Untitled Document

Dheli

Delhi airport had a variation on an eternal theme. Standing by the baggage carousel marked RJ192 proved unproductive until someone spotted our cases already unloaded from a Kuwait flight. There was a hoard waiting to meet arrivals and a stream of what looked like 1950's austins but were actually Indian built ambassadors. We were allocated luxury rooms in a swish hotel and grabbed 3 hours sleep. Rik, our guide arranged an afternoon tour of old Delhi. I thought the third biggest mosque in the world was a bit of a con as most of it was in the open air. The route was fascinating, lots of cows straying on the main roads "reincarnated traffic policemen apparently. Motorised rickshaws and cars honk and dart about suicidally. 300 have been killed on the roads in Delhi so far this year, 70,000 a year in India as a whole. We doff our shoes at the gate of the building. From its elevated walls, one can overlook waste ground on which 20 cricket matches are in progress. The roads round the mosque are narrow and throbbing with life. One section sells tools, another fish, another meat including live poultry. another car parts. Rik informs us that 1 hour after your car is stolen all its components will turn up here.
We learn about the history of Delhi, the influence of the Turks, the Mongols, the Hindus, the Moslems and the British. We got a particularly bad press at one stage when we visit what must have been one of the most fabulously rich palaces on earth. The site of the peacock throne was in one of a series of marble buildings. They were decorated by inlaying precious stones into the marble. The British army had prised out every stone. Thousands of them. What is left is a pock marked marble surface. The Koh in Nor diamond, now set in the British crown was part of the loot. I am finding the bird life fascinating. I am frequently falling behind the party as Vultures, black kites, parakeets, mynahs, crested warblers, hornbills, hoopoes, something like an oyster catcher, and a blackbird sized grey bird with a powerful beak and piercing yellow eyes draw my attention. In the evening, ten of the group take Rik's advice on a restaurant, the Chor Bazzar but ignore his warning to avoid spicy food for a few days. The cars use their horns continuously. Follow that taxi instructs Mike as we took two taxis. It turned out to be bad advice as we got lost and drove past the restaurant several times. Still we did enjoy a convivial meal.
More tombs and temples. The tomb is majestic, set in 4 gardens. It is strangely quiet for such an obvious tourist attraction. Fattened bullocks tow the lawn mowers. They get to eat the results of their labour. Their drivers earn more from the tips of tourist photographers than they do from lawn mowing. The lawn nearest the path is shaved almost smooth. The next temple is more hectic, with vendors offering peacock fans, pregnant elephants and sandalwood chess sets for £2. Meg buys 14 elephants and a pack of postcards
The palace of Qutb Minar? Has a tower of 70 metres high but they have closed the staircase. It has a solid iron column 200 years older than the iron age. Being 97% ferrite it does not rust. You are supposed to be blest with good luck if you can stand with your back to it and encircle it in your arms. With my gorilla like arms I just manage. I get dihorrea, ah that sort of luck. My Delhi belly is self inflicted from an even more convivial meal at the Gay Lord Mike, one of the party promotes communal ordering and sharing the bill and the evening gets well out of hand. Rik knows nothing of our plan to leave the tour at Agra or our staying the week at the Clark Shiraz or picking up the following tour next week. He borrows our fax and gets on the phone to Jules Verne.
India makes more films than any other nation. Three per day or a thousand a year. There are always 2 on the multi channel TV. They look like TV soaps. One channel is devoted to Indian dancing, very styilised and contrived. However non of them are working this morning as Meg blew the fuses with her hair dryer yesterday most of the fourth floor is out by all accounts. We visit a Kashmiri carpet shop and listen to the difference between hand made, hand woven, hand knotted single knotted and double knotted. Carpets range from £250 to £500. They are glorious. Tony and Mavis buy one, several others waver. Meg seriously considers a scarf which I think a bit too pale. I like her in a sweater but she decides against it. Cashmere comes in three grades.
Goat's hair
Goat's hair taken only from the belly
Goat's hair taken only from the throat.
We have the usual cocktail of human life traveling with us. Mike an Eileen Mike is a computer contractor and the self appointed social organiser of the group. Eileen a Nurse.
Another Mike who sounds like an academic but is in fact a dentist, not that the two are mutually exclusive. Tessa and Sonia, mother and daughter, Tessa is a teacher, Sonia is studying History and Italian at Leeds, she plays rugby. Hugh and Zoe are elderly, like us, retired, like Meg. Been to India before, were here in fact in 1948. Perhaps a retired looter.
Tony a civil engineer and Mavis a teacher. Mavis is from Sunderland but they now live in Bingly. They have a daughter at Newcastle University and a son doing A levels. Tony is into cycling and Mavis, yoga.
Yet another Mike and Susan a systems analyst
Tonight our social secretary gets carried away, leading several of his flock including me with him. Dinner at the Gaylord is more expensive and poorer quality than the Chor. We order far too much and much too spicy. Rik did warn us. Next morning I have deli Belly as do about a third of the party. Mike is unable to leave his bed. We cannot follow the itinerary today as it is a paint throwing holiday and Rik is afraid to go out. Outside the hotel the taxi drivers are soaking themselves in water and throwing paint. An occasional Bangra drummer adds to the frenzy. A small party, mainly women, daringly taxi into town. The come back unpainted; apparently the town centre was quiet. I would have liked to join them but the distance I was prepared to move from a hygienic toilet was still less than 200 metres. However by mid day we fancy some action and visit the impressive area round the government buildings. An elephant strolls past. It does not appear to have an owner. How can an elephant not belong to anyone? There are 50 cricket matches in progress on the large grassy area. Genuine fast bowling on very rough ground. The batsmen are wearing pads and all are in whites. I am invited to join in but settle for having my photo taken by someone I shall read about getting a century at Lords some day.

Dheli Delhi airport had a variation on an eternal theme. Standing by the baggage carousel marked RJ192 proved unproductive until someone spotted our cases already unloaded from a Kuwait flight. There was a hoard waiting to meet arrivals and a stream of what looked like 1950's austins but were actually Indian built ambassadors. We were allocated luxury rooms in a swish hotel and grabbed 3 hours sleep. Rik, our guide arranged an afternoon tour of old Delhi. I thought the third biggest mosque in the world was a bit of a con as most of it was in the open air. The route was fascinating, lots of cows straying on the main roads "reincarnated traffic policemen apparently. Motorised rickshaws and cars honk and dart about suicidally. 300 have been killed on the roads in Delhi so far this year, 70,000 a year in India as a whole. We doff our shoes at the gate of the building. From its elevated walls, one can overlook waste ground on which 20 cricket matches are in progress. The roads round the mosque are narrow and throbbing with life. One section sells tools, another fish, another meat including live poultry. another car parts. Rik informs us that 1 hour after your car is stolen all its components will turn up here. We learn about the history of Delhi, the influence of the Turks, the Mongols, the Hindus, the Moslems and the British. We got a particularly bad press at one stage when we visit what must have been one of the most fabulously rich palaces on earth. The site of the peacock throne was in one of a series of marble buildings. They were decorated by inlaying precious stones into the marble. The British army had prised out every stone. Thousands of them. What is left is a pock marked marble surface. The Koh in Nor diamond, now set in the British crown was part of the loot. I am finding the bird life fascinating. I am frequently falling behind the party as Vultures, black kites, parakeets, mynahs, crested warblers, hornbills, hoopoes, something like an oyster catcher, and a blackbird sized grey bird with a powerful beak and piercing yellow eyes draw my attention. In the evening, ten of the group take Rik's advice on a restaurant, the Chor Bazzar but ignore his warning to avoid spicy food for a few days. The cars use their horns continuously. Follow that taxi instructs Mike as we took two taxis. It turned out to be bad advice as we got lost and drove past the restaurant several times. Still we did enjoy a convivial meal. More tombs and temples. The tomb is majestic, set in 4 gardens. It is strangely quiet for such an obvious tourist attraction. Fattened bullocks tow the lawn mowers. They get to eat the results of their labour. Their drivers earn more from the tips of tourist photographers than they do from lawn mowing. The lawn nearest the path is shaved almost smooth. The next temple is more hectic, with vendors offering peacock fans, pregnant elephants and sandalwood chess sets for £2. Meg buys 14 elephants and a pack of postcards The palace of Qutb Minar? Has a tower of 70 metres high but they have closed the staircase. It has a solid iron column 200 years older than the iron age. Being 97% ferrite it does not rust. You are supposed to be blest with good luck if you can stand with your back to it and encircle it in your arms. With my gorilla like arms I just manage. I get dihorrea, ah that sort of luck. My Delhi belly is self inflicted from an even more convivial meal at the Gay Lord Mike, one of the party promotes communal ordering and sharing the bill and the evening gets well out of hand. Rik knows nothing of our plan to leave the tour at Agra or our staying the week at the Clark Shiraz or picking up the following tour next week. He borrows our fax and gets on the phone to Jules Verne. India makes more films than any other nation. Three per day or a thousand a year. There are always 2 on the multi channel TV. They look like TV soaps. One channel is devoted to Indian dancing, very styilised and contrived. However non of them are working this morning as Meg blew the fuses with her hair dryer yesterday most of the fourth floor is out by all accounts. We visit a Kashmiri carpet shop and listen to the difference between hand made, hand woven, hand knotted single knotted and double knotted. Carpets range from £250 to £500. They are glorious. Tony and Mavis buy one, several others waver. Meg seriously considers a scarf which I think a bit too pale. I like her in a sweater but she decides against it. Cashmere comes in three grades. Goat's hair Goat's hair taken only from the belly Goat's hair taken only from the throat. We have the usual cocktail of human life traveling with us. Mike an Eileen Mike is a computer contractor and the self appointed social organiser of the group. Eileen a Nurse. Another Mike who sounds like an academic but is in fact a dentist, not that the two are mutually exclusive. Tessa and Sonia, mother and daughter, Tessa is a teacher, Sonia is studying History and Italian at Leeds, she plays rugby. Hugh and Zoe are elderly, like us, retired, like Meg. Been to India before, were here in fact in 1948. Perhaps a retired looter. Tony a civil engineer and Mavis a teacher. Mavis is from Sunderland but they now live in Bingly. They have a daughter at Newcastle University and a son doing A levels. Tony is into cycling and Mavis, yoga. Yet another Mike and Susan a systems analyst Tonight our social secretary gets carried away, leading several of his flock including me with him. Dinner at the Gaylord is more expensive and poorer quality than the Chor. We order far too much and much too spicy. Rik did warn us. Next morning I have deli Belly as do about a third of the party. Mike is unable to leave his bed. We cannot follow the itinerary today as it is a paint throwing holiday and Rik is afraid to go out. Outside the hotel the taxi drivers are soaking themselves in water and throwing paint. An occasional Bangra drummer adds to the frenzy. A small party, mainly women, daringly taxi into town. The come back unpainted; apparently the town centre was quiet. I would have liked to join them but the distance I was prepared to move from a hygienic toilet was still less than 200 metres. However by mid day we fancy some action and visit the impressive area round the government buildings. An elephant strolls past. It does not appear to have an owner. How can an elephant not belong to anyone? There are 50 cricket matches in progress on the large grassy area. Genuine fast bowling on very rough ground. The batsmen are wearing pads and all are in whites. I am invited to join in but settle for having my photo taken by someone I shall read about getting a century at Lords some day.
	the sacred cows in the middle of the busy roads are reincarnated traffic policemen



	a blackbird sized grey bird with a powerful beak and piercing yellow eyes draw my attention.