En route to the airport our parents' car broke down, and we stood in an irrigation ditch beside the motorway for 40 minutes, certain of a nasty death. Quite possibly the closest any of us had come to Indian living. Fortunately we made it to the airport, where emoshunal goodbyes abounded.
New Delhi is an odd city of countless roundabouts and wide streets - a stark contrast to the chaos of old Delhi, where the sky is barely visible for the wires dangling overhead. On our first morning we visited the Red Fort, whose name leaves few surprises - it really is (disappointingly) just a red group of buildings, housing sketchy museums. It's a sad shadow of what I'm sure was a fantastic former self - part of the entrance has been transformed into a Westfield-esque bazaar. Lissy's likening it to clapham common summed it up nicely.
Perhaps the saving grace was found outside the fort's walls - a man selling fake beards that were certainly not "100% nylon", and more likely made from the back hair of sweatshop workers. Pitying my lack of facial fauna, lissy bought me one, and as I put it I underwent a Jim-Carey-in-The-Mask-like transformation.
Convinced that bearded me was Lissy's grandpa, a cycle-rickshawer agreed to give us a tour of old Delhi: we choked on the chilli fumes of the spice market, entering a old haveli from whose roof we had great views of the chaos below and a papadam factory. The beard got a mixed reception - I would've been lynched if I hadn't removed it when our cyclist man got into a proper fist fight with a stranger. My dreams of being a united bearded brotherhood were swiftly shattered. We continued on through old Delhi, snaking through alleyways that were truly unique in character - character here meaning an indescribable smell and a constant throng of people and other animals. Dinner was at the amazing Spice Route, a restaurant that took 7 years to build.
We visited Gandhi's memorial museum at Birla house, tracing his footsteps to the spot where he died. Seeing his possessions was quite moving, and the place's peacefulness was pretty fitting. However, the "interactive museum" upstairs was genuinely, totally bonkers, designed only possibly for toddlers on crack.
We chilled out at Lodi Gardens (a haven for blokes holding hands 💘) before eating at the fantastic Grey Garden within the curious Hauz Khas village - a hub of bars/restaus reminiscent of a Mediterranean "strip".
The qutab minar looked decidedly like the tower of Sauron, towering 70m above its surrounding ruins and the goblin-like swarms of schoolchildren. City slickers, we cruised on the fantastic Delhi metro: it's probably nicer than the London version, except during rush hour, when it becomes a hub for bromancing - they just have to hug real close... We relaxed at Humayun's tomb - a squat, red taj - before rickshawing to the Lotus temple. Bizarre. A huge queue snaked into the extraordinary building, which is home to the kooky Baha'ii religion. Fearing brainwashing we rushed off for the last dinner of India.
And then it was the next morning and we were at the airport and India lay behind us - a most incredible country that we'd barely scratched the surface of, as "nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else". Until next time.
With love
No comments:
Post a Comment