Holy Cow! We had arrived in India and didn’t we know it.

Mandy: 30th January – 4th February 2015

It may only have been a four and a half hour flight from Bangkok to Delhi but what a different place.

We boarded the ‘plane and noticed that it was full of Indians, mainly men. During the flight we spoke to one of the few tourists, a ‘hippy’ lady from New York. She told us that the first time she came to India she stayed in Delhi and cried every day for a week! She had however been to India eleven times since and now loves it. She said “no matter how low you feel push on through the first week, it will feel like torture, people will mentally torture you and invade your personal space but you could learn to love it too” We already felt prepared, we had been forewarned about the many scams and ways in which touts and beggars will follow you, touch you and hassle you at every step. I knew to expect men to stare at me but that I would be fine if I just ignored them and didn’t make eye contact. We were told to look unconcerned, relaxed and not to speak to them even to say ‘no’ otherwise that would encourage them. Well anyone who knows me will understand that was going to be difficult.

Everyone said that I should cover up totally to keep the frustrated indian men away. That wasn’t going to be difficult because it was 5-8 degrees at night and 15-20 degrees in the day so I would need to cover up. They said that men may drive by on bikes and touch your boob or pinch your bottom when in crowded places! So the fact we saw a lot of white women walking around on their own made me wonder if this information had actually attracted a certain kind of women looking for some excitement in their life! Seriously though, there were a lot of women on their own and many with babies and small children strapped to them. So far india didn’t seem like a place to bring babies or small children.

As we were due to arrive in the early hours we thought it best to arrange for the hotel to pick us up. So when we landed we walked outside of the airport and found a smart young indian man holding a piece of paper with our name on it. Sorted (smile) we were in safe hands. However after a long wait another less smiley man appeared with a scarf around his head and ears and we were asked to follow him to his car. We expected the roads to be quiet seeing as it was 2.30am in the morning but the two lane road had cars, bikes and lorries four abreast; all beeping their horns. No problem for our taxi driver because he just drove down the outside on the dusty grass or gravel verge pushing-in every few cars and ignoring the beeping of everyone around us and adding a few beeps himself. I told him our seat-belts didn’t work but he said “you don’t need them in India, only in the front” Umm I think we did! Anyway I hung on to mine like a loop you hold on to in a bus because we weaved in and out and braked sharply all the way. As we made our way in silence through the capital’s streets at high speed we saw the odd cow (as expected) and people sleeping rough and people huddled around fires on the pavements. Glen saw a horse galloping along the side of the main road, but all was well. This was India (Smile)

The taxi ride experience felt more like we had been kidnapped than having paid for a pre-arranged pick up. After a frenetic journey we ended up down a grotty looking dark lane and were dropped outside of our hotel. We walked in and stood by reception (our holding cell?). The young guy behind the desk didn’t welcome us or even seem to be expecting us. “booked?” he said (no bowing of heads or a welcome orange juice here then!) “Yes” we replied (smile) “Driver good?” (Straight face) he asked, and repeated three times. “yes if a little fast” Glen replied. Now because I was advised not to engage or make eye contact with men I hadn’t looked around and so I thought the man stood closely to our left was our captor, I mean taxi driver and so I didn’t mention that the driver hadn’t helped us with our bags and that the vehicle was only just road worthy. Apparently the driver had long gone and this was some sort of night porter although I am only guessing. All I know is that he was not the welcoming committee as he wasn’t very welcoming! After what seemed an age we were ‘let in’ to our confinement cell. We were disappointed that it was so cold in the room but we closed the door behind us and went to get in to the shower…NO HOT WATER! We pulled back the duvet to see that there wasn’t a sheet and that the duvet was very dirty. On closer inspection It had what looked like various bodily fluid stains on it and ground in dirt along the top half which clearly showed that they did not wash the cotton duvet cover from one month to another. I checked all the edges of the ‘white’ duvet cover and to my amazement it was sewn on so they could never wash it! I have photos for anyone who can’t imagine such ground in long term dirt. If it had been the daytime we would have left immediately but seeing as it was about 3.15am by then we had to sleep there. So Glen went down to ask for clean sheets which were totally grey (they put me in mind of the dust sheets you have Dennis when you do your DIY, only yours are cleaner) but at least they had seen a splash of water in recent days even though they had seemingly been washed in a stream and beaten on a dirty stone until dry and were covered in black marks and what looked like rust.

There were those moth ball things that they put in urinals in the handbasin!!! I could go on but you get the idea. What with the large bolt and lock on the outside of the door it felt we were in prison!

Despite the cold room, damp grubby sheets, the lady coughing and spitting next door, and our icy cold feet we went to sleep. It made me want a hot water bottle for the first time in about forty years! During the ‘night’ we heard the big bolts on the doors being opened down the corridor and people taking loudly and the sound of shoes clip clopping on the marble floors in the corridor outside and I half expected that we would wake to a bowl of gruel on the doorstep of our cell.

Even after the night in the dirty unwelcoming hotel I was surprisingly in high spirits and after just four hours sleep and no hot water for a shower we got our backpacks on and left. As we looked down on to the dirty street it was a wonderful sight. Our four and a half hour flight had taken us to a different world. There was an ox and cart going down the narrow street and It had what looked like a turban on its horns! (Chuckle)

We walked down the street to find another hotel and I couldn’t stop laughing, it was mad, it was amazingly different. I shouldn’t make a judgement so early on but I don’t think we will be needing our six month visa we waited so patiently for.

We walked around to have a look at a few hotels before choosing one with the cleanest looking bedding. The hotel still had a bed that felt damp but they supplied us with a little electric fire so all was good.

We stayed in Paharganj, New Delhi “not for the feint hearted” we had read. It was certainly manic but we felt strong of heart and I just couldn’t stop laughing at the chaos all around us.

That night as we walked on to the street from the door of the hotel our senses were attacked. We tried to make our way out but we stood in silence for a while waiting for a space for us to walk in to and then Glen said “rickshaw, motorbike, motorbike, beggar, motorbike, rickshaw, car, auto-rickshaw, auto-rickshaw, shoe shine boy!” (chuckle) and that was exactly what it was like every step of the way for those first four days……along with the odd cow and dog too. You couldn’t get annoyed or worried about being knocked over it was just so unbelievable it was funny!

They say that Delhi is one of the oldest existing cities in the world, along with Jerusalem and Varanasi. It is thought to be over 5,000 years old, and it smelled like it! Glen said “I can’t think what the smell is like, Oh I know 1,000s of years of dust and dirt!” It is very different here than we imagined. Less spice, curry or incense smells and more dust, and Frankincense smells which is what they seem to burn here on every stall and in every shop. I think it smells better than we expected as it’s cold and it would be a different matter if we came here in their summer.

The stalls there had a Eastville Market meets Bollywood feel about them.

In our new hotel there were men everywhere hanging around on each floor. There was a chair outside of our room where an older man sat, either smoking, reading the paper or just looking at us. I think It could be very unnerving for a women or even two women on their own. When we arrived he asked if we wanted some whisky! The restaurants didn’t sell alcohol but he could get us some. We asked reception who the men were and they said cleaners. We saw four of them in a room drinking coffee with the TV on leaning on a mop and on another occasion happily wrestling each other. Maybe cleaners had a different meaning in India. We could hear him dragging the chair about in the night. It was weird. They didn’t give you clean towels or toilet paper (more on that later) automatically each day, instead we had to go out and ask this man which then made me feel I should be grateful to him when in fact we had paid for them. He kept asking if we had any laundry and I think they were all just trying to make some money. At first he continually asked if the fire we had been given was working and was it OK? The walls to our room were thin and I swear that if he heard Glen and I ……how can I put it? ‘making love’ he would have knocked on the door afterwards and offered to sell us a cigarette! (Chuckle) Another man who would sit there late at night or early in the morning had a scarf wrapped around his ears and forehead and down around his chin to keep warm and Glen said that he looked like he had toothache (chuckle) everyone looked cold there and wore their scarves like that, it did look strange.

You can’t just ‘stroll’ around the streets of Paharganj, you have to look out for Auto-rickshaws, rickshaws, bikes, people, dirty street kids going around in gangs, cars, cows and spit! (With and without red betel ‘juice’) that is before you even think about avoiding the touts, random men who can “definitely help you” with whatever you are looking for and the various types of beggars of course. When we walked to Connaught Place a couple of kilometres away men would follow us a long way and keep trying to make conversation. Glen would sometimes just turn around and say “we don’t want to talk to you anymore” it seemed so rude but they would walk beside us asking questions before eventually trying to get us to go somewhere with them to their shop or whatever.

I should have been horrified walking around that first day but It was so bad I just found it funny. As a women I am not supposed to make eye contact with anyone like I said but it’s difficult for me, I can’t help but engage with people! I thought this has got to be a wind up, we must be on a film set! This can’t be for real! I felt sure that as we walked a few roads down we would see the Universal Studio’s sign and it would be confirmed that we were in an America film set about India! I forgot about not talking or making eye contact when one women tapped me on the shoulder. “No money, just sign here” I shook my head and said no but of course now she kept on even more until I said no again. I walked off and she blew a raspberry at me (chuckle). It wasn’t as bad as the old women in Java who just walked by me and slapped me hard on the arm for no apparent reason.

On the second day of walking around I hadn’t felt so excited and it didn’t seem such fun. I was cold and missing home and so when ANOTHER young guy on a henna stall said something to me in French I just looked at him wearily and continued to try to get by without a rickshaw riding over my toe. He then followed me and said “are you French?” I said “no I am English” “well you don’t look English” he said. I looked straight at him and probably looked sad and weary and said “that’s because I haven’t been there for a very long time” I think he sensed my mood and stood staring not knowing what to say. They don’t usually let you have the last word so it sort of cheered me up.

They didn’t seem to have much meat in Delhi Dad but we did see this ‘Pig Shop’

I have not had much interest in writing the blog the last month (in Thailand) basically it was all beautiful beaches, countryside, seascapes, boat journeys and perfect food. Nothing annoyed me or shocked me after four months in S E Asia and we were having a good time; so far India is different. I was already writing the blog under the dirty and damp covers before Glen woke that first morning.

We loved the different architecture there, although where we were staying and in old Delhi it mostly looked like it had been bombed!

Men were going up and down the homemade wooden ladders to rooms above the shops. We weren’t sure if this was where they lived or if they were just store rooms, probably a combination of both. Old women were sat on the pavement in front making thin mattresses using the sacks of wadding.

We loved the old women in indian clothes showing their bellies and backs whilst the men wrapped up warm. But there were so many men everywhere, very intimidating. Although there were also all sorts of old and interesting men too.

One men was walking around pushing a cart with some sort of religious image on and a pot of money which was in some sort of liquid which people were adding to. Also lots of men dye their beard or moustaches orange. What’s that about?

Everyone was out to rip us off or lie to us it seemed. We went out to buy some plug adapters and the guys on the makeshift stall in the street started at ten times the amount we knew we should pay. We actually had a joke with them and got a good price but Glen then said to them that we will be back if they don’t work. They said no problem, I looked at his stall which was not on wheels and laughed with them saying at least you can’t wheel it away before we get back. Glen said you will be gone when we get back. As we walked away Glen laughed and said I bet they are already on the move. And blow me I looked around to see the two guys quickly carrying the little stall inside a shop! (Which all look the same so would be difficult for us to find) How ridiculous for the sake of a pound they were hiding. We assumed then that the electric adaptors they sold us were fake. But actually they do work…. sometimes, if you give them a wriggle.

As you know we have been plagued with noise during the last four months, whether it has been cockerels crowing, dogs barking or funeral music playing. In Delhi there were packs of dogs barking day and night, groups of men on the roof opposite us shouting at flocks of pigeons that were circling around above them, Cows mooing, horns beeping and political rallies. We were fortunate/unfortunate enough to be overlooking the bazaar ‘square’ on Main Bazaar road where, on our first day, a stage was constructed and loud music and speeches were directed for the next four hours to an audience who I am sure were just grateful of a chair to sit on and were happy to wear the paper hats which had been printed promoting that particular candidate. Any extra layer to keep them warm was a bonus there. When they weren’t on the stage they were going around town in a vehicle equipped with load speakers.

I loved the music they played I must say and had to stop myself from dancing in the street in case it was seen to be disrespectful or wanton. If that party (the Orange hats) weren’t in the square then the White hat party marched and hollered out. In the evening they would throw fire crackers and let fireworks off. So not only did the old buildings look like they had been bombed but it sounded like they were being bombed too.

As Glen kept warm in his new £8 ‘Northface’ jacket and myself in layers of scarves and my new £2 pink blanket the scene in the evening put me in mind of those bull running events in Spain. Horned cattle stood in the narrow roads as if waiting for the starting gun. In the middle stood various cows amongst the children playing there.

No running was done by the cattle whilst we enjoyed our veg Thali just the beeping of horns as bikes and cars tried to squish by each other and the many people wandering around. Young children sat around makeshift fires in cans which were close to the market stalls and the kids too close for their own safety but they needed to keep warm. Older boys were fighting, men and women sat on the floor with their fruit and veg for sale and I wondered how come the cows didn’t come along eat it or the cooked sweet potatoes one guy was selling off a tiny table. The whole scene was more bizarre than bazaar. (chuckle)

In the morning I opened the windows to see what I have referred to on the trip as ‘a right buggers muddle’ in the bazaar below. I think the cows must have been sorting through the rubbish or perhaps the rubbish had been left by the stall holders. Things didn’t get going as early there as in S. E. Asia. In Nusa Lembongang in Indonesia we would be awake at about 5am or whenever it was light, look out the window and see the locals washing, eating and some women already working turning the seaweed in their back yard which we overlooked.

We hired a driver one day and went out and about. When we were stationary in traffic or at lights young children appeared at the windows begging. First of all we had a girl who did cartwheels between our car and the next! The driver said she does that everyday instead of going to school. He said school, books and food are free in India but the parents prefer their children to beg so they get the money. It’s very sad. Later a group of young boys came knocking at the window selling books, the driver was talking to them as he sees them each day. One boy was happily trying to sell us an Ikea store catalogue, bless him, along with the 50 shades trilogy! I wish I had taken photos of them now seeing as they were there so long and ended up poking books through the slightly opened window.

One older man was beging at each window and he only had one arm. I said if he’s not careful he will loose a leg too walking amongst the traffic!

The Red Fort in the heart of Shahjahanabad, Old Delhi.

The man who took our photo (above) was someone we had walked past earlier whilst he was taking a photo of his family. We stopped and asked if he would like us to take a photo of all of them together. Later on they caught us up and asked if we would like one together. After he’d taken one on our camera the older lady came and stood by us and then the child and he took a photo on his camera too! So we asked if they all wanted a photo with us which they did. So we then had one on our camera too. They were a lovely family from Mumbai, despite Grandad not looking happy on this photo (chuckle)

Humayun’ Tomb built for the second Mughal emperor in 1567