I knew it was coming, Ferenjinan had warned me. But Nothing, absolutely Nothing prepared me for what actually happened... Delhi knocked my block and socks off, and for a while I was mewling like a new born after a difficult labour on the scullery floor.
Thought I'd try and be clever, and successfully negotiated the Metro from airport to the city centre, and was flung into the noisy hot and stinking confusion of tuk-tuks n taxis, dogs, beggars, touts n cycle rickshaws. My personal immobiliser turned itself on and I just stood and stared.
I'd booked 2 nights at The Hotel Prince Polonia in Tilak Street, a bit of a no-go area, but it was a good internet deal from a reputable website, and at this stage I was still feeling things would work out as planned. But In Delhi a Plan can be scuppered in the glint of an eye.
I showed the address to a cycle rickshaw man, asked whether he could take me, we agreed on R50, and in I climbed. Cycle rickshaw took me across several lanes (except there are no lanes in this wild free-for-all) of traffic and turfed me out on the other side and demanded his money. I'd been had. He tried to pocket the R100 note until I remonstrated and his cronies, afraid of a "scene", advised him to give me the change...
Shaken, I tried to draw breath outside the station where I felt shockingly conspicuous among the pavement dwellers.
I turn to a tuk-tuk, there's animated discussion among the drivers as to the exact location. It was pretty obvious that nobody could actually read the address, but that was no reason for not taking me...
We drove off into the Bazaar district, streets and alleys narrowing in on the little tin truck
You'll have to walk from here, he said. It's just down there.
I paid him up, he disappeared, and I'd been had again.
Thought I'd try and be clever, and successfully negotiated the Metro from airport to the city centre, and was flung into the noisy hot and stinking confusion of tuk-tuks n taxis, dogs, beggars, touts n cycle rickshaws. My personal immobiliser turned itself on and I just stood and stared.
I'd booked 2 nights at The Hotel Prince Polonia in Tilak Street, a bit of a no-go area, but it was a good internet deal from a reputable website, and at this stage I was still feeling things would work out as planned. But In Delhi a Plan can be scuppered in the glint of an eye.
I showed the address to a cycle rickshaw man, asked whether he could take me, we agreed on R50, and in I climbed. Cycle rickshaw took me across several lanes (except there are no lanes in this wild free-for-all) of traffic and turfed me out on the other side and demanded his money. I'd been had. He tried to pocket the R100 note until I remonstrated and his cronies, afraid of a "scene", advised him to give me the change...
Shaken, I tried to draw breath outside the station where I felt shockingly conspicuous among the pavement dwellers.
I turn to a tuk-tuk, there's animated discussion among the drivers as to the exact location. It was pretty obvious that nobody could actually read the address, but that was no reason for not taking me...
We drove off into the Bazaar district, streets and alleys narrowing in on the little tin truck
You'll have to walk from here, he said. It's just down there.
I paid him up, he disappeared, and I'd been had again.
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