Any one looking out of the small airplane windows could see apartment-complex building and streets going for miles in either direction. Big patches of undisturbed woods and sail strung waters were between these complexes until it gave way to nothing but more nature. Eventually nature once again gave way to nothing but cityscape reminiscent of the view seen from the polluted sky of Los Angelos. We were crossing Moscow and its landscape at low altitude for an extended amount of time not normally experienced on a descent towards the airport. This also happens to be the worst way to have your ears pop slowly and dramatically painfully. The flight had left more than an hour and a half after its proposed departure time, and given my hour and ten minutes transfer time to make my flight to Delhi at the airport. The inflight magazine assured me that AeroFlot airlines had been creating the modern Russian image for quiet some time, so when I asked the attendant clad in red with hammer and sickle logos if I’d make the flight, her reassuring “No” with stone cold expression was suitably reassuring.
Several hours later, after going through airport security, dealing with a cranky transit desk worker, a silent bus driver, being led through back entrances and what should be emergency exit doors we finally reach a hotel clerk desk. This desk, small as it was, had behind it a stout and thick blonde lady. In those several hours, me and my eight other equally distraught traveling companions had learned that the Russian Federation did guarantee us various rights as travellers who have missed their flights. Although the hotel room and the meals we were told we would get were included in those rights, the others we mentioned to the clerk, she simply said “Impossible”. You’ve got to love Russian hospitality.
Twenty-four hours after my initial flight was supposed to board, I was indeed able to board a flight along with my new travel companions, including a Dutch lady studying Tibetan at Dharamsala and an Indian couple. Finally, I arrive in Delhi. It is 4:45 am when I reach my hotel, and the room I have arranged is ready for me. A little bit of sleep is accomplishable when I go up have breakfast and finalize the last details on my stay with the front desk. Deciding to venture Delhi on my own, with a barely comprehendible map through streets that apparently are not marked, was perhaps more than my brain could take on. I did eventually make it to the metro station I had wanted and to the Qutub Minir complex, but already that was strenuous. The ease with which a person walking on the street picks up a proper conversation is rather shocking too, and eventually they always attempt to convince me where to go. It is particularly difficult at this point to know who means to be friendly and who wants to make money.
For a two quick examples on the spectrum, while I was taking photos of Qutub Minir, a man came up to me to ask if he could take a photo of me with his kid. When I asked my guide (who truly I should not have hired) why he wanted this, he said because people travel from all over India to come see the sights at Delhi, and when they go home part of the vacation magic was seeing a ‘fair skinned’ person. Next example is the security guard pointing out to me good spots for photos and then demanding tip for doing so when I asked nothing of him (I didn’t give him the tip). Things I must learn to deal with here in Delhi.
Up until leaving the Netherlands, I had been able to relax for the most part with my Oma, and visited brother Rick at his home to see how his broken ankle was doing. I spent the last day sailing with my aunt Wendy, cousin Sky and Oma. It was extremely nice to do so, but unfortunately it had me catch a bit of a cold and made me feel less prepared for the trip. It is strange to say that after such a long day, I do miss my comfortable surroundings, but I must press forward as I still have four months here in India. Until next time!
