Northern India: Whose Cow is This?

I headed from Kathmandu to Delhi in another westbound violation of my widdershins route. From Delhi I did what’s known as the golden triangle, taking trains onto Agra and Jaipur. My week across these three cities were the extent of my Northern India tourism.

Flying into Delhi the smog didn’t look too severe from the plane (we could tell it was there, but it wasn’t ominous). Turn out on Saturday there were finally strong atmospheric winds which helped clear it out. The air quality was similar to that of my days in Kathmandu, clocking in at ‘Poor’ (and only a little hazardous). Hooray!

I hadn’t yet removed my Nepali sim card when I landed and couldn’t get internet on my phone, so I didn’t read over my notes and suggestions before trying to get to my hostel. I knew there were taxi scams at the airport so I figured a prepaid taxi service would be a safe bet. Oh how wrong I was. The prepaid taxis turned out to be the biggest cam of all. I got taken for about $20, which is a lot of money here. I overpaid for the ride, hadn’t yet broken the big bills I got form the ATM, and had to the guy who walked me to the cab and the guy who ripped my backpack off my back and into the trunk, who held my door open making sure I couldn’t leave without giving him his due. Then had to tip my driver too. Fortunately I was able to get my driver to drop me in the correct location, bringing people to the wrong hotel is another layer of the scam. A good awakening to the preparation and determination needed to do Delhi successfully. All throughout this experience I was kicking myself, as I knew better and let the excitement and chaos of getting to India, and these scammers, get the better of me.

Once I got dropped off I couldn’t find my hostel. There was no street sign and no number on a building indicating where it was. I popped into a tourist office to ask if they could direct me (in Europe these are reputable but in India they’re private despite claiming to be official and border on scams/ripoffs). After resisting an excessively long sales pitch, a guy walked me to the door of the hostel. It was an unmarked staircase in a building with no business at street level. I refused to go up. Seeing this, multiple other guys from the street came over to each tell me I needed to go in a different direction. One told me he’d take me to a government run tourist office where they’d help. It was clear that I was shoulder deep in scam city. I began walking with him and then dipped into a restaurant. After eating I got mobbed again on the sidewalk, but went back to that unmarked staircase alone. This was indeed the hostel I had reserved. I got upstairs, got on wifi, and took a breather. I texted with Aungeer who told me he had to work and wouldn’t be able to meet up with me, despite my offer to travel anywhere to see him (uber exists here, is reliable, and was very reasonably priced). Disappointed, frustrated, scammed, and scorned, I was already over Delhi and I had only been in India a couple of hours.

That evening I walked over to the main train station to buy my tickets to Agra and Jaipur (to avoid fees, India doesn’t allow foreign credit cards to book online, and it’s near impossible to reserve a train ticket if you’re not an Indian national). The twenty minute walk to the station just after the sun had set was like a haunted house. Cars, motocycles, bicycles, tuk-tuks, animals, and pedestrians zipped along the unsidewalked streets in all directions honking and revving all the way. With each step I risked trampling a person, animal, feces (human or animal), piles of trash a hole, or other hazard. At one point a dirty bag on a string was dropped onto my head from a third story window. If you’re a likeminded music person, this wasn’t just a haunted house, but one that took place in a post-show Camp Bisco shakedown.

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With a successful ticket purchase complete, I headed back to the hostel to hopefully relax with some backpackers. Most guests were older Indian men, but I met Chris, a young Indian guy staying there while looking for an apartment, who replaced Aungeer as my local guide for a few segments of my stay. He took me to get some of the safer street food – chat and a samosa.

Sunday was my one full day in Delhi. I didn’t rush to get out into scam city in the morning, when I did venture out it was to the national civic buildings a couple of miles to my south. I walked there, and after attempting to enter the grounds, gardens, and fountains along these government buildings through multiple gates, it became clear that it wasn’t easy to get in for non-military or employees. I gave up, and headed to the School of Planning and Architecture, figuring that this might be a campus worthy of perusing. It wasn’t, but it was near other sites that I walked to that afternoon.

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After walking around the locked and guarded gates of the SPA, I headed to the Ghandi Museum, which I probably could’ve curated with a laserjet printer and 6 hours. I then headed to the large park and site of Ghandi’s remains. This was lovely, where I sat on the manicured grass in the shade of palm trees relaxing away from the stress and chaos of Delhi’s streets.

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Once I felt recharged I headed back out and walked around the Red Fort. From Google Maps it looked like I could enter from the back, but I could not.

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After walking outside it for an hour I had no urge to go inside, so I walked back to my hostel, through the market that was stretched across the narrow and winding Old Delhi streets.

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Back at the hostel I hung out with Chris again, and happily went to sleep where Delhi could only bother me through my nightmares. I was fully content sacrifice sightseeing and experiencing the city to limit my exposure and vulnerability. And I had an early morning train to Agra. I had the overwhelming feeling that this place was more about survival than experience and enjoyment. The amount of grime, lies, and scams were pretty overwhelming. Any time I was approached, which was about twice per minute on the street, I knew there was a monetary and often nefarious motivation from my pursuer. No sights or food or city could outshine that.

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But India isn’t all scams and filth. My train ride to Agra was a breeze (after navigating the people at the station telling me my train was delayed – it wasn’t). It was basically like riding an old MetroNorth train where they serve airplane food. Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal, was a much quieter place (think an outer borough or downtown Boston chaos and noise, rather than a haunted house). I arrived in Agra mid morning and took a tuk-tuk ride to my hostel. When dropping me off, my driver, Gudu, suggested I hire him for the day to take me to all of Agra’s sites. He offered 600 rupees (a little less than $10). I politely declined. He went on to drop the price to 500 and beg me (he literally said “please sir I beg you”), as he might not get another fare or two that day. I had already learned that in India you can’t be happy and nice, you have to choose. I chose to be nice, and it wound up working out ok. Gudu did his thing while I got settled in the hostel, and then picked me back up for a day of sightseeing.

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First we went to the “Baby Taj,” the mausoleum of the grandparents of the guy who built the Taj Mahal (his mom built it for her parents). Built in 1622, it was relatively small but beautiful.

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Then Gudu took me to a slightly overpriced restaurant for lunch. It was clean and somewhat fancy so I obliged. I paid a little under $10. The same number of calories could be had for about 50 cents on the street, or $4 at a local that I might not have enjoyed. Then to the Red Fort, where I buddied up with a pair of young pilots, one Spanish one British, in India for the wedding of a friend from flight school. The Red Fort was largely amended by three different rulers over the years, so it told an interesting story of architecture, building materials, and local history.

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The last stop Gudu took me to was more commercial. In order to protect the Taj Mahal, Agra has India’s strictest environmental laws. Therefore there are no factories in the area, which has resulted in local craftspeople continuing to make wares by hand. The marble, silver, textile, and carpet markets were all must-sees according to Gudu. I had no interest in buying a carpet or marble table, and didn’t trust my judgement when it came to jewelry, so I figured I’d check out some cloth and be on my way. The marble market was right next door so I wound up there too. It began with a lesson in how the stones are carved that were used in the Taj Mahal. Some were local, many from Eurasia, with seashells from Africa, jade from China, onyx from Belgium, and one blue stone from South America. I took no photos because I didn’t want to feel obliged to buy. I then went to the back room where they tried to sell me tables and chess sets, and whatnot. After this I convinced Gudu to take me back to the hostel, and rejected his offer for his chauffeur services the following day.

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Steps from the Taj Mahal, Joey’s Hostel had one of the better backpacker scenes that I had seen. I met a handful of good people and we assembled a dinner crew of Gina (Australia), Chelsea, (Vancouver), Frank, Annika, and Philip (Germany). The following morning Chelsea was replaced by Jeremie (France) for a sunrise visit to the Taj Mahal. As luck would have it, that Tuesday was a heritage day, and the Taj Mahal (along with other sites) was free (rather than the roughly $20 admission).

We awoke about an hour before sunrise and did the 10 minute walk to the locked gates of the Taj Mahal. We were among the first groups in line here. After about 45 minutes, it opened, and we rushed in. Arriving at the front of the line well before sunrise was worth it, because we got to see the Taj like this:

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Then it was obviously time to nap. Afterward I wandered around a couple of bazaars. This gave me the opportunity to observe and draw some additional conclusions about more driver behavior. Honking is near constant everywhere. It’s not just to announce “lookout I’m doing something reckless,” but also as if everyone else on the road is blind and requires sonar to understand the location of other vehicles. Even if there’s no danger, on a near empty road, honking is commonplace. I also saw a maximum of four people on a motorcycle. Three were common, I never saw 4 full grown, but with 1 or 2 of the riders as young kids.

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Did I mention that the Taj Mahal was free that day? I finished up my bazaaring a bit before sunset and figured I might as well bring it all full circle.

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Back at the hostel I went out with the remainder of the sunrise crew, Jeremie and Philip, as we added Cara (Brit) and a Polish guy whose name started with an H and was not possible to commit to memory. We had a few beers on the roof where I took my 1,000th and final picture of the Taj Mahal, though this time just the silhouette.

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The following morning I had a 6:30am train to the city of Jaipur. When I booked my train the agent recommended I book the 5am because the 6:30 originates further east and is often late. Unlike many of his Delhi counterparts, he gave me good honest advice, and I dismissed it. As a result I waited on the platform for my train which was just shy of 5 hours late. The train was a sleeper but getting on in the late morning was an awkward time, because someone had already slept in my seat. Other than a very delayed start and crying kid the ride was fine.

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Gina, Frank, and Annika from Agra were all in Jaipur and we made dinner plans that the German couple bailed on. Gina and I got dinner and then met up with her new compadre Diego, a Spaniard working at the embassy in Lebanon. The three of us took my hostel up on an offer to be extras in an Indian Netflix series. At about 9pm we got driven to a restaurant that was closed for filming, and got sat outside and offered tea or coffee while we waited. Around 11 we got our 15 minutes of fame. Our role was to sit in the foyer and mime discussing the menu and eventually get seated while the “stars” argued about their bill behind us. The first two takes we were nervous, but by the 6th or 7th it got a little annoying. Especially hearing the cast deliver the same lines poorly.

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Around midnight they had finished this scene and asked us to wait around in case they wanted us in more or to reshoot it. Gina and Diego didn’t want to linger. I played cards with some Israelis staying at the hostel as well; Mor and the Bananas, Abigail, Gabi, and Rona. We talked about religion and politics among other more benign topics. At one point they asked if I was an Instagram influencer. I said yes, they asked how many followers I had. I answered honestly, about 150, and they laughed it off. I then repeated it as 150K (you know, like a liar) and people got excited very quickly, including this guy who begged me to post a photo of us:

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I napped in the restaurant and we were taken home around 4am after I wasn’t called back for another shot. We each got paid about $20, which mostly covers my 3 nights at the Jaipur hostel.

The next day I did some sightseeing, heading to the Amber Fort, built in the early 1600s, a bit north of the city center.

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Nearby was the stepwell, a somewhat common feature in this part of the world.

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On the way back to the city I hung out on the lakeside staring at the Jal Mahal.

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Then back to town and eventually to the hostel for dinner (they have a good rooftop restaurant) where I hung out with Fluvia and Frida, two Italian women backpacking India and maybe Thailand (they had their next stop identified but nothing after). I also met a girl from Yonkers, my third Westchesterian of the trip.

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The next day I had an ambitious agenda of sites/sights to see around Jaipur. I mapped out about 4-5 hours walking to see a couple of markets, temples, parks, and another fort. After about an hour the honking (and probably prior night’s lack of sleep) really got to me. Rather than visit the Royal Palace I sat in a park for a while until I feared being attacked by monkeys getting closer to me. Then I headed toward the fort and found a quiet spot where I sat on a bench and realized I was forcing myself to see things that were not of great significance to me. Traveling is amazing, but it can also be exhausting. I was totally comfortable calling this day a wash and heading back to my hostel to nap. This pretty much became my evening, relaxing on the roof with whomever was around. With a midday flight the following day there was no reason to go too hard.

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I’m now publishing this post from the airport, where I fly from Jaipur to Kochi (Cochin) via a layover in Chennai. And I will leave you with a song where the chorus goes out to Delhi mostly, but represents each of these three cities. A majority of parts of these cities I experienced smelled foul. When I got a whiff of what I’ll call ‘healthy manure’ while walking around it reminded me of being on a farm in the US, and was ironically almost like a breath of fresh air.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4j7ggZqbiU