Despite rumors to the contrary, the waves did not sweep me away and deposit me on a beach in Sumatra where the crabs nibbled my remains. Now that I think about it, that was in poor taste. The news of the Tsunami came as quite a shock. I'd made it to Hyderabad where I kicked up my heals with my friend Deven. Many people felt the earthquake in Hyderabad. We did not. I'm sure at that point we were bouncing around in an autorickshaw. The news only reached us this morning in the morning paper.

I arrived in Mumbai this afternoon for my trip home. Its hard to pull myself away from CNN and all the devastation. My thoughts are with all the Indian American tourists I've met, many of whom had headed south to enjoy the holidays at the beach resorts. I hope they're all okay.

Back to the story.

After showing Sonja and John my room - with them totally validating my opinion of the place - I caught an autorickshaw with them to the Pahar Ganj area of Delhi where they had found a budget place. Of course we didn't just get in the first autorickshaw that came along, it took about five fuck offs from John before we found a relatively honest guy to get us to their hotel. After the torment I'd been through the previous days, Johns in your face disdain for the rip off artists really gave me a great catharsis. They kept apologizing to me about the behavior and I kept telling them I didn't mind at all.

The auto rickshaw pulled into the shopping district of Pahar Ganj and I immediately fell in love with the area. The streets couldn't have been more than a 15 feet wide and in that amount of space pedestrians, horses, cattle, vendors, camel caravans, the occasional elephant, auto rickshaws, bicycles, motorbikes, cars and trucks all competed for space with traffic in both directions. The area around my hotel boasted a parking lot, walled off apartment buildings and a traffic circle, nothing interesting at all.

The driver dropped us off in front of the Hotel Star View, a four story building lacking any semblance of architectural character, but made up for that fact by the excitment underneath and all around it. The ground floor hosted a web cafe at 20 rupees per hours, the cheapest I'd seen, a water vendor, and a couple of other crafts shops. We climbed the steep marble stairs to the first floor and the reception desk. The friendly man there greeted us with a smile. My heart sank. I had a mean bastard at my front desk at $55 and they had a nice guy with a smile at theirs with fun stuff at their fingertips for $7 a night.

Sonja and I chatted while John checked out the room. He came back with a thumbs up. They checked in and we decended the marble stairs in the back to their room. Cheery art hung on the walls and despite its diminuitiveness, it gave off a warm cozy feeling and appeared to be very clean, certainly more clean than my hotel.

They settled in and we headed out on through the pandemonium on our way to Cannaught Place, an upscale area of town with good shopping and restaurants. However, to get there we traversed the blocks and blocks of shops and chaos before we arrived at a main road with easier walking. I marveled at how non-aggressive the shop owners were. A couple of the shop owners invited us in, but a simple "no thank you" sufficed to ward them off. The windows held goods I'd not yet seen in India and we passed scores of foreign tourists, most of them appeared to be from Europe, Asia and Africa, but I saw a few that exhibited American mannerisms.

Our goal in Connaught Place - McDonalds. Yes, its true, they insisted I eat a McDonalds in India, that its a true cultural experience. I figured they hadn't been wrong so far so what's to lose. As we reached Connaught Circus, the big circular road that runs the perimeter of the Circle, the neighborhood changed drastically. We passed several airline offices, a few decent looking restaurants, shops and stores with professionally staged window displays and several swanky looking well dressed Indians. I breathed a sigh of releif sucking in the heavily polluted air and happily doing so just to be around people who looked to have enough substance that I'd be left alone. In fact, I was left alone.

The McDonalds sat between two nice stores across the street from some huge construction project part of which is the new subway/metro system that Delhi is putting. A band had set up a stage for some sort of promotion and tuned their instruments while a crowd of spectators slowed their activity to check them out. We entered the McDonalds, it felt a little classier than the average American McDonalds and proceeded to the register. The place was packed with well dressed people seeing and being seen. Rock videos played on several flat screen tv's above us. The videos had been chosen by patrons of the restaurant. We stood in line at the register in a sea of eager diners slowly working our way to the front. John looked like a pig in shit. He beamed from ear to ear and seemed to feel a whole lot better in anticipation of a nice vegetarian burger and some fries. The menu only marginally reflected an American McDonalds. Its very rare to find beef in India outside of 5 star hotel restaurants so a number of Indian adapted chicken items shared the board with a host of vegetarian delicacies.

I chose a meal deal with a chicken sandwich entre and a sprite. They told me to sit down and they would deliver the meal to the table. Wow, service at McDonalds! I got back to the dining area only to find it absolutely cram packed. Three boys stood about scanning for patrons about to finish their meals so they could score seats for the newly arrived guests. We missed out on the first couple of tables. Apparently you have to be as agressive as most folks here are in any sort of line, butting in front and pushing people out of the way. However, we got the third and sat down. John dug into his food happily chewing away on his fries and McAloo burger.

My food arrived soon after and I too dug in. The fries are identical to the ones at home, but the burger entered into uncharted territory. I can't say I relished the meal as much as John, but it wasn't bad and they Canadians were right yet again, it was a cultural phenomenon. Apparently McDonalds has been popping up rapidly in big cities only for the past couple of years to a frantically positive reception. Another big difference is that McDonalds in India delivers. How about that?

After dinner we parted ways and headed to our respective hotels. John pointed me toward mine and they headed off to theirs. I stopped first at and STD, the abbreviation for a local phone booth. I still chuckle about that. I called Sumit and informed him that I'd arrived. We made plans to meet at the hotel at 7:30. My watch said six and my guide book had made the hotel look very close to the circle, so I estimated I'd be back in 20 minutes and have plenty of time to wash up and wind down before Sumit arrived.

I headed in the direction my instincts told my hotel lay. However the landmarks that at a distance stood out so clearly, blurred considerably at close distance and in the darkness. I resorted to asking directions. I asked a well dressed man if the street I stood at was Janpath Road. He said, "Oh no, Janpath road is two blocks that way," pointing back in the direction from which I'd come. I figured I'd just gotten turned around by the circle and happily circled back two blocks to the street he'd indicated. It certainly didn't look like Janpath road, in fact, it didn't appear to be much of a street at all. Janpath had been a busy thoroughfare. I stopped at the prepaid taxi booth and asked the man inside for directions. He pointed down the same street and motioned to the right.

I naively headed that way wondering why Delhi, a city of some 12 million, had not yet discovered the joys of street signs. For good measure I asked another person for directions who indicated I had yet to go one more block back from the way I'd originally come. I trudged on, found a busy street and followed it. About half an hour later a guy approached me from the shadows of a gate to an apartment building. I braced myself for some sort of hustle. He told me he just wanted to chat and walked along with me smiling asking where I was from, where I'd been, why I was in India... His final question was "Where are you going and why are you on this street? There is nothing here to see."

I told him I was walking toward my hotel, the Hotel Janpath. He laughed and told me it was back in the direction my instincts had directed me too. In fact, John had pointed me in that direction as well. I complained that I'd asked directions and had been told that this street was Janpath Road. He laughed and said Delhians are notorious for giving wrong directions finding it humorous to send people astray. I appreciated his kindness in telling me so, but this new reality did nothing to bring up my mood. He gave me directions that felt intuitively correct to me, wished me luck and went back home with a smile.

I arrived at the hotel 45 minutes later drenched in sweat and covered in mosquito bites. I had 15 minutes to shower before Sumit arrived. I raced around showering and dressing and pulled my shoes on right at 7:30. Then I waited...and waited...and waited...and waited some more. At 8PM I went downstairs thinking he might be waiting in the lobby. I sat there for 15 minutes and headed back to the room getting annoyed at his tardiness and lack of courtesy in not calling from his cell. Five minutes later just after I'd kicked off my shoes and decided to entertain myself with my novel Sumit showed up.

He claimed traffic was bad. I didn't believe him, but didn't argue with him either. I questioned him on his selection of a hotel pointing out the various inadequacies. He agreed the place was a sty and blamed his friend that had recommended the place. I decided to move to John and Sonja's hotel the next day.

We headed to Sumits small beat up red suziki and hit the road to South Delhi. Sumit explained that a great new restaurant had just opened up that he just had to take me to. He told me it was in a brand new mall. I winced at the thought of a mall, but again figured it would be an adventure since I'd not seen an Indian mall yet. After what seemed like an eternity we pulled into the parking area near the mall and walked the rest of the way. The parking area lacked paving, easy access, lighting, grading and sat populated by street dogs and cows chewing their cuds. I wondered how good the mall could be. However when we entered the courtyard of the outside mall, I had to admit I was impressed. The stores twinkled and music played, well dressed people walked around in groups lauging. I wore a light shirt and shorts while most people had bundled up in scarves, heavy sweaters and jackets. I overheard several people complaining about the cold. It still seemed hot to me.

We finally arrived at the retaurant Sumit had gushed so highly about - TGIFridays. Oh God! I told myself I hadn't endured a very long and arduous few days to end up at some mediocre chain restaurant that haunted every dubious strip mall near an American mall. I looked at Sumit and said, "You're kidding me."

He told me it was a new Indian restaurant and very good. I informed him of its middle of the road suburban American chain status and asked if there might not be somewhere else to eat. He said the mall had a good Indian restaurant around the corner.

We went there. The Indian place had great lighting, great table settings, cloth knapkins, a busy second story with a bar and a clientele that included relatively few actual Indians. Americans of Indian decent dominated the place. I caught snippets of several conversations, mostly complaining about how little overall had changed in India and the hurdles yet to be overcome. In fact the men at the table next to me really impressed me and my overactive ears with their insightful comments. Sumit had gone to the restroom, so no one interfered with my concentration.

When Sumit returned we chose our meals and waited for the waiter to take our order. I asked Sumit if the people in the restaurant were returned Indians or part of a larger expat community. He informed me that Delhi doesn't have any sort of expat community other than the people who work in Consulates and Embassies. This really shocked me. What kind of major city doesn't have an ex-pat community? I'd never been to a city of size that didn't have one anywhere in the world. He insisted that his assertion was correct.

Despite the swanky setting, the waiter took his sweet time arriving at the table. I'd already grown accustomed to overstaffing in restaurants, but this one appeared to be understaffed. After a long wait we ordered and a long wait later, the food arrived. It was good, not exceptional, but good. Sumit insisted on paying. I argued, he became terse so I let him.

We entered the fresh air outside. I had been actually sweating to the point of dripping in the restaurant. It felt quite nice to be in the stale polluted but cool air. I coughed up a storm and Sumit led me to a little stand where I bought several Hall's mentholyptus drops. They seemed to help for a few moments each.

When we got back to the car I told Sumit I was tired and would like to go home. He insisted on taking me to yet another mall and showing me his favorite clubs. I told him I don't do clubs and don't like being around people who drink or smoke. He couldn't believe I didn't like to drink and club. He pestered me with dozens of questions mostly on the central theme of "why?"

Just as I had reached the end of my patience with the line of questioning we pulled into an even worse parking lot full of holes and mud with even more dogs and several men walking in off the street to pee between the cars. Sumit led me to a coffee house, I believe it was "Coffee Day" a chain in big cities across India. He had coffee, I had a brownie. I could barely hold my head up, so I convinced Sumit to take me home. We arrived at my hotel parking lot about midnight. Sumit parked in a secluded part of the parking lot and and a few akward moments passed where he tried to make the moment romantic and I tried to diplomatically remove myself from the situation. Sumit told me how he'd never kissed a white guy and how attracted he was to me. The only way I can explain it is that it just felt wrong.

I wiggled out of the car and made plans to meet Sumit the next afternoon. I told him I'd call him from the new hotel when I checked in.

I found it hard to sleep in the hotel. The bleakness of it made me feel like I'd been trapped in an insane institution and it creeped me out. I drifted in and out of sleep and awoke the next morning feeling like I'd not rested at all.

I promtly showered, packed my bags, and headed to the lobby. However, when I got there, I realized I'd not taken any pictures of the asylum, so I drug my bags back up and snapped a couple of telling photos. I went down to check out. Seven men stood behind the desk, but only one of them worked and he barely. The others pointed to him as the man who needed to check me out. 5 minutes passed, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and I asked the guys again if someone else could help me. They seemed offended that I'd interrupted their gossip session. Without any kind of response they pointed again to the guy taking his sweet time and went back to gossiping. Their attitude couldn't have infuriated me more.

I waited a few more minutes and when the only guy working took a break to gossip with the wastrels I blew a fuse. I went up to the counter nostrils flaring and said, "I hate to interrupt, but I need to get out of this lousy dump and I need to get out now. I see none of you is working so someone get off their duff and take care of checking me out. The seven lazy guys only looked at me dully. The only man working plodded back to work.

I waited with my arms crossed fuming. When at long last I got to the counter I let the guy have it. I listed all my complaints in a loud voice to make sure all of the guests heard them and continued "And if there is any kind of fraudulent activity on my credit card, I will immediately point my finger at this establishment and I'll be quite liberal about writing to the press with my experiences here. Do you understand me?"

"Oh yes, sir. There will be no problems sir."

"Pardon me if I don't believe you because there have already been countless problems none of which appear to have any liklihood of being solved."

He handed me the receipt for my room that I was to sign. I listed all my complaints on the form before signing it. It made me feel better to know that I'd documented my misery formally.

I refused to let the slimy looking porter help me with my bags sure that he only did so in hopes of getting a hefty tip from the foreigner. I stuck firmly to my policy of voting with my money and carried my own bags. On the street I did a John and shooed away three rickshaw drivers before I found one that would take me at the metered rate to my new hotel. At least the was one battle I didn't have to have.

I arrived at the Hotel Star View, climbed the stairs and the friendly man greeted me with a smile. Again I felt reassured. He sent me to a room to check it out and I found it quite satisfactory. Five minutes later I found myself alone in the room browsing the English stations for news and 20 minutes later I fell asleep. I slept a good three or four hours before waking. Awakening refreshed I called Sumit and told him where I was. He exclaimed that I'd moved into a very bad neighborhood with gangs and rapes and crawling with prostitutes.

I said, "Good, no wonder I feel at home here."

He out of fear of the neighborhood asked if I could meet him that night at McDonalds around 7 PM. I said, "yes", wondering why he needed to meet so late when he'd pestered me with e-mails about how he couldn't wait for me to arrive and how he would show me all the sights in the city and how we'd go up to the hill stations for a few days. I finally gave up on speculating and