“Ladies and gentlemen!
Thank you for coming to my little show”
Not being quite drunk enough, I somehow managed to get on the flight within 12 minutes of takeoff, and with the help of being paged (repeatedly) at the airport, got myself onboard. This would first take me to Helsinki. I happily ordered further beers to sort of escape the realization of what the hell I was getting myself into.
A Polish girl on the right side combined with a German guy beside her was the guest with whom I would spend the next 8 hours. The German guy had nasty verbal diarrhea, and let all his drivel pour out freely. Meanwhile, the Polish girl asked me to wake her so she wouldn’t forget to take her medication. Demonstratively, I put on my iPod and raised the volume and I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed Indian beer as much before or since (even though half of its contents is sugar)!
A Swedish guy accosted me at the airport in Delhi and asked me if we could split a cab to the city. If? Are you kidding? No way would I put myself into a cab, or rickshaw in the middle of the night on my own! Thankfully, I got to the hotel that I had booked in advance and the just felt so fucking happy that had arrived safe and sound. I celebrated with a (sort of) small gin and tonic, tried to turn the TV on, but like the AC, it, like so many things in India, was out of order. It was only 29 degrees in the room so I was just excited enough to get to sleep in the heat with a fan from 1798! By Jove, that was long before the electrical age! This foreshadowed so many of my experiences in India: the primitive right alongside the super-modern.
With a certain childlike excitement that Delhi would look as same as the last time I had been here (ten years ago) I thought I would be able to handle all the harassing Indian touts. At one moment, they would try to sell me trips to Kashmir, and then offer me hash and marijuana, and at the very next second, all other kinds of drugs. You name it. It was on offer. The first one, a well dressed Indian guy “who only wanted to practice his English and had no interest in my money” convinced me to let him show me the way to “the only authorized tourist information” in the city. Hmm…..sure… After 25 minutes of walking in the most obviously wrong direction, I quickly realized that the further we walked the more likely I would end up in an abandoned, dilapidated hovel with 25 screaming Indians that would constantly try to sell my a trip to Kashmir, or other parts of north India I really had to see the (which I eventually did on my own initiative). Nevertheless, I managed to get myself out of there, luckily without spending any money. I changed hotels the next day in hopes of meeting other crazy backpackers and ended up in Main Bazaar where I write this sitting, in sweat and budding zits, manifestly confused. This city is so fucking annoying, but in all the chaos and irritation, there is a certain structure where everything miraculously and illogically works. It is nothing short of fascinating. Yesterday I had dinner with four rabbits. They were right beside me, looking at me as I tried to understand what the hell I had ordered. It ended up being the most tasteless noodle thing I had ever had the displeasure of eating.
Spending the day endlessly pacing around the streets, talking to Indians about what Sweden is like, saying no to 852,415,454 trips to the northern part of India, drinking gin and tonic with the manager at the hotel, studying the cows from my window. I even found the Don’t Pass Me By restaurant where Gunilla and I always had breakfast on our trip ten years ago.
I bought myself a train ticket to Agra, shaved my head, and got a facial, just because the Indian guy thought I had a bad skin (Hey, what’s the matter? What do you expect in a smoggy in a city like this, asshole?!) In the event, he gave me a bill for Rs. 600, ripping me off big time. I looked at to a nice girl, had more gin, and spent plenty of time at the internet café, only to realize that I’m actually here. For ten years I’ve been waiting for this journey. Now I’m fucking doing it.
Will stay here until tomorrow, then I’ll head down to Agra and then further south.
BONKSISTER … I LOVE YOU! Thanks for the breakfast, the morning drunk, and the painting. I will keep it throughout my journey.
FREDDAN, BAGGEN, MARTEN, YOU GUYS MADE THE BEST OF MY LAST NIGHT IN SWEDEN!
(Intro: Caesars Palace: “Let my freak flag fly”)
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