The Great Race through Old Delhi

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!

Tales of the Taxi

I have a love/hate affair with taxis. They are convenient. They can still get stuck in traffic. They beat the heat of the summer. They can be smelly. They allow you more freedom than public transportation. They can be impossible to find when it is raining out.

Taxis can be dangerous (or at least the drivers driving them can be). My friend and fellow JCI Ben were in Monaco and had to go to Nice at 4 am to fly back to the States so our hosts arranged a taxi for us (since they were still partying). We crammed our enormous suitcases in to the taxi (mine definitely took up more space than his) and we were off. You would have thought we were on the Autobahn. We were zipping dangerously around curves in the French mountains. We were speeding on dark roads and God forbid if we met oncoming traffic or someone going too slow - we wove in and out of lanes like we were Mario Andretti. Ben and I had death grips on the holy shit handles and hoped we would make it to the airport in one piece (we knew we would be on time).

My husband Tom arrived in India after I did last fall and had to take a taxi from the airport at 1 in the morning. His first visit to a 3rd world country, he was leery, as we soon found out he should be. He did not get cheated out of money, as a voucher is pre-purchased, but he was almost cheated out of his dinner (as vomiting could have occurred) . The cab driver made the 45 minute drive from the airport to the hotel in 18 minutes. As Tom careened back and forth in the back seat, they dodged cows, rickshaws and elephants like they were playing Frogger.

Taxis can be used for odd events. In Panama, Lori, Lisa and I wanted to go to the Panama Canal so we hired a taxi for 3 hours. The driver drove us to the canal, we visited it, we ate lunch, and then the driver who would could not identify from sight came back up to us and asked if we were ready to go. I guess paying only 1/2 your fair up front helps keep the driver committed to you. It seemed odd to us to continue to pay a taxi driver to work for us while we were eating lunch, but everyone was doing it. When in Rome......

Taxis can be deceiving. This past weekend some friends who had over imbibed at Universal City Walk went to the taxi area, hopped in a yellow car and asked the driver to take them the 17 miles back to our hotel. When they got there, they asked, "How much?" The driver indicated, "I don't know, I am not a cab driver." What would possess someone to take my friends 17 miles without mentioning this???? They gave him $40 and got the hell out of there!

Finally, taxis can be downright unreliable. I was visiting NYC with an ex in December 2005 for a long weekend. We were having a great time until the last day. The taxi drivers decided to go on strike - there were NO taxis running in NYC. It felt like Armageddon. The streets were like canyons that you could run down, it had a Will Smith, I am Legend, feel. As we scrambled to find transportation to the airport, we cursed the taxis. How could the government let this happen? When thousands of taxis stop running, it impacts EVERYTHING!

Oh well, taxis are good, and taxis are bad. They make me curse, but they give me the freedom to explore!