Translated by google!!!
Our driver named Regen is a western style dressed young Indian who ekes out with odd jobs. Actually, he’s too cool for the job, he has finally been sniffed in Dubai western air until the Arabs have closed the supermarket. During this trip, we learn to know more about the Indian caste system and why you as a foreigner not drive need. Rain the nights sleeping in the hotel’s chauffeur accommodation, in the garage and even in the car. Labor force in India is not much value, because we have used to. We rent a Mahindra jeep for the price of a small car and get a free chauffeur with it. The streets are loaded with people, cows, rickshaws and motorcycles with entire families. Indians ride sidesaddle – anything else would be too offensive. On the back of a truck Indians sitting on wooden benches, a mahout with his elephants blocked the road and a red scooter transports gas cylinders. Everyday life in India. Awareness of risk does not seem to be present in the country, what happens happens, if it should happen, is the setting. On the street is sold, processed, sewn, repaired, coiffed, cooked, ate, slept, and much more, what is happening with us behind closed doors. The street shops to see all the same-same from ramschig and colorful and yet very different. We take a rickshaw through the Cochin city, our driver tells us a little spice factory, dried ginger and preserved in a side street, we would have never found alone, let alone enter. Many drivers are commission hunters, drag the naive tourists to all sorts of shops. The Ginger Factory is just a warm, the roof terrace with the best view supposedly the main course. Our rickshaw driver is obviously surprised when we the business without Gewüze, board games, carpets or other trinkets left again.