I have a little while to wait here in the airport in Delhi* (flight is in about three and a half hours, but the fun should start when the cricket match begins in an hour and a half), so this seems like an excellent time for another installment of the Chronicles...
*I believe I mentioned this in the previous post, but Terminal 3 at Indira Gandhi International Airport is quite possibly the pinnacle of airport design, and not just because I didn't have to wait in line at immigration when I landed on Thursday. I'm sitting in the pre-security portion waiting for check-in to begin; this part is one gigantic hall, with three walls made entirely out of windows and skylights in the roof. The only support beams are unobtrusively positioned right next to the check-in desks, meaning that they come off more as divisions between the banks of desks than as huge slabs of stone. The exterior is all curves and diagonals, but perfectly calibrated so as not to seem off-puttingly futuristic. With working Wi-Fi and a few more food outlets (sorry, guys, but I really don't need five different kinds of juice stands - a little more actual food would be a lot more useful), it would be absolutely perfect.
First of all, the Taj Mahal is one of the few places I've ever seen that manages to live up to the enormous hype it receives. It is truly a stunning architectural achievement, a spectacular fusion of (at least) three distinct architectural traditions--Hindu, Buddhist, and Muslim--set in a beautiful garden and executed to perfection.** Everything in the building is exquisite, from the inlaid stones on the upper facade that sparkle in the sunlight to the marble latticework on the interior to the minarets. The minarets are worth special mention, not because they are particularly intricate (they're actually quite plain), but because they are intentionally angled nine degrees off of the vertical, tilting slightly, but perceptibly, away from the main building of the Taj. The reason? In case of an earthquake, the minarets will fall outwards, crashing to the ground but sparing the main building. It's all perfectly thought out and brilliantly executed.
**Well, three sides of the building are a beautiful garden, anyway. The fourth side is the Jamuna River, which is one of the foulest rivers I've seen in a long time, in addition to only filling about half of its channel at the moment.
The Taj Mahal was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Unfortunately, on the train ride back from Agra to Delhi, I got to see some of the ugliest things I've ever seen. The train passed by some of the most disgusting slums I've ever seen, particularly on what I believe was the outskirts of Faridabad (although I could be wrong - stops are only announced on the most expensive tier of Indian trains. If you're riding the trains that normal Indians ride, as I was, you're on your own). These slums may well never be fully clean ever again, and maybe never have been fully clean. It's the tail end of the dry season, as evidenced by the state of the Jamuna River in Agra, and yet the dirt tracks in these slums were lakes of water from the drizzles of the previous night; if the drainage is that bad now, what happens in the monsoon season? Trash was piled in expansive heaps, at which surprisingly well-fed cows picked half-heartedly. Next to the trash heaps were the circular cow patties that residents use for fuel, which they had laid out to bake in the sun or piled in conical towers. Men lounged or urinated on walls (although the latter is a common practice here, even on the sides of major roads in Delhi); children in filthy, tattered clothes played cricket with filthy, tattered cricket balls. Not that this scene was unique to the outskirts of Faridabad. This morning, at the main train station in Agra--one of the country's largest tourist hubs and home to at least five 5-star hotels--I walked down the platform too close to the tracks and was physically repulsed by the stench of animal waste (I'd guess a mixture of human and bovine, but I didn't exactly investigate. The platforms in Agra were covered in trash and spilled food, and a shockingly large number of people were sleeping on the ground between the benches even at 7:00 this morning (somehow remaining asleep despite the cacaphonous noise of passengers, PA announcements, and train horns).
Obviously India should work on cleaning up the slums, stations, and other loci of poverty and misery, but, to paraphrase Jay-Z, the country has 99 problems and poverty is just one (albeit a big one). There's also no "white man's burden" here; this is India's problem, not mine, and it's not the job of the West to clean up India's cesspools.*** The extent of the slums and the depth of the poverty therein mean that the problem is neither going to go away nor be solved overnight. For the foreseeable future, anyway, this is part of what India is. I'm just not sure how it affects my opinion of the place yet.
***Although the amount of littering by Westerners here is kind of appalling. Just because it's already a mess, guys, doesn't mean that we can make it worse by tossing stuff out of taxi windows. Seriously.
UPDATE FROM BEHIND SECURITY
First of all, the Indians are incompetent at this whole checking-in thing. Air India "opened" about seven check-in counters at one time, all for flights departing between 4:30 and 5:00. Problem is, they only put someone at two of them initially, and didn't bother to tell anyone that the other counters weren't going to be staffed for a while. Eventually they deigned to tell us this, meaning that the few open counters suddenly had huge lines. Then people slowly started to staff the closed counters sporadically. Except that they all were having IT problems. After about 30 minutes, despite initially being the first person in line at my counter, I finally got through.
Now I'm sitting at, I kid you not, the "Cricket Fan Park" in the domestic departures area. There is a gigantic big-screen TV here broadcasting the India-England cricket match, which is about to start. Unfortunately there seems to be no sound, because, you know, they make flight announcements and stuff. But EVERYONE here is watching the TV, except for the (other) foreigners. Security guards. Airport staff. Cleaning people. Just about every Indian here. Everyone is watching.
It's pretty incredible.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
The India Chronicles, Day 1: In Which The Chronicles Begin
Greetings from Agra, India! Your correspondent has just begun a nine-day, ten-night vacation in the world's second-largest country, so we will be interrupting our (ir-)regularly scheduled programming to bring you a series of posts chronicling our hero's adventures and exploits in the subcontinent. Part one of the chronicle is as follows:
I readily admit that I seem to have underestimated India. This may well be due to the fact that I spent the three months immediately preceding this trip in Afghanistan, but I have been pleasantly surprised by much of the infrastructure I've seen here. The roads, for example, are beautifully maintained (sample size so far: main roads in and around Delhi, and some of the major thoroughfares connecting Agra's train station with my hotel, Fatehpur Sikri, Sikandra, and the Baby Taj). Cell coverage is excellent, and my Afghan SIM card is even sometimes able to find a network it can play nicely with. Terminal 3 at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi is, in a word, exquisite; it is by far the prettiest airport terminal I've ever seen, in addition to being quite easy to use for tourists.* The sites and monuments are also spectacular. Don't worry, dear readers--there will be a flickr link posted at the end of the trip for those interested ;).
*There was also NOBODY in line at immigration when I got there, which is undoubtedly skewing my perceptions a bit.
But this blog is, at its heart, about the unusual, remarkable, or downright ridiculous things that its author believes provide insight into cultures and peoples. I've been in India for less than 24 hours (damn you, Kabul Int'l Airport, and your 90-minute delays for NO DISCERNIBLE REASON WHATSOEVER), and already there have been several things that fit the above description.
1. The cows. I already knew that Hindus venerate cows as symbols of Brahma, but I hadn't been expecting to see as many of them as I've been seeing. I also didn't know that the Hindi word for cow is pronounced "cow" (don't even think about asking me how it is spelled). Cows are EVERYWHERE in Agra. I didn't see any in Delhi, but it was nighttime and my cab driver was more interested in pointing out the sights than the fauna to me as we drove by (and rightly so). In Agra, however, you can't go more than a hundred yards without seeing at least one cow tied up in front of a store, or roaming freely in the field...or on the median strip...or on the road. There are also dogs everywhere, although apparently dogs are more kosher in Hinduism than in Islam, which probably explains why Agra's dogs look so much better looked after than Kabul's dogs do. Oddly enough, the vast majority of these cows are chained to posts with chains barely long enough to allow the cows to stand up straight, confining them to maybe a one-meter radius around the post. This seems like an odd way to treat a sacred animal, but who am I to judge?
1a. The monkeys. Monkeys are apparently also sacred, and they roam freely in parts of Agra, although they are far less numerous than the cows. Unlike the cows, I had no idea that monkeys were at all sacred. An odd surprise.
2. The trains. Indian trains are amazing things (I can only speak from experience regarding the AC Second Class carriages). First of all, the classification system for the various levels of service is unbelievably byzantine - there are six or seven classes, not all of which exist on every train, and none of which have any explanations on the official website. Furthermore, there is no indication at the stations where exactly your assigned car is. You apparently are simply supposed to know how exactly the twenty-odd carriages of the train are organized, although it's really rather easy in practice.
The trains themselves, though, are really a lot of fun. I had a "side lower" berth on my train from Delhi to Agra, which meant that I had a cot to myself on one side of the carriage. I could draw a curtain across the entire length of my bed for privacy, and I had a window that ran most of the length of my berth. There were multiple mesh holders for water bottles, papers, and the like; an outlet (shaped, like every outlet I've seen here so far, to be able to accomodate Indian, American, British, *and* European plugs); a reading light, and a switch controlling the overhead light in the corridor right above the berth. The train looked a bit dated, but it was clean and left on time, although an unexplained 20-minute halt just outside Agra station did provide some annoyance. Vendors moved up and down the aisles selling snacks and such, although the fact that they only hawked their wares in Hindi made it somewhat difficult (the "biscuit" guy was far and away the easiest to figure out). Also, shortly after the train pulled out of the station, the Delhi area was hit by a lightning storm, which I got to watch from the comfort of my berth. All in all, it was an excellent way to begin my exploration of India.
3. The contrasts. Much of the subsection of Delhi between the airport and my train station (not the main one for the city) was either tree-lined, high-rent residential or well-designed, high-capacity highway. Most of the monument sights I saw today in Agra were well-maintained and securely guarded--apparently the monument guards are from a prestigious special corps drawn from all branches of the Indian military and containing only the best of the best. And yet, while driving around Agra, the desperate poverty of much of the country's roughly 1.2 billion people was unmistakeable. For example, at the foot of the stairs leading to one of the gates of the mosque complex at Fatehpur Sikri--the tallest gate in India, according to my guide, and certainly a stunning piece of architecture--beggars and young children competed for the attention of the foreigners in squalor made all the more startling by its proximity to the lavish architecture of the monuments. India clearly cares greatly about preserving its cultural heritage: roads for some distance around the Taj are closed to automobile traffic in order to try to lessen the impact of automobile exhaust on the building's white marble structure. But it is exactly this care for the monuments that reinforces the surrounding poverty.
I am not out to demonize the world's largest democracy for failing to provide for every person in its multitudinous citizenry, and the government here is clearly doing a lot of things right. Staying on the monument theme, entrance fees for foreigners to major monuments are, at least in Agra, ten times higher than the fees for Indian nationals--at the Taj, for example, it costs me 500 rupees to get in (a little over $11; unlike the afghani-to-dollar exchange rate, which seems to be eternally pegged at 45-to-1 despite not actually being pegged at all, the rupee-to-dollar rate varies from place to place), but it costs an Indian national only 50 rupees (about $1.20). This makes a lot of sense: it places most of the financial burden of the monuments' upkeep on those who have money (the foreigners) rather than those who have comparatively less (many Indians), while simultaneously ensuring that all but the poorest of Indians will be able to experience and learn about their own heritage. Still, though, the sight of such poverty so close to the splendors of past empires was striking--striking enough that even my own guide, whose job it is to show off India to me, expressed his disappointment at the government for allowing such a situation.
It's been a long day, and it's time for me to kick back and see if Ireland can actually manage to pull off the upset against Bangladesh in the cricket World Cup. More to come soon...
I readily admit that I seem to have underestimated India. This may well be due to the fact that I spent the three months immediately preceding this trip in Afghanistan, but I have been pleasantly surprised by much of the infrastructure I've seen here. The roads, for example, are beautifully maintained (sample size so far: main roads in and around Delhi, and some of the major thoroughfares connecting Agra's train station with my hotel, Fatehpur Sikri, Sikandra, and the Baby Taj). Cell coverage is excellent, and my Afghan SIM card is even sometimes able to find a network it can play nicely with. Terminal 3 at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi is, in a word, exquisite; it is by far the prettiest airport terminal I've ever seen, in addition to being quite easy to use for tourists.* The sites and monuments are also spectacular. Don't worry, dear readers--there will be a flickr link posted at the end of the trip for those interested ;).
*There was also NOBODY in line at immigration when I got there, which is undoubtedly skewing my perceptions a bit.
But this blog is, at its heart, about the unusual, remarkable, or downright ridiculous things that its author believes provide insight into cultures and peoples. I've been in India for less than 24 hours (damn you, Kabul Int'l Airport, and your 90-minute delays for NO DISCERNIBLE REASON WHATSOEVER), and already there have been several things that fit the above description.
1. The cows. I already knew that Hindus venerate cows as symbols of Brahma, but I hadn't been expecting to see as many of them as I've been seeing. I also didn't know that the Hindi word for cow is pronounced "cow" (don't even think about asking me how it is spelled). Cows are EVERYWHERE in Agra. I didn't see any in Delhi, but it was nighttime and my cab driver was more interested in pointing out the sights than the fauna to me as we drove by (and rightly so). In Agra, however, you can't go more than a hundred yards without seeing at least one cow tied up in front of a store, or roaming freely in the field...or on the median strip...or on the road. There are also dogs everywhere, although apparently dogs are more kosher in Hinduism than in Islam, which probably explains why Agra's dogs look so much better looked after than Kabul's dogs do. Oddly enough, the vast majority of these cows are chained to posts with chains barely long enough to allow the cows to stand up straight, confining them to maybe a one-meter radius around the post. This seems like an odd way to treat a sacred animal, but who am I to judge?
1a. The monkeys. Monkeys are apparently also sacred, and they roam freely in parts of Agra, although they are far less numerous than the cows. Unlike the cows, I had no idea that monkeys were at all sacred. An odd surprise.
2. The trains. Indian trains are amazing things (I can only speak from experience regarding the AC Second Class carriages). First of all, the classification system for the various levels of service is unbelievably byzantine - there are six or seven classes, not all of which exist on every train, and none of which have any explanations on the official website. Furthermore, there is no indication at the stations where exactly your assigned car is. You apparently are simply supposed to know how exactly the twenty-odd carriages of the train are organized, although it's really rather easy in practice.
The trains themselves, though, are really a lot of fun. I had a "side lower" berth on my train from Delhi to Agra, which meant that I had a cot to myself on one side of the carriage. I could draw a curtain across the entire length of my bed for privacy, and I had a window that ran most of the length of my berth. There were multiple mesh holders for water bottles, papers, and the like; an outlet (shaped, like every outlet I've seen here so far, to be able to accomodate Indian, American, British, *and* European plugs); a reading light, and a switch controlling the overhead light in the corridor right above the berth. The train looked a bit dated, but it was clean and left on time, although an unexplained 20-minute halt just outside Agra station did provide some annoyance. Vendors moved up and down the aisles selling snacks and such, although the fact that they only hawked their wares in Hindi made it somewhat difficult (the "biscuit" guy was far and away the easiest to figure out). Also, shortly after the train pulled out of the station, the Delhi area was hit by a lightning storm, which I got to watch from the comfort of my berth. All in all, it was an excellent way to begin my exploration of India.
3. The contrasts. Much of the subsection of Delhi between the airport and my train station (not the main one for the city) was either tree-lined, high-rent residential or well-designed, high-capacity highway. Most of the monument sights I saw today in Agra were well-maintained and securely guarded--apparently the monument guards are from a prestigious special corps drawn from all branches of the Indian military and containing only the best of the best. And yet, while driving around Agra, the desperate poverty of much of the country's roughly 1.2 billion people was unmistakeable. For example, at the foot of the stairs leading to one of the gates of the mosque complex at Fatehpur Sikri--the tallest gate in India, according to my guide, and certainly a stunning piece of architecture--beggars and young children competed for the attention of the foreigners in squalor made all the more startling by its proximity to the lavish architecture of the monuments. India clearly cares greatly about preserving its cultural heritage: roads for some distance around the Taj are closed to automobile traffic in order to try to lessen the impact of automobile exhaust on the building's white marble structure. But it is exactly this care for the monuments that reinforces the surrounding poverty.
I am not out to demonize the world's largest democracy for failing to provide for every person in its multitudinous citizenry, and the government here is clearly doing a lot of things right. Staying on the monument theme, entrance fees for foreigners to major monuments are, at least in Agra, ten times higher than the fees for Indian nationals--at the Taj, for example, it costs me 500 rupees to get in (a little over $11; unlike the afghani-to-dollar exchange rate, which seems to be eternally pegged at 45-to-1 despite not actually being pegged at all, the rupee-to-dollar rate varies from place to place), but it costs an Indian national only 50 rupees (about $1.20). This makes a lot of sense: it places most of the financial burden of the monuments' upkeep on those who have money (the foreigners) rather than those who have comparatively less (many Indians), while simultaneously ensuring that all but the poorest of Indians will be able to experience and learn about their own heritage. Still, though, the sight of such poverty so close to the splendors of past empires was striking--striking enough that even my own guide, whose job it is to show off India to me, expressed his disappointment at the government for allowing such a situation.
It's been a long day, and it's time for me to kick back and see if Ireland can actually manage to pull off the upset against Bangladesh in the cricket World Cup. More to come soon...
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Kabul, thy name is mud
There are some cities that are nice in the rain. Rome, for instance, has lots of cobblestone streets that get interestingly reflective in a spring evening shower. And if London weren't at least tolerable in the rain, nobody would live there, so I figure it can't be all that bad.
Kabul, suffice it to say, is not one of these cities. Many of the streets of this fine city are dirt roads--or at least they were until two days ago, when it rained for the first time in my almost two and a half months living here. Now said streets are ribbons of mud, punctuated with the occasional (unintentional) speed bump, and pockmarked by puddles of Brobdingnagian proportions. Walking on these streets feels like walking on black ice, because within about 20 feet one's shoe treads get packed full of mud, leaving one to slide around haplessly.
And then there is the fact that what passes for a sewer system in Kabul, called wialas, run alongside most major streets and are open to the air. They don't generally smell as bad as one might think (perhaps because I think most houses actually have septic tanks), but they present particular hazards on the muddy "sidewalks."
In short, I'm not too thrilled by this whole "rainy season" concept here.
P.S. Apologies for the long hiatus in posts: have been working on a huge report--25,000 words--that is just about done at this point. Posting should resume more regularly now or in the near future.
Kabul, suffice it to say, is not one of these cities. Many of the streets of this fine city are dirt roads--or at least they were until two days ago, when it rained for the first time in my almost two and a half months living here. Now said streets are ribbons of mud, punctuated with the occasional (unintentional) speed bump, and pockmarked by puddles of Brobdingnagian proportions. Walking on these streets feels like walking on black ice, because within about 20 feet one's shoe treads get packed full of mud, leaving one to slide around haplessly.
And then there is the fact that what passes for a sewer system in Kabul, called wialas, run alongside most major streets and are open to the air. They don't generally smell as bad as one might think (perhaps because I think most houses actually have septic tanks), but they present particular hazards on the muddy "sidewalks."
In short, I'm not too thrilled by this whole "rainy season" concept here.
P.S. Apologies for the long hiatus in posts: have been working on a huge report--25,000 words--that is just about done at this point. Posting should resume more regularly now or in the near future.
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