On the spice trail at Chandni Chowk

“There are three trips you take to India: the one you think you’re going to have – that you plan for; the one you actually have; and the one you live through once you go back home.” Erin Reese.

Chatting with friends about our recent trip to India’s Golden Triangle, I mentioned the exhilarating spice market at Delhi’s Chandni Chowk market – an important commercial and historic centre which has attracted traders and merchants for 400 years.  Although they had visited Delhi, they hadn’t experienced the spice market. To me that’s like viewing the outside of Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia and not going inside!

Monty and I had the good fortune to experience Chandni Chowk’s Khari Baoli spice market not once, but twice. The first visit was pure mayhem. Wholesalers and retailers were preparing to close their businesses for Diwali, an important religious festival held throughout India.

Our exploration of the spice market was part of a comprehensive street food tour we took with A Chef’s Tour. Tour guide Ranveer Khangarot lead us through tight alleyways, elbow to elbow, pushing through the masses.

The crowds were punishing, but the aromatic air even more so. When the sacks are discarded, spice and dirt enter the atmosphere. It’s inevitable you’ll sneeze. At one stage the air I inhaled almost took my breath away. I grabbed my face mask from the depths of my trusty travel bag and wrapped it over my nose and mouth. It worked a treat.

We continued to forge our way through narrow passages and arrived at the three-story Gadodia Market building – the wholesale epicentre of the Kari Baoli spice market. We gazed up at domed pavilions, arched doorways and a melange of complex balconies. Forward we ploughed, past more workers moving bags of tea leaves and spices, up narrow flights of stairs onto the levels above. We circumnavigated the cluster of stalls, walked along old wooden boards heavily laden with enormous hessian sacks overflowing with pepper, masala, turmeric, dark ruby red chilis, mace, nutmeg…

The following day, we returned. Although it was busy, the pace was less frenetic. It didn’t feel so stifling. The air wasn’t as suffocating; breathing came easier. Fewer porters too. We witnessed workers clearing their stalls and bathing in preparation for Diwali. Others were huddled in groups playing cards while clouds of cigarette smoke drifted in the air. Some were fast asleep on wooden carts used as makeshift beds. The market is where many porters work and live; they come from far away places to eke out a living by hauling bulging sacks of spices, seeds, herbs, and tea, to and from the building.

Although it may seem as though the market is complete chaos, I have been assured it is well-organized with spices and other commodities collected and distributed based on a well-planned delivery system.

While you’re forging ahead through the market’s labyrinth, keep your eyes peeled; amongst the tangled wires and drying laundry are crumbling colonial mansions and havelis, and old temples secreted in cramped backstreets. To be lost here is to be lost in another world.

Unfortunately on both occasions we weren’t taken to the roof top. If you do get the chance, take it. The rooftop gives you another perspective of life providing an expansive view of the street markets and the Fatehpuri Masjid mosque. You may be lucky and see the Red Fort too, if it’s a clear day.

Word of caution to the less adventurous: to venture into the belly of the spice market alone is not for the faint-hearted. My tip: book a spice or food tour and let your guide take the lead. It’s the sensible thing to do.

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