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Published: July 15th 2008
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Before coming to India I'd heard and read a lot about the culture shock westerners are susceptible to upon their first arrival in the country. I'd also seen my fair share of documentaries and pictures from India, so had a fair idea of what to expect. This coupled with my experience of travelling in other developing countries made me confident that I would smoothly make the transition to life in India.
Paharganj is the area of Delhi where most of the budget travellers and backpackers stay. By all accounts it is a filthy, crowded and chaotic place, teeming with aggressive touts, salesmen and beggars. Emily has been there before and testifies that this is true. With this knowledge, I'm not sure what exactly inspired us to book a hotel room there. Probably the price, location, the comforting presence of restaurants catering to westerners, and convenient airport pickup offered by the hotel (which would allow us to bypass the hoards of dishonest touts and taxi drivers awaiting our arrival at the airport) were all factors. The Hotel Namaskar held true to their word and our man was there when we passed through customs and immigration.
Driving into Delhi I was filled with
the excitement that comes with arriving in a new country, noticing the small details that differ from what you're used to, the sorts of things that seem normal after a few days. After about 40 minutes we pulled off the main roads into some narrow alleyways, bustling with activity. It seemed foolish to attempt to drive a car into such a place but we ploughed on regardless. We appeared to be in some kind of market place but it was hard to tell through the seething mass of people, animals and rickshaws. My nose however, did confirm that this was indeed a filthy place. Our driver then surprised me by proudly telling us that there are many good restaurants here. Then the coin dropped and I realised that we'd arrived in the Paharganj. We weren't struck with the full force of its intensity until we got out of the car. I felt like all of my senses were being violated but had to keep my wits about me to avoid being hit by a rickshaw or stepping in something I would regret.
Walking around Paharganj that day was a surreal experience, heightened by lack of sleep on the plane the
night before. The people, the bad air, the noise, the smells of rotting food, urine and burning garbage, were all intense and draining. There were lots of interesting and appealing goods for sale but we focused our energy on ignoring the calls for us to have a look, and concentrated on looking as if we'd been here for months, keep moving, don't stop. Despite all this it was an exhilarating and uplifting experience. Many new and exciting things caught our eye, and here we were in this country so different from our own. The people that we'd spoken to thus far we'd found reassuring and amusing, emblematic of the appeal that India has for so many westerners.
The next day we tried to do some sightseeing. Went first to the Red Fort, an impressive 16th century Mughal palace. Walking around inside the fort we found we weren't as interested as we usually would be by such an historic monument. The journey to get there had been taxing and exhausting and the heat and humidity were almost unbearable. We headed off into old Delhi to look at some more sights but without much success. It is unclear why they bothered to
name the streets in Delhi, as since there are no street signs, it doesn't seem to matter what they are called on a map. Old Delhi made the Paharganj seem like a meadow on a sunny spring morning, and after a few hours of walking around we were pretty knackered and ready to head back to the hotel. We got lost on our way back so got a cycle rickshaw the rest of the way. Pulling into Paharganj seemed like a homecoming after being exposed to Old Delhi most of the day. There was a strange element of in enjoyment in all of this, something of an endurance test, probably not dissimilar to enjoyment some people get from going to the gym.
It wasn't long before we were planning our escape from Delhi, deciding to forego all the interesting cultural sites we'd planned on visiting, such as the toilet museum. We booked bus tickets to Manali, in the Himalayan foothills. The thought of not taking 4 cold showers and changing of clothes every day was quite appealing, in addition to the obvious attraction of the Himalayas. We were told to be at our hotel at 4pm where a man would
meet us and take us for a 5 minute walk to catch the "delux" bus, which would pass by at 4:30. At 4 o'clock we were there and so was our guide and another Canadian passenger, Chris. We walked to the road and waited around for an hour or so. Then we were hustled into a rickshaw, the 3 passengers and our luggage, the guide and the rickshaw driver. Twenty minutes later we pulled up on some side street to do a bit more waiting and watch a young girl torturing a rat she had somehow caught by dragging it around with a piece of string she'd tied to its tail. After about an hour of that we were led to the bus station, about a 15 minute walk, to stand around for another hour or so. We were offered upgrades from delux to air conditioned bus, which made we wonder exactly what kinds of luxuries the delux service would be offering. We decided to wait until we actually saw the bus before agreeing to anything. We were starting to doubt if we would ever leave Delhi when we were bundled into another rickshaw and taken to a derelict carpark
on the outskirts of Delhi, where we were amazed and delighted to see a beaten up bus with "tourist bus" written on the windscreen. There were people milling around and we optimistically loaded our luggage and got on the bus. Only 2 hours later the bus engine was started and we drove to the entrance of the carpark. After a quick 20 minute stop there we got going and finally left Delhi behind. Getting moving was a relief, the breeze cooling us down and drying our shirts a little, but any time the bus stopped or slowed down we began sweating profusely. It would be an overnight journey, hopefully cooling down as we gained elevation. After about 4 hours the smell of excrement and burning rubbish began to subside and was replaced by the aroma of fresh foliage and the distinct whiff of marijauna. Noting this I looked out the window and realised why it got the name "weed"; it is exactly that. We began to gain elevation and the air cooled, allowing us to focus on and enjoy the bollywood movies being played on the bus and look forward to our arrival in the Himalayas.
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Amber + Josh
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Rockin the stash?
Hey Scott and Emily! Thanks for the update. You two are so cute! Josh liked your ganja picture, Scott. He wants to know if you are rockin a stash like your barber. We can't tell if that's 5 o'clock shadow or the real deal dude. Sorry to pick on you constantly. But it's fun. Take care and keep in touch! Amber + Josh