Delhi is vast. It smells acrid, sounds like car horns, motors, rapid-fire Hindi conversations, and barking dogs, and feels like a messy connect-the-dots picture. Here, a shanty town; there, a sprawling ambassador’s mansion; power lines hanging like spider webs atop alleys littered with cow pies, music, food, foreigners, locals, tinsel, Hanuman…everything is everywhere here. Picture 22 million people and enough urban sprawl to make Los Angeles shudder.

We’re not so much touristing here–though there are fantastic old colonial buildings and museums to be seen–as we are taking care of business, like buying alarm clocks and getting Sandy’s flight sorted out. We’re hiring a car and driver to make the 3 1/2-hour trip to Agra tomorrow. Today will be all about massages, haircuts, and food…

Brand new, tech-industry sky scrapers

After 17 hours of suspended animation, I touched down in Bangalore (aka Bengaluru) at approximately 6:00 AM local time. My familiar stateside rhythms have been officially turned upside down. I’ve been teleported 12 hours into the next day and spit out into what could very easily be another planet… INDIA. Over 2.3 billion strong! She has welcomed me into her arms, so what is left to do other than dive in?

The taxi ride to my hotel confirmed that the stories I heard about kamakazee Indian drivers were true. A cacophony of car horns and 2-stroke engine exhaust filled the atmosphere. Albeit, the adrenaline rush was invigorating. We narrowly avoided pedestrians, motorcycles and buses by less than 6 inches.

Drivers stopped at a red light - a rare sight.

We weaved and swerved and throttled through so called intersections… Places where multiple directions of traffic intersect, but without the benefit of stop lights or traffic signals of any kind.

After checking into my hotel, I headed out for some exploring. It’s definitely an unusual experience when every single detail of sensory input is new and exotic.

I suppose that is what makes traveling so much fun, right? Being the white, western dude, I managed to attract quite a few curious looks. Here, the taxi drivers hail you.

Everyone is a jay walker

Quite persistently too I might add. I didn’t get very far before a stalking auto-rickshaw driver marked me as a target. He waved me down, repeatedly. I insisted that I wanted to walk and stretch my legs, and the enthusiastic little man just wouldn’t take no for an answer. He followed me until I relented. I eventually jumped in… What could be better than a city tour and an white-knuckled roller coaster ride all in one? Plus, he promised me some fine local dining.

It was all good. The food, the drive-by sightseeing and the auto-rickshaw NASCAR race. Thankfully I returned to my hotel alive to tell about it. Now for a little R&R/jet lag recovery.