Chandni Chowk revisited

On Thursday, Torunn and I went back to Chandni Chowk to pick up our glasses. And to eat. I'm beginning to think that Torunn's appetite for Indian food might actually rival mine, although she doesn't look it at all. We found this nice pure veg place, ordered our Thalis, and as soon as we got our food she declared it her new favourite restaurant. Swadisht!


I was in for a disappointment when I got my customized sunglasses - they'd lost or confused the frame I'd chosen, and gave me one that I'd never seen before! The shopowner was very service-minded though, and let me choose a new frame for the same price, as the one I originally wanted was nowhere to be seen. The new ones will be delivered on my door tomorrow afternoon. And this time I took no chances but made sure to document my choice. Nice?

Kollokvie i Paharganj

I met up with my classmates from Oslo, whom have now generously let me stay with them in their flat in Greater Kailash. We had to celebrate.

Chandni Chowk

Last Sunday, we went shopping in Chandni Chowk, which used to be the prominent shopping street in Old Delhi in the pre-mall era. Some of my friends bought specs, and I ordered a pair of sunglasses with prescription - my first!

Employees of the Royal Norwegian Embassy


This is probably where I'll buy all the christmas gifts this year.


"AC, DC, current, electromagneticism, electron, galvanism, heat, hot stuff, ignition, light, magneticism, service, spark, tension, utilities, voltage."


To round off the day, Torunn and I took a bus to Paharganj, and ordered some very special tea on one of the rooftops there. It was not very cold, and not very tasty either, but it looks like it did it for Torunn.

Mango season

There are several reasons why one should not go to Delhi in July and August. The heat and the humidity are among the prominent ones. But then there's at least one reason why one should!




And where did I learn to cut this exotic fruit so nicely? From the marvellous Hercules Poirot, of course!

Leaving Kathmandu

On Monday July 27th, I left Kathmandu, going back to Delhi (This blog is not in real time - yet). Until then, the monsoon rains had been scarce, limited to a few showers now and then. Waking up on Monday, it rained. Seriously. As most of the roads in Kathmandu are comparable only to the dirt road leading up to our cabin in the mountains back home (before they improved it), I figured it was a good idea to allow plenty of time to get to the airport. But my taxidriver knew what he was doing, and we got there without major difficulties. And then the queuing began. For three hours straigh, I waited in approximately ten different lines: To enter the terminal building, to have all of my luggage checked (twice), to enter the inner part of the terminal building, to check in my luggage, to have my hand luggage checked (thrice), to hand in a health certificate, to have my passport stamped, and so on. The woman didn't even look at my health certificate, although it stated that yes, I'd had both a fever and a cough during the last week. Who cares about H1N1? I guess the queuing was the main point.

During these hours, my only respite was observing a group of about 70 Korean teenagers, wearing similar pink t-shirts, who milled about and were way more confused than I was. The flight was quite turbulent because of the bad weather, and when I landed in Delhi, it was 34 degrees and raining. Still, the efficiency and the clean and neat interiors of Indira Gandhi Int. Airport made me feel like coming back to civilization. In the evening the rainfall got heavier, and I had fun wading in the street with water above my ancles from the flat in Nizamuddin to the corner dhaba to get some dinner. The day after, newspapers reported that in addition to the floodings in Delhi, stalling all traffic for more than 24 hrs in some areas, the situation had been bad at the airport. Many flights had been redirected as they could only keep one runway open. Water had also leaked into the arrival hall, reaching the level of the luggage conveyor belt (that's knee high!), leaving passengers to wade around with their belongings. In addition, the jams in the city led to a shortage of taxis at the airport, and there's really no other way to get to the city from there, so people were stuck for hours. Ah, Delhi... But my own timing was impeccable, this time.

Pictures from Kathmandu

We went back to the Boudha, this time earlier in the day.


I was going to get Miriam a new french press (coffee maker), as I broke the one she had brought with her from Norway. She had seen a cafe selling those here previously, so we went, only to find that the cafe was closed. It was a Saturday, and in Nepal Saturday is Sunday and Sunday Monday. In other words, the week ends on Saturday and starts on Sunday. No french press.

Then what to do? We stumbled over a great cafe, feeling very authentically French. Or Italian. There we ate greek salad and tried to finish off their water tank, seen in the back of the picture. Here, serving water was not a very popular task, and everytime we asked, the waiter would try to make everyone else do it.




Later we went fishing - Nepali style!




Varmrøkt?


Me Tarzan, you Francisca.


In Kathmandu, they also have many bars, with nice people, many pillows, cheap drinks, and the very, very loud music.

Swayambhunath (pics)

Swayambhunath stupa and temples. I went there to see the statues, the monkeys, and the city from above.





My self-appointed guide










Descending


Finally some peace

Boudhnath

The first weekend, Miriam and I took a day trip across town to Boudhnath, one of the great buddhist stupas in Kathmandu. We got there in the afternoon (probably after a humongous breakfast), and the gathering clouds made for a dramatic backdrop.








I saw a tiny monk


the wind started blowing


but when the rains came we were already inside, enjoying perhaps the best Chinese food I ever had! Smatt!

Old Pathan

The day after I arrived, before the fever took over, I strolled around in Old Pathan, where Miriam lives, with her friend Francisca. Old buildings = good feelings. Always.



And when it comes to the effective utilization of space: IKEA go home!