, shopping, even tips on social and dining etiquette. One reads blogs on the poor social graces of Indians, their meanness in tipping, flouting rules, non-adaptability and discrimination of subordinates like waiters and porters.
Yet, if Indians are derided for their tendency to travel in noisy packs, their insistence on eating their highly spiced home-cooked food and reluctance to sample local cuisine, western tourists in India are equally culpable in their insensitivity to the local dress code, venturing into conservative urban areas in skimpy wear and then getting offended at the inevitable male reactions.
So, to an Indian globetrotter who loves trying out the local food and prefers travelling without the restrictions that group travel entails, what exactly makes a holiday memorable? Even if the destination is new, and the language unfamiliar, it takes but a small gesture or a genuine attempt to communicate, to make your entire trip a pleasurable experience.
While travelling from place to place, from city to city, from country to country, it is the contrasts and often the similarities that wake you up to a realisation of the commonalities in human nature and the varying cultural ethos across the globe.
Take for instance, the habit of queuing up for your turn. The Indian disregard for this form of discipline and courtesy is legendary, including the fact that in Mumbai, where queuing for buses is actually prevalent, the same queue breaks up into a noisy, pushy mass of aggressive elbows and shoulders and hips of those trying to get in.
It is unfair though to blame only the travelling public, when buses are hardly ever on time and tend to arrive in waves between long gaps of busless waiting.
When finally you do get into your bus, what happens? First of all, it is possible that the driver may start the bus even as you place your foot on the first step. It is definitely possible that the bus is so full that only passengers pressing against you from all sides keeps you erect.
And then there is the conductor, often surly and rude, sometimes taking your money without giving a ticket. I have myself been through all this, and once long ago, wept copious tears at being publicly berated for entering the bus wearing a wet raincoat (it was monsoon in Mumbai).
Orderliness
In Amsterdam, every public form of transport is punctual to a fault. The exact time of arrival and departure is not only printed at each stop but followed. If already full (never in the Indian sense of full!) the bus displays a message, ‘Sorry, the bus is vol', that carries across language barriers. The drivers and conductors are courteous, even jovial, and they even seem to have the authority to reduce, or waive fares on festival days.
Another unfamiliar sight is the orderliness of traffic, even in the midst of a traffic jam, and the dutiful stopping at red signals even when there is no traffic. I shall not write about the comfort quotient of the buses, nor the cleanliness of public toilets. Neither shall I wax eloquent over the amenities that the bus and train stations provide, nor the care that the public takes of these amenities.
Where is the Indian who would rather air his views in private than discuss every matter aloud for the benefit of every ear within a distance of 100 yards?
In the Paris metros, the only carrying voices would be those of an Indian group or a vociferous bunch of school-going teenagers. But this time around, on my visit to Italy earlier this year, it was the Japanese that I found unforgivably rude and insensitive, yelling across to each other, even inside churches. Thankfully, I haven't seen any Indian doing that yet.
I recall the month-long strike in Paris in 1995. No buses or trains, and skipping work was not an option, so people trekked to work and back on foot, on roller skates, even by boat on the Seine. However, private cars commuting to and from the suburbs had stickers indicating the direction they were headed, and picked up as many people as could fit in, free of charge.
Back home, most of us would be wary of offering a lift to a stranger, not without reason, and the longer the distance the greater our reluctance. Eating out was a mixed experience. While we were overwhelmed by the kind generosity of the tavern hostess in Granada, who plied us with additional items on the house, there was the restaurant in Amsterdam that insisted we buy tap water although this is required to be provided free.
But when it comes to exchange of life histories on a journey, there is nobody to beat the Indian traveller. A lone traveller will not remain alone once he partakes of his fellow passenger's plate, so addresses will be exchanged and several of these meetings will actually fructify into friendships.
I should know, for I have myself been a part of such travelogues and this was brought home once again when I was recently contacted on Facebook by a friend acquired on a train journey made more than five years ago.
Vimala Madon is a freelance journalist based in Secunderabad, India.
