Indian Eats

After the previous two posts I needed to write about something positive, that being how much I've enjoyed the food here in India. It was after all one of the main reasons why I chose to travel to this country.

Unsurprisingly, most of the vocabulary that I have picked up here is related to food.

Some examples:

Paneer (Indian Cheese)
Aloo (Potato)
Dal (Lentils)
Ghobi (Cauliflower)
Jeera (Cumin)
Mater (Peas)
Palak (Spinach)
Murgh (Chicken)

I love the variety of dishes. I love the aromatic spices. I love ripping off a piece of warm naan, wrapping it around a piece of curry-coated chicken, cheese, or vegetable, and popping that delicious morsel in my mouth.

Vegetables, lentils, rice, and naan.

Tandoori Chicken

Palak Paneer, Aloo Ghobi, Mixed Vegetables

Thali - a variety of dishes served on a round tray.

        

Heaven

When I eventually return home, I will absolutely be cooking the dishes I've tried here. That's something I'm really looking forward to.

Lessons Learned in Delhi ("Poop on the Shoe" Scam)

(The actual scam is described near the end of this entry.)

Before I had even finished the entry about the scam at Lake Pushkar, I found myself involved in another. This time in Delhi.

First, I needed to apply for a Thai visa. You can obtain a 30-day tourist visa upon arrival at a Thai airport, but I plan on staying in Thailand for over two months. I checked the website of the Thai embassy in Delhi and made a phone call to their offices.They advised to come to their application center to apply for a visa. I tried looking for the building on a map.I knew the general area that it was in, but I was unsure of it’s exact location. I went down to the hotel reception and asked if I could book a taxi.

A man (I’m guessing the manager) got up from the couch behind me and walked over. “Where do you want to go?” he asked.

“I need to go to the Thai visa application center in Tolstoy House near Connaught Place,” I said pointing to my map.

He shook his head. “You don’t need a visa before going to Thailand.”

“If you are staying fewer than 30 days,” I said. “But I plan on staying for over two months. I was told that it would be best if I apply beforehand.”

“You don’t need to go. I’ve been to Thailand many times.”

“I would like to go.”

“O.K. You can go, but you shouldn’t go to Connaught Place. You need to go to the Thai Embassy in Chanakyapuri.” He took the map from my hands and pointed. “This is where all the embassies are located.” I saw that they were much further away from the hotel than Connaught Place.

“I checked the website for the visa application center and it said that it was located in Connaught Place.”

“The website is the website. You need to go to Chanakyapuri. But if you want, you can go to Connaught Place.”  

I sensed a feeling of doubt creeping over me. “How much would the taxi ride to Chanakyapuri cost?” I asked.

He thought about it for a moment. “Four hundred rupees.”

“And how much would it cost to go to Connaught Place?”

“Two hundred fifty rupees. Drop-off only.”

“I think that I should make a call. May I use the phone?”

“Go ahead.” He motioned for the man behind the desk to hand me the phone.

 It rang once. “Yes, hello. I would like to apply for a tourist visa today. Is the office I need to go to in Connaught Place?”

“Yes sir,” said the man on the other end.

“I don’t need to go to the Thai Embassy in Chanakyapuri.”

“No. The application center is in Tolstoy House at Connaught Place.”

“O.K. Thank you very much.”

I handed back the phone. “They just told me to go to Connaught Place. Can I have a taxi take me there?”

“Yes, it’s possible," the manager said. "Have a seat on the couch.”

I sat down and took out the documents required for my visa. I gave them one last check as I waited for the taxi.

Not much time had passed before a chubby, unshaven man entered the lobby.

“You. Taxi?” he said gruffly.

I got up quickly and followed him to the car. We had been driving for less than two minutes before I realized that something was missing from my pocket. Wallet!

“Take me back to the hotel, please.” I said trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Connaught Place then hotel?” he asked.

“No. Hotel now. Please!”

He huffed and turned the car around. Every second was mental torment. I had my credit card, debit card, and 10000 rupees in my wallet. Losing that would not be good.

When we got back I ran inside to where I had been sitting. I cannot describe the sense of relief that flooded over me when I saw that it was still there. I picked it up. As I turned around I noticed the man behind the reception desk was looking my way.

“Wallet.” I said with nervous laughter.

I got back inside the taxi and opened my wallet. The credit card was still there and so was the debit card. Four thousand rupees however, was missing.

“Now we go Connaught Place?” the driver asked.

I was really upset with myself. How could I have been so careless? I wanted to go back to the reception desk and ask the man if he had seen anything? He might have taken it.Maybe it was the manager. He didn’t appear very trustworthy. I made a mental list of suspects. Greg, you idiot. Why?!  I tried hard to not beat myself up too badly. I told myself that there were two scenarios. In one, my wallet and all of its contents were stolen. In the other, only 4000 rupees were taken. I am lucky that I only lost 4000 rupees and not everything. I felt a bit better.

“Now we go Connaught Place?” the driver asked again.

I let out a sigh. “Yes, please.”

“Where in Connaught Place? he asked.

“Tolstoy House. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” he said confidently. Based on previous experiences, I guessed that there was only a 50% chance that he was telling the truth.

He drove for just a little while. I saw many signs that read, “Connaught Place”, but I couldn’t see “Tolstoy House”. I could tell that the driver couldn’t either.

He stopped the car suddenly. “Wait here,” he instructed. He got out and jogged towards a large man with a mustache standing by the side of the road. The two spoke for a moment before waving me over.

“Now what?” I said to myself quietly.

I crossed the road and walked up to them. The large man took off his sunglasses and looked at me.

“Where would you like to go?” His English was very good.

“Tolstoy House. I would like to apply for a Thai visa. Their application center is located there,” I explained.

“You don’t need to get a visa before visiting Thailand. You can…”

“…get a 30-day visa upon arrival,” I said finishing his sentence. “But I plan on staying longer than two months. I was advised to apply for a tourist visa at Tolstoy House.”

“They don’t do visas there. Their offices have moved.”

“I called their office earlier and they told me that they were located at Tolstoy House in Connaught Place.”

“You can’t get a visa there,” he strongly insisted. “I can help you right now. Do you have your documents with you?”

I felt very uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I think I’ll go there just to check.” The driver looked at the mustached man and shrugged his shoulders.

The driver and I walked back to the car. He drove a little bit further. I noticed either a security guard or police officer standing beside the road.

“Stop over there please,” I requested, pointing in the direction of the uniformed man. I rolled down my window. “Hello. Can you please tell me where Tolstoy House is?”

“Take the next left. The building will be on your right.” I thanked him. He then repeated the directions in Hindi to the driver. I was relieved that we were almost there.

When we arrived at the building I checked with the driver about the cost of the ride. “Two hundred and fifty rupees, right?”

“Two-fifty, no. Five-fifty rupees. Go back to hotel. Wallet. Remember? Three hundred rupee service charge.”

I was stunned by his audacity. The frustration for having lost 4000 rupees was still very fresh. Being told to go to locations other than what the staff at the visa application center said was unsettling. This additional 300 rupee charge was really testing my patience.

“Going back to the hotel took two minutes. An extra three hundred rupees is ridiculous. Here is two hundred and fifty, “ I said handing him the money. I was going to tip him, but expecting me to pay double didn't put me in the giving mood.

He said something in Hindi under his breath. I’m guessing that it wasn’t nice.

I walked up to the building and asked the guard at the entrance if this was where I could apply for a Thai visa. He told me it was. Of course it is, Greg. It’s where the official website and staff member said it would be.

Besides an “equipment upgrade” that delayed the process for over an hour, the visa application was relatively painless compared to the other adventures I had been on that day. I was told that I could pick my passport up the following day.  

I knew that I wasn’t very far from my hotel. I certainly wasn’t 250 rupees away. As I left the building, I asked the same guard at the entrance where the nearest metro station was. It turns out that it was only five minutes away by foot.

As I was walking, a man came up to me and asked where I was going. He closely walked beside me. I immediately felt suspicious and carefully placed my hand over the pocket containing my wallet.

“The metro station,” I told him.  

“It is just over there sir,” he said with a smile. Walking off he told me to have a nice day. 

A few moments later, a man with a concerned face and what looked like a tool box came up to me, pointing at my shoe.

“Sir, your shoe! Your shoe!”

I looked down. On my right foot was a clumpy, runny, brown substance. Then the smell hit me. It wasn’t good. The man gently grabbed my elbow and guided me over to a grassy area.

“Oh no,” he said. I was wearing sport sandals and some of the what I can only assume was actual shit had flowed down through one of the openings and on to my exposed foot. I grit my teeth. This day has been fantastic.

The man took a cloth from out of his pocket and wiped the solids off. He asked me to take off my shoe. Taking out a brush, some water, and liquid soap from the box that he was carrying, he began cleaning my shit-covered sandal. He did the same for my foot.

“Thank you very much.” I said in a state of shock, too surprised to realize what was happening. When he was finished he stood up and said, “That will be one thousand rupees.”

 I shook my head. I could not believe my luck.

“I don’t have one thousand rupees,” I told him. I actually did have the money, but I knew that I was being cheated.

“I cleaned shit from off your shoe,” the man said with a raised voice. He stood up. “One thousand rupees is a good price.”

“Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.” I heard a voice from behind. The same man that had walked suspiciously close to me earlier came running over. “What is the problem?” he asked.

I explained the situation.

“How much is he charging?” he asked.

“One thousand rupees.”

“No, no. One thousand rupees is too high. Indian price is only five hundred. He is a lucky man to get that much.”

I handed the man a five hundred rupee note. In retrospect it is so clear how the two of them had conned me, but at that moment I was unable to think clearly due to the stress from having my money stolen, the shady taxi driver, the hour-plus delay at the visa application center, and now the shit on my shoe. I despondently handed over the money.

After gathering my thoughts I understood exactly what had just happened. By that time I was already on the crowded metro heading back to the hotel. God damn it.

Immediately when I got back to my room I googled, “poop on shoe scam.”  There were about two million results. I clicked on the first link. I read a story that described exactly what had happened to me. One man sneakily squirts feces on your shoe from a tube while you aren’t looking. Then his accomplice runs up to you pointing out the mess. “Coincidentally” he has all the supplies required to clean it up. Once he's finished, you are demanded to pay some ridiculous amount. 

Well, lesson learned. There’s no point in getting angry. It won’t do any good. I’m not going to get my money back. I thought that I was quite cautious and aware, but this experience has taught me that I need to be even more so. The “poop on the shoe” scam won’t work on me again. 

Now it's time to do some research about the common scams in Thailand. Oh, joy.

Prayer Scam at Lake Pushkar

Pushkar is of special importance to Hindus. It is one of the oldest cities in India and contains one of the very few temples devoted to the creator-god, Brahma. According to legend, a powerful demon once terrorized his children. Upon witnessing this, Lord Brahma used a lotus flower to destroy the evil being. While doing so, the petals of the flower fell at three locations, forming three lakes. Pushkar Lake was the first and greatest among the three.  

Brahma - The Hindu God of Creation 

While walking through town one morning, I was approached by several different people on separate occasions; all of them asking if I would like to make a prayer and toss some flowers in the holy lake. During the few weeks that I’ve been in India, I’d guess that I’ve been asked to purchase a cheap service or souvenir several hundred times. It appears that everyone is trying to sell something.  The street vendors are incredibly persistant.  “No” means very little to them.

As I strolled down that dusty, dirt road, I unintentionally made eye contact with a man sitting on a plastic chair scouting for tourists. He jumped up so quickly he nearly knocked over his seat.  He came jogging towards me. Wonderful…

“Take these flowers and put them in the lake,” he said offering some colorful petals. “Very special for you.”

“No thanks.”

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“I’m going to eat breakfast,” I said looking forward, beginning to quicken my pace.

“O.K. You eat breakfast and then we go to the lake.”

“No.”

He followed me until we reached a coffee shop. As I opened the door I heard him say, “Oh, you are really eat breakfast.” When I had finished eating, I discovered that he had left.

At some point in the afternoon a lanky, young man came up to me and asked if I had thrown flowers in the lake yet. I told him that I was busy. He pointed in the direction of the lake. “Look over there. They go too.” I could see other foreigners being led down to the water. “I swear it don’t take much time,” he promised me. “We say nice prayer for God and your family. You throw pretty flowers in the water. After, I tie a string around your wrist. When others see it, they don’t bother you.”

My curiousity and his persistance were becoming more and more convincing. The thought of being left alone after this was over with was quite tempting.

“O.K. quickly,” I said.

The two of us made our way through the crowds of people and honking tuk-tuks. We soon arrived at a stone archway with a golden bell hanging underneath. The young man lept up into the air and struck the clapper as if he was spiking a tiny volleyball. A deafening clang echoed off the walls.

One of the many ghats that lead down to the lake.

He looked at me over his shoulder. “Come this way.” We walked to one of the many ghats. “Take your shoes off here,” he instructed. I hesitated. It’s common to remove your shoes before entering temples or other holy sights, but I had a feeling that if I took them off, there would be the possibility that I would never see them again. I convinced myself that if my sandals were stolen, I could always buy a cheap pair from one of the several shops that sold them nearby. I reluctantly took them off and placed them next to some other pairs.

“Follow me.”

We walked halfway down to the lake. “Please sit,” he said. He took out a small bottle of what I am assuming was paint, dipped his finger inside, and dotted my forehead.  Jeez, I don’t want that crap on me.

“O.K. I say prayer and you say after.”I nodded my head, but I was already ready to go. My gut was telling me that this wasn't a good situation.

Part of the prayer was in English. I’m assuming that the rest was in Hindi. The English portion was about loving God, respecting your parents, and being a good person. It was a positive message, but at that moment I was wondering why I agreed to do this. We were drawing a lot of attention from both Indians and other foreigners.  I was imagining what they were thinking as they stared at us. “Look at that poor sucker. Does he realize he’s being scammed?”

I had trouble repeating the Hindi prayer. I stumbled on every multi-syllable word.

 “Where are you from?” he asked switching back to English.

“Canada.”

“Oh, Canada. I know a man from Canada. His name is a Robert. Tall man. Works on a farm. Do you know Robert?”

“No.”

How many people are in your family?”.

“Five.”

“Very nice. Very nice family. Now, take these flowers and throw into the lake,” he said placing a handful of petals in my palm. “Please, leave your bag here. I watch it.”

“I’m not leaving my bag.” I said firmly. I was beginning to get frustrated.

“O.K. Fine.” He said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. He took back the petals, ran down to the lake to toss them in before darting back up to where I was sitting. He kept an eye on me the entire time to make sure that I didn’t walk away.

“Prayer is finished.” He took out a piece of red and yellow string. “Let me tie this around your wrist.”

I extended my arm in his direction. I badly wanted to get this over with. As he knotted the string he said, “O.K. Five people in your family. You can give one thousand rupees for each person in your family. Five thousand rupees total.” (Around $100 CAN)

I tried my best to keep my cool. “I don’t have five thousand rupees.”

“O.K. It’s no problem, you can give nine hundred rupees per person, eight hundred rupees per person. Whatever is in your heart. ”

Truthfully, there was a part of me that felt obligated to give him what he requested. We had spent a good ten minutes together performing this ceremony. I couldn’t just walk away. Too much time had passed. I “had” to give him five thousand rupees. I suppose that’s how the scam works; pretend like you are doing a service for the victim so that when it’s over they feel the need to hand over their money.  Thankfully I managed to stay strong.   

“I will give one hundred rupees.” (Around $2 CAN)

“One hundred rupees is too small,” he said smiling. “Only a beggar would give this much.”

“I need to get my shoes.”

“O.K. We get your shoes and then you give to charity.” I knew that charity would be the last place my money would go to.

We walked back up the stone steps. I had a sense of relief when I saw that my shoes were still there.

“O.K. You have your shoes. Now you give.”

I tried handing him a one hundred rupee note. “You can’t give this.” He sounded irritated. “Look at all these people and the money they gave to the lake.” He flipped through a booklet of receipts listing names of foreigners and the several thousand rupees they had given him. “You have to give more.”

“No, I don’t,” I said forcefully placing the hundred rupee note on top of his booklet. Later on I was disappointed that I gave him even that much.

He looked at me with contempt and shooed me away. As I walked from the lake I took out a wet tissue and wiped away the dot from my forehead. Then using my hotel room key I cut the string off my wrist and tossed it on the ground.

I was sad to hear that the same guy had conned two of my friends earlier that day for 2000 rupees each.  They both described how they felt compelled to give him money even though they really regretted doing so later on. I believe that regret is an important teacher. It lets me know what to not do in the future. If I feel that I learned something from a mistake I made, then the negative emotions I experienced were most likely worth it. I told them this and I think it made them feel a bit better.