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.