March 13 1985: Arriving in Delhi

 Taken From

Back to the East: India, Nepal, Kashmir  

I had only known Lesley for a few months but we got on well. We had already been to London for a couple of days in order to buy our visas from the Indian Embassy, which was remarkably simple but involved staying overnight and going back to the Embassy the following day

Lesley and I arrived at Delhi airport just after midnight, after a reasonably comfortable eight-and-three-quarter hour flight from Heathrow with quite good food, free drinks and videos. Naturally we were tired.

A soon as we left the plane the heat hit us like a hair drier, even at midnight. The first thought was to get to the hotel that had been booked for us by Himalayan Holidays rep Ali Baktoo, whom I had met in Kashmir the previous year.

But as soon as we left the airport, spotting no taxi available, we were approached by a three-wheeler motorrickshaw, that they called a tuk-tuk and invited to board, “at cheap money”, as he said, he had brought somebody to the airport from Delhi and needed a return fare. So in we jumped.

We gave the driver the address of the hotel.

 

“I am sorry Sir, but last night there was fire at that hotel so it is closed, so I take you to good cheap hotel.”

I’d forgotten that tuk-tuk drivers were not bound by any oath to tell the truth. Rather so many were devoted to money, but we already on board so we stayed and said OK.

It took ages to get to Delhi. It was hot and the two of us with and our cases and bags but were pleased to arrive safely. It was Old Delhi and the hotel was called Natraj.

Of course, I would say, they were full so the only room left was in the attic, a small room with one bed, costing just 90 rupees, not a lot; it was clean but stuffy and we struggled to sleep.

In the morning we realised there was no breakfast here so we strolled down the dusty and dirty crowded street to find an eating place which turned out to be right next door, on Chitragupta Road. That sufficed so we quickly went back to Natraj which really should have been called Ratbag, freshened up and took a taxi into New Delhi to meet Ali at the Himalayan Holidays office.

Ali asked where we had been as our hotel had phoned him to say that we had not arrived. It had not had a fire after all. I should have known.

So he quickly booked us a room in a much better hotel and a taxi to Ratbag and back to get our luggage, then he said he would take us to our hotel and talk about our holiday, as we had not arranged anything at all. We had planned on eight to twelve weeks but had no confirmed flight home. So off we went, no problem at all.

After arriving at our hotel near Connaught Circus, we spent a few hours wandering about and eventually back to the office, where Ali said he could book us trips to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, the Fort and Fatepur Sikri. We would go by train and stay a few days. Then we would fly to Khajuraho to see the temples, fly on to Varanassi also called Benares, and back to Delhi. We would also travel to Jaiselmer in Rajasthan and go into the desert on camels, Nepal and Kashmir to stay on a luxury houseboat and go pony trekking. The price would include all transport, hotels and meals.

It was far more than we wanted to pay though, so thus started some hours of bartering, with changes to hotels and we would have to buy our own food except breakfast and on the houseboat and camel and pony trekking trips. We would also have to pay for our hotels in Nepal when we got there.

We settled on £1675 for the two of, not cheap but not bad as it covered eight weeks at least and included several stays in Delhi, plus we would have a few days in Delhi before taking the train to Agra.

That evening we felt honoured to have dinner near the office, at the Baktoo home with Ali and his brother Yussef; spicy potatoes, rice, dahl, yogurt and Kashmir tea, eaten with our hands. The rice was put on our plates by hand and we took our own dahl and subji (vegetables) which we mixed with the rice with our fingers as fdid our hosts (right hands only – the left hand is used for unmentionable tasks like washing ones bum). It was quite delicious. We never met the women of the family. This was a Moslem house.

Our new hotel was the Ashok Yatri Niwas, Ashok Road, room 1027. This one we had to pay for, but that had to be in foreign currency or travellers cheques. Of course not as simple as it should have been as they said Lesley’s signature did not match the one on the cheque, so next day we would have to go to American Express to get cash in pounds.