Arrival in Dehli

The non-stop flight from Newark takes 14 hours.  From the air, Delhi looked liked Las Vegas on fire:  lots of neon enveloped in smoke.  The airport, just a couple of years old, does little to dispel that image, by welcoming you with some design razzmatazz.  Like the signs marking the rest rooms.  Ladies:

and gents:

A bank of sculptures depicts what I'm guessing are spiritual gestures.

So far there's little to suggest you're in a developing country.  Until you step outside and your senses are assaulted with the acrid smell of smoke that stings your eyes, burns your throat and clogs your nose.  Get used to it!

Chris, our occasionally reluctant travel director, arranged for a van and driver, Kamleesh, who would be with us most of the trip.  A private contractor, he had just purchased a brand new vehicle.  It sat eight of us comfortably, along with our guides and and once, a couple of stranded French tourists.  Thom pulled the curtains shut whenever India became too much for him, which was often.

Nerves of steel kept Kamleesh calm as he negotiated India's untamed traffic.  You never really know what may be hurtling towards you around the next corner, and road dividers are no guarantee that drivers will be going in the right direction.  

Kamleesh's "can-do" attitude served us well.  Once, when we were boxed in by tourist buses at an architectural monument and the drivers were nowhere to be found, Kamleesh boarded a bus and backed it out of our path.

Matthew, who always wears his "permasmile" for photos (you'll see what I mean), often sat in the front seat next to Kamleesh.  They struck up a friendship despite the fact that neither Matthew nor the rest of us could get his name right for the first several days.   

One of the first things you notice about Delhi, apart from the smoke and the traffic, are the stray dogs.  Punim, our local guide told us that Indians don't really own pets but because the Hindus worship all living things, the animals get by.  That didn't stop the dog lovers among us from wanting to take the really cute ones home.  Sadly, I can't say that we had the same reaction to the kids.

Punim introduced us to Delhi's rather bewildering history (the Hindus and the Mulsims constantly struggling in a seesaw balance of power) to us en route to Humayan's Tomb.   Built in the Mughal style that culminated with the Taj Mahal, it cost her 1.5 million rupees in 1570.  According to an airport ATM receipt, which showed my balance in rupees rather than dollars, I could have built a few tombs of my own.  Where's your time machine when you need it?

Punim, at the far right in the navy blue sari, described the tomb as a starter version of the Taj Mahal which uses white marble, instead of sandstone, because it inters a woman.

The interior isn't nearly as impressive, though I did like this ceiling detail.

Here we are standing in the tomb's gardens, the first of many group shots.  Left to right: Andrew, Steven, Thom, Chris, Dan, George and me.  Guess who's 79?

We encountered our first cliche back in the parking lot.  Someone more cynical than I suggested the cobra might be made of rubber.

Here's some sideways video:

Crowds, including hundreds of vendors, mobbed India Gate, inspired by the Arc de Triomphe.  Erected to commemorate 90,000 Indians who lost their lives fighting for the British, mostly during World War I, it now is the site of the Indian Army's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. 

An empty canopy sits across the street.  George V, known as the "Emperor of India" once sat on his throne here.  After the end of the British Raj, somebody wisely moved him to a less prominent location.  Democracy still hasn't managed to fill the vacancy.

We drove past government buildings in central Delhi which, since the terrorist attacks in Mumbai, aren't as accessible as they once were.  In fact, security throughout India is pretty tight.  Bureaucrats drive around in these little cars.

Mahatma Gandhi is the father of his country, like George Washington in America.  Except that Gandhi's revolution against the British was non-violent.  Too bad that didn't protect him from getting killed by a Hindu extremist who thought he was a Muslim sympathizer.  The Gandhi Museum occupies his assassination site, a few steps away from the spartan room where he spent his last night.

  

It's hard to imagine anyone living so simply nowadays.

Gandhi's asceticism didn't give the museum curators much to work with apart from some frescoes that illustrated the story of his life.  He acquired his iconic look later in life.

One display case exhibited all his worldly possessions, including these eyeglasses.  What would Gandhi think of India, the world's biggest democracy, as it inches toward modernity in fits and starts?  Our group had some spirited discussions about this when we weren't fretting about how much to tip.

Upon arrival at our next destination, we spotted a pushcart vendor that would have excited any of the few remaining Kodak investors.  Film is alive and colorful, if not well, in India. The guys who swarm you at the tourist sites know enough to try to sell you memory cards now.

750 years before Gandhi helped achieved Indian independence, Muslims built Qutub Minar, much of it salvaged from Hindu temples that they had destroyed.  At 72 meters, it's the highest stone tower in the country and has been struck by lightning more than once.

Here's a close-up.

Nothing like late afternoon light for photos.  Here's Chris, Matthew and Thom in front of the mosque.

Intricately carved pillars provided the perfect backdrop for a couples shot.

Indian tourists outnumbered Western tourists everywhere we went, and I discovered that they will happily and unselfconsciously pose for pictures taken by foreigners.

A mother and her two daughters looked out of a tourist bus window.