This Must Be the Place I've Waited Years to Live

Tuesday 25 November 2008
Mumbai – Goa (Arambol Beach)

So it was the middle of the night on the train to Goa. The previous day I had some exciting moments in the toilets. This was nothing unusual. For my whole trip I'd been pretty OK with my guts. Even eating at roadside cafés under Raj's instruction I'd not had any problems. Yes, I had the odd twinge in my stomach and the odd emotional moment in the toilets, but nothing more serious than that, and only slightly more than what I experience at home. However there had been a couple of urgent visits yesterday, and as I went to be I was feeling thirsty, with a temperature, and fairly tired.

Then I woke up in the middle of the night and had to go to the loo. Luckily I'd been saving up loo roll from all the hotels I'd been to so far. It was done with pretty quickly and I was soon back asleep. Then it happened again, though again I coped with it fine.

Then the guy came round with breakfast. It was 8 already and I was still feeling very tired. I had to get up anyway so I sorted that out, but then I didn't feel like eating. I had one of those sausage-shaped vegetable samosas that I had on the previous train journey (which I found out were called vegetable cutlets) which I liked and were tasty, but I wasn't into it. I forced down a few mouthfuls but I couldn't take it further. Plus I was still really tired.

I crawled back into a spare bunk, asked Megan to wake me up at my stop (we were getting off at the same place) and fell asleep. A good few hours later we arrived at Thivim station and disembarked. I was hoping there was a taxi service as I had no idea how to get to Arambol, the beach I wanted to visit first. Megan mentioned there was a bus, but I wanted to taxi it all the way. Luckily there was a car park full of taxis to help out so I arranged one of those.

As I was getting in three guys happened to talk to Megan and as they were going to the same place as me (Megan was going to Ajuna) she sent them my way and we ended up splitting the fare, which was sweet. They were Evan, from South Africa, Tim from Australia and Pat, a plastic paddy from Manchester with a fair accent.

This is what I had been hoping for, since I first arrived in Bangkok (well, one of the things...). A bunch of easy-going travellers all doing roughly the same thing, looking to have fun, sharing stories and advice and sharing the costs as we went along. A bunch of westerners that I could relate to. And then we arrived at the beach.

One of the other things that I had wanted from this trip is something that meets my ideal of a sunny, beach-based holiday. The bar had been set by a beach aptly called Paradise in Uluwatu, Indonesia. It was a small beach backed by a gently sloping cliff. On the slope there were various wooden huts built into the landscape. Each were a series of guest houses with basic facilities and wholesome restaurants attached. It was in fact a surfers' beach and there were big waves coming in, which meant there weren't many swimming opportunities – that was about the only bad thing. But it was sunny, hot, relaxing and beautiful. I made some friends, made some fans of Doppler and generally had a happy, relaxing time. Is that too much to ask?

Well it hadn't happened in seven weeks of travelling. Phangan Beach Resort in Thailand was close but not close enough.

And then we arrived at the beach.

It was a long cresent of a place, with a hill on the right and a town behind it (selling all sorts of hippie paraphernalia). I had been recommended a hilltop guest house by some Australians I met and the guidebooks, so we sought it out and found somewhere sweet. The huts were exactly like Indonesia but with the toilets attached to them (like Thailand, funnily). We had a view over the whole beach and it looked like paradise. It was hot, like Indonesia, like Bombay, but there was a good wind coming in off the Arabian Sea which meant things weren't too bad. The back of the beach was fringed by bamboo covered restaurants, and behind them was a thick line of palm tress. Pat, who had only ever been on holiday to his relatives in Ireland had never seen a tropical beach before, and just sat there with a massive grin on his face.

We had arrived.

I was sharing a room with Evan. He reminded me a lot of Alain, both in features and some mannerisms, though he didn't quite have the full on party spirit of Alain, he was a bit more chilled out and a bit more Saffa. He was an engineer on oil platforms in Congo-Brazzaville and Oban in central Africa and originally from Durban. A pretty cool guy all round.

I cleaned myself up after the travels and had a bit of lunch – chicken soup and some toast. A a glass of water with a bit of sugar and salt mixed in to replace the electrolytes. It took a while to eat but it all went down well and I didn't need to rush to the toilet, so that was good. But I was still feeling tired so I went to sleep in the hut for a good while.

Eventually I woke up but had a dull headache, so I took a pill and revived myself. I sat at a table, overlooking the bay. I started reading 1984 as I'd just bought it and had never read it before, despite knowing all about it. Seems like he nicked some ideas from a reality TV show. I don't often read fiction as I find it's often too laboured and unlike reality for me to buy into it. But I actually found it very easy to enjoy, and very readable. The harshness of the people and environment in that book was a huge contrast to my current situation.

The sun set in the big, Rothko-like way it does over here. The lack of variation in the atmosphere makes it visually less interesting that the ones I saw in Thailand, but more monumental instead. After dark Evan and I wandered down the beach to see what it was like and choose a restaurant. We chose the most popular. I had a mushroom pizza to keep things simple and bland. We were soon joined by Tim and Pat (who were staying in a different place). I was feeling hungry and ate my food at normal speed. I was getting better.

Unfortunately halfway through the meal, Tim started getting worse. He'd just eaten a big plate of shark and started making regular trips to the loo. Later on he excused himself and went home, only to find that he couldn't unlock his door, so he had to sleep outside and go “in the bush”. Meanwhile we found the only “happening” part of the beach (it is pretty quiet here) and had a few beers (I had a couple of small ones and was OK) and watched the fire shows. They weren't a patch on the ones at Ko Tao, but full marks for trying.

There was some dance music playing – I presume it was Goa Trance but it sounded too rough to me, and people dancing like they were half at a 1989 rave and half possessed by monkeys. I don't think they were on drugs, which made it even stranger.

There are a lot of long timers here, far too many white people with dreads, and lots of people who are probably experiencing many different levels of consciousness all at the same time (or at least that's what it looks like to me). A little later someone started playing a “hang” - which is like the top bit of a steel drum turned upside down and played by tapping. It creates a watery, melodic chiming sounds which is very relaxing. A crowd of people gathered round when it started as though they were on a fixed timetable. They must be the people in the know. That pretty much took us to the end of the night.

It's worth mentioning here that the locals do clearly have a Portuguese / Iberian influence in the way they look. A rare few look extremely western with light skin and just a bit skinnier than you'd expect in Europe. Others look pretty much Indian but with subtle aspects of their features in the Portuguese vein. It's hard to describe exactly what – I want to say a soft, roundness of the face and a happy expression but that doesn't really make it uniquely Portuguese. You'll just have to come here and see for yourself.

Timestretched

Monday 24 November 2008
Bombay

Actually it was an awesome night's sleep. I even woke up early and then didn't bother to leave the bed, as a result I went back to sleep again. I have an overnight train trip but I think at this stage its better to get more sleep to recover comfortably from the previous night's escapdes.

Some guy knocked on my door asking me if I wanted to be an extra in a Bollywood movie. If I hadn't had to make my train in the evening, I would have said yes. Maybe next time.

For breakfast I went to a fairly posh restaurant which was actually the bistro son of the most popular restaurant in Bombay – Indigo (named after the Tata car I guess). I had my favourite – Eggs Benedict – and right tasty it was too. After checking out of the hotel and depositing my bags with them I set off into town. I'd seen a palm-reading fortune teller yesterday and wanted to see what he would say for a bit of fun.

Unfortunately when I got there it seemed that he was already drunk, the time now being just after midday. I guess it's a stressful profession, always knowing what is going to happen. I wasn't intending to barter with him but by mistake he halved his fee for me. And then with a bit of difficulty with him slurring his words, he told my fortune.

The highlights were that I'm going to live to 78 at least, though I will have problems with my heart after the age of 60. I'll be married within the year and will have three children, two girls and one boy. Funnily enough the last two facts are exactly what the palmist told me in Vietnam. I'll have a “middle class social life” apparently, so I guess wife-swapping in Surbiton it is. About sex he told me that I have a “normal” amount of love, 30% above average imagination (not quite sure how that's relevant), “middle top” physical abilities (tell me something I don't know) and above average exhibitionist tendencies. Where's the nearest forest? I'll also have a career outside over 2000 km (1250 miles) away from my birthplace (Chertsey). Well that rules out the UK and a bit of Western Europe. Stadium gigs in LA perhaps?

Anyway after that I went to see Quantum of Solace at the local cinema. I could have seen a Bollywood film but the only one showing (Dostana) seemed to consist of a hot chick and hunky guys standing on a beach. The Indian equivalent of Baywatch perhaps? Anyway, I wasn't sure it would be in English (they usually aren't) so I gave it a miss. The Bond film was good with lots of connections to the previous one, and had a bit of a nice lyrical quality to photography and editing (like The Constant Gardener) and good framing. Though most amusing point was that there was an interval half way through. Apparently in India you have the trailers in the middle of the film, rather than at the start.

After that I killed quite a huge amount of time on the internet, using wifi (although I had to pay for it) catching up with various bits and pieces including watching the preview of the Doctor Who Christmas special that was show on Children in Need. I was so excited by it that I had to go and read the forums on Gallifrey One extensively just to find out what the explanation for it was. And then read the spoilers for what's in store for next year's specials. I really shouldn't do that, I kinda ruined series three with that approach and series four was a lot better for me as I'd learnt my lesson.

Anyway at 8.30 I went to pick up my train ticket, and thankfully it was there as the travel agent had promised. After that I ate some food, bought a couple of books, finished off my packing and grabbed a taxi to the train station. This was one of the places which, two days later, would be covered with the blood of the victims of the Mumbai attacks. I boarded the train and – luxury of luxuries – I was in an air conditioned sleeper cabin. Rejoice! I chatted to the girl in my section. She was called Megan, an American, from Minneapolis (whose capital is St. Paul) but interestingly she worked in the Antarctic, on a base camp for scientists, working in a shop providing camping and travel equipment for the scientists as they venture into the wastelands.

Down there during summer it gets up to a balmy -20 degrees with winter reaching a bracing -40. And every year the South Pole rises higher, as new snow falls and never melts. That has meant that the scientific base that was originally built there some time ago has now sunk completely underground, and they've just built a new one which can be raised up every year (presumably by tucking bits of snow underneath it). Anyway soon it was time for bed and we set up the bunks and all fell asleep.

Hot Fuss

23 November 2008
Jaipur – Bombay

So I couldn't sleep any more and I opened my eyes – and it was light. Turns out I had made it through the night without too much discomfort or problems. I arrived at the station and taxied my way to the hotel. Needless to say it wasn't paid for, so I was something like 18 GBP out of pocket. Such is life.

And I was in Bombay. On the way to the hotel I passed a slum that contains over half of Bombay's population – just a fraction less than London's entire population as Bombay contains a mere 13 million people. And I also went down Reay Road – yes, that's the actual spelling. And I saw the Arabian Sea (or as I like to call it, the north west bit of the Indian Ocean) for the first time in a while. It looked lovely, glimmering in the sunshine like a tropical sea should.

And it was hot. I was now a good few hundred kilometres further south, and while Rajasthan at about 27 degrees north was experiencing comfortable high twenties during the day and cold, jumper-requiring nights, Bombay on the other hand is back to Thailand-like temperatures. Oh boy. Well, I've been here before.

I was warned from the guidebooks that Bombay was cramped, dirty, dusty, polluted, congested, basically like all the things that Delhi was but worse. Maybe I have been spoilt by the general degradation in Rajasthan and the part of Delhi that I stayed in (which was admittedly one of the dirtiest parts), but Bombay's actually in better condition than I was expecting. It doesn't seem to be as dirty as Delhi, the traffic's not too bad and seems to be less congested than London at least. And there's less rubbish on the streets and hardly any animals. I don't think I've seen a cow and in fact all I've seen is the odd dog here and there.

Once at the hotel, I had a much needed shower and checked the internet just to make sure I had been truly ripped off. I might call Sanjay and tell him I was ripped off, and piss of Raj's career. I just need to find his number somehow.

After that it was lunch, and I was properly hungry now. So I went for comfort food – brushetta (which was very cheesy) and a straightforward pasta dish. It was nice and filling, and set me back to being tired. I went back for a lie down and a small snooze, though I didn't properly fall asleep. But it was enough to revive me.

So I did a bit of sightseeing in Bombay. There isn't loads to see, mostly colonial architecture. I saw the Gateway to India, though most of it was being renovated. Then it was a church built in memory of the First Afghan War, which was a monument to Imperial British Victorian Christianity and could have been anywhere in the Empire. Then it was the main train station which was called Victoria Terminus but was renamed in the late nineties by the local right-wing Marathi party (Shiva's Army in English) to something unmemorable (it's named after a legendary Marathi warrior).

There was also an equally awesome building next to it, but I couldn't work out what it was. But it had the colonial architecture which combined Victorian neo-gothinc and classical architecture with local Hindu and Islamic styles.

After that I walked back home and after being driven everywhere for the last twelve days the exercise was a welcome change. Though I was now back to sweating like a bitch again. Oh well. I returned to the hotel and blogged and chilled out for a bit.

I went for dinner at the local travellers' place but didn't get to meet any people I could hang out with. I talked briefly with some Aussies who had just come from Goa and could recommend a hotel for me. But they were leaving when I met them. I also shared a table with a Japanese guy who was over here on work. But his English wasn't that good (better than my Japanese naturally). We had a brief chat, and he mostly nodded and laughed which was nice.

After that I went upstairs to the bar which unfortunately was full of self-contained groups and seemingly all of the black people in Bombay. Luckily however it was airconditioned, though it still measured 33 degrees room temperature. It was here that I met Evan, though I didn't know it was him until a few days later. I started on a beer and as luck would have it they started showing the fourth One Day International between India and England, which had been delayed due to rain, and shortened to 22 overs.

But wait, rain? The match was taking place in Bangalore, south of Bombay and Goa. And it was raining? I haven't seen any weather since I've been in India, unless you count smog as weather. But no rain and hardly any clouds to speak of. How bizarre.

There were a few Indians who were watching it around me, so I had a chat with them. Needless to say we lost the match, albeit due to a rather harsh Duckworth-Lewis calculation. But India are the best team in the world at the moment – at home at least – and they had just beaten the Australians in the preceeding test series, so there's no doubt that they're going to do well against us. Bring back Duncan Fletcher, I say.

During the match you could see the smog in the stadium, and I could understand the difficulty touring teams must have on the subcontinent. Despite it approaching midnight Flintoff was sweating like a beast as well.

By the time that had finished it was more or less midnight and time for bed. I was tired, slightly drunk and in one of the nicest hotels I had stayed in so far. Comfy beds and a working bathroom, and air con as necessary in this town, whose drone managed to block out any noises from outside. Or so I thought...

You know what I need ... or maybe you don't

Saturday 22 October 2008
Jaipur – Bombay

Stop wasting my time
You know what I want
You know what I need
Or maybe you don't
Do I have to come back flat out and tell
you everything?
Gimme some money

Gimme Some Money – Spinal Tap

Well I managed to get a relatively OK amount of sleep during the night. There was still noise early in the morning, and the light came through the small, curtainless window to conspire to wake me up early. But I felt OK.

There wasn't much to do in the morning. I wanted to go to the station early to make sure I boarded my train in time and for some reason Raj didn't seem to share my concerns. I think there was a language breakdown again. At any rate we arrived on the train in time. However it meant that I'd wasted the morning in the hotel, when I'd wanted to book my Goa train ticket as well as do a few other bits of admin. Oh yeah, and have lunch.

So I said goodbye to Raj. He still owed me the money. Well, some of it had gone on paying for my hotel in Bombay, he said (can you guess how that one works out? Find out in the next post. I'll give you a clue though – it doesn't). So with the amount remaining that he owed me, I gave him the rest of what I was going to pay him. Goodbye Raj. I won't be recommending you to any of my friends, like you asked. A slightly short termist mode of thought for him I think.

So I was on the train. In the seated section. When I booked the holiday all the way back in Delhi, I'd asked for a sleeper carriage, and not a seated ticket. They'd told me that there were none, and the seats would be fine. Well, from what I could tell, all but 3 of the 20 or so cars were sleepers, and I was in one of the three seated cars. Thanks, Sanjay.

I asked around for an upgrade, but it wasn't happening. Well there was no use complaining now, I just had to deal with it. Luckily on the three seats in each row, there were only two people on mine, unlike most of the other rows.

But oh yeah, I hadn't had lunch. Remarkably I wasn't feeling hungry, given that it was now about 4 and all I'd had all day was one Aloo Parantha (a kind of dry pancacke with bits of onion and potato in a layer in the middle) all day. I think the general random timings of my meals so far this holiday has given my body different expectations when it comes to food.

So, where could I obtain some food from? I'd heard tales of sumptuous offerings being provided on some train services, and indeed in Thailand they came round with a menu for your dinner and subsequent breakfast. But this wasn't Thailand. You're in India now, boy. Anything could happen, and just like Formula One, it usually does.

About an hour into the journey people started coming through the carriage with edible substances on offer. Amusingly, the service was called Meals on Wheels. At first it was only chai tea. But then after a while there was someone with crisps. Result! So I had a hearty lunch of crisps. And then another came past. He was selling sandwiches. I had one of them – it had some unidentifiable substance in the middle, I think it was fish-based, I couldn't be sure. But it didn't taste bad and it didn't make me ill, so I think I can put that one down as a success all things considered.

Basically the routine would continue where every half hour or so someone would come by with another box of something, and I grazed in this way continuously. As time went on the food became more meal-like. There were two sausage-shaped things that were to all intents and purposes an onion bhaji, with two pieces of bread and a sachet of tomato sauce, and quite tasty for it as well.

The pièce de resistance was the biryani served last. It was a biryani! Although it was mainly just rice with some small bits of veg thrown in. There was a bag of curd that was served with it. I don't know why Indians are so mad for sour milk. It tastes crap. Anyway, I ate it all despite that. When in Rome.

After that the trick to sleeping in relatively uncomfortable situations is to not to bother trying to get to sleep. Let sleep try to get to you. There was no chance of sleeping well, it's just a case of sleeping as well as you can. It actually helps if you haven't slept well before, as then you fall asleep more easily. So eventually around midnight I fell asleep. I was woken up as we reached various stations throughout Gujarat and more people joined or jeft. I kept having to move my legs or arms as the blood stopped flowing or the joints started aching. Also it felt right to stretch out my neck nice and long. But the counterpoint of that is that the muscles start to ache. But anyway I slept well enough, and I was on my way to Bombay.

I Can't Get No Sleep

Friday 21 November 2008
Mandawa – Jaipur

So it's back to Jaipur, the place of such great memories. Anyway before we make our way there I am woken up at 4 in the morning by someone near the hotel playing music at full volume. I eventually fall asleep again when someone in the hotel starts hammering away at 8. Given that I don't have to wake up until 11 it all feels like a bit of a waste of time.

However the one redeeming feature of this place is that rarest of things in India – a hot, powerful shower. It's a miracle! I make best use of it and have a long, sweet shower. I end up red as anything but it feels great.

I have breakfast and wait for Raj to surface. Once he does we get in the car and set off. We're ten minutes into the trip when I realise that we're already on the road to Jaipur and I actually haven't seen anything of Mendawa. A quick u-turn and we're back in town.

I'm taken on a tour of the town by a guide but the only thing worth seeing are havelis, and frankly once you've seen one haveli you've kinda seen them all. Indeed, they're all laid out to pretty much the same design by definition anyway. Plus, by now I'm having monument fatigue and frankly I'm looking forward to a change of scenery. And I don't mean Bombay, I mean Goa. Is she? I bet she is.

Anyway so I take some pictures of havelis and before long we're back on the road again. I'm tired and try to snooze but the road is busy and full of life-threatening overtaking opportunities, both for us and those coming in the opposite direction, so I don't really get the chance to sleep properly.

We stop and have lunch and I feel half dead as I need to sleep. It's worth mentioning at this point that I seem to have put on a lot of weight on this trip so far. After all, I'm eating irregularly (which means the body isn't sure when the next meal is coming, so it saves up on fat just in case), eating lots of rice and oily food, and not doing much exercise at all and indeed, spending most of my time sitting down being driven hundreds of kilometres at a time. I guess I'll have to swim a lot in Goa or something.

We hit horrendous traffic on the outskirts of Jaipur but finally make it back to the hotel. The last time we took this route I was driving. I let out an ironic, “Ah, the memories” before we check in. Incidentally there's a block-wide power cut at this point. Once again one of the fun aspects of India to contend with.

I try and sleep a bit but then seek out Raj and we have a couple of drinks and some food and then call it a night as frankly I don't have an excuse to stay awake. I'm looking forward to the overnight train trip tomorrow, perhaps.

At this juncture I'd like to point out that Raj has taught me many words in Hindi. Mainly based around the sexual organs and their function but also the numbers from one to twenty. For those interested, they are in order (English pronunciation): ek, doe, dean, char, marge, ché, saat, aat, nor, doss, yarra, barra, enterra, choda, pandra, solaar, saatra, aatra, umdisse, disse (like dix in French).

Through a Long and Sleepless Night

Thursday 20 November 2008
Bikaner – Mandawa

For some reason I have really bad nightmares overnight. There's a serial killer on the loose and seemingly intent on getting me and the people I'm with (I can't even remember who they were). The weird thing is that this lasts for ages. Usually if I have bad dreams I just wake up or become conscious of it and change it to my benefit. But not this time.

Anyway I wake up eventually and have breakfast and do a bit more of wifi uploading. After that we head to the fort in Bikaner and for the third time I do the audio tour. It seems the guide books haven't caught up with the recent developments in fort tourism in Rajasthan. They only mention Jodhpur as having worthwhile audio guides, but the last three places all have good audio tours. Indeed, the one in Bikaner is done by the same company and narrator as the one Jodhpur.

The fort is large and parts of the tour are through empty corridors or spaces that have no displays in them. Probably as there's just too much space to fill up. They've put a Lancaster bomber in one room, just because it's quite big and fits quite well (that's not strictly true but it sounds good).

After that we head out on the road, stopping at a camel farm which is closed, though it's no problem. There's only so many camels you can look at before you get the general idea. We stop at what Raj tells me is the famous Rat Temple where rats are considered holy and worshipped. But it's not, it's some surreal Disneyland-style temple to Ganesha that still seems to be in the process of being built. Given that Ganesha is the god of good luck I think Raj just wanted me to help out with his bad run of luck. The Rat Temple is in the opposite direction to which we're going anyway.

Of course we talk about sex again. I wonder if Raj thinks about anything else? We arrive at Fatehpur and visit another haveli run by French people. They have some cute dogs which I play with and take photos of. After that we head off to Mendawa and check into the hotel.
I check the internet at the hotel and update my blog offline. That evening it's drinks and food on the roof terrace of the hotel with Raj and another driver. Raj asks to borrow another 50 INR from me. Given that he already owes me 3360 INR I initially refuse. However it seriously upsets him and after a while I relent. I better get my money back or he'll receive no tip from in me – it would amount to pretty much the same thing anyway.

Once again Raj wants me to try it on with some girl – any girl – that's in the vicinity. Of course the intention is to acquire one for me and one for him. Given that the only girls are two French girls both with their respective partners sitting right next to them, for some reason I decline. He really is desperate.

After a while I turn in as there's only so much drunk Raj that you'd want to experience for any given period of time. Unfortunately some locals are having a mini party in one of the rooms nearby, playing live music with harmonium, drum and singing. It sounds good but I don't want to hear it as I'm trying to get to sleep. I set my iPod to white noise. Looks like another “interesting” night ahead.

I'm OK, you're OK

So there have been attacks and bombings in Bombay. I was there two days ago but now in Goa, so I'm fine and there's no problem for me. No worries and further updates to come on the blog as per usual.

Old Red Eyes is Back

Wednesday 19 November 2008
Jaisalmer – Bikaner

As my battery had run out I decide to go back to the fort in the morning to take the pictures I couldn't the day before. I have to pay the 250 INR entrance fee again but at less that 4 GBP it's worth it. I do love this palace. It's smaller than Jodhpur and Bikaner but as ever I love the small winding passages and the golden stone, which adds plenty to the ambiance.

It's mildly disappointing that the morning sunlight renders the stone more harshly than the full-on early afternoon light, but I make do. I then wander around the rest of the fort, taking a few more pics including one ultra-cute photo of a puppy. As dogs run pretty much wild and un-neutered on the streets of India (and also dead, on the roads, with their guts ripped out) you see your fair share of puppies, which are as cute as hell and you can't help but love them.

After that we set off in the car to Bikaner and have an early lunch as there is no chance to eat in the last 250 km of the 325 km journey. This leaves me bloated, and as there's no chance of a loo (short of al fresco in the desert) most of the rest of the journey is spent managing my guts. Luckily Raj is there as ever to take my mind off things but talking about sex once again. He tells me even more about his experiences including stuff that you would never expect to hear ... I guess being away from your wife for two months at a time, at the age of 26, can do this to you. Man, with his sex drive the boy needs to get laid regularly. Let's just say that.

We stop at some random small town in the middle of nowhere to replace two tyres. It takes a fair while which of course give the locals a chance to get to know the only westerner they've seen in a few years probably. A bunch of schoolchildren were interested in me, and kept on coming up to me asking the same questions over again: what's your name and where are you from. I have to say it's great fun. Even on this Rajasthan tour which is so popular with tourists, when you stop and get out of your car anywhere that isn't one of the major towns, locals look at you like they've never seen a non-Indian before. It's good fun to meet their gaze with a heartfelt “Namaste” and see them smile back (or occasionally look away). After a while I started listening to my iPod to pass the time and a local came up to me and wanted to have a go. I played the same three Cornershop songs as before and he was into it as well – in fact he insisted on giving me his mobile number, not that I would have much need for it, but I understood the gesture.

As fate would have it less that 25 km from Bikaner there were some roadworks that meant driving over what was essentially rubble, and a few minutes later a puncture had worked its way out of one of the replaced tyres.

Once fixed we were soon into Bikaner which had its fair share of pollution. We had to take a detour into town as one of the bridges was being replaced (as you do) and then wait for a train to pass at a level crossing. We arrived at the fort in the centre of town just as the sun was setting, which gave it a dreamy pink glow.

We arrived at the hotel which was literally a building site – the place we wanted to go was booked out, but they were building a new place next door and there was one room complete, which I could stay in. In fact I was the first occupant of the new hotel, something that earned me a free ice cream for my troubles.

The existing, built hotel next door was the venue for dinner, which was very tasty indeed. But something truly amazing happened here. I checked my phone and you'd never believe it – there was wifi. And it was FREE! Not in Delhi, nor in Jaipur, Jodhpur or Jaisalmer did I ever find free wifi. But Bikaner, the most northwest habitable town in Rajastan and indeed this part of the border with Pakistan, was where we found free wifi.

So of course I make the most of it and upload a bunch of stuff and check out hotels in Bombay and so on. And after that, with Raj drunk as per usual, its time for bed.

Cream of Gold

Tuesday 18 November 2008
Khuri – Jaisalmer

As the clock on my phone was wonky I wake up at who knows what hour and have breakfast. Some local guy offers to take me on a walk through the village. I take him up on his offer though I know I'm going to end up buying some piece of material that I don't really need. To save you any stress over the next paragraph, that's exactly what happens.

Nevertheless we walk though the village and he tells me a bit about life there. Essentially it's all centred around tourism as there's nothing else except desert. Water's a problem, particularly when the monsoon fails, which had been the case for a few years in a row until recently. Even now they have water trucked in ... by camel.

I take some nice pictures of the caramel-coloured buildings and we end up in some textile shop. I relent and buy a cushion cover. Back at the ranch Raj has woken up and grinning like the fool that he is. I shower and we head off to Jaisalmer. Raj regales me of stories from the night before which is kind of him. But it's not long before we catch sight of Jaisalmer Fort looming over the desert in the distance. It really is like a giant sandcastle and is the only thing higher than the horizon in the whole area.

We stop at the hotel which is again pretty nice, though of course I have to ask for a towel and toilet paper. Then after an absolutely awesome meal of chicken massala at a local restaurant
I head off to the fort. I spend a bit of time losing my way through the streets before I find myself back at the main gate again, where I realise I've walked past the entrance to the museum in the Royal Palace.

The guide books were wrong in saying that the Palace in Jodhpur was the best preserved in the state, and that the audio tour was also unmatched. Jaisalmer is more beautiful in my book (it's been significantly renovated over the last few years - an earthquake had contributed to its decline), and the audio tour is just as good (in fact it's very similar).

The clincher though is arriving on the roof where you can see all of the town within the walls of the fort, and you can fully appreciate the “giant sandcastle” tag that the place receives. It's a cute as hell, but in a good way. There are even still small man-made boulders sitting on top of the ramparts waiting to be pushed over on to attacking armies. You can see the roof-top restaurants on the hotels whose tourist trade is slowing undermining the fort's foundations (due to excess water consumption through the leaking sewers created in the 90s) meaning that it may one day be destroyed. It's in the top 100 list for at-risk world heritage monuments.

But the gods of fate, or at least the gods of batteries, have conspired against me as just after I take my first picture from the top of the fort, my camera battery runs out. Which is added to my phone battery that ran out earlier in the day, meaning that I only have my mind to take pictures with, and it's hard to download them from there to a computer.

The other aspect of Jaisalmer's economy other than tourism makes itself known during this visit too, as I hear and see the odd fighter jet scream its way across the sky as I walk round the fort. This is the last town in India before you reach Lahore, and Pakistan's border is about 100 km away.

I have a quick look at the Jain temples in the fort and then make my way back down. Next we head to the biggest haveli in town. A haveli is a large, ornate residence for Jain people, who were some of the best traders and businessmen in the Rajputana, and as a result could afford to build some of the biggest houses in the town. They also incorporated small Jain shrines into the buildings. The haveli are nice and ornate and beautiful, though nothing stood out as gobsmack-worthy.

Last on the trail was a lake constructed by one of the kings to capture water in this the most arid part of Rajasthan. It was almost empty so all the buildings in the centre were literally high and dry. Again they were all made out of the caramel-coloured sandstone of these parts, that looks good enough to eat. But my camera was out of batteries so the only photos will linger in my mind.

There was a slightly more freaky factor about this lake as well. There's a tradition that it's good luck to feed the fishes in the lake, and there are people selling bread and fish food on the approach, and Raj bought some. We feed the fish but there's a shock. The fish are like some kind of cat fish – as large as your forearm. And given that the lake is orange-coloured from the sandstone, you can't see through the water. So the fish have developed these tentacles that reach out in front of them from their mouths. Normal catfish have them, but these ones seemed to have more than usual – about eight, and long. The result is that when you throw your bread in, the first thing you see approaching the surface is a twisting alien-like star formation of dark grey tentacles, before the fish's mouth appears. It looks disgusting!

We returned to the hotel and set out to an internet café. At last, oh god, at last! I took my laptop along and managed to upload a few of the blog entries. Oh happy day! I thought it might never happen. I only uploaded three entries as you can give people too much of a good thing, and I didn't want to keep Raj waiting for too long.

We then went back to the hotel and had some food. He had seen me listen to my iPod earlier and was keen to experience it too. I obliged and played him We're in Yr Corner by Cornershop from the album When I Was Born for the 7th Time, as it's sung in Hindi (and Punjabi as Raj subsequently told me) I also played him Norwegian Wood sung in Punjabi from the same album, and Brimful of Asha. I followed that up with Taa Deem from Asian Dub Foundation, featuring Qwaali singing from Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, and Naxalite from the same group.

He was into all of those, so I played my ace: Doppler. I played the World's End Sessions in order: Agamemnon, Brick Lane, Let it Come down Gently and Sugar Pill. He was a fan of all of them. Naturally. Another country's fans to add to the list. Needless to say Raj was drinking again – I would be worried if he wasn't frankly – and we ended up taking pictures of each other with empty whiskey bottles on our heads. As you do.

Local Boy in the Photograph

Monday 17 November 2008
Jodhpur – Khuri

So we wake up fairly early and head out on the road to Jaisalmer. The start of the journey is strewn with a fair number of hills and the odd quarry, which in the morning mist and low sunlight look like alien moonscapes. I manage to take a few pics at the second one we pass.

The single carriageway road is pretty empty and there's nothing much to mention apart from plenty of cows, goats, dogs and this time sheep that frequently litter the road on our way. We have about 50 km left of the 250 or so to go to Jaisalmer when the front left wheel punctures.

We stop at a petrol station and take it off, but the spare was punctured a few days ago so we need to find somewhere that has a new one. Raj heads off with another tourist driver that stops to help and I get to hang out with all the cool kids at the petrol station.

It's actually not to bad as being the token honky in these parts all the locals gather round as per usual and want to talk to you. Of course that can be slightly complicated when you don't speak Hindi and they don't speak English. But also there are a bunch of trucks parked outside the station, so I get to take pictures of their adornments as well, which is something I've always wanted to do but found it hard when they're normally bearing down on you at full speed in the opposite direction. One guy took a pic of me in front of the lorry. I also take pictures of the locals with me, in front of the lorries. I think he wanted a tip from me but I couldn't understand him and he wasn't that forceful so nothing happened.

While I'm waiting another tourist driver stops by and checks to see if everything's OK. He can't exactly do anything to help but I do get to practice my usual German with his customers. “Warum kanst du sehr gut Deutsch sprechen?” asks the guy. I don't know. I'll never make a linguine. Eventually a guy who looks like a skinny version of Shoaib Akhtar turns up and he does speak good English, so I chat for a bit with him.

I end up showing him pics from my phone and my camera, which seems to be a good way of making friends with the locals. They like to see the Thai girl and in this case pictures of other locations from Rajasthan and my SE Asia trip. He likes my sunglasses so I take a picture of him wearing them. There's a respectful bond between us and as a result he wants to show me his lorry and I sense a Kodak moment with me in the driving seat.

It's worth pointing out at this stage that lorry drivers in India – or Rajasthan at least – are not the equivalent of those in England. The age range is pretty broad and they come across as pretty much the same as every other person in India. It may be that the subtleties aren't clear to me, or that given the wage levels here it doesn't make that much of a difference, but all in all they're not the fat, old, Sun-reading clichés that I would expect those in the UK to be. Having said that, I don't think I've ever met any UK truck drivers in the flesh so I may be horrendously prejudicing them. Or maybe not. Additionally I later read that these guys are the most likely to have AIDS. When you're on the road all the time, the only nookie you can get is with the oldest profession. Much like Raj I guess.

The other thing to mention about “Shoaib” (he told me his real name but it was very quick and long and all I remember is that is ended in Singh) was that he was a Christian, which is a first for me in India. Not that I ask everyone what their religion is, but I've asked a few. You can always tell a Sikh more or less, and most of the time the Hindus from the Muslims (and if not by face then by name), but I had it doubly wrong for Shoaib, as he looked like a Muslim, had a Hindu / Sikh name and wasn't any of those.

Anyway so he showed me his truck and he took my picture, and just then Raj returned. He'd had to walk back from the tyre place but remarkably wasn't in that much of a bad mood. Once the tyre was fixed I said bye to all my new friends and off we went.

On the outskirts of Jaisalmer Raj stopped to get the tyre that was now the spare fixed. This was fortuitous as after that we headed back into the desert to a camel camp and about 30 minutes in the front left tyre punctured again. It wasn't long until we had replaced that one and shortly after we were at the camp near a village called Khuri.

I say camp but it was really a series of small buildings with thatched roofs on the edge of the desert. The real miracle was that this was the first hotel / place of sleeping that I had come across that had not only toilet paper but also a towel already in the room, without me having to ask for it (and in some cases being charged for the toilet paper). A miracle!

Anyway shortly after settling in I was off on a camel again. I'd learnt a few things about how to ride these ships of the desert since the last trip so it was a lot more comfortable, and as a result we could actually go at running speed, unlike every other person that we met. And I can understand why they call them the ships of the desert. For a start they stand tall above other desert paraphernalia, much like ships and their masts do, they carry goods, they move slowly, and they sway languidly from side to side. There is a certain romance to it, and you can easily see the similarities.

There were a lot of people in the desert. This is obviously prime camel safari country as there was a good 30-50 people trekking roughly the same route. Luckily the desert was big enough for us all. We all settled somewhere on a long dune ridge and watched the sunset. I managed to spot three rare desert deer and even a desert fox, which was a surprise. I took a whole raft of pictures which look like they've come out well. Another highlight is that I managed to barter a beer seller down from 170 to 120 INR which I'm particularly proud of as he was driving a pretty hard bargain.

Back at “camp” I started chatting to a friendly Flemish couple and joined them for dinner. Raj turned up and I quickly noticed he was drunk. Obviously days with a “y” in them are exceptions to life-long promises too. Anyway a bit later I was chatting with him and another tourist driver who was a Sikh and had those honest, slightly hooded, slightly mournful eyes that some Sihks do. Monty Panesar has them but the mournfulness is replaced by a wide-eyed joyfulness with him.

With Raj being drunk and the Sikh driver being sober, and honest, through a few jokes and logical inferences I found out a few things about Raj that I'd often wondered but now had essentially confirmed. You see, Raj is a fun guy to be with, but more than a little insincere like 99% of his countrymen who are constantly trying to rip you off. Raj had made a big deal about us both being Rajput, as we are, and indeed as are other people I'd met who are had done as well. But he'd also used that as an excuse to avoid questions or try to convince me of some point or another, which made me doubt his veracity on more than one occasion.

I've veered from enjoyment to distrust, from sympathy to outright disgust at his behaviour on this trip, but when you're relying on this guy to take you around the country for 12 days you have to make the best of the situation. I guess what I now had confirmed is what I'd always thought – I shouldn't trust him too much and he doesn't deserve too much of my sympathy.

As the conversation with the tourist drivers inevitably degenerates into lewder topics, they end up asking me how long my “lan” is. They claim theirs are eight inches, so of course I tell them mine is 12. They ask me to prove it, but of course I fob them off. I didn't expect (a) that they'd take me seriously and (b) that I'd be asked that question in India.

Shortly afterwards, pissed as a fart, Raj drives off to visit a prostitute, and tries to convince me to come along. Frankly I expect girls to pay for me, badum-tish! So I decline his generous offer. I wander out and look at the stars I see the Milky Way, the Pleiades and Orion is lying low along the horizon. I try to wait to see a shooting star, but although I think I see a few flickers in the corner of my eye, after a while my neck starts to hurt and it's a good time to head home.

Wired for Sound

Sunday 16 November 2008
Pushkar – Jodhpur

So I grab a quick breakfast and we head back on to the road. The countryside here is dead flat, with a dark red sandstone earth and single trees evenly spread across it like a spacious orchard. There's the occasional red sandstone wall dividing out arable farmland, though what the animals feed on I've no idea. The only animals I ever saw were, ironically, in the road. Goats, cows and plenty of dogs are the order of the day here. The goats are funny, they make silly noises and are very stupid.

With the countryside so consistently similar I soon fall asleep and Raj wakes me up when we arrive at the outskirts of Jodhpur. With a town named after a silly trouser, what could we expect? Well no one wearing jodhpurs that's for sure. The local Maharajahs invented them in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries and the spread over the world when they visited Europe.

We grab lunch and my nose is streaming. Afterwards we buy some napkins and head up to the Red Fort, sitting on top of a sandstone outcrop in the centre of the plain, it has been faithfully turned into a museum by the still-existing Maharajah – he's even installed a lift to make things easier.

There's a good audio tour (my first ever!) in a fantastic Indian-English accent which I listen to. I basically sneeze my way round enjoying it as much as I can. And it is enjoyable. It's the best maintained place I've been to, and the audio tour makes it mean something without having to rely on extortionate “official government” guides.

But it's really the views that steal the show. Looking out from the fort you get an amazing view of the city. Firstly you can see the wider town walls snake over the surrounding cliffs and sandstone outcrops, and beyond that is the fragmented square patches of the rest of the town, with a large number of walls painted blue, from the indigo mixed in with the whitewash to deter insects. Jodhpur is known at the “Blue city” and not Pushkar, as Pushkar isn't that big and therefore not a city as such.

After we return to the hotel I have some time to myself, but the fan and light in my room have stopped working, so I arrange for the hotel people to fix them. I read my book while I wait for them to do that. After that I meet with Raj to go into town.

We go to the main market area near the clock tower and I walk round, but it's basically full of the same market trash that I've seen in every town so far. I do manage to take a picture of a heavily-adorned tuk-tuk, something that I've wanted to do for a while. I'm not sure why, maybe it's a Hindu thing, but minimalism is as foreign an idea as you can get in this country. Everything, from the tuk-tuks, to the lorries, to the camels, and to pretty much any surface that can receive a paintbrush or hang a pompom, is adorned in some way. It's a profusion of excess design, without care or grand scheme, that overwhelms the senses and matches the chaos and excess of the people and their attitude.

Japanese minimalism this ain't.

After that Raj takes me to his recommended spice shop and I buy a couple of things. It's actually something I want to buy after all. Though it's funny as they keep on giving me things to smell, and I don't have the best nasal sense in the first place, but add in a cold and pretty much everything smells the same. After that, given the choice, I choose to have dinner back at the hotel as the less effort is best for me given my current health.

After dinner I help Raj write a few emails to previous clients of his. It's at this point that I realise how bad his English is. That's not to say it's bad – it's pretty good all things considered – but I do have a hard time understanding him most of the time. “Understand, not?” is his most common question to me. Usually it's not. But when he reads back the words that I've written, he misinterprets or mispronounces most of them. It's quite a revelation.

After I surf the net myself for a bit and once again it's a welcome relief to head to bed.

In the Cool of the Night

Saturday 15 November 2008
Pushkar

So I wake up for a shower before the camel ride and there's no hot water. A similarly common theme on this trip. I decide to deal with it later and head out on a camel. It's a bit cold but no too bad so I wear just a t-shirt. That turns out to be a mistake.

So my camel driver is a 17 year-old who turns out to be another Raj – my fourth so far it seems. We stop for what I take to be breakfast, there's always a random element to these things, but later I realise is just a tea stop. We walk for a while and I'm still tired so only have a brief conversation with Raj. Turns out the camel's name is Tony, though it could well be Dhoni but I don't go so far as to ask how it's spelt. It's a three year old so fairly small for a camel. But there's a break in the conversation and after a bit of silence he Raj starts singing some random Indian songs which suits the pre-dawn atmosphere very well.

We stop on a small mount and wait for the sun to come up. While we're there I show Raj some pictures of my travels on my phone. I'm not sure he fully appreciates which countries I've been to or what the images are, but the picture of me with a girl in Bed Supperclub seems to earn his respect. While we're waiting for the sun quite a big wind blows up and it gets pretty cold. We hide behind Tony for a bit but it doesn't help much.

The sun comes up nice and quickly over the mountains but it's not quite the life-affirming sight that it is commonly thought to be. In fact of all the sunrises I've seen, I've only thought a couple were any good. Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about.

Anyway after that we head off and meet up with a sort of camp – well, two tents, one of which has blown over in the winds overnight. The occupants of that tent are John and Bruno, two guys from Lisbon. I chat a bit with them. John has a leg missing from a motorcycle accident, but I don't ask for the gory details. It's here that I'm offered breakfast, but it's only the pitta / pancake crossover thing that is the standard breakfast fare here and I only go for one.

After that we split up again and end up on a bit of uninspiring scrub land where I think a few kids were supposed to play music to me (and then get a tip), but I ask them not to so we end up just waiting there for a while. I do get to see Tony chewing the cud though which is an amusing sight – for me at least.

You hear a long sound like a cross between burp and a gurgle and you actually see a sizeable lump pass up the bottom of its long neck, 'til it reaches its mouth. Then it chews, emitting a teeth-grinding noise for a minute or two, until it swallows it again with a long gulping noise. It's pure comedy.

We then head back to Pushkar through uninspiring scrub land and settlements covered in rubbish. Boy do they love their rubbish here. No one gives a shit. I've formed a theory that the only people who are allowed to clear up are the Untouchable class – the lowest of the low – with the result that no one cleans up at all, ironically condemning everyone to a life of wading through shit. Or alternatively, no one gives a damn and that's just the way it is. It's probably the same in the favelas of Brazil or the townships of South Africa, but I'd hope that in the centres of their towns they make a bit more of an effort than the Indians. I guess I'll have to go and find out for myself.

Back at the hotel and it seems I have a cold. Should have brought a jacket on that trip. Oh well, never mind.

I chill out for the rest of the day. I pop into the main Brahmin temple and take a photo before I see a sign saying I shouldn't, but to be honest the temple isn't up to much. I go back to the main market and buy Raj a pair of sunglasses as he asked if he could have mine earlier (he couldn't) and it will help cover his eye.

I chill out and read my book. By the time evening comes Raj and his uncle (who apparently I've met before – it wasn't the one in Jaipur – but I don't recognise him) are sitting in a car drinking whiskey (remember, you can't buy alcohol in this town) and invite me in. I join them but only sip a bit of whiskey myself – I am ill after all. I ask Raj why he's drinking, given that he swore never to drink again after what happened in Jaipur, and he tells me that he's making an exception as his uncle's here. Are you allowed an exception on a life-long promise after two days I wonder? It's not as though it's a problem for me though as I prefer Raj when he's drunk. I also find out that Raj's real name is Narinder, which he doesn't use as foreigners find it hard to say. Not me I guess.

Plenty of whiskeys for the Singh family later, his uncle drives off to meet his girlfriend (he's married) and Raj and I order some food. I want it hot to ease my cold, but surprisingly it comes out only a twinge hotter than normal. So we order a side of chillies to go with it. It does the job partially but not as well as I'd hoped.

After that I head to bed early as I'm tired and ill. And, godammit, I need a good night's sleep!

Up at the Lake

Friday 14 November 2008
Jaipur – Pushkar

So I wake up fairly early as Raj keeps on nicking my sheet but I don't mind too much. I read a book and pass the time easily. I let him sleep in a bit as he'll need it given what he's been through. He's looking pretty rough, right eye full of blood and face puffy, nose slightly askew. We head off, seeing a couple of sights on the way and taking quick photographs.

We're off to Pushkar, the sight where Brahma dropped a lotus from heaven and created a lake. It's only one of two locations in India and probably the world where Brahma is worshipped as his wife, due to complications at the wedding, cursed him to never be worshipped anywhere else.
On the way we stop for a breakfast and lunch combined, and Raj is obviously suffering. He's in physical pain and hasn't said much if anything at all so far on the journey. I offer him some Vietnamese painkillers that I bought in Hoi An, and after taking them he's much more chipper and back to his usual self, though still with his wounds clear on his face.

Later we also stop in a small village where there are a bunch of fairly hot girls waiting around, with just slightly too much make-up on. Raj chats and laughs with them for a bit and then we drive off. Then I work out who they are, one of the many ladies that he was “friends” with before he was married.

We arrive in Pushkar and the town is small and beautiful, blue-painted houses surrounding the lake, and with a main market that doesn't allow cars, making it much more relaxed and chilled out than most places. As this is Brahma's gaff there's no meat, fish or eggs on the menu, or alcohol either. It's a bit of a hippy joint as it's all centred around worship, and the Brahmin priests are the Indian version of what every western hippy is aiming to be: homeless, possession-less, only washing in the lake waters and never cutting their hair, resulting in dreadlocks, and seemingly wrapped in rags. During the day they take the ash from the logs and the incense that they've burnt and cover themselves in it after washing, turning their skin from brown to grey and looking like the archetypal saddhu that they actually are.

Are they happy? I couldn't tell.

The hotel I'm staying at is on the opposite side of the lake from the main part of town, and over the water you can hear the various sounds of different performances of live music coming from various quarters. It's surprisingly non-cacophonous and actually quite pleasant. The only western music that I've heard since I've been in India has been from my iPod, and traditional and modern Indian music dominates the soundwaves here, with people often singing to themselves wherever they are, using sub-continental melodies unfamiliar to me.

Today I am wearing my Energie trousers (fashionably torn blue jeans) for the first time in India, and it seems the locals are mesmerised by them. I'm not sure why as I've seen Indians wearing fashionably torn trousers, even in Pushkar, but maybe mine are a little more out there than most.

Once at the hotel I try to sleep but it's not happening so I wander around the town for a bit. I like the relaxed atmosphere here and it's probably come at the right time. I spy a good internet café and spend the time catching up on all the web-related stuff that I didn't have the chance to do over the last few days. While I'm doing that a loud drumming procession passes in the street – the café owner tells me that it's a political rally for the upcoming elections in Rajasthan. Occasionally they let off loud firecrackers that make it sound like a bomb has gone off. I guess that helps win over voters in India.

In the evening I meet up again with Raj and we chill out, and have supper on the terrace by the lake. At night there is still music and other drumming parades going on, and still the bomb-like crackers and the odd lame-to-mediocre firework to help set the atmosphere. Again, this is the kind of thing you expect India to be.

I've discovered a new favourite dish – Dal Makhani. It's a vegetable dish that contains pineapples and altogether creates a nice sweetish taste that amounts to a party in my mouth. I'll have to see if I can get this at home.

A little while after dinner I order an Ayurvedic massage which relaxes me nicely, and a have another early night. If there's one thing that is a common theme on this trip, it's disrupted sleep and tiredness. And it's not about to get any better – I have to wake up at 5 to go on a camel safari for dawn.

Fight Test

Thursday 13 November 2008
Jaipur

Today is sightseeing in Jaipur. We start off at the Amber fort, which is above Jaipur itself and the original home of the Maharajahs that ruled this section of Rajasthan. I have booked a guide for the day and he takes me round the palace explaining to me the different parts and why and when they were built. It's actually the best thing I've seen so far in India (yes, even better than the Taj Mahal).

The palace was divided into three sections, each built by a different king for different reasons. Once section had twelve bedrooms for twelve wives, and secret corridors leading from the king's bedroom to each of the wives' rooms, so that they wives wouldn't know where he was each night. Crafty fellow. And I like a good secret passageway.

Another king built three mini-palaces within the palace – one for winter, one for summer, and one for the rainy season. Each palace had two bedrooms, as the limited himself to just the two wives. Aside from all the concubines which had a separate section to themselves, guarded by eunuchs, naturally.

And the whole thing was on top of a hill, with a bunch of mountains around it with Great Wall of China-style battlements running over them. This was more the sort of thing I was hoping to see in India – awesome buildings and beautiful scenery.

After that back near the main town we drive past the Floating Palace – not actually floating but built in the middle of a lake and only accessible by boat. I also have a quick elephant ride, which is fun. I'm then taken to a place where they make block-printed patterned clothes as well as stitching saris and so on. It's a soft sell this time which is much more agreeable, though they do still keep on bring stuff out for me to see after I've told them I'm done. I buy a couple of shirts for myself and two other items for presents.

Back in the centre of town we go to the main palace complex, which still has the royal family living in it. The first item is a whole area dedicated to a variety of huge astrological and astronomic instruments, which mainly exist to tell the time or which zodiac sign the sun is currently in (Scorpio currently). Though of course the time that India uses now (GMT + 5:30), and the time that it was built for are slightly different, so you have to add 13 minutes to everything. There is one sun dial that is angled at 27 degrees from the vertical, and is double sided. As Jaipur is 27 degrees north one side tells the time between the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, and the other side tell the time for the rest of the year. Apart from on the day of the equinox itself, when there is a separate sundial angled slightly differently that has to be used.
There are also sculptures for predicting eclipses and when the monsoon will arrive (with 90% accuracy apparently) though we didn't go into detail with them. All these sculptures serve to create a huge park of modernist architecture with radical radials, curves and intersections that was actually built in the eighteenth century. It's awesome.

We then walk around the palace which is standard fare and quite interesting. It turns out that the last or last but one maharajah actually died while playing polo in England. After that it's a quick stop at a gem stone place but they don't give the hard sell and I'm out in minutes. I'm feeling tired so I head back to the hotel and have a bit of a sleep.

When the evening comes around we kick off with a few drinks in Raj's car (not sure why we had to be in the car) and then in some building that a friend of his uses I think. We drink some more and have some food. It's all pretty good. There's some Indian Bollywood-style music videos on the TV that in my drunken state are intensely amusing. I'd love to see an indie band do a pastiche of one. As he becomes more and more drunk, Raj begins to tell me about his sex life and how he lost his virginity to a black American woman. And then how he availed himself of the oldest profession. Quite a lot it turns out. It's hilarious.

After that we head off to a restaurant to see some more dancing. This is where the night takes a surreal turn. As with the night before I dance with the girls and It's all good fun, though the girls aren't as in to me this time as they were before. However Raj reckons it's on with one of them and he tries to arrange us going back to her place. However, while Raj goes to pick up his car the girl tells me not to trust Raj (mainly because he's pretty drunk by this stage) and gives me her phone number to call her in the morning. I tell her I'm leaving Jaipur in the morning and won't have a chance to meet up (though I don't mind).

So she leaves and the whole retinue heads into a tuk-tuk (all seven of them) when Raj returns. After some chatting he convinces the girl and some others to get into our car. There's the girl plus one other, a man and two kids. Eventually we head off back to her place.

We're drinking gin which makes Raj even more drunk but the conversation is convivial and everyone is fine. There's no chance of me getting some after it becomes clear that the guy who's with us is her husband (so why did she give me her number...?). Anyway after a while it becomes time for us to go home and as Raj is drunk I take the keys and get my chance to drive on some of the most accident-prone roads in the world. As we're at the door I don't know what happens but Raj ends up slapping the girl. I've no idea what was said but if I had to guess it was probably something to do with the girl being a gypsy, Raj being a Rajput, and her thinking that he was a Muslim as he was so drunk (something she told me earlier).

Of course this changes the whole situation. She gives him a good thwack back and then the guy gets involed, quickly punching Raj and giving him a broken, bloody nose. I step in and try to keep the three of them apart. I tell Raj to get in the car and apologise to the people but they're not finished with him yet. While I try to get in the car and get them to calm down by apologising, they're still going at it and in the process break into the car and land a few more punches on Raj. I eventually manage to resolve the situation when they agree to stop if we pay them 2000 INR (26 GBP). Raj's wallet happens to be below the dash so I take it out of there and get the hell out of there.

Of course, I need to reverse and as the car is old, I have a bit of difficulty with that. Talk about timing. Eventually I somehow manage to find it and we're off. Except for the fact that neither of us know where we are, I'm driving a car at night that has headlights that only work when you pull the lever forwards, and Raj, who has a slightly better idea of where we are than I do, is drunk, bleeding, bruised, angry and crying. Over the course of about 30 minutes we manage to make our way home, only having to double back around four or five times.

At this point you'll be pleased to know that I'd always wanted to have a go at driving the Tata Indica and that it was very easy to get the hang of, mainly because it has a high clutch much like my own Peugeot 106. In fact the car is much the same, just a little bit smaller. Also, looking back on the situation it may sound like a nightmare scenario but it wasn't.

I mean, I was annoyed with Raj and I gave him shit for what happened (and disappointingly he wouldn't give me an explanation of why he did what he did). But I wasn't upset by the whole thing. I don't know why, but there didn't seem to be much point. Later, when I was reading The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin he talks about reacting to bad situations in much the same way. And in fact I was enjoying the challenge of getting home and driving the car. That's the kind of guy I am I guess.

With his nose broken, the right side of his face badly bruised and his pride and his caste dishonoured, I didn't have the heart to force him to sleep in the car (as he would have had to do otherwise as someone else had taken his bed...) so I let him sleep in my room. I think he needed the emotional support as well. He was in a bad way.

Money (That's What I Want)

Wednesday 12 November 2008
Agra – Jaipur

The second of three pieces of karmic retribution to hit Raj comes when he realises that he's lost his mobile. Such is life. I didn't sleep too well the previous evening due to a combination of itchy sheets, being bitten by mites, being woken up at seven by hotel staff hassling Raj (it seems there are no normal conversations in Hindi, everything is a heated argument) and needing to go to the loo when it didn't flush and I didn't want to leave it literally looking like crap (I gave up on the last one and did it anyway).

So I slept through most of the car journey. I woke up to see Fatehpur Sikri, another Moghul complex including a mosque, a mausoleum, a working Sufi shrine as well as a school amongst other things. I was ripped off for the third time in 24 hours by succumbing to another “official government guide” who overcharged me for his services and tried to have me buy stuff from various people. I gave in at the first instance, to buy offerings to lay on the tomb in the mausoleum. It gave you three wishes that only come true if you keep them a secret. I was thinking of making one of them a wish to not be ripped off again this trip, but I chose much nobler and far reaching wishes instead (which are, of course, secrets).

After that my patience was shot with touts and anyone who came near me was quite justifiably given short shrift, no matter how expert the handicraft of the goods they were offering. It was only when I returned to the car and asked Raj how much I should be paying these guides, when I realised that I was overcharged by a factor of at least ten.

I then slept a bit more until about 70km from Jaipur when Raj's next piece of karmic retribution occurred. The traffic systems here are much like other countries such as Egypt or Vietnam, in that they are pretty much left to their own devices which means they are massively chaotic. For the greater part of time, this actually works quite well. Apart from the odd traffic jam and the incessant beeping which is just part and parcel of the process, everyone gets where they want to go eventually. Having said that, I did read a report in a paper saying that the number of murders from road rage incidents is on the increase. Perhaps that's not a surprise in a country where the essential mode of communication between strangers is shouting.

So anyway we're on this motorway, and a motorcyclist pulls out from the central reservation on our right. He's moving slowly and we were moving fast, but as he was going so slow he had ample opportunity to stop, a luxury that we didn't have. Given that he was pulling out onto a motorway I presume he was looking at us and would have been able to judge whether he should keep going or not. I say presume, as I was only focussing on his front wheel and whether we were going to hit him or not.

In a few seconds from first seeing the motorcyclist, he had hit us on our side. There was a bit of a clanking sound and we quickly braked and pulled over. Looking back we could see him on the ground, and some people who happened to be at the road side had gone to where he was. I thought I saw him stand up but I couldn't be sure. To be honest he could have been dead – there was no way of knowing for sure given our distance. But rather than check or exchange insurance details, we kept on driving. As Raj explained later on, these things can often lead to fights, involving the police (which are pretty much corrupt as hell) isn't going to help, so it's not worth it. And the concept of insurance is pretty much a joke.

Later on we stopped the car and had a look at the side where he hit. The nut at the centre of the bike's front wheel had torn a line through the bottom of the rear door. The estimate for the repair was about 10,000 INR, and it didn't matter who was responsible, it would only be Raj who would have to pay for it. He's getting a hefty tip from me.

After that we travel some more and I sleep some more. I really can't have done too well the previous night. Eventually we arrive in Jaipur at 4.30, just in time for lunch. Bizarrely I'm still tired so try to sleep a bit more though with the noise outside I only manage a slight doze.
Soon enough Raj meets up with me again and we hit the beer. He's joined by two fellow drivers and two of his actual brothers (rather than brother-cousins which is the normal definition in India – considering that most families have something like 8 – 14 children, the amount of “brothers” that they have must be huge).

We talk a bit in English but they mostly chat away in Hindi which is fine, I'm happy to see Raj relax after a bad day for him. I can only follow bits of the conversation but it doesn't really matter.

After a couple of beers we head to a restaurant where there is a traditional Indian music band with two traditionally dressed girls dancing. I naturally go up and dig out my best Bollywood dancing moves, and of course the girls love it. After the first dance they shyly look at me and laugh, and invite me up for a couple more dances, so I oblige (after making them wait for a bit of course). I pay for the food, which is the first time I've had to do that so far on this trip, surprisingly.

Strangely at the meal one of Raj's brothers, nicknamed Tiger, warns me about Raj and leaving my phone with him. I check the phone and there haven't been any extra calls or texts, but it's just another example of how this country lacks honesty and trust, and really does itself a disservice.

Afterwards we go to bed and I blog until midnight. Damn this writing takes ages!

Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

Tuesday 11 November 2008
Delhi – Agra

So I go the cash machine to withdraw the cash so I can pay for the trip and the hotel as I'm checking out. I meet my driver for my trip through Rajasthan and he's called Raj – the third Raj I've met in three days, and the first two were brothers, which is mildly confusing.

Anyway we jump in the car and set off for Agra, a mere 220 km away. As we make our way out of Delhi I'm somewhat relived to leave it all behind. I'm starting to realise that this whole India thing is slightly more than I'd bargained for. I though the madness of Vietnam, the poverty of Cambodia and the generally crap weather of SE Asia would be enough to prepare me for what was to come in India. But without a foil like the good Doctor to contrast my own responses against, it's starting to just get the better of me slightly. I mean, it's more chaotic than Hanoi or Saigon, it's poorer than Phnom Penh, and it's much more severely polluted than anywhere in the world that I've been to at any time ever before. To be fair the latter is exacerbated by the seasonal fog that appears at this time, but still, it just serves to accentuate the differences of anything close to being normal. And as we'll see, the honesty of the people leaves something to be desired as well.

So anyway, I was leaving Delhi in my third Tata Indica of the holiday, and I was with Raj. We had a good chat, talking about anything and everything, although to be honest I could only understand about half the words and sentences that came out of his mouth. But we cover off a few topics about the pollution, the roads, cars and so on. I mention that I'm descended from James Skinner and it turns out he knows the guy and the history, but the full implication of this doesn't sink in until later.

One thing that comes from our conversation is that I have paid a very good price for my trip. For the car, tolls, parking, driver and hotels for 12 days and an overnight train from Jaipur to Bombay I paid 27000 INR, which works out at 30 GBP a day. I thought this was a bit steep but not too bad, although it was the cheapest quote I had out of three. From all the evidence I received since then, it turns out I got pretty much the top deal. But if I did well here, I was about to get royally ripped off three times in a row.

We stop off at a statue of Shiva by the road that has a live snake in a box in front of it (the statue has a snake round his neck), a Hindu temple called Jaigurudev and a mausoleum called Sikandra Fort.

So we arrive in Agra and go straight to the Taj Mahal, to check it out at sunset. Of course the pollution from Delhi combines with the 300 or so factories in Uttar Pradesh (which sounds like “utter rubbish” to me) so that the fog is only slightly less worse at what is probably the second most important historical landmark only after the Pyramids (and I would put Angkor Wat third). The local government is corrupt as hell and hasn't lifted a finger to prevent the pollution from slowly eroding away the surface of this most beautiful and peaceful of monuments.

Much like the Pyramids there's no official tour guide, and against my better judgement I get roped in by a “official government guide” who not only takes me to a side entrance that avoids the queues, but also explains to me the whole history of pretty much every part of the structure, and also takes some very good photographs with me in it (though I'm not sure that I necessarily add to those photos). Strangely (although maybe it's obvious) he's a fan of English cricket and tells me about the time he bumped into Andy Caddick at the Taj when England were here with Fletcher's tour. Fair play to him, he sounded enthusiastic.

The catch is that at the end of the trip he takes me to a marble carving shop and I'm pressured against my will to buy something, that comes in at about 13 GBP. Not too much in the long run but more than I was expecting to pay for in India. At least I bartered it down from 1700 to 1000 INR, although that's only because I didn't want it. After that I am taken to a jeweler's shop but this time I'm having none of it so I just walk out. The sting in the tale is that he says I should pay him 950 INR for his services, which is pretty much extortionate. I explain to him that I checked the cost at the start, which he said was nothing, and so I capitulate with him at 500 INR, which I guess is still too much, but an improvement nonetheless.

Ironically when I arrive back at the hotel Raj takes me to another marble shop and I go through the whole process again. At least mum will look forward to her Christmas presents I guess. But I'm pissed off and let Raj know. He tells me it won't happen again but now all trust and honesty that I had with all Indians is pretty much down the drain, which is a shame given their reliance on tourism.

After that it's supper and drinking with just me and Raj. I hardly understand half of what he says. But this time round the Skinner connection sinks in: both he and I are Rajput, so I'm the same caste as him, which in Indian terms means that I'm pretty much his brother and he will do anything for me. I'm sure his word will last as far as any other Indian vow of honesty, but at least it's something.

As a way to celebrate we drive (while Raj is fairly drunk) to a very posh hotel. It's only the second place I've seen after the Indira Gandhi Memorial that isn't covered in dirt. It becomes pretty obvious that we shouldn't be there and the staff don't want us to be. Raj is oblivious and strikes up conversations with random people, including some Swiss who give him half of a 20 GBP cigar that they were smoking.

He wants me to ask the waitress for her number, but she's the one who doesn't want us there, so it's not going to fly. I start to talk about how Indians are doing themselves a disservice by ripping off tourists but it only leads to a conversation about how Raj was ripped off by an American involved in a drug deal. I didn't fully understand what was going on (not least because I couldn't understand half of what he was saying) so I have to ask him to stop. Later he starts talking about someone in Jaipur who can assess my karma and I can buy an expensive gem that will bring me lots of luck and money and so on. Magical thinking at its finest. I tell him to stop right there and go no further at the risk of pissing me off even more. I think he gets the message.

It's such a shame that the ideas of trust and honesty are so alien to some Indians (others are only too helpful). It does their country a disservice, like Spanish racists, and at the end of it all only prevents them from achieving moksha at the end of the day.

When we leave the posh hotel Raj tries to get a discount for our bill on the promise of repeat service for the barman (and I think he knows someone who works there). They're not playing ball and he ends up paying the full bill. It's the first part of karmic retribution to hit him.

We return home and drink some more, and then go to sleep.

Meet the Ancestors

Monday 10 November 2008
Delhi

So I tried to catch up on all the lost sleep I've missed over the last couple of days. I fell asleep at 10 but then woke up at 12 when a whole bunch of fireworks went off nearby. I then can't get back to sleep again so I sit up and read a book or two, and update the blog. I drift in and out of sleep and eventually I fall back to sleep. I wake up and check the time. It's 11. Time for breakfast.

First task of the morning is to check the weather in Srinigar. Turns out it's pretty damn cold. I was thinking of doing a quick trip of Kashmir, but then I read the Lonely Planet which pretty much says don't even think about it, so that combined with the weather means that it's Rajasthan or bust.

I've already had a couple of quotes for Rajasthan trips, the cheapest being from the hotel I'm booked at, but I want one more opinion. I look for a tourist office nearby the hotel which was mentioned in the Rough Guide, but it seems to have disappeared. So I decide to book with the hotel. It ticks off most of the main cities in the state over 12 days so that seems cool enough for me.

I have a quick lunch in a cool café near the hotel, and then set off for St. James's Church, burial place of my ancestor James Skinner. Luckily it and my hotel are both close to metro stations, so it's an ideal excuse to experience what the Delhi metro system is like. However first I have to find the Metro, in the New Delhi train station nearby, but arriving at the station it's nowhere to be seen.

A quick wander and then after asking a few people I find out it's on the other side of the station. Walking through the chaos of the station is interesting, and also seeing that the gauge of the railways here is an impressive six feet or so.

Once in the Metro it's interesting to note that it's very similar to the Bangkok metro. Bangkok was built with Japanese help, so I'm guessing this one was too. The main difference is that there's no platform doors, it's very crowded, it has the same wide gauge as the above ground trains, and of course it's dirty as fuck. The other factor is that there are only locals on the trains, and I stick out like a sore thumb. People in Delhi aren't afraid of staring directly at you from two feet away if you're different. I find that looking straight back at them and saying “Namaste” with a wry smile on my face tends to make them a little more self conscious.

Once out at the other end I don't have my map, so I use the sun to navigate south to the church. I turn a corner and there it is! It's yellow. I walk up to the gate and guess what? The gate's locked.

A guy sitting on the pavement tells me to go to the next gate so I do. It's locked there too. There's a sign that Gate 3 has a buzzer that can let you in. I try to find something named Gate 3 but with no luck. I ask at a nearby book store but they can't help me either. As I wander back I see a groundsman walking around. I shout for his attention and though he doesn't speak English he lets me in. Result!

So I walk in to the church and there, in front of the altar, is the grave of James Skinner, ancestor and founder of Skinner's Horse. I buy a booklet about the history of the church and the man, and take a bunch of photos.

Mission accomplished. The next task for today was to fond some wifi to upload this tract of text I'm producing, rivalled only by Tolstoy's War and Peace, to teh interwebs. I need to get to Connaught Place, the dead centre of Delhi (after the cemetery) and flag a rickshaw. He says he's only going as far as the Red Fort, and isn't charging, so I'm not going to say no. We arrive at the Red Fort and I jump out and say thanks. He looks at me forlornly like he's expecting some cash. Maybe I should have given him some but if he says it's free I'll take him at his word. There's enough rip off merchants in this city not to give something back after all.

At the Red Fort I take a bicycle tuk-tuk to Connaught Place. We become caught in a gridlock to I ask the guy to turn round and take us to the Metro station we just passed. I want to be at Connaught Place as there are cafés with wifi there. The first one I find doesn't actually have it, despite what I read on teh interwebs. The second place I find does have it, though the staff claim it doesn't. Despite all that when I try to connect I have to pay by credit card, and for reasons that are too long to go into here, I can't and therefore I can't connect. No worries, I update my blog offline as I have been doing for the whole trip so far.

While I'm proxy-blogging I am called by Matt, one of the American students I met on Saturday. He's near my hotel and wants to go for a beer. I say I'll be there in 30 minutes and head back to the metro to make my way home. We meet up and drink, chat about laods and grab a bite to eat. Whenever he's next in the UK he's sleeping on my couch, that's for sure.

After he leaves I end up talking to some random Indian guy who's never left Delhi, but is toying with the idea of going to Birmingham University to do an MBA. He mush be fucking loaded, by Indian standards. Either way we chat for a bit, and then start talking to the table next to us, which comprises of two people from Croydon, a guy from an Oxford council estate, his girlfriend and a random Irish guy who's married to a Cambodian girl. While all this happens the Indian guy keeps on being called on his mobile by a Russian girl he met who keeps on hassling him for sex!
We all have a chat and I encourage the Indian guy to go to Birmingham, and as with Matt I invite him to London if he makes it to the UK. I drink, chat and then at about 12 make my way home.

Back in my room I decide to charge my electronics before my Rajasthan trip. The thing is that I have a European adaptor, and US / Australian adaptors, but none of them fit quite right. In what would be regarded as a health and safety nightmare, I fudge a European adaptor into the socket, and it seems to work. Bring on the Rajput, and the land of my ancestors.

Digging in the Dirt

Sunday 9 November 2008
Delhi

So after a good three hours' sleep I was up again, feeling half dead though just tired and not hungover. After breakfast I was late for the meeting and the guy had disappeared. However I recognised a guy on the street from yesterday and through a combination of lots of things that are too detailed to go into here I eventually found my driver.

We saw the sights but the whole time I was fighting my fatigue. Luckily the Tata Indica is an easy car to fall asleep in the back of, and for the second day in a row I did just that. I saw a bunch of sights which was great and all. The most memorable was probably the Indira Ghandi Memorial, which is actually the house in which she lived and was assassinated, and includes the sari that she was shot in, as well as the clothes that her son and immediate successor as Prime Minister, Rajiv, was also assassinated in.

The precise location that she was killed in the garden is covered in glass, and the walk she took that led to it is also covered in a clear material of some sort. What is remarkable about all this is that she is commemorated at all. She was responsible for destroying all the civil liberties that her father, Nehru, fought so hard to create in the formation of the nation, including habeas corpus, freedom of the press, and the right to political opposition, and it was enforced through unlawful imprisonment, violence and murder.

Of course the bitter irony that led to her death is tied in with all of this. While in her first stint as Prime Minister there was a Sikh separatist movement that wanted an independent state for themselves. They were based at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, the holiest place in the world for Sikhs. Ghandi responded to the threat by calling for the state of emergency that suspended those liberties, and then sending in the tanks, killing the separatists and destroying much of the temple (which has since been rebuilt).

This sacrilege was not forgotten and revenge came a good few years later when her own body guards turned on her and killed her. In retrospect it was probably not the best idea for her to have her personal bodyguards chosen only from within the Sikh population. A bit of an oversight there. Humans are notoriously bad at assessing risk.

Rajiv in turn was killed in a terrorist bomb planted by the Tamil separatists from Sri Lanka, supposedly in revenge for his country's support of the Sri Lankan government's military support from India. As you reap, so you shall sow.

It's worth noting that Indira was not related to Mohandas “Mahatma” Ghandi, it is just coincidence that her husband had the same name.

And finally, in a poetic reversal of fate, Rajiv's wife, the Italian-born Sonia, is currently head of the INC which won the last election. But rather than take the role of Prime Minister, she handed it to the country's first Sikh PM, Manmohan Singh.

The only other thing to mention about the trip is that while I was at the Red Fort (Lal Qila) I saw my First Indian transsexuals. I thought they only did that kind of thing in Thailand?!
After that I came back, checked a few things on the web, had supper and went to bed nice and early. Tomorrow, it's meet the ancestors.

If there's one impression that I have of Delhi in the two days that I've been here, it's the dirt. Maybe that's partly tied in with the area where I'm staying, and the cheap hotel that I booked, but you get the impression that everywhere is covered in it. The roads, the plants, the cars, the buses, the monuments, the people, even the air, with the dense, unshifting fog seems to have succumbed to it.

Tables in most restaurants have hardly been cleaned. They're usually only wiped with a slightly damp cloth, never seeing any cleaning products or disinfectant. The menus, like that old joke, tend to have most of the food on it, not just written. It's definitely a different way of life, and I'm not sure that the good Doctor would enjoy it that much if he were here. I have to say though, that for short periods of time it is quite fun to slum it a bit. But not for too long. I can see myself checking in to an InterContinental Hotel at some point in the future!

And the bitter irony is that there's very little wifi, rendering my laptop a little useless. At least I can update my blog whenever I feel like it in my room. The problem is though is that I can't upload it to the web as well, so it's just sitting here on my hard drive waiting for the right conditions.

Tonight There'll Be a Rawkus Yeah Regardless of What's Gone Before

Saturday 8 November 2008
Delhi

So after waking up from a fairly brief snooze on the plane, we started descending into Delhi. From my window seat I couldn't see that much as I was on the wing, but I was a little worried. I couldn't see anything. I was pretty sure that we weren't over the sea, as Delhi is about as land locked as you can get. But there were no clouds, the sun was out, and I couldn't see anything on the ground. It was completely featureless.

Now India may be many things, but one thing it is not is featureless. As the plane descended into nothingness I stared to catch glimpses of land objects, but nothing I could make out. By the time we actually hit the ground, the situation was clear – thick, pale brown fog. I don't know if it was a kind of sandstorm or something, given the colour, but you couldn't see more than 20 metres.

The airport is pretty run-down 1970s. Not much to say about it there apart from that they check your passport about four times before leaving, which seems unnecessary. I had a taxi booked to my hotel which I take. It was a Tata Indica which is probably the most common car in the country, and of course the product of the massive Tata Corporation that owns about half the country (VJ Mallya, the owner of Kingfisher beer and planes and Force India F1 team owns the other half). There are loads of roadworks near the hotel signposted “Delhi Metro Airport Express” which is self explanatory. The strange thing about that is that they seem to be using a cut and cover technique, but they're mainly building it on scrub land, which makes me wonder why they don't just build it above ground. I guess there's a reason for it somewhere, but I'm not sure it's a good one.

We're back in the third world again (although is it still third world? It can't be second as that's communism, but it's not first. Maybe it's one and a half). Traffic chaos, beeping, dirt, uneven roads, half constructed and decaying buildings. Commerce squeezed into every nook and cranny. Should be fun.

Check in to the hotel. It's pretty rank, but for 7 GBP a night you wouldn't expect much else. At least the weather here is a lot cooler than it is in South East Asia. You can actually wear trousers in the day time. I go for a wander to find my bearings and also some food. This dust / fog atmosphere lends a very mystical edge to the whole place, much like you imagine the cliché of India to be, but it's actually real.

I find I'm actually already in the centre of the main bazaar, and there's very few westerners around. I stick out like a sore thumb and it's not long before random Indians start striking up conversations with me. One seems friendly enough and I ask him for directions to a restaurant. He takes me to one and actually calls ahead to place my order before I get there.

It's thali, basically a selection of vegetarian sauces, rice and bread, and tastes pretty good. The restaurant is full at 3.30, and I'm the only Westerner there. The meal costs 83 INR including a litre of water, which is a fraction over a pound.

I'm constantly wondering when this guy's gonna scam me, but so far it's all been good. He shows me where the reputable tourist office is (though I'll double check with the guide book) and take a drive in a tuk-tuk around Connaught Place. He even shows me on a map where St. James's Church is (when I ask him).

The tuk-tuk driver is friendly as well. It seems like everyone wants to try out their English, plus they are naturally curious, and friendly. I book a trip around Delhi the next day as it's pretty cheap, and then head back to the hotel to read up on where I want to go and have a quick kip.

After I wake up, I go out looking for some food. There are a bunch of recommendations in the guide book for the road I'm on, but I can't seem to find any of them. I eventually see one and settle for it, I mean, how bad can it be?

It's fine actually, though the one difference with the food over here is that more often than not the chicken in the curries that you order is still on the bone. And the chicken isn't that meaty either. I came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it – fingers it was. After all, that's how the locals do it. When in Rome... (it wouldn't be the last time I'd be saying that tonight).

One thing I noticed now that night had fallen was the amount of hippies wandering about. I didn't know they still existed, yet here they were, with bad hair, bad clothes, in most cases looking more than a little worse for wear (some of them were pretty old and frankly should have known better) and more often than not wearing thousand yard stares. You see, zen fucks you up, big time. The thing is, they look like walking clichés, and you kind of want to point this out to them. Though I'm sure that they would do the exact same thing to us in reverse.

It also seemed that the cows had come out to join the party. I hadn't seen any during the day but there were a fair few bulls and cows roaming the streets, being all sacred and that, and generally getting in the way. I guess they must be nocturnal animals over here.

After leaving the restaurant, I went looking for a bar. The was one obvious one mentioned in the guidebook that was yards from my hotel – seemed like a good place to start seeming as I couldn't really find any others. I popped in and ordered a Kingfisher. This bar was all table seating, and they shoved you in wherever there was a seat available. I was initially sitting across from a random Indian guy, but his English wasn't that good so there wasn't much happening there.

A few minutes later however a guy named John joined our table, and immediately we started hitting it off, chatting about our experiences. Turns out he was a Scot / Manx / Canadian / English / Australian crossover, having had quite an itinerant life as you probably can tell. He had arrived today as well and was travelling on his own, so he was pretty much in the same boat as me. The bar closed at 12 – there are tight licensing laws in Delhi – but I had read of a nightclub that was supposed to be cool, so we retrieved the details and headed out.

Unfortunately the tuk-tuk drivers that we asked didn't know of the place or the address. As we were trying to sort it out, a random passer by overheard us and told us that we probably wouldn't get in. He gave us some details about another late night place we could go, called “Blues” which was much in the centre of town. The driver didn't know the way to that either but we found it eventually.

Inside it was like a crap, fairly empty traditional bar. It was mainly full of Indians, with a few East Asians added in to the mix. But where do all the people hang out on the weekends then? This was Saturday after all. It clearly isn't a proper city.

But then we started to notice a couple of westerners. We had a few rounds and even went for a Mojito, and it was only after it was poured that I realised that I'd ordered a drink with crushed ice in it – not exactly an ideal thing to do in India.

So anyway after a while this place started to close as well, and as we were knocking back the last few drinks John spotted what was definitely a group of westerners, so he asked them if they knew of any other place that was still going to be open at this time.

Turns out they were American students doing a year abroad over here in Delhi, and knew a few things about where to go after hours. All the fully late places in Delhi take place in the large, expensive hotels, and they knew of a place to go. We shared a couple of tuk-tuks and set off into the dark, foggy night.

The ride seemed to last a long time to my mind, but we chatted to our new friends and found out about their story. We arrived at the hotel and went to the club – it was called, would you believe it – Dublin. Yes, it was Irish themed.

Inside it was a bit like a dark Waxy O'Connor's with bits of a gentlemen's club added on, with a dancefloor as well. Come to think of it, if Waxy O'Connor's had a dancefloor, it would make an awesome venue. But that's another story. Anyway we had a few more drinks there until, in turn, that place closed as well at about 3. There was nothing for it – we just had to go back to the American's apartment and continue drinking there.

Another long, dark, foggy tuk-tuk journey later, we arrived at their apartment which was pretty huge and was quite nice from what I could tell. We had a drink and John, who was pretty far gone by this stage, insisted on showing us Elvis Presley's last ever performance, as found on YouTube. It was now hitting about 5 a.m. And I had a tour of Delhi booked at 10, so I knew I had to make a move. One more tuk-tuk journey and I was home singing the Arctic Monkey's The View from the Afternoon along the way, as it had been in my head all day.

One other thing to mention about India is that at night everybody uses full beam. Well, it makes things easier to see in fog, doesn't it? No.