Paparazzi, tigers, and family, or what's in an India trip - part 1

The Diplomat, Son, and I have been to Delhi a few times, but Son was very little then and did not remember anything despite such standout events like seeing the Taj Mahal and throwing up profusely at Delhi airport moments before our flight to Sri Lanka. Claiming that Delhi is his favorite city (something that, I think, he decided on last month), the Diplomat really wanted to show the vibrant city to Son, so despite our shortened visit (read previous post), we decided to stay there for a day. Well, I had forgotten how famous I was in India. At our first stop at the main mosque Jama Masjid in old Delhi, I was promptly swarmed by a seemingly endless stream of budding paparazzi (read men, women, and children with phones) who each insisted on taking a picture with me, around me, just of me, with their children, with their sister, with a random person passing by. I suspect my flowing blond hair, particularly curly in the Delhi humidity, adds to my photographic allure because I cannot imagine what else evokes such passionate interest. After doing that for 15 minutes in the blazing 35C heat, while Son and the Diplomat were patiently waiting in the shade, I firmly said no more and set out to tell Son how he got lost at that same mosque 10 years ago. 

Just as we were about to leave, trailed by a rather sizeable crowd who thought they were taking very inconspicuous pictures me, I agreed to do a few more.  Unable to stand the heat (we were also barefoot on the blazing tiles), we finally left to enjoy whatever else Delhi had to offer. Most importantly, we had a sumptuous lunch at an old Delhi favorite, Karim’s, where we overordered and overate. After a leisurely 10-minute walk through the scorching heat of Chandni Chowk, we took a breathless trip to my favorite part of Delhi - Hauz Khaz - on a dilapidated autorickshaw, which was blasting some seriously obscene American rap as it zapped, somewhat randomly, through the densely populated streets of the city. Located amidst the ruins of domed tombs of Muslim royalty from the 14th to 16th centuries, Hauz Khaz village is a small but very hip area in central Delhi, chockful of eclectic boutiques, restaurants, and rooftop bars. I love going there to shop for fashion from local designers, and it did not disappoint. I scored a hand-embroidered jacket from Mohit Sacchev (three months by hand, and yes, that one in the video modeled by a guy??) and a hand-made, glass beads dress by Guapa, which weighs about 320 kg. Faced with a mutiny by the overheated and fatigued men following me, I agreed to leave and we finally retreated to the luxurious, cool womb of the Sheraton New Delhi. In the evening, we changed gears a bit and enjoyed a 6-course chef’s tasting menu dinner at Indian Accent. Paired with a lovely wine tasting, we rolled out of there at midnight, stuffed to the gills, possibly rather drunk, and fully cognizant of the fact that we needed to get up at 5 am to catch a train to our next destination - Ranthambore tiger reservation.  

Going to Delhi’s central station is decidedly not for the timid, nor is it enjoyable. Staffed by governmentally-licensed baggage handlers (which largely meant they were wearing official red shirts), we were immediately swarmed by an army who insisted on individually carrying our 2 large suitcases and 3 small carry-ons, one of which was empty. Intense haggling ensued, which consisted mainly of the Diplomat arguing in animated Hindi that it should not cost $50 for 5 people to carry them to the train, and me energetically insisting that they give us back the three carry-ons since we could perfectly easily pull them ourselves and do not need three additional people to do that for us. I am all for creating employment, but I also did not want us to look like an absurd maharaja caravan traipsing through the station (which we ended up doing anyway). We eventually settled on three handlers and $25 (I am fully aware how outrageous that price still was but they all behaved like we were starving their families by suggesting anything less). The train ride was largely unremarkable beyond the fact that we had the entire carriage to ourselves, and we even managed to nap in the stiff bunks. 5 hours later and were away from the din of the huge city and into the magical quiet of Ranthambore, home of one of the biggest Indian tiger reserves, located in the state of Rajasthan. Two intrepid luggage handlers picked up ALL of our luggage for $10 (!) and we were off to the spellbinding Khem Villas, our home for the next 3 nights.    

Our neat pile of suitcases, plus boxed breakfast courtesy of Sheraton Delhi.
We had the entire "First AC" to ourselves