There’s such a lot of world to see

When I was younger, the children’s programme Blue Peter ran a series all about Japan.  We watched enthralled as our minds were introduced to the delights of sushi, and amazing technological advances.  One thing that stuck in my memory quite vividly was a capsule hotel in Tokyo.  Designed for business men who were passing through town, the capsule hotel was a series of high-tech booths with controlled temperature, tv, various gizmos and gadgets to make the stay more enjoyable, and immaculately, if spartanly, decorated in white. 

Booking an overnight bus journey from Udaipur to Mumbai on a deluxe, air conditioned bus with my own private cabin to sleep in, I honestly expected something like the Blue Peter capsule hotel.  What I got was something the exact opposite of that.  I don’t know why I was so naive…

Imagine, if you will, a coffin decorated at either end with laminated, peeling, oak plywood.  To one side there are two sliding doors, neither of which closes completely, topped by a grubby curtain.  To the other side are two sliding windows, which have the same closing issues as the doors, and the breeze from them makes the curtain on the other side flap against you disconcertingly all night long.  The cabin is just about long enough for you to stretch out in, if you were 5 inches shorter.  It’s hot during daylight hours, and downright chilly at night.  To add injury to, well, injury, it’s as hard as a plank, and the less-than-perfect roads here ensure you are jolted about like a piece of popcorn all night long.

Welcome to 21st century luxury travel!

Nursing my bruises, gasping for water (I’d only taken a bit on the journey with me – believe me, if you’d seen the loos on the rest stops, you’d have done the same), and feeling distinctly unwashed, I’d consoled myself all journey with the thought of a pleasant, beach-front hotel in Mumbai (Bombay).  Mumbai is the most expensive place to stay in India, so, to get something better than a cockroach-infested box, I’d picked out a hotel from Lonely Planet that seemed to get great reviews, only was slightly more than I’d paid elsewhere.

Jumping into a taxi, I asked him to take me to my destination, my imagination filled with the thought of downy beds and long showers.  Unfortunately, clever clogs here hadn’t appreciated the fact that the England cricket team playing here also meant thousands of cricket fans needing accommodation.  Twenty hotels and two hours later, I found a place that had a free room, charging a criminally high 950 rupees per night (close to 12 GBP – for that price, normally you’d be talking a room in Buckingham Palace over here).  Ignoring the questionable marks on the wall and the bugs in the bathroom (they were probably the only ones, I kidded myself), I took it, had a mercifully hot shower, and headed out to see Mumbai.

If I have a problem with a place, like difficulty in getting a hotel room, or a bug-infested hole to stay in, it does tend to cloud my judgement of that town.  Same story on this day.  Mumbai seemed hot, oppressive, loud after the peace of Udaipur, and filled with cricket fans with their tops off.  I had something to eat, strolled round the Gateway of India (where the last British troops departed from, all those years ago), and treated myself to a cup of tea in the Taj Mahal Palace, the poshest hotel in Mumbai, but even that didn’t hit the spot, somehow – the staff seemed snooty, and didn’t like me not having something to eat.

Giving the day up as a bad job, I returned to my hotel, watched some American trashy tv, said goodnight to the bugs, and went to sleep.

I woke up with renewed determination to give Mumbai a second chance.  Philosophically, I’ll run into difficulties on this trip, and I can’t let it put me off places like that.  Although I was ripped off by my first taxi ride of the day, to the train station to book my ticket, I gritted my teeth and said This Will Not Beat Me.  It was a matter of principal now, people.

Wandering through Mumbai’s green colonial streets, I started to get a feel for the place.  Less hectic than Delhi, but more cosmopolitan and with a lovely sea breeze, it seemed like quite a fun place to be.  And my fun was just starting.

As the cricket team were in town, I figured I’d go and watch a day of the test match.  Knowing how I couldn’t explain the rules of cricket if my life depended on it (it’s a bit like rounders, right?  Or is that baseball?), this could have backfired but fortunately it was a great decision.  I ended up spending the day with a lovely Australian couple, Sasha and John, who were funny, intelligent company – we went for a few beers afterwards (just seems right, somehow, after a sunny day of cricket), and I promised to look them up if I pass through Queensland.  Much fun.

I had an early start for Bangalore the next day so slept soundly, glad that I’d made my peace with this cool city.

All my photos are now online at my flickr site:

Chai

Per person:

1 glass milk

Half a cup of water

Two teaspoons sugar

Half a spoon of black tea leaves

1 cardamom pod

2-3 black peppercorns

Half an inch of root ginger (whole)

Combine the liquid in a pan.  Crush the ginger and cardamom, add them to the pan along with the sugar.  Bring to the boil and simmer for a few minutes.  Strain into a glass, and voila – the drink of the masses here in India.

Channa Masala

Soak a few handfuls of chickpeas according to the instructions on the packet, then boil them until they’re soft.  Use more or less depending on the numbers you’re feeding.  For the masala sauce (this does 1 or 2 people – multiply it up if you’re feeding a crowd):

5 cloves of garlic

2 small red onions

1 inch piece root ginger

Another red onion, chopped

Small pinch of garam masala

2 fresh tomatoes, chopped

2.5 teaspons ground coriander

0.5 teaspoon chilli powder

Small pinch tumeric powder

0.5 teaspoons salt

1 tablespoon soya oil.

In a pestle and mortar or fod processor, blitz the first three ingredients.  Put the oil in a pan, add a pinch of cumin, add the third red onion, and fry until browned.  Add the blitxed garlic, onion and ginger.  Add half a glass of water, and spices.  Boil until the water evaporates.  Add the tomatoes (if you wanted to do a different veg masala, eg potatoes and spinach, add them at this point with some water, and cover until they’re cooked).  Slightly crush some of the chickpeas with a spoon, add to the masala sauce.

Vegetable Pilau rice

You can use any vegetables for this – we used cauliflower, cabbage, peas, spring onions – absolutely anything would be good.

Put 1 tablespoon of oil in a pan, get it hot, then add a pinch of aniseed seeds.  They should pop a bit.  Put the vegetables and fry them until they’re soft.  Then add a pinch each of chilli, turmeric, and ground coriander.  Tomatoes should go in last.  Add a bit of water, and simmer.  When the vegetables are done, stir through enough rice to feed you all.

Chapatti

1 cup of wheat flour

Pinch of salt

Enough water to bind.

Mix the ingredients to make a dough, take a ball and roll it out, then fry it in a hot, dry pan.  Turn it over when bubbles appear on the surface, and spin it round in the pan to ensure even cooking – hot air gets trapped during cooking, so be careful.

Naan

Basic recipe:-

1 cup white flour (I think in the uk you’d probably use plain, maybe someone can experiement with plain/self-raising flour and let me know?!)

2/3 spoons yoghurt (plain, not strawberry)

0.5 teaspoon sugar

Mix into a dough, and cook as the chapatti above – in a hot dry pan, turn when you see bubbles, and spin it carefully to cook evenly.

For scrumptious spicy tomato and garlic naan, set 2/3 tablespoons of plain yogurt to drain in a small sieve (like a tea strainer).  Throw away the water in the bottom, and to the rest (I think it’s the curds), add 2/3 cloves of crushed garlic, crushed back pepper, and salt.  Put this on top of your cooked naan.

Chop 3 or 4 good, sweet tomatoes.  In a pan, heat 2 tablespoons of oil with a pinch of aniseed – again, this should pop.  Add a chopped small red onion, and stir.  Add a pinch of chilli and turmeric, and stir through with the tomatoes.  Add salt and a little sugar.

Put this mixture on one half of the garlic-topped naan, and fold over like a sandwich.  Eat, pausing every so often to exclaim “mmmmmmm” and “wow”.

Enjoy, people!

An early morning start from Pushkar to Udaipur saw us all bleary eyed, not least Gary who was feeling decidedly iffy this morning.  Unfortunately his condition got worse throughout the long, hot, journey over bumpy and winding roads (not surprising, really), and we had to make a couple of strategic stops.  Looking back, we think the culprit was a slightly warm lassi (not the dog – that would be sweet – but the yoghurt drink that’s so popular over here.  Not so good when it’s warm).

We were lucky that the hotel we’d liked the sound of from Lonely Planet had rooms available, and they were clean, nicely decorated, and in a good location. Gary flopped on the bed, while Michelle, Brad and I headed out to see a bit of the town. 

Udaipur is, hands down, my favourite place on the trip so far (and yes, yes, I know it’s not even been two weeks yet).  It has winding, hilly streets that lead down to the beautiful, shimmering Lake Piccola.  Surrounded by hills, it makes for the most wonderful, peaceful, whimsical place. In addition to this, it supports the theory that, the further away from Delhi you go, the friendlier the people.  We stopped for an authentic Indian snack at a German bakery (ahem), then, on the spur of the moment, booked ourselves a cooking class for later that evening.  We picked which dishes we wanted to learn, then the cook, Shashi, would show us how to make them.  We chose channa masala, a chickpea curry – and vegetable pilau. 

We headed to Shashi’s house at the prearranged time, and she started off by showing us how to make the best cup of chai ever.  I’m going to post all the recipes in a separate entry, so you can all make them at home and munch along as you read.  I mean it!  I want photos as proof. In addition to the dishes we’d chosen, Shashi also showed us how to make chapattis, parathas, and naan.  She made a garlic naan stuffed with spicy, sweet tomatoes that, I swear, is one of the best things I have ever tasted in my entire life.  And it’s so funny, it’s not something I’d ever pick off a menu.  You have to try this today.  If you’re at work, go home NOW – pull a sickie or something – and try it.  You’ll love me forever.  We were so keen we went back and had the same thing for lunch the next day.

It was quite late when we’d made all our goodies and, of course, eaten them, so we headed over the road to our hotel and made plans for an early start.

Gary wasn’t still up to walking about, so the three of us wandered through Udaipur to catch a boat ride around Lake Picchola.  To get there, we had to go through the grounds of the gorgeous marble City Palace.  This is really the kind of pad I plan to buy when I win the lottery.  (Notice when, not if – I believe in the power of positive thinking). Huge, marble pillars everywhere, secluded courtyards, well-kept gardens.  Stunning.  Part of it has been converted in to two luxury hotels, and although I was tempted for a while, I don’t think mum would appreciate a cable so soon into my trip asking for a loan.

The boat trip took us around the uber-swanky Lake Palace Hotel.  This hotel takes up an entire island in the lake and you can only set foot on it if you’re a guest or going for a meal.  That was out of our budget, so we settled for a longing gaze round the outside.  The Lake Palace was used in the film Octopussy, along with a few other locations in Udaipur, a fact that no-one will allow you to forget, it’s shown nightly in just about any budget restaurant you go to.  To my shame as the token Brit, I can barely remember seeing it, although a subsequent discussion about Bonds showed a disconcerting sway from our American cousins to think of Roger Moore as the best bond.  I mean, come on!  Shurely it has to be Shir Sean?

After a short stop on another, just as beautiful island, we made our way back to the shore.  A stop-off at a gallery in a nearby hotel displayed a rather splendid collection of mustaches on the past (and present) Marharajas.  Quite fond of their facial hair here.

After a quick shopping expedition for Michelle and I – I’m just as dangerous over here; she ended up buying a beautiful sari that she didn’t plan on – we dashed back for a quick change, and out for a dinner I had been looking forward to all day.  It was at the Jagat Niwas hotel, and their rooftop restaurant has prime views over the Lake.  We had booked a cushion-lined alcove to sit in, and we watched the sunset with some great food and drinks.  As darkness fell, a boat on the lake set off fireworks.  Pure bliss, and a fitting way to end my time with Brad, Michelle and Gary.

From Jaipur, the others had discussed hiring a car and driver to tour round Rajasthan, and they asked me if I wanted to share it with them, as the first couple of stops (Pushkar and Udaipur) were on my itinerary.  From there, I would head southwards to Mumbai, where the others would go north to Jodhpur.  Hiring a car and driver round here, especially if there’s a few of you, can work out at similar prices to the train, only hopefully much less dusty.

Our car was to arrive at 12 noon for the three hour drive to Pushkar.  This was the main day for celebrating Holi, when the fun we’d seen at the stadium the night before spilled over on to the streets.  Initially the plan was to go out and join the fun, but after seeing a few fellow guests from our hotel leave only to return five minutes later covered from head to toe, we decided to stay put – memories of the hour-long shower to get the dye out the night before were all too fresh in our minds, and we didn’t fancy baking in the car with dye all over us.  It was a good chance to have a lazy breakfast, get packed up, and chill out for a couple of hours.  Even the dash to the car parked on the driveway was a bit hairy, as we had to persuade the waiting gang outside not to pelt us.  It seems to be on a par almost with Hallowe’en, as sweets are handed out to roaming gangs; we were offered some, which of course we took (yes, Andy – even MORE free stuff).

The drive to Pushkar was, fortunately, uneventful – the car didn’t have air conditioning (I’m not that much of a Princess; the further south we get, the hotter the temperature) so we were riding with the windows down, until we got to villages where we were likely to get pelted with colour.  We managed to avoid this, and arrived in Pushkar without further incident.

Pushkar is one of India’s holiest towns.  Surrounded by mountains, it’s a relatively small place, with streets built round a small lake, said to have been created when Bhrama dropped a lotus flower.  It’s got thousands of temples, holy cows, holy men, and travellers who seem to stay here forever and a day, grinding to a happy halt now that they have found the ‘real’ India.  It seems to be hugely popular with the Israeli travellers, indicated by the number of places that have falafel on the menu.

We got cheap rooms in what appeared to be a very old house (think converted monastery and you’ll be on the right lines) – very basic but it was a roof for the night!  Wandering down into town we were intrigued, because of this place’s reputation as a peaceful haven, to hear new-age rave music thumping round the buildings.  Turning a corner, we saw a couple of hundred tourists, all dyed bright pink from head to toe, jumping and dancing to the music pulsating from a nearby rooftop.  Holi, hippy traveller style!  Although it looked quite good fun, it didn’t seem really my style at all – the others seemed to agree, so we gave it a wide berth and headed out for some lunch.  Because of Pushkar’s holy status, there’s no alcohol, meat, fish or eggs in town – it’s completely pure veg (as they say here).  So after stuffing ourselves on veg food, we wandered through the town.

Ringing the holy lake are a series of ghats, where men come to bathe themselves in the blessed water.  These include Ghandi Ghat, where Gandhi’s ashes were scattered after his cremation.  Photography is, in the most part, prohibited, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with my descriptions on this one.  The Ghats are made up of many steps, leading right down to the water.  In order to approach them, you have to remove your shoes.  As Michelle and I went down one, we met a priest down there who offered prayers with us for the wellbeing of us, our friends and our family – this involved us making various offerings, petals, rice, sugar, salt and (most oddly) a coconut to the lake.  For this, we got a blessing on our foreheads, and a ‘Pushkar passport’ (a red string around our wrists).  It was amazingly peaceful down by the lake, and the intentions behind the prayers were so genuine they would translate to any religion or other belief system.

Picking our way through the holy cows and the ensuing ‘offerings’ on the street, we went to the Bhrama temple, the only one of its kind.  We were given flowers as we went in, to make offerings to the deity, and again had to remove our shoes (you eventually give up all hope of keeping your feet clean in India!)  It was wonderfully colourful inside – best, though, was the monk sitting guard over the shrine in Aviator sunglasses, and taking calls on his mobile.  East meets west indeed.

We spent the rest of the afternoon meandering round the lake, over the holy bridge where shoes are again verboten, and settled in the imaginatively titled Sunset view cafe – three guesses what we did there?  An indication of just how hippy-ish it is in Pushkar is that there is some dude playing bongos as the rest of the punters gaze appreciatively at the sunset.  It was peaceful, sure, but not somewhere I could stay forever.  I’d miss those eggs too much.

Right, guys, due to popular request (well, I think one person asked me one time, maybe) I have started to upload my photos on to my flickr account.  There’s a link somewhere to the right (in the ‘links’ section, funnily enough) – if that doesn’t work, the url is http://www.flickr.com/photos/suzannehitchen/

And if even that’s too much for some of you to follow, I’ll try and put a selection here soon.  If you go to flickr, you’ll see just how unrestrained I am with a digital camera, think it’s 300+ photos so far.  18 months of this to go, folks!

Our first full day in Jaipur, the dusky pink capital of Rajasthan, consisted mainly of shopping and sight-seeing. Well, for me it did, for the guys it consisted of sitting around patiently in shops whilst I haggled. Anyway, I got a lovely couple of souvenirs that will soon be winging their way back to the UK – Mum, get ready for another trip into the loft!

It’s very humid here in Jaipur, I think because we’re having some rain overnight, and so it makes everything damp but hot during the day. So walking around all day was pretty tiring, but also fun – people here are so much friendlier than Delhi, and everywhere you go people shout out “Hello, hello, how are you? What is your name?”. It’s like being David Beckham for the day, only shorter, darker, and less likely to fool around with a Personal Assistant. The traffic is still crazy, but even that is just Delhi-lite.

After the shops, we wandered up to the Observatory, a few hundred years old and built by a Marharaja who was obsessed apparently with predicting weather, seasons, and telling the time, and believed that the bigger the instrument, the more accurate the reading. It certainly is impressive – some of the sundials are about 75 feet high. As we were having our photo taken in front of the zodiac signs, an official looking guy came up and asked us for our camera ticket. As it was a Monday, and we got free entry, we were slightly suspicious of this, and told him that we’d only pay at the booth. It wouldn’t be unusual here to be scammed into paying for something like that that wasn’t necessary. Sure enough, though, it turns out we had to pay 50 rupees to take our cameras in and take photos. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, though, Michelle and I decided that we’d seen all that we needed to, and made a break for freedom out of the front gate without paying. Gary and Brad were too honest, and paid up – they had to deny all knowledge of me to avoid being hit for my fee.

A couple of other sights later, we got a tuk-tuk back through the crazy traffic to a restaurant, where we all shared some good veggie food including some incredible lentils, then set out to find a car to take us to Pushkar, Udaipur and take the others on a further tour of Rajasthan, while I’ll leave them there and head southwards to Mumbai.

The next morning, we were all up bright, early, raring for our breakfast of banana pancakes, and dressed immaculately in white. It was the Hindu festival of Holi, celebrated in riotous style by throwing coloured powder over everyone. Apparently, if you can recognise yourself in the mirror, you’ve not played Holi right. As we left the gates to go up and watch the Elephant Parade, we met a musician who the others had got talking to the night before. We invited him to join us at the festival, and he agreed, but invited us to his home first. It was my first experience of being in an Indian home, and it was a real honour and an eye-opener at the same time. This guy lived with his brother, sister-in-law and their four children in one really small room, with stone floor, walls, and a roof that leaked. They all slept on one blanket, and all round the walls were hanging bags of chillis, garlic, the children’s clothes, and pretty much everything they needed to live. Despite the obvious poverty, we were made so very welcome – we were given cups of chai, and his eldest nephew played a song for us and played his drums. The two younger children, though cautious of us at first, were just adorable – we were intrigued to see them drinking chai at such a young age. It was a real honour, and another memory that I’m sure will stick with me for a long time.

He took us along to the Elephant Parade, but decided not to stick around. We had prime spots and were able to get very up close and personal with the jumbos as they marched past, resplendent in their face paints and their manicured and pedicured nails. I love these animals, so being so near to them was a real thrill. Every few elephants were interspersed with marching bands – perhaps a relic from colonial times? I’m not too sure – and brightly-coloured dancers. Following them on to a stadium, Michelle and I went for a ride round the field on an elephant, on which I discovered two things:
1. It is impossible to get up on an elephant and keep any dignity. You have to step on the head, poor things, then you get push/pulled up to the top. Praise the Lord for long skirts.
2. They could replace every fairground ride with an elephant, and none of the thrill would be lost – when they stand up, you get tipped right back like on a tilt-o-whirl, then for the rest of the time it’s a rocking motion akin to a ship in a gale. Plus there’s the added thought that they could stampede at any given time.
It was loads of fun, and something else I can cross off my ‘to do’ list.

We went on for an all-you-can-eat thali place; at first we were whisked up to the air-con tourist section where you pay more, so we insisted we sit downstairs with the locals, and for the equivalent of 50p, stuffed ourselves silly. Afterwards on the street, we got our first taste (literally) of the Holi colours, as vendors saw us as blank canvases. We’d bought white shirts just for this purpose, thinking it will be a good, unique souvenir when we get back. Our faces, hair and shirts were now splattered beautiful rainbow colours, orange, pink, green, purple, and to top things off, it started to rain, which makes the dye set. Walking down to the main road, the reception we now got was unbelievable. Forget David Beckham, now we were in the super-A-list celeb status reserved for people like Chantelle. Absolutely every single person we passed, even people driving past, were cheering and shouting “Happy Holi!”. I think I like being famous.

After we paid a visit to a beautiful handmade shoe shop (and I didn’t even buy any! How good am I?), Gary decided he’d had just about all the dye he could take for one day and headed back, while Michelle, Brad and I went back to the stadium for the pinnacle of the Elephant Festival. We were waiting there a while, when a girl from Glasgow in front of me pointed out that sitting right behind us were two of the girls from Footballers’ Wives. As I was trying to explain the concept of this to Michelle and Brad, employing such terms as “bucket loads of fake tan” and “baby-swap-dog-suffocation fiasco”, Brad, being the friendly guy that he is, turned round, introuced himself, and was soon chatting away to them (well, to one of them – the other seemed to think she was still more of a celebrity than I am in these parts which is, frankly, unthinkable). They paled at the sight of us all coloured up, and I’m sure went into shock at the thought of green dye getting on their hair extensions. They are here to film a documentary, to be shown in two one-hour slots later this year, so keep your eyes out (and film it if you can, as Brad might be on it at one point). It’s all about them coming to India and getting enlightenment – it only takes three weeks, apparently.

We waited, along with hundreds of tourists and thousands of Indian families, for the festival to begin. First off was the parade – it was something really special to see these elephants all dressed up in their glad-rags, then the costumes were judged. The adorable 2-year old baby elephant who led the parade got a special prize for her decorations. Next up was the tug-of-war, with an elephant versus 16 tourists. This is the bit that Brad might be on tv – Michelle and I talked him into signing up for it, and one of the Footballers’ Wives girls jumped in right in front of him. As you can probably guess, it was a complete walkover to the elephant, although Brad says that there was one German guy who wanted to talk tactics with the rest of the team. I don’t know about you, but my tactic in a situation like that would pretty much be “don’t get stood on”.

Elephant Polo, unfortunately, wasn’t as exciting as it sounds. The pitch was really small, for starters, I’d have loved to see them really run round the huge stadium field. That really would be a sight. Just as we were about to leave, they asked for tourist volunteers to play Holi with the elephants. Cool, we thought, so ran up and got our free t-shirts. Spotting an opportunity, Michelle and I put those t-shirts in my bag, thinking we could keep them clean as a souvenir. Horrified that we could venture on to the field without an official t-shirt, the man in charge gave us another one each – result! This went over my clothes AND over my backpack, giving me that trendy Quasimodo look that all the kids love so much these days. On the count of three we were off, bucket loads of colour firing down on us from all directions. I was keeping my eyes closed most of the time (you try it with your eyes open!), so kept losing my bearings. It was almost intimidating at times, being surrounded by so many teenagers and men, throwing powder at me, but luckily Brad was a good bodyguard, and at one point just grabbed my hand and ran me out of a circle. Michelle was up on an elephant, but she fared no better up there, ending up bright pink.

The Indian media were out in force, and we actually ended up as genuine celebrities – I lost count of the number of times I was interviewed for Indian tv. Most of the time it was along the lines of yes, this is a fun festival, it’s a great time to be here, Jaipur is a great city, but the funniest exchange went like this:

Interviewer: “Will you recognise yourself when you look in a mirror?”

Me: “No, I don’t think so, I’ve got colour all in my hair and on my face”

Interviewer: “And what will your reaction be?”

Me: “I think I’ll probably scream”

Interviewer: “Like what?”

Me: “AAARRGH”.

Following this, the tug-of-war’ers were called up to get their trophy. I was standing near Brad when the Minister of Tourism turned to me with a trophy and said “There you go”. “Oh no”, said I, “I wasn’t in the tug-of-war”, “Yes, yes, there you go”. So I took it, and of course told Michelle to get hers as well.

We finally made it home bright, tired, safe, a bit freaked out, laden down with free goodies. I could get used to the celebrity life.

We were only staying in Agra one day, which is pretty much par for the course – once you’ve seen the Taj Mahal, it just makes you pity any other monuments. As Gary, Michelle and Brad were all heading to the same place as I, Jaipur, they got tickets for the same train. Unfortunately this meant another dream-wrenchingly early start, to leave the hostel at 5.30am.

Perhaps miraculously, we were all up on time, and managed to get two rickshaws right outside the hostel – Michelle and Gary took one, Brad and I the other. The day didn’t get off to the best start when our rickshaw gradually started losing power, and it eventually ground to a halt on a dark stretch of road that patently wasn’t the train station. I got a fit of the giggles as the driver had to kick start it, Fred Flinstone style, with one foot out the side. I guess the AA doesn’t come this far out.

Eventually we made it to the train station, and found Michelle and Gary inside. After asking around a couple of times, we worked out that our train would leave from Platform 1 – the bad news, though, was that it was running an hour and a half late. Undeterred at first, we waited stoically on a bench on the platform, watching a gang of monkeys opposite picking their way through the rubbish. Soon though, we heard a rumour that it would be even later than this, and would in fact arrive at 9am. With this news, we decided to find something a bit more substantial to sustain us, and headed to the station restaurant which had just opened. We had a banquet-sized table to ourselves, and we ordered chai and vegetable cutlets (similar quality to those on the train the day before, and I should know – I’m a European) and settled in for the long wait. Gary got his laptop out, which attracted a lot of attention from fascinated Indian station workers, and Michelle and I played cards. Well, I say played, I have an astonishingly bad memory for card games, so I had to learn them again from scratch. I promised Michelle I wasn’t a hustler, and we started a game of Rummy.

About 9.30, when we had been told numerous times “the train will be here in half an hour”, we started to get impatient, and I was almost ready to throw in the towel and try to find an alternative way to Jaipur. Rationally, though, I should have known that getting impatient wasn’t going to change a thing. However, at 10.00, all the promises came good, and the train at last rolled into Agra Fort Station.

When Indian trains get to a major station, they stay put for a long time. Chai wallahs wander the platform, selling little clay cups filled with chai for a few rupees. Goods and stock get loaded on to travel cross-country. There’s even time for some of the men to get off, have a wash, and get back on again. So when our train came in, we had a while to wander up and down the platform to find our carriages (we were all sitting separately). The first couple of carriages we saw were literally packed like sardines and, to be honest, I started to get a touch of the Princess about me and was thinking “I can’t go like that”. As Brad had already made the leap of faith and got into his carriage, and seeing Michelle and Gary were about to do the same, I found my name posted outside with all the reservations, gulped, and got on.

And it was fine. A tad crowded maybe, certainly dusty and dirty, but fine. I was sitting next to a young family with two small boys, throwing chunks of chapatti out the window to the monkey on the tracks, though all three of us yelled and jumped back when it came right up to the window. Before we’d even set off, Michelle and Gary wandered through to my carriage, and we all found seats together – Brad was happy enough where he was. Knowing we had at least a five hour journey ahead of us, Michelle and I carried on our game of Rummy, and soon we had an audience, about five or six Indian guys gathered round, asking us if we were playing Rummy. After a couple of games, we invited them to join us and they showed us how they played it over here, slightly different to us, but easy enough to pick up. And you know what? It was really good fun. We spent the whole six hours (yep, instead of making up time, we lost yet another hour) playing cards with these guys – they barely spoke English, we spoke none of their language yet somehow we mangaged to find a common connection and have a truly memorable journey. When I look back on this trip in years to come, I know that time on the train will be one of the stand-out things that sticks in my mind.

Getting to Jaipur station was hot, crowded, and filled with touts. Paying no attention to them, we marched up the platform and went straight to the tourist information office, where we were going to book our hotel that we’d picked out of the Lonely Planet. Because it’s festival time in Jaipur (in fact, all over India, but Jaipur is one of the hot spots to be right now), the hotels were fully booked, but the man working in the office recommended another one to us. Slightly suspicious, and thinking maybe he was on commission, we eventually agreed to take a look, as the rates were the same, if not a bit cheaper, than the others in the book. And then came the next pleasant surprise of the day. The hotel is wonderful, really fabulous. The rooms are big, clean, airy, there’s a garden in the front and a balcony on the second floor where I’m going to eat breakfast in a short while.

That night we headed further up the main road in Jaipur, MI Road, to a revolving restaurant. We arrived a bit early for the revolutions, so went to the Tex-Mex themed bar on the 9th floor, and I had just about the strongest Bloody Mary ever known to man. Heading back up, we sat down, enjoyed the ride and the views, and ate one of the tastiest meals I’ve had since I’ve arrived.

All things considered, a surprisingly good day.

No, I’m not getting all poetic, that’s how a writer once described the Taj Mahal.  More of which later… (just to make sure you keep reading!)

My last day in Delhi, although somewhat of a non-event in that I just wandered around, was fun in that I finally started to ‘get’ it.  Delhi’s great if you just go with the flow, expect the unexpected, and just appreciate it for what it is.  And what it was, on that day, was raining.  You know, I leave England to get away from the weather, and it follows me all the way over here.  Just in case you’re starting to get worried though, I can reassure you that it was still very, very warm.  I can see you wiping the sweat away from your forehead as you read.  The rain turned the streets of the main bazaar into a mudbath, and I eventually gave up on trying to keep my feet clean.  The one concession I made was turning my trousers up, even though they got splattered with mud all the way up.  I took refuge in a few of the shops along the bazaar, as I’d decided I wanted to buy a couple of items of clothing.  You know me – never knowingly undershopped.  I ended up with two Indian cotton tops, and one long skirt that would have been the height of fashion last year.  Still, I’m in Delhi, and I’m guessing that fashion sense isn’t really a priority here.  The clothes averaged out at 1 pound each – nearly as cheap as Primark!  I had so much fun haggling with the vendors, and think I’m finally starting to get my haggling stripes.  When the rain got too much, I took refuge in a cafe, where I downed a couple of cups of chai – the local tea, very sweet and milky and spicy, and absolute heaven in a cup.

Back at my hotel, I had a hose-down, and packed up my bag completely, as I had a really early start the next day, and didn’t fancy trying to jam everything into my backpack at 4.30am.  I’ve brought waaaay too much stuff, yet deciding what is and isn’t chuckable is so difficult – everything suddenly seems very essential when you’re living out of a backpack.  I didn’t sleep too well, paranoid about missing my alarm, and worrying that I wouldn’t be able to find an autorickshaw at 5.15am, when I had to leave for the station.  No worries at all on that front – when I stumbled, bleary-eyed, out of the hotel, two magically pulled up outside.  I tell you, these guys have a sixth sense about when you need them.  Brushing aside the first one who insisted on 50 rupees to take me to the station (I could have walked it in 10 minutes), I haggled the second one down to 30 rupees, and he and his friend giggled hysterically as I had to back into the rickshaw to fit my backpack in.  I found the platform, the train pulled in on time, and magically, I found my seat.  I was sitting next to an American guy, Gary, travelling with Michelle, who was over at the next table.

My first experience of Indian trains was very good indeed.  This particular train is comparable with a good European service (so not British Rail then – bit of politics for you there, Ben Elton fans), only better.  Gary and I chatted all the way to Agra, a journey of two hours, and we got on really well – he and Michelle are from San Fransisco, and have been on the road since last year.  We were delighted when we got a meal on the train – spicy vegetable cutlets, with two chips (???) and peas, plus bread, jam, juice and tea.  Music cranked up as we were served as well, it’s obviously a digestive aid over here!  Thinking this was fabulous, we were surprised when the guy sitting opposite me asked to speak to the Train Manager.  He then launched into an attack on the food, “The quality of this is very, very poor.  Not good.  I am a hospital consultant.  This is not good food.  There are 60% Europeans on this train, what will they think?”  Glancing round, I could see no other Europeans apart from myself, but maybe he knew more than I did.  We were also intrigued by the relevance of his profession; he even handed his business card to the manager – maybe that qualified him to know good food?  Either way, it was very entertaining.

We arrived in Agra on time, and were joined by Brad (a friend of Michelle and Gary’s, who they met in Africa earlier on their trip), and David (an Australian who had been sitting next to Michelle).  We all decided to go to the same hostel, and were treated to a new version of haggling – we said where we wanted to go, and immediately the taxi drivers fought it out amongst themselves for the cheapest price.

The hostel was ok, not brilliant but popular enough and close to the Taj Mahal. After a few minutes to settle in, we set off en masse to see one of the wonders of the world. We managed to take a wrong turn in Agra’s winding streets, and ended up wandering through little residential squares filled with holy cows, and children throwing stones at monkeys. After getting back on the right track, we paid for our tickets – an almost-extortionate 750 rupees (nearly 10 pounds, although how do you put a price on perfection?) and, true to form, the Indian entrance price was 10 rupees. Although, we did get a free bottle of water, which makes it all worthwhile. We had to go through strict security, which was quite reassuring because of the recent bombs in India, and leave various items in the lockers – Gary’s laptop, my mobile phone, and, bizarrely, my compass.

That done, we were through the gates, and faced by surely one of the best sights in the whole world. It’s hard to remember a time when I was more overwhelmed by something, especially a man-made structure. It’s odd, you know, the building is so familiar from photographs, television, pictures, and yet, seeing it is something different altogether. I’m sure I can’t do it nearly enough justice in words. The marble seems to glow in the light, and it’s a very symmetrical structure, built on a platform so you see nothing behind it but sky. The pools leading up to it seem to draw you in and towards the Taj, throwing off perfect reflections. I took about a million photos, so I’ll upload some of them soon, and you can all look forward to the slide show when I get back. “Here’s one of the Taj Mahal. And another. And another. Oh, and another one”. We had to cover our shoes to go in, I think, though I’m not sure, it’s because it’s a Muslim tomb. Inside, a perfect soaring arch houses the tomb of Mumtaz, the woman whose death drove the Shah to such grief that he built this monument to her. Well, not personally, I’d imagine he had a bit of help.

Despite the number of visitors there, the grounds were surprisingly peaceful, surrounded by cool green lawns. Some time, and millions of photos later (including the Princess Di one, though I don’t pull off ‘wistful and enigmatic’ in the same way that she did), we left the Taj grounds and went for lunch on a rooftop restaurant. Later, four of us went up to Agra Fort, which, in my humble and uninformed opinion, was miles better than the Red Fort in Delhi. Many more nooks and crannies to explore, and a million more photos of architecture to take – again, look out for that slide show, folks!

Dinner that night was on our hostel rooftop restaurant, where they had saved us the best seat in the house, looking out over the Taj. As the sun went down and the Taj glowed golden in the dimming light, we listened to the Muslim call to prayer echoing out across the city, I sipped a cold beer, looked round at four new friends, and felt that I had been blessed by happiness.

Yesterday (9th March), I slept late again, so unlike me – either this is me in total chill-out mode, or I’m still getting used to Delhi time. A bit of both, maybe?

I’d decided to go and see the Red Fort in Old Delhi today, one of the major sites, a relic from the time of the Marharajas. My first attempt at negotiating an autorickshaw wasn’t what you’d call a success – I’d walked away from one asking for 50 rupees, and somehow ended up in one that was 70. I haven’t quite got the hang of this yet! Still, considering there are 80 rupees to the pound, not a bad deal either way. Heading there meant a dash through crazy Delhi traffic. I know I keep going on about this, but you should really see it! I took a couple of photos, but don’t think they’ve really captured the absolute fear of the overtaking, complete lack of sticking to a lane (in fact there are no lanes – the middle of the road is pretty much who dares wins). Crossing roads takes a paticular brand of insanity as well, which I have entered into with gusto. You just wait for a 2 second pause in the traffic, and then go. How more people don’t get pancaked is beyond me, truly.

The entrance fee to the Red Fort was 11 rupees for Indians, 100 rupees for foreigners. There are separate queues at the ticket office, and a man with a stick makes it clear which queue you are to get in. I can see the point of encouraging Indian nationals to visit sites of such major historical importance (I’ve been told the same’s true for the Taj Mahal as well), but you’ve got to hand it to them for their honesty about it!

The Red Fort was absolutely massive, on the scale of a big old British castle, to get some idea of it, with the walls facing the city about 30 metres up, all in red stone (surprising, really, given its name!) On entering, you walk through a covered alley with craft shops, then through into the main grounds. To be honest, it was a bit of a disappointment, as all you can see are the outsides of the buildings within. That said, the architecture is absolutely stunning, some of the details are so intricate, considering the scale of the place. At the back wall there is a great viewing platform, cool because it is so high up, giving wonderful views of the place further down the river where Ghandi was cremated. There were also lovely lawns there, where I took shade for half an hour, fending off the local chipmunks, and watched a group of about 50 teenagers, accompanied by nuns, walk round with a guide and kept saying, in chorus, “oooh” and “aaah” every few minutes. Completely enchanting. Less enchanting was the guy who came over to me and demanded “give me water, I am hungry for water”. I refused, and instead pointed him in the direction of the water stall. Ever so helpful, me.

I walked back out of the Red Fort – admiring the tenacity of the touts who tried to sell me a guide book after I had seen it all – and decided to take a cycle rickshaw up Chandri Chowk, the crowded bazaar streets of Old Delhi. I found a fabulous guide, Rajiv, who showed me round for 3 hours, including a trip to what seemed like a little-visited tower at the top of the spice market, with amazing views down to the chaos below. The highlight, though, was a completely deserted Jain temple, down a quiet street a world away from the insanity outside, painted all in pastel colours. I had the temple to myself, and the guide showed me round with lots of interesting information. The place is over 1000 years old, and is completely covered in gold leaf. Stunning. He ambushed me then and gave me my first bindi of the trip, out of yellow sandalwood oil. Scared of becoming a tree-hugging ‘traveller’ type, I got rid of it back at the hotel, but it was nice to have for a while.

Coming back out of the temple, I got pelted with water from above. Next week is the major festival of Holi, marked by people throwing coloured water and powder at each other, and it looks like these kids were getting in their practice early. I’m going to stock up on dark clothes for next week! Luckily in this heat (it’s been pushing 40 degrees), it dried off really quickly.

Back at the hotel for a quick pit stop, then headed out for something to eat – I’m quite conscious of being out too late by myself, the stares and comments are fine to deal with in the daytime, you just ignore them, but me being Captain Sensible like to be back at my room by dark, which means eating early. I went to a restaurant in the backpacker district, and had the most delicious vegetarian Thali, which is a selection of various dishes, a bowl of rice, and, in this instance, 2 naan breads. I was in foodie heaven.

Today is my last day in Delhi, I’m heading to Agra tomorrow for the famous ‘Princess-Di-looking-wistful’ shot in front of the Taj Mahal.

And now, to answer Gabi’s questions (and help with Sarah’s geography lessons)

1. Yes, it is very, very hot in India. It has been nearly 40 degrees every day, which is hotter than Spain or Crete. Somehow, though, it’s not as noticeable when you are walking about than when you are sitting by the pool.
2. Yes, the people here have brown faces, some are dark brown, some are light brown. I have seen some beautiful smiles, Indian people are very friendly and welcoming.
3. I don’t know many words in Indian! I will have to learn. I only know “Namaste”, which means hello. Did you know there are lots of different languages spoken in this country?

That’s all for now, I’m off to spend some rupees on an aloo paratha for lunch and then hit the shops. Maybe I’ll get the hang of this haggling lark.

Before I tell all about Delhi, I need to go back to yesterday when I took my flight out. In classic Suze style, I’d left so much stuff until the last minute. I was packing up my house until 10pm, then had to go and drop the keys off at the Estate Agents after that. By the time we were back at Mum’s and had put the last of my stuff in the loft (giving me a chance to road-test my new head torch, miner-style), it was midnight, by which time I’d pretty much decided not to go to sleep. All of you who know how much I need my 8 hours per night will now be guffawing into your coffee.

I packed the last of my stuff in my rucksack, ignoring the fact that it’s waaay too heavy (it’s sure to get lighter as I’m using all my toiletries, right?), and then dozed on the sofa for an hour, waking up every 10 minutes in a panic that I’d missed my alarm.

We got to the airport in good time, which for me means about 4 hours to spare, checked in and had a last cup of coffee with mum. I’ll spare you all the emotional details of the goodbye, suffice to say I cried pretty much all the way onto the plane, all the way to London, and on to the plane at Heathrow, then intermittently all the way to Delhi. Like the grown-up globetrotter I am!

Sat next to a nice guy on the plane, who was telling me all about his son’s gap year that turned into 5 years. (Aunty Rosemary, maybe you should forget I just said that). Unfortunately, as well as being nice, he also had huuuuge elbows that kept getting me in the kidneys (are the kidneys on the right hand side of your body? JP please confirm). They also kept changing the channel on my tv set, but every time it happened he seemed genuinely surprised although I kept pointing it out to him. Politely of course, I’m still evah so British.

We were delayed both at Heathrow and then waiting to dock/berth/park/whatever the plane term is, so it was pretty late by the time we were through immigration. I got talking to some friendly people in the queue, two German guys and a French girl, and we were going to share a taxi if our pre-booked transfers had gone because we were late. Fortunately mine was there, as was the guys’, but unfortunately we left without having a chance to get to know each other. The guys are going to Agra on Saturday, same as me, so we might well bump into each other there.

I finally got to the hotel at 4am Delhi time, after seeing all kinds of sights on the roads here – you know, you read about the crazy traffic, but you really can’t appreciate it until you’ve seen your taxi (on the wrong side of the road) bearing down quickly on something coming from the opposite direction. Welcome to India! Now we’re going to kill you.

I slept right through till lunch time but haven’t been particularly hungry yet – I think it’s the heat. It seems the height of stating the obvious to come to India and say “you know what people, it really is a bit warm here” but the truth is, it really is a bit warm here! I haven’t had too much walking to do so far – I wandered over to the train station to book my ticket to Agra on Saturday, and then to this internet cafe, but that’s about it. I’m taking the time today to plan the rest of my days in Delhi, I think I really could get to like it here. Completely insane, of course, but maybe that’s why.