I arrived in New Delhi for a second time from Bikaner and headed to Hotel Amax Inn which was located in a long strip of tourist hotels and travel booking agencies. I noticed immediately how much more comfortable I was this time in the capital and how I felt like an old pro traveler, wise to the ways of India. True or not, this is how I felt, possibly because this was a much more accommodating area of town, unlike the place I'd stayed last time. After checking into my hotel, I immediately went to a travel place to book a bus ticket for the next evening to Dharamshala where the Dali Lama does his thing and lots of Tibetan refugees live.
The next day I went to Connaught Place, which is a huge circular section of town with a bunch of blocks named A block, B block, C block, etc. The outer ring and inner ring are all fancy with white classical facades, but the middle ring is composed of crumbling brick buildings. I went there specifically to buy a couple of Michael Crichton books which, after reading Prey, found that I can bust through one of his books with almost no effort and be completely oblivious to the 8 hours of train-bound tedium in which I float. I quickly found a dude selling hundreds of used paperbacks all stacked neatly on the sidewalk. He actually had a Michael Crichton stack out of which I scored two amusing books for the long bus ride. A middle aged fellow approached me as I handed over the money to the bookseller and asked where I was from and I noticed he had a cotton tipped metal pick sticking out from under his hat and another metal pick stuck there as well. He whipped out a little notebook filled with reviews in different languages, each dated, extolling the virtues of this guy's ear cleaning services. "Ahh, so you clean ears, huh?" I said and he said yes. Then he whipped out yet another notebook for my inspection and all the reviews were positive and I considered letting him scrape my ears for a brief second when I decided that I didn't want to chance permanent eardrum damage, despite dude's credentials and his 30 years of skill and service. He implored me to have a "real Indian experience" and to not be afraid, but I thanked him for the opportunity and walked away, ears a little waxy. I think my ear plugs have been keeping my ears pretty clean, at least they have such an appearance.
The sun was out, the fog/smog from the beginning of the month was gone giving New Delhi a less doom-tinged appearance I walked around for a while and found the entrance to the park in the center of the ring where two security guards manned a metal detector and a booth. They were inspecting people and their bags with their backs turned to me and I walked right in with my backpack full of popular fiction and water like it wasn't no thaang. Lots of urbanites lay in the grass with their pals and chaste lovers surrounded by an unusual lack of trash.
On the way back to the hotel, with 4 hours to burn, I caught the newest Russell Crowe and Marky Mark movie which was thoroughly entertaining. They played the same anti tobacco ads at the beginning of the film that I saw before Dabangg 2, and having stuck around for the second half after the intermission, I found they replayed the same ads again. I wasn't convinced that smoking or dipping was "injurious to your health" before, but now I can say that I'm certain that it is.
I headed back to the hotel to collect my plastic Mercadona bag from Sevilla that contained my travel food and books then took a cycle rickshaw to the bus stop where I boarded my expensive deluxe AC Volvo semi-sleeper bus with nice seats and a good suspension. My seat mate was an American guy from Connecticut who had been living in Delhi for the last 6 months working at some NGO that helps poorer kids study for their entrance exams into university. He dressed in sport coat, shirt with cufflinks, and fancy leather shoes. He carried with him a Truman Capote book and for a second I was embarassed by my Crichton, but then decided that I didn't give a shit because I'm an adult and I can read whatever I want, lowbrow as it may be. He was friendly and told me to email him when I'm back in Delhi if I want to hang out. Apparently AC means they keep the AC on regardless of outside temperature, 32 degrees or not.
It seemed like we were going over 100 mph at points, but I couldn't be sure if it was just because I'd been traveling relatively slowly for the last 2 months. Either way, it seemed dangerously fast. I was unable to read on the bus due to the bumpiness and unable to sleep due to the swerving, so I stared out the window into the moonlight, which at one point towards the end of the trip, I could see out into an immense river valley and mountains in their hazy blue blue glow. I looked around and I think I was one of the only people awake to see it.
We arrived in McLeod Ganj at 5am before any of the hotels opened so the American guy and I walked until we found one of the places in my guidebook where my opening the metal gate summoned the guy who ran the place who set me up with a nice cheap room where I collapsed.
Put that in your wax-free SkullBong and smoke it.
The next day I went to Connaught Place, which is a huge circular section of town with a bunch of blocks named A block, B block, C block, etc. The outer ring and inner ring are all fancy with white classical facades, but the middle ring is composed of crumbling brick buildings. I went there specifically to buy a couple of Michael Crichton books which, after reading Prey, found that I can bust through one of his books with almost no effort and be completely oblivious to the 8 hours of train-bound tedium in which I float. I quickly found a dude selling hundreds of used paperbacks all stacked neatly on the sidewalk. He actually had a Michael Crichton stack out of which I scored two amusing books for the long bus ride. A middle aged fellow approached me as I handed over the money to the bookseller and asked where I was from and I noticed he had a cotton tipped metal pick sticking out from under his hat and another metal pick stuck there as well. He whipped out a little notebook filled with reviews in different languages, each dated, extolling the virtues of this guy's ear cleaning services. "Ahh, so you clean ears, huh?" I said and he said yes. Then he whipped out yet another notebook for my inspection and all the reviews were positive and I considered letting him scrape my ears for a brief second when I decided that I didn't want to chance permanent eardrum damage, despite dude's credentials and his 30 years of skill and service. He implored me to have a "real Indian experience" and to not be afraid, but I thanked him for the opportunity and walked away, ears a little waxy. I think my ear plugs have been keeping my ears pretty clean, at least they have such an appearance.
The sun was out, the fog/smog from the beginning of the month was gone giving New Delhi a less doom-tinged appearance I walked around for a while and found the entrance to the park in the center of the ring where two security guards manned a metal detector and a booth. They were inspecting people and their bags with their backs turned to me and I walked right in with my backpack full of popular fiction and water like it wasn't no thaang. Lots of urbanites lay in the grass with their pals and chaste lovers surrounded by an unusual lack of trash.
On the way back to the hotel, with 4 hours to burn, I caught the newest Russell Crowe and Marky Mark movie which was thoroughly entertaining. They played the same anti tobacco ads at the beginning of the film that I saw before Dabangg 2, and having stuck around for the second half after the intermission, I found they replayed the same ads again. I wasn't convinced that smoking or dipping was "injurious to your health" before, but now I can say that I'm certain that it is.
I headed back to the hotel to collect my plastic Mercadona bag from Sevilla that contained my travel food and books then took a cycle rickshaw to the bus stop where I boarded my expensive deluxe AC Volvo semi-sleeper bus with nice seats and a good suspension. My seat mate was an American guy from Connecticut who had been living in Delhi for the last 6 months working at some NGO that helps poorer kids study for their entrance exams into university. He dressed in sport coat, shirt with cufflinks, and fancy leather shoes. He carried with him a Truman Capote book and for a second I was embarassed by my Crichton, but then decided that I didn't give a shit because I'm an adult and I can read whatever I want, lowbrow as it may be. He was friendly and told me to email him when I'm back in Delhi if I want to hang out. Apparently AC means they keep the AC on regardless of outside temperature, 32 degrees or not.
It seemed like we were going over 100 mph at points, but I couldn't be sure if it was just because I'd been traveling relatively slowly for the last 2 months. Either way, it seemed dangerously fast. I was unable to read on the bus due to the bumpiness and unable to sleep due to the swerving, so I stared out the window into the moonlight, which at one point towards the end of the trip, I could see out into an immense river valley and mountains in their hazy blue blue glow. I looked around and I think I was one of the only people awake to see it.
We arrived in McLeod Ganj at 5am before any of the hotels opened so the American guy and I walked until we found one of the places in my guidebook where my opening the metal gate summoned the guy who ran the place who set me up with a nice cheap room where I collapsed.
Put that in your wax-free SkullBong and smoke it.
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