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Tuesday, January 7th – New Delhi
Both Frank and I slept in this morning. I guess we needed it. I am feeling much better than two days ago when we camped in the sugar cane field. I have learned something a bit disturbing about that episode. Apparently, cobras and black mambas prefer to nest in sugar cane fields. A passage in our guide book warns against camping anywhere near them. Oh well, nothing happened. That makes two close encounters with dangerous snakes, though we saw no sign of them.
So we are up at 9 am and Frank is making tea in the rudimentary kitchen the tourist camp provides. There is a German straight couple and a couple of British guys, Patrick and James, staying here too. There are a couple other tents and perhaps others staying in rooms like we are, but we haven’t met them. We make our breakfast from fruit and cereals we have been carrying with us in our bags.
By 10 am we are off to Connaught Circle to check out the centre of the city. It is a one kilometre walk. The sidewalks are congested and full of activity. There are beggars and vendors and occasionally motorcycles parked on them – lots of obstacles to weave around. There aren’t many open sewers like the one that surrounds out camp, but there is every other kind of filth and debris. But it is all part of life here and Frank and I both enjoy taking it in.
Our first goal is to buy more rupees. In the process of doing so, a bank tellers tell me that I do not have the correct papers to prove I have made the required bank purchase upon arriving in the country. The bank clerk in Amritsar used the wrong form. Surely you can see that I did purchase them though, I tell the clerk. Oh yes, he says, but I wouldn’t want you to have a problem when you try to leave the country. You might be fined, you know, he tells me. But he assures me it can be fixed. I will just need to wait for a while until the supervisor can fix up the right papers for me. I thank him for his concern and attentiveness.
I tell Frank not to wait for me as I have no idea how long this might take. I tell him I will meet him back at the tourist camp for dinner. I wait for half an hour or so until a Mr. Bains is able to see me. He comes out to welcome me into his office in the most gracious manner. Indians can be extraordinarily gracious. He shakes his head over the mess the clerk in Amritsar has made, saying he suspects he was ill-trained or just wasn’t sent the right forms, but he assures me he can fix the papers. He tries to explain the difference between the forms but I am sure only bureaucrats in the profession could make sense of it.
Mr. Bains is a kind and personable man. He tells me his sister now lives in Ontario. Oh really, where in Ontario, I ask him. He searches his desk for the envelope her last letter came in and says the town in called Nokino. That leaves me scratching my head a bit. Oh, I think that is the postal code, I inform him – N0K 1K0. Oh dear, I think you are right, he says with a noticeable blush. The town is Port Dover. But Bains is gracious enough to laugh over his mistake. I tell him the friend I cycled with for the first three months of my trip, Mike Silk, is from there. What a small world this has become. I visited Port Dover to visit Mike and his family a few times the summer before I left.
I do manage to get another advance on my charge card after the forms are properly in order. I should be good now for at least three weeks.
I am on my own when I return to the street. I follow the map from the guide book to get to the tourist office, which is on the far side of Connaught Circle. Connaught Circle is clearly a piece of urban design left behind by the British. The centre of the circle is a circular park called (naturally) Central Park. It is surrounded by three concentric circular streets, the first named “Inner Circle”, followed by “Middle Circle” and “Outer Circle”. There are several streets radiating from Inner Circle like spokes from a wheel.
The street that heads due south from Outer Circle is called Janpath and the tourist office is on there, three blocks south of Connaught Circle. I make my way through the spider’s web of streets to the far side to find the office and pick up maps and brochures. On the way there I pass a store on Middle Circle that sells clothing and other home-spun cotton goods from the ashram that used to be the home of Mahatma Gandhi. It is closed by the time I return from the tourist office so I make a point of returning tomorrow.
I return to the tourist camp and find Frank there preparing dinner. He has purchased potatoes, carrots and lentils and is making a curried stew in the kitchen. James and Patrick are there and they invite us to share a bottle of wine they have purchased. They end up contributing to our meal and we eat it together on the picnic table in the kitchen. After dinner, we play Hearts on the same table while the German couple, Horst and Renate, prepare their dinner.
James is a bit creepy. He has a short temper and snaps at Patrick every time he doesn’t like how Patrick plays his cards. He is a control freak and has a real chip on his shoulder, it seems. He mellows as the wine takes its toll, but I am sure glad I am traveling with Frank and not him. I start thinking about that and I decide that I have never traveled with anyone who is as kind, interactive, playful, considerate and protective as Frank is. Young as he is, Frank feels more like an older brother who watches out for me. I am sure he would have stepped up to the plate if James had turned his anger towards me.
PHOTO 1: rickshaw and scooter
PHOTO 2: Connaught Place, Outer Circle
PHOTO 3: the mall at Connaught Place
PHOTO 4: bookstore in Connaught Place
PHOTO 5: Central Park, in the centre of Connaught Circle
PHOTO 6: a street market west of Outer Circle
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