Today I hit the town with Mr. Singh, my friends' reliable and very knowledgeable taxi driver. He is a Sikh, so wears a turban and he tells me that his hair is 2 and a half feet long, having never ever cut it. He also speaks five languages: Punjabi, Hindi, English, Japanese, and Russian. He was wonderful, driving me all over the place and waiting for me at each stop. All of this for around $20 for the day
My first stop was Qutb Minar, a minaret and one of the first monuments of Islamic rule here. It and the surrounding structures are examples of early Afghan architecture. It is 73 meters high and very impressive. So of course I was taking plenty of pictures and then a series of funny events began to take place. I was taking a photo of one gateway through which a group of Indians was descending. When they noticed me taking a photo, they all started waving and shouting. As they approached me they smiled and asked me to take their picture. I obliged, of course, though utterly confused. Did they expect this to be a polaroid that I could print out for them to take home? No. They just wanted me to take their picture. Next, as I approached the monument an Indian woman encouraged her kids to gather around me so they could take my photo with them. Again, confusing but entertaining at the same time. Being the cautious tourist who had heard so many horror stories, I had in the back of my mind that I was being distracted in order to have something sneakily removed from my person. Nope. None of this. Just pictures. There were several school girls visiting the monument as well and pockets of them would approach me from time to time to say hello or ask me to take their picture. I think in some cases they just wanted to try out their English. One random guy took my picture with his cell phone. I felt a little like an animal at the zoo. Not offended, just highly entertained. My theory is that these people are exotic looking to me, so perhaps I am exotic looking to them. My hosts tell me it might be a status thing, like Westerners are considered worldly. I don't know. In any case, it was one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had as a tourist. I can only imagine what they might say when they show this picture to their friends. Will they pass me off as some distant cousin from America?
My first stop was Qutb Minar, a minaret and one of the first monuments of Islamic rule here. It and the surrounding structures are examples of early Afghan architecture. It is 73 meters high and very impressive. So of course I was taking plenty of pictures and then a series of funny events began to take place. I was taking a photo of one gateway through which a group of Indians was descending. When they noticed me taking a photo, they all started waving and shouting. As they approached me they smiled and asked me to take their picture. I obliged, of course, though utterly confused. Did they expect this to be a polaroid that I could print out for them to take home? No. They just wanted me to take their picture. Next, as I approached the monument an Indian woman encouraged her kids to gather around me so they could take my photo with them. Again, confusing but entertaining at the same time. Being the cautious tourist who had heard so many horror stories, I had in the back of my mind that I was being distracted in order to have something sneakily removed from my person. Nope. None of this. Just pictures. There were several school girls visiting the monument as well and pockets of them would approach me from time to time to say hello or ask me to take their picture. I think in some cases they just wanted to try out their English. One random guy took my picture with his cell phone. I felt a little like an animal at the zoo. Not offended, just highly entertained. My theory is that these people are exotic looking to me, so perhaps I am exotic looking to them. My hosts tell me it might be a status thing, like Westerners are considered worldly. I don't know. In any case, it was one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had as a tourist. I can only imagine what they might say when they show this picture to their friends. Will they pass me off as some distant cousin from America?
After this, Mr. Singh took me to a couple of indoor markets, which are not unlike souvenir shops in the U.S, where every kind of souvenir native to the area can be found. The first one was reasonably priced and they were very nice, promising "no pressure" even though the guy followed me around to every corner of the store. He almost had me sold, but I was pretty sure I could get better deals on the street. The second market was very upscale, where apparently people from the embassy shop. This translates to ridiculously overpriced. Here I learned to tell the difference between what a real pashmina scarf should feel like and what a cheap one feels like, however, so that was worthwhile. I didn't buy anything until I got to another market where the shops are separate. Women's clothes here are both beautiful and practical, made for the climate and the cultural norms. I am planning on stocking up so as to blend in a bit more.
Someone who has been to India on several occasions told me that I would know if I loved India or hated it within the first 48 hours. It is a land of contrasts - rich and poor, chaotic and peaceful - and I love it. Again, I 'm sure that part of this has to do with my introduction to it, in dribs and drabs and with insider information, but it's beautiful. I think it's like the traffic here; you just have to know how to maneuver through it.
Qutb Minar with the sun behind and a bird soaring above.
Detail on the monument.
Some of the sweet school girls who wanted their picture taken.
Oh no! I have just made a mental note: Upon her return, do not wear my "pashmina" near Mel . . .
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