Oh my… I think I found Jesus, or Allah, or maybe one of the 16 odd Hindu Gods whose names I can’t pronounce. But someone was clearly watching over me on my way to the Delhi hotel from the airport. It went down like this.

We wound up on an earlier flight but weren’t able to rearrange our ride from the airport prior to leaving Mumbai. We tried again once we got to Delhi, but ultimately opted to just take a couple of local cabs over to the hotel. Sounds simple, right?

Off we go to the cab stand. We have to split into two cars. Now the other car is a 50 year old vintage English something or other made of way to much iron and steel. Let’s just say that a lot of chrome wouldn’t have looked out of place. On the other hand, my cab, was made of tin foil and in all probability was a gas conversion of something that was originally pedal powered. There are three of us in this thing, plus the driver, plus our luggage. I’m pretty sure that the people and luggage outweighed the vehicle. Oh, and lucky me, I got to sit up front. To build our confidence, the cabbie took off with the back hatch not latched and would have launched our luggage onto the tarmac were it not for Chris’ quick reactions and sticky fingers as he dove over the back seat to grab the bags. Then we headed into traffic.

Have I mentioned that Indians aren’t real big on traffic laws. Lane markers, where they exist, are treated more or less as suggestions. I’ve seen a few traffic lights, but most of them are not actually powered. Turn signals, brake lights, etc. are pretty optional. Driving is basically like one big game of vehicular Chicken. Turning right (which is across traffic as the Indians learned to drive from the British) is accomplished by nosing into traffic while cheerfully tooting your horn until someone decides that denting their car on you is not worth their effort.

So I’m in this turbo’d Schwinn-mobile. My knees are pressed against the plastic panel which passes for a dash. The dash is warm because the headlights are warming it from the other side. Were there no windshield, I could have literally reached forward and touched the vehicle in front of us. I’m even in closer proximity to the cars beside us. So of course we go hurtling through traffic, rushing up on vehicles, trying to intimidate larger vehicles (which included everything except the occasional scooter), and generally just seeing if the one nerve I had left was still functioning.

It’s good to be safely in Delhi.

We had a spectacular dinner this evening. We did it as a family style meal and got to try a variety of local dishes. Also, I did finally have a chance to try the local brew – something called Kingfisher. This beer pretty much confirms my theory that countries close to the equator don’t make good beer. I miss Canada.

Our first night time site visit went well. That is to say, we all stayed awake. To cement our new upsidedown schedules, we returned to the hotel at 7am for a well deserved beer. Then it was off to bed. Afterall, we had to get up early (1pm) to catch our next flight.

The people here are friendly and helpful in the extreme. Sometimes the translations don’t work out so well though. Yesterday, Mark had arranged for a friend and former colleague to show us about the city. We were to meet that afternoon, however the schedule changed and Mark wanted to let the whole group know. The concierge desk agreed to forward the message to us all. This morning, 15 hours after we met for the outing, I found a typed note placed in my room. The note read, “This is to inform you that Mr. Mark had left the message that Mr. Ride has arrived.” I guess it’s the thought that counts.

The food here is wonderful, despite the well justified fear of it. It takes awhile to get used to doing a risk assessment of the food on the table prior to judging what looks or smells good.

Mark’s friend also had us back to his house for “high tea” after the city tour. It amounted to a light supper and was a quite tasty repast. It was also interesting to see where and how he lived. While he was in a corporate position equivalent or higher than our group, his home was a very modest and small apartment. Kudos though. His wife and two children were delightful, and we couldn’t have asked for better hospitality or a more cordial host.

Another tidbit: I had the chance last night to sit in on a bit of an accent neutralization class. The Indian instructor was doing excercises with his Indian students to teach them how to say words like native English speakers. He stops after a bit and asks is there are words they would like us to pronounce so they can hear what a native speaker sounds like. On my right is a British guy. On my left, an Austrailian. Who were the three of us to tell them they had an accent?

Wish you were here…?

India is a place of both incomparable wealth and unimaginable poverty. The scene above is a very common sight as you pass through all but the most upscale neighborhoods in Mumbai. People actually live in these shantytown structures of plastic and corrugated metal. I really can’t even fathom how a disturbing portion of the population lives. Still, the people we spoke with here (who arguably aren’t the impoverished ones) absolutely love their city and wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It’s off to Delhi soon… which reminds me, I could really go for a good sandwich.