As my flight descends through the night, I notice amber lights which seem to flicker dimly through the haze that blankets Delhi. I am surprised at how distinctive the haze is - almost like a second horizon above the city.
As a westerner, and someone on their first trip to India, the darkness and mysterious haze are foreboding. In the jet, above the haze line, I feel confident about my world. As the plane descends into the haze, however, I realize that I am entering a world that is different from anything that I have known before. Even before the plane hits the runway, the smell of Delhi seeps through the jet's air filters
and the strange, slightly acrid, and pervasive smell hints to me how India completely enwraps the consciousness.
Little did I know how much my unexpected layover in Vienna, Austria on my way to India would provide a stark contrast to what I am about to experience. In Vienna sunlight reflects off of the yellow and white baroque buildings onto spotless streets. Train-set, cute trolleys and Mercedes Benz taxies travel quietly over wide planned streets. People in Vienna walk quietly making sure to keep their conversations and thoughts to themselves. They go out of their way to respect the right of way of others and traffic lights.
It's different in India.
For some reason, most international flights fly into Delhi seem to arrive sometime around 12:00 AM. An urban myth passed among travelers suggests that arriving in the AM is the first indicator that Delhi is a city set up to scam you away from your money.
Even though the middle of the night arrival time is unrelated to any formal attempt at scamming visitors, I was ware that scam artists would be at work and I was confident I could avoid them. After all, I read about the wide variety of potential scams in my guidebook and listened attentively to other travelers explain to me how they were scammed in India. I was prepared and would not make the same mistakes. How hard could it be? I knew exactly where I wanted to go - all I needed was a prepaid taxi to my desired hotel.
Immediately after leaving the customs area, I hear the three English words that will follow me down every street, sidewalk and alleyway in India - "Hello my friend!!"
Unable to avoid eye contact, I answer with a congenial response, "Fine, thank you". After that my friendship circle grew exponentially and I was quickly surrounded by a party of friends all offering me "honest, friendly" services.
As I had prepared myself well, I knew that stopping to chat further might lead to problems so I waded through my newfound friends and continued walking directly to a bank of telephones. Safely tucked into a phone booth, and assisted by a "friend", I proceeded to call each of the hotels listed in my guidebook. Strangely - for me at least - no one answered the phone at any of the hotel numbers that my phone friend dialed.
Outside the booth, two more of my longtime friends, the ones who stuck through thick and thin while I called, waited to give me a prepaid taxi ride to my desired hotel. After pointing to the location on my map they said they knew exactly where the hotel was. On the walk to the taxi, porter after porter attempted to assist me by trying to pull my bags from my ever tightening grip for a few rupees.
My ride from the airport to a still unidentified part of Delhi took me through parks outlining the city. There, through a haze fueled by burning trash and dung, I saw people riding elephants and camels and tent villages rising like mushrooms from the piles of rubbish.
Upon entering more the more residential areas the taxi had to swerve to avoid cows and stray dogs sleeping calmly on any part of the road they felt comfortable. Claiming he was lost, the taxi driver stopped at a "government" information booth for assistance.
There, at 1:30 AM, a government information officer was on duty to help. A government employee on duty at 1:30 AM? Ever the helpful civil servant, he offered to go with me and the taxi to my hotel saying, "It's not far away my friend. It's my job."
We set out anew, my friend the taxi driver and my friend the government information officer. After about two minutes though, the friendship team determined that they could not get to my hotel because Delhi is building a new metro system and the construction restricted access to the streets where my hotel and many of the other hotels were located. Besides, those hotels were probably over booked anyway because of the festival of Devali.
One thirty turned into two o'clock and after much deliberation no one could tell me exactly where we were. As I was getting nowhere - literally and figuratively - I thought it was time to consider my options and take action. On the one hand, I could strike out on my own in the darkness and start walking, past sleeping cows, mangy dogs, piles of trash, camouflaged humans sleeping in the dirt, down unmarked streets that my local friends couldn't even identify and look for a suitable hotel. Alternatively, I could admit defeat and stay at the nearby, amazingly convenient "...nice hotel that is good for me."
By the time I checked in, I was so tired that I fell asleep immediately. My it was the fatigue, but I really can't remember much about the room so I guess it couldn't have been that bad. The next morning, after spending twenty-five US dollars to check out of my hotel, the "dynamic duo" returned anxious to help again with "information" and a taxi to the government information booth.
In the lobby I met other travelers marooned at the same hotel after going through experiences remarkably similar to my own. We all decided we had been taken and would meet at the government information booth to get transportation to the hotels that we had been attempting to reach the night before. Most of my fellow travelers decide to walk to the booth but for some reason I agreed to take the taxi that came for me after being assured that it would take me to the same information booth.
I never saw the other travelers again.
After another two hours of lies, deceptions, and sales pitches to take a two week taxi tour around Rastistan, I finally gave up on my hopes that someone was actually trying to help me and I hailed a taxi on my own and ordered the driver to take me to the main bazaar area where most of the travelers' hotels are located. There I got a room in a hotel of similar quality as the night before. Only this time, the room cost four dollars.
Contact Ben
