June 13, 2001

DELHI, INDIA (June 1-2, 2001)

Dear Friends and Subscribers,

As we boarded our Lufthansa flight for India, I saw something I haven't seen on a flight in months, if not years--empty seats. Rows and rows of empty seats, in fact. With the introduction of internet sales and last-minute bargains to unload unsold seats, most airlines are flying fully booked these days. But Lufthansa employees have been conducting a mini-strike for several months, a "civilized" slow-down whereby they choose one day a week to close down the flights. Most passengers have been accommodated by other airlines or at most by having to wait one day, but in the meantime most travelers have been avoiding Lufthansa when they have a choice. Consequently our plane was nearly empty, and it left more than 15 minutes early--as soon as everyone was on board, we were cleared to leave.

During the flight Mark read to me about Indian customs from a travel book he brought with him. "Indians do not shake hands with women or touch them in any way," he told me. "You have to bring your hands together like you're praying and bow slightly." Okay, I can do that. I get tired of all that air kissing in Europe, anyway. "Never eat with your left hand. That's the hand you use--well, never mind," he quoted Simon and Garfunkel. Both of us are lefthanded, so that could be a problem. "In India the river is simultaneously a goddess, a laundry, and a toilet," he warned. "Do not drink the water. And always check the seal on bottled water because vendors are known to pick up discarded bottles and refill them from the local taps." Why oh why didn't we bring bottled water from France?

We arrived in Delhi shortly after midnight, changed some francs for rupees (we now have six different currencies in our pockets!) and arranged for a prepaid taxi into town from among the half dozen "official" (sitting behind a booth) car companies in the lobby (210 rupees, less than $5, for a 15-mile drive). As we walked toward the exit, however, I spied a driver holding a card bearing our name--our hosts, Liberty Institute, had kindly sent a car for us! I put my hands together in a praying position, as described in the book, just as the driver simultaneously reached out to shake my hand, and we bumped awkwardly into each other--he ended up kind of shaking my thumb. The driver handed us a note from the Institute explaining that our hotel was not able to accommodate our earlier arrival, so they had set us up at the Silver Oak Guest House for one night instead. It's a good thing we didn't just hop in a taxi, or we wouldn't have known where to go!We cancelled our car and then walked outside, stunned by the oppressive heat at 1 am. It reminded me of the summers I used to spend in Phoenix and Safford Arizona. Nevertheless, the airport was a bustle of activity for the middle of the night. Little boys vied for the opportunity to help with our luggage, and we learned that 20 rupees (about 45 cents) would put a smile on their faces. I was surprised by the amount of traffic at this late hour,
bumper-to-bumper in both directions with horns blaring, and yet somehow we kept moving at a good speed.

The Silver Oak Guest House was dark when we arrived, but after our driver rattled the gate a few times a man and a couple of boys came out to greet us. They carried our bags in, brought us some threadbare towels (now I know what American hotels do with their towels when they wear out), and some bottled water (but I'm still worried about drinking it--sure, it's bottled, but where did the water come from, and how was it "purified"? And why does it leave a gritty feeling in my mouth? We should have brought water from France....)

Our room is spartan--an old mattress barely off the floor, covered with army surplus blankets and thin sheets, dingy but clean (what was in that water again?); a pressed-board table and vinyl hospital-waiting-room chair; a cement shower with no tub; a window air-conditioner with one speed (loud) and no knobs; and a television with every cable station you can imagine--India has a huge movie industry, producing 600 movies a year, and that was reflected in the variety of television programming available. We were watching an old June Allyson movie on Turner Classic Movies when the power suddenly went out. The racket of the air conditioner had made sleep elusive, but within minutes without it the heat was like a blanket, stifling us. It was by now 3 am, but we soon heard the scurrying of feet as our young men fired up the generator and the paddle fans began working overhead, although the television and the air conditioner never came back on.

We finally fell asleep and were awakened at 9:30 in the morning by Sohini Carr, the adminstrative assistant at the Liberty Institute who had arrived to transfer us to our actual hotel. Once again I brought my hands together for the Indian bow I was supposed to be expected to do, and caught Sohini's hand between them as she reached out to shake mine. I'm not so sure about this book.... Sohini graciously arranged for our tour of Delhi today and Agra (the Taj Mahal) tomorrow and escorted us to our hotel, the Habitat World Centre, not a Hilton by any means, but after last night, a very nice establishment.

We were between meal times, too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, so we went to the bar for a cold drink (risky, I know, especially when we realized that they came from a fountain dispenser, not a bottling plant.) The bar has the atmosphere of a Victorian pub, with darts and billiards and the languid mood I often associate with George Orwell's Burmese Days, when the greatest challenge of the British imperialists was how to fill the long hours between meal times. Orwell describes the heat-induced malaise, when women dressed in white muslin and sat under parasols fanned by their "coolies." I was righteously indignant reading about their seeming laziness and indifference, until experiencing this heat myself. After last night, I can understand hiring a pair of these eager workers to stand beside our bed all night gently moving the air with giant palm fronds....!

As soon as the buffet opened we ate a quick meal of spicy, curried, and virtually unrecognizable dishes (I think I'll be eating a lot of rice here) and then hurried downstairs to meet our driver and begin our tour of Old and New Delhi--I'll tell you all about it tomorrow!

-- Jo Ann Skousen

email: jaskousen@mskousen.com

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