India's not another country, it's another world. One that instantly grabs you and doesn't let go. The sheer chaos of it exhausts your every sense and offers no place to hide. It's a non stop in your face bazaar. If the United States is tylenol, India is LSD.
We left the airport each with our forty pound packs and a pre-paid taxi ticket as to avoid andy scams with a driver. If only it were that easy. Immediatly we were bombarded by drivers shuffling us this way and that, all speaking at the same time quick and inarticulately, which combined with the rest of the airport madness put us in a taxi so fast weren't sure where we were headed. And it didn't stop. The roads were packed side to side with taxis, busses, motorcycles, bikes, and rickshaws all dancing recklesly down the street. We weaved in and around the other vehicles with no regard for lane or traffic signal. As the driver explained it; all you need to drive in India is a good horn, good brakes, and good luck. The United States is a Sunday morning, India's a Friday night.
The driver got lost and we ended up at a travel agency, one where he was no doubt in cahoots with to try and get a little comission. But we denied any service and firmly requested he take us to our pre-determined destination. By this time we were careening through small streets and alleyways where the traffic consisted of more people and cows than cars. People cooking steaming curry in giant pots, people carrying statues, people begging at the window, people talking, walking, running, yelling, and selling everywhere. And as darkness quickly crept over the city the chaos only seemed to multiply. Finally our driver assured us we were very near our hotel, but we would need to walk the rest of the way because the street was too crowded. When we got out it didn't take us long to realize we were nowhere near where we were supposed to be. Instead, we were the only westerners in sight, trying to maneuver the crowded maze with our giant packs and figure out what to do next. Eventually we found someone who helped us get on the metro in the right direction. Once off the metro we took a cycle rickshaw to our hotel. By the time we found it it was dark with the only light coming from fires along the streets cooking and burning garbage. The fires lit what seemed to be the endless sea of faces that moved like a storm with us caught in the middle. The United States is a slight breeze, India's a hurricane.
Our room was a double bed squeezed in a space barely any bigger with a toilet that didn't flush and a shower that didn't drain. But we were exhausted and fell right to sleep. In the morning we got a cab back to the airport to get Curtis. The morning heat was bearable and the streets had yet to come alive, which made for a relaxing morning and served to rejuvinate our spirits. We dropped Curtis' bags off and began trekking towards Old Delhi where we wanted to see the spice market and the Red Fort. We didn't do either. After getting lost numerous times due to the complete non-existence of street signs we sprung the rupees for a metro ticket and got dropped off in the heart of the Old City.
Old Delhi is the strongest argument I have ever encountered for the idea that the Universe is chaos. A series of completely uncontrolled accidents, resulting in only more accidents. No order, no reason, no purpose; madness for the sake of madness. Your eyes don't know where to look, your ears don't know how to decipher, your body doesn't seem to want to work right. A cow in front of you, a bus honking right behind you, and two people yelling at you on either side. This place is not for the faint of heart. The amount of stuff simultaneously happening is unbelievable. We wandered around lost and in awe for awhile before we couldn't handle it anymore and went back to the area of our hotel to get some lunch. After lunch Curtis took a nap and Cherisse and I went shopping where we couldn't help but entertain the idea of buying everthing and taking it home to re-sell for a fortune. Everything is so cheap!
Now we're sitting on a rooftop drinking a beer and listening to a mixture of the incessant car horns, touts, and drums. Cherisse just came up for where she was watching the streetlife as I wrote and said that she saw and Indian guy get his shirt caught and ripped by a cow he didn't see coming from behind. Surprised, he got loose, patted the cow on it's head and bowed in prayer to it. I love it, just as at the end of the day we love it here. Although if the United States is a Charles Wysocki, India is no doubt a Jackson Pollock!
Tomorrow...the Taj Mahal.
