Asian Journal - Chapter 7 - Indian Summer (April 2000)

Asian Journal - Chapter 7 - Indian Summer (April 2000)As I’d never really wanted to go to India I’d not planned to spend any longer in Delhi than it takes to transfer from one flight to another, but over the past couple of months I’d spoken to countless travellers who’d persuaded me to make the effort to see some more of the country.Having no information on travelling in India I found myself sweltering in the mid-summer heat, with daily temperatures easily reaching 40c. This heat, combined with the pollution, stench and general squalor of the city streets gives Delhi its own atmosphere. A feeling that can only be described awesome. An over-powering sensual attack that’s uniquely India.I spent Two days exploring both Old and New Delhi. Stunned by the architecture, choked by the rancid smell of stale urine and constantly surprised by scenes of daily street life. In some other cities I’ve felt like I’ve only scratched the surface but in Delhi I felt instantly immersed, and whilst being swept along I came closer to Indian life and culture, simply through osmosis.After 48-hrs I was ready for a break, and caught an early train SouthWest to the ancient city of Jaipur.As the capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur has a totally different feel from that of Delhi. Walking along its streets was like stepping back in time with camels pulling laden carts, women veiled from head to toe and holy cows aimlessly wandering to and fro. I was woken early by the wild peacocks high in the hotel garden trees and set out to find a driver to help me explore the city.After hours of argueing, first about the agenda, then the price, and finally the number of commission paying shops I could be dragged round I struck a deal with the rickshaw-wallah and we set of towards the ancient city of Amber. High in the desert hills 20 Kms from Jaipur stands the beautiful Amber Palace, overlooked and protected from historic troubles by Amber Fort. Although this was the off-season for tourists there were still a few Indian holiday makers exploring the grounds and buildings of the palace and seeking shade in the walled garden below, but as climbed past the Palace and on up to the Fort the crowds began to thin out. Shortly I found myself alone on the dusty path an unsure whether I should be watching the desert plains spill out before me or the bushes for ill intent Indians.On a couple of occasions whilst I’ve been travelling I’ve had some trouble being a single female and these times have always been preceded by an unnerving feeling of fear, not unlike the one I was experiencing now. My instincts didn’t betray me and around the corner came a group of 5 adolescent Indian boys. Loud, bulshy and focused on me. It’s a times like this that I wished I had one of the following: a very convincing replica gun, in-depth knowledge of at least 3 martial arts, one of those clouds Monkey has which whisks him away from various situation. The sky being crystal clear I reached for my only weapon, 1-litre of India’s finest bottled water. Held cap end and swung meaningfully it offered my first and only line of defence. As our paths crossed one of the boys suddenly darted straight for me in what I believe was more of an attempt to scare me than harm me, but I wasn’t taking any chances and the bottle let out a satisfying smack as it made contact with his arm. My next worry was if they reciprocated the attack, but they strode on, no doubt chuffed at having scared the pants of me. I climbed on and hastily explored the fort very conscious of being totally isolated and also somewhat at siege as both the boys and I knew there was only one route in and out of the site.I climbed to the highest part of the old wall and through the ramparts confirmed my worst fear. Up the path were coming the same 5 guys. Option 1 – Hide somewhere near the entrance gate and slip out once they’d come inOption 2 – Arm myself with a couple of decent rocks and head straight for themI knew that I was better off outside the ruins in the open so grabbed a couple of chunks of the local sandstone and set of towards them, as confidently as possible.I’m not sure why I did it but I started banging the stones together, just in a nonchalant manner but it had the effect of letting these shits know I wasn’t going to scared again. As our paths crossed for the second time and the distance between us grew I turned back and the anxiety and fear escaped me in a string of abusive insults, aimed directly at India’s over-attentive males.With all my senses set to sensitive my driver and I spent the rest of the day exploring Jaipur and its countless markets and museums. The temperature was at 48c for most of the day, I was tired, filthy and still somewhat nervous following the Fort fiasco but I’d fallen in love with the place and was sad to have to leave so soon for Agra.Home of the Taj Mahal and just 3 hours from Delhi by train Agra is possibly one of the most visited cities in India, and the rickshaw drivers know it! The Lonely Planet and guest house visitors books are peppered with tales of dodgy drivers who refuse to take you anyway useful and instead drag you round various craft shops, of which they’re all on commission from. Having already been through Bangkok I was more than prepared for this kind of behaviour and made damn sure I wasn’t going to fall victim to their foul play. One thing I wasn’t prepared for was the water scam. Indians are a resourceful race, but not totally ethical and me being naive to their ways thought I’d be safe if I stuck to bottled water. Having walked across a bridge earlier in the day and seen the bloated body of a child in the river below I certainly wasn’t going to be touching the local H2O, but gulped merrily on the WHO certified aqua in the bottle before me. The heat in Agra was appauling. Close to 50c, and with the air-con in the room it didn’t get much below 45c but I was oblivious to this as I rang to reception for extra blankets and more towels. I was sick. I was learning the hard way that most bottled water is filled from the tap in the street then sealed in a dodgy workshop just 100m away.Having spent almost 3 months travelling without more than a cold I couldn’t believe that just 3 days before I flew home I was now prisoner in my own hotel room, not able to move further than 2 feet from either the bathroom or the bed. Days and nights merged as I discovered why there was a bucket next to the toilet and none of the coloured pills in my first-aid kit worked. After 48hrs of hell, broken only by visits from the receptionist to ensure I was still breathing I felt strong enough to leave the room and venture up to the roof to catch the magnificent Taj Mahal as the sun set.Having not eaten for 3 days and with the temperature still rising I spent the next day sitting quietly in the grounds of the Taj watching as the sun changed the colour of the marble and Indian life play out before me. Old women in beautiful saris hobbled through the beautiful gardens, young Indian girls in western dress posed Diana style for photos and groups of overweight European package tourists waddled about sweating profusely and video-ing everything. I admit I spent more time people watching than I did admiring the vista before me but it sure made for interesting viewing.3-hours later I was back in the YWCA Delhi desperately trying to cram clothes into my rucksac and contemplating food for the first time in a while. 6 hours on and courtesy of Lufthansa I’m 30,000ft above the city on my way to Europe. My Asian explorations were over, for the time being.