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Published: June 29th 2006
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We were not prepared for India. The first inkling of this fact came on our Indian Airways flight from Bangkok to New Delhi. Our fellow travelers clearly had a different concept of personal space from our own. The man sitting behind Alissa, for example, felt perfectly comfortable draping his arm over the top of her seat, brushing her head with gesticulations, and emphasizing conversation points by pounding his tray table and, as a result, violently jarring Alissa. He was immune to our dirty looks.
That was nothing. Upon arrival to Indira Ghandi International Airport it became clear that we were totally out of our depth. Our guidebook had told us to look for a government-run tourist information booth, so coming across an official looking booth branded “government tourist information” we trusted its occupants to help us make train reservations and get to our hotel. Instead, we were drawn into a classic tourist trap (and we’re not talking about kitchy Cape Cod seashell shops)—driven to another “tourist office” in the city where we were told that no trains to Jaipur were available, and that we needed to hire a car and driver for $260. We demanded to be driven to the
train station, where the ticket office was by that time closed. On the way we had passed by our hotel—a storefront near the train station in the grimy and very shady looking Paharganj district—so exasperated and drenched, we needed a new hotel, train tickets for the morning, and a driver we could trust. We’d had good experience with pre-paid taxi service in Thailand, so we selected from our book a decent looking hotel in a much better neighborhood, and handed over the address and 30 rupees to the pre-paid autorickshaw attendant. Our new driver, unsurprisingly, did not speak English. Much to our dismay, however, he had no idea where he was going, stopping on street corners every three minutes to ask for directions. After 30 minutes of this, beyond frustrated and close to tears, we decided that now, if any, was a time to dip into our emergency funds and spring for a nice, clean, (expensive) and well-known Western hotel. After a bit of negotiating, we wound up in a room at the brand new and immaculate Shangri La Hotel. They kindly booked our train tickets for us. This was our first 2 hours in India.
The next day
we ventured away from our oasis to make a telephone call (western hotels certainly charge western prices for normal hotel amenities), and got a taste of the bureaucratic mindset derided by nearly every Indian we’ve spoken with. It took 2 hours to purchase a phone card. We were passed and relayed among three different employees of one of the nation’s many telephone companies. This one could take money but could not dispense a phone card. That one could dispense the card but not calculate the tax. Another could calculate the tax, but apparently not properly, which resulted in our having to pass through the entire chain a second time. Finally, an apologetic manager took our apparently very complicated case up herself, although at the same time she was dealing with a hysterical and mentally ill former female employee who dirtied her bright orange sari in repeated collapsing fits. This manager took our money and gave us a phone card. It didn’t work.
Fortunately things began to turn for the better later that day, as we found a much more affordable room in a lovely guest house run by Avnish, the gregarious Indian facsimile of our Italian Thai host, Paolo.
We also enjoyed a terrific dinner with Shailan, a friend of a friend who had recently moved home to India from Washington to start a software firm. Shailan’s reassurances that even he was a bit shocked by New Delhi’s mayhem, and that even Indians resented the thoroughly inefficient bureaucracy somehow put us at a bit of ease.
We left Delhi the following morning at 6 a.m. in the nicest train car we have ever seen, and arrived in Agra, home to 1.8 million people and the Taj Mahal. According to V.K., our highly recommended autorickshaw driver and tour guide, industry is very limited in Agra in order to reduce Taj-obscuring pollution, so those Agrans not involved in tourism or handicrafts eke out a living by herding goats and buffalo, washing laundry, and farming the dry land. It seems that a great proportion make whatever living they can by begging at the city’s tourist attractions. We are getting used to being a constant target of touts, who range in age from six to ancient, and who sell everything from taxi and tour services to postcard books and other tourist trinkets. We cannot, however, get used to the wretched poverty and
filth that surrounds us everywhere. Rickshaw drivers sleep in the street and bathe in mud puddles alongside the railroad tracks. Those one rung up on the ladder sleep in vast shambled slum villages as we’ve seen driving with V.K. through Agra. Streets are full of garbage and feces, to the point where paved roads appear to be made of dirt. The Red Fort at Agra—a magnificent series of sixteen marble and sandstone palaces running within a 30 meter high fortification—is scarred by recently dated graffiti carved deep into centuries-old marble sculptures. The smell of urine overpowers the forts beautiful flower gardens. It is maddening that, being constantly targeted by touts after our money it is difficult to trust any Indian we meet, although V.K. and some others have given us hope. It’s a survival instinct, but feels unnatural.
Phew. We needed to get those initial negative impressions off of our chests. There are some wonderful things about this nation as we’ve seen it so far. The women here are beautiful—they make themselves so with elegant jewelry and gorgeous and bright saris. More than that, the women across the board carry themselves with a serene dignity that is almost rare
among Americans. The food we’ve eaten has been more delicious that we could have imagined, and we’ll seek out another cooking course upon our arrival in Jaipur tomorrow. The Taj Mahal exceeded all of our expectations, and when we arrived at 6 this morning had the place almost entirely to ourselves. The handicrafts such as marble inlay and handwoven “flying” carpets are stunning. The Indian people that we’ve met and interacted with—those who have not been touting, begging, or selling anything—have been warm, friendly, and happy to meet us. This even goes for the family of a toddler whom Brian made cry by waving to him at the Red Fort.
As we leave for Jaipur we’re looking forward to becoming more comfortable in this country, and to meeting more people who can show us India’s beautiful side.
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Larry Merin
non-member comment
Keep it up -- great photography!
Still enjoying your trip vicariously. And I wanted to pass along my sincerest compliments on the quality of your photojournalism. The photos are quite wonderful! Thanks so much!