The Best Way to Explore Delhi’s Old Quarter

A Muslim prays on one of the many mats in Delhi's Jama Masjid mosque

Grab a bicycle rickshaw and know the best time to get to the Jama Masjid mosque.

 

We enjoyed breakfast at the Amici Cafe, adjacent to the Bloomrooms Hotel. This is where I discovered the Amul Dairy Girl on a single-serve packet of butter and where my mild obsession began. She’s the offspring of a ’60s Fisher-Price Little People toy and a rosy-cheeked, cherub-faced Campbell Kid.

After breakfast, we asked the concierge about transportation to the Old Quarter. The hotel has its own travel service conveniently located above the café, which in affiliation with the Delhi Tourism & Transportation Initiative, offers fixed rates. We were able to get a car and driver for the day for about $28.

“We were able to get a car and driver for the day for about $28.”

Heading to Old Delhi

Arriving at the parking lot behind the Red Fort, our driver called a cycle rickshaw over, explaining to us that this was the best method to get to the Jama Masjid mosque and see the Old Quarter.

Initially we were hesitant to accept, believing we could walk, but once we caught a glimpse of the dense, chaotic Sunday market surrounding the outer perimeter of the walled city, we agreed that this was the most practical/least stressful way to traverse the congested interior.

Our driver introduced himself. He was a friendly man named Mohammed. Clearly it's not easy to pedal with two men as passengers. Wally apologized by telling him that we both had big breakfasts.

Mohammed asked if we were married. For the sake of avoiding offense and to reduce any confusion in such a conservative country, I answered yes. When asked if I had any children, my reply was no, which was met with a look of puzzlement, so I recovered by saying “two jobs,” which wasn't exactly a lie, as both Wally and I work. He paused for a moment, after which he told us that he has three children — two boys and one girl.

En route to the Jama Masjid, we passed a restaurant named Sunny Lala Chicken Wallah, possibly named after local entrepreneur Lala Chunna Mal. That made me chuckle.

We arrived, dismounted the rickshaw and were approached by two scrappy little boys who tugged at our shirtsleeves and attempted to sell us stickers.

Jama Masjid (Friday Mosque)

Built in 1650, India’s largest mosque takes its name from the congregation that gathers to worship in its great courtyard on Fridays, the Muslim day of prayer.

We arrived shortly before 10 a.m., as the mosque is closed to non-Muslims between 12 to 2 p.m. We ascended the steps to the main entrance and removed our shoes prior to entering.

The mosque is constructed upon a natural elevation and rises high above the narrow streets. It is spectacular, if only in its sense of scale, and served as a soldier’s camp during British rule. –Duke

Welcome to India: The Most Intense Smells, Sounds and Sights

Wally and Duke got about a hundred pictures taken by a man at the Jama Masjid mosque in Delhi, India. This was the only one that came out OK

Arriving in Delhi, overwhelmed with wood smoke, honking horns and colorfully painted goods carrier trucks.

We arrived at the Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi, India at 1:30 a.m. from our layover in Heathrow. I had added the cities we were visiting to my iPhone weather app prior to our arrival and will admit I was wholly unfamiliar with the weather condition of “smoke.” It turned out to be a soupy haze caused by assorted pollutants.

Once we had passed through customs, collected our luggage and exited the airport, it hits you. The air was acrid and thick with the aroma of sandalwood incense. Overpowering the incense is wood smoke from cooking fires, burnt plastic, dust and diesel exhaust punctuated by a cacophony of honking horns.

“Wood smoke from cooking fires, burnt plastic, dust and diesel exhaust are punctuated by a cacophony of honking horns.”

Horn OK Please!

On our way to our hotel, we passed colorfully detailed Goods Carrier vehicles. These trucks, which are compact in size, reminded me of carnival-style food trailers. Many of them have hanging brass bells adorning their bumpers and occasionally threads of tinsel added for good measure. One of the trucks had an inscription painted in bright blue shadowed in white on its back bumper exclaiming, “Love Speed Great India 40km.” Our driver told us that trucks are only allowed to use the highways at night.

These vehicles have their permit, the AIP (All India Permit), which allows the holder to drive throughout the country, painted on the side of the truck. Occasionally this stylization appears like a yin yang, reminiscent of the Pepsi-Cola logo but in the tricolor of the national flag of India: saffron, white and green.

Stainless steel organic-looking sculptures emerged in clusters along the highway. Added to the AIIMS flyover during the 2010 Commonwealth Games and designed by sculptor Vibhor Sogani for Jindal Stainless, they appeared like highly polished steel bean sprouts.

Powder blue police barricades with red plastic tube LED lights strung atop separate lanes were painted messages like the following: “True we slow you down. But we try not to let criminals slip by.” A steaming vat of tar simmered alongside, undoubtedly contributing to the aforementioned nasal miasma. –Duke

Oh India! Why We Decided to Finally Give India a Try

George, Duke and Wally enjoying pre-dinner drinks at the Mews at Udai Bilas Palace, our hotel in Dungarpur, India

Purchasing guidebooks to India and suffering the side effects of malaria pills.

 

When Wally received an email in early September 2014 from our friend George, inviting us to visit him in India, we agreed to make it our next adventure.

India had been on both of our shortlists of places to go and having a friend there made the decision a no-brainer. Plus we decided to plan the trip for the dead of winter, which would give us a much-needed reprieve from the cold, gray days of February in Chicago.

“India is an expansive country comparable in size to the United States.”

Wally purchased travel guides (DK and Lonely Planet) while I began researching online. We also got the informative and detailed Blue Guide India by Sam Miller from the Chicago Public Library. Together, over the following three months, we mercilessly altered and tweaked our itinerary in hopes of reducing the amount of time spent traveling. After all, we only had 12 days, two of which would be lost getting there and back. India is an expansive country comparable in size to the United States.

Bitter Pills to Swallow

Two days prior to leaving for our trip, we began taking our daily dose of Malarone, an oral malaria preventative. After swallowing the first tablet, I felt my stomach cramp and was convinced they were giving me the shits.

Wally’s experience was different. He thought it caused him to produce an excessive flow of saliva, and by the second dose I felt it, too.

In addition to the above, we both experienced some of the more common side effects:

• Mouth sores

• Shortness of breath

• Strange dreams

I had a curious dream where my niece morphed into a combination of an Ewok and our calico cat. As she is black, Wally remarked that my subconscious is racist.

I countered that Ewoks are soft, fuzzy and cute. But he wasn't buying it. –Duke

8 Tips to Get the Best Deals at a Moroccan Souk

The souk in Marrakesh, Morocco is just off of the large square in the media, Jemaa el-Fnaa.

Bargaining and haggling are a time-honored tradition when shopping at markets. Just make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.

Duke and I are unabashed consumers. When we’re on vacation, we’ll hit the markets once or even twice a day if possible. So let’s just say we’ve had plenty of practice bargaining for the best price. I also play hardball (our guide on our trip to the Sahara, Barack, saw me in action and was so impressed, he dubbed me an honorary Berber).

Haggling for everything you buy (food aside) can be exhausting. But it’s part of the culture in Morocco, and vendors look forward to a lively contest of wills. Follow these steps, and chances are you’ll get a good deal when shopping the souks.

“Our guide saw me in action and was so impressed, he dubbed me an honorary Berber.”

1. Scope out the sitch. 

Start out with a reconnaissance mission. When you see something you’re interested in, ask how much it is, as casually as possible. Then make a mental note and move on. Quickly. 

You’ll often see similar items at other stalls, so it’s good to have perspective, to see if you’re getting ripped off.

That being said, if you see something you really want, snag it. You never know if you’ll find it again. Souks are labyrinthine, and there’s no guarantee you can retrace your steps another day. 

2. Speak French if you know it. 

Most vendors speak French as well as an impressive amount of English and phrases from Spanish and other languages. I’m not sure that all vendors assume Americans are rich and charge more — but it sure seemed that way. I definitely scored better deals when they couldn’t quite pin down my nationality. 

And don’t worry about being fluent in French. Remember, it’s their second language, too, so you can meet in the middle, skill-wise.

3. Be aggressive if need be. 

It’s not uncommon to be inside a narrow stall, looking around and then, when you turn to leave, find the merchant blocking your path. He might have something he’s shoving in your face, trying to excite your interest.

I found that there were times when I literally had to grab a vendor's shoulder and push him out of the way in order to leave.

Note that we traveled with our friend Vanessa, who said the men didn’t accost her in this way. So it might (hopefully) just be a “guy thing.”

4. Shop on Friday — despite what you’ve been told. 

Everyone told us the souk would be closed on Friday, that everyone’s at the mosque. Well, Duke and I couldn’t resist just seeing if anyone was open — and sure enough, in the Marrakech souk, we found that about a quarter of the stalls weren't closed. Instead of the usual hustle and bustle, the passageways were relatively quiet, and we scored some great deals, as shopkeeps knew business would be slow.

5. Use this formula. 

OK, let’s get down to the nitty gritty. How much should you pay? Here’s what I do: Think about what you’d pay at a store back home. Then divide that in half. You won’t be ripping anyone off, and you’ll be getting a great deal — which you deserve by eliminating the middleman. 

On our last day in Marrakech, we found a fertility doll from Cameroon, covered in beads and horn and metal bangles, that we simply had to have. It wouldn’t surprise me to a see a museum-quality handicraft from Africa like this for $70 back in the States. (Indeed, a Google search revealed prices upwards of $100.) So I divided $70 in two, and decided I’d like to end up at $35. 

6. Ignore their opening bid. 

In most places I’ve been, the shopkeeps start with a reasonable offer and you can end up with a decent price by meeting in the middle. Not so in Morocco. They’ll try to get as much out of you as possible. So don’t even listen to the first number they throw out there.

With the fertility doll, the young man started at $200. By this point, I knew better than to even pay attention. I countered with $20. Yes, that seems ridiculous, right? But if they’re being ridiculous, you can be ridiculous right back.

7. Give yourself some wiggle room. 

After you’ve figured out what you want to pay, go a bit lower. After all, you need to come up a bit, act as if you’re conceding, unable to escape the vendor’s wiliness. He wants to feel as if he’s won on some level. 

Our fertility doll vendor offered the equivalent of $45 and wouldn’t budge. 

8. Walk away. 

This is an especially successful tactic in Morocco. (Not so much in India, btw, where we said goodbye to many an item.) Even though we were just above what I wanted to pay for the doll, I shook my head and dragged a reluctant Duke away. 

“We could pay $45!” he pleaded. 

But I can be merciless. “We’ll go halfway down the block,” I told him. “And if he doesn’t chase after us, we’ll go back and get it for $45.”

We had gotten only 20 feet away before the young man chased after us, grabbing my arm. 

“What’s your final offer?”

I pretended to think about it. “We really don’t need it… $35 is my final offer.”

“OK. OK,” he caved. “You’re getting great deal.”

Yes. Yes, I was. –Wally

Travel to Marrakech, Morocco

The modern façade of the Marrakech Menara Airport casts gorgeous lace-like shadows

Long flights on cheap airlines can be a "plane" in the ass — but the excitement you feel upon arrival makes it all worth while.

Our overnight flight from Chicago to Madrid, Spain wasn't terribly long. But like our previous trip on Air Iberia, it was a sleepless one.

This time, however, the woman hopped up on medication who spoke loud enough for the entire cabin to hear her was replaced by a group of boisterous, flash photo-snapping Spanish nuns.

“I couldn’t believe it — we were in Africa!”

One of the nuns had a confounding method of sleeping: She knelt on the floor facing her seat, a pillow set beneath her knees with her face pushed into the bottom of the seat.

Every now and then I glanced over a few aisles ahead, where our friend Vanessa was sitting. The guy sitting next to her was watching a strange soft-core porn movie on his laptop.

The layover in Barcelona was five hours, but our connecting gate to Marrakech was revealed a mere 30 minutes prior to departure. We were informed that our gate had been moved to the opposite end of the terminal. We ran from one end of the terminal to the other — only to be told our plane was actually leaving from where we had just come.

Once aboard, Wally, Vanessa and I collapsed in exhaustion into a brief bit of fitful sleep.

We awoke to a coy wee German boy named Otto, who was playing a game of peekaboo with us. He held a deflated white balloon, which he would dangle in front of us while we feigned being unable to catch it.

Eventually Wally grew bored with this ruse and caught hold of the balloon, and as it snapped back, Otto squealed excitedly, “Nein! Nein! Nein!”

Bienvenue à Morocco!

When we arrived at the Marrakech airport and exited the plane, a warm breeze washed over us. We were surrounded by clear blue skies and sun. I couldn’t believe it — we were in Africa! (Even if it was the most northwesterly part of Africa.)

We entered the faded pink stucco terminal from the tarmac. Inside, the ceiling was low and contained columns covered with beautiful zellij, brightly colored tiles with intricate geometric patterns.

We filled out our immigration forms and waited in line to have our passports approved and stamped.

A brief walk brought us into the modern expansion to the airport, where the terminal expands into a brilliant white canopy that soars overhead. The tendrils of arabesque-etched panels pierce the ceiling, casting a mix of light and shadow across the floor.

We could feel the excitement in the air as we picked up our bags and were met by our driver.

Moments later we were passing the ancient sun-baked ramparts of the medina — the original walled city, en route to our Moroccan adventure. –Duke