“I heard it’s said the trick, is to set your watch before you hit the plain, that way you can trick, the workings of a tiered brain.” Mr Turner’s advice on travelling, and it’s not a bad shout. My laptop tells me that it’s 23:14 back in the cold country. My watch tells me that it’s 04:48, and I’m sat here waiting for the slow dropping of sleep to descend. However over two hours have passed since I began my vigilance and Iv decided to harness my frustrated tossing and turning in the hope that sleep will begin to feel jealous, and come back to me when it realises I’m no longer interested in it.
So on with the experience, as ‘Jet Lag’ dies, and Franky T declares “That was the one. Yep.” let’s begin at the beginning.
Arrival.
The journey to India by plain takes about 12 hours including pre-flight arrival, delays and departure. You’ll be in the air for about 8 of those. Because I’m backpacking I didn’t bring a student sized rucksack for on the plain, day excursions ext. So my first action upon getting my bag from the carousel of luggage was to empty the contents of the W.H. Smiths plastic carrier bag that had accompanied me on my flight, and jam it all back into my rucksack.
A group of men who presumably worked in the airport stood as an audience to this struggle, and I gave away the book I’d finished on the flight with a “Yah achah kitab”, much to their delight. Attempts at the local language and small acts of kindness see, a solid way to being any stint of travelling. I didn’t expect those men to do anything in return, the act itself was beneficial in germinating within me the appropriate mind set.
Passing customs with a waggle of the head to the guard with the big gun, I go to find a pre-paid taxi rank. Seeing two young lads from on the plain, rucksack laden, I say hello. We exchange pleasantries and establish that they’re going to the Paharganj district, having reserved a hotel near the train station which co-insides nicely with my own destination. The Paharganj district is defiantly an advisable starting place for any lone backpacker to find his feet. Containing dozens of cheep hostels and hotels submerged like chocolate chips in a cookie dough of colourful shops. However it was three hours before I ended up in the Paharganj district, alone, checking in to the room that the boys had reserved.
Our taxi driver was accompanied by a college who had damaged his arm and was to be dropped of at the hospital after we were set. This was fortuitous for me, but not so for my two newly found companions. The injured man spoke fluent English and after sampling my Hindi, once again to the delight of the natives, we stuck to English. He asked our destination, checked the print out that the boys had been provided with, declared it lacking and told us not to fear, we would search out this Hotel Vivik that so furrowed his brow with confusion. Alas, driving around didn’t work[1] and so with much further furrowing of those poor eyebrows our injure man told us that we would stop of at a tourist office to ask directions. The friendly man at the desk there laughed when we told him we were from England, and showed us an array of passport photographs from previous customers, many of whom were from England. He contacted the hotel for the lads, and told them that their reservation had been voided due to an overbooking. He apologised on his country man’s behalf and explained that because it was Eiad the city was even more over crowded. He told our driver of a hotel that had just had a cancellation, and we jumped back into the cab. However before doing so the boys had a cheeky fag, an on the sly I told them about the scams and tourist touts that i’d come across many a time in my Lonely Planet.
It was in the car that one of the boys realised there wasn’t a phone number for Hotel Vivik on the print out they had, and that the friendly gentleman had miraculously known the number of the top of his head.
The hotel the boys are deposited at is nice enough, and cheep enough to undercut the desire for further travel. We make our goodbys, and I once again jump back into the cab with our talkative injured friend. Yes the lads were scammed, but every one walked away happy, so i decided to take the man up on his offer of help. Back to the tourist office and our man with the miraculous memory. With some sucking of teeth (but only a small furrowing of the brows) the man there gives our driver some further directions to a decent place near the train station. We jump into the cab once again, accompanied by another man “to help, yes?”
The conversation turns to the next leg of my plans and before we arrive my new found friend is delighted to tell me he knows the best place to buy train tickets, and that he’ll come back in a few hours to take me there. Helpful guy. We pull in on a street that’s having work done to the sewage pipes and so my potential hotel has its own moat and distinguished aroma. It’s also disgusting. Contrary to the assurances of my companion that the place is “A-Ok!” and much, much cheaper because of his negotiation skills its evident from the first that the dirty, run down room with a mere trickle of water coming from the shower is in serious need of a make over. Maybe they were trying to raise the funds by over charging the guests? Unable to convince my ‘guide’ that there wasn’t a snow ball’s chance in Delhi of me staying there, I cede to his assurances, tell him i’ll meet him there in a few hours and watch him drive away, our injured friend waving with his good hand. Wondering if he’ll ever get to the hospital (or if his arm is even injured?) I hoist my backpack up once more depart the irked staff, the stench of the sewer and sensation of feeling dirty by proximity, and set off.
Before I reach the metro I have 3 different offers from auto rickshaws. The third driver speaks good English, and we settle on a reasonable price for me demands. I wish to be taken to the train station. I wish to go via the main bazaar[2]. No! I do not wish to be taken to a tourist office. Ten minutes later, winding our way through the bazaar my driver tells me we are just around the corner from the station. Hard laughter hits me, and smiling I tell him to pull up, get my stuff, pay and tip the man, and walk in to Hotel Vivik. Sure enough, the reservation for a double room is still valid. The room is what I’m looking for, cheep but cheerful. And above all, clean. On a sweet note the roof of the hotel host’s Sam’s Cafe, a eating house recommended by Lonely Planet for both it’s food and the pool of backpackers who congregate there. After a vegetable curry and a bottle of water, I spend a few hours drinking beer with a group of decent German lads. The advice and knowledge I get from them isn’t listed in the Lonly Planet, and is all the more helpful because of it. But now my laptop tells me it’s 00:30 in the cold country, and the night all a glimmer, I feel myself needing to yawn.
The Next Day
It seems that life starts early in Dehli. Not that this is a suprise, rather this information was not of much use to me until it becomes relevant. At quater to seven in the morning with a head ache, jet lag and insomnia the scene is set for this information to become relavent. Im now sat on top of my hotel once more, literally feeling the day become brighter around me. Whether its inside the hotel, or one of it’s neighbours, some sod has been hamering away for the last half an hour. Is it some form of government punishment? Break bricks from six till six?[3] The beautiful winds of India still seem to be on my side however, and have blown luck my way once more. Upon collecting my laptop and books to ascend to the roof, I met what i presume is the night porter. Now i have a steaming glass of Chi next to two tablets of paracitamel. Headache be gone!
Also, i’v just realised that although I’m not noticeably cold I can see my breath vividly in the air when i breath.
The raising sun is playing the conductor this morning, and the smashing of bricks continues to the accomliment of a pneumatic drill and the first few beeping of car horns. The nice Naples man who is baking the day’s bread in the cafe’s kitchen is whistleing away, and his colloge is ‘swish-wish’ing his way across the floor with a rustic broom, apparently giving the dust a chance to tour the place before those pesky shoes come and trample it down again.
Ten minuets ago when i set my laptop down I didn’t have the option of reading my book because it would worsened my headache to strain my eyes in such poor light. Now, the cafe is bathed in light. Amusingly[4] enough, considering the last sentence, a gentleman has just appeared dressed in a towel, carrying a bucket of water with a cloth thrown over his shoulder. Aparently the sun isn’t the only one interested in bathing. Ow! Luck, here’s his friend! Where the first guy was old with grey hair, this new man is a tall guy with a massive belly hanging over his towel. I can’t tell if it’s exercise or some tradition,[5] but the gents are now making the rounds, rolling their arms in circular motions from bum to neck. It looks like he’s pouring a puddle of water over his head, but without the water.
The nice Napales man with the bobble hat is now making me another cup of Chi. I can only eat his tasty smelling bread at 8 when the kitchen fully opens. For the moment he’s come and sat next to me and is looking over my shoulder while i write this. I tried showing him the previous sentence where he’s involved, but im not sure he really understands. I tried using sign language ext, but i wasn’t overly succcsesfull. Still, i learnt he’s from Ruddayar, near Darjeeling but on the Nepales side of the border. His shift started at 3 and he’s finished baking the days bread and cakes just now. He laughed when i played him ‘A Hard Days Night’ by the Beatles, but I’m not sure he caught the relevance. He’s been sent back to the kitchen by his boss, who kindly taught me the word ‘very’, so that i could tell him i was ‘very good.’
Anyway i was sat up here with some German lads last night having a few beers. Three of the guys have just finished making a documentary on traditional musicians in Jodhpur near Pakistan. The musicians used to play for the Maharaja of the region, now they live in a commune and play for tourists. As nice as they’re story was, it was the fourth member of their group who interested me most. Planning on driving across India on a motorbike[6] he spent a month in Delhi to acclimate himself. So, on to received wisdom.
Received wisdom
1.) Money and belongings.
Anything that isn’t unique or brand name (e.g. DC’s or Armani) can be bought over here for a fraction of the cost. The bare minimum you need is a pair of boxers and a spare shirt. It’s probably a wise idea to bring your laptop. Writting in the dead of night aside, there is a serious risk is accessing your online banking via any unsecure wireless network, and especially through an internet cafe. Hence buying a dongle over here is a worthwhile investment. You could just have all your money in the account your card is associated with, but the issue then is if the card is stolen, especially as the limit to buying goods online . . . isn’t in existence? Either way, have cash on you[7], keep a good emergency fund in a safe a place as possible, and try to use your own devices if your revealing sensitive information online.
2.) Communication.
I’v just been talking to the night porter again, and he was telling me in broken English about a Japanese couple who speak neither English or Hindi. He was not impressed. English is more than sufficient, but a few phrases of Hindi will go a long way, especially when dealing with shop keepers/ cab drivers. Buy a mobile over here on pay as you go, it’ll cost less than £20 to buy it pre topped up. However make sure you get an unlimited one which one stop working in a month’s time. Also you apparently need to register in order to buy it, and this requires two passport photos. You can buy both the phone and dongle from AMT (recommended) at Connaught Place.
3.) Accommodation
First rule of thumb, if it feels wrong, walk away.[8] If you feel the price is too much, or the room isn’t acceptable then try to communicate your thoughts, but if all else fails then shoulder your pack once more and try next door. Even when Delhi is jam packed there will always be a room. If you arrive in the middle of the night expect to pay almost double. If you haven’t pre-booked a place, and I personally wouldn’t bother, then a head to a touristy area and engage the shoe lace express. Do NOT trust the ‘helpful advice’ of a kindly taxi driver! Check that the temperature will be acceptable (air con/fan/quilt ext) that the shower has hot water, and that there are no visible signs of mildew/mould! This last point becomes particularly important if you are planning on spending a long time at the room. Lung infection anyone? Recommendations in Delhi- Hotel Vivik- good, food to suite all palates at any time. Rupes, 500-700. Kind Hotel- very clean for somewhere so cheap, not great bathrooms. Rupes, 200-400. Mini Yes Hotel- near the imperial palace, and next poor to ‘Cottage Yes Please!’ probably the place I’m going to stay tonight. Worth finding. Except as a retrospective insert, i never did, and it doesn’t seem to exist.
[1] We were travelling in a pre-paid auto-rickshaw, and so weren’t racking up a large bill. At least half as cheap as any normal cab you can get, there’s also the illusion of accountability.
[2] Where my Lonely planet tells me the appropriate hotels are to be found.
[3] Try saying that drunk.
[4] No word of a lie, perfect timing.
[5] Possibly both
[6] Which he seems be building from scratch from ‘all original parts’.
[7] Small notes like 10’s will be a lot more versatile and useful than 500’s.
[8] That’s pretty much applies across the board.
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