When I stepped out of the terminal at the Indira Ghandi airport a few days ago, there was no mistaking where in the world I was. The warm heavy air that cloaked me, making it an effort to even sweat, was full of the scents of incense and sewerage as well as the sounds of drumming, chanting and the shouting of taxi drivers. Welcome to India!
I always treat myself to a nice hotel when I first arrive in a country, and Wood Castle was indeed a lovely oasis of air conditioned tranquility in the midst of Delhi mayhem. The staff were so considerate that it didn't take me long to forget the predictably frustrating taxi ride that I had taken through the dark backstreets of Delhi to get there. It is good to know that withholding payment until you see the sign of your chosen hotel, coupled with suggestions that we ask the local police for directions when the driver takes you to several different hotels claiming he can't find your chosen hotel, still seems to be an effective tactic nine years after my first visit to India.
My first task in Delhi was to head across town to the Khan Market to purchase some locally appropriate attire. I was not looking forward to the inevitable hassle of negotiating an auto-rickshaw ride to get there but luckily for me Delhi has invested in some excellent new public transport since I was last in town.
Ode to Delhi Metro
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thy easy to follow network map.
My soul soars at thy set, fair prices (30 rupees, 80 cents, to get right across Delhi and back)
I love the efficiency of thy service
Which arrives every few minutes.
My old griefs, with groping men,
Are long forgotten in the face of thy
Glorious air conditioned women only carriages!
Oh Delhi Metro
Thou dost bring a smile to this traveler's heart.
I felt much more comfortable, in both a temperature and cultural sense, when I donned my newly purchased salwar kameez from the lovely Anokhi store (thanks for the tip Beck). Now, appropriately attired, I felt ready to tackle Delhi's Old City for a spot of sight seeing.
Wandering around the lovely gardens surrounding the Red Fort, I had the opportunity to practise both my deflecting attention and wildlife spotting skills. The gardens were full of equal numbers of birds, scurrying squirrels and overly friendly males and it wasn't long before I headed off to the Museum of India's Struggle for Independence to brush up on my history.
On my walk through Chadni Chowk, past the stunning Jama Masjid Mosque, on my way to Karim's (thanks for the excellent restaurant tip Kate & Vas!) I got to practise another skill essential for survival in India. I like to call it 'Focused Walking'. The frantic, crowded and chaotic streets around Chadni Chowk are no place for a gentle stroll listening to your ipod. I know what you're thinking: "It's just walking down the street. Stick to the footpath, how hard can it be?".
Well, firstly there often is no footpath (or if there is, it is usually blocked by stacked merchandise, or street carts spitting hot oil as their owners fry some local delicacy). You try to hug the kerb, but you don't want to get too close lest you accidentally step in the open sewer that is the gutter. So you are walking on the road amid other pedestrians, cows, auto rickshaws, trucks, cars, and (most dangerous of all) cycle rickshaws.
Much of your attention is spent checking how close cycle wheels are to your right leg. A cycle wheel narrowly missing your right leg it is not actually a cause for celebration. This is because it means you are probably about to be clipped by the, much wider, back wheel and carriage of a cycle rickshaw. Your usual reliance on sound as a cue for approaching vehicles is also next to useless as every driver eases their passage through the congestion my keeping their hand on the horn.
The obstacles to a safe journey that I have outlined above are those faced by all pedestrians in India's crowded cities. But as a foreigner, there are some extra ingredients added to the chaotic mix. You have eager salespeople stepping in front of you, desperately trying to sell you their wares: "Madam! Postcard? You like jewelry? Very cheap! Just look". You have overly friendly staring males trying to "accidentally" bump into you. And, most annoyingly of all, you have rickshaw drivers nearly running you over: "Madam! Where are you going? Metro station? It is very far. My rickshaw very cheap!"
You can see why I call it "Focused Walking". Whilst it is certainly more draining than a stroll around the block in Sydney (you often feel exhausted after moving just a few hundred metres) the trick is to actually try to relax. If you are too cautious, stopping all the time, you are much more likely to get into trouble than if you concentrate but just try to go with the flow and keep moving. Though it certainly doesn't seem like it at first sight, Indian drivers are quite adept at weaving around moving targets. Stopping is much more hazardous as the drivers don't know where you are going next.
After all of that "Focused Walking" I felt I had earned the luxury of a room service meal in front of the TV in my air conditioned room that night. In my nine year absence from the country I had forgotten about India's (or a certain section of India's) obsession with skin lightening creams. Every second ad on TV was for some skin whitening lotion or another, but there was one particular ad that absolutely stopped me in my tracks.
It showed a young woman being embarrassed and trying to cover up her armpit as she held onto the over head rail on a busy train. Just when I thought it was a regular deodorant ad, the voice over said "Would you like your under arms to be fairer?". Yes, that's right, they are selling roll on deodorant with a whitening agent! Well this was very good news for me. Because if the true mark of beauty in India is now fair under arms, then surely my lily white armpits must make me the most beautiful woman in the land!
I always treat myself to a nice hotel when I first arrive in a country, and Wood Castle was indeed a lovely oasis of air conditioned tranquility in the midst of Delhi mayhem. The staff were so considerate that it didn't take me long to forget the predictably frustrating taxi ride that I had taken through the dark backstreets of Delhi to get there. It is good to know that withholding payment until you see the sign of your chosen hotel, coupled with suggestions that we ask the local police for directions when the driver takes you to several different hotels claiming he can't find your chosen hotel, still seems to be an effective tactic nine years after my first visit to India.
My first task in Delhi was to head across town to the Khan Market to purchase some locally appropriate attire. I was not looking forward to the inevitable hassle of negotiating an auto-rickshaw ride to get there but luckily for me Delhi has invested in some excellent new public transport since I was last in town.
Ode to Delhi Metro
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thy easy to follow network map.
My soul soars at thy set, fair prices (30 rupees, 80 cents, to get right across Delhi and back)
I love the efficiency of thy service
Which arrives every few minutes.
My old griefs, with groping men,
Are long forgotten in the face of thy
Glorious air conditioned women only carriages!
Oh Delhi Metro
Thou dost bring a smile to this traveler's heart.
I felt much more comfortable, in both a temperature and cultural sense, when I donned my newly purchased salwar kameez from the lovely Anokhi store (thanks for the tip Beck). Now, appropriately attired, I felt ready to tackle Delhi's Old City for a spot of sight seeing.
Wandering around the lovely gardens surrounding the Red Fort, I had the opportunity to practise both my deflecting attention and wildlife spotting skills. The gardens were full of equal numbers of birds, scurrying squirrels and overly friendly males and it wasn't long before I headed off to the Museum of India's Struggle for Independence to brush up on my history.
On my walk through Chadni Chowk, past the stunning Jama Masjid Mosque, on my way to Karim's (thanks for the excellent restaurant tip Kate & Vas!) I got to practise another skill essential for survival in India. I like to call it 'Focused Walking'. The frantic, crowded and chaotic streets around Chadni Chowk are no place for a gentle stroll listening to your ipod. I know what you're thinking: "It's just walking down the street. Stick to the footpath, how hard can it be?".
Well, firstly there often is no footpath (or if there is, it is usually blocked by stacked merchandise, or street carts spitting hot oil as their owners fry some local delicacy). You try to hug the kerb, but you don't want to get too close lest you accidentally step in the open sewer that is the gutter. So you are walking on the road amid other pedestrians, cows, auto rickshaws, trucks, cars, and (most dangerous of all) cycle rickshaws.
Much of your attention is spent checking how close cycle wheels are to your right leg. A cycle wheel narrowly missing your right leg it is not actually a cause for celebration. This is because it means you are probably about to be clipped by the, much wider, back wheel and carriage of a cycle rickshaw. Your usual reliance on sound as a cue for approaching vehicles is also next to useless as every driver eases their passage through the congestion my keeping their hand on the horn.
The obstacles to a safe journey that I have outlined above are those faced by all pedestrians in India's crowded cities. But as a foreigner, there are some extra ingredients added to the chaotic mix. You have eager salespeople stepping in front of you, desperately trying to sell you their wares: "Madam! Postcard? You like jewelry? Very cheap! Just look". You have overly friendly staring males trying to "accidentally" bump into you. And, most annoyingly of all, you have rickshaw drivers nearly running you over: "Madam! Where are you going? Metro station? It is very far. My rickshaw very cheap!"
You can see why I call it "Focused Walking". Whilst it is certainly more draining than a stroll around the block in Sydney (you often feel exhausted after moving just a few hundred metres) the trick is to actually try to relax. If you are too cautious, stopping all the time, you are much more likely to get into trouble than if you concentrate but just try to go with the flow and keep moving. Though it certainly doesn't seem like it at first sight, Indian drivers are quite adept at weaving around moving targets. Stopping is much more hazardous as the drivers don't know where you are going next.
After all of that "Focused Walking" I felt I had earned the luxury of a room service meal in front of the TV in my air conditioned room that night. In my nine year absence from the country I had forgotten about India's (or a certain section of India's) obsession with skin lightening creams. Every second ad on TV was for some skin whitening lotion or another, but there was one particular ad that absolutely stopped me in my tracks.
It showed a young woman being embarrassed and trying to cover up her armpit as she held onto the over head rail on a busy train. Just when I thought it was a regular deodorant ad, the voice over said "Would you like your under arms to be fairer?". Yes, that's right, they are selling roll on deodorant with a whitening agent! Well this was very good news for me. Because if the true mark of beauty in India is now fair under arms, then surely my lily white armpits must make me the most beautiful woman in the land!
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