I have awakened "early again" except that it is 4:30 am instead of 2 am. Making progress on the jet lag, but I have had alot of time to study the bathroom as I spend these morning hours among fluffed up pillows in the bathtub reading the rest of the novel I started. (I will address my obligatory bathroom review later. This was a nice one.)
Tucker was correct in remembering that my garment arrived at 11:30 last evening. I was measured for my costume at 11:30 am two days previously. That's service. (It would get better in Simla.) He did mistake the name for my new Indian dress. It is called a choodidar and is a long tunic slit to the hip and worn over leggings that fit tightly about the lower leg, accompanied by a long chiffon scarf. I chose an emerald green silk fabric with a black and gold border and an overall small gold medallion design. This is one of the most comfortable garments I have ever worn, once one gets used to how to manage the six foot scarf. The top of the leggings are very loose and held with a drawstring. The Indian women know how to dress comfortably, look feminine and make a peacock statement. I was fascinated by the bold colors and patterns that I could see everyday and in every way. They wear saris to do laundry in the river and carry baskets of produce home on their heads from the market. Or a choodidar or salwar kameez to run daily errands or have lunch with a friend. Their preference for oranges, magentas, bright pinks, lime greens and turquoise blues was an electrifying feast for the eyes if you have been on a steady diet of LL Bean khaki or Eddie Bauer faded blue.
We eat at 1911 in the hotel. It has a fabulous breakfast buffet every morning, which includes an omelet station, REALLY freshly squeezed orange juice and everything else that either a British or Indian resident might covet for their start to the day. And then we return to the emporium to exchange some saris that I bought for use as window treatments when we get home. Haggling over goods in an open market is very difficult for a Westerner accustomed to fixed prices and labels which disclose everything including the number of the inspection agent!! Having nothing to reference and very little on the internet to give one guidance in these matters, I resort to translating rupees into dollars and then comparing what I know about the price of said object in the States. If it is better than at home and of equal quality, than I don't care if I am contributing more than my fair share to the local economy. The problem comes when you suddenly get to REALLY interact with a helpful "salesperson". You will be shown dozens, if not hundreds of items (in this case, yards of fabric and all types of fabric), and you will always be given the pitch to buy multiples in order to save money. This is done at a regular clip, which is far too fast for a foreigner who is still trying to compute costs on the first item. I found myself instinctively trying to be way too polite and accommodating than is reasonable for this system of doing business. It takes practice to be a bargainer and "play the game" so that everyone feels satisfied at the end. More than a few weeks. So I became overwhelmed with trying to "feel out" my responsibility in the process and didn't really take the time to look at all my options and choose the fabric I really wanted. And I obsessed over this in the bathtub while trying to read. The good news is that there wasn't a problem exchanging the saris for ones I preferred. And I'm sure that I paid too much and am ashamed of that now. But I knew nothing at the beginning and am lousy at bargaining in someone else's arena. We will find out later on in our excursion through Rahjastan, that the guides counted on us not having enough time to bargain properly. They were obviously getting kickbacks. Too bad, because we were just getting to be better at the haggle.
We return to the hotel and then head out for Connaught Circle, which is really 3 concentric circular streets. Picture a bullseye in the center of town and you have the feeling of this space, which is a middle class shopping area and business center. That means that the cement cubicle that houses the enterprise has a window or screening on the front opening. There were pharmacies, motorcycle dealers, appliance repair centers, hair salons and a McDonald's. We went in for a Coke. There was a large flat screen TV behind a group of young people that displayed Indian music videos. McDonald's in India offers tandoori burgers and an aloo pateen wrap. We passed.
Instead, we take a long, slow walk back to the hotel. Both of us are in heaven. India TV at its best with plenty of time to digest, look, feel and smell the world on this special spot. Hawkers display rugs and saris over fences, women in saris are helping to build a new store by carrying bricks and mortar (on a board balanced on their heads) up a rickety bamboo ladder, horns blast all around us in an effort to get us to give up our two feet of walking space and children follow us everywhere in an effort to practice their English well enough to get a few rupees for the trinkets they are trying to sell. I love, love, love this part of travel. Meditation in Motion. Sensory bombardment.
Back at the hotel. A Kingfisher beer (excellent) and a late lunch on the outdoor patio of the Imperial. Behind the wall one can hear the noise and desperation of Delhi street life. At the same time one can feast on seafood ragout and white chocolate coconut cake. We don't have a clue yet about what great food and atmosphere there is to be had here. The Spice Route will be our gift from the You-Deserve-A-Perfect-Day gods. (we'll save that for tomorrow)
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