Delhi is a city where things basically don't work. About half of ATMs are out of order. There were seatbelts in the cars to and from the airport, but no clasps. My hotel had prominent 'Visa accepted' signs, but this was because they had a broken machine that could once communicate with the Visa network, and they kept the signs to honour its memory. 'Wifi' signs in restaurant windows mean that they have an interesting, well-told story about why they don't have working Wifi. Little packets of butter have a corner that say 'tear here', but actually have to be hacked open with a knife.
The bit about broken wireless networks is the reason I'm just posting all the stuff now, even though I got to Jodhpur yesterday.
The Commonwealth Games were on -- part of the Australian team was in the airport when I arrived -- and were a favourite topic of conversation among autorickshaw drivers, coming third behind tourist offices I should visit and shops I should go to. A dozen or so of the hotel's front lobby staff were watching the opening ceremonies one night when I came in. During the day, though, they watched cricket (India was playing Australia).
Around the Red Fort, cheery blue hoardings saying 'Commonwealth Games 2010' have been put up in an effort to conceal some of the city's slums. Naturally, their 'hey, don't look over here' act has drawn vastly more attention than the slums themselves would have. They're also only about 8' high, while the slums are multistory. And, by being new and shiny, they throw the slums into sharp relief. It's more like dressing the slums in lingerie than covering them up. And, apart from anything else, most of Delhi is a slum, and, short of travelling between the airport and a posh hotel in a car with blacked-out windows, it is impossible not to notice this.
I walked part of the way back from the Red Fort, and found myself at the Old Delhi Railway Station. I knew my hotel was very close to the railway station, but didn't know exactly where, so I found a cycle rickshaw driver. My usual policy is to let myself be ripped off by rickshaw drivers, but his price seemed ridiculous for such a short trip, so I haggled.
I was at the Old Delhi Railway Station. My hotel was near the New Delhi Railway Station, and the trip between the two is long and harrowing. We crossed an overpass that had become a sort of combination dump, slum, and market, with people living in lean-tos amid piles of trash, with the better bits of garbage spread out for sale in front of them. The next street had buildings, but was otherwise no better. In a vacant lot, a group of boys was playing stick cricket; the batsman had no legs. A kid of 14 or so made a threatening gesture to see if he could scare me. Big white cows stood at the side of the busy road; most perfectly calmly, one or two looking like they wouldn't say no to a cab ride to a more salubrious part of town.
The trip took probably 40 minutes. I hadn't actually wanted to go to the hotel, but to a restaurant we passed on the way. I let the driver carry on for the extra block to the hotel for the sense of completion I thought we'd both get. Then I guiltily paid him twice what I'd haggled him down to.
I walked down a side-street in Paharganj after dark to pick up some water and have a look around. For long stretches, there are no working streetlights, the only light coming from shop signs and headlights. The dust and pollution are like thick fog. The stray dogs are more active at night, prowling around alone or nosing through garbage in groups of three or four.
A man with a thin moustache falls in beside me, leans in close, and says marijuanahashishcocainerealgood. Another whispers 'white, brown, female, male...' as I walk past. Beggars with dirty faces do what they can to make their more extreme poverty stand out from the general scene. There are backpackers around, ducking into cheap hotels or browsing the tiny alleyway shops that have been set up for them. Motorcyclists ride through, honking their horns almost continuously so anyone they didn't spot in the darkness and dust has a chance to get out of the way. Around one of the few working streetlights, a group of ten policemen in khaki uniforms sits and stands; one of them threatens a dog with a wooden baton. Two men have climbed one of the area's collapsing power cable poles, and are working away at something in the dark. A worried-looking local man waves me away from that side of the street.
This is a middling, backpacker-friendly part of Delhi at about 8PM.
A very interesting city, but, especially for the first day or two, I was looking forward to getting out of Delhi like a kid looks forward to Christmas.
The bit about broken wireless networks is the reason I'm just posting all the stuff now, even though I got to Jodhpur yesterday.
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| Humayun's Tomb |
Around the Red Fort, cheery blue hoardings saying 'Commonwealth Games 2010' have been put up in an effort to conceal some of the city's slums. Naturally, their 'hey, don't look over here' act has drawn vastly more attention than the slums themselves would have. They're also only about 8' high, while the slums are multistory. And, by being new and shiny, they throw the slums into sharp relief. It's more like dressing the slums in lingerie than covering them up. And, apart from anything else, most of Delhi is a slum, and, short of travelling between the airport and a posh hotel in a car with blacked-out windows, it is impossible not to notice this.
I was at the Old Delhi Railway Station. My hotel was near the New Delhi Railway Station, and the trip between the two is long and harrowing. We crossed an overpass that had become a sort of combination dump, slum, and market, with people living in lean-tos amid piles of trash, with the better bits of garbage spread out for sale in front of them. The next street had buildings, but was otherwise no better. In a vacant lot, a group of boys was playing stick cricket; the batsman had no legs. A kid of 14 or so made a threatening gesture to see if he could scare me. Big white cows stood at the side of the busy road; most perfectly calmly, one or two looking like they wouldn't say no to a cab ride to a more salubrious part of town.
The trip took probably 40 minutes. I hadn't actually wanted to go to the hotel, but to a restaurant we passed on the way. I let the driver carry on for the extra block to the hotel for the sense of completion I thought we'd both get. Then I guiltily paid him twice what I'd haggled him down to.
I walked down a side-street in Paharganj after dark to pick up some water and have a look around. For long stretches, there are no working streetlights, the only light coming from shop signs and headlights. The dust and pollution are like thick fog. The stray dogs are more active at night, prowling around alone or nosing through garbage in groups of three or four.
A man with a thin moustache falls in beside me, leans in close, and says marijuanahashishcocainerealgood. Another whispers 'white, brown, female, male...' as I walk past. Beggars with dirty faces do what they can to make their more extreme poverty stand out from the general scene. There are backpackers around, ducking into cheap hotels or browsing the tiny alleyway shops that have been set up for them. Motorcyclists ride through, honking their horns almost continuously so anyone they didn't spot in the darkness and dust has a chance to get out of the way. Around one of the few working streetlights, a group of ten policemen in khaki uniforms sits and stands; one of them threatens a dog with a wooden baton. Two men have climbed one of the area's collapsing power cable poles, and are working away at something in the dark. A worried-looking local man waves me away from that side of the street.
This is a middling, backpacker-friendly part of Delhi at about 8PM.
A very interesting city, but, especially for the first day or two, I was looking forward to getting out of Delhi like a kid looks forward to Christmas.
