A shower. A nap. A map. A bite. At our quick breakfast nosh (as Alex likes to call a small bite) we met two Parisians; two girls that spoke English well and had been in India for 1 month already. A plan was drafted: we would meet later for dinner or to check out the nightlife. We left the hotel to walk around and take in the city. At this point it was around noon. We headed to an area that which tourists typically go to check out. Connaught Circle.
On our way we were accosted again and again by anyone with a product or service to pedal. After turning away, with some difficulty I might add, several of these types, we found ourselves on a more lonely strip without shops and with few pedestrians. A man approached us. He seemed quite friendly. We were hoping to meet some nice people and, really, we let our guard down after the gauntlet we had just barely escaped. "Oh Connaught Place. Yes. You must go there. There is a Govt tourist office where you can get free maps and advice. You have lonely planet?" That struck me as odd that he would ask that. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He pointed us to a certain tourist office, hailed an autorickshaw, negotiated the price (a very low fare) and sent us off. Oh, and he flashed some credential earlier in the convo saying that he worked for the transit authority at the train station, which was across the way.
We thought we were going to a government tourist office the likes of which many cities have to help tourists navigate their way. Under the this mindset we entered. We were ushered to a fast talking salesmen named Guy...Actually, his name was Moustafa, but he liked to refer to himself as 007. His email address stated as much. This should have been a warning sign I suppose. But, after he flashed another credential (now assumed to be a forgery), showed us some success stories, assured us he worked for the govt and that his office was nonprofit - he did his work for the joy of helping people (hey, it's india, the place of Karma and great yoga teachers. How could this guy be lying?). He then proceeded to show us a bunch of song and dance, got us some free waters, had a driver waiting to take us around Delhi at "no cost" and promised to quit his job if we were not satisfied. He had a 'recent customer' get on the phone with me to assure me it was legit (now known to be Moustafa's cousin faking an identity). He showed us pictures of where we would be staying, thank you cards from happy people served. He even put the airlines agent on speaker phone to get a price quote (now known to be another fake call). What didn't this guy do or promise?
He sold us on this idea of getting out of the hellish city to a mountain town called Dacsum, where we would stay on a pristine lake with a bunch of other travelers, breath the fresh air, enjoy a Cherry festival (taking place in 2 days) and possibly catch the Dalai Lama (the very next day, though we now know the Dalai Lama was nowhere near there). I mean, it was a perfect storm. We were in a daze of sorts. Delhi was a bit crazy: The heat, the traffic, the shouting, the humidity, the pollution. Maybe we should start our trip in the north, get acclomated and then return.
But, we had to book NOW. There was no waiting because planes had to be booked, cars reserved, mountains moved. Now now now! Ugh. Like a mesmerized Charlie Bucket in a candy shop, I handed over my last farthing expecting to win. We were then whisked to the car, driven around to various sights in the city - The Lotus Temple, Katb Minar, and the ruins of a Mughal Fort and Burial Site. It was all very interesting, but we were very ill at ease. We were having doubts about what we had just done. We were worried. Not that we were simply scammed. no, no. My imagination conjured an entire conspiracy of upfront hostpiality used to wow us into dull complacency at which point we would be shipped to Pakistan for ransom, I would be sent to a labor camp and Alex sold into sexual slavery.
Despite our suspicions, we reasoned that we were most likely over reacting and that we should see this out. We were returned to our hotel, late, with little time before bed. We didnt think to get on the internet to double check the prices and the agency - afterll, it was nonprofit and part of a govt bureau whose mission it was to promote and encourage safe tourism to the North. Seemed reasonable enough. Maybe INdia was trying to improve it's image abroad by helping foreigners. We packed, slept and left the hotel early.
Our driver was there waiting for us. For some reason he couldn't pull up in front of the hotel. hmmm. He at first refused to show me the tickets. I insisted to make sure they were real. It seemed real, however, our destination as listed was Srinagar. I asked about that. Srinagar was the airport outside of Dacsum the driver explained. Ok. That seemed legit. So many times when flying on Ryan Air in Europe I landed at nearby airports with obscure names and then drove to the city proper. All was well on the abduction front it seemed. We left. We boarded.
I realized mid flight, while watching the flight progress animations that we were headed 120 KM away from Islamabad, to Kashmir.
"you dumn fuck!" I grumbled to myself, upset that my knowledge of geography and state capitals did not include the name of the Kashmiri Capital city, Srinagar. "um, Al?" I ventured meekly. "we are headed to Kashmir, not this place Dacsum." "what!?!?!"
yeah....
