I have now been in India two weeks. The following blog was written a week ago. Much has happened since then. I was getting sick when I wrote this. My health and spirits are much better now.
I have been here a week today. There have been great moments -- my first bite of idli, the South Indian steamed rice cake. I dipped the idli in the vegetable curry that comes with it and the moment it hit my mouth I had a great rush of energy and my body tingled all over. For a moment, I was perfectly happy. Then I had the luggage tangle, but the taste of idli helped kept me going. Also when I first hit the streets in the morning, I am happy. At the National Museum there is a Haruppan (Indian culture contemporary with Mesopotamia) dancing girl that is amazing. The tiny school children in their blue uniforms. They are so small. Yesterday, a guide at a stepwell broke off a branch of a neem tree for me. Villages use small neem branches to brush their teeth. I have always wanted to try it. And the stepwell, one hundred steps going down, down down between the arched sidewalls. An amazing visual. Pictures eventually. Oh, and Monday night I went to a great two-part concert, sitar in the first half and a vocalist in the second. The vocalist had an amazing voice, very open, resonant, deep.
Unfortunately Monday was not great. I couldn't find a hotel to move to. I went to Old Delhi, the Tibetan Colony, a couple of other places and finally, bit the bullet and started going from hotel to hotel in Connaught Place. I found one that turned out to be very good. At first I thought it was outside my budget, but I worked it out. It's o.k. And they are very helpful. They helped me get a Indian Chip in my cell phone. I couldn't have done it alone. It took three trips, two of which someone at the hotel did for me. That Monday, I also had an unfortunate encounter with a young man who wanted me to buy him a shoe shine box. It's a long complicated story involving a shoe shine by someone else (a magnificent job -- he redyed my shoes which needed it mixing colors to match the shoes), and inserts which the boy slipped in. I paid for the shoe shine but thought about the insoles which the boy called covers. I didn't know what he was talking about and just wanted to give him 20 rupees to get rid of him. The shoe shine guy wanted to take out the insoles and give them back to the boy, but in my panic I thought he was going to hold my shoes for ransom. The boy finally accepted the 20 rupees, but I might have ripped him off. How much are insoles in India.
I don't tell these stories to put India down. They really are a sign of my own ignorance and part of the process of arriving in India. I'm much better about recognizing scams in the making. I don't talk to anyone who calls me "father" or "uncle" for example. I keep a smile on my face.
Tuesday, was a recuperation day. I ate and slept. Shortly a general food article will be coming up. I'm going to spare you a meal by meal account, except last night I discovered this great, cheap fast food place called Khana where for less than $2.00 you get an endless South India thali that is quite good.
Wednesday, I finally started to see Delhi. I went to the National Museum and saw the dancing girl and got a refresher course in Indian art and history. Then I walked home -- not far -- by way of the step well.
Walking in New Delhi is not a good idea. It's o.k. in the older parts of town. The streets are narrow and crowded and the cars can't work up much speed. But walking across several lanes of traffic that are going at a rapid clip and constantly changing lanes is hard work. When there are traffic lights, they help some, but motorcycles don't think traffic lights apply to them and people stop late and start early so even at traffic lights you have to keep your wits about you. And where there are no traffic lights, I wait for a reasonable break and head across the street. You have to have a path and stick to it. The drivers see you and factor you into their complex calculations. If you falter, make a sudden change or stop, the whole system breaks down. No matter how close the vehicles are coming to you, you have to keep going, exercising you nerves of steel and will of iron. Drivers operate on very small margins here and the cars come very close, but, my mantra is, "They don't want to hit me. They see you. Keep going. Keep going." And so far, I end up on the other side of the street.
I now know that even for small distances, auto rickshaws are often a necessity and I have made my peace with them. I pay more than the locals but I get where I want to go.
Then I got sick. I had four days when I didn't leave my hotel room. A doctor came and visited my twice for a total of less than $20.00. The high, persistent fever was the worst, but analgesics made it bearable. Fortunately, my cell phone was working and I was in touch with friends back home. Now things are picking up. I have had a good couple of days. No calamities. I am settling down.
I like it here. Delhi in the winter is wonderful. Except for the smog, the weather is excellent. There is always something happening and there are other tourists like me wandering around and we help each other out from time to time. And Indians help me out. Last night a guy helped me get an autorickshaw to a concert and back.I have a lot more to tell. Good stories. I got to hear William Dalrymple speak, for example. More on that later. It's lunch time. I'm going to try Cafe 101 where yesterday, I had a wonderful minestrone soup.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Monsters and Luggage
Jet lag is fading fast. Last night I slept from 10 p.m. until 4 a.m. Which wasn't bad for the second night. 4 a.m. is already the morning and is not scary. It's waking up at 3 a.m. that is to be avoided. That's when the mommy, daddy and other assorted monsters are at their strongest and hiding under the blanket doesn't work very well when you are alone and far away from home without a two-and-a-half-year-old voice whispering in your ear, "It's o.k., grandpa. The monsters won't find us here. We are safe now." And if I act especially afraid, the voice will say, "It's o.k. The monsters aren't real. They are just pretend." That's the hard part, remembering they are just pretend.
What a day. I got a call yesterday that my luggage had finally arrived in India, but it was in customs and I had to come out to the airport, passport in hand, to retrieve it. I asked when, and they said the office opened at 8:00 and I could go at anytime after that, but that I should call first. I arranged for a car and driver from the hotel and was ready at eight. I called the airline office as I was told to do and there was no answer. There was no answer until nine. They asked me when I was coming and I said as soon as the car arrived and they said that would be fine. On top of this, the hotel had no record of my request for a car and a new request had to be made. They didn't ask for a car until nine. The car arrived and there was a lot of talk in Hindi in which the word "parking" figured prominently. This was suspicious, but waiting time was included in the price, and it seemed to be o.k. About 10:30, I left for the airport. Soon after we started the driver pulled over the to the side, almost completely blocking a side street. He got out and I sat that while cars honked at me and inched they way by. He returned with cigarettes. I considered protesting, but decided the traffic was more life-threatening than second-hand smoke, and if he needed cigarettes to cope with the traffic, he could have them.
When I got to the airport, there was a lot of anxiety about parking. I was taken in charge by a young man, who told the driver where to park and took me to the airlines office. (It's another story, but the young man was eventually turned over to the police by someone from the airlines office.) The receptionist at the airline office said I had to wait for half an hour because a flight was just in and there was no staff to assist me. So I waited for almost an hour. Finally, someone arrives. She proceeds to fill out a very long form. Two long forms had already been filled out when the luggage didn't show up, but we needed another one. Then we went to the Pass Office, the staff person telling me that, of course, I should have arrived after one. I said no one told me. She said well, no. The person I talked to probably didn't know, but she implied that of course, I should have known. The officer at the Pass Office reached for one of the dreaded books of Indian bureaucracyand proceeded to write in it referring to my passport and to the other documentation from time to time. Finally he filled out a pass which allowed me into the luggage storage area. We took the pass into another room where a woman in a sari slowly read it and then signed it. Finally, we arrived in an enormous room filled with lost bags. It gave me the shudders. Another man reached for another book and wrote for awhile. Then he called for another man who retrieved the bag which was directly behind the man who had written in the book. I was given the bag and the staff person and I proceeded to another desk with two men and two books. Finally we went to the customs officer. He sent us to the x-ray machine. Then we went back to the customs officer. The zippers had been wired together in two places. It took him twenty minutes to undo the wires. It was as if he had never seen wires before. Then he rummaged through the bag for a couple of minutes, didn't find anything that I hadn't declared, and then shrugged and told me to close the bag up. He and the staff person went to a desk and she came back and said I was lucky. He wasn't going to charge me anything for opening the bag. I think he was embarrassed because he took so long to get it opened.
After presenting one last slip to one last man, we went back to find my driver. He was nowhere to be found. We had to call the hotel who contacted him on his cell phone and he finally showed up. The ride back was as life-threatening as the ride out but he had his cigarettes and I didn't care.
I had given up on my two projects for the day, but after a long nap, I decided I had to get out a bit. I wandered down to Connaught Place, the large circular colonial shopping center and then was suddenly overwhelmed. I couldn't move. If another tout showed up I was going make a scene. Then I heard this woman speaking English with a European accent. I turned and she was shooing a tout away with one hand and gesturing with the other to the Japanese man she was talking to. She was happy and full of energy. She said to the Japanese man, "Well, I'm just going to hop into a bicycle rickshaw and go get something to eat." I though if she, a woman traveling alone, can handle India, so can I. So I found a bicycle rickshaw, bargained the driver down from 25 rupees to 20, and had a swift, terrifying ride to my hotel. I gave him 25 rupees and he gave me a great smile. I went into the restaurant and the woman I had seen before walked in. As I was leaving, I walked over and thanked her. She is my hero. She saved my day.
Now, back to the hotel and to bed. And monsters stay away. My granddaughter Chloe says you are just pretend.
What a day. I got a call yesterday that my luggage had finally arrived in India, but it was in customs and I had to come out to the airport, passport in hand, to retrieve it. I asked when, and they said the office opened at 8:00 and I could go at anytime after that, but that I should call first. I arranged for a car and driver from the hotel and was ready at eight. I called the airline office as I was told to do and there was no answer. There was no answer until nine. They asked me when I was coming and I said as soon as the car arrived and they said that would be fine. On top of this, the hotel had no record of my request for a car and a new request had to be made. They didn't ask for a car until nine. The car arrived and there was a lot of talk in Hindi in which the word "parking" figured prominently. This was suspicious, but waiting time was included in the price, and it seemed to be o.k. About 10:30, I left for the airport. Soon after we started the driver pulled over the to the side, almost completely blocking a side street. He got out and I sat that while cars honked at me and inched they way by. He returned with cigarettes. I considered protesting, but decided the traffic was more life-threatening than second-hand smoke, and if he needed cigarettes to cope with the traffic, he could have them.
When I got to the airport, there was a lot of anxiety about parking. I was taken in charge by a young man, who told the driver where to park and took me to the airlines office. (It's another story, but the young man was eventually turned over to the police by someone from the airlines office.) The receptionist at the airline office said I had to wait for half an hour because a flight was just in and there was no staff to assist me. So I waited for almost an hour. Finally, someone arrives. She proceeds to fill out a very long form. Two long forms had already been filled out when the luggage didn't show up, but we needed another one. Then we went to the Pass Office, the staff person telling me that, of course, I should have arrived after one. I said no one told me. She said well, no. The person I talked to probably didn't know, but she implied that of course, I should have known. The officer at the Pass Office reached for one of the dreaded books of Indian bureaucracyand proceeded to write in it referring to my passport and to the other documentation from time to time. Finally he filled out a pass which allowed me into the luggage storage area. We took the pass into another room where a woman in a sari slowly read it and then signed it. Finally, we arrived in an enormous room filled with lost bags. It gave me the shudders. Another man reached for another book and wrote for awhile. Then he called for another man who retrieved the bag which was directly behind the man who had written in the book. I was given the bag and the staff person and I proceeded to another desk with two men and two books. Finally we went to the customs officer. He sent us to the x-ray machine. Then we went back to the customs officer. The zippers had been wired together in two places. It took him twenty minutes to undo the wires. It was as if he had never seen wires before. Then he rummaged through the bag for a couple of minutes, didn't find anything that I hadn't declared, and then shrugged and told me to close the bag up. He and the staff person went to a desk and she came back and said I was lucky. He wasn't going to charge me anything for opening the bag. I think he was embarrassed because he took so long to get it opened.
After presenting one last slip to one last man, we went back to find my driver. He was nowhere to be found. We had to call the hotel who contacted him on his cell phone and he finally showed up. The ride back was as life-threatening as the ride out but he had his cigarettes and I didn't care.
I had given up on my two projects for the day, but after a long nap, I decided I had to get out a bit. I wandered down to Connaught Place, the large circular colonial shopping center and then was suddenly overwhelmed. I couldn't move. If another tout showed up I was going make a scene. Then I heard this woman speaking English with a European accent. I turned and she was shooing a tout away with one hand and gesturing with the other to the Japanese man she was talking to. She was happy and full of energy. She said to the Japanese man, "Well, I'm just going to hop into a bicycle rickshaw and go get something to eat." I though if she, a woman traveling alone, can handle India, so can I. So I found a bicycle rickshaw, bargained the driver down from 25 rupees to 20, and had a swift, terrifying ride to my hotel. I gave him 25 rupees and he gave me a great smile. I went into the restaurant and the woman I had seen before walked in. As I was leaving, I walked over and thanked her. She is my hero. She saved my day.
Now, back to the hotel and to bed. And monsters stay away. My granddaughter Chloe says you are just pretend.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Getting Out of Town
It wasn't pretty. After planning for this trip for eight years, the last few days were chaotic. The important thing is that I am now in New Delhi as the Bollywood music and honking horns coming in through the door of the Internet Cafe remind me. Actually, this is my second day here. I tried to write yesterday, but even a nap did not cancel out the evil effects of 22 hours in transit from Los Angeles to here. And even today, I am either still jet-lagged or coming down with a cold.
Yesterday, after coping with the fact that my luggage ended up somewhere other than where it was supposed to, I took a prepaid taxi to my hotel in Parahaganj. The Delhi airport is in the country, so as we started down the road (excellent even by U.S. standards), the first images are rural ones -- a solitary man walking across a field, people waiting for a bus at random spots along roadside, an oxcart carrying a load of women in saris, another solitary walking down the road. The solitary men are striking because in the city, there are so many people that even if someone is walking alone, he or she does not stand out. Then the traffic becomes more and more congested until a mile or so from the hotel it more or less stops. The hotel is near the New Delhi train station and there is a permanent traffic jam at its entrance.
I will move from Parahaganj soon. The air quality here is especially bad. Delhi seems to have worked on auto pollution. The air does not smell of raw exhaust as it used to. Here the bothersome pollution comes from dust -- once in town the quality of the roads is not as good and there are a lot of unpaved spots. What the cars and other vehicles don't lift into the air, feet and the ever-present sweepers do. Then there are the cooking fires. There are a lot of small restaurants and all have open fronts with the cooking done right next to the street. There are also a lot of carts that use bottled gas to cook with. And then there are the people cooking on the pavement, often with small charcoal fires. It smells great, but there is always smoke in the air. Finally, right by the hotel there are artisans carving wood and stone and doing other crafts that put particles into the air. A lot of people have coughs. My throat has been raw and my eyes have been watering since I arrived -- I might be cold (just before I left I spent a lot of time with my coughing granddaughter hiding under a blanket from the mommy and daddy monsters--not too smart for someone about to travel, but a lot of fun), but I am also blaming it on the air.
Except for the air, I love the area. It's a great introduction to India. There are two streets lined with hotels and once you leave them and enter the alleys, most traces of us tourists disappear. Cows wander, people work and stand around. In India, whenever anyone is working there are always extra people standing around. At the hotel, I will give a request to the person who looks to me like they are in charge, and he will reply and then turn to someone else who will do something and then a third person steps in and they all speak Hindi for a while and sometimes even a fourth person arrives before what ever is supposed to happen happens.
I haven't done any serious sightseeing. Yesterday, after I checked into the hotel, I went out and ate at one of the open-front restaurants and then napped and in the evening walked to Connaught Circle, a large colonial-era shopping and business development, and then found Kwality. When I was in Calcutta eight years ago, the Kwality there was my refuge when India overwhelmed me, so last night, I sought refuge again. According to the menu, Kwality was founded in the late forties to provide "rich Americans" and other travelers with ice cream and other sweets. Now its menu is very large with both Indian and international standards and caters to middle-class Indians and tourists. The food isn't exciting but it is good and I like the atmosphere. The restaurant in Delhi is a relic of the fifties with elaborate mirrors, botanical prints, pastel fabric wall covering and Hollywood moderne molded ceilings. Lana Turner would feel at home. Once you enter, the staff feels obliged to seat you immediately, so you might sit in two different places before the seating they think appropriate for you is open. I don't understand the system. I just meekly move from place to place until a waiter comes to take my order and then I know I've finally arrived.
I had minced chicken kabobs and naan and soda water with lime juice, nimbu pani, I think. It's my favorite. I asked for mine salty, but it came sweet. The Sikh man across from me had ordered one too and I think he got mine because he made a face when he tasted it, but neither of us complained to the waiter.
For breakfast this morning I had a small defeat and ordered room service. I had seen a place last night that served idli sambar, a delicious south India breakfast of ground rice and lentils shaped and steamed into a large, snowy ball served with spicy condiments. Another favorite, but I couldn't face the street without food (a real dilema, so I order a banana lassi, but got two bananas on a tray instead. I also had an omelet and delicious milk coffee with cardamom. The tea I had at the open-front restaurant was also great and today I had another very good tea. I had lunch at a tourist restaurant nearby, filled with Indian tourists (I'm trying out one of all the eating options around here). I had chicken in a mustard green puree which was good, but the best was again the tea which was made with steamed milk and flavored with cardamom. It didn't quite match the tea from the day before, but it came close.
I thought I was going to write sociology, but instead I am writing about food. Tomorrow I have to go to the airport and retrieve my suitcase which was misdirected. Then I will do my two tasks. When I travel by myself, I give myself two tasks a day to keep me focused and moving. Today I figured out how to use the subway. The subway has only been open for a year or so and I was not the only first-timer. I have a card that is good for a year. When I run out of rupees on it, I buy more. Then when I am ready to leave, I can turn it in and get my 100 rupee deposit back. There are a little more than 40 rupees to the dollar so I have about $2.50 waiting for me when I get ready to leave. My second task today was to figure out how to get my pictures from my camera to my laptop. I succeeded, but then forgot my notebook in the camera store and got lost. The store was in Connaught Circle which is, of course, circular, and very confusing. I had almost given up hope when a persistant tout of about 12 years old steered me to a tourist office, and there, next door was my camera shop. I went into the tourist office so the tout could get his reward, talked briefly to the staff, then left and retrieved my notebook.
Tomorrow my two tasks (getting my suitcase doesn't count) are to find a calendar of what's going on in Delhi and start to explore Old Delhi. Now, I am going to find something soothing to eat and go to bed early and try to cure my jet lag, pollution cough, cold or whatever it is.
Yesterday, after coping with the fact that my luggage ended up somewhere other than where it was supposed to, I took a prepaid taxi to my hotel in Parahaganj. The Delhi airport is in the country, so as we started down the road (excellent even by U.S. standards), the first images are rural ones -- a solitary man walking across a field, people waiting for a bus at random spots along roadside, an oxcart carrying a load of women in saris, another solitary walking down the road. The solitary men are striking because in the city, there are so many people that even if someone is walking alone, he or she does not stand out. Then the traffic becomes more and more congested until a mile or so from the hotel it more or less stops. The hotel is near the New Delhi train station and there is a permanent traffic jam at its entrance.
I will move from Parahaganj soon. The air quality here is especially bad. Delhi seems to have worked on auto pollution. The air does not smell of raw exhaust as it used to. Here the bothersome pollution comes from dust -- once in town the quality of the roads is not as good and there are a lot of unpaved spots. What the cars and other vehicles don't lift into the air, feet and the ever-present sweepers do. Then there are the cooking fires. There are a lot of small restaurants and all have open fronts with the cooking done right next to the street. There are also a lot of carts that use bottled gas to cook with. And then there are the people cooking on the pavement, often with small charcoal fires. It smells great, but there is always smoke in the air. Finally, right by the hotel there are artisans carving wood and stone and doing other crafts that put particles into the air. A lot of people have coughs. My throat has been raw and my eyes have been watering since I arrived -- I might be cold (just before I left I spent a lot of time with my coughing granddaughter hiding under a blanket from the mommy and daddy monsters--not too smart for someone about to travel, but a lot of fun), but I am also blaming it on the air.
Except for the air, I love the area. It's a great introduction to India. There are two streets lined with hotels and once you leave them and enter the alleys, most traces of us tourists disappear. Cows wander, people work and stand around. In India, whenever anyone is working there are always extra people standing around. At the hotel, I will give a request to the person who looks to me like they are in charge, and he will reply and then turn to someone else who will do something and then a third person steps in and they all speak Hindi for a while and sometimes even a fourth person arrives before what ever is supposed to happen happens.
I haven't done any serious sightseeing. Yesterday, after I checked into the hotel, I went out and ate at one of the open-front restaurants and then napped and in the evening walked to Connaught Circle, a large colonial-era shopping and business development, and then found Kwality. When I was in Calcutta eight years ago, the Kwality there was my refuge when India overwhelmed me, so last night, I sought refuge again. According to the menu, Kwality was founded in the late forties to provide "rich Americans" and other travelers with ice cream and other sweets. Now its menu is very large with both Indian and international standards and caters to middle-class Indians and tourists. The food isn't exciting but it is good and I like the atmosphere. The restaurant in Delhi is a relic of the fifties with elaborate mirrors, botanical prints, pastel fabric wall covering and Hollywood moderne molded ceilings. Lana Turner would feel at home. Once you enter, the staff feels obliged to seat you immediately, so you might sit in two different places before the seating they think appropriate for you is open. I don't understand the system. I just meekly move from place to place until a waiter comes to take my order and then I know I've finally arrived.
I had minced chicken kabobs and naan and soda water with lime juice, nimbu pani, I think. It's my favorite. I asked for mine salty, but it came sweet. The Sikh man across from me had ordered one too and I think he got mine because he made a face when he tasted it, but neither of us complained to the waiter.
For breakfast this morning I had a small defeat and ordered room service. I had seen a place last night that served idli sambar, a delicious south India breakfast of ground rice and lentils shaped and steamed into a large, snowy ball served with spicy condiments. Another favorite, but I couldn't face the street without food (a real dilema, so I order a banana lassi, but got two bananas on a tray instead. I also had an omelet and delicious milk coffee with cardamom. The tea I had at the open-front restaurant was also great and today I had another very good tea. I had lunch at a tourist restaurant nearby, filled with Indian tourists (I'm trying out one of all the eating options around here). I had chicken in a mustard green puree which was good, but the best was again the tea which was made with steamed milk and flavored with cardamom. It didn't quite match the tea from the day before, but it came close.
I thought I was going to write sociology, but instead I am writing about food. Tomorrow I have to go to the airport and retrieve my suitcase which was misdirected. Then I will do my two tasks. When I travel by myself, I give myself two tasks a day to keep me focused and moving. Today I figured out how to use the subway. The subway has only been open for a year or so and I was not the only first-timer. I have a card that is good for a year. When I run out of rupees on it, I buy more. Then when I am ready to leave, I can turn it in and get my 100 rupee deposit back. There are a little more than 40 rupees to the dollar so I have about $2.50 waiting for me when I get ready to leave. My second task today was to figure out how to get my pictures from my camera to my laptop. I succeeded, but then forgot my notebook in the camera store and got lost. The store was in Connaught Circle which is, of course, circular, and very confusing. I had almost given up hope when a persistant tout of about 12 years old steered me to a tourist office, and there, next door was my camera shop. I went into the tourist office so the tout could get his reward, talked briefly to the staff, then left and retrieved my notebook.
Tomorrow my two tasks (getting my suitcase doesn't count) are to find a calendar of what's going on in Delhi and start to explore Old Delhi. Now, I am going to find something soothing to eat and go to bed early and try to cure my jet lag, pollution cough, cold or whatever it is.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Welcome
Welcome to Luke's Home Stretch. I've switched from sending emails which was getting cumbersome to blogging.
Why Home Stretch? At 67, that's where I am and at this age, I'm still stretching the limits of home. In my Swedish Baptist childhood, I used to sing "This World Is Not my Home." Now I find this world is my home, but it's a very big one and there are a lot of unexplored rooms.
On November 22nd, I'm setting off to explore one of them. I will be in India until February 1st, and then I will be in England for three weeks. I arrive back in Los Angeles on February 19, 2007. In the meantime, I will be in San Carlos from November 15 through 18 visiting my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter.
I'm on my way. I'll be in touch soon.
Why Home Stretch? At 67, that's where I am and at this age, I'm still stretching the limits of home. In my Swedish Baptist childhood, I used to sing "This World Is Not my Home." Now I find this world is my home, but it's a very big one and there are a lot of unexplored rooms.
On November 22nd, I'm setting off to explore one of them. I will be in India until February 1st, and then I will be in England for three weeks. I arrive back in Los Angeles on February 19, 2007. In the meantime, I will be in San Carlos from November 15 through 18 visiting my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter.
I'm on my way. I'll be in touch soon.
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