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Saturday, June 5th Our last day in Delhi. It was yet more errand running and no sight seeing. We paid off our hotel bill, with both Tamarack and Megan needing to borrow money from me, which was fine since I got too much exchanged. Then we went to go find Bangala restaurant, the fast food-like joint. I had just piled down another delicious omelette with chilis from the hotel guy Kalish, so I was a little sour that we were immediately getting the others some food. That's what I get for sleeping late again. What I really should have done was hire a car for the day to go see the sights, but I also enjoyed more adventures with the group. Such as walking to Connaught from Bangala. I had no idea where I was, but then we stumbled upon the one thing in Delhi that I really, really wanted to take pictures of -- these wacky health posters. Oh, and also the Jain Happy School! So I didn't get to see the Bahai Temple. You just can't beat those wacky Indian health posters. Reaching Connaught, we went to the ATM, and then we set out to try and find an Internet cafe. After crossing the street, this guy plopped down right on the street with a basket and started playing a recorder or some other wind instrument. I didn't really know what was going on until I looked back and saw Chrissy taking pictures of this cobra which was an inch from her face! It's the same ol' tourist gag, but it sure was neat to see in person. Of course, I'm glad I wasn't the one who was within striking distance of that snake. The guy was rubbing the cobra's head against his cheek to show that it was harmless, even kissing it on the lips. That was just too much for me. By then, about seven guys were surrounding her, saying that she should give the man 500 rupees. She was only planning on giving some coins. I think she ended up giving 200. I know I would have paid that much for those pictures -- which I hope to get copies of soon enough. Eventually we made it over to the Internet cafe where we once again spent an hour chatting with our friend Jeetender. It really isn't much of a cafe as it is a business center, and indeed, his business card confirms this -- it's called the Chawla Photostat Centre. Having failed to get up the nerve to videotape our conversation the first time, I got a good couple of minutes of Tam and Jeet talking about Ghandi. I also sent out my first mass e-mail trip diary. I'm eager to write back to my peoples when next I make it to a terminal. After that we went back to the tailors where Megan picked up her order. Having failed to get an estimate, the total for 10 or so shirts was 3400 rupees, and that was just for the tailoring -- the fabric was at least 3400. But since they're mostly gifts, I don't think she has any regrets. While waiting to leave, who should we find bugging us but... The One Armed Bandit! And this time I got a picture. I took it a bit surreptitiously, but fortunately I snapped his one-armed side. I can't believe the little shit was still after us. It's possible he didn't recognize us, but he had to remember getting my 100 rupees. I yelled "NO!" at him, but it did no good. As we were leaving and trying to find an auto-rickshaw, I felt him brush against me, and I yelled "Fuck off!" but he still was on our tail. But it makes sense -- he already pegged me as an easy mark. We went back to the Yatri Guest House one last time to collect our baggage, eat and rest a bit before the train to Varanasi. They said we could use a bathroom, but not the one in our room. I thought that meant that it was occupied, but lo and behold, they had completely gutted the place -- stripping the paint off, changing the fixtures.... I guess this really is the off season! We decided to hire two auto-rickshaws to take us to the rail station. I was nervous that one of our rickshaws would get separated from the other and we'd have to wait out in the pickpocketer-infested lobby for awhile. But we arived at the same time, and quickly made it to the correct platform, with the train arriving only a couple of minutes later. The most incredible thing was that the first car we were able to hop onto after the train slowed just happened to be ours! I mean, we were looking for the 3rd Class AC car, and I guess there was only one or two. But it was still remarkably easy to locate our berths. The way that 3rd class works is there are eight persons seated to a section -- two along the wall, six on the other side of the aisle in the main section -- with no curtains or doors between the sections. Our first neighbors were two men who didn't appear to speak much English. One of them had two cell phones going. But for some reason, the men switched places with two other men named Arun and Alok. We proceeded to carry on a wide-ranging discussion with them, with Alok and Tamarack particularly engaged. Of course we discussed Bush, but also religion. This conversation seemed to unlock many facts and tidbits from Tamarack's brain, and he was eager to test his knowledge by confirming many things with Alok. By 11pm we were all in bed, with our section converting into two sets of triple decker bunks. I slept pretty well, all things considered. Though I wore my blindfold, I didn't bother with the earplugs as I was afraid of not noticing thieves should they appear. But Megan and I had our shit locked up tight. I even had my pack containing my laptop, digital still camera and video camera inside a t-shirt, under my head and locked up. But the thin metal cord we used was nothing compared to the vinyl and metal bike cable that Chrissy brought. None of this would stop someone from slashing the straps of the packs, or ripping open the zippers should they want to. But nothing happened, at least during this round. In the morning we found ourselves looking at all manner of small village life. I saw peacocks and huge boars, small smokestacks that produce bricks, plenty of water buffalo, and people bicycling down dusty paths at 7 in the morning. We found ourselves stuck on the tracks three different times, delaying our arrival in Varanasi by 2 and a half hours. But that meant we got to meet our other berthmates, Shruti and Parun, the latter of which was actually born and raised in Sweden. Both lawyers, they work for a human rights organization, trying to improve the hunger and prison problems in India. These were strong, fascinating women, and their beliefs and values shared much in common with us, particularly with Megan with her community collaboration activities, and Tamarack with his teaching and political campaign work. We traded information with them, with Parun offering to put us up in Sweden should we ever make it there.
email: ryan[at]monkeyduck[dot]com
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