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Published: January 21st 2011
In the dust
I was taken by two pieces of unrelated advice I came across the day before I embarked on this trip - the first was a quote from Thoreau, in which he cautioned that one should "...be wary of any enterprise that requires new clothes"; and the other was from my friend, Sean Cleary, who had exhorted me to "not come back gay"! Well, rest assured Sean, as I didn't buy any new threads for this trip, so I'm certainly not dressed well enough to make that transition.
I arrived in the morning at around 10 local time, after a thankfully uneventful flight - the only thing of note was the name of the co-pilot on the BA 747 when introduced by the captain - he was called Archie Pinner (what a fantastically quintessential English name).
I had mentally prepared for the throngs who would assail me the moment I stepped out of the airport. However, I was instead presented with a relatively well organised group at the entrance to the Arrivals lounge, who all thrust their placards at me and my fellow travelers in an attempt to locate their transfer person(s). Unfortunately my name was
not present on any of the homemade messages on the first sweep, but undeterred I trundled up and down the line a few more times over the next 10/15 minutes just in case my driver had arrived late. As I still hadn't found my driver 30 minutes later I was getting a little concerned and decided to call the hotel. It took me 10 minutes to convince the armed female soldier on the doors to let me back inside.
After changing money, and by using a telephone that had its own built in butler-system, I managed to contact the Ajanta Hotel (these phones had little ZX Spectrum-like printers that ran off the charges once the man had connected your call for you - you paid him rather than using a conventional 'slot'). It soon became apparent that there had been a mistake in the request from the UK for my hotel transfer service, and as a result the hotel thought I was arriving in the evening - they had been sent the UK departure time (20:45) rather than the Delhi arrival time (10:00).
So I was advised to take a pre-paid taxi - this involved queuing at a little hut where I forked out 320 rupees, not knowing if this was a lot or a little for the length of journey I was about to take. What followed was, without a doubt, the most peculiar and scary taxi ride I have ever experienced (bear in mind that I've been to Mexico and San Salvador)!
The driver was a sullen young man who really didn't look as though he wanted me to go anywhere with him. He got out the car, looked at me, looked at the sky and wandered about for about 5 minutes before eventually throwing my rucksack in the boot - this was not locked afterwards, and I wasn't entirely confident that the catch was going to hold for the duration of the journey and imagined arriving at the hotel with no luggage - I was convinced this would be either as a result of a opportunist thief opening the boot while we were stopped in traffic, or my driver hitting a pothole and my bag sailing out of the car onto the bonnet of a following vehicle.
Boy, was he angry. I know that Indian drivers use their horns in much the same way as we use indicators, letting other people know where they are and where they are going - as well as the normal use, as in "Crap! I'm going to hit/be hit by you!", but he was not a happy chappy - he could test horns for Mercedes. In that one journey he would have easily outstripped my use of this car function during my entire driving life. I lost count of the amount of times we nearly hit something: cars, bikes, pedestrians, camels (honestly) and buses - bloody hell, these things are big and he wanted a scrap with them - to be truthful it would be easier to list those things that were not threatened by our Death Car 2011 (incidentally I can confirm that Miss Daisy would have been stiff as a board after five minutes with him).
After a while I fell into the backseat sliding rhythm, which allowed me to start to appreciate the sights outside both passenger windows, and outside any immediate unhealthy proximity. We passed many of the archetypal Indian sights that we all have come to associate with any mention of this sub-continent - dust, poverty, dirty children, freely roaming oxen, beautiful saris etc. however, seeing 30 plus soldiers on camel back cantering down the road (I told you there were camels) was definitely a surprise, I just wished I'd had my camera to hand. There were many military bases on the way from the new international airport, but the 5th Battalion's motto struck me (probably as it was on a massive sign overlooking the dual carriage way), it said "Nation first, always and every time!" - you've gotta love tautology.
I arrived at my hotel 45 minutes later, had a bit of a sit-off with the driver until I broke first and exited the car. Fortunately my rucksack was still in situ in the boot. Once I'd registered with the Ajanta's receptionist I was taken to my room. This is a twin - clean and with a sort of on-suite bathroom (not bad at all). However, as it is on the ground floor I seem to breathing in dust that seems to be everywhere - I'm sure I'll get used to it. I am currently writing this on the top floor, with cups of teas (delicious) being brought to me every 10 minutes. I have to say, now that I've managed to get a couple of hours kip I feel more comfortable. Off to the Safdarjung railway station tomorrow to join the tour train - then onto Bodh Gaya! I'm loving it here!
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Taxi ride to Ajanta Hotel
Stuart White
non-member comment
Have you peaked to early
Hi Big Bother, Your opening blog was a belter. Well written, pleanty of pathos and no shortage of wit. This coupled to plenty of adjectives painted a most glorious, technicolour picture. I'm glad I'm enjoying the tour by proxy and that you're there safe and sound. However, most concerned at weather you can maintain the quality of your blog. You've set the standard now!! Take care Little brotherXX