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Sunday, January 12th – New Delhi to Gurgaon, 16,156 km
After our hiatus in New Delhi, Frank and I are on the road again. Starting out on the road again brings with it feelings of excitement and anticipation. We are headed in the direction of Rajasthan this morning, a drier area than what we have been through so far, so we will be seeing new landscapes and sights.
It is a fine day, with sunshine and a soft breeze. We are in no rush. We make breakfast and load our bikes in the courtyard of the tourist camp. We pause while Frank has one of the other travelers at the camp, an English girl, take pictures of the two of us posing with our bikes. Then we are out in New Delhi traffic again. It is Sunday morning but that does not make much of a difference here, even though India has copied so many English traditions. For most people in the city, it is a working day. The traffic is as horrendous as any other day.
Coming into the city a few days ago reminded me of a live video game where everything rolls along smoothly, and then suddenly a dangerous obstacle or threat pops up in front of you. As kind and courteous as Indians are in person when they meet you, it doesn't translate to their driving habits. Anything could come reeling at you without warning, but it isn't personal. It isn't due to road rage.
Delhi is a city if more than five million so it takes a couple hours to get beyond the bulk of urban traffic congestion. It only gets better the farther we move from the centre, I tell myself, but the process seems to take forever. On the outer edges of the city, we pass through the vast and fragile shanty towns of the poorest inhabitants - homes packed tightly together, made of corrugated tin and any other found building materials with their flimsy roofs weighted down with large stones, the dirt pathways "streets" between them strewn with sewage and garbage. These people have next to no services - no medical, transit, water, sewage. The highway is elevated above them, as if on a causeway over a marsh. The slums stretch out grey and brown for a great distance. It is depressing and sobering to witness this.
I am not sure why but seeing the slums seems to sap my energy, as though my spirit has stepped into quicksand and cannot free itself. The extent of the misery seems too large. I feel helpless and insignificant. The rest of the day's ride seems like work, although the traffic is lighter and more predictable. Beyond the slums we pass the international airport to our right, and beyond that, farmlands on either side.
We pass through a couple villages. On the edge of one, while Frank stops to fill up our water bottles, I see a dog and a flock of vultures feasting on the carcass of a dead steer. The carcass is rocking from the weight of the large birds as there must be at least two dozen of them. They are clearly annoying the dog, who obviously thinks he should be dominant here, and given feasting privileges. He darts at the closest birds from time to time, but he isn’t much larger than the largest of them and he’s so outnumbered. This is more interesting than sad. It is something I wouldn’t see in Canada. Dogs, vultures, cows, cats, rats and pigs are India’s recycling system. My guide book says there are no garbage dumps here.
Less than half an hour later we enter Gurgaon, a satellite town about 55 km from the heart of New Delhi. It is a sleepy little town, most suitable for shopping for groceries. We stock up and head for a campground on the west side of town mentioned in my guide book. The campground is a flat space of grass and reddish dirt. There are a few other tents sprinkled around the grounds but very little activity. Frank and I set up his tent and make sandwiches for dinner.
Frank has discovered another broken spoke today, although it has not been either a long or stressful ride for the bikes. There is no apparent reason for it. He is puzzled and focused on repairing it. I ask if I can help but he says no. I leave him alone and walk around on my own. There is no where to go of interest in walking distance so I relax and read my guide book on the grass until it is too dark to read.
In case of mosquitoes, we stay in the tent after dark talking about Frank’s previous adventures mountain climbing and scuba diving in lakes in the Alps. Instead of riding directly to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, we have decided to detour to the Sariska Wild Life Tiger Preserve north east of the city.
PHOTO 1: Frank and I ready to leave the Tourist Camp, New Delhi
PHOTO 2: the slums of New Delhi
PHOTO 3: dog and vultures feeding on a carcass
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