My travel diaries
Friday 14 September, 2007 - Delhi, India
We have a 7 o'clock wake up call, pack our things, have an 8 o'clock breakfast and depart the Kang Lha Chen Hotel at 8.45. We have a 10.30 flight back to Delhi, and the airport is much quieter than last time I was here, when I seem to remember having to join a rugby scrum to get on the flight and an Indian porter, in his anxiety to get his clients to the front of the queue, drove his baggage trolley right into the back of my ankles.
This time things seem to be more civilised, and we are soon on the flight. Nic manages to get a seat near the front with plenty of leg room but no table. He's given a cushion and told to eat on his lap. This reminds me so much of conditions in the mess tent at Sniu Base Camp, when we all sat cross-legged on a sheet of tarpaulin, that I feel compelled to lean across the aisle and tell him to take his boots off and then wash his hands before he sits down. Matthew, sitting next to me, grins in his own impenetrable way.
We find ourselves back in the Taj Mahal Hotel in Delhi at about 1 o'clock. I find myself sharing a room with Peter this time. Peter and Matthew both seem like interesting people, one a retired army officer and the other a professor of mathematics, but they've very much kept themselves to themselves all trip and I feel I don't know them very well. This is partly remedied in Delhi. In the afternoon Nic, Matthew, Peter and I get a taxi into Old Delhi, where we're dropped off in what looks like the car parts quarter, with exhaust pipes, hub caps and spare tyres piled outside every shop. We have lunch at a restaurant in a Muslim street, just a few doors away from the entrance from the Jama Masjid mosque. After we've eaten we try and go for a look round, but a man on the gate won't let Peter and me in with our cameras unless we pay 200 rupees for a 'photography permit', even after we tell him we won't take any photos. I've been inside Jama Masjid before, when I don't recall having to pay any more than a small donation, so suspecting some sort of tourist scam I politely decline and wait outside. Peter, who appears equally incensed, does the same even though he's not been there before. Consequently Nic and Matthew, concerned at our waiting around for them, only spend about 10 minutes in there, and don't even climb the minaret with its views out over Old Delhi and the Red Fort.
After they come out, we avoid the rickshaw gridlock, which seems to be completely stationery with lots of drivers shouting at one another in Hindi, by walking leisurely through the busy throng to Chandni Chowk, the main wide commercial avenue in the otherwise bustling narrow streets of Old Delhi. We spend the next hour engaged in a walking tour from my Lonely Planet guide.
We visit a Hindu, Jain and Sikh temple, and all are different. The 13 th century Gauri Shankar Hindu temple is ramshackle, run-down, and a mess of separate areas bolted together, with lots of water in the ground. It's dedicated to the god Shiva, and contains separate shrines for his wife Parvati, sons Ganesh and Kartik, and pet bull Nandi. I leave first, and Peter comes out a few moments behind me with a mortified expression on his face after a friendly Hindu worshipper asked him whether Nic is his son. A narrow, elongated Australian and a stocky Englishman with a Home Counties accent would have made an unlikely family unit.
The Jain Svetambara Temple is tucked away in a quiet "mews" alley (Peter's description) off a bustling market street. It's very peaceful, with lots of mosaics of a man looking serene while, (i) his ship is destroyed in a storm, (ii) somebody tries to put a knitting needle through his head, and (iii) he is toasted alive over a fire while a snake is waved in front of him. This turns out to be Lord Mahavira, the 24 th and most recent Tirthankar (or spiritual founder) of Jainism, and several walls on the second floor of the temple trace his life story.
At the Sisganj Gurdwara Sikh temple we're treated to a full on tour by a very softly spoken temple curator who takes us around the temple itself (where musicians are playing and people are sitting cross legged on a large carpeted floor) and the large volunteer-staffed communal kitchen, where we are offered a free meal and a cup of tea (which we politely decline). It all takes about twenty minutes and at the end of it all he doesn't even ask for a donation. It's all in stark contrast to our treatment at the mosque earlier in the day.
Our driver is waiting for us at the Sikh temple, and we secure his services for the full day tomorrow to act as our personal chauffeur. We get back to the Taj Mahal Hotel all very pleased with the afternoon we've had. After quick showers we meet in one of the downstairs bars for drinks before going to an Indian restaurant in walking distance down a leafy suburban street. Although the food is nice it turns out to be something of a failure when we find out they don't serve alcohol. We eat as quickly as possible before returning to the very expensive Rick's Bar back at the Taj Mahal Hotel for drinks, where loud rock music (including Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water and Def Leppard's Hysteria ) is being played. It seems to be frequented by well-heeled young Indians rather than hotel patrons. We have only one Kingfisher in there before turning in at about 11 o'clock.
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