The Delhi Dilemma

There is the old refrain “Leave the best for last” and then there is our approach to the city of Delhi which went more along the lines of “Put it off until you can’t put it off no more.” We heard and read so many discouraging things about this major city, from tourists and Indians alike, that we would have been perfectly content to skip it altogether.

The problem was that when determining a route through India, we had to account for the fact that three travelers were coming from three different parts of the world (in our case, the US, Romania and the Ukraine) and had no choice but to meet there. This did not mean, however, that we had to stay there. I flew into Delhi direct from Chicago and after a brief eight hour stay in a hostel whose décor could best be described as “prison chic”, I met the girls at the domestic terminal where we immediately boarded a flight for Varanasi.

Three weeks later, we had reached the point where we had been to nine cities in Northern India and our time was running out. Based on logistic necessity, we were to end back where we started, in dreaded Delhi. We gave ourselves three days of sightseeing and last minute errands before my friends headed home and I took a train to my last stop, Amritsar.

We expected the worst from Delhi, and at least initially, Delhi complied. After a flight in from lovely Udiapur, we spent an hour sitting in smoggy traffic on our way to a hotel in Paharganj, near Old Delhi. This area, known for its budget lodging and a shopping area known as the Main Bazaar is a mad jumble of noise, unyielding commotion, bargain stores and a veritable landmine of turds of undetermined provenance. The moment we stepped out of the cab, a legless man was at our feet panhandling and our hotel was an irredeemable dump. And if that was not enough, the darkness of our late arrival added a decidedly menacing air to our new surroundings.

We spent our first evening looking for different accommodations and eventually found both an equally dumpy hotel (but at a fraction of the cost we were paying) and an illicit backpacker bar that would become our unofficial headquarters for the remainder of the stay. At the bar, we met a crazy Italian, a wonderful Iranian couple, and the bar owner who set up a city tour with his brother for the following morning, after requiring a deposit, of course.

When the time came, we were up early enough to change hotels and be at the bar by the appointed 9 am meeting time. The same can not be said of the driver. Unbeknownst to us, the brother was at a wedding and quite drunk when he accepted the job and come morning time, he forgot all about us. All the hassles we had successfully avoided throughout India were threatening to quickly catch up with us. Eventually, we got our deposit back and set up a similar tour through another agency, one that instead of explaining the impossibility of seeing all that we wanted to see due to time constraints, boldly lied to us about the Red Fort being closed due to security reasons. They promised a list of ten stops to make up for it and I dutifully copied the list into my travel notes. Our new driver, Getoo, saw me doing this and went into instant damage control mode, explaining how the unpredictability of Delhi traffic made even our modified list impossible. To his credit, he never did try to feed us the ‘closed due to security’ line and the entire thing became a sort of running joke as, after every stop, he would hand me his pen and insist that I check each item off my list.

He first took us to the Parliament and the President’s House, which was very stately, over-sized and unapproachable. It was in a part of the Delhi that did not seem to share the same planet with Paharganj with its wide landscaped streets, orderly traffic and a near-total absence of litter. We traveled a few blocks before stopping again, this time at the India Gate, a much less ornate Arc d’Triomphe celebrating India’s independence. That was two quick check-marks right there.

The Presidential Palace

India Gate

Next, we stopped at Humayan’s Tomb, a UNESCO world heritage site and one of the first major example of Mughal architecture in India, as well as the first structure of its size to use red sandstone. As the name suggests, it is the tomb of the Mughal Emperor Humayan, although his wife and several other prominent Mughals are also interred there.

The complex is surrounded by a gorgeous area of Persian inspired landscaping, known as the Char Bagh Garden, divided into four areas by walkways and manmade canals. After years of neglect, it has received some much-needed and well-deserved attention.

We continued to what would become my favorite site in all of Delhi, the Qutb Minar. In photos and guidebooks, the 72.5 meter tower and UNESCO world heritage site does not look like much, just a towering minaret set amongst some ruins. But in person, the world’s tallest brick minaret is something quite powerful, managing to look both delicate and imposing at the same time. The audio guide I rented pointed out highlights amongst the ruins including columns that, in the Mughal’s rush to build a mosque in their newly conquered land in 1193, were recycled from Hindu temples and therefore had depictions of Hindu deities, in direct contradiction to the Islamic prohibition against representative images. The audio guide had actors playing the roles of a curious child asking questions about the site, several Mughal emperors and caretakers from the past. The actor playing Firoz Shah Tuqhlaq, the man who tried to built a minaret even taller than the Qutb Minar, was so over the top as to be unintentionally hilarious as he lamented how fabulous his competing tower would have been had he had the opportunity to complete it.

Qtab Minar

After reassuring a harried Getoo, who was stressed over the fact that we had spent close to three hours at the Qutb Minar, we paid a visit to the Lotus Temple. It is a fairly recent addition to the city, having been completed in 1986 and is known for its unique shape. The temple is dedicated to the B’nai faith and its volunteers rival the Mormons of Salt Lake City in their naked zeal to recruit new members. I guess maintaining a big white lotus in the middle of Delhi ain’t cheap.

Our final stop of the day was at the Akshardham Temple or as we quickly dubbed it, Hindu Disney. The spotless new massive grounds boasted extra-tight security, extreme organization and a soulless air that while artistically admirable seemed to me to be the very antithesis of India. We skipped the animatronic Hall of Virtues, the IMAX-like presentation on Hindu history and the boat trip through the artificial waterways so it is quite possible we did not give Hindu Disney a fair shake but having experienced the real thing throughout much of India, it was not something that held much appeal for us so instead, we ended up spending our time in the most orderly food court I have ever seen. I may not be able to recommend the park but I’ve got nothing but raves for their veggie burger.

We had managed to put 6 out of 10 checkmarks on our list and with two remaining days to see the rest, we were feeling pretty good about our prospects. Getoo, who had to spend the evening driving an Indian family to Amritsar was feeling less optimistic. Contrary to what I would have expected, he explained that he preferred driving foreigners, since the employer/ employee divide was not as pronounced as it is with his fellow countrymen. Listening to him speak of past horror stories, I was reminded of the excellent book, White Tiger, about an Indian driver who ends up getting fed up and killing his master.

On our second day, we dove into the craziest part of the craziest town, visiting the heart of Old Delhi. We took a tuk-tuk to the Red Fort, where we were immediately accosted by pedicab drivers offering tours. We managed to get past them long enough to enter the Red Fort, yet another UNESCO world heritage site. The fort, built by Shah Jahan, is only 25% open to the public with the rest occupied by the military. What little there is to see hints at the grandeur that once existed within its walls. At one point, the fort housed the world’s largest diamond, now in London, and a magnificent golden jewel-studded peacock, which is now in Iran. There was a canopied walkway where fake rain could be produced during the dry months, book-ended by two gazebos named July and August, after the monsoon months. There are still visible remnants of the marble inlaid with precious stones motif that Jahan would later repeat at the Taj Mahal, although most of the stones were removed by looters long ago.

Inside the Red Fort

As soon as we exited the fort, the pedicab pushers were back in full force, so much so, that we ended hiring a couple so as not to have to deal with it for the remainder of the day. It was good thing that we did because the incomprehensible maze that is Old Delhi would have been impossible to navigate without them. They pedaled us through unbelievably narrow lanes crowded from end to end with an unending mass of humanity. The thought of even trying to find our way through there was terrifying. About five minutes into the ride, I remember thinking ‘I wonder if this guy knows that at this point I would be willing to pay any price he asked to stay on this pedicab’. Lucky for me, he didn’t.

They took us to the Jama Massid mosque, also built by Shah Jahan. Our jeans/ t-shirt combos were deemed too infidel-ly for the mosque and we were given large clown-colored coveralls to wear over our clothes. Oddly, I saw Indian women wearing very similar jeans/ t-shirt outfits who were permitted to go in as is, but since most western tourists seem to get a kick out of photographing each other in the latest mosque-wear, I suspect they were trying to do us a favor. The mosque was impressive due to its size, but was not as ornate as others I have seen. One interesting detail was at the entrance pillars, the depiction of the sun symbolizing the king was placed at the bottom (as opposed to everywhere else where it appears at the top) to signify that all men are equal before Allah.

Our pedicab peddlers led us into Chandi Chowk, the marketplace area where every good known to man (and probably some that aren’t) is available for purchase. They would frequently park their bikes and carefully lead us through the alleyways like baby ducklings. I don’t think it was so much as an overabundance of caution on their part as past experience, since I have no doubt they have lost numerous tourists in that cacophony (many who are still probably trying to find a way out to this day). They showed us a second story spice market that left little doubt what the preferred flavoring was in Indian cooking. For every guy selling cardamom, there were five selling red chili peppers. It was enough to make my eyes water and my nose twitch.

After the sensory assault of Chandi Chowk, we parted with our guides and headed to the quiet tranquility of the Raj Ghat, the lush park surrounding the spot where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated. Along with a memorial flame for the world famous leader, there was also a separate monument to Indira Gandhi’s son. To get from one to the other, you had to walk past duck-filled ponds, towering trees with comically hyper squirrels and an rich abundance of bird life. It was the perfect antidote for the frazzled nerves Old Delhi had produced. We did not do this by design, but having done it, I would recommend to anyone touring Delhi to visit the two in the same order we did.

The pedicab is the principal form of transport in Old Delhi

The Mosque

The crowded streets of Old Delhi

Fruit vendor in Chandi Chowk

Just try to get a photo without a dangling cable

Spice Market

Our third and final day in India was a blur. We began by visiting the very impressive Gandhi museum located on the site where he spent his final days. You can visit the room where he stayed and follow a trail of concrete footprints that lead from his guesthouse to the spot where he was fatally shot. In the garden, there are vivid explanations of the relationship between the English colonizers and their Indian subjects and the injustices that led to Gandhi standing up for his people. The second floor of the museum is dedicated to conveying his message of unity and truth via interactive exhibits that could have easily been cheesy but instead came off as touching and innovative. As far as museums go, this is the most professionally done that I saw in all of India.

The rest of the day was spent visiting with the friend of a friend who showed us around the more exclusive and thus more westernized areas of Delhi before leaving us to complete an unending list of last minute errands, everything from copying memory cards to buying eleventh hour souvenirs to confirming airport transfers and flight statuses. It went by so quickly that I barely remember saying good-bye to either Laura or Lena before I had to shuffle sleepily to the train station to continue my own adventure.

I can’t say I was terribly sorry to leave Delhi. It was not as horrible as expected, the Qutb Minar was amazing, but the constant assault of noise, traffic and visual blight of dangling wires can do a number on the hardiest of travelers. It wasn’t great, it didn’t suck but as the site of the country’s major airport, it was all but unavoidable. The most you can do is make the best of it. That and put it off until the end. And make sure to keep an eye out for the turds…