Hello India!

It's 5.40am in the morning and my plane has just landed in Delhi airport, Thank feck! 

I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm delirious with exhaustion and there's about a million thoughts rushing around in my head. Have I packed the right clothes?, Has my bag turned up?, Where is my hotel?, I need cash, How much is a rupee worth anyway? Am I doing the right thing coming here in the first place. Did I remember to pack those Barry's T-bags, cause I'd murder a cup right now.

As I disembark from the plane I know I'm not in Kansas anymore, the air smells sweet and warm & the morning sky is a blaze of hazy pink. I stop for a couple of seconds to look up at the sun, which looks like an enormous round orange ball behind a thick layer of hazy Delhi pollution. Wow, the sun looks massive here I'm thinking. Wow! I'm actually here, I've arrived, I'm in fecking India! 

My bag has arrived, I've got cash out, I've now a vague idea what a rupee is worth (about 0.144 cent) and I'm all set to leave the airport. I peer out, all of a sudden I'm feeling very much like a solo traveler. it's moments like this that your reminded you only have yourself to rely on & I'm feeling a little apprehensive. In the airport I'm safe, but I know that everything beyond it will be different to what I know, from the language, to the culture, to the weather. I'm cursing the fact that I put more energy into planning my leaving drinks & saying my goodbyes than actually researching India. I'm also cursing the fact I wasn't more organised & booked myself a driver in advance. I venture out and am immediately surrounded by a big crowd of Indian men all gesturing to me madam, madam, where you go? madam. Oh feck! I quickly dash back inside the airport again. Well this won't do at all, now will it Arlene? Ahh! I spot a taxi booking place desk thingy, we're back in business.

My taxi driver leads me over to his car. I go to open the back door assuming I'll be getting in the back, but no, he quickly piles all my luggage onto the back seat of the car and gestures to me to get in the front. Great, now I'm going to have to make conversation with him and I just want to sleep. We're off, lets just say the suspension of this car has seen better days, the window is missing glass and the seat-belt doesn't look like it's ever been used. We're squashed up really close together, me desperately clutching my bag certain someone is going to pop their hand in the open window and snatch it away. I'm also now getting my first introduction to Indian roads and to Indian driving. 

As I'll soon learn, the 3 golden rules of driving in India are, 'Good Horn', 'Good Breaks' and 'Good Luck'. Sweet holy mother of God. I'm desperately fiddling with my seat-belt. Do you realise your driving along the white line in the middle of the road? cause you ARE! My driver has his foot firmly on the accelerator and to say we are booting along is the under statement of the century. Cars, trucks, auto rickshaws, bikes, cows, motorcycles carrying whole families all weave in and out. Everyone seems to drive with one hand firmly on the horn. The constant, incessant beeping will become the soundtrack to my time here in India. Most of the elaborately decorated trucks we pass bear the hand painted bumper stickers of 'HORN PLEASE' or 'BLOW HORN' & in the mental, noisy, dusty, beeping chaos that is this Indian road, I can't help but notice how pretty they look. 

'Traffic is very quiet madam', my driver tells me. This is quiet?? Good God! 'I wouldn't like to see it when it's busy' I'm thinking.

'First time in India'?, Yes, I nod my head. 'You like'? 'Oh yes, It looks beautiful' I smile sweetly, everything I've seen so far, that being the road and the airport have been just fabulous. We are passing row after row of street sellers all positioned alongside the edge of the road, selling everything from brightly coloured fruit, to bananas, to giant teddy bears and strange looking snacks I don't yet know. Women dressed in colourful sari's add a splash of colour to the dusty roadside, as they shop & chat in small groups. Cows it seems have the run of the place cause they just amble along through the traffic and wherever they want really. As I later find out, along with beeping, cows will feature heavily in my time here in India. The cow is considered to be sacred, Indians don't eat them, even in MacDonalds there are no beef burgers and they literally just roam wild everywhere, looking scrawny & unhealthy & feeding off piles of garbage. 

Another thing that is hard to ignore is the obvious poverty. We pass old people curled up at the side of the road begging, scatterings of street children begging or searching through piles of rubbish. I crane my head to watch one little boy who has actually jumped right inside a skip, all that's visible is his little head as he pokes around looking for bits of plastic or anything he can sell. He has two big sacks draped over the handlebars of his bike, which is positioned in front of the skip and he is quite the little business man because both sacks are full to the brim. In contrast with the poverty alongside the road I can't help but notice some rather nice looking cars overtaking us, my first taste of the diversity that is India. It is clear almost as soon as I leave the airport that India is a land of contrasts and contradictions, where the rich are super rich and the poor are the very poorest of the poor.

My driver begins pointing out sights of interest as we pass. 'That is the presidents house, very beautiful place' he says pointing to what looks like a big green park. When we pass a group of large monkeys with red bottoms scrapping over a discarded coke can, I can barely contain my excitement. 

It's right about now that the interrogation begins 'What age are you madam?', I'm taken aback by the direct personal question, but it's a question I'll become well accustomed to answering during my time in India. I answer him fairly honestly. 'Are you married?', Have you got a boyfriend?, Are your parents alive? What do they do for a living? What do you do for a living? I tell him I am here in India to teach. 'You are a teacher?' 'Ah yes teaching is a very good job'. 'What hotel you stay in'?, 'How many stars your hotel have'?.....Curious fella I'm thinking. I later find out that these questions are not too personal by Indian standards and as well as being inquisitive Indians will ask them in order to get an idea of your social status in comparison to them. It's already assumed you are a rich western tourist who has plenty of money & will tip accordingly. This is something I haven't yet researched and I have no idea how much I should tip him. As we pull up outside my hotel I pull a 100 rupee note from my purse, it's the smallest note I have, it's worth roughly about two US dollars. I assume this will be OK for a tip and I hand it to him. He looks confused but takes the note and drives off. It's actually at least double if not triple what I should have tipped him. I still have so much to learn about India but at least I've arrived safely at my hotel.