Stumbling around the Golden Triangle

First impressions are important; you couldn’t really find a rational person who would disagree.  Well my first impression of India left a bad taste I my mouth, thank god for the food.

I was already two days late flying to India because of a case of Montezuma’s revenge that struck me down in Islamabad.  Due to passport travel restriction for Pakistani’s going into India, my travel partner ditched the trip at the last minute.  So I arrived in the sweltering heat of Delhi alone and armed only with my guidebook.  My bank card didn’t work in the machine at the airport, so I paid for a cab to my hotel with my credit card at the kiosk.  The driver then got lost and couldn’t find my hotel.  Finally after asking for directions for about the fifth time, he told me he couldn’t get there down the one-way street and put me in a rickshaw.  I have no money and the cab driver certainly didn’t bother to pay the rickshaw driver anything, so I was eventually dumped in the middle of a busy street in central Delhi, illegibly near my hotel.  This was not up to par with the personal greeting and driver I normally get at airports.

Eventually I found a decent looking hotel, very cheap, but with no bed sheets or furnishings.  They did have beer and I quickly ordered one to help me get my bearings.  It was not the worst place I have ever stayed in, but I wanted the comfort and confidence to find the hotel I had booked only the day earlier.  I always travel with the Eyewitness guidebooks on travelling; they have never let me down in the past.  Besides the hotel I originally arranged was recommended as decent (the cheapest one they did recommend).

The Hotel Prince Polonia food was the best part of the trip.  India didn’t get much better for me on this week.  A week that included a bomb blast in Jaipur two days before I was supposed to visit on the tour I booked.  Of course the guy who I booked my tour with still wanted the balance of our agreement.  My first impressions of India were of people offering help with one hand, and right there asking for money with the other.  Obviously my years of travelling to see friends and receiving such royal hospitality has spoilt me for the real tourist world.

I tried to get a sense of the history and culture of Delhi by visiting the museums and forts.  It is hard for a culture as old as the Indus Valley to preserve and promote its past when the people just want food and security.  The poverty of India was staggering, maybe I have been sheltered everywhere else, but I was overwhelmed by it here.

Although I had no chance of integrating into India society, I was very popular.  At many of the monuments, people wanted pictures of me, not the monument.  And everywhere I walked I heard shots of ‘my friend come and see my store’.  The hassling is normally a fun part of the interaction, but at times the pressure to tip is too much.  I also found the tourist mood tense that week because of the bombings.  Strangely enough, 9 bombs simultaneously exploded in a tourist area in India, didn’t make the Canadian news that week (upstaged by Brittany Spears no doubt) so at least my family didn’t have to worry.

It is hard to find what to write about India, since it doesn’t match up to the excitement of my other travels.  However, it was just a real eye opener for me to see the way life has developed in this country; thousands of years of history, and with a cycle of political change that has culminated into independence from the British and self rule for the last 60 years.  Previous to my visit I read a book called, ‘The age of Kali’, by William Dalrymple.  It documented the journalists best interviews and stories from around old British India since partition.  Typically it describes Pakistan and India as paper democracies where the politicians are just dressed up mafia thugs.  It also described a confusing mix of Muslim and Hindu traditions that are little more than the dust and residue of a world no longer visible.  You can see it.

 The traditional and world famous hospitality and friendliness was there, but so was a desperation for greed or money.  The historical sites are endless in India, but the funds to protect and preserve them are a low priority to a government that can barely feed its people.  At the National Museum an exhibit was dedicated to the abuse and neglect that many of the historical sites around the city are facing.  The biggest fort in the capital, the Red Fort, was badly in need to repair.  Others were scarred with graffiti.  I visited another fort just outside of town and it was deserted.  I gave an attendant some money for entry, but it was virtually untouched by any restoration team.  In fact I think a family was living on the grounds.  The Muslim tombs that were preserved around the area were best kept, interesting since I read about the murder and bloodshed, as most Muslims were force out of India after partition. The Taj Mahal is the best example of this apathy towards India’s heritage.  Considered by many to be one of the most beautiful sacred sites in the world, I thought it was crowded with photographers and pan handlers and generally overrun by tourists.  At least I got my picture taken.

After Agra I decided not to go to Jaipur, they needed doctors and police at that time, not a gawky white tourist with a Mohawk.  I was fortunate to see a few more Delhi tourist stops that I otherwise would have missed, less tourists means less deterioration.