We've arrived!
I'm typing this in the, frankly, quite upmarket Smyle Inn.
We landed in Delhi yesterday morning after an overnight flight. With all the excitement, I slept not a wink. Catching a cab from the Indira Gandhi airport, we made our way to the hostel.
Indian traffic was nothing new: the once disturbing lack of seatbelts unsurprising. Swerving through a constantly shifting maze of endless mopeds, cars, taxis and rickshaws, we passed through the lovely spacious embassy quarter and into New Delhi. I was taking it all in my stride. The taxi pushed deeper into a warren of side-streets and bazaars. Everything happens at once in Delhi. An overwhelming flood of sounds, colours and smells spilled in through the open window.
This is India!
I think to myself that, after a day or so to acclimatise and get over the time difference and severe lack of sleep, I'll tackle this scene on foot.
Suddenly, the taxi driver stopped and applied the hand brake. We were staying right in the thick of it. Scuttling down an even narrower alley (pic) we found our accommodation.
After speaking to at least 3 people, and crossing the alley to another building. We arrived at our room.
Sanctuary.
It's probably at the top end of the kind of places we'll be staying. We've got our own room with an en suite, even a TV. Luxury! Desperate to sleep and feeling rather shell-shocked, we resolved to catch a quick snooze before venturing out. Again, no sleep: too much adrenaline. I laid in bed wide awake for an hour or so.
Braving the bazaar, full of mopeds, rickshaws, shoppers, touts and vaguely dazed-looking westerners, we stumbled along following the rough direction given to us by the proprietor of the Smyle Inn. You can't walk 5 yards here without someone approaching you. Most have a business: a shop or a travel company. Some are genuinely just friendly: curious, wanting to practice their English or give warnings about various touts and scams.
It's often hard to tell which is which. Before we knew it, someone had coaxed us into his brother's shop. Shafi introduced himself as "Indian Adam Sandler". This guy was slick. All flash shirts, designer glasses an flattering comments, he'd charmed the pants off us in minutes. His family owned a Kashmiri house boat (frequented by Michael Palin, no less), and he wanted to sell us a trip.
Not so fast Shafi, we just fell off the boat! We escape with an entertaining chat and a business card.
We are greeted by another friendly individual as soon as we set foot outside. He advises us to watch out for touts and advises us to visit a government-affiliated tourist office to get a map. We blunder in and speak to Ramzan, ask for a map and get talking about where we'd like to travel in India. At this point, getting out of Delhi to somewhere a little less intense is a very attractive one. Ramzan sorts through some train options and accommodation along the way, all for a decent price. We get most of our itinerary together for the north of India (about a month's travel), for around half of what I'd budgeted for the period. We part with our cash.
Walking down to Connaught Place, we sit down to eat lunch and sip a beer in an air conditioned restaurant to reflect. Wait a minute - a helpful guy on the street directs us to a "government tourist office" to pick up a map, wherein we've signed on the line within 20 minutes. A wave of sleep-deprivationinduced paranoia washes over me. Have we been fleeced?
A nervously sipped beer later, and we're walking back toward the bazaar and happen across the main tourist information centre. I ask a couple of cautious questions and it transpires the travel agents we booked with are legit.
Relief.
It is dark now and the bazaar has transformed. Gone are the touts and people are out for the evening, walking, talking, cooking, carrying, less interested in us. The whole street is lit up with neon signs and delicious smells fills the air. Alice and I sit down in the first floor of a cafe and order a delicious tali, eating and watching the world go by on the street below.
For the fist time that day, I relax. I feel like we're in the right place.
This is India, and I'm happy we're here.
I'm typing this in the, frankly, quite upmarket Smyle Inn.
We landed in Delhi yesterday morning after an overnight flight. With all the excitement, I slept not a wink. Catching a cab from the Indira Gandhi airport, we made our way to the hostel.
Indian traffic was nothing new: the once disturbing lack of seatbelts unsurprising. Swerving through a constantly shifting maze of endless mopeds, cars, taxis and rickshaws, we passed through the lovely spacious embassy quarter and into New Delhi. I was taking it all in my stride. The taxi pushed deeper into a warren of side-streets and bazaars. Everything happens at once in Delhi. An overwhelming flood of sounds, colours and smells spilled in through the open window.
This is India!
I think to myself that, after a day or so to acclimatise and get over the time difference and severe lack of sleep, I'll tackle this scene on foot.
Suddenly, the taxi driver stopped and applied the hand brake. We were staying right in the thick of it. Scuttling down an even narrower alley (pic) we found our accommodation.
After speaking to at least 3 people, and crossing the alley to another building. We arrived at our room.
Sanctuary.
It's probably at the top end of the kind of places we'll be staying. We've got our own room with an en suite, even a TV. Luxury! Desperate to sleep and feeling rather shell-shocked, we resolved to catch a quick snooze before venturing out. Again, no sleep: too much adrenaline. I laid in bed wide awake for an hour or so.
Braving the bazaar, full of mopeds, rickshaws, shoppers, touts and vaguely dazed-looking westerners, we stumbled along following the rough direction given to us by the proprietor of the Smyle Inn. You can't walk 5 yards here without someone approaching you. Most have a business: a shop or a travel company. Some are genuinely just friendly: curious, wanting to practice their English or give warnings about various touts and scams.
It's often hard to tell which is which. Before we knew it, someone had coaxed us into his brother's shop. Shafi introduced himself as "Indian Adam Sandler". This guy was slick. All flash shirts, designer glasses an flattering comments, he'd charmed the pants off us in minutes. His family owned a Kashmiri house boat (frequented by Michael Palin, no less), and he wanted to sell us a trip.
Not so fast Shafi, we just fell off the boat! We escape with an entertaining chat and a business card.
We are greeted by another friendly individual as soon as we set foot outside. He advises us to watch out for touts and advises us to visit a government-affiliated tourist office to get a map. We blunder in and speak to Ramzan, ask for a map and get talking about where we'd like to travel in India. At this point, getting out of Delhi to somewhere a little less intense is a very attractive one. Ramzan sorts through some train options and accommodation along the way, all for a decent price. We get most of our itinerary together for the north of India (about a month's travel), for around half of what I'd budgeted for the period. We part with our cash.
Walking down to Connaught Place, we sit down to eat lunch and sip a beer in an air conditioned restaurant to reflect. Wait a minute - a helpful guy on the street directs us to a "government tourist office" to pick up a map, wherein we've signed on the line within 20 minutes. A wave of sleep-deprivationinduced paranoia washes over me. Have we been fleeced?
A nervously sipped beer later, and we're walking back toward the bazaar and happen across the main tourist information centre. I ask a couple of cautious questions and it transpires the travel agents we booked with are legit.
Relief.
It is dark now and the bazaar has transformed. Gone are the touts and people are out for the evening, walking, talking, cooking, carrying, less interested in us. The whole street is lit up with neon signs and delicious smells fills the air. Alice and I sit down in the first floor of a cafe and order a delicious tali, eating and watching the world go by on the street below.
For the fist time that day, I relax. I feel like we're in the right place.
This is India, and I'm happy we're here.
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