New Delhi's fog, or why haven't you tried couchsurfing yet.
Dawn in New Delhi. The plane arrived with more than two hours of
delay. I didn't know the local time, so I couldn't calculate how late
I was. It was 6 am. in India; 2:30. I was tired, a bit of jet lag. I
still felt confident. “Everything was gonna be alright.”
I could have done like some students from the ashram: spent some
hours of layover in New Delhi and take another plane to Indore; then
asked for someone to pick me up in the airport and get to the ashram
safe and sound. But then... what could I write about today?
The district looked darker than I expected for the capital of the
country with the highest population density in the world.
“Airports are usually outside of the city. It is okay if you
don't see so many lights.” I thought.
But the
truth was that, at that time, whatever I expected was far from what I
was heading to.
New Delhi airport is pretty cool. Everyone takes the same photo of
the huge mudras above the passport queue. Nice temperature, not so
many people, quite European indeed. I had already forgotten that was
6 am. I crossed the check desk, got a beautiful stamp in my visa and
remained calmed about the couch-surfer that was going to pick me up.
I wasn't realizing how much I was depending on him. Thanks again,
Jitinder.
I went to the baggage belt and waited patiently. It is always the
same feeling: your luggage is not gonna appear, your luggage is
always one of the last ones, your luggage is lost. Always this
feeling until your luggage appear, or until you realize that all
the people from your flight are gonna and your luggage is actually in
Moscow. Anyhow, my travel just had begun, why should I piss off
that soon?
Still calm, I gave my data to the airport worker and helped a Spanish
couple that was in the same situation.
“Well, it will come soon” I thought. Nothing else to do in
the airport. Drink a little bit more of water from that tap that says
“Drinkable water” and crossed the door looking for my
savior.
----
I will add a small note encouraging Couchsurfing here. (If you don't know what is Couchsurfing, click here.) Couchsurfing
has been my savior. I didn't published my chronicles from my trip
to Morocco, but there was one factor that made the trip an
unforgettable experience: Couchsurfing. Thanks to Couchsurfing, I
have discovered that the people living in developing countries are
way nicer and hospitable than those who lived in developed ones. My
experience is mostly limited to Morocco and India for the former, and
Europe for the latter. In both countries, I have cried from
gratitude, I have cried from unfairness, and I have awed at
the hospitality and kindness of their people. Couchsurfing opens
a whole new world about what traveling means. Being with locals made
trips safer, cheaper and purer. I have to admit that most of what I
know about India is thanks to what couchsurfers have taught me. I
have been in their homes, eaten their food, slept in their beds, wore
their clothes, been transported in their motorbikes and cars, and
been loved by their hearts. I cannot put my gratitude into words.
In India it is said that “The guest is God”
(Atithi Devo Bhava), and I can assure
Indians treat you like if you were. Even when knowing that you are
not more than a foreigner. In Morocoo, Islam teaches something
similar. I witnessed it when I was bathed in a hammam by a friend I
had met the day before. Remember the last time you bath someone, or
someone bath you.
If you keep on reading, I will reveal another anecdote that makes
justice about these lovely culture. A story that should make us
realize how wonderful can be a human being grown up in the right
context. Or how despicable he can become.
So, please, don't do it for you, but do it for the world: open a
Couchsurfing account (clicking here) and use it. As a host or as a guest, but use it
as much as possible, and break all your misconceptions about what
human being means.
----
Suddenly, I realized the amount of artificial comfort that the air
conditioning was creating. A humid wave of heat hit my face and my
body instantly. The airport had been a quite aseptic experience. I
was in India. Actually, It was the first time in my life that I
was in India, in Asia. And I only only had a small backpack with
less than some basic stuff. Thanks to the help of the airport worker,
I could have called Jitinder that was getting to his third hour of
waiting in the airport. He and his brother had actually saved me.
But I didn't know it yet.
We got into the car. The steering wheel was at the right. A gift
from the British, I thought. Better to look a cool and
experienced travel and don't comment it. Somehow, none in the car
strapped ourselves in, but anyone paid the least attention to the
detail.
I was starting to freaking out with the streets. Jitinder was telling
me that it was 5 a.m. And there weren't people in the street. But I
saw them. I saw people sleeping on the streets, sleeping on the
rickshaws, pushing carts full of fruits, walking in the highway,
driving cars and motorbikes. I kept on recording, making clear that I
was a complete tourist.
-Everything is so different. I
repeated amazed.
-This is nothing. You will see it today in New Delhi
Half demolished old buildings. Or maybe new ones that were left
unfinished. Cows in the roads. Mountains of garbage. Nonexistent
sidewalks. Half paved roads. All of it smothered by the bluish dust of a dawn in New Delhi. A dust cloud that wants to become a
London fog, but it cannot. New Delhi's fog it's not composed by
condensed water, mystery stories, and economist yawns. New Delhi's'
fog is made out of dirt, pollution and dry hopes. A dust cloud of 17
million people, one third of the population of Spain. A district of
11 thousand people per square meter, twice the population density of
Madrid.
And it is
still funny that I was excited, amused and thinking that everything
was gonna be okay.