We three white youths were a sight for sore eyes as we trounced around the overcrowded streets of Old Delhi in search of a Rickshaw that would carry us (for a decent price) to the familiarity of our hotel on the other side of town. This is Day Two of our India adventure and we are still finding our bearings. Everyone stares, some yell “hello,” and the bold ones ask for a picture.
One of our trio negotiates with countless Rickshaw drivers for a fair rate; the first few flatly refuse, some are willing to barter, and one finally agrees to our price. We pile in and the real adventure begins!
We wove in and out of traffic, sometimes so close to other vehicles I could reach out and touch them (which I did). Drivers and pedestrians did double-takes of the foreigners in the cabbie. The honking was never-ending, both from within our Rickshaw as from other cars; traffic lanes become completely obsolete.
It was invigorating to feel moments from an auto crash every moment. I found myself hooting, fist-pumping, and giggling like a silly school girl. The wind dancing in my hair, most of my body flailing out the Rickshaw’s opening, a huge smile plastered on my face—I felt so alive!
As we arrived at the hotel and jumped from our motorized chariot, my only thought was: “Let’s do that again!” Lucky for me, I have three months to do it (and much more!) again and again.