April Fool's Joke Conspiracy Foiled by Facebook

 

It’s not often you can credit Facebook for keeping you on track, but it happened to me.

Countless afternoons of being carried on the wings of whims, hungers and a search for the cheapest place to get a decent coffee had extinguished my reliance on a wrist watch, let alone a calendar. I’d been keeping a lazy eye on the date via my computer but somehow I’d managed to not notice that it had been April 1^st for about 4 days straight.  It was a tasteful April Fool’s joke, I suspect, caused by a power surge that fried my laptop battery.

Then a status update by a friend who I was supposed to meet on the 5^th of April in Istanbul read: “In a few hours I’ll never have to listen to Korean pop ever again”.  

A few hours? A few days maybe….

A stranger, huffing a giant hash joint at the table next to me, confirmed the date.  It was April 4^th already. I had about 14 hours to get to Delhi to make my plane.  Oops.

Naked, covered in ash from human cremation, carrying a human skull, and impossibly surreal, an Aghori walked in my direction as I hastily exited the coffee shop.  This was, I assume, an extension to the April Fool’s joke being played on me by the cosmic forces.  I’d been searching for these guys since I arrived in India. In my final, rushed hours, they passed me by. India is a playful place and jokes at your expense are frequent.

Minutes later, all that I own has been collected from my hotel room and stuffed into a bag on my back. I’m on a bus before I can even turn around to say good-bye to Rishikesh…this place that I really loved.

Run to the bus, then an auto-rickshaw to the airport, the 10 hour journey is complete.  4 hours to spare. Thanks for everything India.  Really. 

Return to Delhi

To enter a room and immediately forget what you’re looking for is how I feel, standing in the dusty Delhi winds.

 

Only 10 hours ago I might have come as close to death as I’ve ever experienced while on route here from Dharamsala (mom, skip this paragraph). The so-called Deluxe Bus was bulkily negotiating “S” curves at night on roads carved into Himalayan slopes. Coming down, the tires found gravel and slid with locked wheels towards a bend much greater than 90 degrees. The oncoming drop was recognizable only by the bus’s headlights reaching out into the nothingness of dark void we were approaching, with tiny city lights scattered unknown depths below. Oh, hello Doom. But we crackled to a stop, reversed back up the hill, and approached the turn again slower. The walk back would have taken hours and already it was night, but I considered it. In the seat directly behind me, a monk’s mumbling mantra turned into gurgling vomit which continued, off and on, until we reached the Indian plains four hours later.

From Dharamsala, the ride is advertized as being 12 hours, yet I’ve not yet arrived to or from without mechanical failure prolonging the trip by at least another 2.  God help you if you have the shits. Or the barfs. Something busted about 4 hours from our destination this time. We piled into another bus along the night-time highway.

Indian logistics: If one bus is nearly full and another bus is a little past its capacity, then it’s perfectly reasonable to combine the loads onto whichever bus happens to be working better at that time.

Good-bye seat…

We arrived and stepped out into the dawn and swarms of aggressive touts dancing in circles to stay in my Caucasian field of vision, all offering, over and over and over, ‘cheap’ transportation to my destination.

The truth was that I didn’t know where I was going; what I needed was a quiet moment to sort it out for myself.  

Why did I leave the paradise of Dharamsala for?  Surely I had a reason…

The only other white person on the bus was a woman who was doing her best to lose the touts. I asked her, “so, where you off to?” She gave me an answer I didn’t completely understand. Something about a famous hugging nun and her Nepalese friends around the corner.  It wasn’t much I could relate to but when she asked me if I’d like to join, I accepted. And this was my lucky break.

Where the bus had dropped us off was at a miniature Tibetan colony in north eastern corner of Delhi. It’s a labyrinth of narrow and shaded walkways with doors in the walls to where people live and holes in the wall from where people sell stuff. Her Nepalese friend lived here because he sold thungkas (Tibetan mandalas on cloth) and other spiritually significant trinkets for consumers of enlightenment. I was just going to ask him if he knew of any places where I could lodge for the night but he invited me in and served me the best meal I’ve had in a long time: curried water-buffalo (or ‘buff’—a reasonable alternative to beef), spiced spinach and long-grained rice with some sort of outstanding flavor in it.  Generally, the most generous people I’ve ever met are from Nepal—something I’ve heard from others, too.  After he fed me, he brought me to a room for rent, which is not only good enough but considerably cheaper than other places in the vicinity. Generosity to strangers is something I’m neither familiar nor even normally comfortable with, but being road-weary and lonely, it made my day.

The room is a lonely box to sleep in but that it’s in a mini village of Tibetan exiles makes it seem a bit familiar, which sooths me.

Looking at the map, the colony is called ‘Majnu-Ka-Tilla’, situated about 6~8 km north of Old Delhi, between the Yamuna River and a small highway called Hedgewar Marg road. The place of lodging appears to be nameless but the Tibetan-run restaurant on the ground floor is called ‘Himalayan café’. It is, I discovered, an odd place.

I sat at the table for some time before asking for a menu, which I then had to negotiate for through body language and broken English. The result was that I got not only the menu but also the impression that a menu was the last thing the waiter expected to be asked for. It took him a few minutes to find it. When I ordered my meal (chicken chilli!) he had to confirm, more than once, that this meal would be for me, despite the restaurant being otherwise empty.  I pointed at my face and belly and nodded.  What came was chicken chowmein. Close enough I guess, since it did have some chicken in it. It filled me up and cost half as much as the chilli. For this interesting (and fiscally responsible) dining experience, I tipped him 10 rupees. 

How to do Delhi:

Before you go:

Visa:

To obtain a 3 month tourist visa is done easily from the Indian embassy in whichever country you live in, or more commonly, via the web. When I got my own, I happened to live in Korea though I was not a resident, and I dealt with the Indian Embassy in Korea. Google whichever Indian Embassy is closest.

As the visa is attached to your passport, part of the procedure involves either couriering your passport to their office or showing up in person. They will send it back within a week or so.

Downloading the application form can be done from their website.

The procedure requires is a fee, which, in my case (a Canadian), was about 60 dollars Cdn. 

Bring:

Pack as light as humanly possible.  The following items are what I consider essentials.

-         A discrete money belt to fasten around your torso will be wanted for holding your passport, emergency money, credit cards, and anything small but hugely valuable. Uncomfortable as this might be, it reduces the likelihood of being pick-pocketed out of something truly valuable.

-         Your back-pack is going to be your house while you’re traveling. Get a decent one.

-         Money. Obvious. Before going, it will be wise to do two things. First, bring with you about 10,000 rupees at least. Also, open a Citibank account and put your vacation funds in there. Most bank machines in Delhi (in India) will be able to draw from there.  I live off of about 500-700 rupees a day and though I’m not splurging, I’m not suffering, either. Nor am I particularly shrewd, nor a well-seasoned traveler. However, I do try to avoid being fleeced, which is where the next item can be important…

-         Lonely Planet or some equally informative travel guide will be your bible. Buy an up-to-date version and keep it with you. Read it often.  On the toilet, waiting for a meal, as night time reading—read it.  When you arriving anywhere, get a local to point out where you are on the corresponding map inside. Navigating the city and negotiating taxi or auto-rickshaw prices will be much, much easier with this. Also, it is invaluable when you start buying bus or train tickets.  

-         Clothes you’ll need, but heaps of them. One rule of thumb is two of everything. One you wash and hang to dry in your hotel, the other you wear. Switch and repeat. I’ve found this to be a good way to do business. However, if you’re leaving Delhi to go to the mountains, you’ll need more clothes as it gets cold and rainy.

-         A handful of other small things I highly recommend: Anti-bacterial gel for waterless hand-washing, a flashlight with extra batteries for Delhi’s frequent power outages, multi-vitamins to maintain a healthy immune system and ear-plugs so that sleeping is actually a possibility.

-         Everything else is optional. The question of a laptop and/or a nice camera is one you’ll have to decide for yourself. The negatives are that they’re heavy, bulky, and something to worry about.

Nearly everything else can be easily obtained in Delhi, probably cheaper than what you’re going to pay where you live. If you’ve packed and still have plenty of room in your bag, then you’re on the right track. You have some room for the beautiful and cheap things Delhi offers on the streets.

Arrival:

I’m assuming that you don’t have somebody waiting for you at the airport. If you do, then you're lucky. Also, you don't need to read this.

So, you arrive and the acrid air, countless people in striking attire and appearance, slew of unfamiliar languages as well as the colossal size of the both the airport and the city beyond is intimidating you. Don’t panic.  Get your luggage go find somewhere to sit down to find a little calm. Good. Now, on the far left and right of the airport passenger exit are little booths. First, go to the one for hotels and get a room that’s within your budget (since you’re dealing with the airport, a ‘budget’ hotel will still be relatively costly—around 1600 for the cheapest). Now you have a place to sleep. Next, go to the next booth and get a pre-paid taxi. DO NOT GET JUST SOME TAXI OUTSIDE. YOU'LL BE SCAMMED. Show the pre-paid taxi clerk where you’re staying (on the ticket you just received from the hotel booth), and s/he'll sell you another ticket which you’re going to give to the pre-paid taxi—a car which is yellow and black—and the driver will then take you to your hotel. 

Now, keep both sets of tickets in a safe place. 

There are bank machines in the airport. If you need to use a bank machine, now is the time.

You may now leave the airport.

And enter a world of scam.  In the crowds of people there is the sad but inevitable fact: countless charlatans are attracted to the new arrivals, their money, and their being overwhelmed.  Anybody who approaches you should be automatically and categorically suspected. This is not pathological paranoia; it is accurate assessment. Note also that it is not your life that is in danger (in 99.99% of cases); they’re just after your money.  Now, what you’re looking for is the lane for pre-paid taxis, and there are people who are going to claim that they drive a pre-paid taxi (or a million other things) to try to get your ticket, which is worth money. They even buy black cars and paint yellow on them to match the descriptions you hear from pre-paid booths. Do not be led anywhere. To get to the pre-paid taxis, walk across the first asphalt lane of traffic and parked vehicles, and along the second lane you’ll see the black and yellow taxis. There are signs with numbers where each of these beaten up cars are parked, and there should be a number on your ticket. Find the sign that matches your ticket, and this driver will take you to where you’re going. If you cannot find the pre-paid taxis or yours in particular, go to a police officer or a pre-paid ticket booth outside, and ask. Follow the directions and not those of anybody who happened to be eavesdropping and wants to show you the way.  

Once you’ve got your taxi, avoid giving the driver your ticket until you get to your destination. And make sure that you’re at the right hotel before you get out. This sounds like a hassle and it can be, and it can also be intimidating. 

[Note that if you’re a female lone traveler, extra caution would be prudent. Bring a cellular phone, and give the license plate number to the nearby tourist police--and do it when the taxi driver is looking. One lone traveler was killed by a taxi-driver leaving the Delhi airport in 2004. Although the traveler was described as 'clueless', India travelers will tell you differently--she used pre-paid taxis, which are government sponsored and should presumably be safe.  Take extra precautions.]
 

Upon arrival to your hotel, present the front desk clerk with your hotel ticket and you’ll be given a room.  Now, chill out. Maybe spend some time with your lonely planet going over the details of your next move. . . 

A helpful forum for anything India-related is India Mike.