The first thing we learned in India was to never let our guards down. We have been on the road for some time now and have gotten used to wearing our moneybelts to bed. We check, question and negotiate prices all the time and try our best to distinguish between baksheesh, tip and "voluntary" donations. But since con artists structure their scams so intelligently, you must always stay alert in order to detect them before getting lured in.
Arriving in Delhi, the man at the pre-paid taxi counter magically switched the bill for a smaller one, but we outsmarted him. Once inside the city, jetlagged, sweating under our backpacks, and struggling on the chaotic streets, we were immediately caught by a simple scam. We walked up the stairs to the train information counter when a young man stopped us, informing us that since the building was in bad shape they had had to relocate the office and move to new installations. We were fools enough to believe we were taken to the right place when he led us away from the train station to a shabby, make-believe office across the street where we could "buy our tickets, which were necessary to enter the station building." It was a masked non-official travel agency. Unfortunately we mentioned that we were to pick up Guillaume's sister Aurelie at the airport the next day and ended up checking in to a hotel where the agency insisted we should go. The following morning the slimy travel agent tracked us down, calling our hotel room pretending to be the front reception and pressed that we book a taxi to the airport through him to pick up the third party. Our jaws dropped and we hung up the phone deciding to be less gullible.
Everyone gets a commission on the foreign currency you spend, so you have to insist and double check that your rickshaw driver takes you to the right address, instead of to another hotel where he gets a part of the deal. The hotel manager recommends a restaurant where he gets a nice percentage and your tour guide will eventually drag you into an "art school" where his "brother" is a "poor student" and ask if you want to buy some souvenirs.
Guillaume triumphantly took another taxi and picked up Aurelie who flew in from Paris for two weeks. After spending 24 hours a day together for over a month, we both liked the idea of two becoming three for a while to face the one billion Indians and Krishna knows how many cows. In the hot and humid monsoon we waded in brown water up to our knees on Delhi's flooded, garbage filled streets to get to our early morning bus out of the city to Rajasthan and the colorful countryside.
On buses and trains, with passengers hanging off the roof, we started talking to the people and fell in love with India. It was Jonas' first encounter, but Aurelie and Guillaume had come for the second and third time. We shared in the spontaneous smiles, humor and unabashed curiosity of the people. Crowds of 50 huddled fascinated around our digital camera and broke into hysterical laughter. They wanted to know our names, country-name, what caste we belonged to, and if we were married.
From the pink city of Jaipur we went to Jaisalmer, a medieval fort on the camel caravan spice route. Gorgeous Rajasthani men and women adorned colorful turbans and fluorescent saris and played music. For two days we went on camel safari through the Thar Desert and slept in the sand dunes. It was a long bus ride to Udaipur and its palaces on and around Lake Pichola. On the ghats men bathed with ritual movements amongst the water lilies with the women's rhythmical beating on the laundry echoing around the lake. Our last stop was Chittorgarh, where the temples were full of life and commotion. The Hindi gods have an active role in the daily life, the divine representations being woken by a bell to be bathed, dressed and undressed. Although the ants crawling on the altars of the temples probably get the most of the sweets offered for food. |
