May 7th-8th, 2012
I decided to get out of Goa for a few months as the tourist
season is winding down and after a sticky, humid May, the monsoon rains will
commence in June. There are a few spots
in India that I have on my bucket list such as the spiritual city of Varanasi
and the state of Rajasthan, home of some impressive palaces and temples. However at this time of the year, they would
be stinking hot. Rajasthan is mostly
desert like terrain and over 40 degrees Celsius is not uncommon, in fact it’s
normal.
Instead I opted to return to Himachal Pradesh in the north,
where I spent a month last year around this same time. After months and months of ridge soaring the
beaches of Goa, it’s time for some mountain flying in the foothills of the Himalayas. My tentative plan is to start in Dharamsala,
the home of the Tibetan religious leader: the Dalai Lama, and then to a popular
paragliding spot called Bir (pronounced “beer”...so how could I not want to go
there!). This would be followed by a
place called Kasol where my friend Panna from the Olive Garden runs a
guesthouse and restaurant (which is inundated by young Israelis letting loose
after their mandatory army service years) and finishing off the trip in
Manali. Unlike last year, when I was
still recuperating from my paragliding crash in Panchgani, this time I would
bring my wing with me.
In lieu of a 35 hour train ride to Delhi, most of which
seemed to be already booked up, I wimped out (or was smart...tough call on that
one) and booked a one way plane ticket to Delhi. Two and a half hours in the air and I would
be in the sprawling metropolis of 12-13 million although it turned out to be
closer to three and a half hours. First
off there were delays in getting on the plane in Dabolim, Goa’s airport, which
weren’t explained. There is a big new
terminal under construction but meanwhile chaos reigns. There was another flight to Mumbai leaving
ten minutes after my flight and by some sort of Indian logic, the two flights
utilized the same gate, at the same time.
I shuffled along with the other passengers like cattle being sent to
slaughter as we walked out of the air conditioned terminal through a covered
walkway bisected by a rope partway down.
There were no signs that Delhi passengers should remain on the right and
Mumbai on the left and in fact I didn’t even realize I was in a mix of
multi-destined flyers until I heard an airport worker yell out who should be on
which side...which was received by most foreigners with some smiles, shaking of
heads and just general acceptance of “Indian craziness”. I hopped onto a packed bus on the tarmac and
after turning around it dropped us off no more than 60 meters away from the
terminal! Surely we could have walked
there...
Dabolim is a single runway airstrip that is used by the
military along with commercial airlines.
There are signs in the terminal and the airline stewardesses warn the
public of taking any photographs due to heightened security measures because of
the air force presence. However I was a
bit gobsmacked when I witnessed out the window of our plane, which was sitting
in the queue to take off on a side lane to the runway, a parade of motorbikes
and scooters barrelling across the runway shortly after another commercial jet
had taken off. I guess it’s a shortcut
for the two wheelers but I was even more baffled as I watched a lonely
bicyclist slowly pedal his was across the asphalt...oh India, you never cease
to surprise!
Half way through our flight I admired some towering
cumulonimbus clouds (big anvil shaped, nasty storm clouds) out the side of the
plane. I was in awe of these massive,
white and grey broccoli shaped clouds.
Being a paraglider pilot I can appreciate the awesome power associated
with them. I took a quick glance up and
down the plane and sadly I could see but one Russian woman sitting behind me
admiring the true beauty of nature occurring outside of our tin can while
almost everyone else slept, read a book or chatted with their neighbour. We modern day humans take the fact that it’s
only been a bit over 100 years that we have escaped the surly bonds of the
earth too much for granted. The pilot
later explained that part of our delayed arrival to Delhi was due to some storm
dodging...fair enough, I don’t think we wanted to fly through those monsters.
After picking up my bags I hopped on a bus to head to the
international terminal where the Delhi Airport Metro Express (or the DAME)
station is located. For a mere 60 rupees
($1.20) I hopped on this modern transit system that was recently constructed
for the Commonwealth Games that occurred here in October of 2010. It reminds me of the train that I took in
Hong Kong back in 2007 as a very clean and sterile environment, on time and
efficient...however sadly it seems to lack in ridership as my car had but half
a dozen people in it.
The DAME terminates at the New Delhi railway station which
is close to an area called Pahar Ganj (ganj is the Hindi word for
“neighbourhood”) which is a common backpacker’s destination. It’s only a 10 minute walk from the station
to Pahar Ganj but with my 20 kg paraglider bag and a 6-7 kg carry on, I decided
to spring for a rickshaw. Well true to
Delhi form, being a white guy foreigner or “ghoraa” in the local language, the
tuktuk drivers wanted to charge me 200 rupees ($4) for the ride...sorry dudes,
I know that’s a rip off price. Instead I
opted for the 50 rupee bicycle rickshaw.
Sadly, due to some unfortunate circumstances, I spent the next 2 hours
trying to find a place to stay and when I finally did, I ended up having to
overpay for a real dump of a place. Oh
Delhi...
Okay...it doesn't look too bad from this picture...although I did keep waking up during the night scratching...but thankfully no bed bugs...just "in the head bed bugs"...
But check out the lovely bedside table:
And well the bathroom fell a bit short in expectations...the toilet didn't flush and there was no shower head...the water just trickled down the wall!
I went out for a nice pizza dinner on a rooftop patio that I
had visited last year. Walking through
the streets of Pahar Ganj is a journey for all of the senses: the cacophony of
honking tuktuks, cars and buses, the sights of homeless people sleeping
anywhere and everywhere, the smell of putrid urine, smoke from garbage fires and the distinct
scent of beedi cigarettes (a thin cigarette of tobacco wrapped in a leaf). Walking in flip flops as I was is not advised
as puddles of iridescent fluid trickle down the streets and the souls of one’s
feet are bound to be black by the end of the night. But it’s part of the adventure...right?!?
My dirty, dirty feet:
The following morning I decided to stay in my room, even
though it was pretty nasty, until checkout time. The forecast for the day was 42 degrees
Celsius and my bus to the north wasn’t leaving until 6:30pm so I wanted to
spend as little time as possible in the sweltering heat. I left my bags at the hotel and ventured over
to the metro station where I decided to buy the one day tourist pass which
gives you unlimited on and off riding privileges for the price of $2...which is
actually kind of expensive as regular fares, depending on the distance range
from 12 to 50 cents. But my logic was to
cruise around in the air conditioned, modern subway cars and occasionally pop
my head out at various stations and see what I can see.
The idea was working well even though some cars were quite
crowded. At one station I perused a
mural of photographs of the construction of the metro. A boy in his mid teens came up to me and
asked me something in Hindi but I didn’t understand him. On his second attempt, a short skinny man
dressed in drab coloured clothing came up and shooed the boy away. He apologized in his relatively decent
English that he didn’t appreciate how his fellow countrymen see a white person
and immediately think that there must be a way to extract money from them. We chatted for a few minutes and I asked him
a few questions about which subway station I should ride to in order to see a
few of the Delhi sites that I wanted to see.
Rajesh suggested that I go to a nearby station called Rajiv Chowk (chowk
means “square” or “market”) in order to walk to the India Gate, a big Arc de
Triomphe like monument that is dedicated to Indians who lost their life in
World War I. I should have been wary at
this point as Rajesh stated that he was heading to that station too and he
could point me in the right direction when we got there....okay, sure.
Exiting the metro, Rajesh led me through a small market
where men’s clothes were being sold. I
explained to him that I abhorred shopping so don’t even try to take me anywhere
near a stall or shop. He stated that he
would first help me get a free map of Delhi and then head on his way to a store
he worked at that sold Indian trinkets from all over the country. He led me down a backstreet to a tourist shop
where we spoke to a large man who tried to convince me on a 2-3 hour, air conditioned
car ride to some big tourist attractions for only 1500 rupees ($30)...thanks
but no thanks, but that’s way too expensive.
Thankfully I’ve been in India long enough to know that at least.
After examining a map and writing down the subway station
names for the 2-3 attractions I wanted to see, we left. Rajesh now suggested that I should get a
rickshaw to take me to these places and he’d make sure he’d get me a good
price. Well after talking to 2-3
drivers, it wasn’t looking promising and I was happy to make it on my own but
finally I capitulated to having a guy take me to the India Gate, the
Presidential Palace and the Parliament for 300 rupees. All of a sudden, Rajesh was jumping in
too...this should have set a warning bell off in my head...
Rajesh, my informal tour guide:
I hope they're not being taken off to slaughter:
We puttered along the tree lined boulevards to the India
Gate. It actually was a bit of a
distance so I was, at this point, happy to have decided on the rickshaw. They dropped me off near the gate which is
surrounded by grass park land interspersed with the odd tree, pond and
statue. The India Gate was quite
impressive although I was a bit put off by all of the vendors hawking stupid
trinkets ranging from glass smoking pipes to marionette emus. To me that seemed to degrade from the
monument’s purpose.
The India Gate:
Knuffle Bunny checking out the gate:
Peering through the middle with guards on duty:
A random fountain:
Not sure what this monument was about...this was as close to it as I could get:
We drove a couple kilometres along the straight avenue to
the Presidential Palace and Parliament.
Impressive again. They dropped me
off in order to snap some pics as parking was prohibited and then we headed
back towards Rajiv Chowk. This is where
Rajesh finally started to contradict his “I don’t like when Indians take
advantage of foreigners” creed. He
stated that he was a shoe shiner as a kid but he had obtained better jobs
thanks to picking up English from foreigners, although he still couldn’t read
or write it. He told me that a whole
world of opportunities would open up to him if he could just purchase a second
hand dictionary and that his wife and two sons would benefit greatly. If I were game to be taken to some government
run shops, where I wouldn’t have to buy anything, just look, then he would
receive a small kickback and the tuktuk driver would get some free gas. This is typically Indian sleight of hand,
they end up taking you somewhere you don’t want to go hoping that you’ll buy
something, stay somewhere or eat food and they we’ll receive a cut from the
vendor. I told him no. I reiterated that I hated shopping, didn’t
have much time and wasn’t going to buy anything anyways. I had already agreed on a fixed price with
the driver and felt that was fair.
Cruisin' in the tuktuk:
Approaching the Presidential Palace:
The Parliament...looks more like a sports stadium:
The Presidential Palace:
Nice elephant:
We reached Rajiv Chowk and Rajesh said something to the
driver in Hindi and we continued on. I
asked what was going on and he mentioned his hope for a dictionary again. I told him I’d give him a bit of money for
his time and help but he claimed that he would rather that I see with my own
eyes that it was meant for a dictionary.
Okay. So we stopped at a small
bookshop and the old bearded shopkeeper showed us a few English/Hindi
dictionaries. I asked the price and the
guy wrote down 850 on a piece of paper ($17!).
No way! I turned and walked
out. I explained to Rajesh that he had
stated at the beginning that he was not looking for money from me and as much
as I would like to help him if he is honestly trying to improve his English,
that that was too much. It may sound
cold to some of you but I was at the end of my string with Delhi and all of the
money grabbing locals that just saw a dollar sign above my head. I told Rajesh that I just wanted to get to a
metro station as I needed to catch my bus.
Cruising by one of many markets near Rajiv Chowk:
We pulled up to a station and I handed a 500 rupee note to
the driver. Now he wanted 400 rupees
instead of 300, the initially agreed upon price, since we had gone further than
expected. I was getting upset. I had told Rajesh that I was happy to hop on
the subway at the Parliament buildings so I refused to pay another hundred. He explained it to the driver who then
returned me 200 in change. I figured
that this was a decent amount to pass on to Rajesh even though I still felt
like I’d been played. Then, to push it
over the top, after receiving the money from me, Rajesh claimed that if I gave
him 100 more he could get the dictionary he needed. Only because I had accompanied him into the
store had the shop owner given him a high price. Bullshit.
Sadly in the end I had to walk away from Rajesh, through the metal
detector of the subway entrance and not look back as he kept asking for some
more money. It left a sour taste in my
mouth.
To escape any more Delhi dollar
grabbing, I headed to Domino’s Pizza for a meal before going to catch my
bus. I collected my bags from my s*#@-hole,
overpriced hotel and grabbed a rickshaw to the bus pickup point. All I had from my online booking was the name
of a region, Majnu Ka Tila, and that the nearest point of interest was an
Indian Petrol Pump (yes, a very interesting point). The driver took me there and asked a guy
standing around whether this was the correct spot. He directed us back from where we came, about
a kilometre or two. The tuktuk guy said
it would cost 50 rupees more ($1) to go back as we were on a main freeway and
would have to go further up the road to turn around. No problem, one dollar well spent, especially
seeing as I didn’t know exactly where we had to go... but yet more money being
squeezed out of me by this filthy megacity.
Weaving my way through rush hour in Pahar Ganj...what a gong show!
One ox powered cart...why not?!? Probably has fewer break downs than most vehicles in Delhi!
The pickup point was a bit of a
nasty spot which was maybe an appropriate send off from dusty, dirty
Delhi. It was at a gravel road junction
in the shadow of a 10 storey, incomplete housing project with young grimy kids
moving from tourist to tourist begging for money and a fight almost broke out
between a couple of young men, who knows what it was about. Surely they could have selected a better spot
to hop on a bus to head up north but hey...this is India.
The bus pickup point:
Lovely isn't it?
Time to get out of this big nasty
city.
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