With just under 3 weeks left before I travel, and just under 5 weeks before I return home, I've been counting down each day and trying my hardest to try and accomplish the many things I had planned to while I've been away.
This last weekend I took the opportunity to stay in Old Delhi and cross off several of the tourist attractions in Delhi that were left on my list. As I walked through the crowded streets of Chawri Bazaar, I started to understand the appeal of backpacking, at least in the sense that my good friend Jeet always extols it. Lack of decent company aside (I just don't get on well with myself), there's a unique sense of complete and unadulterated freedom to do exactly what you want.
As soon as you begin to plan things before hitting the ground, you start surrendering chunks of your ability to choose what and when you travel to places. I've always fallen prey to this symptom of overplanning - fear of uncertainty is something that has been driven into our brains, from both a cultural (risk averse) and biologically instinctive angle.
When you arrive somewhere with nothing but a vague plan, you can easily succumb to the laziness that encompasses all humans. There is that all too familiar urge just to do nothing, to relax. Still, the excitement motivates, and you quickly get moving.
Exploring Delhi was excellent fun, it could have ended badly given the numerous occasions where I fell asleep on various auto rickshaws. I'm very lucky to not have woken up naked and moneyless. My first port of call was to go visit the Indian Institute of Technology campus in Delhi. It is not ranked that highly amongst all universities of the world but admission is fiercely competitive. Whilst I faced odds of 1 to 5 at worst to get into Cambridge, students at IIT typically face something like 10 to 100 times that ratio. Needless to say, the IITs are highly revered national institutions of further education.
It was strange then, walking into the campus, to see it covered in trash in a similar way to the rest of India. You would surmise, possibly, that the most intelligent students in the country would know to throw rubbish in one of the many recepticles scattered around the campus. That aside, IIT was (as a fellow intern who studied there mentioned) an oasis of calm admist the frantic hustle of modern Delhi. You could barely hear the beeping of the traffic. As I walked around, I came across some kind of canteen and ate what was not the most hygienically prepared sandwich. Still, it gave me no issues and I now have the confidence that I am on the same level as the typical IIT student, gastronomically at least.
I passed Rashtrapati Bhavan, the residence of the President of India on my way to Old Delhi, a stunning building indeed. Arriving in Old Delhi, I feared for the health of my lungs - there was a strong smell of paint thinner, mixed in amongst the smokey air of the congested traffic. It took some time to find the hotel but luck was with me as I made it there safely (having dodged about seventy to eighty bicycle rickshaws in the tiny, crowded winding streets).
Arriving in the hotel, it was reassuring to hear the familiar British accent of other tourists. A quick dinner at their renowned restaurant (which was a bit to spicy for me) was followed by an attempt to locate some street cooked jalebis. Those that I found were not so great, but the damage was only to the order of five Rs.
I woke up on Sunday to prepare a list of sights to see as I happily consumed a large quantity of cereal (a comforting part of my daily routine which I have been sorely missing in India). As I walked to visit the Jain temple in Old Delhi, I passed what I consider to be the world's worst marching band. It was similar to when a five year old first discovers a piano and its ability to make sound. They think what they are playing is the most amazing sound ever but in actual fact, to every observing adult around, it is a dire cacophony of headache inducing noise.
The visit to the Jain temple was similar to my earlier temple experiences, which I won't repeat. The adjoining bird hospital was fairly inspiring, albeit mildly worrying when he fed me a gulab jamun straight after performing mildly surgery on an injured pigeon. He washed his hands but I'm not sure that he used soap. From here, I walked across the road to see the Red Fort, a remarkably unremarkable structure that is well documented on the internet. I managed to find the elusive jalebiwala of Chandni Chowk, a famous (at least in the guidebooks) place to buy jalebis. These were AMAZING and I would gladly travel back to Old Delhi just for another bite. I think it was necessary to taste the mediocre jalebis since this further enhanced the taste of these golden sweets.
From here I went to see Jama Masjid, a huge mosque also in Old Delhi. It is another stunning piece of architecture, but I take offence to the vast differential (20 Rs versus 100 Rs) for local versus foreigner tickets. I understand the argument that it is necessary to make it affordable to local tourists but surely pricing the two differently admits that you have a lower opinion of the earning ability of local tourists. Alternatively, if they were to use the argument that it is an Indian attraction so Indians should be entitled to lower cost entry then I deserve as much of a discount as the next NRI.
Moving on, I went to the railway station to try and book a ticket to Amritsar. This was a harrowing and thoroughly stressful affair and I still failed to buy the ticket. The Lonely Planet's advice regarding the vast number of con artists who surround the train station is utterly correct. I was approached three times within the space of ten minutes by people asking me if I was trying to buy a ticket.
The last sight of the day was Humayun's Tomb, a building that was supposedly the precursor to the Taj Mahal. I actually consider it to be far more attractive and in much better condition than the Taj Mahal - and whilst I paid the local rate by saying I was from Jamnagar (technically not a lie), I would gladly have paid the inflated tourist rate.
