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Day 1 - Sleeping in Delhi (or 'Traffic')
We have arrived! The plane was delayed, but the flashy back-of-the-headrest entertainment system made up for it. In fact, Jet Airways were brilliant. No goats, just hot towels, warm curry and cold, free booze. But even so, 8 hours on a Jet jet drags when your Episode of Bear Grylls in the Baja Desert is interupted by the three guys in front of you who, not content with extra leg room, decide to ram their seats fully back about 5 minutes into the flight. Whilst we both hold Bear (as fellow adventurers in matching Bear T-Shirts we consider ourselves on first name terms) in the highest esteem, having his bee-stung swollen face thrust mere inches from your own at high velocity can feel a bit too familiar.
Touchdown was a shocking ordeal. We hadn't the foggiest what altitude we were at until all of a sudden we broke through the cloud cover to discover we were slamming onto the runway. What we took to be clouds was, in fact, fog. A heavy shroud enveloped the entire airport which obscured our vision of anything beyond its borders, and only upon leaving the airport did it become clear the same can be said for Delhi as a whole. It's not warm - about 10-15 celcius in the day, but we only plan on spending one more full day here before heading to (hopefully) warmer climes.
Naturally our baggage was last off the plane, and this, coupled with the delays, meant we were 2 hours late meeting our airport pickup. But he had waited, so we strolled to his car. The driver was already at the wheel, asleep. He, like the blokes in front of us on the plane, was fully reclined, but he, at least, was kind enough to pull his seat up before driving over my (James's) foot. Luckily enough, I was wearing my boots, and Bear's been though far worse so I kept stchum.
Being thoroughbred Brits, we both reached for our non-existent seatbelts. "Do you smoke?", asked our guide, overlooking the missing safety devices.
"No", we both replied.
"In Delhi, everyone smokes 40 a day", he exclaimed, "even if they do not smoke!"
That would explain the fog. Apparently, in summer the polution's so bad you can hardly breathe. He lit up, so we know that he's at least a 41-a-day man. Turns out he's something of an internal travel agent, which partly explains his exubriant demeanour, but not his peddling of Delhi the ash tray of India.
And then we hit the traffic. Everyone says it, but you have to see it to believe it. There are lanes, but for all the notice anyone was taking they might as well have not been there at all. The hierarchy of vehicles goes: Slow-lane for pushbikes, push-overs and pedestrians, then 3 fast lanes for everyone else. Tourist drivers don't even get a lane. Wing mirrors? Who needs them? Just write 'Use Horn' or 'Keep Distance' on the back of your van. Our driver's readiness to utilise the horn at every opportunity meant our once-missed seatbelts now seemed redundant. His dexterity at pressing the horn meant he could do it whislt steering the wheel and shaking his head all at the same. He didn't even bat an eyelid, although we daresay he could have done so had he tried. The pinnacle was a junction where three buses attempting to turn off were met with a formidable barrage of drivers, one of whom actually got out of his car to yell at another driver! 'Mayhem' doesn't even sum it up; even Top Gear would shy away from this city.
Then we got to the guesthouse and slept all day.
First impressions:
Two words: Rubbish and Rubble. The two are everywhere.
The guesthouse dog, Robbie, is awesome and acts like Archie.
Stale urine smells the same in Delhi as in Birmingham.
The curry was good, but the Naan bread stood out more.
Kids either beg or sell (but never at the same time).
Green tea is a con in the UK - it actually tastes nice over here.
So far, we have seen 0 monkeys. We will go hunting tomorrow.
Louise and James
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