3 for 3: India

Upon arriving in Delhi, our hopes were higher than we should have imagined. The pleasant and conveniently structured airport led us directly to the metro station. Little did we know, this 20-minute metro ride would be our last gasps of refreshing air before arriving up the tunnel into a sea of stench. After passing several unconscious dogs that blocked the flow of pedestrian traffic up the stairs into Delhi, we were shockingly welcomed by dead rats and obnoxious taxi drivers. After negotiating with a flood of swarming drivers, we were finally able to agree on one to take us to our hostel. With minutes notice, we were instead taken to a travel agency. The agent proceeded to tell us that our hostel was closed and advised us to check in to another hotel. This was complete debauchery, as we were aware of these scam attempts from previously encountered scumbags.  We held our ground and demanded the driver to take us to the Main Bazaar in Paharganj, New Delhi. If we received a penny for every honk we heard on our ride, we would be retired men. It was as though they use their horns as a form of conversation. Poverty was a misinterpretation of the Indian lifestyle. We knew that we would be in one of the most insufficient and malnourished places on earth, but actually being surrounded by it really opened our eyes and made us realize how lucky we truly are. The Bobby Potty Porter John fragrance that filtered the dirty streets continued to get ever worse as we narrowed in on the capital of New Delhi.

As we hopped out of the ultra mini 3-wheel cab, we were instantly bombarded with crowds of begging handicapped street vendors trying to sell food, clothes, postcards, etc. We would ignore them or aggressively stress “NO,” but they would still continue to bother us and follow for lengthy periods. We walked a few hundred meters on the main Bazaar before reaching our hostel, a highly recommended establishment located down one of the many cramped alleyways. We arrived to the Smyle Inn and were glad to be at a point where we could put down our bags and relax in a safe haven.  It was early morning and we had little rest so we were ready to get a few hours of sleep, but were held up waiting for the rookie receptionists. It was almost as though they didn’t know they were working a business and instead thought they were trying to make friends and socialize. Finally, we received our key and were able to lie down in our room that was portrayed as being much cleaner and more furnished than anticipated. Sleeping until the early evening was much needed, but we woke up puzzled by where the heck we were going to eat.

As we left our side street alleyway and approached the Main Bazaar, a lighted café caught our eye, mainly because it was crowded with tourists. After verifying that the rest of the area only had street food, we went back to Café Nirvana and sat down for a bowl of chicken fried rice. Realizing that it took ten minutes to deliver a soda and over an hour to make chicken fried rice, we understood that service was not a main priority for this restaurant. We thought it might have something to do with the lack of competition from outside Delhi vendors.  The place had about five people who appeared as workers but decided to sit and watch instead. Electricity was also not a priority for the café, as we sat in darkness on multiple occasions while waiting for our food. Although the service was horrendous, it only cost us $3 and would act as our own personal restaurant for the remainder of our stay. During our meal, we were also joined by two Indian police officers that came inside and screamed at one of the younger workers. With confusion about what was going on, we quickly scattered.

The next morning, we had to figure out how we would purchase a train ticket south for Agra to see the Taj Mahal. After finding out that the train was booked for the next day and a fee would be required through the hostel, we decided to figure it out on our own at the train station. After checking our email in the lobby area, we met a solo traveler from San Diego named David. We joined forces with David and convinced him to come with us to the train station. It was only a minute walk from the hostel but it was an entire day of figuring out our travels. As we arrived to the station, many locals tried to veer us in the wrong direction but we ignored them and entered through to what we thought was the ticket office. Apparently, everyone at the train station tried to lead us in the opposite direction. It’s like they were all conspiring together to piss us off. We walked all the way across a bridge to the other side of the station, asked the tourist office, then asked some Spaniards, but were still left with unanswered questions about where the hell to buy a ticket. We spent a half-day of frustration and confusion at the train station before we decided to head back and pay the extra fee from the hostel for the tickets. This took the receptionist an hour to obtain for us before we were all set for our train ride the next morning. We spent the next few hours wandering along the Bazaar and made a few purchases while bargaining with the local merchants. They don’t budge much on their prices. The night ended after another meal in Café Nirvana. Curry was delicious but we paid the price later that evening.

We woke up and were on our way to the train station with David at 4:45. We passed men carrying heavy loads of sand in large baskets balanced on their heads along with many sleeping on the sides of the bazaar on piles of trash. Surprisingly, we found the departure platform with ease. Sitting inside of a dumpster for three hours would have been better than riding the mobile jail cell down to Agra. Along the way, we passed villages of houses made from scrap wood, mud, sticks, and any type of metal they could find. An abundance of homeless cows, dogs, and goats filtered through the villages that lay along the train tracks. People were taking dumps along the train tracks while staring at us passengers as we rattled by, as though it were some sort of hobby or fetish. Our freedom was reestablished as we jumped off the train and entered the first taxi headed to the Taj Mahal. Luckily, we arrived to the main gate after being instructed by the driver about the potential dangers and risks provided around the site and were not overwhelmed with a large crowd because it was morning. This was comical because he was actually overcharging us at the time. As we walked down another vendor avenue, we finally found a way to prevent these unbearable salesmen from following us. We figured out that by repeatedly asking them if they wanted something before they could get a word in, they would become confused and annoyed just like we were. When this method did not work, we would also perform a move known as “Sharking”. Similar to the circular, feeding tactic sharks use on their prey to create confusion, we slowly and casually circled the vendors until they were dizzy and disoriented. Sharking them and asking if they would like a taxi or photo proved to be a deadly combination.

Riding a three-hour train that smells like garbage and dealing with the unbearable hecklers was extremely worth it. We were at the Taj Mahal. The symmetrical masterpiece stood before us and possessed the Muslim jewel of art. Embellished with Persian, Turkish, and Indian style architecture by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, the Taj appeared to be unreal. We walked all around the amazing piece, taking tons of pictures and venturing inside the tomb, the central focus point of the Taj Mahal. This is where we saw the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. We then exited the tomb to the south side, which provided a spectacular view of the Yamuna River, filled with herds of cows and other animals along the banks. We became one with the Taj as we laid down on the smooth white marble prior to leaving for the Agra Fort.

The Agra Fort was powerful as it enclosed the imperial city of the Mughal rulers. It was interesting to learn that Agra’s history goes back to more than 2,500 years, but it took until the time when the Mughals controlled that Agra became more than a local city. The Fort was massive as we had several hours to kill wandering throughout its quarters and capturing many more pictures. The time came where we had to hop back in the trashcan and travel back to Delhi. This time, we jumped up on the top bunk of the train and lay down for a hot and seemingly longer ride back. Accomplished the Taj Mahal and Red Fort along with reversing psychology of street vendors turned out to be a well worth experience in India.

Once we got back to the Main Bazaar, we were all thinking beer. After spending an hour looking for a bar and being lied to by several places about liquor licenses, we had finally found one. After a warm Fosters and funny stories from David about how he was challenged by a whole bar of Chinese men to an arm wrestling contest, it was time to get some rest for our escape from India.

Wide awake the next morning and ready to get to Thailand, we were checking out of the Smyle Inn. Unfortunately, our lazy eyed receptionist did not give us a price to pay for the stay. He repetitively asked us if we were leaving and we told him approximately ten times before he finally understood. He had our passports copied so we knew we needed to pay some amount but he didn’t know how much so we just proceeded to tell him ourselves. Please do not go to the Smyle Inn Hostel if you may find your travels in Delhi.

Other than the smell, annoying vendors, poor service, and abundance of scam attempts, India was a great experience. It gave us a better understanding of what else is out there and how different cultures can be from each other. Not to mention, we spent less than $100 for three days.  Onward to the Land of Thai.