India Intimidates

The way I travel is admired by some people, and regarded as foolish by others. I planned this adventure in a bit of a rush, and roughly three weeks after I’d bought my tickets I was climbing aboard an airplane headed towards Japan.  Three weeks is a long time, but as anyone who’s been out traveling can attest, it’s not nearly enough time to properly plan a trip across three continents, six months and twelve countries.

So I didn’t plan. My method typically involves booking a place to stay in the city I’m flying into the night before or a few days before I actually fly there, and then doing some research on what to do in that city. Once there, I ask whoever is running my hostel/hotel/guesthouse what I should see in their country. Most of the time I have a vague plan, or a few places I want to see, but no real timetable or plan. This has been largely successful, and in fact the only place I regret not having a plan for is India, and possibly Turkey.

I met a young woman in Japan who told me that she admired the way I traveled for its lack of stress and sense of freedom. I won’t argue that it gives me flexibility, but it certainly isn’t lacking in stressful moments.

The first thing I did once I got settled in India was try to make a plan. I knew where I wanted to visit: Agra, Varanasi, and Khajraho. Delhi, while fascinating, was really just a stopover for me to get to these other places. I knew within seconds of being in Delhi that I could get lost there for an entire month and still not come close to scratching the surface of the city, so I didn’t bother to try. It is worth noting that the drive in had scared and intimidated me, and while I researched where to go and what to do in the country, I was also gathering my nerves. When I finally got the courage to head out into the city, I knew where I wanted to go.

Once on the street, I was overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of Delhi. As with most of Asia, the yellow tuk-tuks were everywhere, zooming haphazardly through cars and motorbikes. Delhi stinks in the same way all developing cities stink, which is the heavy smell of burning garbage, coal and wood mixed with raw sewage and just a touch of the delicious aroma of whatever is cooking in the various restaurants that crowd in between the shops. It is the smell of millions of lives crowded into a place too small for half of them, but somehow big enough to hold all of them.

First stop is for money. I hadn’t seen any ATMs at the airport, though I know they must have been there. A friendly tuk-tuk driver offered to take me to the bank, and waited as I pulled money out. When I left the ATM, we sat down and discussed my options.

I told him I wanted to go to the train station to buy tickets to Agra, which he strongly recommended against. He told me that it was likely that all the trains to Agra would be booked up for several days, and that I should have made reservations much earlier. This is the same story I had heard from the youth running the front desk at my hotel. Initially, I hadn’t believed it, but hearing it from a second source made me reconsider. My tuk-tuk driver recommended an Indian travel agency, who would help me plan the rest of my trip, or at the very least get me my train tickets.

It was a setup, and I knew it was a setup. The tuk-tuk driver gets paid a commission to take tourists without plans to these kinds of tour agencies where their trip is planned out for them. The tour agencies would arrange accommodation, transportation, and guides, all while charging a premium for their services.

It’s not a scheme or a scam, but it is expensive and counter to all my instincts as an “independent traveler.” I agreed to let the tuk-tuk driver take me there, figuring I’d get a feel for it and see how feasible my own plans were going to be. The least I could do was figure out how to get to Agra.

Ten hair-raising minutes later we’d made it safely to “Diamond Tours India.” A tall man with stubble on his face, a neat haircut and a big smile greeted us as we walked in the door, and I was steered to a desk and offered chai.

If you ever go to India, you will become intimately familiar with the strangely delicious milk tea that is chai. It will be offered to you everywhere, and using common sense, I encourage you to accept in most cases. It is universally delicious, piping hot, and perhaps the most ubiquitous Indian experience there is. To turn down chai is in exceptionally poor taste, akin to refusing to shake someone’s hand.

My tour operator, whose name I cannot remember, though I remember his face quite well, spent a great amount of time trying to convince me that I would have a great time if I surrendered my itinerary to his skilled hands. As evidence, he accessed his Facebook account and showed me pictures of people he had arranged tours for, including the “Mayor of Brooklyn.” I looked with some skepticism, flicking through the Facebook page before me before I realized that my new friend wasn’t kidding me. The man who he’d guided before was leader of a nonprofit in New York, and actually held the self-aggrandizing title. This hardly convinced me, but he proceeded to whip out a book of leftover contracts, showing me all the trips he’d organized for various tourists from all over the world.

I was beyond skeptical. But I told him where I wanted to go. He looked surprised, “these are not typical tourist places. Agra yes, Varanasi, maybe, but not many ask to go to Khajraho.” He steepled his fingers and looked at me. “You are sure you want to go to these places?”

I nodded. “I only have seven days here. This is what I want to see.”

“Seven days is too few. You must stay longer.”

“You’re the third person to tell me that in three hours. How about a train to Agra?”

He sighed and turned to his computer, launching into an explanation of train scheduling and how I should have booked earlier. Pulling up a website, he shows me that all the trains are booked for the next day and a day after. “But, I can get you there with a driver. He will pick you up from your hotel, take you to Agra, show you around, and drop you off at your hotel. The next day he will continue your tour and then drop you off at the train station.”

He begins to sketch out my trip for me. Using a combination of trains, cars and flights, I would make my way to Agra, then to Varanasi, and then Khajraho, finally flying back to Delhi the night before my morning flight out to New Zealand. When he finishes, I am intrigued enough to ask the price.

“Depends on you. We have three levels. Budget, Regular and Premium. Premium for this would be $1100 USD, plus my commission. And you will have a contract!” He says the phrase proudly, “A PROPER contract!”

I pause for a moment, examining the idea of a ‘proper contract’ and wondering if improper contracts were a big problem in India. “And regular?” I ask.

“$800.”

“Too much,” I say, and the haggling begins.

We settle around $650, plus his commission, which added about another 80 bucks. I don’t remember when I made the conscious decision to go with his plan. I had walked in fully intending to walk out without buying a thing, now here I was negotiating over hundreds of dollars. I feel like I negotiated well, but was still taken for a few hundred more dollars than I could have driven the price down. Later, discussing the process with my father, I told him that I probably could have done the trip for a few hundred dollars fewer with more stress and planning on my part, to which he responded by telling me that it was okay to spend more money to reduce stress – especially since I was supposed to be having a good time.

Half an hour later we had a proper contract drawn up. My tour operator went through it with me, rattling off all the places I’d be going, what the contract covered and what it didn’t. He ended by reading the type at the bottom of the contract, “Tour ends, but sweet memories remain!”

A man named Sonu was introduced to me as my driver for the next day. Sonu had a day’s growth of black stubble, perfectly done hair, and a giant smile that made you want to place your trust in him without question. He quizzed me on my travel plans as he drove me back to my hotel.

“I will see you tomorrow my friend!” he shouted as he dropped me off.

“See you tomorrow,” I called back and thought: It’s going to be really embarrassing when he doesn’t show up, and I find out I’ve been taken for seven hundred dollars.

Sonu did show up, and ended up becoming one of my favorite people I’ve met this entire trip. I would find myself ashamed that I ever doubted him, and while India itself scared and intimidated me on that first day, I would soon discover that you will be hard-pressed to find a more generous and hospitable person than an Indian who has taken you under his care.

-         Doug