After 2 days on a plane, my round the world adventure began with an perfect welcome. The Indians beat out Sri Lanka to win the Cricket World Cup, and the entire country was in a frenzy of celebration. As the plane circled to land, fireworks lit up the sky in every direction. On the ride to the hotel the streets were absolutely packed with drunk, happy fans hanging out of car windows or riding 4 up on motorcycles.
New Delhi has absolutely the worst traffic I have ever seen. Anywhere. (Boston is still a close second both in terms of horns and aggression). To travel in north India is to embark on a psychedelic version of Mr. Toads wild ride. You just climb in and hold on. There are lanes marked on the road--usually 2 in each direction, but they don't mean anything. In most cases people make their own lanes, and in a version of bumper cars, there are anywhere from 4-6 vehicles wide driving in the space that should be reserved for 2, and it shifts constantly. It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode where Kramer decides to change a stretch of highway from 4 to 2 lanes to make it more luxurious. It wouldn't work in the west. Yet somehow in India, people drive a bit slower and behave like a flock of birds with some order to the chaos. In that small space of road you have Tuk Tuks, Trucks, Cars, Motorcycles, Rickshaws, random livestock, and pedestrians all sharing the same space. There is really no such thing as a sidewalk--its just another place for motorcycles to drive, and of course with all the cattle roaming around, they are a minefield anyway. And stoplights as we know them do not exist. After a day or so you get somewhat used to it; being a passenger is kind of fun. Except the horns. Indians love there horns and I think it must be a requirement to honk your horn at least once every 15 seconds per vehicle. Just to check in. The volume is unnerving.
New Delhi has absolutely the worst traffic I have ever seen. Anywhere. (Boston is still a close second both in terms of horns and aggression). To travel in north India is to embark on a psychedelic version of Mr. Toads wild ride. You just climb in and hold on. There are lanes marked on the road--usually 2 in each direction, but they don't mean anything. In most cases people make their own lanes, and in a version of bumper cars, there are anywhere from 4-6 vehicles wide driving in the space that should be reserved for 2, and it shifts constantly. It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode where Kramer decides to change a stretch of highway from 4 to 2 lanes to make it more luxurious. It wouldn't work in the west. Yet somehow in India, people drive a bit slower and behave like a flock of birds with some order to the chaos. In that small space of road you have Tuk Tuks, Trucks, Cars, Motorcycles, Rickshaws, random livestock, and pedestrians all sharing the same space. There is really no such thing as a sidewalk--its just another place for motorcycles to drive, and of course with all the cattle roaming around, they are a minefield anyway. And stoplights as we know them do not exist. After a day or so you get somewhat used to it; being a passenger is kind of fun. Except the horns. Indians love there horns and I think it must be a requirement to honk your horn at least once every 15 seconds per vehicle. Just to check in. The volume is unnerving.
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