Now that’s what I call traffic!
OK so this is what people are talking about when they paint a lurid portrait of India…
We started off in Trivandrum, which although it had the best Indian Coffee House ever (ICH!!!), was bleak, traffic-y and tiring. We had taken the train there from Kanyakumari to catch a flight to Delhi, with a layover in Bangalore. And what a flight that first leg was, on the propeller-plane-of-death (see previous photo blog) that was nothing less than a two and a half hour long nauseating roller coaster of terribleness. The adrenaline come down alone was enough to ruin this part of the trip.
From Bangalore, we had a big fancy jet engine plane to Delhi. Things were definitely looking up. At least they were until we were flying in over Delhi and heard two guys behind us say, “Oh shit, look at that traffic jam” (foreshadowing! foreshadowing!). When we landed at the domestic terminal, we collected our bags and headed straight to the pre-paid taxi queue, but something was obviously amiss as we approached the desk. A woman in front of us translated the bad news: massive traffic snarl to the extent that the pre-paid taxis were quitting giving out tickets since no taxis could get in or out of the airport and there were already about 250 people waiting outside. We decided to go out there and try our luck finding an auto, but after battling the waves of travelers back and forth, our luck was nill. The traffic police told us the only option was the pre-paid taxi, so we went back inside to the end of a now massive queue. Mary and I were convinced at this point that we were never getting out of the airport. I slunk off to phone Stef and let him know we’d be much later than expected. Sigh.
The line, however, went quite quickly and by the time I got back from negotiating the pay phone, Mary was near the front. We got our ticket, went outside to a short wait and finally got in our minivan taxi. The first bad sign was our taxi driver doing everything but rolling his eyes at having to take us. Wait, I think he did actually roll his eyes. And huff and puff. He was acting like a bratty, stoned teenager who’s been asked to take out the trash. The traffic cop literally made him take us.
The driver drama quickly escalated as we were trapped in the parking lot of traffic. “Extra money, extra money” became his mantra. “No,” we replied, “we’ve already paid. This is a pre-paid taxi.” On and on it went – the extortions, the threats (“I go back to the airport”, “you get out here”, etc.), the general sullenness. And then the mosquitoes started streaming in the windows along with the exhaust fumes.
There we were – sitting ducks. Everyone turned off their cars and got out to socialize and compare notes on how terrible the situation really was. We were literally moving about 10 feet every 15 minutes. Mosquitoes, fumes, crabby driver, blaring horns. It was beyond miserable. We were now at 3+ hours since landing, with a layer of oily sweaty grime covering our skin yet somehow not protecting us from the aggressive ministrations of the mosquitoes. Our driver kept indignantly telling other drivers the story of how we were refusing to pay extra. I’m sure the only thing that kept me sane was Stef’s promise on the phone that he would have fruity cocktails waiting for us on arrival.
When traffic finally – finally – started moving, we noticed that we were on a strange dark road in the middle of nowhere. And that’s the very first time Mary and I got scared. After all the craziness of this trip, we saved it for her very last night. But it turned out okay. We finally got to Stef’s neighborhood and basically ran away from the van after throwing money at him and taking down his car’s number to report him to the traffic police.
The happy ending is that Stef was waiting for us with fruity cocktails. Give me the alcohol, I am going to drink all of it. So we had rum drinks, recounted our now distant tales of traffic horror, and a good time was had by all. The end.
Tags: Delhi
sandyo
Ugh. Sounds miserable. What kind of fruity cocktails were they?
Happy Birthday!
p.s.
Number of entries in Webster for “nill”: nil