One of the first things I noticed when I settled into my 11th floor Vancouver hotel room was the sound of silence. It was the first time I had experienced silence in more than a month, other than for a few brief moments at Sanchi in the Indian countryside.
There was no sound of honking horns and infernal motorcycles revving. No shouted conversations in the hall outside my door. No screaming babies. No fireworks. I was definitely no longer in India. I realized how much I missed silence.
I was, however, dazed and tired. I hadn’t slept properly since my last night in Agra. Although it was still Friday in Vancouver, it was now Saturday in India, and I hadn’t properly slept since the night of Wednesday-Thursday. I managed a few hours of semi-dozing on both planes, but I can never sleep properly in those uncomfortable, cramped economy class plane seats.
I spent Thursday morning packing and organizing and doing a bit of picture sorting, but didn’t do any sightseeing that last morning in Agra. When I took a tuk-tuk to Agra Cantonment railway station, the driver, who was the same one who took me around on Tuesday, insisted on taking me to one marble store – not to buy, but because he gets his tuk-tuk subsidized to the tune of 50 rupees ($1) at day by the shop for bringing tourists regularly. As I was early, I reluctantly agreed.
My train to Delhi was late by more than an hour, though I wasn’t panicking because I had a good cushion of time with my flight leaving around 1:45 a.m. Still, it was frustrating when the train got later and later as we sat on sidings waiting for other trains to pass. That’s a big problem with Indian Railways – there often aren’t enough tracks so when two trains need the track at the same time, one has to wait at a previous station or elsewhere on a siding. As a result, once a train is late, it gets later and later because it is now off schedule and has to move aside for trains that are running on time.
Fortunately, the train was relatively empty in two-tier air conditioned class and I could stretch out on an upper bunk and relax for the trip.
My ticket was not to one of the main Delhi stations, but to Hazrat Nizamudden on Delhi’s south side, but not too far from New Delhi. As usual, I was pounced on by tuk-tuk and taxi touts as I stepped out of the station, but I brushed them aside and headed to one of the tuk-tuks in line that had a more honest looking driver.
I told him I wanted to go to New Delhi metro station, the terminal for the airport metro line, but during the ride he convinced me it would be better for both me and him to go to the next station on the line and avoid the busy traffic around New Delhi station. He was communicating with me in Hindi, and although I didn’t understand everything, I got the gist. He seemed impressed that I was speaking to him in my broken Hindi.
The metro, or subway, was slick, modern and uncrowded – probably the most clean and modern facility I have seen in India, where most things are aging, dirty and breaking down. Very soon I was at the international terminal of Indira Gandhi International Airport.
I had plenty of time, but it took time to grab a meal, check in, go through security, clear immigration and do all the other airport stuff. At last I was on my All Nippon Airways (ANA) flight and taking off only a few minutes late.
It was with very mixed feelings that I was leaving India. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my trip, and despite all its challenges, I love India. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. But those challenges do wear you down, and I was looking forward to being in a clean environment with no touts and no need to argue over prices on many purchases.
I had a young Japanese man beside me on the flight who was reading a book in English, but we only conversed a little as we flew by the magnificent snow-capped Mount Fuji in the final minutes before Tokyo. Most of the time I tried, with very limited success, to doze and get some much-needed sleep.
It felt good to have the Japanese flight staff, who bowed and were flawlessly polite, despite most having not so good English skills. Ideas about politeness are so different between Japan and India, where people push, butt in and generally just take care of themselves.
In Tokyo, several times people said “sorry” when we collided, even though it was largely my fault for carrying all my luggage. One policeman who gave me police emergency contact information at Tokyo’s Narita Airport, apologized most humbly for then asking to do a brief security check of my passport and travel details. I can’t recall ever before having a policeman apologize for such a thing.
Despite only having spent a day in Tokyo on my way to India, it felt like I was coming home. I took the Narita Express train from the airport to Tokyo Station in downtown Tokyo, about a one-hour trip through farmland and rather depressing looking suburban houses. I noted that vehicles even drove in their proper lanes. At one point, a network of monorail tracks crossed over the train tracks and a couple of times we passed other trains going in our direction on different tracks. No waiting on sidings for other trains to pass.
From Tokyo Station, I got the Yamanote train, which fortunately wasn’t yet crowded, to Hamamatsucho, the terminal for the monorail to Haneda Airport. This is also the station near hotel I stayed at when I arrived in January, so I decided to check my bag and go out to a restaurant I had eaten at before. This was the one where you enter your order on a computer screen when you walk into the restaurant and they bring it to you at one of the counters.
I was very hungry after the meagre airplane snacks so I ordered one of the larger dishes on the menu and got a heaping bowl of steamed vegetables, noodles and seafood with a number of sauces on the side ranging from soya to ginger. A very nice break from curries everyday.
I had originally planned to try to grab some sleep in a capsule hotel for a few hours, but by the time I got to Haneda Airport, I decided it wasn’t really worth it because I would need time to check in and do all the security and immigration stuff.
The flight to Vancouver was uneventful. We briefly passed into Saturday, February 28 before crossing the International Dateline and losing a day, going back to early morning of Friday, February 27, the same day I started out in Delhi.
At last I spotted the shoreline of Vancouver Island and smaller nearby islands and then some snow-capped mountains. Soon we flew up over the Fraser River before doing a sharp 180-degree turn and flying back to approach YVR Airport from the east.
Even clearing immigration was a breeze. You just put your passport on a scanner, insert your customs declaration and take the receipt and printed scan of the declaration to a CBSA official, who just glanced at it and waved me through.
In no time, I was through the airport and stepping onto the Skytrain to head downtown.
My hotel was assigned to me by Hotwire.com, where you don’t know what you’re getting until after you pay. All you know is the rough area and hotel class. In exchange for shopping blind with no cancellations allowed, you get a great price. I ended up in a nice suite with a balcony at the Coast Plaza Hotel and Suites right in Vancouver’s downtown West End, in the heart of the gay village. It’s a nice area with all kinds of shops and a wide spectrum of restaurants and is a pleasant change from the more sleazy Granville area I’ve usually stayed in.
With my internal clock all out of wack, I only got a few hours of good sleep, but it was sleep nonetheless. Today, Saturday, I pick up my car in Surrey and head back to Osoyoos.