I grabbed a fork by its head last night. The fork was dirty. I was not the one who had used it. I was not related to the person who had used it. I didn't know the person who had used it. I stopped to think for a minute. That should gross me out, but "meh" was the only response I had. I grab people's dirty silverware, napkins, glasses, etc without batting an eye. Clearly, I've worked in a restaurant for too long. The only thing that gets me is that my dirty dish touching combined with a couple of days a week spent in the giant petri dish otherwise known as an elementary school classroom forms a super army of make me sick invaders. So when I woke up this morning with a sore throat, stuffy nose, and a cough that won't stop, I wasn't too terribly surprised. And I actually don't mind it that much, because the stuffed up nose makes the blended up kale I drink for breakfast several mornings a week go down a lot smoother. I close my eyes and pretend it's a milkshake.
Plus, what customer doesn't love a sniffling, mouth breathing bartender?
So, Delhi.
Truthfully, I didn't do my India homework quite as well as I should have. Santa Claus gave me a copy of Lonely Planet Thailand, so I spent a lot of time looking at that, knowing Anya was working her way through LP India. I'd done some googling, but overall I was pretty lazy about India planning. So when the Thailand portion of our trip came to an end, I found myself laying on my hostel bed in Bangkok thinking "holy moly, I'm going to India tomorrow!" I was feeling a mix of excitement, nervousness, disbelief, and sadness to be leaving Thailand because it's that wonderful. I wished time would slow a bit. Like always, it didn't, and before I knew it, I was in a my life is flashing before my eyes I hope this van has good brakes terrifying drive out to Suvarnabhumi Airport. Even if we'd not looked at the check in screen, our flight would have been easy to find because the line of people waiting to check in looked the like cast from a Bollywood movie. There were Sikhs wearing turbans, beautiful young women wearing bracelets up to their elbows, portly older women wearing colorful saris, young men with over producted hair and tight jeans, and despite being in Bangkok, no Thai people checking into this flight, and very few non Indians of any nationality. And, strangely enough about every 4th person was carrying one or several giant flat screen TVs. Maybe giant TVs are expensive in India, so while most people's idea of a souvenir is a tshirt or refrigerator magnet, Indians like to remember their Thailand vacation with a 55 inch Samsung TV.
I spent the 4 hour flight giving myself a pep talk. You can do this you can do this you can do this. The man at immigration was intimidating, but after what felt like forever he stamped my visa and I was free in India. We collected our bags, blew through customs, found the man with our names on a sign, and we were on our way to the hotel. Like most places, the area around the airport was forgetable, but I still found myself thinking "Ok, you're doing it. You're in India. You don't have typhoid (yet). You can do this." That feeling lasted about 10 minutes, until the car stopped at the first of many red lights. A lady with rotting teeth holding a baby came up and started tapping on the windows of the car. When we didn't give her anything, and she soon left, but then a young girl, maybe around 4 years old came up to the car. She was naked aside from a pair of underwear made from what looked like burlap. I'd read the kids begging were heartbreaking. But nothing could have prepared me to see it firsthand. The only thing I could think was "Well, sh*%. I can't do this. When is the next flight back to Bangkok?" Not that I had any smalls bills, having just arrived and currency exchanges only ever seem to give out the largest bill a country makes, but I'd heard that you weren't really supposed to give the kids money. Ho hum. But unlike the first lady, this little girl was persistent, and continued tapping on the car windows, looking at us with sad brown eyes. Finally the driver rolled down the window, gave her a Rupee coin and shooed her away. As the light changed and the car was starting to move, I saw another small child wearing burlap undies running towards the car. I really really can't do this.
The car worked its way into the heart of New Delhi as the driver pointed out some sights to us in English that was so broken I could hardly understand. We saw the gate of the president's house, a mosque or two, a statue of Gandhi and the freedom fighters, barbers' shops that were nothing more than a barber's chair sitting on the sidewalk, more beggars, bicycle rickshaw drivers sleeping in their rickshaws, and beyond chaotic traffic, among other things. It was overwhelming, run down looking, mostly unimpressive. After a bit, the car entered a street that made all the other stuff we'd driven through seem like the poshest neighborhood in London. The street was so packed with people, cows, rickshaws, scooters, carts selling things, and dogs that traffic hardly moved. Like so many other places in India, there was no left side right side driving. If whatever you were driving would fit through an opening, you went. Those vehicles that had horns used them nonstop, as if the car, scooter, cow, etc directly in front of them was the one responsible for the hold up. Men stared into the back of our car as they walked by. I made sure the car door was locked and prayed we'd pass quickly through this area. When we were about halfway through, the driver stopped and announced we were at our hotel. Crap, figuratively and also literally.
This colorful neighborhood our hotel was located in is called Paharganj. It's known for drug peddling, a bazaar, and budget hotels. Part of me wishes this would have been later on in the trip, as I became more comfortable with India. I've since read more about it, and it seems like an interesting enough place. But I was young and naive at this point, and too scared to take my camera out of my purse. So I didn't get any pictures of Paharganj. But if you google image it, you can see some nice pictures from people who were less chicken than I was.
Carefully avoiding the piles of trash and cow poop, I wheeled my suitcase down the narrow alley to our hotel. I'd been reading on tripadvisor in the days before, so I knew our hotel was not going to be The Peninsula. But whooooooa Nelly did this place have character. Even the bright pink walls couldn't offset the overall dinginess of the room. The faucet was broken, so the water had to be turned off with the valve (which was weirdly sticky) under the sink. The "extra beds" in our room were pieces of "furniture" which are affectionately known as something that is not appropriate to write on here. I'm sure they have a real name, but I don't know what it is. I'm talking about those chair things that are like two cushions that unfold and become a sort of bed. I've not seen them outside of a child's bedroom or a dorm room ever, and I've most definitely never seen them in hotel rooms. Needless to say, neither of us slept on the fold up cushion fake beds.
I didn't take any pictures of the hotel, but I did find this Youtube video a former hotel guest made. The guy is French, but if you don't speak French, don't worry. The internet cafe he shows at the beginning is where we bought wifi that only sometimes worked. Then he shows some cows, smokes a cigarette, and smells his arm pit. The Academy will probably be contacting him soon. His room was smaller than ours, but his bathroom looks bigger. But it gives you an idea as to why we felt slightly gutted upon our arrival.
We'd heard Delhi was not the nicest place in India, but we were determined to see some sights. One thing I did not like about India was that it's not very walkable. When in a new city, I like to walk. It helps me get my bearings. It allows me to duck in and out of shops along the way that I'd otherwise miss. But India is not walkable. There are no sidewalks. The streets are crazy. So we hired a car for the day. We ate most of our meals at a restaurant just up the street from our hotel. The walk scared me, but the food was worth it. Yum yum yum.
A few weeks later we returned to Delhi en route to Varanasi. We spent a long 12 hours there in between trains. In retrospect it would have been cheaper for us to just get a hotel room for the day. But we didn't think of that while we were there, so instead once again we hired a car and saw a few more (and some repeat) Delhi attractions.
There's a Baha'i Temple in the north suburbs, which I visited one fall afternoon years ago. It was cool. But it's got nothing on the Lotus Temple.
And again up close
This is the India Gate. Both of our day long hired car drivers took us here, and every driver of the other taxis we were in pointed this out to us. It didn't know it existed until our first driver dumped us out here and told us to take some pictures. It's sort of like India's Arc de Triomphe I guess.
The Red Fort
Young Indian men liked posing together for photos. They were inside the Red Fort. This is tame compared to a lot I saw, but wasn't bold enough to take pictures of other ones.
More Red Fort
This is where Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated. It is now part of a museum/memorial dedicated to him. Interestingly enough, around the corner and down the street from this is the Indira Gandhi museum. The Mahatma museum is free. The Indira museum is not. Obviously Indira is an important person in Indian history as well, so much so that they named Delhi's major airport after her. BUT, Mahatma is Gandhi Gandhi. He's the Father of India. If we were talking Baldwins, he'd be Alec. On our first sight seeing trip around Delhi, we told the driver we wanted to see the Gandhi museum. We should have specified because he took us to the Indira Gandhi museum, which was interesting, but not what we were wanting to see. It was packed. So on our return trip to Delhi, we once again asked to see the Gandhi museum, but this time were more specific. Anya got out her Lonely Planet guide, and showed them the exact name and address of the Gandhi Museum. Our driver talked with two other men about it, they were all three confused. Despite our explaining "Indira-no. Mahatma-yes" the driver still pulled up in front of the Indira Gandhi museum, which once again had a line out the door and wrapping around the block. No disrespect to Ms. Gandhi, but we didn't want to go again, and we definitely didn't want to miss the Mahatma Gandhi museum for a second time. Once again, the driver spoke very minimal English, so communication with him was rough. But he clearly had no idea where the Gandhi Museum was. We stopped twice for directions, but finally we got the Gandhi Museum. And it was empty. Why? Why is the Indira Gandhi Museum so well known by Indians and so crowded, while a short distance away the Mahatma Gandhi Museum is unknown and not visited? Beats me.
All of the trouble we had getting there was worth it. This was probably my favorite place we visited in Delhi. I can't explain why, but reading the Gandhi news stories and the quotes both from/about him that covered the walls of the museum brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of how I felt after reading To Kill a Mockingbird or when rednecks talk about purposely running over turtles on the road. Just a feeling of "why why why?" These are some of Gandhi's few possessions at the time of his death. I especially liked his iconic glasses in the top right of the case.
