The first week cont...

Welcome to India!





We touch down in Delhi 1 1/2 hours late from Abu Dhabi and await our first impressions of India.




The eagerly anticipated breath of the local temperature which always comes with the first step from the airplane doesn't disappoint. We haven't had a summer for 2 years and, maybe subconciously, we half believe that it will be elusive here too.







We are mistaken - it is hot, very hot.

We move forward to the bureaucracy of Indian immigration. We have done our research and are hyper-vigilant for the queues, scams, and confusion that we have been warned against. So, the reality is almost a let-down. The customs official almost smiles a welcome. The baggage checker, looking for evidence that the bags we are trying to leave the airport with belong to us, is a guardian. At the last barrier between airside and our destination there is an orderly line of placards waiting for a variety of 'names'. Where is the anxious crowd of relatives? Where are the ceremonies and reunifications synonymous with arrival halls around the world? This hall is quiet and sparse. Our placard is waiting patiently for us and we meet the man behind it. Mintu will be our driver for the first part of our trip and, reciprocal welcomings over, we leave the rarified atmosphere of 16 hours of international air travel into ...




... Indian reality.




It turns out that space control is regulated here, as it is all over the world, by canny financial disincentives. Space is the premium - demand is high but supply is very limited. If you want to use the precious space you must pay for it (or find a way to circumvent the usual use-of-space rules, but more of that later). There is a 60 rupee fee to enter the airport. 60 rupees can buy you a meal here and six, eight, ten family members waiting for their relatives are, perforce, left to wait outside.

It is almost home from home as we step into a major construction site. We had just left 'Europe's biggest building site' (thanks Martin) and walked into the development zone for the 2010 Commonwealth games. The fact that we have just arrived in a developing country is communicated loud and clear as we negotiate potholes, tyre ruts, refuse and myriad forms of transport between the airport and our first hotel. I think I will dedicate a separate section to the traffic and driving later as it is a fantastic experience that deserves some attention.

We arrive in the Carol Bagh section of Delhi. Lucikly, we are on the outskirts of this area as it is a notorious tourist 'ghetto'. We arrive just as it is getting dark but decide to take the plunge and go for a wander to stretch our legs. In hindight, this was a gentle introduction to Indian street life as people are curious and attentive of us but leave us to our own devices. Brett almost succombs to some delicious-smelling street food but (my) caution prevails and we agree to acclimatise a little more before immersing ourselves to that degree. But the sights, the smells, the sheer intimate humanity of it all is as many others have spoken of before.





I am surprised that I don't find it as "bad" as i thought it was going to be. At times it is so smelly and dirty and impoverished that it is uncomfortable and discomforting. At first I was drawn to try to 'make sense' of how is life for people here, but soon realised that this was futile. I am travelling within a protected space - no matter how close to the street I might think I am. I am an observer here, not a participant. Although I may have some knowledge, I cannot make sense of the history and politics and language and religion and family etc that are all part of daily life here. My inner thoughts about injustice, infrastructures, rules and culture are only assumptions that cannot be checked out - and so I abandon them.