I have to wake up in about 4 hours because for one of the modules here there is a field trip. This morning was fraught with us wondering what to do for the post-March period, because there's this really relevant Creative Crafting course, but we're not sure if we'll be able to cope with it and not waste the opportunity to travel - which is, essentially what Exchange is all about.
The same guy in charge of it was the lecturing faculty for our Metaphors & Narratives class, and he showed us the "documentary" Baraka. I don't know how to classify this film exactly because it is a montage film that speaks volumes but deals with nothing specifically. One sees a pattern emerge after getting bored by the first 30 mins, then watch the themes develop a little, making sense and meaning of each image on your own, then doze off at about the 45 mins mark, jolt awake, listen to the now-exciting tempo portion with image depicting the perennial nature of War, stare intently at the scenes of genocide and atrocity, get restless and make comments to your sleeping neighbour, feel the sense of awe at the natural beauty of the world, wonder if this next scene brings the movie to a close, OH NO, it opens up again with a new scene of rock formations and drumbeats, it drags on, now the...
I wouldn't recommend watching this movie unless one has plenty of patience and/or are forced to watch it for class. The module coordinator herself fell asleep at one point, it was that draggy a film.
10,000 points for cinematography and thematic treatment. 0 because this idea of a 95-minute long montage movie is seriously meant only for the uber-cool-obscure-film-geek. Check it out if you ever find it. I don't have a copy with me. I'm too impatient a soul at the moment to even pretend that I could fully appreciate the film and claim some cooler-than-thou cult-following stature.
I've got to wake up at 5.30 to get ready to leave for some place 3.5 hours away from campus. This is for a module.
I always have epiphanies in the washroom/shower, but I always forget these truths once I leave. It's disconcerting.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Haircuts, Barbers and Dissonance
Leigh and I decided to get our hair cut today, and we happily went to a place recommended by Marine. It's not the same place she went to, but she had the card of the place so Leigh and I decided to go for it. We made appointments for 2 at 2.
And we went. There were about 10 people at the counter, all of whom seemed to work in the salon. All eyes on us, everyone seemed shocked that two foreigners had stepped in. After a pause, one of the 10 ventured a query "Do you have an appointment?" Affirmative.
So we are led inside, and I take a seat. The hairstylist assigned to me is a dude with a potbelly and too-tight washed out formerly colourful t-shirt. He asks me in rudimentary English what kind of cut I'd like, so I venture my interest in the hair massage, seeing as how Leigh went straight for that service. He goes away and brings back a lady who translated their services: Hair Oil or Spa? Spa, please (don't want weird oils on my head).
I sit there patiently waiting for things to happen. The dude places his hands first on my shoulders. And then moves his palms inwards, his fingers encircling my neck. A beat. Then two. And they don't budge. He's looking at the front desk, distracted and nonchalant. I'm terribly uncomfortable but I'm a guest in this country, and maybe this is their custom... The hands are moving, omg where are they going!? What IS he doing fiddling with my shirt button... AAAHHHH, I'm going to get raped by a blond football-bookie barber in front of everyone in a unisex hair salon!!!
Oh, he's making way for the towel he just tucked into my shirt. Oh shit wait, how much is the hair spa going to cost... okay, I can't ask that, it's too cheap. But it should be alright lah, a haircut can't be that expensive... the max I suppose is Rs. 1,000 and that's about $40. I suppose it's still acceptable going by rates at home. Okay okay.
I get my hair washed "conditioner sir? yes please (is this extra cost)." in a porcelain bowl with an edge that cups my neck a little too hard. He drags my neck up after an towels me off, making me feel like a kid all over again, my head just a bobblehead he tosses around too loosely.
Back in the chair, he pays me no mind, just concerned with the other people in the salon, even as he mixes white gummy stuff, even as he lathers said gum onto my hair, a marinate of cold cream. Next thing I know, he's massaging my head, pushing the gum further into my scalp, mashing it into my follicles, salvaging the receding hairline (might be paranoia, but I think I'm seeing more scalp than hair on the corners).
Then he places his gummy palms onto my neck and massages. Then he takes his hands out of my collar and massages my back. Along the spine, with me half bent across my seat, wondering what kind of hair massage this is - I know I've got a hairy (relatively invisible) back - but how did he know?
After this he brings over that Martian Brain Irradiator found in all salons the world over, and proceeds to let my mayonnaise head steam. Leave to simmer after, remember to add the garnish. I sit there wondering if this experience is worth my head catching fire. How do women leave their heads in that thing?! I got used to it eventually, but by that time the guy comes back and pushes the MBI further down, encompassing more of my head and threatening to singe my ears off, I know I complain bitterly about the cold but cut me some slack dude. He removes it,
And then I get another rinse after the massage, he chops off my hair without even taking the time to look much at what he's cutting, instead paying more attention to the argument brewing between a client and another hairstylist. And then he asks me if I'd like my hair gelled, he gels it without so much as first drying my still-wet (from the post-massage rinse), just-cut hair, or dusting off the excess hair. Then he shows me the back with a large mirror and smiles. I look at him, then ask if I'm done. He smiles, then leans against the table and says I can wait for Leigh there.
All this happens within 30 minutes. Including the haircut. 3 minutes later (like the instant noodles I love so much) Leigh walks up to me stunned. We pay and walk out wondering what the hell we're doing here (I'm stretching it a little here, I have absolutely no idea what Leigh really thought, although I can say for a fact, because I spoke to her, that she had an equally -if not more- interesting time than I did).
Lunch was even funnier. Chicken soups and Mayocalypse Salads.
And we went. There were about 10 people at the counter, all of whom seemed to work in the salon. All eyes on us, everyone seemed shocked that two foreigners had stepped in. After a pause, one of the 10 ventured a query "Do you have an appointment?" Affirmative.
So we are led inside, and I take a seat. The hairstylist assigned to me is a dude with a potbelly and too-tight washed out formerly colourful t-shirt. He asks me in rudimentary English what kind of cut I'd like, so I venture my interest in the hair massage, seeing as how Leigh went straight for that service. He goes away and brings back a lady who translated their services: Hair Oil or Spa? Spa, please (don't want weird oils on my head).
I sit there patiently waiting for things to happen. The dude places his hands first on my shoulders. And then moves his palms inwards, his fingers encircling my neck. A beat. Then two. And they don't budge. He's looking at the front desk, distracted and nonchalant. I'm terribly uncomfortable but I'm a guest in this country, and maybe this is their custom... The hands are moving, omg where are they going!? What IS he doing fiddling with my shirt button... AAAHHHH, I'm going to get raped by a blond football-bookie barber in front of everyone in a unisex hair salon!!!
Oh, he's making way for the towel he just tucked into my shirt. Oh shit wait, how much is the hair spa going to cost... okay, I can't ask that, it's too cheap. But it should be alright lah, a haircut can't be that expensive... the max I suppose is Rs. 1,000 and that's about $40. I suppose it's still acceptable going by rates at home. Okay okay.
I get my hair washed "conditioner sir? yes please (is this extra cost)." in a porcelain bowl with an edge that cups my neck a little too hard. He drags my neck up after an towels me off, making me feel like a kid all over again, my head just a bobblehead he tosses around too loosely.
Back in the chair, he pays me no mind, just concerned with the other people in the salon, even as he mixes white gummy stuff, even as he lathers said gum onto my hair, a marinate of cold cream. Next thing I know, he's massaging my head, pushing the gum further into my scalp, mashing it into my follicles, salvaging the receding hairline (might be paranoia, but I think I'm seeing more scalp than hair on the corners).
Then he places his gummy palms onto my neck and massages. Then he takes his hands out of my collar and massages my back. Along the spine, with me half bent across my seat, wondering what kind of hair massage this is - I know I've got a hairy (relatively invisible) back - but how did he know?
After this he brings over that Martian Brain Irradiator found in all salons the world over, and proceeds to let my mayonnaise head steam. Leave to simmer after, remember to add the garnish. I sit there wondering if this experience is worth my head catching fire. How do women leave their heads in that thing?! I got used to it eventually, but by that time the guy comes back and pushes the MBI further down, encompassing more of my head and threatening to singe my ears off, I know I complain bitterly about the cold but cut me some slack dude. He removes it,
And then I get another rinse after the massage, he chops off my hair without even taking the time to look much at what he's cutting, instead paying more attention to the argument brewing between a client and another hairstylist. And then he asks me if I'd like my hair gelled, he gels it without so much as first drying my still-wet (from the post-massage rinse), just-cut hair, or dusting off the excess hair. Then he shows me the back with a large mirror and smiles. I look at him, then ask if I'm done. He smiles, then leans against the table and says I can wait for Leigh there.
All this happens within 30 minutes. Including the haircut. 3 minutes later (like the instant noodles I love so much) Leigh walks up to me stunned. We pay and walk out wondering what the hell we're doing here (I'm stretching it a little here, I have absolutely no idea what Leigh really thought, although I can say for a fact, because I spoke to her, that she had an equally -if not more- interesting time than I did).
Lunch was even funnier. Chicken soups and Mayocalypse Salads.
Monday, January 28, 2008
As Mentioned By There Are No Roti Pratas Here
Nuria has managed to capture the exact essence of what I was feeling as I watched the Indian movie we're supposed to see as part of one of our modules.
The module is called Services Marketing and the title describes everything you need to know about it. It's about marketing services. Not tangible products, but intangible processes called services (I am reading the first chapter).
The lecturer wanted us to watch this film called "Everybody Says I'm Fine". Essentially (and I'm going to give all the spoilers now) it's about a guy who can read peoples' minds when he cuts their hair. How and why is he able to do this?
I have to qualify something first: this movie actually has pretty well-written dialogue, despite my many misgivings with the unbelievable plot devices. The lines are actually witty at many points, leaving me to wonder what went wrong with the rest of the film.
So ANYWAY.
1. This dude can read minds when he cuts hair.
2. He got this magical power from witnessing his rapping/rocker parents get electrocuted by the soundboard in a freak accident; he watched them die in complete silence because he was singing in the recording room.
3. He has uber-hot babes for assistants and tai-tais for clients, not to a mention billionaire tycoon who has a weird habit of thinking of going to the Bahamas constantly and there is a tai tai who's a cocaine addict who sells coke to young boys so she can fund her own habit (get out of here), who may or may not be his wife.
4. The love interest in the film is a feisty intelligent young thing whom the protagonist falls for after he is unable to read her thoughts whilst cutting her hair.
5. She comes back into his shop weeks later (I am assuming the time here), bringing with her a gang of beggars, makes his receptionist give these beggars money, then stands there waiting for him to invite her to his place.
6. She goes to his place, he suddenly decides to reveal his secret to her, she gets pissed that he tried to read her mind, then she leaves (this happens all of say 10 mins in his house)
7. In the next few parts, the dude helps his clients with their problems in a variety of ways.
8. The show is somewhat dramatic at this point, but still just comes across as a fantasy/mild drama film.
9. One night, the dude sees the girl standing in the rain outside his shop. She's decked out in skimpy clubbing gear, with small fairy wings attached, and is drenched to the bone. Their eyes meet, she walks up to his loft - cut to -
10. Shot of her back, she's removing her clothes. He comes up the stairs (at this point my mouth is agape in shock), sees her undressing, doesn't say a word, and begins to take off his clothes.
11. They meet, and without another word being exchanged, immediately begin to have sex.
12. She leaves but not before revealing that she's going to the BAHAMAS with her FATHER. Her dad comes into the shop on another day.
13. The main protagonist offers a bottle of malt whiskey to congratulate the tycoon on something. They drink the whiskey together, then proceed to the haircut.
14. The protagonist at this point has already pieced together that the tycoon has some weird thing going on with his daughter, and intends to do something nasty to her in the Bahamas.
15. The tycoon's thoughts are now of punishing his daughter in some BDSM manner. The protagonist moves to smash the tycoon's head into the table.
16. He then takes the body and the tycoon's car to a hill, and makes it look like a drunk driving accident.
17. The love interest discovers the crime, goes to the shop, her thoughts are suddenly non-diagetically shared with the protagonist (and audience), she's completely messed up in her head what with years of sexual abuse.
18. They hug and all.
19. He loses his powers the next day and is completely euphoric that he can no longer "hear". A happy ending ensues with a close-up of the TV screen and a cheesy music video playing.
The module is called Services Marketing and the title describes everything you need to know about it. It's about marketing services. Not tangible products, but intangible processes called services (I am reading the first chapter).
The lecturer wanted us to watch this film called "Everybody Says I'm Fine". Essentially (and I'm going to give all the spoilers now) it's about a guy who can read peoples' minds when he cuts their hair. How and why is he able to do this?
I have to qualify something first: this movie actually has pretty well-written dialogue, despite my many misgivings with the unbelievable plot devices. The lines are actually witty at many points, leaving me to wonder what went wrong with the rest of the film.
So ANYWAY.
1. This dude can read minds when he cuts hair.
2. He got this magical power from witnessing his rapping/rocker parents get electrocuted by the soundboard in a freak accident; he watched them die in complete silence because he was singing in the recording room.
3. He has uber-hot babes for assistants and tai-tais for clients, not to a mention billionaire tycoon who has a weird habit of thinking of going to the Bahamas constantly and there is a tai tai who's a cocaine addict who sells coke to young boys so she can fund her own habit (get out of here), who may or may not be his wife.
4. The love interest in the film is a feisty intelligent young thing whom the protagonist falls for after he is unable to read her thoughts whilst cutting her hair.
5. She comes back into his shop weeks later (I am assuming the time here), bringing with her a gang of beggars, makes his receptionist give these beggars money, then stands there waiting for him to invite her to his place.
6. She goes to his place, he suddenly decides to reveal his secret to her, she gets pissed that he tried to read her mind, then she leaves (this happens all of say 10 mins in his house)
7. In the next few parts, the dude helps his clients with their problems in a variety of ways.
8. The show is somewhat dramatic at this point, but still just comes across as a fantasy/mild drama film.
9. One night, the dude sees the girl standing in the rain outside his shop. She's decked out in skimpy clubbing gear, with small fairy wings attached, and is drenched to the bone. Their eyes meet, she walks up to his loft - cut to -
10. Shot of her back, she's removing her clothes. He comes up the stairs (at this point my mouth is agape in shock), sees her undressing, doesn't say a word, and begins to take off his clothes.
11. They meet, and without another word being exchanged, immediately begin to have sex.
12. She leaves but not before revealing that she's going to the BAHAMAS with her FATHER. Her dad comes into the shop on another day.
13. The main protagonist offers a bottle of malt whiskey to congratulate the tycoon on something. They drink the whiskey together, then proceed to the haircut.
14. The protagonist at this point has already pieced together that the tycoon has some weird thing going on with his daughter, and intends to do something nasty to her in the Bahamas.
15. The tycoon's thoughts are now of punishing his daughter in some BDSM manner. The protagonist moves to smash the tycoon's head into the table.
16. He then takes the body and the tycoon's car to a hill, and makes it look like a drunk driving accident.
17. The love interest discovers the crime, goes to the shop, her thoughts are suddenly non-diagetically shared with the protagonist (and audience), she's completely messed up in her head what with years of sexual abuse.
18. They hug and all.
19. He loses his powers the next day and is completely euphoric that he can no longer "hear". A happy ending ensues with a close-up of the TV screen and a cheesy music video playing.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Drinking Whiskey From a Porcelain Mug
I'm shivering from the breakdown of whiskey in my system and from the cold because I've only got one pair of clothing on.
And I'm skyping Nuria because I'm bloody bored.
And I'm skyping Nuria because I'm bloody bored.
You Know, The Lesbian One.
We spent the entire afternoon seated on the corridor outside my room, watching the sun go from left to right, snacking crazily, littering the floor and soaking up sun.
It began after breakfast with Nuria, when we decided to sit there and stone. Then Leigh joined in. And Marine came back from Goa and joined us too. So we sat there, and we talked.
It was nice, especially the part where it began to feel like I was at a home for the aged and I was placed there by some nurse making conversation with the ladies.
And also the part where I tagged the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack to our janitor, making it impossible for Nuria to look at him without having Stayin' Alive play on in her head.
It was a good afternoon indeed.
*Note: I've made changes to the site, you can check out some of the new (or old) travel blogs that my friends have started - so you don't have to be totally bored with me raving about India all the time.
**Also available: Erwin on Skype, add me at elixarkan@gmail.com
It began after breakfast with Nuria, when we decided to sit there and stone. Then Leigh joined in. And Marine came back from Goa and joined us too. So we sat there, and we talked.
It was nice, especially the part where it began to feel like I was at a home for the aged and I was placed there by some nurse making conversation with the ladies.
And also the part where I tagged the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack to our janitor, making it impossible for Nuria to look at him without having Stayin' Alive play on in her head.
It was a good afternoon indeed.
*Note: I've made changes to the site, you can check out some of the new (or old) travel blogs that my friends have started - so you don't have to be totally bored with me raving about India all the time.
**Also available: Erwin on Skype, add me at elixarkan@gmail.com
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The City of Delhi (As photographed by me when I wasn't being lazy).
Day One: Connaught Place
The photograph below is one of 3 photographs I took of Delhi's most famous shopping area Connaught Place. It's Delhi's Orchard Road, but somewhat larger in terms of land area. Connaught Place is uniquely shaped in concentric circles, with individual boutiques lining the faces of the blocks that make up the circular architecture.
The sports brands are all there, Nike, Reebok (surprisingly very big in India) and Adidas, with Adidas having opened its Originals' store just recently. And because CP is so big, each company has 2-3 stores in different blocks.
We arrived at the airport, got a pre-paid cab to Hotel BB Palace (which is trash), dropped our luggage, freshened up and immediately left for CP. We then walked around a little and made the mistake of settling for what seemed to be a good place for a celebratory lunch.
Zen restaurant is featured in The Lonely Planet Guide to India, and usually they're quite spot on about most eating places, but this place is a definite no-no. The supposed Chinese food is not even remotely close to being Chinese (I'm being a little harsh here, but when you charge this amount and masquerade as being authentically Chinese, well) and it was overpriced. We didn't mind so much paying a little extra, but the meal came in measly portions and tasted bad. So don't bother. Do note that I am saying this with the awareness that local flavour is incorporated into so much of the food here, but despite this the food was still a waste of money.
After that meal we spent the rest of the day walking around CP till late, getting good deals on sunglasses and if I recall, Fabindia products. Fab(ric)india sells handwoven clothes and cloths and textiles, it's a high-class bazaar shop.
This photo was taken outside Fabindia, while Leigh was in a shoe/clothes shop trying on stuff. A trio eyed me suspiciously as they walked past, then made a change in their direction to walk back, due to my paranoia about these things, I retreated immediately into the shop. And they disappeared.
CP's walkways are lined with book peddlers selling loads of knockoffs with a wide selection from Indian authors. There's a thing about Indian books and their bookstores - probably how Singapore would be as well had we such a vast population and good authors. I didn't get anything from these book peddlers because most of the stuff was fake or damaged. I'd rather pay for second-hand books (to me, they acquire a certain character when you search through an entire library and find a gem that's slightly worn but absolutely worth the cost).
Day Two: Agra Fort and the Tag Mahal
We awake super-early the next morning to prep for our 5-hour bus ride to Agra, ordering room service breakfast of odd puree-like scrambled eggs and toast. The coffee was good. We waited for the bus which was about 20 minutes late. As all things are in India.
During the trip there the bus made a stop for breakfast. We got off at a motel with an open-air dining area and I made a call to my dad who's in Chennai.
Me: Dad, Dad, can you hear me?
Dad: Yes son? Why?
Me: I'm in Delhi, I'm on my way to Agra to see the Tag Mahal.
Dad: Is that so? Who are you with?
Me: Just me and Leigh.
Dad: How are you going there?
Me: By bus.
Dad: Aiyoh, be careful ah son, is this bus old or new?
Me: It's new, I think.
Dad: Cause some of these old buses their brakes don't work, you better be careful. People always die.
Me: Uh, okay. Don't worry, this one the brakes work fine.
Dad: Okay, okay, mm, bye.
Me: Bye.
Don't you just love Singaporean father-son relationships? So. Leigh decides to order French Toast from the kitchen, and the guy taking our order seems capable of conversing in English, but he's insisting each time that the French toast is toast with an egg on the side, or wrapped around it or something, I think that he's capable of understanding what we're saying, because he's responding in alright English, and has the demeanour of the manager in-charge of the place. So Leigh goes on to ask him if the French toast is sweet like the way we have it in Singapore, and the dude nods his head in agreement that he can help her get it sweet. He assures us in simple English and we believe him.
If Leigh hasn't already told you the story (or uploaded the photo), the dish comes to us in the following manner: There is whitebread toast made into a triple-deck sandwich. In between the decks there is cucumber and tomato (two of my most favourite vegetables), and they're graciously lathered with pinkish jam. The egg comes on the side. She abandons the meal.
After a long long journey we reach the Agra Red Fort. I have no idea what it's really called, only because I've been the most horrid traveller and have not bothered in the least to find out the names of the historical buildings or commit any of their significance to memory. I don't know why, I suspect it's cause I'm lazy to make the effort to learn the stuff and be fascinated. Don't misunderstand, I am completely and utterly amazed at the stuff I manage to see here, but I'm just somewhat unfettered by the tedious perception that one is supposed to devour all these historical tidbits as a form of not wasting the experience. To me, being there and then and having seen what I've seen and thought what I'd thought in that moment is enough, I don't really need to be able to report to anyone that I've been here and there and I had this totally-cool epiphany about the ephemeral nature of the place and the surreal experience of standing on stones that are hundreds/thousands of years old. I mean I do get those sometimes, but the accurate reporting of place, deed and learnt facts is not what I'm here for.
I'm just here to throw myself into something entirely different and see what life brings me. And so we reach Agra Fort with the help of a Tour Guide who manages to convince everyone on board that broken English would still be dyingly acceptable as opposed to the incomprehensible grunting syllables he ventured. It was so bad that at one point we gave up trying to understand what he was trying to say, but the best part was when the other Indians tried asking him to speak in Hindi and he flatly refuses them in Ngrish.
This is just outside the gates leading into the Red Fort (I think).
This tree is outside the washroom area. The guide insisted that we keep off the grass. Workmen get it so much better than the tourists who have to pay premium entry ticket prices. Doesn't matter if you're a student in an Indian university.
In the distance you should be able to spot the Taj Mahal. This part of Red Fort is some sort of parliamentary meeting place/ harem, something.
There is a mosque built behind that gate. According to whatever I could scrap from the Tour Guide's Ngrish, it's still used as a place of prayer.
By the way, this place was built by the Mughals - which are Mongol-Turkish people who ruled over India during its Golden Age. Islam is probably from the Turkish side of the family. This would also explain to one why the Taj Mahal had Quran verses inscribed onto its gates, etc.
The walkway leading up to the interior of Red Fort. The place is massive, too bad we were being rushed by the guide in his Blitzkrieg 101 on the place. He wanted to show us "Taj Mahal in the moon is different from Taj Mahal in the sun, I will show you. Inside, I will show you." This was the most lucid thing he said the entire trip. But no one could comprehend how he was going to show us the Taj Mahal in the moonlight if we were leaving at around 7pm for the bus journey back. Albeit he repeated that same sentence (in different variations) several times in 20 minutes; thereby explaining how I could glean his intention, but still we were in the dark as to how he was going to perform his magic trick.
And it was revealed soon after. He brought us to a wholesaler of Taj Mahal "Real Marble" replicas. The place was dedicated to selling people these little versions of of the Taj that one could place a lamp beneath and light up. That's how the Taj looks like at night under moonlight. It's orange and glows from within. If you were looking at the fake Taj Mahal in the "moonlight", it'd sorely disappoint you because it's fake marble and doesn't have the same translucency that showcases the lamplight.
This is the Rs. 3 shuttle that takes you along the road leading from the carpark (for vehicles like our bus that emit harmful gases) to the Taj entrance.
The East Gate
Touristy shots as assisted by our favourite Taj guide.
Who decided that I wasn't taking good enough photos and proceeded to hog my camera for a good 5 shots from this angle.
Then moved me into position to take this shot.
Right before we abandoned him to go our own way for awhile. Then I managed to get this good shot in.
And another. The reflection in the water is a big thing. The fountains are also remarkable because they were not originally powered with electricity, but through some water-dynamo-like thing housed in another building.
That building over there is the guest house for the king's guests - they came from all over the world to pay homage to the queen's grave, or so I was told.
The now Infamous Twist.
This is where the King got placed under house arrest by his OWN son.
The Taj in sunset.
Precious stones were used to make up these floral designs on the passageway into the tomb. the guide gave a whole list of all the places around the world the stones were sent from. I cannot remember a single one now. But it is marvelous how far love will go.
The archway into the tomb. The wordings on the side are quotes from the Quran.
Opposite shot from the Taj.
This dude wanted Rs. 200 to bring us back in the opposite journey as the shuttle. We bargained for half because it was so short. Could have gotten it for less but we were rushing, we thought that we'd be the last ones to get back to the tour bus.
But we were the first. How stupid of us! They run on a different time scale here! It's always STATED TIME + 15 MINUTES.
The Room of Lesser Horrors at the Horror that is Hotel BB Palace. The Room of Greater Horrors was the one that faced the main road, had no access to the paid-for wireless Internet, and seemed to need calling for Hot Water to run through the taps.
We shifted rooms that same night we got back. We had a relatively good meal of Butter Chicken and naan. I think.
This is the sight that greeted us when we came to Paharganj for breakfast. We wandered a little then decided to settle for Hotel Shelton's rooftop terrace restaurant. We were stumped a little by the sliding door elevator (but San Fran's experience served me well), but got up there unscathed. The sight of ang mohs armed with the same guidebook eating nice continental, delicious-looking brunches made us all the more ravenous.
SO we decided to move out of Hotel BB Palace after Leigh made enquiries and saw the state of the rooms. We also much preferred the atmosphere of the place. It's a fantastically alive place. Trawling the streets are all manner of travellers and tourists, from Koreans to bohemian ang mohs with young kids.
This is Leigh's face right after we decided to move out of BB Palace and into Hotel Shelton.
She wanted to put the sunglasses to good use, Rs. 150, 300 for 2, only at CP. If you can get it cheaper, don't tell me. She buys another one later on at the night market. I think she might have gotten it cheaper too.
The view from the first shop Leigh decides to shop at after our brunch. I had a grilled cheese steak sizzler. It was CRAZY GOOD after all that time in Ahmedabad, Chicken and Chocolate.
Chadni Chowk (?): The Tibetan Market
This was at Khan Market, which is my favourite place in Delhi because it reminds me a lot of Holland Village and because I like the things I can find there, namely, books, magazines, electronics and nice cafes. Not to mention cookies. And great food.
It should be mentioned though that the first shop on the inner stretch selling organic-body stuff should not be visited and razed to the ground. The salesgirl at the counter was f**king rude to Leigh and should be brought out to the back and shot.
Evening time at the Tibetan market. These lamps were very nice, but there's no where I can place it either back home or in my Silveroak room.
The billboards reminded me of America.
This is the Baha'i Lotus Temple. It is a temple that is open to all faiths for the worship of whatever they want.
The interior of the temple is astoundingly breath-taking. I was fascinated with how the rows and rows of chairs formed a semi-circle round a podium, but the architecture of the place draws one's vision immediately heavenward to the skylight. And the silence imposed on everyone before entering makes the experience all the more surreal. Time literally stops while you're inside.
But we had an auto waiting outside. 30 mins, he gave us.
After we got back to Paharganj,
Leigh proceeded to begin her shopping spree. Beginning with this shop here where she got custom-made semi-precious jewellery for a steal. Her bargaining skills are unparalleled. Excepting of course, Romain.
This is Indian Colin Farrell.
That's Topher Grace from That 70s Show and In Good Company.
Whilst Leigh shopped at the store, I got a little restless and took a walk down Main Bazaar
Day 6: More Shopping In Paharganj (I want to chronicle our meals - best part of my days - but I was lazy and didn't bother with photographs, Leigh has them all).
I think that's it. It should be noted that we went out to Ploof (also in the LP Guide) which is situated in an area that bears a striking resemblance to Greenwood Avenue. Incidentally, Ploof is a seafood restaurant, much like Fisherman's Wharf. I missed home that night. Ploof was good, even though we both had Beer Battered Fish and Chips (no beer), and it was an upmarket high-class sorta place. Having Johnnie Walker with Coke rocked my world. Having a cab ordered for you was a nice way to end the evening as well.
We had the best meal at The Big Chill on day seven. It's located in Khan Market and serves a wide-range of food. I had the fusili with cheese and pepperoni. Totally rocked. Leigh had the pasta-dumpling-thingies which for the life of me I can't seem to recall at this moment. Argh. They were good too. We had 2 chocolate desserts after that.
On day four or five we had dinner at the Metropolis Restaurant. This is the Paharganj-equivalent of upclass restaurant, fantastic food there as well. Great, great service. We had bad creme-brulee, though the chocolate dessert more than made up for it.
Club India in Paharganj was recommended to us by one of Hotel Shelton's staff. He secretly brought me to a side of the roof to point it out to me, after discovering that Leigh and I were planning to go somewhere farther for Japanese food. Club India's japanese food is alright, but really, go farther. We wanted to try one of the 2 guide recommendations but didn't have the time.
Sam's Cafe is pretty good too. Although Szechuan-tasting potatoes credited as hash browns on the menu is not my idea of a good meal, the other things are decent.
I don't think I've got anymore to write down. This has taken me 3 days to bother. 2 for the uploading of photos.
Well.
The photograph below is one of 3 photographs I took of Delhi's most famous shopping area Connaught Place. It's Delhi's Orchard Road, but somewhat larger in terms of land area. Connaught Place is uniquely shaped in concentric circles, with individual boutiques lining the faces of the blocks that make up the circular architecture.
The sports brands are all there, Nike, Reebok (surprisingly very big in India) and Adidas, with Adidas having opened its Originals' store just recently. And because CP is so big, each company has 2-3 stores in different blocks.
We arrived at the airport, got a pre-paid cab to Hotel BB Palace (which is trash), dropped our luggage, freshened up and immediately left for CP. We then walked around a little and made the mistake of settling for what seemed to be a good place for a celebratory lunch.
Zen restaurant is featured in The Lonely Planet Guide to India, and usually they're quite spot on about most eating places, but this place is a definite no-no. The supposed Chinese food is not even remotely close to being Chinese (I'm being a little harsh here, but when you charge this amount and masquerade as being authentically Chinese, well) and it was overpriced. We didn't mind so much paying a little extra, but the meal came in measly portions and tasted bad. So don't bother. Do note that I am saying this with the awareness that local flavour is incorporated into so much of the food here, but despite this the food was still a waste of money.
After that meal we spent the rest of the day walking around CP till late, getting good deals on sunglasses and if I recall, Fabindia products. Fab(ric)india sells handwoven clothes and cloths and textiles, it's a high-class bazaar shop.
This photo was taken outside Fabindia, while Leigh was in a shoe/clothes shop trying on stuff. A trio eyed me suspiciously as they walked past, then made a change in their direction to walk back, due to my paranoia about these things, I retreated immediately into the shop. And they disappeared.
CP's walkways are lined with book peddlers selling loads of knockoffs with a wide selection from Indian authors. There's a thing about Indian books and their bookstores - probably how Singapore would be as well had we such a vast population and good authors. I didn't get anything from these book peddlers because most of the stuff was fake or damaged. I'd rather pay for second-hand books (to me, they acquire a certain character when you search through an entire library and find a gem that's slightly worn but absolutely worth the cost).
Day Two: Agra Fort and the Tag Mahal
We awake super-early the next morning to prep for our 5-hour bus ride to Agra, ordering room service breakfast of odd puree-like scrambled eggs and toast. The coffee was good. We waited for the bus which was about 20 minutes late. As all things are in India.
During the trip there the bus made a stop for breakfast. We got off at a motel with an open-air dining area and I made a call to my dad who's in Chennai.
Me: Dad, Dad, can you hear me?
Dad: Yes son? Why?
Me: I'm in Delhi, I'm on my way to Agra to see the Tag Mahal.
Dad: Is that so? Who are you with?
Me: Just me and Leigh.
Dad: How are you going there?
Me: By bus.
Dad: Aiyoh, be careful ah son, is this bus old or new?
Me: It's new, I think.
Dad: Cause some of these old buses their brakes don't work, you better be careful. People always die.
Me: Uh, okay. Don't worry, this one the brakes work fine.
Dad: Okay, okay, mm, bye.
Me: Bye.
Don't you just love Singaporean father-son relationships? So. Leigh decides to order French Toast from the kitchen, and the guy taking our order seems capable of conversing in English, but he's insisting each time that the French toast is toast with an egg on the side, or wrapped around it or something, I think that he's capable of understanding what we're saying, because he's responding in alright English, and has the demeanour of the manager in-charge of the place. So Leigh goes on to ask him if the French toast is sweet like the way we have it in Singapore, and the dude nods his head in agreement that he can help her get it sweet. He assures us in simple English and we believe him.
If Leigh hasn't already told you the story (or uploaded the photo), the dish comes to us in the following manner: There is whitebread toast made into a triple-deck sandwich. In between the decks there is cucumber and tomato (two of my most favourite vegetables), and they're graciously lathered with pinkish jam. The egg comes on the side. She abandons the meal.
After a long long journey we reach the Agra Red Fort. I have no idea what it's really called, only because I've been the most horrid traveller and have not bothered in the least to find out the names of the historical buildings or commit any of their significance to memory. I don't know why, I suspect it's cause I'm lazy to make the effort to learn the stuff and be fascinated. Don't misunderstand, I am completely and utterly amazed at the stuff I manage to see here, but I'm just somewhat unfettered by the tedious perception that one is supposed to devour all these historical tidbits as a form of not wasting the experience. To me, being there and then and having seen what I've seen and thought what I'd thought in that moment is enough, I don't really need to be able to report to anyone that I've been here and there and I had this totally-cool epiphany about the ephemeral nature of the place and the surreal experience of standing on stones that are hundreds/thousands of years old. I mean I do get those sometimes, but the accurate reporting of place, deed and learnt facts is not what I'm here for.
I'm just here to throw myself into something entirely different and see what life brings me. And so we reach Agra Fort with the help of a Tour Guide who manages to convince everyone on board that broken English would still be dyingly acceptable as opposed to the incomprehensible grunting syllables he ventured. It was so bad that at one point we gave up trying to understand what he was trying to say, but the best part was when the other Indians tried asking him to speak in Hindi and he flatly refuses them in Ngrish.
This is just outside the gates leading into the Red Fort (I think).
This tree is outside the washroom area. The guide insisted that we keep off the grass. Workmen get it so much better than the tourists who have to pay premium entry ticket prices. Doesn't matter if you're a student in an Indian university.
In the distance you should be able to spot the Taj Mahal. This part of Red Fort is some sort of parliamentary meeting place/ harem, something.
There is a mosque built behind that gate. According to whatever I could scrap from the Tour Guide's Ngrish, it's still used as a place of prayer.
By the way, this place was built by the Mughals - which are Mongol-Turkish people who ruled over India during its Golden Age. Islam is probably from the Turkish side of the family. This would also explain to one why the Taj Mahal had Quran verses inscribed onto its gates, etc.
The walkway leading up to the interior of Red Fort. The place is massive, too bad we were being rushed by the guide in his Blitzkrieg 101 on the place. He wanted to show us "Taj Mahal in the moon is different from Taj Mahal in the sun, I will show you. Inside, I will show you." This was the most lucid thing he said the entire trip. But no one could comprehend how he was going to show us the Taj Mahal in the moonlight if we were leaving at around 7pm for the bus journey back. Albeit he repeated that same sentence (in different variations) several times in 20 minutes; thereby explaining how I could glean his intention, but still we were in the dark as to how he was going to perform his magic trick.
And it was revealed soon after. He brought us to a wholesaler of Taj Mahal "Real Marble" replicas. The place was dedicated to selling people these little versions of of the Taj that one could place a lamp beneath and light up. That's how the Taj looks like at night under moonlight. It's orange and glows from within. If you were looking at the fake Taj Mahal in the "moonlight", it'd sorely disappoint you because it's fake marble and doesn't have the same translucency that showcases the lamplight.
This is the Rs. 3 shuttle that takes you along the road leading from the carpark (for vehicles like our bus that emit harmful gases) to the Taj entrance.
We haggled and got ourselves a really entertaining guide. He had an entire script memorized and delivered by rote. How did we find out? The guy receives a phone call midway, excuses himself, then returns with "I'm sorry, where was I?"
"The Taj Mahal just got built."
"Oh yes..."
And he goes on to repeat the exact same line he was saying to me right before he picked up his phone call. In the exact same words. Something about the Queen asking the King to immortalise her though the construction of the wonder. He had an accent that made his enunciation and expressions particularly entertaining, like when he remarked to me
"His OWN son imprisoned him, his OWN son..." In reference to the Mughal emperor (?) who's own son imprisoned him in the building adjacent to the Taj.
"The Taj Mahal just got built."
"Oh yes..."
And he goes on to repeat the exact same line he was saying to me right before he picked up his phone call. In the exact same words. Something about the Queen asking the King to immortalise her though the construction of the wonder. He had an accent that made his enunciation and expressions particularly entertaining, like when he remarked to me
"His OWN son imprisoned him, his OWN son..." In reference to the Mughal emperor (?) who's own son imprisoned him in the building adjacent to the Taj.
The East Gate
Touristy shots as assisted by our favourite Taj guide.
Who decided that I wasn't taking good enough photos and proceeded to hog my camera for a good 5 shots from this angle.
Then moved me into position to take this shot.
Right before we abandoned him to go our own way for awhile. Then I managed to get this good shot in.
And another. The reflection in the water is a big thing. The fountains are also remarkable because they were not originally powered with electricity, but through some water-dynamo-like thing housed in another building.
That building over there is the guest house for the king's guests - they came from all over the world to pay homage to the queen's grave, or so I was told.
The now Infamous Twist.
This is where the King got placed under house arrest by his OWN son.
The Taj in sunset.
Precious stones were used to make up these floral designs on the passageway into the tomb. the guide gave a whole list of all the places around the world the stones were sent from. I cannot remember a single one now. But it is marvelous how far love will go.
The archway into the tomb. The wordings on the side are quotes from the Quran.
Opposite shot from the Taj.
This dude wanted Rs. 200 to bring us back in the opposite journey as the shuttle. We bargained for half because it was so short. Could have gotten it for less but we were rushing, we thought that we'd be the last ones to get back to the tour bus.
But we were the first. How stupid of us! They run on a different time scale here! It's always STATED TIME + 15 MINUTES.
The Room of Lesser Horrors at the Horror that is Hotel BB Palace. The Room of Greater Horrors was the one that faced the main road, had no access to the paid-for wireless Internet, and seemed to need calling for Hot Water to run through the taps.
We shifted rooms that same night we got back. We had a relatively good meal of Butter Chicken and naan. I think.
Day 3: Pahaganj aka Backpakers' Haven
This is the sight that greeted us when we came to Paharganj for breakfast. We wandered a little then decided to settle for Hotel Shelton's rooftop terrace restaurant. We were stumped a little by the sliding door elevator (but San Fran's experience served me well), but got up there unscathed. The sight of ang mohs armed with the same guidebook eating nice continental, delicious-looking brunches made us all the more ravenous.
SO we decided to move out of Hotel BB Palace after Leigh made enquiries and saw the state of the rooms. We also much preferred the atmosphere of the place. It's a fantastically alive place. Trawling the streets are all manner of travellers and tourists, from Koreans to bohemian ang mohs with young kids.
This is Leigh's face right after we decided to move out of BB Palace and into Hotel Shelton.
She wanted to put the sunglasses to good use, Rs. 150, 300 for 2, only at CP. If you can get it cheaper, don't tell me. She buys another one later on at the night market. I think she might have gotten it cheaper too.
The view from the first shop Leigh decides to shop at after our brunch. I had a grilled cheese steak sizzler. It was CRAZY GOOD after all that time in Ahmedabad, Chicken and Chocolate.
Day 4: The Lotus Temple, Khan Market and Tibetan Market
The following photos are not in order and should be viewed individually or taken as a whole only after the temporal order has been established on your own.
The following photos are not in order and should be viewed individually or taken as a whole only after the temporal order has been established on your own.
Chadni Chowk (?): The Tibetan Market
This was at Khan Market, which is my favourite place in Delhi because it reminds me a lot of Holland Village and because I like the things I can find there, namely, books, magazines, electronics and nice cafes. Not to mention cookies. And great food.
It should be mentioned though that the first shop on the inner stretch selling organic-body stuff should not be visited and razed to the ground. The salesgirl at the counter was f**king rude to Leigh and should be brought out to the back and shot.
Evening time at the Tibetan market. These lamps were very nice, but there's no where I can place it either back home or in my Silveroak room.
The billboards reminded me of America.
This is the Baha'i Lotus Temple. It is a temple that is open to all faiths for the worship of whatever they want.
The interior of the temple is astoundingly breath-taking. I was fascinated with how the rows and rows of chairs formed a semi-circle round a podium, but the architecture of the place draws one's vision immediately heavenward to the skylight. And the silence imposed on everyone before entering makes the experience all the more surreal. Time literally stops while you're inside.
But we had an auto waiting outside. 30 mins, he gave us.
Day 5: The Sundial
I can't remember the name of this structure, it's a super-large sundial in the city. It was a waste of money going to see it, because the structure from which one is supposed to tell the time from had locked gates. Not that being able to tell the time with your own shadow is terribly fascinating either, but we paid good money to come and see orange washed-out conrcete, the least we could do is fulfill the purpose of the place.
I can't remember the name of this structure, it's a super-large sundial in the city. It was a waste of money going to see it, because the structure from which one is supposed to tell the time from had locked gates. Not that being able to tell the time with your own shadow is terribly fascinating either, but we paid good money to come and see orange washed-out conrcete, the least we could do is fulfill the purpose of the place.
After we got back to Paharganj,
Leigh proceeded to begin her shopping spree. Beginning with this shop here where she got custom-made semi-precious jewellery for a steal. Her bargaining skills are unparalleled. Excepting of course, Romain.
This is Indian Colin Farrell.
That's Topher Grace from That 70s Show and In Good Company.
Whilst Leigh shopped at the store, I got a little restless and took a walk down Main Bazaar
Day 6: More Shopping In Paharganj (I want to chronicle our meals - best part of my days - but I was lazy and didn't bother with photographs, Leigh has them all).
I think that's it. It should be noted that we went out to Ploof (also in the LP Guide) which is situated in an area that bears a striking resemblance to Greenwood Avenue. Incidentally, Ploof is a seafood restaurant, much like Fisherman's Wharf. I missed home that night. Ploof was good, even though we both had Beer Battered Fish and Chips (no beer), and it was an upmarket high-class sorta place. Having Johnnie Walker with Coke rocked my world. Having a cab ordered for you was a nice way to end the evening as well.
We had the best meal at The Big Chill on day seven. It's located in Khan Market and serves a wide-range of food. I had the fusili with cheese and pepperoni. Totally rocked. Leigh had the pasta-dumpling-thingies which for the life of me I can't seem to recall at this moment. Argh. They were good too. We had 2 chocolate desserts after that.
On day four or five we had dinner at the Metropolis Restaurant. This is the Paharganj-equivalent of upclass restaurant, fantastic food there as well. Great, great service. We had bad creme-brulee, though the chocolate dessert more than made up for it.
Club India in Paharganj was recommended to us by one of Hotel Shelton's staff. He secretly brought me to a side of the roof to point it out to me, after discovering that Leigh and I were planning to go somewhere farther for Japanese food. Club India's japanese food is alright, but really, go farther. We wanted to try one of the 2 guide recommendations but didn't have the time.
Sam's Cafe is pretty good too. Although Szechuan-tasting potatoes credited as hash browns on the menu is not my idea of a good meal, the other things are decent.
I don't think I've got anymore to write down. This has taken me 3 days to bother. 2 for the uploading of photos.
Well.
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