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December 16th 2005
Published: December 18th 2005
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Q What do you grow on a plate farm? A Tourist information
A 3:40AM rise in order to catch a train to Delhi - neither activity being particularly pleasurable. Not a single rickshaw in sight, on the one occasion I actually wanted one, so I had to plod to the station. Showing the sort of camaraderie that only foreign tourists a long way from home can display, I said good morning to a European couple who I overtook on the way, and they responded with silence.

Using my skill and judgement, I figured that the layout (i.e. where each class of travel was) of the train before mine would be the same as mine, so I positioned myself at one end of the platform in expectation of 2AC coming to a halt right in front of me. Of course, my train was configured in precisely the opposite way, so I had to leg it the length of the platform in order to find my spot. As usual, the conductor tried to show me to a berth corresponding to my age rather than my berth number (note that these tickets are the same for foreigners and Indians), and when I found the correct place there was only one other guy in the cabin. Since this was a broad gauge train, I was able to use the ladder to clamber up to the top berth, and then proceeded to have a bit of a snooze.

7 hours later we were in Delhi, but at Old Delhi station instead of New Delhi, which necessitated a cross-town rickshaw ride to Ram Nagar. I was initially insulted to be bid Rs 100 for a journey I know should only cost 40, as though I was fresh off the boat, but I half-heartedly got him down to 50 then gave in. Delhi traffic hasn't changed in the last 3 weeks. I saw one guy wearing a motorcycle crash helmet seemingly modelled on the Village People construction worker's headgear.

My driver showed his appreciation of my fare haggling by stopping in Ram Nagar right next to a crowd of beggars, who wouldn't let me out of the auto. Once I'd extricated myself from them, I asked a guy where the Hotel Vandna was. He immediately told me to get in his auto, and I may have been a little less than polite in pointing out to him that I knew it was only about a hundred yards away but wouldn't mind the common courtesy of being given the directions. That fell on deaf ears, so I shouldered my pack and soon found the place, after having to fend off several offers of rooms in other hotels.

I chose Ram Nagar because it's supposedly a lot quieter than Paharganj, but is still walking distance to New Delhi station. Though it is indeed quieter, it's still hardly a salubrious neighbourhood, and I really do despair of the RG when it not only lists the Hotel Vandna, suggesting some semblance of quality, but makes a point of saying it caters for travellers. It's a fairly grotty hotel that had the most byzantine admin requirements of anywhere I've stayed up until now - forms to fill in, passport copies to produce, one night's money in advance, etc. My room had windows that could not be closed (thus admitting the conversations from the house next door), a TV stuck on the Cartoon Channel, and an Asian loo so small that only a trained marksman could be expected to use it with any success. Having not eaten all day, I ordered a malai kofta from room service, which was so spicy I barely made inroads into the sauce (OK, that's my fault, not the hotel's).

I decided to head to Connaught Place to get some more cash, and on the way phoned home to wish Christine (my sister) a happy birthday. While we were talking, an auto stopped to ask if I wanted a ride, so Christine heard at first hand the patient and kind words I directed at him to answer in the negative.

Near Connaught Place, I saw an avant garde street entertainer, whose act featured a monkey engaged in (hopefully simulated) copulation with a small dog. That someone would take the trouble to train an animal to mime sex with another species boggles the mind, but probably not as much as the alternative explanation. Either way, the dog didn't seem to care. Though maybe that was also an act. It was so bizarre that, when I caught the eye of a passing local, he shook his head and smiled ruefully, as if to say that was pretty screwed up whatever country you're from.

I managed to get one of my camera cards burned to CD, which I can now send home. And for dinner, I returned to one of my previous faves, Metropolis in Paharganj, and treated myself to a cold beer. I'm not sure if Delhi and I are a good mix.

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20th December 2005

Heart of Duhkness
John, keep em' coming. Your photographs are stunning. I'm sending them to people who have no interest at all and still getting awe. I suspect my Dad would be fascinated by your travels and so am going to get him onto your blog. Must work out how to get them in chronological order for him as computers tend to play practical jokes on him at times. Take care. Yours appreciatively, Tom Sellwood
1st October 2007

u grow plates on platefarms
that plate farm thing was hilariiiiiiiousss, actually thats how ppl with heavy indian accent pronounce platform

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