the Taxi

"Don't trust anyone," the words of a friend were ringing in my ears as the taxi wheeled through the deserted streets of Dalhi that night in January. I was on my way to a hotel in the area of Pahargang some where in the center of the Indian mega-city. I was four o'clock in the morning and I had just arrived on a plane from San Francisco, California by way of Hong Kong. "Don't trust anyone," I thought to myself yet at that very moment I was laying all my faith in the taxi driver seated in front of me and trusting that he would bring me to my desired destination.

After navigation the web of streets at a reckless, break-neck speed, the driver slowed the car and pulled into an alley-street. A few hundred meters down a road block stretched across our path - barring any further entrance.

"The way is blocked sir," my driver said, his dark eyes locking mine though the rear-view mirror.

"Is there another way?" I asked, a slight twinge of anxiety circled in my stomach.

"Yes, I will try another way," he said and shifted into reverse.

Back out on the main road we cruised down a bit further before pulling into another street. We had only just entered the road when the driver pulled to a stop. Down the way was yet another road block.
The driver looked at me once more through the mirror. "This way too is blocked sir," he said, stating the obvious. I was starting to get worried, but held in any outward signs of my distress.

"There must be some way in," I protested. "Why are all the streets blocked?"

"For the safety of the tourist sir," he responded matter-of-factly.

'How ironic,' I thought to myself, "here I am - a tourist - and these "tourist safety measures" are putting me in danger.'

"Well can we look for another way?"

"Yes sir, I will look for another way." Again he shifted the car into reverse and backed out onto the main road. A ways down we pulled into yet another alleyway; again blocked by a heavy structure of wood and steel. The driver brought the car to a complete stop and pulled on the emergency break. Then he turned and faced me, his arm folded over the back of the seat. Looking me straight in the eyes he said, "all the ways are blocked sir. There is no way into this area at this time."

With pings of stress now solidly taking hold in my gut, I let out a dissatisfied moan, "ahhhhh."

"I can take you somewhere for the night sir?" the driver asked. "I know a hotel sir."

"No," I said. I was determined to reach my destination and to avoid the infamous scams of the New Delhi taxi drivers - so many of which I had been warned involved being taken to suggested hotels, usually owned by a relative of their. "No," I said again. "How for is my hotel from here, I'll just walk."

The driver began to laugh. Bringing his chuckles some what under control he responded, "No sir, you cannot walk from here. It is more than five-kilometers from here and it is very late."

I took in a deep breath and let out another troubled sigh. With my jaw clamped tight in announced at the situation I had allowed myself to get into, I turned over in my mind the options that seem to be quickly disappearing.

The truth was I was in a third-world country, in a city I knew almost nothing about. It was the middle of the night and while 5k was by no means out of my ability to walk, I had no way of knowing how safe such an endeavor might be. On top of that, i was substantially fatigued from the lack of sleep I'd caught over the course of my 23-hour flight from California. It seemed, as the driver said, that walking was out of the question. On top of that, reaching my destination by taxi had been successfully barred by the numerous roadblocks setup to protect tourist such as myself. It appeared that I was backed into a corner and that my taxi-driver was ushering my towards the only exit available. Even if he was sure to collect a fat bonus as soon as I passed through that way, I really had no other choice, but to suck up my pride and take the plunge.

"Sir, I know of a hotel not far from here that is still open at this hour," my driver was pressing me further. Defeated and deflated, I nodded my head in agreement.

"Okay, lets go check it out."

"Five-star okay sir?" Shocked by the mere thought of it, I shook my head.

"No," I said, "One-star." There was no way I was going to pay a five-star rate for something I was convinced to be below par standards. Again the driver began to laugh.

"No sir, one-star not possible. Three-star then?"

Accepting my extremely low number of options I nodded my head in agreement. "Fine, lets go check it out." With those words the driver turned back in his seat, disengaged the e-brake, and pulled the taxi back onto the deserted main road.

As we sped down the roadway, again my friends words turned over in my mind, "When you get to Delhi, don't trust anyone." In that moment I realized just how apt that warning had been.

Arrival

My 23 hour flight from northern California to northern India began with an awesome view of the miniaturized San Francisco landscape flickering brilliant sparks of light as the sun bounced and refracted on endless walls of glass. From SF we headed north. I watched as tiny versions of the great coastal landmarks floated past my window - the Marin Headlands to Bolinas Point, Point Rays to Bodega Bay, and still further into the reaches of Mendocino. All of them so clearly viewed on this beautiful, sunny day in January. After some time of marveling at the passing spectacle I drifted back in my seat and let the hours float by.

Alaska

When I checked out the view again I was rewarded with the snowy peaks of Alaska glowing pink in their final rays of the day. From here we moved west and held for hours in the rosy world of a departing sun; over the Siberian tundra, frozen in winter ice, then to Mongolia and finally down into the manicured and manipulated landscapes of China and into darkness. A quick stop off in Hong Kong and I was on my way to my final destination: Delhi, India.

The plane touched down at the New Delhi international airport at two o’clock in the morning. The little sleep I had caught during the long flights had not done me much good and I could feel the fatigue in my body and mind. Pushing past it, I rode the adrenaline of excitement I had for the new adventure unfolding before me.

Before leaving the states I had arranged for my guesthouse to meet me at the airport, but after a few sweeps of the stoically waiting drivers, each with their handmade welcome signs, I realized something had been lost in translation and so decided to figure out an alternate route to a much needed bed. My first thought had been to use the newly completed New Delhi metro line – a sure way of arriving at my destination. However, I had arrived far too late to catch the last train of the night and so was forced to try my luck at the taxi game. I had been warned before leaving for my trip that taxi-drivers in Delhi were notorious for scamming travels in every form possible. In my fatigued state I wasn't looking forward to battle of bargaining, but as my options dwindled I set myself at accomplishing the task at hand.
 

My tackle with Delhi began right from the moment I stepped out from the safe confines of the airport foyer. In that instant I was bombarded with a swath of poised taxi drivers eagerly competing for my fare. Luckily I had purchased a pre-paid taxi voucher inside the airport and so I pushed past the first line of drivers, sure to rip-off even the most experienced travels with their ruthless bartering skills. I crossed the street and made my way to the line of battered, black and yellow, fifty’s-style cabs parked in diagonal rows stretching out in both directions. Moving along the signs in front of the taxis, each clearly displaying a number, I found the one indicating number 35.

On my way I had been swarmed by a second wave of enthusiastic drivers, this time desperately vying for my valuable pre-paid stub, each telling me in clear English why it didn’t matter if I went to number 35 or not. I pushed past them and found my taxi – number 35. I was surprised to find a young, shy boy, no more that 17 years-old, standing beside the old jalopy. Timidly he guided me into the back seat of the car and closed the door. Looking back at me from the driver’s seat he stared at me with a questioning gaze that said, “Where would you like to go.”

“Paharganj, Ajay Guesthouse.” I replied. Ajay was the hostel where I had made my reservation for a room and an aparently useless pick-up service. The boy in the driver’s seat nodded his head in response to my direction. However, the confused expression on his face was none too reassuring. With clear, physical struggle the boy wrestled with the steering-wheel as he pulled the taxi out of its parking space. After shifting into first, we cruised down the row of waiting drivers, each with their own black and yellow, ancient automobile. After only traveling about 20 yards we slowed down. The engine sputtered and choked and threatened to die, but the boy revved it back to life before pulling the car to a stop and leaning out his window. In Hindi he yelled out to another driver on the street. The man approached and after a few words with the boy he leaned in the window of the back seat. I recognized him right away as the most aggressive of the drivers who had tried to entice me into their taxi. 

“Where do you want to go?” He said.

 “Paharganj, Ajay Guesthouse.”

“Okay, okay.” He said and turned back to the boy. They began exchanging words in Hindi, but the confused look on the boys face did not fade. A twitch of dread flickered in my stomach. After a bit more talking the man turned back to me.

“This guy doesn’t understand English. He doesn’t understand, you know? Come with me, I will take you, I can take you.”

Without thinking twice I grabbed my bags and hoped out of the cab. Just then the boy glanced at me with a heart-broken look. “Please sir,” he said, but my mind was already made-up. It was two in the morning and I was in a third-world mega-city, in a foreign world, and I had no intention of wandering the strange streets in the middle of the night with a taxi driver who had neither an idea of where I wanted to go, nor anyway of communicating with me.

"Sorry kid, I can't" I thought to myself and hoped out.

Relieved to have found a driver who knew where I wanted to go, I jumped in the back seat of the closest cab. The man hoped in the seat beside the driver and we were on our way. Looking back on it now, it was at that very moment that my ability to navigate the deceiving chaos of Delhi began its downward spiral that would ultimately lead to an unraveling of my ego as an experienced and competent world traveler.