Delhi, morning 2

You know those cheap plastic toys that have a string of elastic running through them and when you press up on the pedestal bottom, they collapse because the tautness of the string was what was holding them together? Well, this is what happens to me when I travel - that string is released. I feel it let go, I can almost hear the ping. My breath comes more easily, my muscles sing. And it happens even when I’m in a terribly polluted city, where the smog hangs visibly in the air.  It happens even when I’m not sure how I’ll find my next meal or get to my next destination. It happens even when I hardly know what that destination is. It happened this morning and that terrible relaxation is one of the reasons I love to travel. In a way, it matters little what the day holds - it will be an adventure.

Delhi, morning 1

The trip started with rain, the sky layered in grey. The international departures area of  YVR is gorgeous, with an artificial stream burbling through it and it was the ideal prelude to a 13.5 hour flight to Guangzhou, a wait for a connecting flight, and 6 more hours of flying. 

But after more than 24 hours of travel, from door to hotel room, I’ve arrived in India! I can’t help but compare to China, which is the closest thing I know. It was already dark when we landed so my impressions are scant but the first thing you notice, as you do everywhere, right in the airport, is the smell of a place. China has its own salty, smoky smell, with whiffs of burnt paper. Africa’s smoke smelled of strongly of wood. India, wood and cooking spices. The New Delhi airport is modern, efficient and lovely. (It’s true, airports are one of my happy places.) Gentle sitar music soothes the travel-weary soul. (In Mumbai, would it be  Bollywood songs?) Gigantic Indian mystic symbols adorn the walls. 

Fellow travellers were friendly. My seat mates on the Vancouver flight - a couple from Punjab - exchanged contact information with me, fed me cookies, and invited me to continue on with them to Punjab - and I think they meant it! In the airport, various fellow travellers welcomed me to India, approved my plans, and remarked with some pride that the trip should be very exciting for me.

Traffic seems even crazier than in China but also with its own internal order. What we call lane markings might rightly be called suggestions here. Horns honk constantly, and a good thing too. One would need a thousand eyes to see the traffic coming at every angle. An irrelevant electronic traffic sign prohibited zig zag driving. My driver stopped for a red light where there was no cross traffic at that moment. All other vehicles whizzed past us. People drive with a weird combination of reckless abandon and caution. Big vehicles tend to get their way but it’s by no means a unversal rule. 

As we moved away from the airport, the streets eventually got quiet and dark until we reached the area of my hotel where unhoused dogs stood in the streets. They are strays  but beautifully kept by everyone, it seems, good-tempered and well-fed. The Good Times Hotel is a budget hotel with perfectly acceptable rooms so I’m set for the night. And ready to sleep. And boy, did it feel good to brush my teeth!

P.S. It’s morning now and I wandered out into the streets around the hotel to get the lay of the land. Of course, a tuk tuk driver immediately spotted me and he persuaded me to drive to a municipal garden for a morning walk. People were doing yoga, playing badminton and cricket, and using the adult-playground exercise equipment - which included a dumbbell, to my surprise. Green parrots flew about and song birds trilled.

We then stopped at a market which sold everything from pashminas to carpets, where a woman tried to persuade me that, as they were an orthodox family and I was the first customer of the day, I should buy something. She made it sound like a religious duty. Too bad for her: I’m not religious. Delhi is a huge city and, not surprisingly, people in general are not as friendly as those in the airport. 

My highlight of the morning was when I spotted a real, live, old-fashioned, two-horse-drawn curricle on the streets. It was a light and lively thing that looked like an engraving from a Thackeray novel and the driver had a short stick in his hand, held high to warn other vehicles that he was coming through.