There is no way I can write the novel to describe today’s adventures, but I will make a beginning. I took about 200 pictures with my new camera and it was so fun. Popping into a group of men crowded around a bubbling wok of oil with floating islands of puffy bread, holding it above the men huddled together around a pile of burning wood in front of a store or on the street
or randomly snapping away at a colorful scene, with the reward of smiles and laughter or fingers pointing at one person as if to say “take his picture!”
Rishi, our driver, picked us up at 9 and we headed off to pick up Robinson, and his sidekick (?) to go on our walking street-food tour in Old Delhi. As we hopped out and waved goodby to Rishi, we hit the streets of a town that was so much closer to the India of my imagination. Crowded, dirty streets hung with wires, crumbling wooden balconies a la New Orleans, small nooks that could hold only one person (and he was curled up on folded legs) selling wares, and everywhere were people hustling to take care of the day’s chores. If you looked closely, you could spot the lime and chili hung to ward off the evil eye:
as well as little shrines:
As in other cities I’ve travelled to, streets were often dedicated to one industry or goods being sold. The street with shoe shops, one with bathroom supplies, another with wedding cards and still another with eyeglass shops. The prettiest sold sarees and bangles.
Anyway, Robinson is a man of the world and lectured us on history, architecture and anything else that came to mind. He led us through the crooked alleyways to sample the best of so many foods. First stop was a little koftas (meatball) made of chickpeas and wheat in a spicy gravy with little puffs of bread (fried like doughnuts) that had been filled with spices. Matt tried the peppers loaded on some brown paper, but I stuck to the pickled carrots that worked well to cool off my mouth. We stood at a table in the alley and ate it all up and chatted.
On through the maze as we stopped for sweets (milk scraped from a cooking pot as it grew thick and sweet, almost like halvah):
and its upperclass cousin, rolled into a ball and then through sugar.
That one was a little too sweet. Here I am learning about the sweets behind the counter:
There were raw peanuts in a toffee, kind of like the nuts in cracker jacks, little biscuit cookies that were rolled, pressed into flat discs, and placed on a tray that lay hidden beneath a bed of wood coals (you just lift up the wok part and there’s a metal plate filled with cooking biscuit cookise underneath):
until they were swapped out for a new batch, a bowl of nuts mixed with ghee and ??? that was sweet, buttery and crunchy (and Matt’s favorite), and last before lunch was the master chai purveyor,
from whom I learned my most important lesson: you do NOT slice your ginger in the chai, you must pound it. Evidently slicing makes it lose flavor…finally I understand why adding two cups of sliced ginger ( that’s a pile of macerated ginger he’s messing with) does not make my tea gingery enough. I have now seen a pro make chai, so I will be turning out a whole new concoction at home. And he keeps a record of every cup of chai sold! Here, Robsinson is holding the ledger:
Another twenty minutes or so, and we arrive at lunch (will I survive?). Robinson orders and we start with handkerchief bread
(see how it looks?), lay a beef roll in it, squeeze lemon over, top with onions and cilantro sauce,
roll up and dig in. Matty really loves this one, but I take a couple bites and am done. Not because it isn’t good, but I’m in survival mode now! Next up are two different style of fresh made bread, and chicken that has been marinated in yoghurt overnight, sprinkled with spices and grilled. Hard to believe how tender and juicy it is with absolutely no sauce. Oh, and all of the bread gets dipped into our bowl of dal, which Matt takes on as his personal pet project to finish and clean. The table is a battleground as we finish up what we can:
Time to bid farewell, so we leave the restaurant and see the bread and meat rolls being made, and join back up with our regular guide outside the Jama mosque.
It is now the call to prayer (insert video), and we aren’t allowed into the mosque, so we walk back though the humming streets to the spice market. More picture, and ooh, can is go in and check out some of these shawls? All the men sit on stools with a wall full of beautifully woven and embroidered shawls behind them, while women sit opposite and lower down. The men listen to what they want, fish through the piles, and open up shawl after shawl until each customer is satisfied. I saw some beautiful and unusual ones, but decided to get nothing. Onward to the spice market, and our noses are enjoying the festival of smells.
We even go through the seriously narrow alleyways to the wholesale market – no pictures allowed – and look bug-eyed at the burlap sacks as big as Matt filled with dried red chilies, turmeric, dried ginger and mangoes, rice flakes, etc etc etc. It’s the largest spice market in all of India – some of which are only sold by the truckload – no pounds or kilos here. Random street photos of what we encountered as we wove through streets and back alleys, trying to keep up with Robinson (and he said, “don’t lose me”, to which I retorted: “no, don’t lose ME!” He got a good laugh out of that, but understood, because I was being drawn like a moth to the light to all kinds of colorful street scenes showing a wild variety of food vendor and crazy traffic combinations, as you can see below):
Vendors with a large selection:
and small:
Don’t know what, but it looks like it’s going fast:
Beer snacks:
the paneer cart:
just your typical street traffic:
chopping greens (first picture) and onions (second) for use in food being sold at their stand. they are working on the “sidewalk” right in front of their little store:
don’t have a clue what it is, but different parts of the mound have different things and you can order in whatever combination you like and they serve it with the puffy bread in the bowl next to it:
this is some kind of chick pea stew served out of the tilted large, metal container, with a variety of toppings to be added as desired:
as any of you who have seen a Bollywood movie knows, marigolds are a big deal in India, for offerings to the Ganges, to your sweetheart, or just to munch on. Here is a woman on the street selling individual flowers or leis:
It’s a ways back to the mosque, so we hop into a rickshaw and experience the area from a completely different perspective:
We marvel at our driver’s ability to weave in and out of pedestrians, tuk-tuks, bicycles and small cars, as we head back to our point of origin. We walk through the mosque, fairly empty now, and see prayer rugs and alcoves, which hold over 20,000 devout Muslims 5 time each day.
Next, we drive by the Red Fort, which is closed in preparation for Republic day on Janurary 26th, on our way to Raj Ghat. A ghat is where the dead are cremated (something we will observe almost continually when in Varanasi). This particular ghat services individuals who have given great service to the nation, so Mahatma Ghandi, Nehru, and India Ghandi were all cremated her. Nice, tranquil spot with lovely gardens.
A short hop to the crafts museum, which is undergoing much-needed renovations. We check out ancient tapestries, Bhanta (large wooden idols used in temples, from which life has been removed before donation), and a rainbow of cloth from sarees from different regions of the country. Last planned stop is Akshardhan, the largest Hindu Temple in the world, completed in 2005 with the help of 11,000 craftsman working the equivalent of 800 years. A rigorous security process made us a little wary, but once close to the Temple, we completely understood why. Walking around the Temple, our jaws were dropping open at the intricate carvings at the base of, up the walls and all along the rooftops of this unusual structure. Ther is no way I can relay to you the magnificence of the work outside, and the eyes and neck strain to take in all the detail on the inside. The ceiling of each room reaches a pinnacle with elaborate flower patterns, garden scenes or geometric oddities that defy explanation. Inset, intricate and ubiquitous, the labor and craftmanship to bring all of this to life from large blocks of sandstone is impossible for me to comprehend. I heard Matthew use the word “insane” over and over. And the main room, with statues of Swaminarayan (to whom the Temple is dedicated and who is believed to have been the reincarnated Vishnu) and his disciples looks like the blown up inside of a jewel-encrusted Faberge egg. I had to run my eyes over the scene for a good 15 minutes just to take in and identify everything in the room, from the peacocks along one level, to the bulls, bells and elephants depicted on others. Gold inlay, pale blue and pink highlights, chandeliers, inset lights, assorted statues and jewels. The vividness and perfection in the carvings was amplified because of the newness of the Temple; most of the time I’m viewing monuments that are hundreds of years old, and parts show their age. But no issue with that here. I am not too sorry that no pictures were allowed, because pictures could not do this justice. Move over, Sagrada Familia, there’s a new kid in town (and she’s finished!).
I was tired and cranky when we first arrived, but I have been energized by the beauty of this place, we walk our thinking that we would want at least a half-day next time we visit and thank Suraj for suggesting we make the effort to see this Temple. We drop him off and go to dinner with our driver, Rishi, to a spot recommended on our food tour. Matt and I play a game of dip ‘n dive on the way , through Friday traffic and arrive at a square that is lined with restaurants. Outside one is a large setup of kabobs of all kinds grilling on 5 foot long skewers and -yay- it is our restaurant. We slide into a booth, order up dinner, and begin chatting with Rishi about arranged marriages, the caste system, and cricket (all things Indian). Before we know it, we are drooling over skewers of chicken with yogurt sauce, chicken curry, vegetables korma and Mughal style, garlic naan and steamed rice. Oh, and when I say garlic naan, I do mean the kind dripping with butter and big chunks of roasted garlic littered all through the inside folds. YUM! This is the meal that let us know were deep in the belly of the Indian kitchen. Matt declares my chicken as incredibly tender and his has definite old tennis shoe sauce (see your reference dictionary for the meaning of this).
Matt and Rishi:
Matt’s lamb curry:
My chicken, marinated in yogurt and spices, then grilled on a spit. Yes, it’s as good as it looks!
He eats his first plate for Michael, second for Drew and the rest for himself. We are ooh-ing and aah-ing and of course I am doing some simultaneous moaning and eating (which always reminds me of Matt Dillon eating I the Flamingo Kid, if anyone besides Drew gets that reference). Poor you.
All smiles, we head back to the hotel to pack and sprawl in our beds. Early wake up call to drive to see one of the seven wonders of the world tomorrow. Goodnight!