One of the great things about traveling in a group is that you don't have to organize everything. Hanging with TAO was particularly sweet because Stacy had everything figured out, Jennifer kept us on track, and Courtney maintained an amazing sense of direction. So when we traveled to Delhi, I simply daydreamed and carried stuff where I was told, and trusted in my friends.
Now I was just getting to know Courtney. When I heard she was coming I befriended her on a social networking site to do some "sleuthing". My biggest clue, although I did not know it at the time, was the following status update: "Looking for a ride back to Norman from Dallas on Wednesday. Any volunteers? Gas $, snack food and antics guaranteed." Hmmm...what does "antics guaranteed" mean? Stay tuned.
A week ago we were discussing online where to stay in Delhi. I had contacted Manish, a math professor friend who lived in Delhi, to see if he had any suggestions. He wasn't in town, but suggested the possibility of staying at a university guest house somehow. Before that was settled, Courtney had made arrangements through a website called Couchsurfing.org, with which she had had pleasant experiences in the U.S. The site is set up so that people can crash for free at other people's houses. There are ratings and testimonials to make it fairly safe. Here is the Couchsurfing profile for our host, Sonu, at Wahoe Cottage.
We arrived in Delhi, then took a metro and two rickshaws to Baljeet Nagar, near the Shadipur metro stop, following directions from Courtney's correspondence with Sonu. The rickshaws took us uphill to a lively packed neighborhood with three dimensions of people. About 200,000 live there.
Of course, we got a little confused and started asking around for directions, and soon a young man from Wahoe Cottage appeared to be our host. We let Courtney talk to him to find out what's up. This was a relief, but then suddenly...
Antic #1: She tells them we're a family. Specifically, that Jennifer, Courtney, and I are siblings, and that Stacy is our mother.
So I'm not entirely clear on why this ruse was necessary. I'd seen enough sitcoms in my youth to fear comeuppance, or at least general wackiness, for this transgression. What would you have done? While still processing my new character for the upcoming theatre, we arrived at our lodging for the next three days.
We did not see the entire house, but were led through a small dark hallway into something like a one-room schoolhouse filled with small children. Class was in session. We carried our luggage past the children up a ladder to a loft overlooking the room. As we went up, the children uniformly greeted us with "Namaste!" and smiles. There were blankets, but no mattress. Pictures of rishis adorned the orange walls. There we sat above the ruckus, trying to digest what was going on. We would later learn that Sonu allowed "street children" into her home, and tried to teach them enough to fit into a regular school. There were other foreigners there to help: a German woman taught language, and a Japanese fellow gave some math lessons. We were not the only couch surfers, either: each night one or two groups of European travelers also shared the room. Here is a little video I took on our last day:
Before meeting anyone official, we met Sonu's son Jolly (pronounced like Angelina Jolie). Jolly was 7 years old and a lot of fun. He came up the ladder to hang out with us, to the delight of my paternal instincts. Perhaps I haven't met many children in this country, but Jolly has to be the silliest Indian I've met. He was rarely serious: he would pretend to sleepwalk, have amnesia, hypnotize me. He was keen on playing Stacy's guitar, and tried to juggle a little. But the main thing Jolly and I did on that loft was play "International Business". This board game is an international homage to Monopoly, except with purchasing countries rather than streets in Atlantic City. The rules weren't quite the same, so I had to rely on Jolly's interpretations, which always seemed to favor his situation... We never had enough time for a proper game, but had a good time nonetheless.
We walked around the bustling neighborhood a bit, and got some groceries.
Part of the deal is that visitors buy some vegetables, and Sonu prepares from them a home-cooked meal. Of course it was really good.
By then it was after curfew so we were confined to our loft. I called it the bird cage, because Stacy brought out her guitar and we sang some songs. We decided to pretend our last name was "Spatilloman", a portmanteau of all our surnames.
As evening came we met more of our hosts. Sonu's bother-in-law Dev inquired about our travel plans. In fact Wahoe Cottage was right next door to Wahoe Travel, a travel agency we might be interested in. Good marketing. Dev also invited us to meditation in the morning.
As we prepared to turn in, it dawned on us that there was only one bathroom in Wahoe Cottage, so it was tight. Bathing was in the form of a bucket bath, with the water heated electrically. Stacy would later shock herself from it. A sign in the dim damp bathroom read, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, don't be mean, wipe it clean." There were like five buckets in there. I avoided it, and learned to do things like brush my teeth on the loft using an empty water bottle and a half-empty water bottle.
In the morning we hung out with Dev, remembering that he wanted to meditate with us. I was up first, so the two of us chatted a bit. He was a devout Sikh, a "mountain person" from Shimla. Specifially, he practiced Wahoe. He asked if I thought mathematics could describe a bird's flight. The other Spatillomans came in and he asked about our faith. He did some chanting and head-rubbing, and did some personality-reading via numerology and palm-reading. He thought Stacy's reactions were "stern and skeptical". All I was thinking was that, if he truly had mystic insights into our psyches, wouldn't he know that we weren't related? Anyway the meditation session was gratis, although he also advertised massage which wasn't. We also discussed Wahoe Travel business afterwards. He was a nice guy.
Next: Traveling around Delhi.
Now I was just getting to know Courtney. When I heard she was coming I befriended her on a social networking site to do some "sleuthing". My biggest clue, although I did not know it at the time, was the following status update: "Looking for a ride back to Norman from Dallas on Wednesday. Any volunteers? Gas $, snack food and antics guaranteed." Hmmm...what does "antics guaranteed" mean? Stay tuned.
A week ago we were discussing online where to stay in Delhi. I had contacted Manish, a math professor friend who lived in Delhi, to see if he had any suggestions. He wasn't in town, but suggested the possibility of staying at a university guest house somehow. Before that was settled, Courtney had made arrangements through a website called Couchsurfing.org, with which she had had pleasant experiences in the U.S. The site is set up so that people can crash for free at other people's houses. There are ratings and testimonials to make it fairly safe. Here is the Couchsurfing profile for our host, Sonu, at Wahoe Cottage.
We arrived in Delhi, then took a metro and two rickshaws to Baljeet Nagar, near the Shadipur metro stop, following directions from Courtney's correspondence with Sonu. The rickshaws took us uphill to a lively packed neighborhood with three dimensions of people. About 200,000 live there.
 |
| Stacy brought me an Ashtanga Oklahoma sweatshirt! |
Antic #1: She tells them we're a family. Specifically, that Jennifer, Courtney, and I are siblings, and that Stacy is our mother.
So I'm not entirely clear on why this ruse was necessary. I'd seen enough sitcoms in my youth to fear comeuppance, or at least general wackiness, for this transgression. What would you have done? While still processing my new character for the upcoming theatre, we arrived at our lodging for the next three days.
We did not see the entire house, but were led through a small dark hallway into something like a one-room schoolhouse filled with small children. Class was in session. We carried our luggage past the children up a ladder to a loft overlooking the room. As we went up, the children uniformly greeted us with "Namaste!" and smiles. There were blankets, but no mattress. Pictures of rishis adorned the orange walls. There we sat above the ruckus, trying to digest what was going on. We would later learn that Sonu allowed "street children" into her home, and tried to teach them enough to fit into a regular school. There were other foreigners there to help: a German woman taught language, and a Japanese fellow gave some math lessons. We were not the only couch surfers, either: each night one or two groups of European travelers also shared the room. Here is a little video I took on our last day:
Before meeting anyone official, we met Sonu's son Jolly (pronounced like Angelina Jolie). Jolly was 7 years old and a lot of fun. He came up the ladder to hang out with us, to the delight of my paternal instincts. Perhaps I haven't met many children in this country, but Jolly has to be the silliest Indian I've met. He was rarely serious: he would pretend to sleepwalk, have amnesia, hypnotize me. He was keen on playing Stacy's guitar, and tried to juggle a little. But the main thing Jolly and I did on that loft was play "International Business". This board game is an international homage to Monopoly, except with purchasing countries rather than streets in Atlantic City. The rules weren't quite the same, so I had to rely on Jolly's interpretations, which always seemed to favor his situation... We never had enough time for a proper game, but had a good time nonetheless.
 |
| Everybody wants to rule the world. |
 |
| The fellow on the right originally led us to Wahoe. |
 |
| A+ for enthusiasm! |
As evening came we met more of our hosts. Sonu's bother-in-law Dev inquired about our travel plans. In fact Wahoe Cottage was right next door to Wahoe Travel, a travel agency we might be interested in. Good marketing. Dev also invited us to meditation in the morning.
As we prepared to turn in, it dawned on us that there was only one bathroom in Wahoe Cottage, so it was tight. Bathing was in the form of a bucket bath, with the water heated electrically. Stacy would later shock herself from it. A sign in the dim damp bathroom read, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, don't be mean, wipe it clean." There were like five buckets in there. I avoided it, and learned to do things like brush my teeth on the loft using an empty water bottle and a half-empty water bottle.
In the morning we hung out with Dev, remembering that he wanted to meditate with us. I was up first, so the two of us chatted a bit. He was a devout Sikh, a "mountain person" from Shimla. Specifially, he practiced Wahoe. He asked if I thought mathematics could describe a bird's flight. The other Spatillomans came in and he asked about our faith. He did some chanting and head-rubbing, and did some personality-reading via numerology and palm-reading. He thought Stacy's reactions were "stern and skeptical". All I was thinking was that, if he truly had mystic insights into our psyches, wouldn't he know that we weren't related? Anyway the meditation session was gratis, although he also advertised massage which wasn't. We also discussed Wahoe Travel business afterwards. He was a nice guy.
Next: Traveling around Delhi.
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