Up in the morning at a little past daylight, I peered out my window into the courtyard that the buildings made around my window. Prayer flags and large plastic cisterns adorned the roofs of all the buildings; an offering to the birds was scattered about the roof of the building opposite and pigeons were settled in for their morning fare. Already the heat was evident – pushing its stifling lethargy into my room through the hole-filled screens and uncloseable windows.
A quick shower, (HOT water! There is a silver lining to this place after all) and I headed downstairs in fresh clothes to search out breakfast. We had agreed to meet at 11 AM in the hotel lobby so I had a good amount of time to eat and wander about. Breakfast was in the dining area below (vegetable omelet and butter toast with chai, what was to be a staple breakfast throughout my trip), as I studiously evaded the proprietress – hoping that my Tibetan guide (Tsering) would appear and clarify my status for me.
Henny and Annie appeared after a while and we shared a table, struggling with chairs that seemed to want to disintegrate beneath us (the glue in the joints had been worn away by countless guests leaning back in them.) The Japanese couple came and left; some Tibetan monastics sat and enjoyed tea and their breakfasts.
We wandered the streets in search of an internet café or phones to call home, urchins following us imploring us to give them “money money”, or to have our shoes repaired. An elderly man was wandering the streets offering to clean your ears with a brass rod and some cotton balls. Fruit and gewgaw vendors had set up in the narrow alleyways, making them narrower and less maneuverable. The internet cafes were closed – their connections were down.
Around 11 we all converged on the Potala Hotel and awaited Tsering’s return. Eventually he appeared with his brother Phuntsok, who would later accompany us to Mcleod Ganj in a marathon drive. For now we all discussed our plans. After last night’s experience I couldn’t get out of here fast enough – the insect bites were itching and I had no desire to hang around any longer. However most people wanted to rest the remainder of the day, so we decided to split into two groups – one headed to the Red Fort in Dehli for a bit of tourism, the other to a bazaar nearby for a bit of commercialism. I chose the Fort because I couldn’t see lugging around a ton of stuff all over India, and besides, I was going to have a couple of days in Dehli on my way back.
Piling into a few auto rickshaws from the queue that had assembled outside Manju Ka Tila, we took the 15 minute ride back to the Red Fort (we’d passed it the night before on our way here). Another experience of insanity while driving – dodging and darting through the traffic – donkey pulled carts alongside modern tourist busses, trucks that were so gaudily painted and arrayed with images of Shiva, Ganesha, and other Hindu deities that you could barely recognize them as trucks. Buses with men piled up top with the luggage. Ceaseless honking as drivers signaled their intentions to one and other. Mercedes and other high end cars were zipping around in between all the above at incredible speeds; all this without an accident to be seen.
We were deposited outside the Red Fort (and paying RS 40 per rickshaw for the journey) and immediately set upon by young women with children in hand – begging for food, water, money – anything that we could give them. Later I would give them some water, but for now I couldn’t handle them – plus I realized if I gave one of them anything, I’d never make it out of there. I only had bills as well, and, in a country where someone will work all day at hard labor for RS 5, handing out RS 20 bills seemed (about 50 cents US) seemed to be too extravagant. We huddled together as a group, making it past the beggars and then were intercepted by the various hawkers that formed a line in the path to the Red Fort. Postcards, maps, tourist books, Sikh moustaches, funny looking monkeys on a stick – you name it and they were probably trying to sell it to you. With interest I engaged a postcard vendor in some bargaining – little packets of postcards were going for RS 50 apiece, 3 for RS 100 – a princely sum. As I walked away the price dropped to 70, then 50, then how much do I want to pay? I nodded in his direction and said I’d see him on the way out (I did, and bout 1 packet for RS 20 – probably twice what I should have paid, but still less than half his original asking price.) Someone in our group actually paid asking price and Tsering berated her (and the rest of us for even thinking of it) for buying without asking him to negotiate for him. There are clearly two prices – one for the locals and the other for tourists.
The path to the gate was lined by mobile fences, guiding us to a sandbagged enclosure about the entrance to the forts redoubt. Soldiers armed with rifles, a machine gun squad up high, officers with pistols, all languidly watching the small number of tourists that made their way into the fort. We made our way over to the ticket booth – two prices prominently displayed – Locals RS 10, Tourists RS 110. After getting our tickets we headed to the entrance to the fort.
Passing through the unanticipated metal detectors I sheepishly surrendered by “Plan B” commando knife which I pretty much always carried with me. A note on this – it’s primarily for paring and peeling fruit, and the only blood it’s ever spilled is my own while sharpening. I was taken to the commander who, toying with the 3 inch blade in one hand surveyed me as he indicated to his guards that it was OK for me to enter with the knife. Relief must have been evident in my face as I made my way through the gate and caught up with the rest of my group.
We hired a guide in the Chatta Chowk, a sort of bazaar right inside the Lahore Gate. He turned out to be entirely unsatisfactory (his command of English wasn’t sufficient) so we had him find us another who proved to be a veritable cornucopia of information about the various buildings, their history, and the sordid history of the Mughal emperors and the British Empire.
We wandered the Red Fort as a group for about three hours – an amazing place. A good short description of the fort can be found at http://www.meadev.nic.in/tourism/forts/redfort.htm.
Finally, exhausted by the heat, and the climb to the war museum in the Naubat Khana, we rested a bit on the grass before heading back to get an auto rickshaw back to Manju Ka Tila. On the way out we were once again accosted by hawkers and beggars. After parting with RS 50 for 3 packs of post cards and a bottle of water for a girl with child, we negotiated for the cabs and headed out.
After leaving the fort we chased each other in our auto rickshaws, shooting pictures of each other as we passed one another. The rickshaw driver got a huge laugh out of this, and, after observing us using these tremendously expensive digital cameras, tried to stiff us on the fare – RS 70 (almost double the inbound fare we negotiated earlier in the day) by saying he didn’t have change for a 100. I was going to give him a 20 tip, but after this I got change from the rest of my group and paid exact fare.
Hot and thirsty we stumbled into Manju Ka Tilla in the lengthening shadows late afternoon / early evening. After dinner I headed to the room for a much needed shower and night of sleep, and anticipating the early morning departure, I set the travel alarm to 3 AM.
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