Clare man Ciaran O’Connell has left Ireland behind to embark on a once-in-a-lifetime trip backpacking around the world. Internet access permitting, Ciaran will be corresponding with us as he enjoys his travels. This week he faces culture shock in the bustling Indian city of Delhi.
Dear JOE,
Namaste my friend, Hindu for hello. Greetings from India. I’ve been here for seven days now and I just wanted to update you about some of my experiences so far.
Following my purposely planed stopover night, and of course a few social ones with my crew in London, I boarded the 9.30am flight from Heathrow to Delhi , leaving me with nine hours of a hangover during which to think about all I’d been warned about since announcing my trip to India. On arrival I was astonished to find how new, clean and bright the airport was. Nothing like I was expecting at all, but totally understandable due to the Commonwealth Games.
One story/scam I’d read about prior to my trip involved the taxi drivers at the airport who, when you show the address of your accommodation, inform you that that building doesn’t exist or has recently been burned down. They then go on to tell of another lovely hotel that they can bring you right away. They, of course, then pocket a big commission from the hotel for bringing you there.
I was fortunate that the hostel I had booked provided a collection service, so after what I thought was a questionable drive through some dodgy streets and poorer areas (which turned out to be the norm and which simply highlighted my innocence to the poverty levels in India) I arrive to my own 8 bed dorm at the lovely hostel Narviana (which hadn’t been burnt down).
Nervous
It’s hard to put into words the culture and the way of live over here, but from my first day through to my last in Delhi, which always started with a free so-called “all you can eat breakfast†(which consisted of a broken coffee machine, a few slices of bread , cheese and tomato, a big tub of peanut butter and a few wilted pieces of fruit), my initial nervousness and anxiety gradually relaxed.
This was due in part to the help from the red and white-clothed Commonwealth Games volunteers dotted all over the city and the heightened security for the Games (which involves going through a sandbagged, bunkered airport security zone every time you enter the tube, town centre , temples, points of interest or stadiums all across the city). Although reassuring, it was very annoying at times.
The people of Delhi them are extremely friendly and helpful, but very inquisitive. They’re always asking questions of what western life is like or what we think of their country. Some stop you and ask to take your picture, others, the shier ones, just stop in front of you, stare and say nothing. But a friendly smile or a thumbs up shouting “how ya Mary†keeps them happy.
It seems easy to make instant friends here. One such friend is Jamil, a 19 year old business student who I met at the Red Fort – a big attraction in north Delhi. Jamil is particularly interested in western women and likes to ask advice on how to get himself a western girlfriend, something which is not culturally accepted here in India.
Irish girls
You should have seen the look of amazement on his face when I filled him in on how Irish girl dress and like to party. I think the poor chap now see Irish night clubs as his ideal heaven. Something that is very common here that surprised me a bit is young men holding each other’s hands or linking each other’s little fingers as they walk down the road. This is solely a sign of friendship but I still can’t see it taking off in the west of Ireland.
As I walk the streets, something else that hits me is the poverty across the city. Everywhere you look there are people living or just sleeping on the street, begging where possible or rummaging through rubbish to make ends meet. Sometimes a whole family will use a park bench as their home.
This is really hard to take in but what makes it worse is that Delhi is also home to Connaught Place (the Grafton Street of Delhi), where the extremely rich come out to play and shop. The rich and poor live only streets away from each other, worlds apart. Prices around Connaught Place are the same as in any other western country and ridiculous in comparison to the rest of the city.
A couple of days into my stay in Delhi, my friend Jonnie arrives and we visit many more sites of the city including the Commonwealth Games Athletes’ Village, the Rashtrapati Bhavan (which is the Presidents gaff), India gate and the Qutb Minar where I also got to meet a rural monk who was performing with a music group at the complex. He hadn’t a word of English but loved having his picture taken.
By far the funniest thing to happen to me in Delhi was when we blagged our way into the so-called sold-out Commonwealth Games rugby sevens final (all the tickets were gone but no one was in the stadium) by pretending Jonnie was Peter Stringer. New Zealand won the gold medal and after crowd pressure agreed to perform the Haka on their lap of honour.
Two other key aspect of Delhi and India are the annoying noises from all the vehicles along with their horns (which constantly echo out at all time ) and the strong smells, not only from the half open sewers or the sporadic mounds of rubbish everywhere but the invigorating tingle you get from all the spices and food been prepared at the numerous carts or mini eateries (which wouldn’t pass any of the stringent Irish health and safety laws but which seem to thrive here in every corner or side street).
So far the dreaded Delhi belly has not hit and hopefully this is down to staying off meat the while I am out here, which is hard in itself but worth it as vegetarian meals are seriously spicy and tasty.
Before I sign off, I have to mention Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal . The gleaming white Taj Mahal is stunningly beautiful but a ticket to look around is way over priced (much more expensive for foreign travellers when compared to the price for locals), and the queues and security checks are ridiculous. While in Agra we also saw Agra Fort which is impressive, but no Taj Mahal.
Next week we move future west and hit the party town of Goa. I’ll keep you posted how that goes.
See you after,
Ciaran
LISTEN: You Must Be Jokin’ podcast – listen to the latest episode now!
