Probably every traveler's greatest wish is to arrive somewhere where he will find not only sun and the ocean, but also joy, happiness and prosperity. However, if you expect to find this in India, you are on the wrong trip.
It's not the first time we've seen this extreme poverty, but here in Delhi it strikes straight to your heart and your conscience. On the way to Connaught Place, in your western clothes and a comparatively full wallet, you walk past children who have perhaps never had enough to eat. Who have never lived in a proper house and don't know a toilet. Many of them are ill but their parents have no money for medical treatment.
Delhi – Heaven and hell at the same time
After the megacities in Pakistan, not much can really shock us anymore, and yet Delhi is a different story. I have no idea how many people dwell here, or rather live here, because many of them don't dwell in the usual sense. The way to the city center is not too far, and so you cross the different levels of heaven and hell.
Connaught Place, the real heart of the city, is modern, big, wide, you don't feel like you're in India. The stores around it offer all the promises of the world. We sit down in a restaurant and watch the life of the upper ten thousand while sipping an Indian Coke.
It's important to know that the country's import regulations are very strict. Consequently, the authorities demanded from the Coca-Cola company to disclose the secret composition of its product, which it naturally refused to do. And so the Indian state is now producing its own Coke, or at least something similar. Or so it thinks, but the drink is absolutely dreadful and will be our first and last attempt.
It is our first visit to Delhi, a few will be added in the coming years. But not much will change, except that the smog has become even worse, the population has increased drastically and the visible poverty has been partially relocated to the outskirts of the city.
But the city center with its ostentatious, flaunted pseudo-wealth is in stark contrast to the rest of the city. The real Delhi begins a few meters away. Where entire families live on the sidewalk.
Now you can understand that many Western tourists feel a culture shock at the sight of these images and want to go home as quickly as possible. We, on the other hand, are still young, even endure a guilty conscience (the things you can convince yourself of), but many years later, as an old man, in Kathmandu, the protective skin has disappeared.
A gift from (Hindu) heaven
In the meantime, our wishes have become very modest: a hot shower, a good night's sleep without any commotion, an Amexco branch with lots of letters from home.
First and foremost, we need a suitable campsite, so we try our luck a second time. And this time it works, if only with a bit of un-Swiss cheekiness, as we firmly claim at the entrance that we already have a permanent site. And admittedly, even on this excursion into the world of fraud and assertion, we feel more comfortable than we deserve to be.
One thing is for sure, the place is a godsend. Not only does it have - a truly extraordinary surprise in India - withered but at least something like meadows, hot (!) showers and, most importantly, you meet old friends. So another day in paradise.
Hot days
The fact that it's hot is not entirely surprising. November may be drawing to a close, but at home fog, darkness and cold have taken over, but here it's summer, T-shirt weather. And since we have plenty of time, we sit in the sun, let our pale bodies tan and chat left and right. It's bearable after the exertions of the last few weeks.
In between, we treat ourselves to a ride in a tuk-tuk, the ubiquitous means of transportation in India's capital. It is always amazing that you manage to get around despite traffic jams and heavy traffic, albeit with certain risks.
Another striking feature are the cabs. All black with yellow roofs, named Ambassador and the main means of transportation. Funnily enough, many years later, on my next visit in 1990, they are still there, still in a more or less desolate state, but still going strong.
The Red Fort
As already mentioned, many of our images are either in poor condition or have been lost. So I just use photos from later trips; they show more or less the same impressions.
The Red Fort in Delhi together with the even more famous Taj Mahal in Agra represent two of the most beautiful buildings of the Mughal period. Sha Jahan, the most famous Mughal, definitely understood how to create monuments for eternity. I will tell the story of the construction of the Taj Mahal elsewhere; it tells of mourning for one's favorite wife who died young, of too much money (for a while) and the usual hubris of arrogant rulers who know no bounds.
In contrast to the Taj, the Red Fort is dominated by red sandstone, but white marble can also be seen occasionally. Within the walls, it is easy to believe you are in a city in its own right and lose track of things. It is not just an experience for the eye, it is a display of art that is no longer possible today. I read somewhere that the construction of the Taj Mahal alone would far exceed the budget of a medium-sized country.
And so we walk reverently and dazedly through the paths within the walls, stopping again and again, shaking our heads, in disbelief, somehow overwhelmed by the force of this magnificent building.
The Jama Masjid and Old Delhi
I quote from diary notes from that time:
In contrast to the Red Fort, the Jama Masjid, the Friday mosque, does not present much new. We have come across this type of mosque a few times.
However, the nearby old town provides more of what you would expect from India. Winding streets and alleyways, colorful bazaars, a deafening cacophony of noises, a mixture of a thousand smells - the pulsating life.
A huge bunch of people, an oversized Anthill, where everything is constantly moving, constantly in flux, life in its original state, where rich and poor, good and evil are still one, where the differences fade and at the same time stand out sharply from one another. Here there is still no strict division according to class or money, the ragged beggar exists alongside the chubby-cheeked rich man, and nobody thinks about it. .
Matching song from 1974: Camel – Nimrodel
And here the trip continues… still in Delhi
