I promised a video tour of my flat, and here it is. It isn't much, but it's home.
I've learned to expect frequent cuts to utilities. A few days ago, I finally was able to shower after almost two days of no water, but then the electricity cut off while I was showering. We haven't had gas either, so I haven't been able to cook anything except vegetables steamed in a rice cooker. The funny thing is how little I care about these inconveniences. It's not hard to overlook small nuisances when the rest of the country has so much to offer you.
I'm leaving tonight with a dozen of my new friends for a 3-day trip by bus to the foothills of the Himalayas tonight, in a town called Shimla.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Excursion to Agra, part one.
What we wanted to do was take a bus to the city of Agra, see the Taj Mahal and maybe the Agra Fort, and come back in the evening. What actually happened was nothing of the sort. Welcome to India, land of the unexpected, unplanned, and totally unpredictable.
Plans being so last-minute, a crazy little Russian girl named Katerina and I set off at 4:30am Sunday morning to try to snag a bus ride to Agra. When we arrived at the station, we asked no less than a dozen agents where to find a bus, but to our frustration, each consecutive person just kept referring us to the next information booth. We were quickly fed up with walking in circles.
An auto-rickshaw driver noticed our situation, and said, pointing to his auto:
20 rupees, I take you to bus to Agra.
Uhhh... what?
Very short distance! Bus to Agra leaving at 7 o'clock!
No thanks, we're fine.
No bus, no pay! Only pay when you find bus!
Despite the initial suspicion, we realized we could either take this chance or not do the trip. The driver took us to a small road-side tourist information booth.
750 rupees, bus to Agra, round trip. (At $15, this was very reasonable.)
What time we leave?
7 o'clock.
What time do we return?
10 o'clock.
Are you sure that we go directly to Agra, no stops along the way?
Yes, sure.
Katerina and I considered our options, and finally decided, what the hell, why not. Ticket in hand, we found ourselves being shuttled to the station just as the bus was getting ready to leave. Our anxieties were quickly calmed when we saw that our bus was filled with middle-class Indian families with the same destination. We had come to the right place, or so it appeared.
That bus was hot . No air conditioning, no fans, three-digit-degree weather. Every pore on my body leaked sweat, my clothes stuck to my back and my hair to my neck, and the bus was rank with body odor. How long is this ride supposed to be? we asked the passengers beside us. Two hours, I believe. Nope, more like six.
Not having had any breakfast, I was happy when we stopped at a road-side cafeteria for a small meal. I had idli sambar, a type of floury cake, most commonly found in south India, that is paired with a vegetable sauce and yogurt.
When we finally arrived in Agra, the bus stopped in front of an enormous, imposing fortress, teeming with tourists and street peddlers, and I immediately knew it was the famed Agra Fort. But the question was, why were we here, and not at a bus station? Why was our driver giving an announcement in Hindiglish, mixed with phrases like "one hour" and "please remember bus number 9369"?
As it turned out, damn it all, we had paid for a guided tour of the city, instead of just a simple bus ticket! Curse our inability to understand Hindi and the broken English of our ticket salesmen! It wasn't long, however, before we became quite tickled at the situation. We had successfully arrived at our destination, and the full itinerary of the day was to consist of everything we had wanted to see, complete with explanations and transportation to-and-from sites.
The size of the fort was overwhelming. Some of the red sandstone walls rose up at least 50 feet, and the sprawling complex seemed to keep stretching on endlessly. Each massive courtyard had several gates which, in turn, led to more courtyards, and on and on until it felt like I could never hope to find my way back to the main entrance.
Plans being so last-minute, a crazy little Russian girl named Katerina and I set off at 4:30am Sunday morning to try to snag a bus ride to Agra. When we arrived at the station, we asked no less than a dozen agents where to find a bus, but to our frustration, each consecutive person just kept referring us to the next information booth. We were quickly fed up with walking in circles.
An auto-rickshaw driver noticed our situation, and said, pointing to his auto:
20 rupees, I take you to bus to Agra.
Uhhh... what?
Very short distance! Bus to Agra leaving at 7 o'clock!
No thanks, we're fine.
No bus, no pay! Only pay when you find bus!
Despite the initial suspicion, we realized we could either take this chance or not do the trip. The driver took us to a small road-side tourist information booth.
750 rupees, bus to Agra, round trip. (At $15, this was very reasonable.)
What time we leave?
7 o'clock.
What time do we return?
10 o'clock.
Are you sure that we go directly to Agra, no stops along the way?
Yes, sure.
Katerina and I considered our options, and finally decided, what the hell, why not. Ticket in hand, we found ourselves being shuttled to the station just as the bus was getting ready to leave. Our anxieties were quickly calmed when we saw that our bus was filled with middle-class Indian families with the same destination. We had come to the right place, or so it appeared.
That bus was hot . No air conditioning, no fans, three-digit-degree weather. Every pore on my body leaked sweat, my clothes stuck to my back and my hair to my neck, and the bus was rank with body odor. How long is this ride supposed to be? we asked the passengers beside us. Two hours, I believe. Nope, more like six.
Not having had any breakfast, I was happy when we stopped at a road-side cafeteria for a small meal. I had idli sambar, a type of floury cake, most commonly found in south India, that is paired with a vegetable sauce and yogurt.
When we finally arrived in Agra, the bus stopped in front of an enormous, imposing fortress, teeming with tourists and street peddlers, and I immediately knew it was the famed Agra Fort. But the question was, why were we here, and not at a bus station? Why was our driver giving an announcement in Hindiglish, mixed with phrases like "one hour" and "please remember bus number 9369"?
As it turned out, damn it all, we had paid for a guided tour of the city, instead of just a simple bus ticket! Curse our inability to understand Hindi and the broken English of our ticket salesmen! It wasn't long, however, before we became quite tickled at the situation. We had successfully arrived at our destination, and the full itinerary of the day was to consist of everything we had wanted to see, complete with explanations and transportation to-and-from sites.
The size of the fort was overwhelming. Some of the red sandstone walls rose up at least 50 feet, and the sprawling complex seemed to keep stretching on endlessly. Each massive courtyard had several gates which, in turn, led to more courtyards, and on and on until it felt like I could never hope to find my way back to the main entrance.
The fort was originally built for Mughal emperor in the mid-16th century. It was originally built as a citadel, but it could easy have been a palace as well, massive enough to house thousands of people.
Following this was lunch at a guest house restaurant, where I had dhaal makhani, spiced lentils and beans. It was too salty, but this, as I'm learning, is typical of real Indian food.
After wasting time at a few tourist shops, our bus finally dropped us off at the west gate to the Taj Mahal. We squeezed past the hoardes of tourists through the security entrance, ran to the entrance gate in excitement, and...
The rest is impossible to describe to any degree of effectiveness. The brilliance of the monument was simply staggering. I wanted to come to the Taj Mahal simply because it's something you're expected to do in India, but as soon as I saw it, I could only stand there transfixed for several minutes, trying to comprehend that it was actually real. At this point, I could try to spout off a stream of adjectives, but the only word that comes to mind is perfection. I could swear it was glowing.
India can be overwhelming in its dirt, noise, poverty, and non-stop street activity, but the Taj Mahal seemed to rise above all of that in a visually powerful way, almost as a symbol of constancy in a rapidly changing country. It's impossible to avoid thinking of the Taj Mahal in a symbolic, cheesily poetic way. Even the swarms of tourists did little to diminish its magic.
More pictures here. Rest of the trip to be continued...
After wasting time at a few tourist shops, our bus finally dropped us off at the west gate to the Taj Mahal. We squeezed past the hoardes of tourists through the security entrance, ran to the entrance gate in excitement, and...
The rest is impossible to describe to any degree of effectiveness. The brilliance of the monument was simply staggering. I wanted to come to the Taj Mahal simply because it's something you're expected to do in India, but as soon as I saw it, I could only stand there transfixed for several minutes, trying to comprehend that it was actually real. At this point, I could try to spout off a stream of adjectives, but the only word that comes to mind is perfection. I could swear it was glowing.
India can be overwhelming in its dirt, noise, poverty, and non-stop street activity, but the Taj Mahal seemed to rise above all of that in a visually powerful way, almost as a symbol of constancy in a rapidly changing country. It's impossible to avoid thinking of the Taj Mahal in a symbolic, cheesily poetic way. Even the swarms of tourists did little to diminish its magic.
More pictures here. Rest of the trip to be continued...
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wider explorations.
Starting from the very first hour I set foot in Delhi, I began the long, confusing, trial-and-error process of orienting myself in this sprawling mega-metropolis. It’s fair to say that the city has been designed to confuse the hell out of even the savviest traveler.
First, some basic geography. Delhi is composed of three main parts: New Delhi, in the center, is the colonial city, the aftermath of British settlement; Old Delhi is in the north, the historical remnants of ancient Mughal rule; and South Delhi, where my flat is located, is the result of recent business expansion from the main city on south.
Now, let’s zoom in on South Delhi. This part is further divided into districts, which are also subdivided into individual neighborhoods. For example, I live in Dayanand Colony within Lajpat Nagar within South Delhi within Delhi. You’d think that for such layered organization, one could systematically find their way around, this assumption is quite untrue.
For starters, absolutely none of the streets in Lajpat Nagar are labeled. For the newcomer, if you don’t have a map glued your nose as you walk, it is impossible to know what street you’re on. Secondly, the neighborhoods (e.g. Dayanand Colony) have blocks labeled alphabetically, except that the alphabet doesn’t go in order. Some of the streets curve so it is possible to lose sense of cardinal direction.
I’ve never relied on my navigational sense to this extent, ever. I have to go almost purely by feel.
This morning, my new Japanese friend Yasu showed me how to hail an auto-rickshaw, and we took the 30-minute ride to Connaught Place, where his work is located. Connaught Place (CP) is the heart of New Delhi. It’s a shopping mecca, the central tourist hub, and is an assault of the senses. The layout is in concentric circles.
As soon as I sat down to orient myself, I was immediately accosted by a local. I took his conversation as simple curiosity, and so I smiled and replied briefly. Soon, four or five others joined in the chat, and didn’t mind nosing into questions that westerners would find personal.
“I’m a shoe-shiner, but I can’t shine your shoes! (I’m wearing sandals) Are you Japanese? No? Korean? Malaysian? Chinese? I like Chinese people. Japanese people walk away if I talk to them, but Chinese people are nicer. How long have you been here? What is your salary? Do you have a husband? Where do you live? Where do you work?”
Perhaps delighted by my indulging their innocuous questions, they kindly showed me to a tourist information booth that handed out free maps of the Delhi area.
I wandered aimlessly around the inner circle for a while, stopping in a few bookstores, killing time before lunchtime. When the heat got the best of me, I ducked into the nearest air-conditioned place I could find: a McDonald’s, boasting menu items like paneer salsa wrap, and chicken maharaja mac. Tempting, but I stuck with my ice cream.
What I really was waiting for was the opening of Kake da Dhaba (literally translated “Uncle’s Restaurant, near Super Bazaar on the map), legendary to budget Delhi foodies. It was cramped, paint-peeling-off-the walls, and completely overrun with people. The kitchen downstairs took up half the floor space, and the entire place had ten seats, upstairs and downstairs combined. The clientele were completely men, the majority of whom looked like middle-class businessmen on their regular lunch break.
I ordered palak paneer, a pureed spinach dish with cubes of unfermented cheese, and served with naan baked in a tandoori oven. It was swimming in ghee and virtually exploded with taste. The first half was everything I asked for -- savory, rich, heaven on the taste buds -- but my appraisal changed in the second half when I started feeling the generous butter and salt content. Still, I couldn’t have picked a more memorable place to have my first real Indian meal.
outside one of the Palika Bazaar's many entrances
figurest of elephants everywhere / back view of the temple
walkway into the gardens / vendor of worship materials
I'm trying to learn how to take better photos. Most of them are terrible right now, but hopefully I'll improve my skills as I become increasingly frustrated that I can't rightly capture how being in Delhi actually feels.
First, some basic geography. Delhi is composed of three main parts: New Delhi, in the center, is the colonial city, the aftermath of British settlement; Old Delhi is in the north, the historical remnants of ancient Mughal rule; and South Delhi, where my flat is located, is the result of recent business expansion from the main city on south.
Now, let’s zoom in on South Delhi. This part is further divided into districts, which are also subdivided into individual neighborhoods. For example, I live in Dayanand Colony within Lajpat Nagar within South Delhi within Delhi. You’d think that for such layered organization, one could systematically find their way around, this assumption is quite untrue.
For starters, absolutely none of the streets in Lajpat Nagar are labeled. For the newcomer, if you don’t have a map glued your nose as you walk, it is impossible to know what street you’re on. Secondly, the neighborhoods (e.g. Dayanand Colony) have blocks labeled alphabetically, except that the alphabet doesn’t go in order. Some of the streets curve so it is possible to lose sense of cardinal direction.
I’ve never relied on my navigational sense to this extent, ever. I have to go almost purely by feel.
----------------------
This morning, my new Japanese friend Yasu showed me how to hail an auto-rickshaw, and we took the 30-minute ride to Connaught Place, where his work is located. Connaught Place (CP) is the heart of New Delhi. It’s a shopping mecca, the central tourist hub, and is an assault of the senses. The layout is in concentric circles.
As soon as I sat down to orient myself, I was immediately accosted by a local. I took his conversation as simple curiosity, and so I smiled and replied briefly. Soon, four or five others joined in the chat, and didn’t mind nosing into questions that westerners would find personal.
“I’m a shoe-shiner, but I can’t shine your shoes! (I’m wearing sandals) Are you Japanese? No? Korean? Malaysian? Chinese? I like Chinese people. Japanese people walk away if I talk to them, but Chinese people are nicer. How long have you been here? What is your salary? Do you have a husband? Where do you live? Where do you work?”
Perhaps delighted by my indulging their innocuous questions, they kindly showed me to a tourist information booth that handed out free maps of the Delhi area.
I wandered aimlessly around the inner circle for a while, stopping in a few bookstores, killing time before lunchtime. When the heat got the best of me, I ducked into the nearest air-conditioned place I could find: a McDonald’s, boasting menu items like paneer salsa wrap, and chicken maharaja mac. Tempting, but I stuck with my ice cream.
What I really was waiting for was the opening of Kake da Dhaba (literally translated “Uncle’s Restaurant, near Super Bazaar on the map), legendary to budget Delhi foodies. It was cramped, paint-peeling-off-the walls, and completely overrun with people. The kitchen downstairs took up half the floor space, and the entire place had ten seats, upstairs and downstairs combined. The clientele were completely men, the majority of whom looked like middle-class businessmen on their regular lunch break.
I ordered palak paneer, a pureed spinach dish with cubes of unfermented cheese, and served with naan baked in a tandoori oven. It was swimming in ghee and virtually exploded with taste. The first half was everything I asked for -- savory, rich, heaven on the taste buds -- but my appraisal changed in the second half when I started feeling the generous butter and salt content. Still, I couldn’t have picked a more memorable place to have my first real Indian meal.
By the way, I committed the ultimate social faux pas at the restaurant. I ate using my left hand. Considering how much amusement I took from the rule before I came to India, I still can’t believe it slipped my mind that the left hand is reserved for unsanitary purposes only. At some point, I looked around and noticed that people were one-handedly tearing their naan, and then it struck me. Here I was, happily stuffing bread into my face with my left hand, brushing off the stares of others as foreigner-induced, when perhaps they were really shocked and disgusted. Oops.
After my filling meal, I walked a bit further along Connaught Place to the Palika Bazaar (located on the map), a huge underground market for scarves, saris, electronics, sunglasses, fake goods, clothes, and nearly everything imaginable. Booth after booth after booth, around and around, selling all the same things, accosted personally by every single shopkeeper, offers yelled after me, items waved into my face. I left the market pretty quickly, but not without haggling a couple of silk scarves to half-price first.
After my filling meal, I walked a bit further along Connaught Place to the Palika Bazaar (located on the map), a huge underground market for scarves, saris, electronics, sunglasses, fake goods, clothes, and nearly everything imaginable. Booth after booth after booth, around and around, selling all the same things, accosted personally by every single shopkeeper, offers yelled after me, items waved into my face. I left the market pretty quickly, but not without haggling a couple of silk scarves to half-price first.
outside one of the Palika Bazaar's many entrances
My final stop of the day was the Lakshmi Narayan Magir, a Hindu temple located just west of Connaught Place. Photography was not allowed inside, but the place was enormous and paved almost entirely by marble. Icons of deities were distributed within, and on the walls were etchings of prominent gods, goddesses, stories from the religious epics, and verses from the Vedic texts. I wandered around the surrounding garden for a while afterward.
figurest of elephants everywhere / back view of the temple
walkway into the gardens / vendor of worship materials
A thoroughly exhausting day ended with my gleeful discovery of wonderful street food stands just a ten-minute walk from my flat. I had chicken shawarma wraps, dipped in a parsley relish and yogurt (vendors on left), and Chinese dim sum with chili dipping paste (vendors on right).
I'm trying to learn how to take better photos. Most of them are terrible right now, but hopefully I'll improve my skills as I become increasingly frustrated that I can't rightly capture how being in Delhi actually feels.
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