Delhi, full throttle

WELCOME TO INDIA, POPULATION 1.3 BILLION... PLUS YOU!

8am, Thursday July 9th, Sarai Rohilla Train Platform

I am sweating. Not just regular sweating. I am sweating so much that at the end of the day when you take off your clothes to shower there are crooked lines of salt decorating your apparel.

I hardly slept. My hostel was... lacklustre. In the heart of the Paharganj district, described by Lonely Planet as the 'backpackers district but rather dodgy - at least it is near the train station! {Not the one I need coincidentally}', my room looked like a jail cell. It was on the ground floor and the outer window doesn't close - just a screen separated me from the streets of dodgy Delhi.

I am hungry, tired, and my eyes are acting up again. How did I get here?

My flight left Frankfurt at 3pm the previous day. I miss Frankfurt. I miss Germany and its orderliness and sensible, well-inforced rules. My flight arrived in Dubai at midnight, I stayed up until my flight from Dubai to Delhi at 4:30am. And it just so happened that I wasn't particularly tired so I stayed up, arriving in Delhi at about 9:30am, right on time (love Emirates Air).

So from what I had been told, the airport was to be the worst part of my whole trip. My dad sent me an email comparing it to that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where the little boy jumps into the poo. I am picturing being pressed by a crowd, a wild, pickpocketing, perhaps poo-slinging crowd. Thus, after all the horror stories, I am paranoid. I take my time, putting my purse into my padlocked backpack, checking, rechecking. Bracing myself. But once I got out there... I mean hell, I have seen more rowdy crowds in Calgary than this one. My driver was there, with a sign bearing my name. I was relieved. Delhi wasn't so bad.

But once we got out of the airport, the heat hit. Yes, expected, however being told what heat is like doesn't really get the point across. You kind of have to experience it. Also, I am wearing the Delhi equivalent of long underwear. See, I was expecting to be stared at and ogled and harassed at the airport. So I am wearing A SWEATER and JEANS. No matter.

But our car... takes 20 minutes to find us. By the time he got there I was... wilting, to say it politely. On the ride over I feel asleep, and I woke up on the Main Bazaar.

The Main Bazaar is well... one of the more dizzying parts of Delhi. Complete choas. Cows, yelling shopkeepers, puddles, more cows, auto taxi drivers yelling, sleeping women and babies. The driver hops out and leads me down a rather sketchy offshoot to Smyle Inn: the only hostel left in Delhi the day before my flight left on Hostelbookers.

By this point, I am a little crazed. No sleep, dehydrated, cooking. The two guys at the front look SKETCHY and I am in a dour mood. At first, he announces, "Sorry, no rooms left, sorry". I protest, saying I have a reservation, and then his buddy says no, we have one left, opens the door across from their little booth, grabs some stuff out of it, and ushers me in. Like I said, it looked like a prison cell, but it had no bedding. I am pretty sure prisoners at least get that.

I stand like an exhausted Sim, on the spot for about 10 minutes trying to decide what to do. I want to sleep, but the bed is gross, and I am hot, and I don't think I will be able to sleep much. So I decide to be productive. I change, and set out to the Canadian Embassy to register myself.

One of the first moments that I had where I had to wonder in amazement was when I was bargaining with an autodriver. We are negotiating the price but keep on getting interupted by a cow that repeatedly headbutts us.

After I discover the embassy is closed for the day, I negotiate with the driver to take me to the National Museum, which is very well regarded by the magic book (Lonely Planet). I make a beeline for the cafeteria, and meet my saviour.

Her name is Marcela, she is German, and has been living in Delhi for about 7 weeks. She is an artist, and has decided to stay because 'No one gives Delhi a chance!' We have a really good conversation and she allays my fears and gives me advice. I then tag along with her through the museum and finally we take our auto to a posh hotel to meet a local friend of hers who works setting up project for children living in the slums. It had initially been my plan to take the Magic Book's advice and find one of these hotel coffee shop oasises, so this was fine by me. After about an hour he met us. He was meeting with a big time bureaucrat to try and get more funding for his projects.

We went out to the pool and my head just about exploded. An urban oasis indeed. What contrast. People on the other side of the wall live so differently. Instead we sat poolside and kicked our feet in the water, nibbling on finger food and discussing politics etc cetera

He made two points that I think that I will always remember. First, I asked him why the kids he worked with lived in the slums. He replied "Pour your water bottle into your glass, keep going, keep going.." once it overflowed he said "this is India".

Second, I told him about my hostel, and how overwhelmed I felt. He said "Let India come to you. Don't force it. If you try to force it, you will be miserable."

Marcela had agreed to meet me in Jaipur, so with that I headed home and attempted to buy a sim card. Turns out, you need a PASSPORT PHOTO to do that. Apparently the govn't is afraid of terrorists with sim cards.

I went to bed around 11, exhausted. I have never been so grateful to Stacey - who gave me her sleeping bag liner. That surely saved me from sharing my sweat with that of the thousands of prisoners before me.

I woke at 2,3,3:30,4,5,6:15,6:40. I left the hostel at 7, happy to find that there was a time of day that was slightly bearable. I then argued with what seemed a dozen auto drivers to get a good price for the train station. I need to stop arguing on principle, but I fear I am in Europe mode.

The train was 1000% better than the hostel. The air con made it so chilly I needed 2 blankets. I had a bed. I slept the whole way, in bliss, chokeholding my valuables backpack and with my feet snaked around my 60 pound backpack.

The hostel here in Jaipur is wonderful. It is like a legit hotel. It is also cooler here. I am waiting for Marcela, 200% better, and planning for tomorrow, which will be a productive day, I think.

Oh and as of today, July 9th, I am halfway through my travels. But somehow, I am thinking that it will still be uphill from here.

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Part of trip: The India Chronicles

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