Let's get this straight - New Delhi is not Delhi and Old Delhi is not Delhi and Old Delhi is not New Delhi. Very complicated stuff trying to learn our way around the cities referred to as New Delhi when we were there for JCI World Congress in 2008.
The first day there, Lori and I decided hired a guide and a driver for an 8 hour tour. After the guide looked at our list of 12 things we wanted to do, he said it would not be possible to see everything. I said it would and we will, so start driving! The first stop was at the Parliament where we got out to take pictures. It was all great until a monkey ran by us. We are not used to having monkeys scampering next to us, I mean, they have zoos for a reason, so we flew back into the car and were off to the next location.
As we zig zagged through the city, dodging rickshaws, elephants, cows and other cars observing no discernible traffic rules, we arrived in Old Delhi for a rickshaw ride. With our guide in the bike behind us, Lori and I squeezed (and I do mean squeezed - I was practically sitting on her lap) into the rickswhaw and we were off through the narrow streets. Narrow Streets is probably a misnomer, the pathways were more like single lane alleys where street vendors, animals, rickshaws and thousands of people jockeyed for a spot. As we zipped through the area, we firmly had our purses secured and were holding onto to each other and our possessions for dear life.
It was an exhilarating experience seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, and smelling the scents (at least the good smells) of this old part of the city. 2 weeks prior, The Amazing Race had run through these same alleys looking for clues. As we squealed as we went through narrow passageways, prayed that the live wires that had been cobbled together would not fall on us and kill us, we were enjoying ourselves and our adventure. That was until we turned to the right and a cow was literally inches from our faces. Then we started freaking out a little bit, much to the amusement of our driver/pedaler.
As we were speeding through one less crowded pathway, a young kid about 10 had his hand up high fiving people as they biked by. We were afraid he was going to try and steal our purses (we had been warned numerous times about pickpockets) so we steeled ourselves for attack and tried to look alert and vicious. Little did we know that the high-fiver would turn into a boob groper as he went by the Americans. Are you kidding me? Did that just happen?
As we continued the remainder of the trip, we were now sitting on one another's lap, holding onto our purses and cameras with a death grip and facing each other so we were not groped again. We looked like crazy and we became our own tourist attraction!
Who knew - things aren't always as they appear!
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