Location: Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi
After what feels like a 18-hour blur of motion, I’m writing this from the calm(ish) cocoon of a budget hotel in the Safdarjung Enclave, New Delhi. The journey began at 6am yesterday—a bleary-eyed dash to Manchester, followed by long-haul hops to Doha and finally Delhi. My travel companion Tim and I touched down in the Indian capital sometime this morning, unsure of time zones, dates, or the exact sequence of transit lounges we passed through.
Delhi is… something else.
There’s no easy way to describe it. Within minutes of leaving the airport, we were thrown into a living, breathing, honking, dusty tapestry of chaos. It’s utterly mind-blowing. The heat slams you like a hammer, even in late October. The air tastes like firecrackers and tandoori smoke. Nothing works quite the way you think it should—phones glitch, maps send you in loops, directions are vague and wildly optimistic. Everything familiar is stripped away, replaced by a glorious, unrelenting mess of humanity.
It took us hours to find our hotel. Not exaggerating—hours. But eventually, with sweat-drenched shirts and fried brains, we landed at The Deer Park Hotel in Safdarjung Enclave. It's tucked away on a residential street not far from the city's Deer Park, which is surprisingly leafy and quiet compared to the madness outside. For just £25 a night, the place is a gem—clean, secure, and full of personality.
Our hosts don’t speak English, and we speak absolutely zero Hindi. That hasn't stopped a connection, though. The hotel is run by a guy named Lalid—probably around 30—who's clearly the boss but runs the place with a calm kindness. His sidekicks, Nirmal and Pankat, seem to do a bit of everything: cooking, laundry, even security. One of them sleeps on a blanket behind the front desk. It’s humble, but there’s a kind of functional dignity to it all.
Given my infamous snoring and the extremely affordable local rates, Tim and I went for separate rooms. A wise choice. Mine is simple but cool, decorated with a kind of psychedelic, budget-hippie flair. Think tie-dye patterns, colourful lights, and rickety furniture that somehow works. The bathroom runs the length of the room, with an open window and a makeshift shower rigged into one corner. I kept the door firmly shut to fend off mosquito invasions.
We crashed hard for a few hours—pure survival sleep—and woke up around 4pm, jetlagged and confused but in need of coffee and curiosity. We stayed local, exploring the streets of Safdarjung, which pulse with the kind of energy you’d expect from a city of 30 million. Small food stalls, honking rickshaws, children playing cricket in alleys, men welding in open garages, women shopping in bright saris—it’s a full sensory overload. And yet, it works. Kind of.
Delhi shuts down surprisingly early—everything winds up around 10pm. So we headed back to the hotel, where things got... interesting.
Back at base, the informal after-hours scene kicked in. Turns out our hotel runs a kind of mini black market bar after dark, thanks to a guy named Visham—a guest from Mauritius who’s in town while his wife undergoes medical treatment. He speaks fluent Hindi and English, and quickly became our translator, negotiator, and drinking buddy.
Beer here doesn’t come from a fridge—it’s summoned like a spell. You make a discreet call, and some guy on a moped delivers your drinks under cover of darkness. We ordered four cans each—about £10 total, which feels steep for India, but this is the black market. Spirits appeared too, ordered by our local friends. I’m fairly sure we had more than one delivery and absolutely certain we drank more than we should have.
It was a brilliant night. Laughter flowed, language barriers dissolved, and the strangeness of the day turned into something communal, even joyful. We also counted down Tim's Sober October ten seconds to midnight, with a huge cheer as he cracked open a can of beer to break his month long alcohol fast. As the night / early hours wore on I’ve no idea how much of what was said made sense, but that didn’t seem to matter. This is what travel does—it shoves you into the unfamiliar, forces you to adapt, and gifts you moments of unexpected connection.
First Impressions:
Delhi is raw, overwhelming, and doesn’t care whether or not you’re ready for it. But somewhere inside the madness, there's rhythm, beauty, and warmth. We’ve only just arrived, and already it feels like this trip is going to change us.
More soon. Probably with a hangover.
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