Two long flights across a combined twelve time zones left Nathan and I both confused and jet-lagged. We struggled to get our bearings riding in a strange van through the capital of India through a thick haze late into the night. We had departed Minneapolis at 4 PM on a Saturday and finally set foot in New Delhi at 1 AM the following Monday, in what felt like a lucid dream. Our whole Sunday had essentially been wiped from our lives, as we spent most of it drifting in and out of consciousness in pressurized cabins at thirty thousand feet. We rode with our guide, Ajaz, who had greeted us with a warm hug and an infectious smile outside Terminal Three of Indira Gandhi International Airport.
After our late night drive through the dark and narrow alleys of Mehrauli, and a short walk in the cold, we finally arrived at the wooden double-doors of Caleb’s haveli. It was somehow shocking as the doors opened to reveal a familiar face even in this faraway place. Wrapped in a blanket over his pajamas, Nathan’s friend Caleb welcomed us warmly into his home. He had thrown together a couple of mattresses in a spare room; and without spending any time to settle in, we set our bags down, and passed right out.
The next morning brought about the second stage of our arrival. The last bed I had awoken in, was in the guest bedroom of my aunt and uncle’s home in the suburbs of Minneapolis, and after 24+ hours of travel with short periods of agitated rest mixed in, I was now coming to my senses refreshed in a haveli halfway across the world. I entered the common room of the haveli to find it full of daylight streaming in via the central, open-air courtyard in front of me. It was still hard to believe that we were actually in India, as we were in an American household, but everything about it was foreign - the layout, architecture, fixtures, facilities, scents, and so on.
Ajaz introducing us to Indian street fare at Chandni Chowk
Ajaz arrived to the home just ahead of our tour, and he greeted us with a smile as we exchanged big hugs once again - even though we had just met him last night, it somehow felt as if we had known him for years. Caleb and Ajaz were leading us for this first day, and we were joined by several folks who were new additions to the Go Deeper Travel team: two of which (known as “The Q’s”) were married and raising a young infant, who was wrapped up in a sling and all ready to go. Caleb sat us down for an introduction to our “ethno-venture”, to set expectations and prepare us for our first foray into the heart of Delhi. Recognizing that we were about to surround ourselves with a culture so different from our own for the first time, Caleb shared a phrase he prefaces each of his tours with: “All of us are like all of us, some of us are like some of us, and none of us is like one of us.”
Mary (left) and the Q’s (Kaitlin, Solomon, Caleb L to R)
Chandni Chowk with the Calebs - Nathan’s former roommate, and the founder of Go Deeper Travel (left) and Caleb Q (center)
We then left the haveli, stepping out into a bright and bustling alley. Nathan and I were in some sort of mix between shock and wonder as Caleb and Ajaz led our group through the streets. It was the best kind of feeling: our senses bombarded by stimuli the like which we had never before encountered. A thrilling ensemble of smells, sounds, and hues of color that we were experiencing for the first time. But where there was beauty, there was also ugliness. The old and primitive streets we walked were coated in dirt and congested with carts, cows, rickshaws; and littered with waste. The air was thick and foul, and a repulsive rat’s nest of electrical wiring loomed overhead at all times. We reached a street corner at which we squeezed into a small van to take us to the metro station. I had known the Q’s for no more than an hour, and now Nathan and I were crammed into the back of this van with them, sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knees joined as we rolled through the noisy, dusty streets. Upon clearing the security station at the metro, we headed underground to embark upon a half hour ride on a full subway car to one of the oldest districts of Delhi to begin our tour.
Nathan navigating puddles, sewers, and animals scavenging among the waste
After emerging streetside once again, Ajaz flagged down an auto-rickshaw to take us from the metro station to Chandni Chowk (meaning ‘Moonlight Square’), one of India’s most famous and colorful bazaars. As 8 of us crammed into this small vehicle, we soon became washed away in the chaotic sea that is Indian traffic. With no concept of lanes, the only rule of the street is that it’s everyone for themselves. At all times it seemed, we were mere inches from several surrounding objects or persons which I could reach out and touch in passing. The speed at which we moved was equivalent to a walk, with all of the starting and stopping. The cacophony of car horns around us was deafening. From all directions, horns were crying, as not a second passed where one was not doing so. This bazaar was nothing like the quaint old European markets I had walked, this place felt truly alien, more akin to something out of Star Wars. I struggled to process all that was unfolding around me as we jostled and jolted our way through this loud, and hopelessly dense maze of people, pollution, and moving objects.
Ajaz finding a rickshaw for our group of 7 and an infant
We finally reached Chandni Chowk - what better place to begin our first tour of India than within one of its most crowded markets? Before venturing into the heart of the bazaar, we climbed the steps to Jama Masjid, the massive mosque of red sandstone built on a hill overlooking the bazaar. The three-hundred-year-old remnant of Mughal majesty that towered before us boasted three domes and two minarets and was surrounded by a vast inner courtyard that will supposedly hold up to twenty-five thousand worshipers. While standing in the midst of the “Friday Mosque”, Ajaz instructed us how to greet others in the common Arabic phrase used among Muslims, "As-Salaam-Alaikum," meaning “Peace be unto you.”. As Ajaz explained to us the practices of Islamic worship and spoke of the arrival of Muslim influence to India, locals began to crowd around us and eavesdrop, keenly interested in what this young Indian man was speaking in a foreign language.
Jama Masjid
As we started to leave Jama Masjid, a powerful voice suddenly began to boom over loudspeakers positioned around the complex behind us. It was a song, sung in Arabic as a call to worship - the wailing voice was uncanny, and carried all through the markets as we walked. Throughout Delhi, the call to prayer could be heard at five different times, daily. Once before dawn, once before midnight, and three more times in between, though we would never get used to it. We swam our way through the throngs to our first stop, a world-renowned Mughlai restaurant hidden away in a side alley, called Karim’s. Though we didn’t try the infamous brain curry, we dined on a delicious family-style lunch, passing around strips of roti, with butter chicken, paneer korma, biryani, and chicken kadai. We weren’t done eating though, as we soon hit the markets and gorged ourselves on street food from various vendors: fried chicken, chai, dates, sweet bread, and other various treats and delicacies. At each stop, Caleb and Ajaz would explain what we were tasting, and of what significance it was to Indian culture. We were taking in so much, both in terms of taste, sight, smell, as well as history and language and trying to make sense of it all, it was like trying to take a drink of water from a fire hose, all while life in the bustling bazaar unfolded around us.
Ajaz and Caleb Q at Chandni Chowk
Jet lag fell upon Nathan and I on our metro ride back to Mehrauli. After a quick meal at Caleb’s, we left to find our lodging for the next few nights - an Airbnb located on the rooftop of a five story apartment building. As there was no elevator, we climbed the stairs with baggage in hand, and opened the stairwell door out onto a beautiful rooftop garden. The patio was strewn with various exotic plants, vines, and shrubs, with strands of lights winding through the branches and along the tops of the walls. The room itself was modest - the only drinking water was stored in reused wine bottles, the bathroom had a window we couldn’t close, and the ‘shower’ consisted of a faucet, bucket, and cup. The sunset was disappointingly obscured by smog, but was soon followed by the haunting call to worship, carried across the city rooftops to our ears.
View from the roof of our Airbnb
