Leaving Goa was far more frantic than our arrival had been. On two hours of ‘sleep’ and still feeling the effects of the Red Bull from the previous night, I was once again up before the sun and on the move. The 30 minute ride to the airport was quiet until we arrived to find a line as long as any you would see at Disney World. We had allowed ourselves over 2 hours of waiting time but from the all but stagnant line it was apparently not going to be enough.
Justin and I took a place all the way at the end where we waited with all of the luggage. We had been warned that flying out of Goa – at any time – on New Years day was going to be hectic, but this was unbelievable. A few minutes later as we joked about missing the flight and having to spend more time in the Goan paradise, I saw my Dad waving at us frantically from near the front of the line. We quickly left our place and joined him at the front where the porters snatched our luggage and put it on a cart. From there all we had to do was follow. Since the line was stretching well outside the actual airport, we found the front just at the entrance. The choke point was the one baggage screening machine that everyone was so patiently waiting to use.
The porters took our luggage and bypassed everyone in line as we quietly and quickly followed. Unsure as to the reason of our advantage, Justin and I kept our mouths shut as we exchanged raised-brow glances. No more than 5 minutes later, all of our luggage had gone through the machine and was checked in. With boarding passes already in hand we proceeded to our gate. Evidently, Russell (our quiet Portuguese-Indian guide) had offered one of the airport authorities a ‘baksheesh’ (bribe) – a term we would later revisit a number of times - that had persuaded the airport authorities to expedite our check-in, because we easily bypassed a two-hour line that would’ve undoubtedly caused us to miss our flight. Now that we were actually early for our flight we all breathed a sigh of relief and were again sitting quietly. Next stop – Delhi.
Delhi was as different from Goa as Goa had been from Mumbai. Apparently this was not the sandwich capital of the world as I had first thought :). The morning of our arrival, the city was enshrouded in a dense fog that had delayed our incoming flight by keeping us circling for about 45 minutes before landing. The air was damp and cold and mirrored the hangover I was starting to develop. As my Mom talked about the various historical locations in this Captial city of India, all I could think about was a warm, comfortable bed. We arrived at Connaught Delhi hotel a few minutes later and got checked in. I didn’t really know what Delhi had to offer, aside from Parliament and other government buildings, nor did I care. Once we were checked-in, I made a beeline to the room and crashed on the bed. I spent nearly the entire day sleeping and woke up in the evening. Since my parents had gone sightseeing, Justin and I decided to explore our hotel. It was, at best, average and compared to our previous hotels, below-average. On our way in, we had seen a sign for a bar called the ‘Shwing’ which was located on the second floor. Justin wondered out loud whether they knew ‘Shwing’ was a western colliquialism for an erection, I chuckled. We were to meet up with my parents later that evening for dinner so we decided to have a few drinks and perhaps a snack at Shwing. Upon entering, we discovered that the hotel was pretty much indicative of the bar as well. All of the upholstery was done up in a sea foam green-blue that had the dirt of countless travelers encrusted on it. One lonely roach sat on the wall a few feet from our table. I’m sure it seemed especially dirty in contrast to the clean and well-kept resort we stayed at in Goa, but even by American standards, this place was a bonafied shithole. The demeanor of the bartender and three waiters matched the décor. Thus far, everywhere we had gone we had been treated like royalty and I was getting quite used to it. Every single hotel worker at both Mumbai and Goa greeted us with a warm smile, a slight bow and very authentic ‘Halo Sir’. At the Connaught, and particularly within Shwing, they didn’t even look at us, much less smile. It seemed our whole experience there would be forshadowed by the damp and foggy weather that pervaded the streets of Delhi when we arrived. We flipped through the snack menu at Shwing and found some delightfully erroneous uses of the English language. Notably, one such bit of amusing text was the footnote that read:
“Taxes is Applicable. Price includes sundry expenses. Toned milk used. Plan curds not for sale.” WTF. Needless to say we were quite disappointed to find that we would not be allowed to buy any ‘Plan curds’. A couple of beers and a bag of chips later we concluded our time at the Shwing, still tipping our waiter generously – at least by Indian standards. A slightly better but still unremarkable dinner followed after which we went right back to sleep. The next morning we were to be driven to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, which was a few hours away. I was looking forward to leaving Delhi; I suspect I hadn’t missed much.
0 Responses to “Day 6 - Delhi”