To pick up where I left off

...dressed myself and headed for the door. The men again smiled and said goodbye. Oh, it was so nice to have friendly faces around. The room boy stopped me before I got down the stairs and asked if I had any laundry. I'm glad he asked because, having brought very few articles of clothing to begin with and slogging through the heat and the filth, I went through the clean clothes quickly. I hustled back to the room and gave him my laundry which he carefully counted. He smiled and chattered with me while I dug out the soiled items. I liked that a lot.

He asked me if I remembered how to turn on the hot water? I said, "No, not really."

He took me to the hall and flipped a switch next to a red light. "On," he said before flipping it again, "off."

Damn! I thought back the cold showers I'd taken in the other hotels where I never thought to flip a switch because I didn't know to think to look for a switch. Who knew? That switch would have come in really handy in Goa when I had the horrible chills but wanted to wash the stink off before I crawled in bed. I'd crawl into bed afterward shivering uncontrolably, my teeth chattering like all the hubbub on the street below.

Before he left, he instructed me to turn on the switch 5-10 minutes before taking a shower to give the water time to heat. How I longed for a western shower that didn't spray the entire bathroom, toilet, toilet paper, the whole floor... It didn't amount to much of a deal except for making it very difficult to get your feet dry before you put on your shoes and required tactical thinking on how to make a quick potty run before leaving the room without getting mud from your shoes on the floor, or your socks or feet wet before shoving them into your shoes for a long day of walking.

I digress, I made it down the stairs this time, bought a bottle of mineral water with a dubious brand name from the street vendor with a small, very small refrigerator who stood in the small space along the front window of the cyber cafe. The seal seemed tight, so I left it up to the gods as to whether I'd bought one of the rip off mineral waters that come straight from the tap, or some mom and pop outfit that does good work without the branded names.

It didn't take long to forget the water issue as I stepped out in the street. The only thing I can liken it to is a bizarre carnival atmosphere. I loved it. It didn't matter that I had to dodge cars, other pedestrians, all manner of semi domesticated beasts, autorickshaws, ox carts, camel trains, mystery piles of refuse that squished beneath your feet in a disturbing matter when you failed to avoid them... I browsed the merchandise in the stoors and of the street vendors as I walked past. The items sold here consistently appeared to be of better quality and appealing design.

Several vendors came up to me to request that I visit their stores. I said "no" politely and they magically went away. Wow! How could that be? All manner of tourists walked the streets, in fact in greater numbers than any other place I'd been so far, and the vendors were respectful. I loved this place even more.

I couldn't help noticing the Kashmiri traders with their stunning amber eyes and bright smiles. Some of them had bodies and bone structures to match, what a deadly combination. Yum.

I walked on past a Y intersection wondering how long this street and this market really was. New vendors, more merchandise, dodging an elephant here, a sleeping dog there, an autorickshaw slamming on his brakes honking his horn with a defeated stare so as not to hit you.

Despite the warm day, the night brought with it a chill and a fog. For the first time in India I wore a light jacket. The locals however had bundled up for a blizzard with heavy coats, thick pants, gloves, knit caps or turbans on their heads with scarves wrapped around their faces. I remember back to my childhood wearing that amount of clothing in blizzards with windchills of 100 degrees below zero.

On the other hand in Goa I had to wear thin t-shirts and shorts so as not to roast alive and I still panted and suffered while the locals wore thick jeans and heavy shirts with an undershirt underneath. I guess heat is relative. I tend to run hot period, so a hot place is extra hot to me. Cold weather never seems as cold to me as to people around me.

At last I came to a large road with two lane traffic on either side and a median strip. On the other side of the road stood the railway station. I'd wondered where that was since I might be heading north to Shimla soon. I turned right as my map had indicated. I'd already been walking about 20 minutes. The busy market lane had been well lit and bustling with chaos. Here the broad sidewalk held only ambient light and shadows. I walked slowly as my eyes adjusted and kept an eye on the few people that passed by. No more westerners here. Only a motley crew of street dwellers, men stopping their autorickshaws or taxis to piss on the wall, and the occassional heavily coated pedestrian bustling through the shadows.

I bustled too not sure now if I headed in the right direction. The scale measure on the map had made it look like a very fast doable walk. I plodded on. I noted to my right that this wall had the little cubical wall urinals that I'd first noted in Jaipur. My nose warned me first. I wondered how anyone could stand the smell and why they all stood full when so few people walked the street. Then I saw the men looking over at each other and I knew. Gross, I don't care how horny I'd get, the stench would kill any kind of desire in me.

Again my trusty sense of smell warned me I might be getting closer to a busy street. Big waves of warm deisle exhaust fumes wafted my way and the din of traffic got heavier as I approached what I hoped to be the outer ring of Cannaught referred to as Cannought Circus. A name no doubt earned by the chaos I encountered with the traffic. I stood on the corner waiting for a break in the incessant traffic finally another guy arrived and another and we cautiously waded out into the sea of traffic. The waves spread around us as we inched forward to the median strip. A big step up and momentarily no large vehicle threatened to flatten us. We waited again and at the right moment walked forward into the traffic again with the same result. Crossing the street is a skill you must relearn if you hope to walk at all in India. Much like the ability to detach yourself from your body when you're in an automobile and not scream at each near death experience.

I wandered through the side streets using my instincts to take me back to the McDonalds. I arrived only a few minutes late much to my surprise, but Sumit was nowhere to be seen. I rested my back on one of the big pillars out front and bent one knee up to rest the bottom of my shoe on the same pillar happy to just people watch for a moment.

The night crowd gave off a slightly more sleasy air than the day crowd had. Very few chic people sauntered by. The band that had been there the night before cackled out a few tunes. In my humble opinion ;), they should have spent a few more months in the garage practicing before going public with the out of tune instruments and the tone deaf vocals. But that's just my humble opinion.

I hadn't stood there for more than a couple of minutes when street vendors started eyeballing my like a pack of coyotes coordinating attack tactics before going in for the kill. I sensed them coming in on me so I switched to the other side of the pillar. It didn't help. One guy shoved an annoying set of drums in my face another a fistful of wallets.

I said, "No, thank you. I'm not interested." and turned away. They shifted to be right in front of my again. I waved my hand in the universal, no I don't want this gesture, and they burst out talking over each other as a new crop descended from behind them. "Really, I'm not interested. Now go away," I said in a stronger more agressive tone a hint of a glare in my eyes.

Garbled, "good quality...for your girlfriend...my friend..." The cacaphony of voices even managed to drown out the huge speakers of the band that blared out only 25 feet away. A small crowd gathered to watch me and some of the people watching the band turned around to see what the commotion was about.

I stomped my feet at them sure my face flushed red and shouted. "NO! NO! NO! I don't want any of this crap. Fuck off and get out of my face!" I stomped again to let them know I was serious.

The backed off with a dejected look somewhat stunned and then walked off together mumbling. The onlookers sauntered away faces stoic. Now I felt really uncomfortable and somewhat traumatized. Angry thoughts about India invaded my head. "How the hell do they expect to build any kind of reasonable tourist industry when tourists are hounded incessantly by reckless, obnoxious touts? No wonder you see so few foreign faces around and no sort of expat community has taken root. The government in their greed has shown the touts that its okay to harrass and overcharge tourists with their lousy overpriced hotels, the fact that they charge tourists many many times what they charge the locals for attractions. Of every place I've visited in the world, this place has the most potential to become a tourist mecca, but the greed and short sightedness of the government and many of its people create an inhospitable environment indeed."

I looked at my watch. It read 7:35 and still no sign of Sumit. I contemplated grabbing an autorickshaw and heading back to the hotel no longer in the mood to go out.

I stepped away from my pillar of security and scanned both direction for the most likely point to catch an autorickshaw. As I looked to my right Sumits smiling face caught my attention in the distance. For a brief moment I felt trapped, but I shrugged it off and pasted on a smile to meet Sumit. He led me back to his car as he searched his brain for a restaurant I might like.

We pulled out and Sumit expertly handled the traffic situation while chatting with me and answering his phone several times. We headed south again, past the Gate of India which, despite my earlier annoyances, really looked spectacular at night. It stands about 100 feet tall with carved stone ornimentation around the great arched gate in the middle. The gate itself has to stand at least 80 feet tall. The back lighting and underlighting really did a great job of showcasing the local landmark.

I recognized the road we'd taken the night before as we negotiated the heavy traffic south. Sumit cursed the density of traffic even though we still moved at about 40 miles per hour. I thought to myself he should enjoy a little gridlock in Los Angeles sometime for perspective on traffic.

Sumit told me about his day dealing with his uncles in the transfer of his share of the family business to a purchaser who had no relation to the family. I asked him if this guy knew what he was getting into buying a minority share in a family business. Sumit guardedly said yes. I'm sure he'd had to play that part down to get the share sold. Sumit described the many troubles he'd had trying to work with his uncles who refused to modernize any of the systems or adopt more profitable business practices. Sumit had become so frustrated the only outlet he could find was escape. I don't blame him. I'd would have done the same thing in his shoes.

Sumit changed the subject to Amway and the big conference he'd attended that day and how enthusiastic everyone was and the examples of great wealth people had accumulated as distributors of the products. My associations with that company not being so glowing led me to ask if he'd done enough research on the company and that perhaps he should consider his many other options before he chose a path. My words went in one ear and out the other. He boasted about how many of his friends wanted to buy distributorships as well. It somewhat shocked me that Amway was making such a late entry into such a huge lucrative market. Perhaps as something new and something American Sumit really could become rich.

I saw a big mall approaching on the left and of course Sumit turned in. I inwardly groaned. It amazed me that such big malls had been built with so little though to parking. It took about half an hour to park and the lot was chaos. In the end we'd had to squeeze into a space so small that I had to get out first and Sumit had to suck in his breath and scrape his way out of the small gap of his door.

The mall looked like any other glass and steel suburban strip mall, well perhaps a little better than most being centered around a horseshoe shaped courtyard in the middle. We entered through the oddly inconspicuous doors where we walked through metal detectors and got frisked. The crowd inside appeared to be the same well healed, well groomed, chic bunch I'd seen at Cannought Place during the day. I suddenly felt out of place in my grubby 'I'm a poor backpacker" clothes I travel in to avoid the touts. I compared my well worn filthy sneakers the the crisply clean shoes of the people around me and got a bit self conscious.

I'd sucked down the whole liter of water I'd bought at the hotel and felt the urge to give some back to nature. Sumit guided me toward the men's room. Several men walked out as we walked in so I didn't have to wait in line for a urinal. With no partitions most of the guys lined up at the urinals checked out each other's endowments. Some proudly exposed all to show off their endowments. I concentrated on the tile work in front of me, not a job comparable to the exterior facade of the mall, but good enough. I finished, washed my hands, dried them on my pants since no towels or dryers had been installed and walked out to wait for Sumit.

As I stood waiting I watched a Muslim family also standing in the hallway. The father must have been around 32, an elegant well proportioned man in the supertight jeans popular with the younger crowd. His beard was well groomed his turban bright and crisp. His wife and the other women with them had on beautiful women's suits. I call them Sari suits for lack of a better way to discern them from a Western womans suit. The upper tunic made of soft flowing fabrics in bright colors with immaculate bead work, the pants a complimentary color also with striking bead work and shod with tasteful strappy high healed sandals. Even the kids seemed elegant.

The four or five year old son pleaded to go to the bathroom and finally the father, getting off of a cell call, pointed him toward the restroom to go. The kid begged him to go along, but he said no and urged him onward. I wanted to say, go with the kid. I didn't quite trust some of the adults I'd seen in the bathroom, but perhaps my instincts don't count in Indian culture.

Soon sumit came out smiling as usual his henna dyed reddish hair making him stand out amongst the other Indians.

We walked through the mall toward the restaurants and I took in some of the prices of merchandise along the way. Items of clothing retailed for about 1 1/2 what they would cost in the states. Perhaps closer to mall prices than anywhere I shop, but still costly. It also struck me that most of the clothes were very safe run of the mill, middle of the road, conformist articals. I like those unique on of a kind pieces that really make a statement. Nope, the mall wouldn't do for me.

Sumit raved and raved about the amazing restaurant we would be going to. When we arrived at the door on the second floor a moderate size crowd greeted us. We made it to the door only to be told that we'd have to wait 30-40 minutes. My eating time and indeed my bed time had come and gone. I did not relish waiting that long just for a table, but we waited along the rail. I watched a white guy, the only white guy I'd seen at this mall, wander around window shopping. I'd seen him in Pahar Ganj. I wondered how and why he'd found himself at this mall.

The restaurant door opened and several slightly sloppy drunk guys came out arm around each other. A trail of cigarette smoke followed them out. Gag, blah, stink, gross... I also saw a bar inside along the back wall.

"Sumit, are there any other restaurants in this mall. The wait here is too long, I'm still a little sick, and that smoke is just nasty."

Sumit looked disappointed for a quick second but led me up to the third floor where several really beautiful restaurants greeted us along with an apparently hastily opened Korean restaurant. Although I longed for some good kimchi, I didn't feel quite comfortable if the kitchen staff was new being the gineau pig for their perhaps not so well trained hygiene habbits. Apparently word had gotten out to the Korean tourists about the restaurant though because half the seats were occupied and all of them by Koreans.

We chose the extremely tasteful Chinese restaurant next door. Before we could order the dimsum truck came around and I succomed to the steamed buns with meat insided. I could have gorged myself on a huge tray of those and been happy, but they ran out forcing me back to the menu. I marveled at the great training of the servers, always at hand to assist and to subtley suggest an upsell from the menu. This didn't bother me at all since it never crossed the boundary to in your face.

The meal was delicious. Finally a restaurant I really liked despite being located in a mall. I must say that the mall restaurants had none of the cheesy American greasy chain restaurant feel. Instead they appeared to be among the best restaurants I'd seen yet outside of Mumbai.

I managed to convince Sumit to take me home after he chewed out his friend soundly on the phone for not joining us like he's apparently promised to do. All I could think of was sleep. Sumit conquered his fear and drove down the lanes of Pahar Gange. Very few people remained on the streets aside from a few street vendors packing up their carts to go home. A few people staggared home from the bars and made their way into them. Progress wasn't too slow.

Sumit insisted on parking the car and coming into the hotel. We greeted the guys at the front desk and introduced them to Sumit. Then I showed him my room. I don't know if this was an attempt at seduction by him or just curiousity, but despite Sumit's many hints, I couldn't find any spark of attraction in myself for him. After he approved of the hygiene of my room and marveled at the $7 a night price, I convinced him I'd see him the next day, that I needed sleep. I said he'd call me in the afternoon after he'd slept.

I walked him to the car careful not to step on the people sleeping on the street all huddled together.

I heated water, took a quick shower, and crawled into bed after swallowing a really tasty sleeping pill. I could hear the guys at the front desk chattering and talking, but hoped the sleeping pill would work its magic. It didn't. I tossed, I turned, I put the pillow over my head. I pulled the thick blanket over the pillow, but nothing worked. At about two in the morning I stumbled out of my room in a pair of hastily pulled on shorts and said, "Please..." waving my hands aimlessly in the air, "please shut up. I'm trying to sleep and I can't please please shut up."

They looked at me like I was the creature from the black lagoon and assured me the noise would stop.

It didn't.

Half an hour later I stalked back out. I don't recall if I remembered the shorts this time or not. "Shut up! Just..." my hands waving spasmatically in the air, "shut up. This is making me crazy. Please talk somewhere else... PLEASE!"

My room boy walked me back to my room concerned and promised me things would be quiet. They were. I finally sunk into sleep.

An hour later a sharp pain my my stomach awakened me and I rushed for the bathroom. The diahrea nearly stripped the porcelain off the toilet. I cramped and cramped and cramp until amid rampant caughing the cramps subsided. I cleaned up and crawled back in bed. The next eight hours were punctuated like clockwork with dashes to the bathroom.

I didn't roll out of bed until almost noon. I showered again and went to the front desk to request another more quiet room. The desk guy I'd initially met with the friendly smile who'd not been there the night before surprised me by speaking first.

"I heard what happened last night. We have a room opening up on the third floor in back later today that we can move you to."

"Thank you so much! That is really helpful. In case nobody noticed, I get a little bitchy when I'm tired."

He smiled at me with a peculiar look of awe, not unfriendly, but perplexed.

I went back to my room and called Sumit. He promised to come in half an hour, we'd go out and see the sites.

I descended the stairs to wait for Sumit and my new room to open up and launched into my e-mail and updated my blog from Jaipur and Agra. Half way through Sonja came down and asked if I'd eaten yet. I said no. We decided to go to the clean looking cafe up the street, Sam's. I told her that Sumit was on his way and I'd really like her to meet him. Perhaps he could join us for lunch. She agreed and sat down to check her e-mail

About 45 minutes later she said she'd check in on John who still felt sickly since Sumit hadn't showed up yet. I continued to blog. 20 minutes later she came down again and said she couldn't wait anymore, that she'd head up to the restaurant. I promised we'd meet her there not entirely sure we would with Sumit's habit of running late.

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