I am writing this on Monday 15th because the WiFi went AWOL yesterday, leaving me somewhat pushed for time. So I'll skip along then. We arrived at Heathrow with plenty of time in hand. Terminal 2 is quite smart now and security checks are brisk and efficient. We spent a bit more cash on direct flights giving us a flight time of just under 9 hours.
Now I always thought that the world was divided into one hour time zones but I am clearly wrong as Delhi is five and a half hours ahead of the UK. I wonder if the zones get any smaller allowing people like me a really good excuse for being late. I digress however. We boarded and settled down for the cabin crew safety demonstration. They started, and it was like a silent movie without the pianist. You start to think if that bit is bust, then what else? After a short delay, the book came out and we were given a reading in Urdu, I think and English, I think. Next it was up and away. I decided to watch a film and can recommend Dunkirk as an aural experience as well as a visual one. After landing, visa, passport and luggage, my worst fears evaporated when we were actually met and welcomed by Rajan who introduced us to Jaspal Singh our driver.
Jaspal as you can see is a member of the Sikh faith and also a very smart driver. Driving in Delhi is can be a life changing experience, a little like the film Dunkirk, things are coming noisily at you from all directions. The larger roads have three lanes marked, down which travel four and a half lanes of traffic. They attempt to squeeze in a constantly weaving pattern of rickshaws. tuc-tucs, cycles, lorries. buses, motor bikes ox-carts and cars. Loudest horn has priority. Note the marigold garlands that Jaspal has given us. I think these are in place of airbags. I jest, of course. The maelstrom of traffic doesn't turn a hair on Jaspal's head.
We were dropped off at the hotel which fronts on to a very busy and noisy road. We get a large room in the rear with a bed that is so wide that Helen and I set a half hour time difference between her side and mine.
The following morning we met up with Jaspal again for the first of our two days in Delhi. We have a guide laid on called Mada Singh (my apologies if I am spelling this wrong). You can see him and Helen in the next picture where we are on our first visit of the day. This was to the Jama Masjid, a huge mosque built by the Mogul ruler Shah Jahan between 1644-1658. It is a haven of calm at the heart of Old Delhi. The square can accommodate 25000 worshippers. The towers were 40ms tall.
You might wonder what Helen is up to, but a certain dignity and decorum is required to be displayed by visitors.
The old spice market is very close to the mosque and was our next destination. The whole area is a maze of narrow lanes with small independent traders plying their wares which range from wedding paraphernalia to pots and pans. There were also a group of men squatting with buckets filled with paint brushes or pipes and taps or saws and chisels who were really selling their trade skills. In the middle of all this is the spice market. There is only one way to travel around this highly congested area as you can see. Here we are on our way to the market. If you are wondering what is between my legs you might be relieved to know that it is only my reversed bum-bag.
The spice market has now become a world wholesale centre. Spices arrive from all over the globe and are re-exported wherever there is the demand, a little like flowers are in Holland. They are also sold locally, of course.
The labour here is hired on a daily basis. Men are attracted in from the surrounding countryside both far and wide and camp on the roof tops. They support their wives and children by sending them spare cash. Earnings are unpredictable and sporadic. If they can earn £50 per month, which is about average it keeps a family's head above water. You can see their living conditions for yourself. Cleanliness is a priority.
All the washing, carpets and mattresses you can see belong to these guys. The once rather elegant old buildings you can see were originally built by the British. Of course I couldn't resist a spicy purchase or four. When we were on the rickshaw we squeezed past a group of men chanting and walking in crocodile whilst carrying a stretcher at shoulder height. Lying on the stretcher was a thinly shrouded corpse. Everything seems to happen on these streets.
What isn't happening is much tourist activity around the India Gate and Parliament Street, nor at the Red Fort. This is a security measure for the upcoming Republic Day when Indians celebrate what we would call Independence Day and they more correctly refer to as Freedom Day. Next we headed for a park devoted to Mahatma Gandhi just across from where his body was cremated. This was about as close as we got to the Red Fort, closed for the above reasons.
There is always the freedom of the air, and I include this photograph especially for you, Richard Berry. With your birding experience I know that you will recognise these oft mentioned avians.
For those of you that lack Richard's knowledge, they are those cleaners of the streets we call kites.
If you are a believer in the Hindu religion your avatar may well be one of those birds but you will certainly be interested in the next visit. This was to Lakshmi Narayan temple sponsored by BD Birla a wealthy industrialist. It honours Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. Gandhi inaugurated the complex in 1939 as a temple for all castes. Those of you who know me know how I feel about all religions and my faith that all gods are the worst inventions of mankind. With due respect for its followers Hinduism is a little like the fairground religion. It has a plethora of fantastic gods and goddesses, oft multi-limbed concoctions that mix up different creature and human parts riding on equally unlikely forms of transport. The abundance of tinsel and bright colours all add to the sweety culture of the fairground. I am sure there is a link across Europe with Romany and canal art. I do hope that I don't end up being the first atheist martyr.
Now I always thought that the world was divided into one hour time zones but I am clearly wrong as Delhi is five and a half hours ahead of the UK. I wonder if the zones get any smaller allowing people like me a really good excuse for being late. I digress however. We boarded and settled down for the cabin crew safety demonstration. They started, and it was like a silent movie without the pianist. You start to think if that bit is bust, then what else? After a short delay, the book came out and we were given a reading in Urdu, I think and English, I think. Next it was up and away. I decided to watch a film and can recommend Dunkirk as an aural experience as well as a visual one. After landing, visa, passport and luggage, my worst fears evaporated when we were actually met and welcomed by Rajan who introduced us to Jaspal Singh our driver.
Jaspal as you can see is a member of the Sikh faith and also a very smart driver. Driving in Delhi is can be a life changing experience, a little like the film Dunkirk, things are coming noisily at you from all directions. The larger roads have three lanes marked, down which travel four and a half lanes of traffic. They attempt to squeeze in a constantly weaving pattern of rickshaws. tuc-tucs, cycles, lorries. buses, motor bikes ox-carts and cars. Loudest horn has priority. Note the marigold garlands that Jaspal has given us. I think these are in place of airbags. I jest, of course. The maelstrom of traffic doesn't turn a hair on Jaspal's head.
We were dropped off at the hotel which fronts on to a very busy and noisy road. We get a large room in the rear with a bed that is so wide that Helen and I set a half hour time difference between her side and mine.
The following morning we met up with Jaspal again for the first of our two days in Delhi. We have a guide laid on called Mada Singh (my apologies if I am spelling this wrong). You can see him and Helen in the next picture where we are on our first visit of the day. This was to the Jama Masjid, a huge mosque built by the Mogul ruler Shah Jahan between 1644-1658. It is a haven of calm at the heart of Old Delhi. The square can accommodate 25000 worshippers. The towers were 40ms tall.
You might wonder what Helen is up to, but a certain dignity and decorum is required to be displayed by visitors.
The old spice market is very close to the mosque and was our next destination. The whole area is a maze of narrow lanes with small independent traders plying their wares which range from wedding paraphernalia to pots and pans. There were also a group of men squatting with buckets filled with paint brushes or pipes and taps or saws and chisels who were really selling their trade skills. In the middle of all this is the spice market. There is only one way to travel around this highly congested area as you can see. Here we are on our way to the market. If you are wondering what is between my legs you might be relieved to know that it is only my reversed bum-bag.
The spice market has now become a world wholesale centre. Spices arrive from all over the globe and are re-exported wherever there is the demand, a little like flowers are in Holland. They are also sold locally, of course.
The labour here is hired on a daily basis. Men are attracted in from the surrounding countryside both far and wide and camp on the roof tops. They support their wives and children by sending them spare cash. Earnings are unpredictable and sporadic. If they can earn £50 per month, which is about average it keeps a family's head above water. You can see their living conditions for yourself. Cleanliness is a priority.
All the washing, carpets and mattresses you can see belong to these guys. The once rather elegant old buildings you can see were originally built by the British. Of course I couldn't resist a spicy purchase or four. When we were on the rickshaw we squeezed past a group of men chanting and walking in crocodile whilst carrying a stretcher at shoulder height. Lying on the stretcher was a thinly shrouded corpse. Everything seems to happen on these streets.
What isn't happening is much tourist activity around the India Gate and Parliament Street, nor at the Red Fort. This is a security measure for the upcoming Republic Day when Indians celebrate what we would call Independence Day and they more correctly refer to as Freedom Day. Next we headed for a park devoted to Mahatma Gandhi just across from where his body was cremated. This was about as close as we got to the Red Fort, closed for the above reasons.
There is always the freedom of the air, and I include this photograph especially for you, Richard Berry. With your birding experience I know that you will recognise these oft mentioned avians.
For those of you that lack Richard's knowledge, they are those cleaners of the streets we call kites.
If you are a believer in the Hindu religion your avatar may well be one of those birds but you will certainly be interested in the next visit. This was to Lakshmi Narayan temple sponsored by BD Birla a wealthy industrialist. It honours Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. Gandhi inaugurated the complex in 1939 as a temple for all castes. Those of you who know me know how I feel about all religions and my faith that all gods are the worst inventions of mankind. With due respect for its followers Hinduism is a little like the fairground religion. It has a plethora of fantastic gods and goddesses, oft multi-limbed concoctions that mix up different creature and human parts riding on equally unlikely forms of transport. The abundance of tinsel and bright colours all add to the sweety culture of the fairground. I am sure there is a link across Europe with Romany and canal art. I do hope that I don't end up being the first atheist martyr.
Catching up I just hope you can keep your writing and pictures going read a bit more tomorrow by the way it all looks great and it gives me more of an insight x
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