Created: 17th of May
Updated: 22nd of May
We are on the way back to New Delhi, before returning to Aligarh for the wedding (which is the reason I came to India in the first place), wedding that will constitute part 7. The rest of the group plans to stay in the Old Delhi, in the neighborhood of Paharganj, which the French government explicitly recommends to avoid because of criminal activity. The hotel's reviews are good, but probably fake. It's really hard to know until you get there. I don't want to take any chance, so I just book an AirBnb in a place I know is safe: south of Delhi, close to where we were in part 4...
On the highway, before arriving in the city, I see the same old Big Pile O'Trash as a couple of days ago, when we drove to Chandigarh. Curious, I check whether it's on google maps, and of course, it is and there are reviews. The situation is apparently getting better, in that the pile gets smaller and smaller. But in summer, it sometimes catches fire. Imagine living nearby.
The way to the hotel is quite long, Delhi is after all a congested city. We we arrive at the hotel, it doesn't look as bad as I imagined. But I still have my reservation, so I ask our driver to take me to the AirBnb. It's "supposed" to take half an hour, according to Google Maps. But the traffic is horrendous, and we end up taking two or maybe even three times that. I feel really bad for VJ, who is going to get home quite late. I should have taken the subway instead...
Even in an AirBnb with a single room, there's paperwork. The owner has—you guessed it—a Big Notebook™️ on which he writes my name, my passport number, and so on. The configuration of my hosts' flat is a bit weird: the entrance is at ground level, there's a couple of rooms, and there's a flight of stairs going down. Are they living in the basement?
At last alone, in a quiet place, the tension that's been building within me releases. I'm exasperated of dealing with other people's drama, I've had two weeks of near-constant stress and over-stimulation, and on top of that, a migraine is setting in (it's like I am in a mental basement). I even get to the point where I imagine taking a plane and going back home right now and how relieved I would feel. Anyhow, I have come here to attend a wedding, and I will.
I lie down listening to a podcast, trying to forget the throbbing pain, and end up falling asleep like that.
Twelve hours later—yes, twelve—I wake up without pain and feeling better. Tea, music. The others are going to eat somewhere at Connaught Place also known as Rajiv Chowk, a huge circular plaza. I can take the subway to join them there.
When I arrive at Rajiv Chowk, I still don't know what restaurant we're supposed to meet at. We have light-speed communication across the globe, connected through incredibly powerful devices we carry in our pockets, yet it's never been so difficult to coordinate! But we do, in the end.
I have my habits now, when it comes to food, so it'll be a Thali again.
After eating, the plan is to go to Red Fort. I hesitate: it's a highly touristic place, it's going to be crowded, and it's in the Old Delhi. But I'm already here, I might as well go. It's also close to the subway station, which is practical for me.
In the car, on the way there, VJ tells us that the place is pretty hard to navigate to, and that it's better to hire rickshaws to go see Red Fort, the mosque, and the spice marked. Somehow, we circle Red Fort almost in its entirety before we reach the parking. VJ calls his friends, and a few moments later we're in... not-even-rickshaws: simply three human-powered two-seater tricycles.
How awkward... I feel kind of ashamed, it's a bit too reminiscent of slavery for my taste. I know, they're paid and the locals travel like that too. But in those conditions... The large boulevard in front of Red Fort is overpacked like hell, traffic almost at a standstill, people crossing how they can, bikes slaloming between everybody, and all this in a joyous cacophony of horns. It's so close to hell and absurd that it becomes funny!
Our drivers—our... engines?—are not taking us to Red Fort, quite the opposite. We leave the boulevard to get into Old Delhi, which I'm just imagining as a more hellish version of Delhi (I'm sorry if that's too much "hell" for you, I'm just trying to transcribe the emotion I felt at the moment).
I don't think it's entirely wrong though. It's more crowded, poorer, messier, probably more dangerous, and even more stimulating. It's one thing to see people from afar, or some knocking on your car's window to beg for money. It's another to be part of what feels like an unescapable mess of tiny streets, and be so close to people living a life so alien. I don't mean it a derogatory way at all, I just want to emphasize the sheer contrast, a contrast so great that it slaps you in the face, again and again.
We stop at the mosque, Jama Masjid. It's... disappointing, there's not much to see; it's not particularly beautiful. In the center of the mosque, there's a bassin. People seem to "wash" their arms with it, other scoop some water with their hands, putting it in their mouth before spitting it back.
While we're there, A. tells me he'd rather live in the jungle than here, even if it meant eventually getting bitten by a snake or something...
Back to our driver-cyclists. We tell them we don't wanna go to the spice market, but directly to Red Fort. We engage in narrow streets, where no car could go, until we join Chandi Chowk Road, which I guess is the main artery of Old Delhi. From there, because it's all so chaotic, we just walk to Red Fort, crossing the boulevard we were on at the beginning—which is an interesting experience.
It's too late to go inside, but we still get to see the beautiful facade. I let the other do whatever they want: I'm taking the subway and going back home!
It's not so simple though. The ticket machine has no paper tickets anymore. I try the app: credit card refused. So I just queue for the counter. Some people simply skip the line and to directly to the counter; it seems queues don't work the same way here!
The next day, I don't want to do anything special, I just want to find a nice place to eat breakfast. Good thing I'm in the southern part of Delhi!
Then it's just some walking, reading and working out.
And for dinner, a bibimbap ordered on Zomato, the local food delivery app.
Two of A's friend are coming the day after tomorrow, and A wants a familiar face to be there when they land. But he and the rest of the group have planned to go back to Aligarh sooner. Which means that I will be the one to do that.
The next day, after checking out and eating breakfast, I need to take the subway to go to the airport. I've booked a hotel room, so that I can be in time to greet A's friends when they land the next morning. And yes, also because the hotel is pretty nice.
Once again, buying the subway ticket isn't trivial. I ask for a ticket to Aerocity, but the man at the counter is telling me things I don't understand, with his thick accent, even with all the concentration I can muster. After some hand-waving, I finally get it: I can't get a direct ticket to Aerocity. He'll give me a ticket to the station I need to transfer at, and I'll need to buy another ticket there. It was simple after all.
Aerocity is a brand-new neighborhood with hotels, restaurants and shops, just by the airport. Visually speaking, it could be anywhere on the planet, but that makes all the difference when coming from Delhi. Well, that's what I see when I emerge from the subway:
Could be better, but it'll improve a lot once the infrastructure is finished. I booked a room at the Aloft hotel which might be one of the most luxurious hotels I've ever stayed in.
The normality and comfort provide a welcome pause. I can just rest, workout at the hotel's gym, and even swim a bit in the pool. It's December though ("winter"), so the water is not particularly hot, probably around 12-14°C. It goes without saying that I haven't seen anybody else in there!
It's immensely enjoyable to be able to work out in good conditions! It's otherwise quite difficult to take care of my body while traveling here, both to find the right food and to do enough physical effort.
At the center of Aerocity, is a stretch of kind-of-a-park-but-not-quite, a walking-only area, which leads to a shopping mall, with its food court, restaurants and bars. Today is actually Christmas—the first I spend alone. There's a Christmas market in the park, which feels just like any other Christmas market. The mood is relaxed.
At the restaurant, on the TV, there's a sport I don't recognize. When I ask the waiter what it is, he tells me it's Kabaddi, an India contact sport, which I think is worth taking a look at.
In the morning, after working out again, I go down to eat breakfast. It's expensive, but worth it: the biggest, pretties breakfast buffet I have ever seen. There are fruits, cakes, dishes with potatoes, rice, meat, lots of Indian breads, cereals, toast, different fruit juices, olives, cheese. On top of that, you can ask for eggs, omelettes, pancakes with chocolate, waffles... It's like a dream come true.
A.'s friends, let's call them Julien and Claire, are arriving later than planned because of the fog that's around the airport. I can see on Flighradar24 that they're in a holding pattern. Which means, more time for this beautiful breakfast...
I do eventually have to go to the airport. After a bit of additional waiting (outside of the airport, as you have to have a boarding pass to get it), they arrive. Like last time, it's a bit difficult to get a Ola or Uber, and then to find the driver, but we manage.
The road to Aligarh is long. I chat with Julien and Claire, trying to set their expectations. They're only gonna be there for a week, before flying back to Europe—just for the wedding. It's funny to see them surprised by things I'm now getting used to; although they don't seem too impressed.
I wonder why that is. Is it because they're detached from the experience, not taking it at heart? Is it too soon? Are they less sensitive? Who knows...
The highway. The driver talking on the phone. Then the stretch of smaller road, going through cities. Bustling streets, honking trucks, cows eating thrash, shops the size of a cupboard, people smiling back when you smile at them. Slowness. Patience.
About three—or is it four?—hours later, we arrive at the hotel where the wedding will take place. But that's for next part! See you then.
Don't quit when you feel like quitting. Wait for three days first.
