Landing at Delhi Airport at 2 am only to be taken to a fraudelent tourist agency by a taxi driver determined not to take you to your hotel, is another slap in the face.
Actually the slaps continue landing in your face in the form of pushy rickshaw drivers, dodgy touts, overnight buses with speakers wailing punjabi disco in your face night, people or cows making a pee-pee or a ka-ka next to your sidewalk dinner, homicidal drivers with horns mounted on the inside pointing towards the passangers- and the list goes on and on.
But along with irritation and hatred comes love for this endlessly strange culture. And slaps are varied with pats on the back consisting of beautifully dressed women flashing a wry smile, divine cuisine and chai (the delhi belly that occasionally follows, is perhaps not as divine), generous and hospitable people- the list is definitely longer than the one before.
At home in Old Delhi.
Man ironing using hot coals, Central Delhi
A shop in the hectic and varied streets of Old Delhi
Man ironing using hot coals, Central Delhi
A shop in the hectic and varied streets of Old Delhi
Fatehpuri Masjid, where men were bursting out in primal screams
when participating in the traditional singing and praying
when participating in the traditional singing and praying
Floating on to Rajasthan, a state in northeastern India which is not only roughly the size of france- but travelling through it also proved to be somewhat of a crash course in french since allmost all the travellers i met were french. 'C'est la monde en France' they simply answered when i asked why.
Along to arabic style flutes and drums these boys were performing a welcoming
dance ceremony to the hords of hungering tourists
dance ceremony to the hords of hungering tourists