We needed to be packed and ready to leave the hotel at 8.30am, which, with the time difference, was 7am for me. We’re planning to be out of the hotel until 3pm and check out is at midday so we need to leave our bags in luggage storage. I feebly fumbled for my alarm at 7.30am and realised that I would not be making it for breakfast- it is way too early to eat. I couldn't sleep the night before. Two young girls, I think maybe 17 years old, were singing in the corridor. They started with Tomorrow from Annie, then some Little Mermaid, which then continued into an entire array of Disney numbers. They stopped singing at 1.15am, and yes, I had already put in ear plugs. I tossed and turned until 2.30am and then eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, for my alarm to go off five hours later. It was not a good day for meeting new people.
I lug my bag downstairs at 8.15am, hand over insurance docs to Raj- Tobe you’re my ICE number FYI, and send the obligatory “alive and well” message to everyone (wifi is only available in the lobby which is why hadn't done it the night before). The group slowly arrive (in arrival order):
• John Miller. I extend my hand and introduce myself. JohnMiller introduces himself in reply in full name. He has an American accent, but resembles a younger, slightly Western Mr Miagi, slightly greying, with a goatee. He's wearing those glasses that change into sun glasses when you're outside and has a stammer.
• Dylan and Jess. A younger couple from Australia. Jess is petite with long brown wavy hair and big eyes. Dylan towers over her, and is double her width, with hair in a small ponytail. They're both exhausted and jet lagged. It's also Jess’ birthday, she's turning 25.
• Maddie. From New Zealand. A little shorter than me, slender frame with a dimple on her left side.
• Brian and Susan. An older Australian couple. Brian is tall and grey, with blue eyes. Susan has lived in Australia all her life but is of Filipino heritage and has a really strong accent. They're so opposite and she is hilarious.
• Beth. From Australia. Shorter than me, but a little larger than me. She has her blonde hair scraped back into a bun and blue eyes. She smiles at me and reminds me of Anne-Marie.
We’re all ready and waiting at 8.30am, but apparently there's one more person to come. Raj calls upstairs and a few minutes later Dom comes downstairs. His brown hair is one of those similar to an iced gem, but a little shorter on top. He's carrying a bottle of coke and apologises for being late. Apparently he's from Germany but he sounds English to me.
Oh also. It's raining. Fat rain that's hitting the floor hard. And it's flooding the roads, streaming down the sides of them, carrying rubbish into unprepared drains.
We leave the hotel, heading to the metro station, and turn right. There's rickshaws, tuc tucs, motorbikes, bicycles, stray dogs and people all cramming into the one road. No space goes unused and the rain is deterring no one. You can hear horns from all directions and people shouting. It's so loud. There's rubbish everywhere, but no bins. Shop owners are sweeping the soggy rubbish and slush into piles away from the front of their shops. Even though it's raining it is bright and colourful, but still dirty. The water pouring down the sides of the road is thick with dirt and it smells, but then you smell spices and street food. It's a total assault on the senses. As we get closer to the metro station there are men with shoe repair and polish kits sitting on the curb telling you that your shoes are dirty. No, no, they're just sopping wet. Then, traditionally dressed women, carrying small babies, begging. The babies are wearing eye liner and some jewellery, and they hold their hands in imitation of their mothers. We wait at Karol Bagh metro station while Raj buys the tickets. We’re not allowed to take photos inside of the metro. I don't know why. Pressing our chip into the gates, passing through the metal detectors, we make our way to the platform. Raj recommends that the women go in the women's carriage and tells us that we need to get off three stops later, to change at Rajiv chowk and continue a further three stops to Chandni chowk. It's a Saturday morning at 9am so the trains aren't busy. We walk out of the station and theres a stench of sewage, as you pass through the station there's discarded silver containers scattered all over the floor with dogs licking up the leftovers of whatever was in them- I'd call them pie containers and the smell of food hits you. Raj tells us that the temples give people free food and shelter. As we turn a corner there's a man with a large, silver, cylindrical cooking pot ladling daal into the pie containers. People, mostly men, are squatting on the floor eating with their fingers. I really struggle to get comfortable sitting on the floor but everyone look so at ease. Next are the stalls, market stalls selling ‘good price’ leather wallets, belts, handbags, bargain basement shirts, cleaning products, incense and spices, open sacks of spices. The smell is wonderful, it hits the nose and you smell one flavour, then another. It's like walking past lush without feeling sick! There's a lot of people around now and the streets are bustling again. We cross the flooding road (toms were a bad decision, my feet are squelching) and make a left. Raj wants to take us for street food and ‘knows the best place’. Approaching the corner we make a sudden stop- we've reached the stall but also a bloody massive grey ox, with wide curling horns and a shiny black nose is pulling a wide cart and needs to get through. It's got reigns attached to each nostril and it grunts as it pulls its load. I stare like a tourist. Meanwhile Raj has picked up the vegetable samosas and hands them out. Oh they're good. Crisp outside and soft spiced potato inside. A samosa at 9am in the morning? Yeh, sure. Raj leads us through old Delhi to the oldest mosque in the city. It's red stone with Hindu and Islam influence; lotus flowers and archways. A man hands all the women robes as they walk in and shoes are not allowed. I wander the mosque with Maddie, Beth and JohnMiller, reconvening with the group half an hour later. Walking toward the next destination, a Sikh temple which is the ground where the 9th Sikh guru Teg Bahadur was beheaded, I chat with Dom. He went to Sussex Uni, and then studied at Oxford which is why he speaks perfect English and has no accent. He says mate in the same way I do (tone means everything so mate can mean anything you want it to). He's really really smart. He turns 30 this year and is a lecturer at university. In the Hindu temple we have to wear scarves which the temple can provide. All the girls bust out their pashminas. I did have my own scarf too but when else can you do that?! As if I'm missing a chance to wear a triangle saffron headscarf with a black block print of The Sikh religion image on it in a temple! Tie it on my head Raj!! Again, there was free food being handed out, but this time rubbish was tidied. Three men were sat playing instruments and singing at the front of the room and there was a shrine at what was the supposed exact spot of the beheading. The interior was beautiful. Bright colourful patterned carpets, lotus flower shape patterned ceiling mirrors, reflecting the colourful carpets. The walls were covered in designs of every colour and a large tv was showing the lyrics that the men were singing in Hindi and English. Raj showed us the kitchens where the free food was prepared and a large dining hall which hundreds of people eat together in. All the women volunteering in the kitchen are laughing and joking and don't mind us watching them and taking photos like they're zoo animals. Everyone is smiling actually, they bring their hands to pray position and bow toward you in with a slight smile. Conquering the bustling streets we head back to the metro station to go for lunch near to the hotel. The restaurant Raj has picked reminds me of the one Ahmed had picked in Jordan, plastic chairs, tables with the lacquer peeling off. But this one smelt of spices and incense and has pink and orange flowers adorning a small shrine of Hindu statues. I sit with Dylan, Jess and Raj. Raj helps each of us order individually. Raj is made for tour guiding. He has endless amounts of enthusiasm, loves history, loves religion, loves India and is constantly animated. Not in that way that American cheerleaders can make you feel like you're drowning slowly by smiles and teeth, but this endearing enthusiasm that makes you want to engage. He's 38, has aged wonderfully, still lives with his Mum and has worked for Intrepid for 8 years. I order a Rawa masala dosa and southern Indian style coffee. Its divine. And £1.60!
Dylan and Jess are from Melbourne. Ergo they're coffee snobs and approve of the coffee. Dylan is 23 and Jess is now 25. They’re doing the North India tour, then heading to France for a few weeks, followed by Switzerland and Italy. Jess just quit her job at Pandora and I didn't actually find out what Dylan does. He's funny though and they bounce off one another.
Raj suggests after lunch that we head to a convenience store and buy snacks and breakfast for our impending 19 hour overnight sleeper train. I grab a hot cross bun (seemed appropriate for Easter) and a juice carton. Maddie suggests we get a cake for Jess so we grab some chocolate tarts and a 2 and a 5 candle, get back to the hotel and present her with them.
The journey from the hotel to the station is 6 km. it takes us 90minutes to get there. Delhi roads are crazy. Everyone is in a rush and they squeeze into every space, beeping and weaving. We were queuing next to a rickshaw with 4 adults and 6 children in! One of the little boys made eye contact with Beth and gave her filthiest look the entire time. It got awkward. Finally at the train station, descending onto the platform and the first thing that you're aware of is the smell. The only smell I can think of to adequately describe the stench is that brewery on the M4 times a thousand. Stagnant water and human waste scent fills the nostrils and as we descend the stairs further, the platforms are covered with people, luggage and cargo. There's hardly any space and people are all talking, laughing and joking amongst each other.
Boarding the 5pm train from Delhi to Jaisalmer, there's an air of excitement amongst us. This is pretty much a sleepover people! A moving sleepover. The train slowly pulls away from the station and we start to pass through slums. Cardboard and plastic sheets wrapped about poles with bricks weighing the sheets down onto the ceilings, nearly naked children playing cricket on rubbish piles, the odd satellite dish and men squatting and pooing in the same rubbish piles. This was the India I'd heard the most about. Raj said that people leave their villages with ideas that city life would so be much better but in reality the majority end up in the slums because accommodation is just so expensive. Raj commandeers the conversation, films (he compared Dirty Dancing to the Taj Mahal. He'd heard so much that he was disappointed) hobbies (massive LOTR/ Hobbit fan, even has a ring of power- whatever that is) and funny anecdotes from previous trips he's done. He's also been to Jordan so we discuss Jordan quite a bit too. Discussing our types of humour, I say that I enjoy self deprecating humour and I generally find misfortune for other people funny (obviously within limits). As I say this JohnMiller reaches into his bag for his dinner, roti and pickles in chillies and oil. The pickle bag is empty… ITS ONLY FALLEN OUT OF THE BAG HASN’T IT?! JohnMiller holds up the empty bag for about 7 seconds. He's a little bit useless in the situation and doesn't do anything, just sits there holding the empty bag. I cannot stop laughing. Luckily the food came within another bag so there isn't too much mess. Time actually goes really quickly and by 10.30pm we realise we’re the only section still awake. Raj and JohnMiller take the top bunks, Dom and I the middle, Beth and Maddie on the bottom and try to sleep. (The others were in the next section).