Random Photos

 In light of the unexciting nature of the last few weeks, I thought I'd just post a few photos that have yet to find a home in other posts.  Enjoy!

 

 

The trip to the Post Office was surprisingly uneventful.  NOTHING went wrong, which is rare in India!

Some rickshaw drivers waiting for a gig.

View from a rickshaw.

Another, more interesting view from a rickshaw.  Any and everything can be bought and delivered in India.  Including mattresses.

The rickshaw driver enjoying some cold water (that I gave him) after bringing me home.  He then tried to scam me out of money.  Whatevs.

The best part about Dilli Haat, a local craft market we visited, was the food.  I am enjoying some kachoori, which are pockets of bread stuffed with vegetables and then deep fried.

"Cold coffee" is a BIG deal in India.  Bob can't get enough :)

On the left: one of our favorite Indian foods, chole baturri, which is a bit like chili.  On the right... I can't really remember.  I think it might be dahi bhalla, a yogurt treat that Bob likes and which I find a bit repulsive.

Monsoon view from our apartment.

Cute boy riding in auto rickshaw.

The Rickshaw Mafia and the Lizard

The easiest way to travel in Delhi is by auto-rickshaw.  Of course, riding in one means you have to haggle with the driver over the price, and then hope that he understands, despite the language barrier, where you want to go.

But all is not as simple as it seems.

The rickshaw mafia is a federation of rickshaw drivers.  Their cooperation is impressive.  This is how it goes down.

They line up outside popular places, like the metro exit or a mall, like so:

When you approach them, the leader, who usually speaks the best English, says, "Where you going?"  You tell him, using a lot of gestures and body language, and he choose the rickshaw he thinks is most likely to get you there.  And then there is the price.

I  got in a big fight with the rickshaw mafia this week.  After a trip to "Food Bazaar," my favorite grocery destination, I approached the rickshaw mafia.  I told them where I lived. The mafia leader took one look at me and said "300 rupees."

Me: "No way!  100." 

Vito Corleone: "No, 250."  I laughed, said ok, and started to walk away.  I have no idea where I was going, but this wasn't an act.  I was pissed.  Vito started smacking the side of a rickshaw and yelled, "Lady! 250!" 

Me (screaming):  "No! I live here! I'm not a tourist.  100!" 

We finally agreed on 150.  The whole time Vito and I were screaming at each other, the mafia drivers, who take naps in the back of their rickshaws in between jobs, were peering out from their little yellow roofs and laughing really hard.  I think they enjoyed the show.



That night, I chased a lizard out of our apartment.

This is the distressed email I sent to Bob:


There is a typo in the message; I meant to say "It wasn't that big."  Honestly, it looked like a toy lizard, but it freaked me out.  Sick.  Also, we live on the seventh floor of our building.  How did it get up here?

Guess I'll never know.  Hope it was a one time thing.

Last story about the events of the week so far, and I'll keep it short:

At a restaurant, a woman tried to cut in front of me.  In India, this is completely acceptable.  If you let someone cut in front of you, you deserve it.  So I booty bumped her out of the way, and ordered my food.  Take that.

Success!... Kind of.

Today I had a pretty big to do list, and I am happy to say that I did all of it.  This afternoon, before Bob went to work, (he works from 1p-10p to be able to collaborate better with his office in Louisville), we went to Ambience Mall.  It is reportedly the largest mall in Asia, and although I've only been to a few malls in Asia, I do admit that this one is pretty large (Kimberly, don't get too excited.  It's still smaller than MOA).  Before Bob went to work, we had breakfast at Haldiram's and got some passport photos made. Breakfast pictures below :)

After a long day of shopping, I'd found everything I wanted and I was ready to head home and relax.  All that stood between me and a long, warm shower was an autorickshaw.

Here is the only problem with riding in a rickshaw.  Well, the only two problems.  The first is that it gets really hot, which will eventually be bearable.  And the summer is almost over here too, so that will help.  The second, and larger, problem is that the driver usually only has a glimmer of an idea about where you want to go.  I've learned in my short time here to use as few words as possible.  They only get confused.

Me: Hello sir. Sector 42?
Sir: Sector 53?
Me: No.  42.
Sir: Ok.
Me: Kitne? He gives me a blank stare. How much?  (Kitne means how much in Hindi, his first language.)
Sir: How how much?  250 rupees.

After some bargaining, I got him down to 200 rupees, which is about $4.  We drove for about 30 minutes, and finally he pulled over to the side of the road.

Sir: You get out here.
Me: Um, what's that?
Sir: This is Sector 46.  You live here.
Me: I said 42!  *I know yelling doesn't help  people understand a foreign language, but I thought I'd give it a try.
Sir.  You said 46. *The screaming clearly wasn't helpful. 
Me: I said 42. 
Sir: 46.
Me: Sir, I live in Sector 42.
Sir: You said 46.
Me: Alright.  I'll just get another rickshaw.  Thanks.
Sir: No miss.  I take you.

During the first ride, I was vaguely aware that we were going the wrong way, but I thought I was just panicking, or freaking out for no reason, so I didn't say anything.  Joke's on me.  The sectors are about 10km apart, so the little jerk charged me 100 extra rupees.  I know it isn't much, but it wasn't my fault either.

When I got home, I was soaking wet, and when I got to our apartment, I was so glad to be standing at the door, steps away from that shower.  And then my key didn't work.  This is the first time I tried it, and it didn't work.  I tried for about 10 minutes, standing in that infernal hallway, which isn't air conditioned.  Which is fine when you are about to step inside your air conditioned apartment, and not ok when you are locked out.  To make a long story short, I called the main office, and three men came.  They didn't not speak English, and couldn't get the door open.  Right before I called Bob to come home and let me in, one of the men finally made it work.  It was gratifying that they couldn't open the door either, but that gratification cost me an hour in the 100 degree hallway.

Anyway, it was my first day alone in India.  At least I have something to remember it by.

Tomorrow: The FRO (Foreign Registration Office) which many immigrants in India (including Bob) report as their worst experience ever.  Can't wait!

Goodnight!

k, with love