I made a mistake, there in New Delhi, at 2 in the morning.  But as soon as I saw the impending disaster of my mistake, I quickly corrected it and didn’t make it again, the whole time we stayed in India.

My Dad instinct kicked in, once the happy reunion was coming to a close, and I started looking for transportation.  Funny thing was, I had no clue where we were going for night, but I guess I thought if I could nail down a taxi, at least I could be of some use and still fulfill some of my responsibilities as Dad. 

So, I looked for the taxi signs. 

There weren’t any.

Next, I looked for cars that denoted themselves as taxis.

There weren’t any.

Finally, I asked Bryce for directions as to where the taxis normally parked.

There weren’t any.

When Bryce nonchalantly started weaving his way through the milling throng, I discovered my mistake, and like a good Dad ought to do, I hitched up my bags and followed along obediently after.  For the rest of our stay, I followed after, and it was the best thing I could have ever done.  I learned more about India that way, and a lot more about being a Dad.

We approached a sort of meeting place, although the casual eye would have never picked it out as such and were immediately accosted by no less than 5 would be taxi drivers, all clamoring for our business.  I think I mentioned in the last post on India that the motel was 7 miles, but I looked back in my notes and saw it was 7 kilometers.  Bryce had come to the airport from the motel on taxi, in the same size vehicle as the ones bartering for our business, for approximately $.84.  The fellow who wanted to give us a lift was asking in the $25 range. 

And he wasn’t bashful about it either, because he saw all these white faces and how weary they looked and all the bags.

But.  He didn’t know that Bryce knew Hindi. 

And.  He didn’t know Bryce knew a bit about taxi fares. 

It’s true that $.84 was on the cheap side for that area, but the guy taking Bryce to the airport knew that is where the big fish were, maybe even whitefish if he was lucky, so he was willing to go at a loss one way. 

But $25 (2000 rupee) was decidedly too much.

“No,” Bryce said, “You are way too high.  I’ll pay you 1000 rupee, and even that is way too high.”  (Around $12)

“Oh no sir, your bags are very heavy, and we will need to take a bigger car.  2000 rupee.”

“No, if you can’t do any better than that, I’ll go find another man who wants to do it for me.”

“2000 rupee, sir, 2000 rupee.”

“Okay, see you then,” and Bryce started walking off.  I was incredulous.  It was getting on to 3 now in the morning and here we at least had a ride.  If the rest were just as high, I figured we should take this and be on our way.  I was tired.

But it was a ploy. 

“Wait, how much you pay?”  And Bryce sauntered on . . . “Sir . . . “

“1000 rupee, and even that is way too high.”  (Still sauntering on and not looking back even as he spoke his offer.)

“Okay, come on then.”  (He had been gruff and a bit growly during the exchange, but as soon as the deal was made, our driver turned into peaches and cream.

For a bit.

As soon as we had started moving, he abruptly changed demeanor.  “Wait, (slowing) you tell me 2 kilometers.  This is 7!  1500 rupee” 

And I know Bryce had told him 7, I had heard it myself and was rising up in defense.

Bryce was getting torqued off, and it was getting later.  In the end he told him to get going and do it for 1200.  The guy sort of had us over the barrel at that point because we weren’t at the airport anymore.

The amazing thing was, he didn’t know how to get to the motel address Bryce gave him and ended up asking Bryce to put it on his phone so he could follow along on Bryce’s gps.  Finally, Bryce even had to tell him were to turn on top of all that. 

And then the final cusp was when, after he finished unloading a couple of our bags, (we had unloaded the rest) he asked for a ‘gift.’ 

I wasn’t sure if Bryce was going to explode or not.

The motel proved excellent; although as we walked in, through the ever-present metal detector that no one paid any attention to even though it beeped on everyone that went through, I got my first glimpse of what smog really is. 

For, as we walked down the hall to our room, and said hall being no more than 75 feet long, I noticed the lights at the far end had a very blurry and hazy look to them.  I asked Bryce what the deal was with them. 

“Smog,” he said. 

I still marvel at it today.  It was so hazy everywhere because of all the fires and vehicles that this soon became normal in my mind, but I could realize then, why Bryce often complained of throat irritation over there.