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| Delhi, India |
I got Delhi Belly. I had wondered for a while whether Delhi Belly was a term used to describe general stomach malaise in India, or referred specifically to Delhi. So now I’ve figured it out. Hours into our arrival in Delhi, my stomach began its new process of digestion, which differs from what I’m used to mostly in its endgame. I get about one minute’s warning, and then I am either in a bathroom or in a world of hurt. TMI? It’s really not that bad. But I digest…let me speak of our final days in Varkala.
My post from Palolem told a horribly sad doggie tale, and I am proud to report I have a happy one this time. Luna, who we found in such a state that our first thought was to put her out of her misery, recovered more than Kelly or I thought possible. By the time we left, she was running around our room (as well as restaurants we brought her to), barking at every nearby organic life form, and chewing on anything she could get her teeth into. It was a linear recovery, every day better than the last. I had hoped she would have a good recovery, but I simply didn’t think it was possible to become as healthy as she did. We’re talking a transition from an inability to walk three feet toward food to literally running after us for it. It will never be known for sure, but I believe she had Lyme disease, which was cured by the antibiotics we gave her. The energy level change could have come from proper nourishment, but nourishment alone does not allow crippled legs to miraculously start working properly.
By our last day in Varkala, we had grown very attached to Luna, and were very troubled about where to leave her. We spent an entire morning on the internet and phones trying to locate a shelter, but they’re all so overrun with dogs and puppies that they basically explain that they can’t help. We even looked into shipping her to San Diego, but the logistics made it all but impossible. Our best lead for a home was a hawker guy who sold greeting cards on the beach, who said he would take her in. Kelly and I were both kind of creeped out by him. He was too eager to take her in, plus he acted kind of sketchy and had horrible teeth. At the last possible minute (the night before we were leaving), we walked past the internet café we had been at all morning, and a nice guy who works there offered to take her. He had helped us out over a few days, and had proven himself to be super nice, and one of the super-meticulous Indians. This is a sub-class of Indians, who are extremely methodical and “by the book” (I can identify a member of this sub-class in seconds…I’ve worked with many of them over the years). We needed exactly this personality type to ensure Luna would receive the rest of her antibiotics we had painstakingly rationed into separate newspaper packets. What could have easily been a heart-wrenching goodbye instead became a sentimental handoff. Kelly and I left Varkala knowing Luna had a great life ahead of her – a life that will probably be spent terrorizing others (she got very feisty and territorial by the end). In my mind, there is no doubt we saved her life.
Okay, Luna has monopolized my descriptions of Varkala. Let me squeeze in the rest. The second ayurvedic treatment temporarily healed both Kelly’s and my neck, but also left us with scabs (you try scrubbing burning oil into your skin for a half-hour). The manager of our hotel looked like Eddie Murphy, but I forgot to take a picture so you’ll never know. Hours before a rainstorm there were thousands of dragonflies at the cliff (we’re talking plague numbers), but again I was camera-less. Right, I think that’s about it. Varkala was a relaxing five days, during which we accomplished a very rewarding caninitarian project.
I am glad we didn’t go to Delhi first. It would have put us off toward India much more, and we would have doubtless been suckered several times. Bombay wins for most beggars…no question. But Delhi isn’t too far behind with the beggars, but is *way* ahead with the touts and scams. Basically, we have not spoken to a single person with honest intentions. This began right away with our taxi ride from the airport. We hired a cab through the official method – at the fixed-price taxi stand at the airport. Once we were off and running, however, our two drivers (he brought along a friend) eventually claimed to be lost, and after stopping to ask for directions on the street (from a confederate posing as a random), we ended up at a tourist office. We were in the middle of nowhere, and this tourist office was suspiciously open at 11pm while everything else was shut down. By “open” I mean all the lights were off and there was one guy loitering outside the door.
I must point out that by this time both Kelly and I were clear that our drivers were running a scam on us. It is literally straight out of the book (our Lonely Planet). Kelly was starting to get mad about it, and I was just going along with it. I wanted to ride it out for the experience. I knew there was no way I was going to let us end up anywhere but the hotel where we made a reservation. And although our drivers were not trustworthy, there’s really never any physical danger involved with any of the scams in India (except for that one where you wake up on ice with a kidney missing). In my mind, it was sort of cheating to tell our drivers we knew they were scamming us. With this in mind, when the driver’s friend told me to go into the tourist office to ask for directions, I countered that they were the ones navigating, so why doesn’t he go ask? He disappeared into the building, then reappeared and insisted I go in. Kelly was fuming by this point, and blurted out “I’m going!” and stormed into the building. Two minutes later she hadn’t come out, so I walked in with an improvised angry face thrown on. When I found her in the backroom with the tourist guy, she looked up at me, defeated. Later I teased her about how she stormed in there ready to lay the smack down and then softened. Anyway, the guy takes one look at my face (I mean it was a really good angry face), stands up immediately, and walks us out of the office explaining that he will now tell our driver how to get to our (desired) hotel. That was pretty much it. Kelly explained to me later that inside the tourism guy had told her all the standard stuff: our desired hotel was too noisy, wouldn’t we like a room around the corner for cheaper, etc.
This was our first scam in Delhi, but man they just keep coming! Around the block from our hotel is a government run tourist office, which is not for profit and totally legit. Surrounding it are dozens of for profit travel agents, each of which has signage designed to make it look like the single legit office. If you didn’t know which was the legit one ahead of time (from Lonely Planet), you would never make it there. This is because there are hundreds of touts surrounding the area, each approaching you as a friend and eventually steering you to one of their travel agencies. They have clued in that people are reluctant to be led directly into a store, so they have taken to pointing you there and saying you can go yourself, then surreptitiously (yet obviously) following you. We have had amateurs approach us in what was clearly a tout scam from the get go, but we have also walked alongside well-dressed men who I would swear were genuinely trying to help us find our destination, until we were walked to a tourist office. One guy trying to get our attention actually got uppity that we were ignoring him and walking past: “Excuse me. Excuse me! Sir!” It’s hard to convey without the tone of voice he used, but it was that a police officer would use if you were ignoring his directions and he felt threatened. It was so convincing that I stopped to face him. I outsmarted him by using my new secret weapon, however, which works beautifully. I threw him some sign language and said a couple of unintelligible “deaf person” syllables, and took the liberty of walking away as the stupefied look spread across his face. Kelly and I had a good laugh about that one. We now trust nobody. Once you realize this is necessary for survival in Delhi, life becomes easier.
Delhi is the most polluted city I've ever visited. Officially I think it's the 4th most polluted city in the world. If Kerala is "God's country", Delhi is God's ashtray. The night we got in, Kelly commented in the taxi, "Boy, it's really foggy." It wasn't fog. My eyes have been burning since we got here, and I don't dare take a deep breath. It's really impressive, actually...most smells will fade after just a short amount of time. But we've been here three days, and I still continually smell exhaust. Landmarks a couple of blocks away are blurred or invisible. This place makes Los Angeles look like an oxygen bar.
Delhi has been an orgy of shopping. Way more good stuff than Bombay. We’re limited to stuff we can carry in our packs, but we’re doing quite well regardless. Mmmmm, trinkets. Kelly has really gotten her spend on, and is shopping until I drop. We saw the Red Fort for an hour today (for me: forgettable…bring on the Taj!), and every other moment was spent shopping, as it had been the day before. Tomorrow? Kelly wants to shop. Ah, well, it’s not that bad. Also, I have no choice. I have to go where she goes, as she gets mercilessly stared at wherever she goes, and I’m not about to allow her to find out how much worse it gets when she’s not being guarded.
A couple of other mini-stories…We bought Subway sandwiches (my sandwich was turkey-ham and lamb pepperoni) for two boys loitering outside, and were mobbed as we left the scene. Right, no more conspicuous charity. One hawker on the street tried to get my attention by shouting out “Babe!”, having just heard Kelly say that to me and figuring it was my name. Indian men hold hands and I will never adjust to seeing it as a heterosexual act. One guy today had one finger softly clenched in the almost-closed fist of his friend as they perused goods for sale. I am not in the least put off by two gay men holding hands, but attempting to re-classify hand holding as hetero (as it is in India) leads to revolt by my synapses.
That’s about it. In two days we head for Agra to see the mighty Taj Mahal, constructed by Indian emperor Shah Jahan as a memorial to his favorite late wife, Arjumand Banu. I can already hear Kelly nagging, “Why don’t you ever build ME a wonder of the world?”
