Dear all,
I checked into Florence Inn, New Delhi a day early. I was loathe to leave Sham Nath Villa and the companionable and intelligent people I had met there but this was my plan. As in Xi'an, I wanted to join the group a day early, thereby extending my Dragoman trip by a day for free. However since my newly extended trip would have me on the road for a total of thirty nine days with this group joining them a day early no longer seemed so important but no matter, every day is worth something.
I had nearly had my fill of the crowds and metro of Delhi so on the morning of 22nd September I restricted myself to simply travelling to some gardens of Delhi and going for a solitary walk there.
It was a beautiful place. The tropical flora surrounded me yet it was well spaced with a well kept lawn, hidden within the gardens were ruins of an old mosque and tombs. As I walked they would emerge silently from the foliage, further vestiges of former empires now sitting as mysterious testaments to projects long since abandoned. Unlike the plush apartment buildings surrounding the gardens, they fitted the environs well and did not jar.
When I walk in a park I hope that the outer tranquillity will match or help bring about a corresponding inner tranquility, the distance from worldly aims and people and diverse difficult purposes increasing with time to bring about a peace of mind that may even be retained on my return to streetsun and persons. It was not so this time. It appeared to be a very "coupley" park. In various corners couples were enjoying the freedom from crowds and onlookers to enjoy some private time together. While keeping my distance from these pairs I began to think about my truck friends currently travelling through Kyrgyzstan, the friendly academics still comfortably lodged at Sham Nath villa, and a few beautiful women now a few thousand miles away. A dog lay under a tree and howled atmospherically nearby. I was looking forward to meeting my new truckmates.
I found a place entirely free of people, an overgrown courtyard, watched critters and birds hop about and listened to the breeze. My thoughts began to shift to a less melancholy direction and when I rose I was ready to complete my exploration of the park, though also ready to return to my hotel room to work on my blog entry for Kashgar.
On my return I took my iPad, my bottle of water and myself down to the lobby. It was 3pm and the group was scheduled to arrive at this hotel sometime today. I had not seen them yet but driving from Jaipur they could not be long.
They arrived en masse with backpacks, sweaty and dirty, collapsing onto seats around me. I gazed around me with curiosity and a smile, inspecting every face before I said, "You can only be the Dragoman group. My name's Stephen, I'll be joining you", whereupon they perked up and looked at me with interest and surprise. They all introduced themselves, giving their names which I immediately forgot but which I knew I would soon never forget. There was one among them, Sebastian, who was leaving today - his trip was restricted to Kathmandu to New Delhi. I made a mental note to try to sit near him at dinner.
We ate at a nearby restaurant that seemed to be targeted at tourists, though its possible that the menu was multi-cuisine simply because Indians like eating Chinese noodles and Italian pasta occasionally. I sat next to Dave, our jolly and laid back trip leader from Australia, quick to laugh and smile and opposite Sebastian - as I had hoped. Sebastian was a junior doctor from Austria in his mid twenties. I hope he wasn't offended when I said his accent sounded slightly American - fellow diners were quick to correct me, suggesting that I had that impression because I couldn't hear him clearly.
Dave was pleased at my suggestion that we share some dishes. I've found that sharing food is the easiest way to be sociable during a meal - it's easier to dish up food and share views on it than to keep a conversation going about this and that during the whole meal. However this wasn't to be an issue with Dave, or today - meeting every passenger for the first time is mutually exciting. I have to keep reminding myself not to be too curious too soon - there will be plenty of time to converse in the future.
I liked Dave which I counted as very fortunate. Of all the people on the truck, I think it may be most important to get on with the people you depend on most. But then I expect that Dragoman crew must be better conversationalists than most people on earth. With the exception of the other driver, their contract consists of transient friends, the group composition changing every couple of weeks or so. Every time they must start from scratch and enlist the new passenger's help in kitchen duties, handling baggage and not being an arsehole.
We drank and ate together and at the end the waiters presented us with individual bills and individual change, a feat I can't recall ever seeing in China or England for that matter. It was one of the more expensive meals I've had in India, costing 740 rupees including beer. I've since learned that a typical daily wage for a labourer is 150 rupees.
That evening I learned that three other passengers would be joining the group the next day, bringing our total to twelve. They were a twenty three year old woman from England named Danni, a thirty year old woman from Australia named Trish and a sixty two year man from Holland named Freddie. I would be sharing a room with Freddie the day after.
I tried to imagine what these people would be like. I was pleased they were independent travellers like myself. There were three couples on the truck and I expected that as in China these people would be largely self sufficient units with less need to find other passengers to wander cities with. My new friends might be Danni, Trish, Freddie and/or that guy at the other end of the table I hadn't spoken to yet. Besides the couples, the was also a German chap named Lutz in his seventies but he seemed rather taciturn. I went to bed with hopes and optimism.
On the afternoon of the next day, l lay on my bed in a twin after some final wanders in Delhi, cancelled my extra nights in Mumbai and waited for Freddie. He appeared at about 4pm and introduced himself. He was a portly, white haired man with a moustache with an odd way of speaking. Despite speaking good English himself he asked me to make sure I speak slowly and loudly and move my lips (he demonstrated) so that he could understand me. I didn't do this and he didn't have problems. He cracked unusual jokes that I didn't often get and often referred to his Dutchness to which he ascribed (in jest) his stinginess and his love of seedy women. I asked him what he did for a living and he said he worked for the supermarket emptying Bourbon bottles.
Despite all this I found him easy to talk to. If I simply passed over the blue or incomprensible jokes we could have a friendly, intermittent and blunt conversation. No need to make small talk, he filled any pauses with his eccentric one-sided banter.
The pre-departure meeting was at 6pm. I descended the stairs and seated myself in the lobby with Dave and Frenchie, the crew, and Danni and Trish, fellow new passengers. I met Frenchie, from France, whose real name is Ivan. He told me that he dad claimed to have called him Ivan so that he wouldn't have any trouble if the Russians invaded. He looked equally as brown and messy as Dave - both had a vague tangle of hair, torn clothes and various stains - but I had learned to expect this from long term travellers. He also seemed laid back and cheerful but of a quieter disposition, more prone to sit back and observe.
I also exchanged brief introductions with Danni and Trish - too brief to get a feel for them as people. What I could tell however was that Danni was very attractive - a slim blonde girl with long hair and fair skin. I knew that I wanted to talk more with her but resolved not to aim to take a seat next to her on our first dinner. I did not want to look so keen to get to know the one single young blonde over all other the other passengers. There was plenty of time.
Trish was also pretty. But she tended to speak mainly in jest, which I understand can serve to lighten the tone of first encounters but for me makes it difficult to get a handle on what they are feeling at that point. It's a sociable smokescreen.
Dave asked the girls what clothes they had packed to wear. His task was to tell us what we needed to know for our own safety and for the girls this included some things that Danni didn't much like, namely that the bulk of her wardrobe shouldn't be worn in public. Apparently something called a singlet wasn't "appropriate" and short shorts were also out. Danni reacted to this like she might to the stereotypical father telling her, "no way are you going out dressed like that young lady", with grumbles and a plans on how to get round the prohibitions after Dave had left. She planned to wear her singlet anyway and see how it went. I informed her that with men by her side she would get stares and photos but nothing more. The women I'd met at the B&B faced similar problems. One responded by consistently dressing with covered arms and legs and always travelling in the women's carriage and the other wore what she wanted and said she didn't mind the attentions.
Freddie arrived late and mid trip intro chat introduced himself to everyone including some Indians who just happened to be sitting nearby. I think he knew what he was doing but pretended to be oblivious to the conventions of our meeting. He then made the request to Dave, "please move your lips", seconds later repeating it to Frenchie. He also repeated the same story about working for the supermarket emptying Bourbon bottles. We had identified the truck joker.
After the meeting we went for dinner. Like the evening before, this was at a touristy upmarket restaurant, surprisingly similar to those at home - both serving rich, heavy, ample meat curry. The curry tasted better and there was a wider range of choices (Tikka Marsala and Rogan Josh were still on the menu however) but very similar otherwise. This was not what had hoped for from the local food - it was inferior to my own and my Indian friend's creations. However this was just the beginning - better was to come.
That evening I became better acquainted with Jan and John, a couple from New Zealand. John had a strange manner. He could often be observed staring into space in a fixed manner (unlike my own staring into space, which tends to wander frequently according to fleeting whim unless a particularly pressing thought takes me and I forget my surroundings). When I talked to him, he would fix that intense stare on myself and talk quietly, earnestly and urgently, usually about some thing that I ought to know that he surmised that I do not. He was friendly, warm and not arrogant, so I would listen as intently as he spoke, though sometimes losing the thread of what he was telling me and why. From left to right the people below are Jan, John, Lutz, unknown waiter and Freddie.
Paul, a twenty one year old man from Vancouver and the only other independent male traveller below sixty on the truck, sat to the right of me. He's craning his neck backwards because he wrongly assumed I didn't want him in my photo.
When I and other passengers asked him, "what do you do back home?", he was in the habit of repeating the question to himself in an amused tone. "What do I do back home... well, I used to be an Arts student, and I'm thinking of studying Sciences, but at the moment I'm mainly working in construction". Judging from that. Canadian education sounds terribly broad. Focus is needed sometimes, but failing that one can always go to India for a few months.
I tried to strike up a conversation with him but it frequently petered out. We didn't have much in common and we found it difficult to understand one another. We both speak quietly and with contrary accents.
I went to bed not much the wiser about my new truckmates, but was prepared to bide my time and learn slowly. I had thirty nine days to spend with them and India.
Stephen
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