Jounral from a Trip to New Delhi, 1995

None of the guidebooks list the Blue Star Restaurant, yet it is only a stone's throw from the outer ring of Connaught Place. Venture slightly beyond the safe haunts of the tourist throngs ringed within and the Blue Star is easy to spot. Its forecourt is the landing pad for a gigantic concrete tea cup one to make the Mad Hatter proud.. That teacup and its cracked twin out back by the latrine are each capable of hosting parties of twelve or more. But the cups, these cups anyways, are not the headliners at the Blue Star. Maybe I'm dense and should have been tipped off by the name somehow. This is a Delhi cabaret - this is Delhi's strip bar!

What a fitting last port 'o call for Quinn and I before we part company in an attempt not only to save Delhi from our ravages of the past 72 hours, but to save ourselves from each other. It's been competitive mayhem in practicing the philosophy of the anti-tourist.

The BS has three revues a night: 6, 8 and 10pm. We opt for the the 8 and get lost for a while debating what "Two fifty each" will translate into when it comes round to paying the admission charge.

"Look, "Q posits, "the zoo was only 50 paise (1.5 US cents). This animal show is five times that!"

Its 8. We are at the ticket kiosk. I plunk down a 5 rupee coin. It doesn't ring back with a laugh but elicits a glare from the attendant. "TWO HUNDRED FIFTY ($7) each." We're stunned. Quinn blurts out, "There's a lot more to see at the zoo!" We're encouraged to get lost. Instead we head, ticket less, straight for the cabaret entrance. "Who'll question a couple of foreigners trying to slip in?" - The ticket taker for one and the security bouncer for another. Cast away a second time there's one hope left. I ask for the manager. I get Mr. Shiu, the owner, instead. What luck!

"Look, we just want a peek, a little one. We'll help you in your business. There are no tourists here. We'll get you in the guidebooks. Just ten minutes." Shiu considers the business aspects - asks who we write for and we're in - Advance men for the b'Loney Planet. Like they put joints like this in their backpacker bibles? Sure.

In like Flynn (or should I say Quinn?). And it's going to be goodbye to the free ten minutes. Hell the floor won't even get warm it that time. We're determined to stay the night. Ordering two Rosy Pelican lagers we give an involuntary 35% tip. No wonder the Blue Star has a liberal BYOB policy. It offsets the onerous entrance fee and the avaricious wait staff.

Off to the side of the stage there's a loud and lively band generating bump, strut and grind tunes. On stage half the girls can't dance to the beat. The choreography is definitely amateur hour but for us the price is right. The girls are good lookers, a bonus given their dance skills and all appeared to be over 18 (this isn't Bangkok after all). After each dance the performers would step down and work the tables for handshakes - nice discreet little handshakes, no pressure, no wriggling. Q and I feel bad - cheap actually. I pump Q for a 50 ($1.50) and head off for change so we can start tipping and acting like big spenders. We are also starting to act like drunken sailors slurping back one after another Rosy Pelican. We're clapping and hooting but to no avail. This joint is too sedate and we can't get the crowd to liven up. One or two tables offer a little halfhearted applause - that's it. We are out of our milieu. We give up, sit back and watch. Each dancer's 2^nd set is better than her first but after about 45 seconds the handshake round interrupts the 'excitement' But maybe this is the windup for the big pitch? The girl gets back onstage and continues to the music then jumps in the folds of her dark sari and takes it all off underneath. The payoff? - a 10 second peek flashed to all points of the compass. Then its time for the next girl. But not for us to see. Heavy hands squeeze each of our shoulders. It's the bouncer. He gets us up and we're frog marched to the door. Shiu is pissed. You said, "Only ten minutes" What could we say? Guidebook research has to be thorough.

--broken from long version-

But Delhi's safe now, the 72 hours are over. There are adventures during this time that I'm leaving out, like the incident falling down the elevator shaft (the car is supposed to be there when the door opens, right?) and some stuff that's hard to remember -like a full day- I think it was the one in the middle. Q's gone - to central India. I leave tomorrow to an equally obscure area. We each expect not to find another tourist along our ways - especially each other.

The Dead man on the Bus t.b.c

Did I tell you about the dead man on the bus? Well that's another story. Time is upon this borrowed word processor...

"Til next time,