Happy Diwali!

So this is the biggest holiday in India (which I discovered when all my co-workers suddenly went on vacation) and has a lot in common with Christmas. Diwali it is very family oriented and many people return to their hometowns for the holiday. There is a lot of gift giving and lights are strewn up everywhere and many shops are closed that day. How is it not like Christmas? Fireworks. Lots and lots of fireworks.

Diwali in a Nutshell: Looks like a fairyland; sounds like a war zone.

This year (it is a different date every year) Diwali fell on Sunday, Nov 3rd. When I got back from UAE last week, there were lights everywhere. It seemed more than half of the apartments had strings of colorful Christmas-type lights on their balconies and our housing society was setting up for a festival in the square between the towers.

But that night, we had record power outages. On and off and on and off about a dozen times (the first few while I was in the shower) until finally it just stayed off for about 45 minutes. (My neighbor later explained that, since our tower is the closest to the stage they were erecting in the grassy area, they were plugged into our electricity! An overload on our tower’s circuits…) Later, though, the broadband went out and that was a way more painful hour.

Lights of Orange County

The Friday afternoon before Diwali was a big party at work. First a talent show (lots of lip-synching + dancing, but a couple musicians and one guy who apparently does very funny impressions, though it all went over my head), then blasting dance music with a DJ right there in the office. Yeah, our office is pretty cool.

Word Hard, Play Hard™

The day before Diwali, my neighbor invited me in for sweets (another holiday tradition) and I enjoyed her very tasty homemade gulab jamun. She explained to me that you could buy kits at the store to make gulab jamun easier to make at home since it is very difficult. But when she said “then after that, you just deep-fry it” I decided these steps were not “easy” just “easy in comparison”.

My neighbor also let me help her create a Rangoli. I was completely unaware of this tradition. Rangoli is very neat. You take flower petals – often pulling them off giant strings of flowers you can buy – and colored sand and make decorations and patterns on the floor. We had a contest at work and I think our tower was having an informal contest as well; I was told to check out the one on the 7th floor…

My neighbor making Rangoli (and the final product)

Rangoli on the 7th Floor

Another big Diwali symbol are candles in little clay pots. The flame is supposed to be off to the side? I saw enough of them like that, I figured it was deliberate.

Rangoli and Candles

My other neighbor even gave me a candle to put by my door.

My housing society threw a big party, like they do. I got the notice under my door (yay!) and in English (double yay!) that actually said when the festival would be (and how much it would cost to “buy a booth” whatever that meant)

This is the exact text of the flyer:

I think Octronum Configuration would make a good name for a band.

View of Carnival from Neighbor’s Balcony

Dressed-up Dudes…
(maybe for the Fancy Dress competition?)

I wandered around the festival for a bit. Even had some food from a food stall, pav bhaji I think it is called, which I would think would be the easiest food for someone out of the country to try as it is basically a fried bread roll and tomatoey sauce (it’s like garlic bread and marinara).I’m glad that I, at the last second, decided to put on one of my Indian outfits. All the women were dressed up (and I had previously just been in a T-shirt and capris.)

Some of the booths were manned by kids which I noticed when they called me over and asked if I wanted to play a game. The kids were so cute, I couldn’t refuse. (I’m guessing they were 8 or 9.) I played a game where I chose one of three spaces and the rolled the dice. One space, I doubled my money. I won once and lost once. Another game just had six squares with a present on each one. It cost 10 rupees, but you win every time. (I won a pen, a small candle, and some mini Cadbury chocolates.) I also amused the locals by putting a blind fold on, being spun around, and pinning the tail on the donkey.

There was this other game with a row of paper cups filled with water and a ping-pong ball (or something) in the edge cup, floating on the water. The goal was to blow on the ball and eventually get it to the other end. I could not get that ball to move and mostly splashed myself for my effort. I wondered if it was some kind of game you couldn’t win, but then, as I was saying, “I think that is impossible,” a passing lady walked up, blew on the ball, and it immediately hopped into the next cup. (No idea how she did that.)

The carnival was on Saturday night (the night before Diwali which I think someone called “Little Diwali”) because everything had to be taken down in preparation for the fireworks the next night.

During the day of Diwali, there was a street fair set up several blocks from my housing society. I wandered over. They were mostly selling the strings of flowers you could use to make rangoli. But there were a lot of places selling last-minute gifts. Some of the shops had long tables set up with gift packs of cookies, chocolate, and other goodies.

Also, the lines at the ATMs were long indeed.

Diwali Street Market on Diwali and the Sir John Bakery Sidewalk Sale

Finally the evening of Diwali arrived. The main event. The event that continued to surprise me all evening long.

The fireworks.

Four straight hours of deafening, non-stop explosions in every direction. From 7pm to 11pm (and the occasional explosions continued well into the night.) All of this done in a manner totally illegal where I come from.

Things I was stunned by:

• The loudness. I mean, obviously fireworks (called “fire crackers” here) are loud, but they were loud even inside my apartment with the doors and windows closed.
• The closeness. People didn’t find a nice empty park or beach or stadium to set them off, they just set them off on any empty sidewalk space. I mean, I had actual fireworks blowing up at the level of my apartment. Not really close since my balcony faces the outside of my complex, but I could see them all across the city.
• The amount. This is a fireworks enthusiasts dream. Back in the U.S. on July 4, there are professional shows in various places around the city. They last maybe two hours and are high-quality and high-tech. Local residents there play with sparklers and there are always a few brave souls who skirt the law, buy illegal fireworks in the next state over, and set them off in their neighborhood. Here? Fireworks aren’t illegal. Everyone has them. And everyone is setting them off everywhere all night. The variety is impressive. The endurance of their eardrums is impressive.
• The kids. Little, tiny children playfully running around NEXT TO EXPLODING FIREBALLS.
• The sound. A lot of the fireworks seemed less about light and more about sound. It was REALLY loud (and echoed around the several 16-story towers that make up the complex.) I didn’t get the point of the loud ones. They sounded like bombs. They sounded like something that would induce heart attacks or trigger flashbacks or just scare the bejeezus out of anyone nearby. One every so often just for shock value, sure I get that, but they seemed to make up at least a third of the exploding things.
• The fire extinguishers. I was glad to see them. I come from a country overly concerned about safety regulations and I was fascinated by the lack of them here, but still, it was a relief to see the dozen or so red cans sitting around the edges of the war zone.
• I was somewhat surprised the entire courtyard wasn’t on fire.
• The matter-of-fact attitude. My mouth was gaping open pretty much the whole time, witnessing the spectacle. To me, it was amazing and shocking and bright and loud and festive and adrenalizing. But most people were just hanging out, having a family night, dressed in their best, and setting off explosives, like you do. (Notably, you really had to watch your step! People were lighting fireworks, then running back a few steps, so you had to watch for running people so you did not walk right into a sudden fireball.)
• Yeah, it’s raining ash.
• Going green? People here are, in fact, trying to reduce fireworks and set off less. Why, you ask? Because of the danger? Because people having scars? Missing fingers? Burns? No. The safety is not the concern. The concern is….. the POLLUTION!

Indeed, the smoke over Delhi after Diwali lasted for days…

Someone told me that the temperature would start to get cool fast after Diwali. I kind of mentally scoffed. Like the weather has any relationship to a holiday! But… it kinda did. Less than a couple weeks ago, I had the A/C on when I slept. A week after Diwali and I’m wearing a cardigan on my autorickshaw ride to work.

A week after Diwali, all the lights were gone. Back to normal. Kind of nice, actually. If there was any kind of Diwali music (like Christmas music), I missed it entirely.

I made some videos with my camera of the fireworks craziness, I mean very holy celebration of Diwali, in my apartment complex and from my balcony.

It is now November. No more A/C needed! The housing society swimming pool has been emptied. Both humidity and temperature are starting to drop.

I finally tried India McDonald’s signature meal:
The McVeggie

It wasn’t bad. Though the Shake-Shake Bag (a random promotion they were doing) produced some *spicy* fries.

Palika Bazaar:

For some reason, I thought it would be fun and relaxing to hang out at Connaught Place while I was getting my Nepal trip sorted out with a nearby agency / embassy.

What was I thinking?

Just a few people bugged me at first (“How are you?” “Where are you from?” “Madam, hello?”) as I walked around the circle. I was excited when I finally spotted one of the mysterious entrances to the underground “Palika Bazaar.” I had read that it was a funky street market literally beneath the upscale Connaught Place. Curious, I went through the security in the enclosed gazebo-type thing and walked down the spiral staircase.

It was the kind of place you could get lost in. Lots of shops, colors, and sounds. And turns. No sense of what direction you are going in (though, granted, since Connaught Place is a circle, it is pretty hard to get yourself oriented above ground as well!)

I might have enjoyed the wander a bit more if every other shopkeeper (and if I’m exaggerating here, it is not by much!) tried to get my attention. I don’t really like to ignore people. And even if I do, some apparently thought I just didn’t hear them and spoke even louder. I had not been prepared. I felt singled out and exhausted by the efforts of trying NOT to look in any one person’s shop and ignoring or No-thank-you-ing the calls from every direction.

I left much quicker than I intended to, pretty much as soon as I located another exit. But above ground was almost as bad. It felt like people were talking to me nonstop, trying to get me to buy whatever goods they were selling. I even straight-out told a guy who started walking with me, “Look, 100% of the people who ask where I’m from are selling something. One hundred percent.” He still seemed to be trying to convince me that he was just chatty, though he mentioned a bookshop. I only escaped from him by going to lunch at the closest place: Kebab Xpress.

Indian Fast Food!
(Totally superior to the McVeggie)

After lunch, I thought I could avoid the nonstop solicitations by paying to go in somewhere. So I bought a ticket and entered Delhi’s Jantar Mantar (similar to Jaipur’s version.)

Less than five minutes into it, some guy stopped me wanting to be my guide. Then ten minutes after that, an older man did the same. Somehow not snapping at him (I had snapped at several of the others) since he really did seem to be a nice old retired guy, I said “I came in here to get peace and quiet, actually, and not have anyone talk to me.”

Jantar Mantar
For Your Giant Astronmical Equipment Needs

Incidentally, you CANNOT climb around on this stuff. Some of it, a little, but I got whistled at. My co-worker had me convinced that only Jaipur’s Jantar Mantar had the rules blocking the oh-so-climbable stairs everywhere. Nope. Delhi, too.

After that, I wandered some side streets off the main drag, which upon reflection is the best way to avoid the unsolicited conversations. One person did get my attention, but that was just to help. I was walking, but had turned around upon seeing a barrier in the road, thinking I had to go another way, but he told me there was a pedestrian path off to the side. Indeed there was!

Saved me time.

On a completely unrelated note, I find it amusing that they are trying to market a scooter to dudes. Not sure why the commercial makes me laugh. I think it is because marketing a gender-preferred product to men happens significantly less often than the reverse.

Attempting to make the scooter manly…

Bollywood Workshop

The Delhi Women’s Group at Internations held a Bollywood Dance Workshop! This was fun. Although I arrived so early that even the organizer had not arrived yet (and I confused the other household members), all was well. We learned a piece of a routine from a popular song right now (“Dilliwalli Girlfriend”) from an experienced professional who, amazingly, still seemed enthusiastic about teaching us.

I was also surprised how well I understood his English, especially as he confided that he had never left the country. He explained, though. He had spent years working in a call center! (Poor dude… Glad he’s choreographing now.)

He taught us moves in groups of four and added on the music quickly. I still can’t believe that, before the hour was up, he had taught us maybe 24 moves and we managed to somewhat sort of dance them full speed by the end!

Although it is not the same routine that is on YouTube, I definitely look at the dancing on Bollywood videos a different way now.

So, I did something that I was not sure I could do. That I was not sure I’d be able to figure out how to do. And something I never thought I’d have reason to want to do.

I booked a train ticket in India online!

The books I read about life in India made the Indian Railway System sound so complicated and confusing, I was intimidated by the whole process. Granted, it is weird with the various codes (which Seat 61 explains well) but in the end, it wasn’t prohibitively difficult to figure out what I needed to do once I knew where to start, which is either of the two sites I link to here. The only frustrating part was that my booking kept on failing. Five times in a row. Two different cards (an Indian Visa and an American Mastercard). One seat left.

I called customer service for Indian Railways whom, to their credit, answered quickly and were very nice but they could not do a darn thing to help. His advice was more just encouragement. “Try again!” “Don’t give up!” He showed no available seat, but I was looking at it.

Oddly, the sixth time, it worked!

I got a seat! Or more accurately, a bed on an overnight train. The last reserved slot from Delhi to Khajuraho in “2A” available through the railways site, which uses IRCTC. I printed myself out the ticket and got the requisite SMS on my mobile phone which is pretty much as good as paper. You can also get these tickets through agents, apparently, but I had no idea how long that seat was going to last. Nor where to find an agent in my neighborhood. But getting a place on this train was the only way for me to pull off a one-day journey to another city.

That was a over a week ago.

Mapping My Train Station

Now comes the evening of boarding. I took a government auto (which I had never done – cheap!) to get from central Delhi – following the Bollywood workshop in the previous entry – to Nizamuddin Station. Notably, not New Delhi Station or Delhi Catonment, the other two railway stations I had been to. I just looked it up. Apparently, there are *twenty-four* railway stations in Delhi. Whoa.

Nizamuddin, I suppose, is not all that large a station, comparatively speaking. Just seven platforms. All in a row. I walked among the locals of various economic classes, trying to determine which one was mine. I had arrived about an hour early so was pretty sure my destination should be listed by now, but not positive.

I walked all the way to the end of the overpass that had stairs going down to each platform. Then I walked back, checking and re-checking the signs flashing in Hindi and English. Nothing showed my destination. Nothing showed my time. Um…? On the far side (another entrance on the opposite side, perhaps?), the Enquiry counter lines were so intimidatingly long as to not be worth it. But oddly, the Enquiry counter back at the side I entered was virtually empty. I handed my ticket (that I had checked and double checked) to the person inside and asked “Which platform?”

With no hesitation, the worker said, “Platform 7.”

So I walked back, this time using the other of the two overpasses that led to the platforms. I strode all the way to the final one.

The sign said a lot in Hindi, not a lot in English. It did not say Khajuraho. But it was leaving at 8:15pm, the time shown on my ticket (on the other overpass, I had seen no train leaving at 8:15 — perhaps I had missed the final platform?) And possibly Khajuraho was not the final stop? Only slightly worried, I walked down the stairs.

I has never seen anything like this. The platform was full of people. Not standing necessarily, the majority sitting. People from every economic class. Families on blankets. All sorts of folks (and cargo and men prepared to load cargo) filling almost all available floor space, many looking as if they had been camped out there for some time. There was a diagram for figuring out where your class of car was, but I was having trouble sorting it out exactly. “SL” was “Sleeper”, I got that. I was definitely not on that. But I wasn’t on “1A” either, which was first class. There were a couple classes that, by process of elimination, I assumed I must be on. The Class on my ticket “2A” did not match any shown.

As I walked around, between, and through people, around snack booths and massive amounts of mystery cargo, trying to get my bearings, I was the definition of not fitting in. A foreigner. A Westerner. A woman alone. (And with no luggage to boot, as I was traveling light!) But no one seemed to take much notice of me. I think they were too concerned about getting on their train…

When the train pulled up, it was a spectacle I’d never seen before. I saw young men jumping up into doorways while the train was still moving. As it pulled to a stop, those folks gained entrance and were on the inside quickly, pulling in hastily passed-in luggage through the windows. It looked a lot like a very large amount of people were competing for a limited number of seats. Or perhaps they just wanted good seats or seats together. Or space for luggage. On the Seat 61 site, I assume these sought-after spaces are either the “Second Class Unreserved” or just an overbooked “Sleeper Class”.

In any case, there are no words for how glad I am that I did not have to participate in such a competition. And how much I dearly hope that I never have to. (Even if some of the folk were laughing as they rushed the luggage (did I see people shoved in, too?) through the windows, as if it was all a good adventure.)

Though, there was still the problem of finding my own carriage. Assuming this was the right train. In a spate of confusion, I ended up walking up half the platform to something that looked like it might have been my class. It was not. Then a helpful man looked at my ticket and confidently pointed me back toward “AB1” which had been the carriage I’d originally been standing next to.

Still, I was pretty sure I was not in any sort of “1”.

My fears were relived a great deal by the fact that a printed list of reserved passengers was posted outside the door! I found my name too quickly to get anxious. Then later, as I looked at my ticket in greater detail, I saw that although my “Class” had been “2A”, the “Coach” was listed as “AB1”. Ah! Exasperated sigh.

My Train Car!
(Disclaimer / Spoiler: photo taken when I arrived the next morning. I never saw the boarding platform this empty.)

Once I found my bed number (upper bunk, yay), I was sitting with a nice Indian family. Everything was organized. Sheets, blankets, and pillows (all “India clean”) were stacked on the upper bunks. (Apparently, Sleeper Class gets no bedding at all.) Quiet. Nothing like the craziness outside on the platform.

The train took off like a mouse and we were off. Not long after, the ticket taker came to check tickets. A dinner tray was offered (I declined) and snacks and water went by but I had brought my own (including a breakfast pastry and juice.)

My Bed!

One thing I did not get (and did not count on getting, luckily) was this: privacy. There were curtains to block the group-of-4-beds from the corridor. There were two stacked beds across the corridor at 90 degrees that could have theoretically gotten privacy, but I was in the group of 4. There was nothing blocking me from the dude laying across from me on the other upper bunk. But based on my previous experience in sleeper trains, that is not unusual.

I made the bed best I could from below. No fitted sheets in India. Just some tucking to do. At least there was an upper and a lower sheet. The others made their beds as well.

Luckily, I had not brought any luggage. I fully planned on sleeping in the clothes I was wearing and would wear tomorrow, choosing my loose-fitting outfit for precisely that purpose. All I had to do was get under the covers and I was set. I still was not positive Khajuraho was the final stop, so I set my alarm just in case. There is no way to tell from my bed which station we are stopped at; all I had was a time. And luckily, the train left only about 10 minutes after schedule, so I could get a rough estimate.

Out the window

Eventually, the main light went out and I drifted off to sleep with the rocking of the train.

I’ve only had one other sleeper train experience and that was in Russia doing the Trans-Siberian Railway. Compared to that, the beds here were thinner and shorter and the 4-bed area didn’t have a private lockable door. The bedding also wasn’t as nice, but on the whole, the experience was similar. In fact, I found this overnight journey through India to be quieter and darker compared to the Russian journey, which often had blindingly bright lights pass through the window, had many stops in the middle, and the sound of the door opening was jolting.

Given that, I would not say I completely slept through the night, but I did not sleep badly! I woke up before my alarm. Made use of the (nicer than the Russian counterpart) toilet. And the seat next to the window was open since I think some of the other occupants had left during the night. I looked out the window and enjoyed my breakfast.

View out the window near the destination

Luckily, there was no ambiguity about which stop was mine. 30 minutes before (and after, heh) the scheduled stop time, there were no other stops. And I managed to glimpse the station name through the window. And, judging by the large number of people getting off, it may very well have been the final stop.

It is 6:30am. The sun is rising. And I am in Khajuraho!

So my overnight train trip led me to the small town (pop. 20,000) of Khajuraho. The location of…

…the Naughty Temples.

They are actually just called the Temples at Khajuraho (a World Heritage site) and they are split into the Western Temples, Eastern Temples, and Southern Temples. But every single Indian in Delhi knew what I was talking about when I said I wanted to visit the “naughty” temples. And they very kindly did not judge me. Out loud.

My overnight train pulled into the small station around 6:45am. I was glad I had brought my own breakfast (juice and pastry) to munch on the train before we arrived since finding breakfast would have taken up valuable time (my flight out was at 2:55pm) and may not have been easy in this little town. I walked toward the exit, noticing the grid of large, black auto-rickshaws in the parking lot on the other side. Before I even reached the exit, a young man approached me and asked if I needed an auto. I took it. I don’t always go by this technique, but it generally doesn’t lead me wrong, surprisingly enough.

I was just going to hop a ride to the main Western area and walk or bike to the rest like the Lonely Planet website suggested, but instead, after giving it some thought, I decided to just keep the dude for the day. He did give me a map and pricing chart to nudge me in that direction but more so, I was on a schedule and I wanted no delay in getting back to the airport. (Granted, the airport was so small, we actually passed it as we drove the 20 minutes or so from the railway station to the temples.) Additionally, I wanted to give the guy some business, especially since it looked like the majority of autos were shared and I was his solitary customer.

My Auto

It was not long after dawn, so I suspect the temples had just opened as the auto driver pulled up. Three men – guides – were standing dutifully outside the entrance. An older fellow approached me first and seemed fairly competent (and was sure to mention his credentials. I do like to hear them mentioned, even if I do not know exactly what they mean nor how hard they are to fake or lie about.) The man wanted to charge me 1,000 though. And I was like “$20/hr? Seriously? You do better than most Americans!” and I got him grudgingly down to 700 for about a 2-hour tour.

After I paid for my ticket, we entered the complex. It must be noted that, even if the temples are known for their explicit content, the place would be worth visiting even if the sculptures were mundane. The temples are gorgeous! Awesomely-shaped large structures, almost like those drippy sand castles, situated pleasantly in a tree-filled park. The entire place was quite lovely, even without knowledge of the close-up details.

Chitragupta Temple

Kandariya Mahadev Temple (and Devi Jagadambi Temple)

At first, I wasn’t impressed with the guide babbling of a bunch of historical dates in front of the first temple, but once we got walking, he became more interesting. His main repeated point was that the temples are not about the sexualized sculptures. (In fact, I believe the “naughty” ones only appear once out of every ten.) It is not a “Kama Sutra temple” like some people call it. What the temples demonstrate, he said, is “the way to get to heaven.”

Three Stories of Naughty

The particularly naughty stuff, he noted, tended to be on the bottom level. Each level up was progressively more divine. Certainly sex was still part of the equation the further you went up, but a more equal, loving, one-on-one kind of act, not the tantric menage-a-troi acts demonstrated in various lower locations. Though I noticed that bottom-to-top was not the rule and the theme was repeated in various ways on all the temples.

The below is a series of sculptures that the guide described as, basically, good relationship advice. Get to know your partner. Talk to your partner. Do activities together. And, if things go well, initiate something more intimate and, if both partners are into it, then go for it!

But quite a variety of acts were illustrated.

“Hey, how you doin’? You up?”
“I’m up.”

“I seem to be missing my head”
“That’s all right. I have alternatives”

“That elephant is laughing at us”
“Hmmm. Not the way to Heaven?”

(This is a camel.)

“Definitely not the way to Heaven.”

“What’s with all these monkeys?”

He hinted that some guides just walk around and point out the naughty stuff. No idea if that is true but if so, I’m glad I did not get one of those. Awkward!

Many other sculptures depicted “every day” activities like putting on make-up. The majority were not all that naughty.

Life isn’t all about the sex. Really.

You can’t see any naughty from far away

The guide declared his services over after the first few temples. (He said “I could keep describing, but it’s pretty much the same thing on the rest.”) So I wandered around on my own after that.

At one temple, there were two local women. The younger one gave me a tour of the inside (a pretty short tour, granted, as there is as not much on the inside) and I kept thinking she was going to ask for money afterward. Finally, I brought it up, but they said they didn’t do it for money. They were friendly enough and told me they liked my “Indian-style” hair. I had it braided. It’s not the first time someone looked at my standard braid-down-the-back and remarked that it was like how an Indian woman would wear it. The other large temple in the complex appeared to be undergoing renovation, so I skipped it.

Once I had toured the park to my satisfaction, I met up with my auto driver outside the complex. I was in the mood for some chai, so went to a nearby coffee house, but the proprietor said it would take a while to make, so I walked back out. And, lo, my auto driver was getting chai from a dude on the street. I joined him. The chai was hot and delicious. I had to not think about the cleanliness of the glasses too much, but otherwise, street chai is best. My auto driver even bought it for me.

So then, the driver took me to the “Eastern Temples” which are not in a fancy complex like the primary Western group of temples, but scattered about the area. The roads through the town and farmhouses were dirt, rocky, bumpy, and had a fair amount of folk going about their daily routine. I wondered why Lonely Planet recommended a bicycle. That did not seem ideal here.

We bounced along through the small town roads for about ten minutes or so until we reached the Vamana Temple, by itself in the middle of farmland.

Vamana Temple

It was similar to the others, just isolated and surrounded by a tall fence. I was the only visitor, but there was a posted guard who I suspect was bored out of his mind. I said hello and checked out the temple, but not much was new here. The auto driver had found a buddy to chat with in the meantime out where he parked. I bought playing cards from him. (He had regular and extra-naughty, but I just got the regular.) Then my driver snapped my photo.

The second temple Javari Temple was visible from the first and had cute kids playing in the grass out front. They asked me in English what my name was. So after I told them, I asked each of them their names in English, which they answered dutifully. Then I walked down the sidewalk to the temple proper. Another bored guard was there, but this one wanted to point out the naughty parts. “Nice,” he said, pointing to some sculpture-porn. (Awkward.)

He was otherwise friendly enough. When I told him I was American, he said he would love some American money. I felt bad as I had not a cent as I’d been living in India for the better part of the year. He gave me a brief explanation of the little shrine inside the temple then snapped my photo at the entrance. I was the only tourist again, but that may have been because I had an early start. I saw plenty of tourists at the Western Temple complex.

At the Entrance to Javari

As interesting as the temples were, I was becoming more interested in the bit of rural India I was glimpsing in between.

Rural Khajuraho

Though I was less interested when the auto got flagged down by a shopkeeper on our drive out. The guy seemed nice enough, but it felt like the old tourist-shop routine. He was very authentically rural, though, and had none of the cheesy stuff, just an odd selection of antiques, little statues, and jewelry, seemingly sold from his home. I still did not want to buy anything even though I was apparently his “first customer of the day” which is good luck or an omen for the remaining day or somesuch. I feel like I’ve been the “first customer of the day” a lot during my time in India…

A few minutes drive after that, we stopped at a complex more crowded with tourist groups (and touts, ugh) that had a museum that I failed to go to. The temples here were whitewashed and did not seem quite as kept up, but were fine. Nice enough, nothing exciting.

Jain Temple Complex

The next temple on the tour, Duladeo, was packed. The park surrounding the temple was filled with people out picnicking, paying their respects, or enjoying the day. But almost all, if not all, were locals. A cute 10-year-old boy started to give me a tour in surprisingly decent English. He was so darn adorable, I gave him a tip and encouraged him to keep studying English. Then I got hounded by a few touts right to the door of my auto. The worst was a guy trying to sell me a book. He was very persistent and right before the driver pulled away, he said “I haven’t sold a book in two days!”

This is one of those conundrums I often feel in India. When am I being had? When should I give and when should I not? I tend not to give to beggars, especially kids, because it doesn’t help them long term and encourages organized panhandling. (Though sometimes I give kids chocolate or candy.) But putting myself in their shoes… if I was desperate enough to beg and I knew the person I was begging from had more than they needed, it seems like well, of course they should give. The book seller touched a nerve and I still don’t know what the right thing to do would have been.

“…sculptures are generally stereotyped and overburdened with ornamentation…”

The next temple, Chaturbhujha, was pretty small and had one other tourist couple. There was also a worker inside who solicited a donation. On the side was this funny-looking sculpture that I found out later was a half-man, half-woman representation of Shiva called Ardhanarishvara. (At the time, I just went, “Huh? Weird!”)

Half-n-half

As I was walking out, there were three old beggars by the entrance gate. As an addendum to my above, if I do give, it does tend to be to older folk, especially if they are women. I heard that a woman can get thrown out of her house if her husband dies. That would be a terrible blow if you had been comfortably middle class up until then. (And in that case, it seems less likely to be part of a scam or causing children to lose interest in education, etc. Just a person falling into bad circumstances.) Even given that, then there’s yet another begging conundrum, one that I noticed in Rishikesh. If there are multiple people sitting there with their money tins in front of them, it seems weird to just choose one to give to. In Rishikesh, those who gave just went down the line, depositing a coin in each tin. So, since there were three, I calculated what I had on me and gave them 2 rupees each. Yeah, that’s less than a nickel, but we are in rural India and, in general, when I have seen Indians give, it is almost always in coins (i.e. 10 rupees or less).

But naturally, they thought I was being stingy.

Anyway, here comes the interesting part of the day.

It was just after 11:00am when my driver said, “Well, that’s all the temples.” I was kind of surprised that was all there were, but we moved through them at a pretty brisk pace. I did not have to be to the airport (which was literally, just minutes away) until around 2pm.

So, the auto driver invited me to his house for lunch.

At first, I said maybe, but finally I told him, “I’m not comfortable with that.” Objectively describing this to someone sounded, well, not very cautious.

He was fine with that, but assured me that the only other people in the house were his wife, daughter, and mother. I felt this out for a while as he drove. Then I decided it was kosher. This was a rural town where everyone knew everybody. And it felt safe. So I had lunch with my auto driver and his family.

(When I told my co-worker about this later, he sighed and said. “Yeah, only a foreigner would get invited to lunch.”)

He lived in a two-room house with a courtyard in front and a washroom off to the side. (He said I could use it to wash off if I wanted. I declined. He also said I could watch TV in their bedroom if I wanted. I declined that as well, finding both requests slightly odd, but no matter.) They found a seat for me in the sun and his young wife offered me some snacks before tending to their 1-year-old daughter. My driver was the only one who spoke English, so did all the translating as we chatted. His mother was there, but she looked like his grandmother as he was only in his early twenties. Among other things, he told me the auto rickshaw driving was just a weekend job. He was studying and had grander plans.

Hanging out with the locals

After talking for a while, we left his house and walked through the small village (where he greeted everyone) then across a bridge over a creek where people were playing or doing laundry, and finally to a farmhouse where an extended family (and two cows) were hanging out.

The atmosphere was relaxed. The patriarch spoke a little English, so we could talk without having my auto driver translate everything. They asked me questions and I asked them questions. I think they had a relative who lived in the States (as I think basically, everyone in India has) and I asked what their cows’ names were. (Can’t remember the answer now.) I got all sorts of food. They gave me a fresh guava, right off the tree, with salt. Quite tasty. Then they served me what I’ll describe as a vegetable curry and some roti (flatbread) to eat it with. My manners overrode my squeamishness when I saw the older woman, who was sitting on the ground, scoop the curry into my bowl with her fingers. I ate the whole thing.

The only thing I had to offer in return was some Lindt chocolate truffles (wrapped in shiny red foil) I had bought at Le Marche in Delhi. Luckily, there were three kids because I only had three.

Some of the neighbor kids came over to play (or to gape at the blond foreigner?) and I lost track of who I was being introduced to. It was all very friendly. I was pleased when the driver offered me water (and a bar of soap) to wash my hands with. After that, he gave me a bit of tour around the farmland.

Rural Khajuraho

Then we returned to the auto driver’s home. His sister (or his wife’s sister?) was there and he said she could do henna for me. I said, “Sure!” I had only gotten henna for the first time a few weeks previous, so I understood the process a bit better. So, we sat in the bedroom, and she spent a good 15-20 minutes painting the intricate designs on my right arm (though I was starting to watch the clock.)

After the henna, the auto driver took me to the airport, less than ten minutes away. The airport was literally just another building on the side of the road. (Apparently, they were building a new International airport half a mile up which, now that I know how tiny this place is, seems impressive.) He pulled over on the main road and dropped me off at the entrance. I ended up paying him more than we agreed, both for a tip and for the henna. (Total of 700 rupees, just like I gave the tour guide in the morning. $13.)

Hilariously, everyone at the airport from the guard at the entrance, to the lady at security, to the shopkeeper where I bought some naughty coasters loved the henna. They all said it was very beautiful. The airport was tiny and all the travelers I saw were foreign. I think I was the most Indian of anyone, not just because of the henna and the braid down my back, but because I kept showing my PAN (tax) card as identification, causing several airport employees to exclaim, “Are you Indian?”

The flight to Varanasi (got to see the Ganges from a plane!) and then to Delhi was uneventful. Spice Jet is one of the budget airlines, but they did fine.

Now that I understood henna was a two-step process, I spent some time in the ladies room in the domestic terminal at Delhi rubbing the dried ink-paint off in the trash bin (the ladies’ room attendants commenting on how pretty it was) and leaving the nice design.

Side note: getting to the metro from the Delhi domestic terminal takes a little more doing than the easy International terminal. You have to take a shuttle to get to the nearest station. Kind of a pain. Side note 2: New Delhi station (where the railway meets the airport metro meets the regular metro) on a Sunday night? Holy crap, So Many People. I actually walked outside and hailed an autorickshaw to drive me three stops down (and, notably, along a different line) where the crowds had dissipated.

I got a lot of comments at work the next day. To my surprise, “You look like you are married,” was a common comment. I guess henna in that much detail is something married women tend to do. Ah.

Henna!

I’m counting down my days in India now, trying to wrap everything up.

To make sure I don’t forget anything, I am Googling things like “leaving india”. Funny enough, now I am coming upon advice along the lines of, “Well, if you are leaving the country, even for a short time, you need to bring your FRRO paperwork.”

D’oh.

On my to-do list are things like:

Filler photo from the Delhi Metro

Lunch Party Mishap

I finally decided it was the day I would treat the team to lunch (I had been meaning to for ages.) Because of the various days people restrict their diets, that only left Wednesday and Friday available. I wanted to have food – decent Indian food, not just the same old Domino’s – brought in for my team. One of my co-workers help me put together a menu similar to what another had done successfully. I went to the restaurant in person the previous evening after work and spoke to a super nice person at Pind Balluchi who confirmed the menu would be adequate to feed the allotted vegetarians and non-vegetarians, though the price had been higher than I expected.

Wednesday, the day of the lunch, my co-worker told me that I should check in with them an hour ahead of time to make sure everything was ready. I was almost positive that the restaurant was on top of it. But, I went ahead and called to check. Soon enough the English-Over-The-Phone failed as it often does because Indian Accents vs. American Accents over the phone are even more mutually unintelligible than in person. I handed the phone to my co-worker. He spoke with someone for quite a while, surprising me. Wasn’t this just a “yep, we’re coming with food, be there soon” kind of conversation?

My co-worker looked at me curiously after he got off.

“Did you mean to have lunch at the restaurant? He’s expecting us to come there.”

“What? Not at all! They were supposed to bring it here. That was the whole point.” Indeed, I didn’t want to have to enlist people to drive / park when I’m taking them to lunch.

After this, I started re-playing my conversation the previous evening in my head and the gaps in understanding (like that he did not seem that interested in my address) were more obvious.

Luckily, because my co-worker is awesome, he talked them into switching to a delivery. The food was almost an hour late, but oddly, it was half the price! On one hand, can’t complaine about that. On the other hand, I would have ordered more food, had I realized that. It was just enough to feed the crowd (including the two newbies who ditched their orientation to come.) Bonus, co-worker from Colorado office also enjoyed the Indian-style lunch!

My neighborhood “amphy” theater.

A Neighbor’s “Handmade” Goods

A lady stopped me within the gates of my housing society as I was walking back from work and knew who I was. Not a big surprise as I am pretty sure I am the only foreigner who lives here. But turned out, she resides in the same tower as I and we both have the same maid. She asked me to come over and look at some of her “handmade goods” like blankets and table runners if and when I had time. Although I generally don’t like unsolicited requests to buy stuff from someone, I figured I’d give her a chance. It’s near Christmas, I need some presents, she is my neighbor, and I’d like to support her small business.

After phone tag (well, SMS-tag) for several weeks, I finally made it down there. Something seemed not quite like I expected, though it took me a while to put my finger on it. First off, the variety of materials, patterns, and styles were astounding. Not the kind of things one person comes up with usually. Then she laid out a table runner with *pumpkins* on it. It was an All-American autumn motif that this woman could not possibly have understood. It seemed a very strange thing to see there.

Finally, I caught sight of something that clarified one puzzle, though brought up a new question. I noticed that one of the table runners had a Pier 1 Imports price tag on it! She clearly had no idea what Pier 1 Imports was when I pointed it out, but that is not the point. The point is that she did not hand make this stuff. But then… I have to wonder… where did it come from?

The prices she was asking were not significantly below rates in Delhi (“I have to stay under the market price or no one will buy from me,” she said) but they were significantly cheaper than the dollar price advertised by Pier 1. By a factor of 10 (think $4 vs. $40.)

I bought a couple things just because at that point, I felt obligated to. And I liked what I bought, but it wasn’t what I was looking for. I am not out to undercut Pier 1, I wanted actual stuff handmade in India by a known entity, not mysteriously acquired product (some of which was technically “Made in India” ha.) Curious how she came by this stuff and how she is running a business based on it.

Filler Hinglish
(Well, I guess it is an accurate description of services.)

My family came to visit me over Thanksgiving break! Woo hoo!

They went through the time-consuming tasks of getting recommended shots, finding a good flight (Emirates Airlines had decent deals despite being a fancier airline) and procuring visas. Hopefully, the visas will be not a big deal in the near future.

The thing I was most concerned about organizing was accommodation. Although they could have stayed at a hotel while in Delhi, I wanted them to stay with me because it would be easier, cheaper, and also because I have this big ol’ 2-bedroom apartment; I should get maximum use out of it. But I only had one smallish bed…

My neighbors gave me some ideas, but in the end I got exactly what I needed from Google when I discovered this furniture rental place. Although I’d never heard of the concept, I was able to *rent* three mattresses, sheet sets, blankets, and pillows for the week and have them delivered to my door, all for the price of one night at a hotel. Exactly what I needed. Exactly what I had been concerned I wouldn’t be able to do ever since I turned down the 3-bedroom fully furnished apartment way back when. (I could have gone even further and rented bed frames, lamps, anything I needed to fill a whole apartment. Wild.)

There is always the nervous moment when you wonder if this company you found on the internet and gave money to is going to follow through. But they did, and were super polite. The only complication was delivery timing. Most of the times available were late at night and I had to coordinate with the gate people who didn’t like to let deliverymen in after dark. (I had already turned one late time down because my neighbors were adamantly against it.) But the delivery went smoothly. Everything appeared clean and was wrapped in plastic. Perfect!

When I went to the airport to pick up my sister, I learned three more things:

1. You can in fact enter the airport to greet a passenger coming out. You don’t have to wait outside like I had been assuming you had to all this time. The catch is that you have to buy a 100-rupee ticket ($2) and go through security at the entrance. That keeps out most everyone.
2. Visa miracles can happen!
3. That MegaCabs is more expensive than MeruCabs despite that their similar names, similar logos, and nearly identical little desks outside the airport. (Though in other cases, Meru has often not been available during unusual times while EasyCabs has been my best friend.)

The taxi ride back in the afternoon was great. Good views of Delhi and even some cows in the road to welcome my sister to India! After we made it back to my place, it was starting to get dark. We went for a mini shopping spree at Needs. (I would have done the shopping earlier, but I find that when I visit a foreign country – and when others visit me – checking out the local supermarket is one of the more interesting experiences.) Then we had a spicy kadhai paneer from Cinnamon Kitchen and talked before going to bed.

The next morning, we did a Delhi tour despite the fact that I had what I’ll call the closest to “Delhi Belly” I’ve ever had here. Not sufficient to keep me from going out – and the excited adrenaline counter-balanced the tired – but enough for me to notice that I was a bit off. (I’ll use this an excuse that I sort of went a bit off on the dude who was behind me in line to get our shoes back at the temple. He was polite enough, but he essentially asked to cut in front of me. I was lingering politely and waiting for the current people to finish, but apparently I was too slow and he could get to the two dudes minding the shoe station and retrieve his shoes faster if I just moved my arm out of the way.)

We left the apartment after a nice omelet for breakfast. My sister’s first auto ride followed as we took the 10-minute journey to the metro station. (Yay for first autorickshaw rides!) But the station was packed. I’d never seen so many people! Luckily, as it turned out, we did not have to wait in the really long line (there was sign having to do with some festival or market) and just in the normal ticket line. We rode in the ladies car the whole way there and alighted at Lotus Temple.

Lots of lots of people took our photograph. Well, let me re-phrase. One person asked to take our photo. And, as soon as passersby realized we were photo-friendly-foreigners, we ended up in one place for quite a while, having our picture taken by one passing party after another. Together, apart, with the people asking in turn. And so on. It’s amusing and flattering, but is a little weird and can get mildly irritating after a while.

We waited in the organized line and went inside to hang out on the pews for a while. This is my favorite part. It’s quiet, peaceful, and not very crowded thanks to the limited number of people they allow in at a time, a number far fewer than capacity.

Since the “HoHo” bus stopped at Lotus, we made a half-hearted attempt to wait for it. It is the tourist “Hop-on Hop-off” bus that takes you around Delhi in air-conditioned comfort, stopping at the various landmarks. I found out later that it only comes every hour or so. We didn’t wait that long and instead walked to Iskcon nearby.

Iskcon Hare Krishna Temple
(Complete with Robots)

When we saw the sign above, our curiosity was aroused. So we paid the tourist price (I assume) of 300 rupees to see what the heck a “robot” show consisted of.

What it consists of is actually an animatronics show! A bit like a tame Disneyland ride, you walk through elaborate displays consisting usually of dramatic lighting, movies, or animatronic figures accompanying a narration explaining the history and mythology behind the Hare Krishna faith. We were the only people on the tour. (I think the Hindi one is much more crowded.)

Afterward, I was reminded that the proper term for facilities in India is “wash room” and not “rest room”. I kept wondering why the woman I asked was directing me to a restaurant. But finally, she pointed me in the right direction.

We rode the metro back (I was too tired to try for Akshardham today) and we enjoyed some dosas from Vaango for dinner. The major has provided me with his best driver who will accompany me – late tonight – to pick up everyone else…

The major kindly lent me a driver for the middle-of-the-night airport pickup, making it much easier than coordinating two overpriced taxis. And this time, I waited on the INSIDE of the airport.

Monday morning, following our mango juice, was a day of firsts.

– First autorickshaw ride for the rest of my family

– First time I had ever ridden up front in an auto-rickshaw with the driver

…and…

– First time I had attempted to visit Akshardham on a Monday

Akshardham-it

The auto driver had tried to warn us, but we had not understood until we saw the empty parking lot. The good news: Akshardham is right on the metro line. So for another first of the day:

– First time riding the Delhi Metro for the rest of my family (but no more ladies car…)

We took the blue line to Rajiv Chowk, the main central stop, and bought refreshments at the station’s underground CCD (Cafe Coffee Day), an important cultural stop. Then we hopped on the yellow line to one of the most famous Delhi landmarks, but one that I had yet to visit: Qutab Minar.

Qutab Minar is one of the oldest standing Delhi monuments. It was built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In short, it is a complex of really old Islamic structures, the main feature being the tower (the “minar”, or “minaret”), one of the tallest structures of that purpose in the world, all the more impressive because of its age (and that it’s brick).

Disappointingly, we were not able to climb the tower. Apparently, you used to be able to or that there are certain times it is still open to the public, but this was not one of those times.

Qutab Minar

The weather was sunny and pleasant, a nice time to wander the park. We saw a fair number of other tourists, both Indian and Western, and even a school group.

We came upon this ruin which was apparently intended to be a tower even taller than Qutab, but construction ceased and now the base is all that is left.

Alai Almost-a-Minar

One thing I did not expect was the stunning detail on so many of the structures. Even though much of it has long since eroded, there is plenty of evidence of how amazing this place once was. I can see why this is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. (There are a lot of sites in India under this title and most appear to deserve it, but not all. This one definitely does.)

Qutab Minar Complex details

Qutab Minar is a bit of a walk from the metro station, 30 minutes or so, so we thought we’d take an autorickshaw back. But another place to see was just one metro stop up. So instead of bothering with two modes of transportation, we paid slightly more for one of the touts outside Qutab Minar to drive us there.

The funny thing – he told us that his taxi was the same price as the autorickshaw! We didn’t believe it, but it turned out to be true. So we piled in his little taxi-van and the driver took us to the quiet Chhatarpur Temple complex, nearby in south Delhi.

Chhatarpur is on very few tourist agendas, but I’m not sure why. Besides that it is the second largest temple complex in Delhi, some interesting structures and temples are located here, including one of South Indian style rarely seen this far north. Though with plenty of the North India style as well

Chhatarpur Temple Complex
(North Indian style, taken from the main temple)

Chhatarpur Temple
(South Indian style)

The stacked square tower rising up in levels is textbook South Indian style (and I love it!) The triple tower with a rounded pope-hat shape in the top photo are the more typical northern style. Also very neat.

We were practically the only people in the entire complex. Inside the temple was almost empty except for the man inside taking donations and giving a red dot on your forehead in return. My sister got a red dot.

Across the street were more temples and a giant, pink statue with the monkey face (who was in just the wrong location for the light to make a decent photo.) But we did find a giant lock in need of a giant key…

(A hard-to-lose key?)

We hopped on the metro to Saket and walked to the gigantic mall for an early dinner. Bit of a longer walk than expected on this random thoroughfare in India but my (slow) phone GPS assured us we were walking the right direction.

I had a notion to take my family to Barbecue Nation. Amazingly, I found it. But it had not opened yet!

Five in the afternoon is way too early for dinner in India.

A lady was standing outside the nearby (and newly-opened) Pollo Tropical, trying to entice customers inside. We privately guessed the reason was that no one in India would know what Pollo meant. But we went inside anyway and had a chickeny dinner.

We took an auto to the metro back, everyone now completely in the hang of hailing and riding in the great auto rickshaw.

We Get Autorickshawing

If you go to Delhi, do this.

No, really, do this. It’s one of the most unique ways to see Delhi.

Delhi By Cycle

I heard about this from the organizer of my Leh trip a few months back, who is also one of the bicycle tour guides. I reserved this tour a little less than two weeks before we went and got the time and tour I wanted no problem: the “Shah Jahan” tour. (I had to email them because their automatic site order gave me an error, but they were very responsive! Don’t be discouraged!)

The night before our bicycle tour, I reserved my EasyCabs cab driver for 5:15am, which was ridiculously early considering the meeting time was not until 6:30am. (The departure was at dawn – 6:45am sharp.) The drive that normally takes an hour takes barely half that in the wee hours in the morning. But I did not want to take any chances of either the taxi bailing or us being late.

Neither happened.

We were the earliest riders to arrive in the spooky pre-dawn Old Delhi neighborhood. It felt a little weird trying to follow the directions, simple as they were, in the dark, foggy streets, but soon enough we came to the row of orange bicycles.

The Bikes

Early as we were, our guide Akarsh was already there, preparing. (“Where the bikes are parked will be totally full by the time we get back,” he said.) We received some early hot chai, which warmed us up in the chilly air, and cookies. Or biscuits, as they call them here. A European couple and two others eventually arrived until we had a full party of eight riders, ready to take on the narrow, twisting streets of Old Delhi at dawn.

We had two orange-garbed guides, Akarsh in front and his helper in back to make sure we all stayed on the right route and didn’t get too far behind. No one had been injured yet on the bike tours, he assured us, “so don’t be the first!”

After a bit of time to practice riding the bikes up and down the side road to get used to them, and a quick safety presentation, off we went!

Bicycling Through Old Delhi

We made so many turns, I was quickly lost. The stores and shops along the tiny lanes were just starting to open for the day. I think the people we passed were just as interested in us as we were in them.

Street and Flower Market at Chawri Bazar

As the light became brighter, the traffic (foot, bicycle-drawn carts, scooters, motorcycles, cars, and narrow box trucks) gradually increased, often carrying goods.

One of our stops was near the spice market at an excellent location to view the sunrise, as long as we stayed out of the way of the workers.

Silhouette of the Mosque

Dawn in Old Delhi
(And a very photographed dog, at least by touring bicyclists)

Sunrise Over the Spice Market

His guidance became mandatory and our route became more residential as we crossed the traffic-choked streets. This was by far the scariest part – trusting that the guide was crossing in a good spot and that we wouldn’t get run over by the unpredictably-moving vehicles.

…Through Neighborhoods…

We had a chai stop (yay!), took a rest at some important building or other, then headed back along the edges of Old Delhi, by the Red Fort, and ended up at Karim’s, arguably the most famous restaurant in Delhi. I had known about it since before I’d come, but had never eaten there. I did once try to locate it and failed as it is particularly difficult to find. You have to go through a very narrow alley that, even if you happen to see the small sign pointing toward it, seems an unlikely path for a well-known restaurant. We could only get through one bike at a time.

It was just before 9am. Karim’s was just about to open. We were the first customers.

Breakfast at Karim’s

So how was it? Yum. Not normally what I’d have for breakfast – a thick, rich curry and poofy fried bread to soak it up with, not unlike chole bhature – and it probably had a million calories, but it was worthy of its reputation.

(And so far, so good, as far as everyone’s gastrointestinal system went. That’s a relief.)

The tour ended where it started not long after.

And survive, we had! Thanks to our awesome guide.

We still had a few hours to kill before we had to be back to my apartment to meet the taxi driver for our Golden Triangle trip, so stayed in central Delhi a bit longer. We had earlier passed the biggest mosque in Delhi, so decided to return to it so we could go inside. We hired ourselves an energetic bicycle rickshaw driver who managed to pedal all four of us the majority of the way, through the now-crowded streets of Old Delhi, until the slight up-slope of the approach to Jama Masjid, where it became impossible for him to pedal any further. Then he got out and pulled.

We felt bad for him, so we disembarked early and walked the rest of the way, but not before giving the surprised gentleman a big tip for his work.

South Entrance to Jama Masjid

This was my third time to Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, so my patience with the money-grubbing schemes here was almost completely annihilated by this point. (This is one of the most annoying places in Delhi in that regard, but still worth it for the climb up the minaret!)

I was short with everyone, from Captain Ladies-Have-To-Wear-This-Stupid-Robe regardless of how conservatively we were already dressed and then wanted a tip for it (!) to the random robed guy hanging out by the minaret trying to both charge people to go up (that’s a new one in the many schemes to separate tourists from their money here aside from the gargantuan entry fee) and had the nerve to tell me I had to wait after my family had already gone in and come back before I could go in. I gave him a huge, giant piece of my mind before paying him nothing and going up anyway. The man – legit or not – was patient with my antics, though that is typical of these kind of people in India. They will be as patient as it takes for your rupees. Or maybe he was just a random dude and I was entertaining him.

At least, when entering from the south side, we were able to carry our shoes, so we did not get stuck with the guy who wants a tip at the end for “watching your shoes” which, after almost a year in India, I know is even a bigger pile of bullcrap than the first time I heard it.

Inside Jama Masjid

The minaret was crowded, but just as awesome. The tight, spiral staircase and awesome view of Old Delhi and Red Fort with almost no tall buildings nearby to ruin the view is worth the trip.

Minaret!

We walked back out to the street and asked a nearby autorickshaw driver how much it would be to New Delhi (the equivalent of a metro stop or two away). When he quoted 400 rupees, even my newly-arrived family had to laugh. He looked abashed and we went with another driver, this one much cheaper, but who objected to someone riding shotgun, quoting “overloading a rickshaw” regulations. I had to question at any auto driver following regulations, but we had one of our party perch on the sidebar instead.

We wandered Connaught Place for a short while, the contrast with Old Delhi feeling particularly strong. The difference is stark. One member of our family was “the first customer of the day” to a street vendor selling cute elephants, though in this case, it could have actually been true since the guy looked like he was just setting up.

We headed back to my apartment where our taxi driver – my favorite taxi driver of the major’s, to my surprise – had arrived early and was waiting and ready to take us to Agra!

For my entire 10 months in India, I did not visit the Taj Mahal. I was waiting for my family to arrive before finally seeing the most famous landmark in the country. Worth the wait!

The highway from Delhi to Agra is the most American-looking highway I’ve seen in India. It’s divided, wide, relatively empty, in good shape, and has fast – and more to the point, attainable – speed limits. Not a half-dirt pothole-filled road which you share with livestock and overloaded trucks and try to pass vehicles quickly before oncoming traffic blocks you.

Delhi-Agra Highway

Though on a sadder note, I also saw evidence of the worst accident I’d ever seen in India on this highway. The speeds might just be too high for the local style of driving…

Agra

We arrived during evening rush hour. Agra was more run down than I expected. And bigger. Then again, small cities in India still tend to have millions of people in them. (Agra has 1.2 million.)

Inside the Hotel
Room Drawer…

We stayed at the fancy-sounding Grand Imperial Hotel in Agra. It was nice enough. Giant, old-fashioned tall wooden double doors (with a giant padlock on them) and a purposely rustic feel. Clean enough though not quite up to American standards. They wanted to see our passports, as many hotels do of foreign guests. Glad I happened to bring mine, I guess.

We then checked out the dinner buffet and I’m relieved someone confirmed that we needed to order the garlic naan special or they wouldn’t have brought it. Garlic naan, yum. Getting my family hooked.

The Light and Sound Show at Agra Fort

We then attempted to see the “Light and Sound Show” at the Agra Fort that I’d heard about. Our driver took us to the wrong place at first (some kind of theatre), but we eventually arrived at the entrance to the fort… except we were late! Apparently, they had different starting times in summer vs. winter for the English version. We decided to go in anyway and check it out, even if we missed the first ten to fifteen minutes.

Yeah. Turned out we needn’t have worried. This was silly. A Light and Sound Show, especially at forts, is apparently a very common thing in India and this was not the last Light and Sound Show I went to. On the whole, I find them “mildly entertaining” at best and “a chance for mosquitoes to eat you while you try not to snooze from boredom” at worst. I mean…. there is “light”. In that they lit up various parts of the fort at different times. And sometimes in different colors. Woo. And there is “sound”. If by sound you mean a narrator, voices, and sound effects over a speaker. And I guess it could be called a “show” except that there are no live actors, just a recorded telling of the story of the fort.

On the whole, not worth going out of your way for. It worked better as a punchline. “And then we were worried we missed the beginning of the light and sound show, ha!” I sometimes spaced out during the telling of the story, especially if they were talking about dates or royal family trees, though parts of it were somewhat interesting like when they talked about how the king handled an individual case of justice. Just not really worth the price or time (or exposure to mosquitoes, though there were not too many in November.)

The Taj!

Our driver and guide were ready and waiting when we came down at 6am. The drive was probably less than fifteen minutes. Apparently there are multiple entrances and we were dropped off at a less-crowded one (?) Our driver parked and we hiked up the pedestrian road to the entrance. Our guide bought us tickets that came with a baggie containing, among other things, mesh booties while we headed directly toward the line. The Taj Mahal opens at sunrise which is at about 6:45am this time of year, so we were early. And we got a great place in line! They had at leas four separate lines: one for local women, foreign women, local men, and foreign men, but less than five people in any one.

The line grew much longer before they opened the giant doors, though.

Finally, they opened the place. We went through security and started walking in. At this point, the Taj was not even visible yet, but we kept strolling down the wide sidewalk in the complex of buildings. We could see people approaching from other directions, though it was not too crowded.

Finally, we turned right, went through a red arch, and the Taj appeared.

That was pretty awesome.

I took a video of that first view. After I finished, I noticed a sign that said “No video after this point.” All right, then, glad I got one in. And in case there was any doubt, yes, indeed, the marble building is surreal and incredible looking, especially in the barely-light of dawn.

The Taj at last!

One reason it is awesome to have a guide? Because he took us the right way at the following sign. Whereas the “high value” ticket holders, in other words pretty much all foreign folk, would head over to the left side, it was the right side that had the best sunrise views. (Someone even questioned him, ostensibly asking where he was taking those clearly western folk, but he explained and on we went.)

Hanging with the Generals

The sun, although risen, was not yet shining on the Taj.

We spent a lot of time in the left square taking multitudes of photos, getting some background information from our guide, and watching the rays of the sun gradually start to hit the marble, creating shadows and changing colors.

Corner Sunrise Shot

And then…

…there were the monkeys

No, Really.

Sunrise Party at the Taj, Who’s In?

All these monkeys came out of nowhere. But it was not long before they were completely gone, like it never happened. I might have thought I imagined the whole incident.

Except for one more, hopping along the railing that overlooked the river.

Wait, river?

Yep.

And, as far as I know, you can both take a boat trip on that river for more Taj views or even check out the Taj from the park across the river.

After the sun was full up and we’d taken the requisite selfies, we headed toward the main building and donned our booties.

Booties

Then we went inside! Did you know you could go inside the Taj Mahal? Indeed you can. The place the public can walk is not very large, but the details and marblework on the inside were just as detailed as the outside.

After that, we went back out and took a slow loop around the symmetrical building, taking in the details.

The Details

Close Up
(Especially love the green birds hanging out on the minaret)

The Optical Illusion Column
(Only four sides. not eight.)

Finally, after some morning hours well-spent, we eventually had to leave. We turned back often for one last glimpse. Then another final look. And another.

Bye Bye Taj!

On our way back to the car, we walked along the same pedestrian street as before. Only this time it was filled with kids selling Taj Mahal keychains, snowglobes (?), and other souvenirs. And a camel or two. We mostly ignored the hawkers.

(…and if you think I posted a lot of Taj Mahal photos here. You should see how many I didn’t post!)

Agra Fort

We returned to the Fort to check it out for real, without the extras of “light” and “sound”. On the whole, Agra Fort is more elaborate than Delhi’s Red Fort, though not quite as exquisite as Jaipur’s Amber Fort, which is on the itinerary for tomorrow.

The weather was nice as we wandered around the fort, getting the occasional spiel from our guide.

Every fort needs a garden

Some nice details

Agra Fort also afforded a pleasant overlook of the countryside.

View from the Fort

(I need a stronger zoom lens)

One of the best things I saw at the fort, though, was this sign at the entrance…

I’m sorry sir, you and your arm are going to have to leave.

Although there are a couple more jokes that can be made here (the fun of Hinglish), the sign made me curious enough to google “paan” since I assumed “paan masala” had to be something edible. Not quite. It is more along the lines of chewing tobacco, and explains a lot of the random red drippy stains I’ve seen on sidewalks in India. (This, though, is a much preferable explanation than blood stains, which was my other guess.)

We were interested in getting a T-shirt before we left. They were oddly hard to find. We mentioned this to the guide who said he knew a place but somehow, he ended up taking us to a marble shop instead.

Usually, my patience for guides stopping at “tourist shops” is very limited. But the staff at the marble shop impressed me with their pleasant attitudes, quality craftsmanship that was reminiscent of the decoration on the Taj and, like the few other times I’ve actually purchased something, a very distinct LACK of pressure to buy.

So, naturally, we bought.

We did eventually get a T-shirt-like item in a small shop in the vicinity of the marble place that seemed just as interested in selling Indian style clothes to the two ladies in the group, taking things off shelves and putting it on the counter with amazing speed before we had a chance to turn away.

Fatehpur Sikri

Our guide left us afterward, wished us well, and told us that another guide he knew would do Fatehpur Sikri, one of the major sight-seeing destinations, for us. We checked out of the hotel and hopped in the car.

The highways heading toward Jaipur were decent, but nothing like that one from Delhi. We cruised on some back roads for a while until we finally came to a small town and climbed up the hill to the famous 1500s-era palace and mosque called Fatehpur Sikri. Our new guide met us right at the car, startling us a bit until he identified himself.

At first, we really liked our guide as he walked us around the various buildings in the complex, explaining their function, often in an entertaining way. A whole section of the palace was just for women, whether individual buildings for the wives or a larger building for the harem. But some of the buildings just served as living, dining, or meeting areas. The whole place was on top of a hill so offered a nice view of the surrounding area.

The red buildings of Fatehpur Sikri

View

A pretty red flower kept distracting me.

The red flowers of Fatehpur Sikri

Around sunset, the guide took us across the way to the mosque…

… which is where he became more annoying. He had earlier talked about some donation you can make to buy a length of cloth to lay on a shrine (or something) and I thought it was more in the nature of a story. But then the story came back. We were brought to stand in front of some dude who wanted us to make a donation for a dress for the women in the town or the poor women (or something). I’m a sucker, so I was ready to lay down 200-300 rupees for the cause. Then he asked for over 1,000.

Then I lost interest. All I could think was that our original guide must have told this guide just how much us foreign folk spent at the marble place in Agra. And so he went way big. But in doing so, failed.

It was a big mosque. Deserving of the name Jama Masjid, like the one in Delhi. It also boasted a great view of town. In front of one entrance were a few people who had wares laid out on blankets. It felt like we were the only western tourists.

Goods and Goats at the Mosque Entrance

Mosque At Sunset

In the end, this guide only got the amount the other guide told us to pay him for his services. I had actually earlier explained to him why what he was doing was annoying. He seemed to understand… but then overcharged us for the auto, then tried to take us to ANOTHER tourist shop on the way back to the taxi. Yeah, no.

The rest of our drive – with our wonderful driver – was under cover of darkness. We arrived in the hard-to-find but awesomely decorated “Nahargarh Haveli” (Heritage Hotel) in Jaipur, tired and hungry. Amazingly, they served us a delicious dinner despite the late hour, then we walked up to our rooms.

After our breakfast buffet, our driver took the four of us and our Jaipur guide toward my favorite destination in the Pink City: Amber Fort.

On the way, we drove through the Old City. We briefly stopped at arguably the most famous building in the area for photos. This time, it was not covered in scaffolding, hooray!

Hawa Mahal
(scaffolding free)

Back in the car, as we headed toward the hills on the outskirts of the city, our guide asked if we wanted to ride elephants.

Pause.

Sure!

So, we did. It turned out that the elephant ride was an alternate way to get to the entrance of Amber Fort. Convenient! We waited in a line of tourists (since only tourists would pay this kind of price) for maybe half an hour, following the slowly moving people up the stairs, until it was our turn.

We were two-to-an-elephant as we sat on the padded seat and the elephant driver checked the integrity of our 1,000 rupee note.

How to get on an Elephant

Elephants headed up to the Fort

The ride was slow going but enjoyable as the elephant slowly made it’s way up the path. We rocked back and forth a bit as we enjoyed the view.

View from the Elephant

We noticed that, after half a dozen more elephants had started up behind us, there were no more waiting beyond that. At first, we wondered if they did rounds and so they’d wait for the elephants to finish this trip then start over. Later, our guide explained that the elephants only work a few hours a day – these morning cooler hours. Lucked out timing that one!

Almost to the top…

We dismounted on the raised platform. The below sign (which I had also seen on my first trip, but sans elephants) made a bit more sense now.

(…though I still don’t know what one is supposed to do with the complaint against hawkers.)

I bought some bottled water, a bit hesitantly as I’m always paranoid about whether the bottle is sealed. Some touts bugged us. We physically blocked one persistent guy and when he got upset about that, I started talking to him, telling him to leave us be. Our guide told us not to talk to them saying, among other things, that they were uneducated.

Once in the fort, we checked out the palace, pretty gardens, giant gazebo with the mirror tiles, beautiful views back down, and went to the final building with a courtyard that I enjoyed getting lost in during my last visit. Combined with the fact that we had a guide and that a lot of the halls and rooms seemed to be closed or fenced off, it was less an exploratory venture this time, but still an interesting walk through.

Our guide liked to think of clever photos to take using reflections and openings through walls, so we humored him. As we finally were wrapping up our tour and heading back to the non-elephant entrance, a persistent salesman paced me. I realized after a moment that the photos in his hands were of me! They were photos taken while my dad and I were on the elephant. He was asking a ridiculous price (around 1,000 rupees / $20) for two 4×7 photos. I kind of wanted the photos, but not at that price and I knew he couldn’t sell them to anyone else. I finally got them for 200 rupees.

…and don’t forget a cup of coffee on your way out.

Photos in hand, and impressed that the guy was just hanging out at the entrance looking for random people in the pictures an hour later, we searched for our driver and found him in the lower parking lot. The question was: where to next? Every guide likes to recommend the City Palace, but I didn’t get much out of it last time I was here, so the other options were one of the other forts, the inside of Hawa Mahal, and Jantar Mantar.

We decided on the latter because it was the most different of everything we had seen so far. On the way there, we stopped at Lake Palace since it is literally along the main road. After we took the requisite photos of the palace on the lake that one cannot actually enter, we stopped at a coconut stand and had some coconut water!

Cheers!

The family consensus was that although the experience was fun, the water itself wasn’t particularly tasty. So my conclusion is that you will enjoy the coconut experience more fully if you are dripping sweat in the heat of spring or summer and are craving electrolytes like no one’s business than in the mild winter when it is just an odd drink you are buying from a dude on the street.

We wandered up to Jantar Mantar, paid the entrance fee, and our guide took us around. I realized that a lot of the impressive sculptures were really just sundials. The urge to cross the boundary or climb the stairs was maddening and family members got whistled at when trying to take photos at a better angle. The condition of the various astronomical instruments had deteriorated somewhat in the six months or so (i.e. pre rainy season) since I’d been here last. Still fun to check it out. Our guide took us over to the sculptures where there was one for every sign on the zodiac. We all posed next to our various sign mascots.

My Sign and I

Afterward, we did something I had really wanted to do during my last visit and that was just wander around in Old Jaipur (the pink part). This was pretty fun and the difference from being in a tourist area and then not was startling. These shops were definitely aimed at locals. Each one seemed to be one specialty, like kitchen implements, silver pots, fabric, art, toys, or paper products. Pretty much no one went out of their way to try to sell us anything! And the prices were reasonable. I bought a Ganesh (elephant-headed figure) picture here.

After that, our guide bade us goodbye and we departed Jaipur and headed back to Delhi, completing the Golden Triangle.

One more stop remained not far out of the city. At a rest stop called Highway King, we had Thanksgiving Dinner!

Turkey Day without the Turkey

We arrived in Delhi late due to not-unpredictable traffic in Gurgaon. My sister realized she was missing her Agra purchases which had been in the car a day or two ago. We looked everywhere, but there was no sign of them, which was a disappointment. There was a street market randomly set up on the side street outside my apartment complex, so we wandered in and checked it out. Lots of toys, shoes, fabrics, scarves, kitchen implements. Very much locals-oriented and fun for that reason. They did not close the road entirely, though, so cars kept speeding through the middle of our market stroll. (We had earlier been one of them.)

The following day, I put my sister on a morning taxi to the airport. Then I went into the office as my dad and brother explored Delhi on their own, visiting Lotus and Iskon just as my sister and I had on her first day. I checked in with the travel agency around 10:30am, telling them what a wonderful trip it had been, but that we lost a gift bag in case anyone happened to stumble upon it. My dad and brother (who kept very careful watch of my only key and my only phone) surprised me in the afternoon by arriving at my office! I never would have believed they had enough information to tell an auto driver how to get there, but they did. With permission, I showed them my desk and introduced them to my team. Then, in the evening, we had a lovely dinner out at Cinnamon Kitchen including our staple of garlic naan as well as some silly, colorful cocktails.

At 10:30pm, twelve hours after I had initially contacted my travel agency, they returned my text message. They believed the lost gifts were found and gave me a phone number!

Saturday was my family’s last full day in Delhi and we spent it doing three interesting, though not really photograph-able, things:

• Finally going to Akshardham! The most photogenic structure in Delhi, but no cameras are allowed. I gained new appreciation for the elephant story that stretched along the bottom panel around the building. We skipped the animatronics show and the paid photo and just wandered.
• Following directions I had received from the man my travel agency told me to contact (called only “Mr. John”). We followed Google’s map to a humble travel office off a side street in the middle of a little commercial neighborhood in Delhi. How surreal was it to be handed the very same items that were lost in a city five hours drive away. Heritage Hotel in Jaipur needs to win award for that kind of customer service!
• Visiting the Major for tea! He had his driver pick us up at the closest metro stop. And my real dad met my surrogate dad. We chatted and then they proceeded to give us so much food, we didn’t need dinner!

And thus concludes my family’s India Trip!