Delhi, for all its beauty and vivacity, does not make the best first impression. We exited Indira Gandhi airport to a wall of late-night humidity and stuffed our backpacks and bodies into a tiny white cab. The ride was something of a cullture shock; packs of wild dogs roamed the streets while dozens of Delhi’s homeless slept in the dirt outside compounds with huge concrete walls and golden gates. In what would be a common theme, our driver didn’t know the way to our hostel and asked me for directions at every turn, ignoring Clara’s attempts at conversation as we drove deeper into what felt like the wrong part of the city. Eventually he stopped to ask a guard for directions. We’d been forewarned about taxi scams, and sitting there lost at 2am was a less welcoming arrival into India than we’d hoped for.

Things improved when we finally arrived at The Madpackers hostel in Panchsheel Park. The place was tucked away on the upper floors of an unassuming apartment block and we soon discovered we weren’t the only ones to have trouble finding it that night. We introduced ourselves to Kate, another British traveller, at the check-in desk and headed straight for the comfort of our beds. When the sun rose, I nursed my jet lag with several cups of chai and a deckchair on the roof. I was joined by Savan, an Indian roommate of ours who was returning home after living in the Netherlands. I explained that we were only in Delhi for a couple of days and that we were planning to visit the famous Red Fort later on. “Why are you going to the Red Fort? There’s nothing to see there. If you want to see something go to Akshardham temple instead.” And so we did.

New Delhi during the day is a labyrinth of crowded streets populated by honking cars, swerving mopeds, and the occasional horse. Kids play cricket in small squares while tuk tuk drivers eagerly cut across traffic to offer lifts to tourists. In our naivety, we decided to walk the ten minutes to Hauz Khas metro station and ended up lost once more in its maze of poorly-marked streets. Luckily we came across a familiar face from the hostel and were pointed in the right direction. If you’re unable to pick up an Indian sim at the airport, apps like Maps.me are essential for navigating vast cities like Delhi on foot.

The Delhi metro is like entering another world. While its streets can only be described as chaotic, its trains are quiet, air conditioned, and clean. Phone signal and wifi connection throughout the lines puts London’s underground network to shame. What’s interesting is the female only cars at the front of the trains. It’s an inelegant solution to Delhi’s problems of sexual harassment and assault, but seeing the government provide a safe space for women on public transport is a step in the right direction — even if the signs are pink and decorated with flowers.

There are no phones allowed inside the grounds of Akshardham temple. No cameras, no electronics, no bags. I suppressed the nagging voice that told me handing over all my valuables was a bad idea and entered through the stringent security checks. As we removed our shoes and ascended the steps to the main temple, my concern for my belongings was swept away by an immense feeling of adventure. Perhaps it was the spiritual nature of the place, but entering the grandiose temple unburdened by possessions was a strangely freeing experience that I won’t forget in a hurry.

Akshardham is a sight to behold. It’s one of the largest temples in the world, with huge white domes rising atop infinitely detailed sandstone pillars and walls. Waterways with golden cow-headed fountains surround the temple, while the walls at its base are beautifully carved with statues and reliefs from the Hindu faith; half portraying stories of the deities, the other half seemingly dedicated to just how rad elephants are. The inside is no less lavish. Gold and marble are everywhere, with elaborate statues and paintings of important religious figures depicted at every turn. A gold statue of the yogi Bhagwan Shri Swaminarayan takes pride of place in the central room. If you’re going sightseeing in Delhi, reserve at least half a day for Akshardham temple.

When the sun began to set we bought tickets to the temple’s Sahaj Anand water and light show. We were led through the grounds to a stepwell style arena with a large lotus shaped pool. Here we watched child actors play out scenes while fountains shot pillars of water and fire, and giant holographic depictions of the gods projected lasers across the crowd. I’d be lying if I said I understood the story (which was all in Hindi), but it was a surprisingly impressive way to spend a few hundred rupees. As with all tourist attractions in India, you’ll be paying a foreigner price which is usually around five times more expensive.

We had a chilling experience when we were heading back to the hostel that night. While walking and chatting about our plans for tomorrow, we both almost stood on something strange and white discarded at the side of the road. It took us both a moment to realise exactly what it was lying in our path. In Hindu tradition, dead bodies are shrouded in a white sheet to protect the vulnerable soul. Somebody had died and been covered and left to lie in the street. It was a shocking thing to witness, and we both hurried back to the hostel thoroughly creeped out. When we got back to our room, we discovered that one of our roommates had been bitten by a stray dog and needed to go to hospital to be checked for rabies. Delhi is a place that can seem peaceful one moment and dangerous the next.

The next day we went to visit the infamous bazaars of Chandni Chowk. Our guidebook had warned us that it would be a chaotic experience, but nothing could fully prepare us for just how overwhelming the market thoroughfare would be. The smell of pollution, car fumes, and more bodily odours filled our nostrils as we exited the metro to a main street overloaded with people carrying goods, hawking wares, and welding metalwork in small shops that spilled out onto the pavement. Somehow we managed to cross the road and duck down a sidestreet to catch our bearings. Passing men clicked at Clara (an Indian equivalent of a catcall), confirming for us that Chandni Chowk would not be an enjoyable place to explore. I would advise any first-time travellers to head to some of Delhi’s smaller and less stressful markets unless you’re fully committed to fighting through the crowds. We grappled our way back to the metro and went in search of more peaceful culture at Humayun’s Tomb.  

Humayun’s Tomb is the final resting place of 16th century Mughal emperor and the building that supposedly inspired the design of the Taj Mahal. Sadly, the tomb was in its sixth year of restoration when we visited and mostly coated in scaffolding. Even though its architectural beauty was diminished, its gardens gave us a much-needed moment of respite where we could sit on the grass, watch red kites circle above, and breathe in some fresh(er) air. We took a small detour on the half hour walk back to Khan Market station to visit a shrine in the in the nearby Hazrat Nizamuddin complex. Chausath Khamba shrine seemed at odds with its surroundings; the peaceful pillared monument to Mirza Aziz was surrounded by narrow, busy streets filled with beggars, animals, and market stalls selling knives and what appeared to be real functioning handguns.

From our short stay in Delhi I got the feeling that India’s capital was a city of extreme opposites. Pockets of tranquility seemed scattered through an urban landscape busier and more disorganised than anywhere I’d visited in the world. Vestiges of past empires and traditional ways of life stood among examples of cutting-edge modernity, while poverty and homelessness were never far from its great historical and contemporary displays of wealth. At times its density was stifling, but I was fascinated by the liveliness and sheer functionality of a city with a higher population than the entirety of Australia. It would be nine weeks before we’d return to Delhi, and for me there was no greater place to begin an Indian adventure.