I am all alone today. I just emerged from my room to purchase more water and a plain piece of toast. It is after 3pm. Australia lost the third test. I have severe diahorrea. Marty and Dan (yes Jas, funny Dan, who sadly is going home in a week) went to Agra today. I had a ticket, but am unable to travel in my current state. Plans have changed in the past 24 hours, so i guess it is not such a bad time to get sick. I guess its a good thing we're not going to Varanasi tonight or tomorrow. Let me tell you about my last day or so...
After spending a little more time wandering about the bazaars of old Delhi, taking in the extreme and unrelenting noise of this screaming city, i started to doubt my initial impressions. My brother sent me an email about his latest near solo trip around NZ, with the easily forgetable lesson of self learning that happens when travelling: We discover who we are by encountering what we like, and perhaps more acutely, what we dislike. Through a gradual course of excitement, struggle and reflection i started to believe that i am not a "BIG" filthy city kinda guy. I prefered the quieter, magic of Hyderabad, the LA vibe of Mumbai, the lazy beauty of Goa and Hampi. Delhi is an all out assault on the senses. It takes you in, lets you have a look around, then grips you in her bustling, vomit inducing horrors. The poverty and desperation here is so much more in your face, the street wallahs so much more aggressive. While the inhabitants of smaller cities find you exotic and interesting, Delhi's rapid fire smile sheaths a commercial enterprise that seeks to lubricate the lips of your wallet. I feel choked in this madness, crushed by its unbreathable pollution, poverty and pace. Or do i?
Yesterday i woke up feeling a bit poor. I had turned on myself after a night of excessive consumption. We went to a restaurant recommended by the LP book, only to discover that the promise of budget eating had been replaced by an expensive, overly lit venue with live renditions of Whitney Houston and the Fugees. So after a meal and a few drinks (i have to remember that my numbers need to last longer than my current travel companions), a few too many drinks, i had blown my budget for three days in a single evening. (A strange gentleman has just started arguing with the manager of the web cafe). Self reproach and disdain were quick to follow. But yesterday was another day. Perhaps a healthy reminder.
Yesterday. I felt unwell, feverish, and had a couple of morning bouts of "the squirts." Still, i went out with Marty and Dan, looking for laughs and hoping to book our selves a spot on the train to Varansi with a stop in Agra to see the Taj.
But before we went to any train station, we went shopping in Connaught Place and the nearby Connaught Place. This is where you find clothes that did not fall off the back of a proverbial truck. There is real wealth here in Delhi, which amplifies one's awareness of the street life. First we wandered through a street market, full of illegitimate stalls. It was hillarious. Someone shouts "Cops!" and you've never seen a market turned into a swarm of bees so quickly. Half the place was closed down in less than a minute. Unbelievable. Made hungry by our shopping experience, we went in search of food. This is the point where i must learn to say no to my travel companions, and the street touts. Marty and Dan were compelled to enter a burger place called "Wimpys". Named after a single appearance character from the Pop eye cartoons, Wimpys is Delhi's answer to McDowell's of "Coming to America" fame. So we order three meals. I'd voiced my unease. They wanted photos. We ate our super lamb double deluxe burgers, and so today i am sick. You bastards, i will never forgive you. But the highlight of the day was yet to come.
Straight out of the guide books, on our way into the train station we were asked where we wanted to go by an innocent looking individual. When we said, he direted us to collect a reservation form from the small building that said "Dry cleaner." Yes. Of course. Dry cleaners.
A very genuine seeming man quoted figures that sounded legit, helped us fill out (what turned out to be shonky) reservation forms, then shoved us in a ricksha (for 10 rupees, by far the lowest price we have paid for the distance we covered). The numbers he said were consitent with the guide book, but the book also said "Do not believe anyone who tries to redirect you elsewhere". So we arrive in some back street in front of a tiny little shop with poorly applied decals in the initials of a Tourist Bureua. We al felt a bit dodgy about this, so we paid the ricksha to bugger off, then started walking in the direction from whence we came. Then some other dude came up and asked us what we were doing. We told him we thought we'd been stooged, so he offered to help us to the "real" tourist bureau. But his directions felt like bollocks as well. So we gave him the slip and jumped in a ricksha, saying we wanted to go to the Regal Theatre (across the road from the real tourist bureau). He dropped us off, after a few laughs. We went inside, only to discover that the tourist bureau doesn't do train bookings. "You have to go to the New Delhi train station to do that", which is exactly where this whole debarcle had started from. So back in a ricky and back to the train station, and a swift dealing of the bird for our chubby bearded dry cleaner friend and then we sat in a que for 30 minutes. And what? No trains to Varanasi for the next 4 days. So we had a think, and now Marty and i will go to Rishikesh, in the fotthills of the himalayas tonight, (it is now the 20th, most of this blog was written yesterday) and Dan will fly to Varanasi.
All in all, the rickshas cost us 50 rupees to discover we were getting stooged. And i'd do it all again for another 50. It was heaps of fun. And as for Delhi, i think we've made some peace with one another. Its big, its filthy, i got crook, and hell is it noisy. Its abusive and never returns your calls, but there is something addictive about this place. We go tonight, back to the relative quiet of village life (in the off season), and the capital of Yoga (the beatles spent a lot of time in Rishikesh, the home of their guru), and the stunning mountains. I'll miss you Delhi. You filthy bitch of a place.
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