We got a bicycle rickshaw to Agra train station and I felt so bad for the driver with the weight of our bags that I paid him double. Ash's train was 3 hours earlier than mine, which left at 23.30, but from what we could work out, it was delayed. We sat against a pillar and watched the billions of insects swarm about the lights, and a series of rats and mice emerge from underneath a food stall, tempted by the nearby cockroaches. We were surrounded by raggedy beggar children until a food seller chased them away. A train drew up to the platform and just before it was about to leave, a man told Ash it was going to Varanasi. He dashed to get on, but someone else said it wasn't the right train, and a few panicky moments ensued with a crowd of people all yelling different things. It was established that it was the wrong train as it pulled away. The right train arrived not long after and we said goodbye. I sat on my rucksack for a couple of hours, watching station life. Before boarding my train, I asked about 20 people whether it was headed to Bombay, just to be sure.

I was in a sleeper carriage (one up from hard seats but below first and second), so there was no air conditioning, but neither was there glass in the barred windows, so there was a breeze. I had an upper bunk on the corridor. Since there was no room for storage underneath, I heaved my bags up there with me, and lay down as best I could. I slept and then climbed down and sat by the open door watching the world fly by for the next 24 hours. I bought a roll of bread from one of the vendors who boarded the train at each stop, moving through the carriages with their wares and leaping off as the train gathered speed.

I got off at Bombay and was beseiged by taxi and rickshaw drivers. I was so sick of India by this point, I just wanted to get out, to somewhere I could be healthy again. I got a taxi to the airport with a Sikh driver and his vaguely menacing brother who came along unexpectedly and tried to sell me a tour of the city. At the airport, I found myself a seat near the loos, then tried to sleep. Eight hours later, not very rested, I checked in and went through security to the departure lounge, where I got talking to an interesting Indian born New Zealander called Mr. Patel.

As we took off, I looked at Bombay through the plastic window and remembered how much I'd been looking forward to visiting it. But sitting aboard the clean aeroplane, I felt only relief that I was leaving.