Day 7 - Sunday 6 November
No new photo posts today!
Today Roger B arrives to join me for week 2 before he goes on to Bangladesh. I'ts 25 years (Turkey 1986) since my last solo foreign trip, and it's been fun going solo again. Roger lands at 11.15, and our afternoon train e-tickets for Jaipur have climbed to 1 and 2 on the waitlist. Decide to put Plan C into operation (unlike G. Osborne, I have Plans B & C). I'll meet RB at the airport, return to Surya Plaza to sort luggage (we'll be back again next Sunday), then chance our luck at the station. If all fails, we'll take a taxi to Jaipur. In the event, it's plan D, then E, and very nearly Plan F (for total Fuck-up, if you'll pardon my Hindi). RB duly arrives and we catch the metrolink and then a tuc-tuc to the hotel where we sort suitcases and even share a beer (sneaked in concealed in a newspaper).
Time is on our side, but we opt for a cycle rickshaw along Main Bazaar rather than walking to New Delhi station. Here we are immediately hassled by a swarm of touts who urge us towards a non-existent ticket office (i.e. toutery). "No problem," I say rather dismissively, "I have ticket. Look," and show my e-ticket. First they say "No, no good ticket. This waitlisted." "I know," I explain, in that superior tone some of you know. "I have new reservation." But when I check the departures board, no 15.20 to Jaipur is listed, which is odd. I let the the tout take another look. After all, he tells me, "I no cheat you, I work for government," which seems contradictory, especially in India, but I let it pass. "Aha!" he exclaims, stabbing the paper wth his finger. "This ticket indeed no good. This wrong station," and he indicates the letters DLI (Delhi), not NDL (New Delhi) as departure point. Did I notice this when I booked online? If so, it has slipped my mind.
With only an hour before departure, me feeling daft and and Roger visibly wilting, we abandon ourselves to the touts and set off for Old Delhi Station in a costly green and black "official government" minicab. It's quite a long way and becomes a race against the clock. These north Delhi districts are very poor, the roads are traffic-choked and lined with street markets selling piles of old used clothing. Our driver emphasises the urgency of his mission with loud shouting from the window and aggressive use of the horn . But we arrive, with 15 minutes to spare and locate coach A at the front of our train - so long, Roger comments, that we might almost be walking to Jaipur.
This is class AC1 - i.e. top notch travel. The compartment has the opulence of an old Wolseley or Daimler car with thick seats in pleated brown leather, chrome-plated light fittings and heavy quality woven curtains. Our travelling companions are a smart young Delhi-ite (designer glasses, rings on her toes and constant calls on her mobile) with her little daughter. I give up my window seat so she can see out. The other gent is (according to the passenger list) a Lt. Col., so doesn't communicate with other ranks like us. It's first class service. Lunch arrives, the chai-boy does his rounds, the fly-spray walla sprays the flies (behind the curtains, under the seats) and, inevitably, the inspector calls. I like nice trains.
Now at Hotel Arya Niwas - only £15 a night for a small single, but top notch facilities & decorations, like a mini-palace built round a courtyard with a garden restaurant. Just blown up the laptop adapter (fizzing & smoke), so tonight's briefing is curtailed!
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