Why I don't like guides

Don't get me wrong: guides have their place. A good guide can be invaluable. But to paraphrase Mr. Darcy, a guide cannot be considered truly accomplished unless he (or she, but as all the guides in India appear to be male, I'll stick to the masculine pronoun) knows something you do not, that you cannot look up easily, and that you truly wish to know. The height of the spire on the top of the Taj Mahal fits none of these criteria. He must be sensitive to your wishes, rather than merely assuming that you feel the same way he does, or have the same interests that the last ten tourists before you have had. He must be willing to proceed at your pace. He must not insist on your taking the photographs he thinks you should take. He should be familiar enough with a place to answer your questions, and to show you things you would not have discovered without him. Ideally, as the piece de resistance, he should know somebody, and have the influence to get you some access or privileges you certainly would not have without him.

Needless to say, like Mr. Darcy, I find myself continually disappointed in the foibles and weaknesses of my fellow man.

I spent a not insignificant amount of time attempting to find out, both from the States, and once I arrived in Lucknow, what celebrations would be in place for Republic Day. Everyone assured me, somewhat vaguely, and as though the question were new to them, that something would be taking place: they just couldn't tell me what. Once I got here, people agreed that there would be a parade -- but where? and when? It wasn't in the paper. And no one would really tell me. Admittedly, there may have been a language problem -- but I was talking to people who spoke quite good English, and waving a map around in front of their faces. Even the man at the state tourist office wouldn't really be specific -- but, he said, he would personally take me to the parade and to other RD events. 300 rupees for him, and 300 for the driver. I reluctantly agreed.

So, he showed up at my hotel this morning, saying that he'd tried to get me a VIP ticket yesterday, but he didn't have my full name and passport number, so he hadn't been able to. OK -- but he'd had my hotel name and room number. Surely he could have called to ask? Then, as the parade wasn't starting yet -- although he wasn't sure when it was going to -- he took me to the Botanic Gardens. Which I'd been planning to go to myself in the afternoon. Then we drove back to his office (mind you, there was no driver -- just him. And he'd driven 2 blocks to pick me up, 3 blocks to the gardens, and 2 blocks back to his office) and hopped a rickshaw to get closer to the action. We picked a spot along the parade route, and settled in to wait. I was perfectly happy watching the crowd, but he said, after a while, that it was "boring," and that we had time to walk and see more. Somewhat reluctantly, I followed. He took me down the road, then across it, for tea. After the tea, I firmly said that I wanted to go back to the other side of the road, as the sun was in my eyes. We went -- but, of course, our spots were gone. We set up camp a little farther away from the intersection we'd initially been stationed at -- but then the police suddenly began clearing everyone at that end of the street away. We were forced back to the bad side of the street, mashed up against a traffic barrier in the middle of the divided road. I was starting to get a bad feeling. My guide finally pulled through: he went and negotiated with someone, and got me up on top of a hospital building to watch from the roof with a few dozen others. The perch had the advantage of safety form the crowds, a nice feeling of camaraderie with the others, and a good distance view. No close-ups, though, which is always the trade-off -- and I was still looking (and photographing) directly into the sun. Also, as it turned out, the crowds had been clustering towards the intersection we'd started at for a reason: many of the marching groups put on dance performances in the center of it. I could sort of see them, but not very well.

On the way out afterward, the guide also served a good purpose: I grabbed his shoulder, and he helped lead me through the crowd. When we got out, he told me that was it for RD celebrations: the parade. And he wanted the full fee for both himself and the absent driver. So what I got for my money (although I didn't give him all he asked for) was a bit of crowd protection, an entree to a seat that had its good points (although he never asked me if I wanted to be up there), and "guidance" from someone who, he told me, had never been to see the parade before, and hadn't been bothered to try to learn about it in exchange for his fee. If I'd gone on my own -- assuming I could have found it by following the crowds -- I'd have gotten there early, and stayed in my first seat. And probably stayed afterwards, reading in the park, till the crowds cleared.

See my difficulty?

OK -- I'm a control freak, I admit it. And a perfectionist. And a whiner. Yeah, yeah. Happy Republic Day, everyone.