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Published: March 23rd 2009
Greetings!
India is intense. And awesome. (And way more interesting to blog about than the week we spent recovering from the flu in Yangshuo and Hong Kong). We knew we were going to like India on our way in from the Delhi airport, when the long haul trucks we passed were all decorated to the hilt with painted flowers and Hindu Gods, streamers, stickers, and colored tape swirled around their bumpers. Really, the only thing that hasn't exceeded our expectations since we arrived is that we didn't see a single cow for three full days -- this, when we had prepared ourselves for there to be an entire herd riding in circles on the baggage carousel at the airport.
On our first morning we headed to Delhi's Red Fort--weaving past the machine gun emplacements and metal detectors that have sprung up at major tourist attractions since the Mumbai attacks. The fort itself was impressive enough, but, in truth, we probably spent an equal amount of time checking out our fellow visitors, since it was our first time mingling with a crowd beautifully decked out in embroidered and bedazzled saris, jet black burkas, dashikis, sarongs, and turbans. From the fort,
Getting ready for Holi
Near the spice market, Delhiwe headed to Delhi's Old Town, which was immediately distinguishable from other Asian old towns by the hawkers walking around selling electric beard trimmers rather than Tiger Balm. Verging on sensory overload, we wandered a maze of alleys, past thousands of tiny fabric shops, tailors, jewelers, antique dealers, and carts selling just-crushed sugarcane and lime juice, dodging stray dogs, goats, speeding rickshaws, people peeing, delivery-men balancing parcels on their heads, chanting Hare Krishnas, and bright red gobs of beetle nut being spit out by countless men, while combinations of incense, curry, frying food, and sweets wafted by, occasionally looking up at the zig-zagging lines of drying laundry, and monkeys swinging from the tangle of electrical wires. Oh, and it was about 90 degrees. And the streets were packed. We stopped for lunch at a street kitchen where the staff spoke only Hindi, but where a super nice Indian family ordered us a delicious lunch and later passed us chunks of their nut and raisin-stuffed dessert bread. We then made a brief appearance at Delhi's wholesale spice market, but quickly retreated when our windpipes could no longer tolerate the sting of paprika swirling in the already particulate-laden Delhi air. Heading out,
Detailed carvings
Humayan's Tomb, Delhi we were surprised to see a McDonald's (is that why we hadn't seen any cows?), but a quick peek inside to satisfy our curiosity revealed it was serving only chicken, fish and something called a McVegi Surprise (SPOILER ALERT--it's just a veggie burger). We eventually made it to India's largest Mosque, the Jama Masjid. Anna was in long pants, a shirt with 3/4's lengths sleeves and head scarf. But the men working the gate where not happy about her Jezebelian upper wrists, and quickly swaddled her in the sub-continent's ugliest long-sleeve polyester mu-mu, which proved both formless and functionless as we climbed six sweaty stories up the Mosque's central minaret, finally being rewarded with both a breeze and a view of Delhi's chaotic low-slung buildings stretched out in all directions to the edge of the smoggy sky.
On day two we checked out Delhi's parks, which you never really hear much about. But they were there in spades--full of birds, and in beautiful, late spring bloom. In Lodhi Park the smell of jasmine predominated, and we joined couples walking through a pair of decaying 17th century mausoleums, and past a man wearing only leopard print underwear (Anna thinks they
were cheetah) getting an oil message on the main lawn. At Nizamuddin Park, we watched as teenagers playing nine or ten games of pick-up cricket on just a few acres dodged anxious picnicking families and players from other games to make plays (ten days in India--and the only sport we've seen being played is cricket). And after a tour of the Gandhi museum and memorial, we watched school-kids going absolutely berserk at the adjacent park rolling and tumbling downhill and getting massive stains on their all white British-style uniforms before a Sari-clad teacher blew a whistle and they snapped into a two-by-two line. We ended the day at Humayan's tomb, which is unique among the mega-memorials we've seen to date since it was built by a grieving widow for her dead husband. It was stunning in the afternoon sunshine, and almost deserted, save for a dog laying next to the reflecting pool who rolled over as we walked by, and a crew around back who we watched twisting and throwing trays of crushed rock bucket-brigade style up a hundred foot scaffold while we held our obliques in sympathy.
The next morning we poked around what Jub thought was a skate park
he'd seen from our hotel that turned out to be a set of massive, ancient sundials, and then caught a plane to the Hindu holy city of Varanasi. Located on the banks of the Ganges, pilgrims flock to Varanasi in droves to wash away their sins in the river's redemptive waters, and to cremate their loved ones along the riverbank. Half the tourists we talked to before arriving hated Varanasi--and it has a justifiable reputation for being filthy and scam-central for westerners--but it's also the most interesting and surreal place we've ever been. Like on our first night in town, we went looking for a snack, but were soon confronted with a dead body wrapped in orange cloth, covered in coins, and bearing a sign in Hindi & English seeking donations because the family could not afford the costs of cremation. We were totally caught off guard, but as we tried to register what was happening, cows and goats kept wandering by, and three kids started a game of cricket right there.
At sunrise the next two mornings, we toured the central ghat area (ghat=stairs down to the river) for several hours, watching the chaotic mix of Hindu
rituals and daily life along the Ganges as pilgrims bathed, meditated, and performed yoga, cows waded, goats scarfed down discarded marigold garlands, dozens stood in the river doing laundry, and smoke rose from earthy, acidic fires flanked by grieving families and towering stacks of freshly split firewood. After grabbing chais at our favorite tea stand-cum-squatter's house, we also walked the ghats a few times, taking in the scene while dodging constant come-ons by touts--our least favorite ploy was for men to introduce themselves and shake our hands, but then refuse to let go for a minute while they promoted their shops. We also stopped for an awkward conversation with a family of pilgrims who asked if we were American and then explained that their son had finished his Ph.D in Nebraska but couldn't find a job, and could we please help get his resume to a company looking for an electrical engineer.
On our last afternoon, we decided to peruse a silk shop said to be owned by the family of a teenager who'd helped us on our desperate quest to buy beer the previous night (which--in this holy city--was a lot like buying enriched uranium, and involved a
Machine gunner
Security has been tight at all major tourist attractions, which we find comforting. middle-man and a bicycle messenger who slowed, but did not stop, when delivering our bottles). The teenager promised great silk prices, but as he led us along unnamed alleys further and further from the tourist area, and the "two minutes" he'd told us it would take to reach the shop turned into twenty, we slowly became convinced that he was, in fact, going to kill us. Neither of us said a word, but Jub's thought process as we snaked through alleys was something like, "Even if we ran, we'd never find the main road now. He's definitely going to kill us. We're dead. Jesus - did he just wink at those kids? Why are they laughing? They know, don't they? That's it, we're dead for sure now. How could we have followed him? Wait, what? Why's he helping that blind person now? Is that supposed to reassure us? Is that guy really even blind? Oh God, it's the fake blind guy that's going to do the dirty work, isn't it? That's how we're going out. Stabbed in the gut by a faux invalid in the back alleys of Varanasi." But we finally did make it to the store. And the owner served us
tea. And the prices were good; maybe a little too good, Anna has since lamented, as in addition to the scarves we went for, Jub couldn't walk away from a pair of light-orange M.C. Hammer pants, leading to his new nickname, "The Tangerine Dream."
To top off the sensory overload, our time in Varanasi came just before the start of the Holi festival, about which our guidebook innocuously states: "Hindus celebrate spring by throwing colored water and powder," but which in Varanasi actually consists of women locking themselves inside while the men work themselves into a stupor (legally) consuming over 100 kilos of of pot, after which they throw not only artificial dyes (many laden with heavy metals), but also paint, varnish and cow dung at each other--with extra points going to any westerners caught in the fray. Not shockingly, the eight-to-twelve year old set likes to start things off a few days early That meant that as we toured around town, we had to constantly scan for kids armed with water balloons, while also keeping an eye on the rooftops from which we watched entire buckets of dye being poured, with our concern reaching a fevered pitch
Delhi's Old Town
Eye popping sights whenever we spotted freshly splattered tourists, and the occasional dyed, confused looking, goat or cow. But we made it unscathed. The only bummer was that we had a noon flight but could not track down a driver who would take us to the airport any later than 5:30 a.m., since the drivers did not want to miss out on the festivities--which we still ended up seeing some of while waiting for our flights, as the baggage handlers, shop workers, and a few grumpy tourists rolled in later, covered in holiday colors.
So that was our first six days in India. Sorry for the length, but it's all a little hard to put into words. Thanks for reading - and stay tuned for stories about our sprint across Rajistan.
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anoushka
non-member comment
Hi guys - your pics are wonderful. Some of the most vibrant photos Ive seen of India. Enjoy the rest of your trip.