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So now India. The discussions among the SinnlosReisende in the preparation lasted long and were intense, because on the one hand India has the reputation of an exotic magic land. Maharajas, Ayurveda, Yoga, Goa, Tantra, Mantra, Mata Hari, Karma, Curry, Papadam and Garlic Naan. Who can resist? On the other hand, one reads shocking reports about dreadful poverty in huge slums, acid attacks by rejected lovers or mass rapes. However, we could already experience in Albania that prejudices sometimes do not have much to do with reality. So once again we had no other choice than to find out for ourselves.
Travel preparations – the visa
We were invited to an Indian wedding with some other German guests, and so it happened that four travel groups from different directions made their way to India. Of course, we wanted to visit a few attractions before everyone would meet for the wedding celebration. That was the plan.
But first there was one hurdle to overcome: the visa. There are two hidden pitfalls in the online application. Under no circumstances should you have Pakistani family members or deny them at all costs, because India and Pakistan may be neighbors, but they are not friends. Swabian homeowners know this, because the closest neighbors here often are the biggest enemies. And you have to think carefully when asked about a unique body feature. It is better not to give a birthmark on the buttock, because at immigration the customs officer might ask to see it for identification purposes. After the approval, you have to print out the fully digital online visa on paper and carry it with you during the trip. Don’t ask, that’s just the way it is!
Arrival in Delhi
The first group of travelers spent 36 hours in the emergency room in Delhi, because even a four-star hotel offers enough germs for gastrointestinal disasters with dehydration. Group 2 had chosen a different hotel and got off lucky: two days of waterfall-like diarrhea, but at least no hospitalization.
The third group had chosen a hotel in a district of Delhi that made even the cab driver break out in a cold sweat. But since this group was a robust male duo, it was not a problem. It’s important to note that it’s quite common for Indian hotels to steal photos from another, better hotel’s website and fake the location on Google. In addition, at least half of the reviews are bought, namely all those that give only one word at maximum score, such as „awesome“ or „excellent“. India is just a service society, you can buy everything.
Since our flight landed at 2:00 am in Delhi, we had booked our first night’s stay in a snoozepod at the airport. These are small windowless chambers that are rented out by the hour. As soon as we left the security area, a cluster of helpful people formed around us offering their services. Cabs, accommodations, excursions, substitute kidneys, whatever the tourist needs. In the course of our vacation we gradually learned to get rid of these people, but at first it took a lot of effort. We couldn’t shake off one of them until we reached the elevator. He wanted to collect a tip by pushing our button to the sixth floor. As if we couldn’t have done that ourselves.
While we were waiting for our room, we got a valuable tip from the hotel manager on how to protect yourself from these people who want to talk you into anything. „It’s simple: ignore all people who want to help you!“ was the ultimate advice. After a lively conversation about our further plans, the manager got to the point. He had a travel agency as second business. „I can help you with everything,“ was his conclusion. But I had long since learned his advice and ignored him.
After weeks of research, Mrs. SinnlosReisen had booked a homestay in Delhi. These are family-run guesthouses, which usually have no stars, but nice and highly motivated hosts. From this homebase we plunged into the traffic of Delhi.
The Indian traffic
India is the country with the most traffic fatalities in the world. According to WHO estimates, about 300,000 people die in accidents here every year. Indian road traffic is war. A battle of everyone against everyone, in which only one weapon is allowed: the horn. Since there are hardly any sidewalks, people, animals and vehicles of all kinds fight in the same arena, with only one rule: „NO RULES APPLY“.
Red traffic lights mean that you should honk a little louder than usual when crossing the intersection. Double solid lines mark the middle of the road, but otherwise have no meaning. Traffic is predominantly on the left, but if there is more traffic in one direction than the other, the flow of vehicles spills elastically into the oncoming lane. The few crosswalks should only be entered with sufficient food and a sleeping bag, because they are traps with which innocent tourists are lured onto the median strip, where they then have to wait out the endless stream of vehicles until the next gap. And that can take several days. To survive in Indian traffic, it is very helpful to know the subtle nuances of a properly operated horn. Here is a little guide for beginners:
- Hoot: I’m coming, just don’t drive in my lane!
- Hoot Hoot: I’m coming, get out of the way!
- Hoot-Hoot-Hooooooot: Clear the way, I’m bigger than you!
- Hoot hoot hoot hoot: Drive, you beginner!
- Hooooooooooooot: I only brake for cows!
- Mooooooh: I am a holy cow. If you drive me down, it will cost you a lot of karma points!
- Meep-Meep: I am smaller than you, please don’t run me over!
- Meeep-Meeep-Meeeeeeep: I’m smaller but faster than you, let me through
- Meeeeeeep-Meeeeep-Meeeeep: I have children with me, please let us live!
- Hoooooooooooonk: I’m a bus and I only brake at stops!
- HOOOOOOOOOONK: I’m a truck and I have no brakes!
- Criiiiiiieeeeep – Radong: I’m a chipmunk and now I have a flat tail!
Holy Shit!
Oh, there is still one rule: the holy cows always have the right of way. These cows dominate the streets. And where there are cows, there are also their droppings, at least until someone collects them, dries the cow patties and cooks or heats with them.
I stepped already on the first twenty meters into the holy shit. I wore once again my favorite shoes with the deep profile, which already had to make acquaintance with the chemical toilet of our camper. The next morning I stepped with the first sleep-drunk step on our terrace in a heap, which one of the omnipresent monkeys had left there. I guess I have to look for new favorite shoes.
Even worse fared a member of travel group 3, who became a victim of the shoe shine mafia. These nasty fellows stalk tourists, holding a cloth filled with dog feces. When the victim is distracted, they bend down to his shoe and press the poop to the shoe with the cloth. While doing so, they excitedly call out „Oh, look, sir, you stepped into something!“ and act as if they had just discovered the mishap and were trying to wipe off the worst of the dirt with the cloth. While the unsuspecting tourist is still wondering how he could have overlooked such a heap, a shoeshine boy is on the spot by pure chance, who then removes the dirt at an exorbitant price.
To Akshardham Temple by Metro
Delhi is the second largest city in the world with about 40 million inhabitants. Half of them, namely the men, spit on the floor every few minutes. Except in the metro, because spitting is forbidden there. What a pity, because I always wanted to spit out in an accelerating metro and study the flight behavior of the sputum.
I know that quite a few readers appreciate my thorough research into pointless everyday knowledge, so here’s a quick fact check: spitting out once contains about 10 milliliters of liquid. With chewing tobacco a little more, without a little less. If every male resident of Delhi spits out every ten minutes, that adds up to a puddle of 7 billion liters a year. That is roughly equivalent to the annual beer consumption of all Germans (including Oktoberfest). In fifteen years, this will create a spit pond the size of Wannsee in Berlin. Amazing, isn’t it?
The metro is a highlight in Delhi’s traffic. Reliable, cheap, safe and fast, it bypasses the traffic chaos on the streets every minute. And it avoids the puddles of spit. That’s probably what our foreign minister thought, too.
Apparently, Annalena’s security people were a bit overzealous. Because when we took the same train a few hours later on the same day, there were still people lying around with bullet holes in their foreheads. Since the sight of blood always makes me sick, I didn’t look too closely, but I had the impression that some were even still moving. Pretty spooky! *
No matter, we did not let on, went to the Akshardham station and visited the temple of the same name. Since taking photos is strictly forbidden here (you even have to leave your mobile phone at the cloakroom), I have resorted to the official photo gallery of the temple for this report. This Hindu temple was built by 8,000 volunteers from sandstone and marble and was only completed in 2005. A beautiful garden, an exhibition on Hinduism and a water show at sunset are part of the program. And all this is free of charge.
Inside the temple there are nine domes whose ceilings are decorated with carvings depicting various themes from Hinduism. These so-called mandapams are so breathtakingly beautiful that stiff neck is inevitable.
Apparently elephants were a lead design element of the temple builders, because the facade is peppered with scenes from the everyday life of pachyderms.
The first evening we went home early, saturated with impressions. Shoeshine. But of course I will continue to report about our trip.
*) If my disrespectful flat jokes about red dots on the forehead get on your nerves, then you can get serious information about the religious background of the Bindi from Irene in India.
Sinnlos reisen 