December 8th, Paharganj, New Delhi, India

 I'm a little afraid, but MAN was that delicious!! Turns out they have amazing Indian food in India. Who knew? Included in the slew of advice (most of it welcome) I've gotten from folks prior to my current travels was “don't eat the street food”. Well, it turns out the lines between street food and restaurant food aren't always quite clear. Does a place with it's stove on the street, but it's kitchen line and just four dinning tables in a little alcove just off the street count as “street food”. Furthermore, I wandered the streets until I was blinded by hunger without seeing anything that resembled what my American eyes would see as a “proper” sit down restaurant. Should I take comfort in the fact that it was just chick peas and potatoes in a ridiculously delicious curry with the best damn nan I've ever had? Yes, I think I will.

I was hoping to have made it to Kabul today. But alas, due to a clerical error with my Afghan visa, and my failure to read the damn thing thoroughly, I'm in Delhi until Friday. Not a bad consolation prize however- getting to spend a couple of days exploring a piece of a Country I have long held a romantic fascination for. Not that my interest in this land made me blind to it's problems. Stories via movies, books, and friend's recantations have illuminated me to the crushing abject poverty that grips most of this land . Still, there ain't nothing like seeing it up close and personal. “Ghetto” most certainly has a whole new meaning for me as of today. That said, I am also overwhelmed by the beauty of this place- the colors, the smells, the music, the people, the animals. The energy of this place is awe inspiring. My romantic fascination was most certainly far from all for naught.

My most exciting part of my day, just ahead of dancing with the denizens of Delhi Indira Gandhi International Airport, was when I stopped in a liquor store after my culinary adventures to pick up a nightcap, or two. Not twenty seconds after I wandered in did a fight break out. Then suddenly, both of the store attendants leapt over the counter. I assumed they were going to play peacemaker and break up the brawl, but no, not even close. The two booze purveyors proceeded to join in the melee, both assisting one of the combatants in beating the piss out of the other. To the point where the recipient of their wrath lay helplessly on the floor receiving the fists and feet of the other three. After a brief moment of utter bewilderment it dawned on me that the whipping boy must have been caught stealing. Though I didn't get the full story, my suspicions were somewhat confirmed when one of the patrons, I assume sensing my confusion, said to me with raised eyebrows and a nodding head, “that man was a fraud”. This enlightenment came just after the villain was pushed down approximately 10 cement steps to the street, where he somehow managed to lift himself up and stumble away. A bit drunk already on all the excitement, I began an attempt to procure myself a couple of beers. This however proved to be a task beyond my means. If anything, the fervor of the environment only increased after the slug fest, as

swarms of thirsty Delhians pushed and shoved their way around, and through, me towards the counter. After about ten minutes of being unable to conquer my Southern American style manners, I gave up and made my way back to the hotel where a concierge (of sorts) hooked a brother up with two 650ml (that's just shy of 22 oz for my fellow Yanks) Kingfishers, and a large bottle of water. “Don't drink the water” is advice I plan on adhering to with a fundamentalists zeal. But wait, what about coffee?

My only regret at present is my current state of jet-lag. I'm flat out whooped. It's 7:30pm here and I've nothing left in me. I suppose I could wander around a bit more, but being a stranger in a strange third world land does not sound as appealing to me when both mind and body are sloppy from exhaustion. So, I'm in my room for the night- just me, my computer, two Kingfishers, and cricket on the tube.

Wait a minute! As I'm typing this a ruckus of drums and horns sounding like a Bollywood marching band has come careening into my hotel room from the street. And wait, what is this? Fireworks? Oh, I gotta go check this out. Is it a holiday here, or is this just your average Wednesday night in Paharganj? Later ya'll...