Day 7 – Train to Jaipur

Up at 4 and in the lobby by 5 to catch the 6:05 train to Jaipur! It’s about a four-hour journey (barring no delays) and we’re barely able to see out the windows as it’s so foggy/smoggy. Putting our luggage on top of the transport vans that took us to the train station was a bit unnerving, especially when I ended up in a different vehicle than the one that my big backpack was loaded on.

We’re well in the habit of locking up packs and keeping valuables in front of us, but I’m still terrified that someone’s going to run by and snatch my camera out of my hand, or worse, grab my entire daypack. If the latter were to happen, I’d probably just give up and go home. Knock on wood nothing like that happens.

We met the group last night at 5pm at the hotel and so far I think it’s a great group. We’ve got myself and Michael, and the tour leader Dinesh. Melanie, Bob, and their daughter Montana are from California, as is Dan. Julian is from Melbourne, Australia, and Steen and Louisa are a couple from Denmark. Lene and Christina are from Norway, and Danish and Norwegian are similar enough that the five of them (Michael, Steen, Louisa, Lene & Christine) can converse decently between their two languages (although they all speak English as well). Rose and David are from Calgary, so a football rivalry may erupt (although David pointed out that it won’t be as bad as a Canucks vs Flames battle, so it’s good I’m not a huge hockey fan). And lastly, my roommate Shauna is from Belfast, Ireland, where I now have a place to stay! The beauty of travel is that is opens up so many doors for more.

After filling out forms and going through introductions, we met at 6 and took taxis to India Gate. Michael and I went there in the daylight yesterday, when we were exploring New Delhi. It was pretty to see it at night too. It’s a memorial erected in honour of the many soldiers killed in various wars, primarily the first world war. Not that I’ve seen it in person yet, but it reminds me of the Arc de Triumphe.

Yesterday morning, before I met Michael at breakfast, I had an opportunity to check my email on the lobby computer at the hotel. While I was updating Facebook, the man at the desk told me that my family had called the day before but I was out. I was super bummed that I had missed their call, and not even two minutes later he starts laughing and telling me that my family was calling again. Mom had signed onto Facebook at the same time and saw that I had just updated and called the hotel. So nice to speak with mom and dad!

India is insane. And that’s no surprise to anyone. You go forward 11 hours time difference-wise, but it’s like stepping back in time by fifty or more years. I knew there’d be poverty, but I didn’t think it’d be at this calibre, nor this widespread. Endless tin huts and shelters crafted out of whatever they could salvage. People sleeping in every doorway and in the middle of roundabouts and in the train stations and in the street. Kids digging through piles of garbage looking for anything of value, and young children taught to beg and gesture hunger with their fingers.

Many of the people here are tiny, shorter than I am, unlike the Indians in Canada, whom are usually much taller than I am, and often robust in stature. I wonder if it’s nutritional deficiencies stunting their growth. So unusual to see men that are maybe five feet tall at best.

The constant harassment takes its toll; the second you exit a rickshaw, you’ve got three more drivers asking you where to next. They want to make a deal to have you tour the city all day, and they can’t comprehend that you might just want to walk places. When I told one driver that we were walking instead, he replied with “No! Walking is talking and talking is pick pocketing!”

Yesterday I had reached my maximum shortly after noon. We’d been in auto-rickshaws all day and every driver wants to know where you’re from and where you’re going and if you’ve been to this temple and that temple and you can hire him for the day and he’ll wait and you shouldn’t walk. The questions and chatter are endless. We were standing near a busy intersection trying to look at the map in Michael’s guidebook and men kept coming up and asking us a million questions in broken English and it’s impossible to block it out. You ignore them and walk away and they follow you and it’s “Ma’am, ma’am, where do you want to go?” Their persistence is unbelievable. You continually say no and they continually keep asking you questions. Couple that with the excessive street noise due to so many cars and so much honking and I couldn’t take it anymore. We retreated, despite Michael’s reluctance, into a super fancy coffee house and restaurant.

Inside it was noisy with the chatter of voices and the clatter of cutlery, but it was peaceful compared to outside. It was primarily tourists, as I expect many locals couldn’t afford the “expensive” fare, so the constant stares that I was faced with outside were non-existent in the restaurant. I never realized the value of being able to disappear in a crowd, like I am at home, until it was taken from me. Being invisible and blending in here is impossible. Total for our bill: about $30 CND. If we had eaten outside from a street vendor? Probably less than $2. But worth every penny for the temporary sanctuary it provided me.

Traffic here is indescribable. While practically all cars have numerous dings and dents, I’d expect the overall rate of fatal crashes to be lower. I may be wrong though. Lane lines are merely suggestions, and it’s not uncommon to be five or six vehicles wide in a two-lane street.

Whatever a typical Indian’s job is, be it selling peanuts or hocking clothes or cooking street food or begging or charming snakes or repairing cobblestone paths, there is no easy work here. The days start early and end late, and the struggle is often multiplied by children to care for. This is a hard life, and one I don’t envy.

Another moment of solace that I was happy to have yesterday was in the astoundingly beautiful Lotus Temple (aka Baha’i House of Worship). When you enter the temple, complete silence is required. And since everyone’s removed their shoes, it’s serenely quiet. The temple was built for the use of all religions, and is a place of reflection and meditation. Its exterior is made of white concrete, and is nine-sided, in the shape of a (surprise!) lotus flower. The interior is panels of white marble and filled with wooden benches with white marble seats. The outside has several pools of (milky) turquoise water. The entire thing was built by volunteer efforts, and is reminiscent of the Sydney Opera house in its grand sail-like design.

Despite having worked in the tourism for several years, Dinesh hasn’t ever been outside of India (save for Nepal, as his job takes him there). Last night when we were taxiing to India Gate we were commenting on how chaotic the traffic is here compared to home. I said he should come to Canada and see it, and he pointed out that with his wage he’ll never be able to travel. I’d assume that by Indian standards he’s doing well, but it’s a sad reminder that no matter how hard these people work their entire lives, they may never be afforded the same opportunities that we take for granted. Having a dollar that’s worth a lot means I’ll always be able to venture out of Canada. Dinesh could work longer and harder and save more of what he makes and likely never have the same options for holidaying. It’s too bad that things are so unfair.

I’m glad I’m taking advantage of the opportunity while I can, because who knows when it may disappear. I’m also glad my parents have instilled the travel bug in me, and that they’re so behind me going off on adventures. If I didn’t have their house to live in when I came home this trip wouldn’t have been as easy to manage.

We’re nearing Jaipur now, where we’ll find the best jewelry and art. India is amazing.