Shimla

Shimla, the former British summer capital, is like a little snapshot of old England. With architecture more at home in Stratford-upon-Avon than the Himalayan foothills. The weather also would make Britain proud, with fog and rain aplenty. The streets are spotless and the human traffic managable and polite. A sea of umbrellas passing each other with a curteous nod. As much as I hate to say it, this was a welcome break from the intensity of the flatlands.

Allowing a hotel tout to guide me up the winding paths from the train station, I passed the very first office of Thomas Cook Travels, the oldest (still functioning) telecoms building in the world, and the only post office in the world that still receives its mail by horse and cart. Arriving on 'The Ridge' I was faced with Christ Church, a classically constructed church complete with stained glass windows and picturesque spires. The second oldest Church in Northern India.

My hotel was clean (if a little damp), had TV, hot water and a decent food menu. To get to it however you had to assult yet another devilishly steep climb up behind the Church before attempting the needlessly long staircase and collapsing on the bed to recoup.

Time slipped by up there, as the slower pace of life and the pleasing views (through the fog) lent itself to lazy days and lazy nights. Befriending a local tour guide (he wanted my money as usual, but he was frightfully nice with it) I spent a day playing guitar in his office and drinking Chai whilst it rained outside. The next day I gave his apprentice a 3 hour English lesson followed by an hour long European geography lesson in trade for a guided tour of the Shimla sights.

As the time approached to catch the train back to Delhi, I decided I didn't want to leave just yet. It had not been good weather so far and the next day was looking promising so I gave it one more chance and purposefully missed the train. Sure enough the next day gifted me with bright blue skys, baking sunshine and a wonderful view of the Himalyas on the horizon.

Realising the need to make the most of this weather, myself and Mancunian Danny (who i'd met the night before in a restaurant) decided to hire out a car and go see some sights. Our driver threw us round the mountain passes at frightening speeds for a full day and we stopped occasionally to admire the views, take pictures and visit the odd cave deep down in the valleys. It was a really good day and we arrived back in Shimla with just enough time to grab some food before getting the night bus to Delhi.

We had to laugh as we sat down in our 'DeLuxe' coach, with its rattling windows, squeaky seats and loose armrests. Neither of us got a wink of sleep on the 9 hour journey down through the hills. The nearer we got to Delhi, the hotter and the stickier it became. The niceties were over, we were going BACK IN!

Getting to Shimla

So with Agra disapearing fast behind me, a sense of calm followed. I was on my way to Shimla up in the Himalayan foothills and I felt sure that this place would re-install some faith in India. First however I had to negotiate a seemingly straightforward train change at Delhi.

As the train pulled into New Delhi station the entire slepper coach burst into life and squeezed themselves out of the door, taking me with them. I stood on the platform for a few minutes trying to gain some bearings but the place was identical in all directions. Picking one, I began walking. Finally I found some resemblance of a station building and located the station masters assistant whom I asked for information on the train to Kalka. The old guy didn't seem too interested but eventually I was informed that that train left from Old Delhi station which was about 2km away across town. Great!

A hair raising auto ride across town in the sheet rain delivered me at Delhi Junction station (was this the right one? no-one seemed capable of answering me straight) and I dived inside. With half an hour to spare I decided I would try to drop my backpack off in the left luggage facility. There seemed little sense in lugging all this stuff up into the hills when I was only going to be there for a few days. I'd be back this way soon enough to collect it again. Suprisingly I managed this task without too much fuss and soon enough I was walking to my train with a blissfully light day pack over my shoulder and a new spring in my step.

The train journey to Kalka passed without event and I arrived around 5.00am. I decided that since I was now travelling light it would be nice to get the 'toy train' up into the mountains and enjoy the view. I didn't realise it would take over 6 hours. By the time I reached Shimla I was tired, hungry and extremely thirsty.

It was raining.

Out of Agra

As I sat on the cycle-rikshaw bouncing my way down the road in the direction of Agra Cantt station a sad feeling filled my body as I realised for the first time that I wasn't really enjoying myself. The commercialism and coldness of the Indian tourist business had succeeded in destroying all the good thoughts i'd had so far on my journey. This really was not something I desired, and I would hate to leave this country thinking such negative thoughts.

Still, I was on my way to the station and would soon be leaving Agra for Delhi. Or I would be if this rikshaw guy would hurry up... he had quoted me 20 minutes for the ride, but we were approaching 40 minutes. My train was leaving in another 5. I enquired how far we had left. "Just another 2km" he said. My heart sunk.

At 13:50 we reached the station, my train was due to leave this minute. Despite my better judgement I paid the rikshaw guy (to save time and argument) and legged it into the station. Locating my platform I ran (as fast as one can with 25kg on their back) over the footbridge and arrived on the platform just in time to see the back of the train disapeared from view. FUN!

Agra was going to destroy me, I felt sure. Perhaps it felt it hadn't yet extracted enough money from my pocket and it wanted more, it always wants more. I walked slowly back to the information office on the other side of the footbridge finding one string of positivity to cling to; at least it wasn't blisteringly hot. The information officer informed me I had missed my train, a piece of knowledge for which I was most greatful. She then told me to go to the ticket reservation office and pointed vaguley in some direction which completely incomprehensable and I gave up asking.

Eventually I found the ticket reservation office (nowhere near the station entrance) and took my place in one of a number of queue's. Obviously this was the wrong queue, it's always the wrong queue, even though it appeared identical to the others, and after a 10 minute wait I was directed to yet another. Luckily apathy restrained me and I survived the inconveinience by not caring at all about anything, ever, anymore.

Finally I got to the counter and was informed I would have to cancel my original ticket before I could get another and was handed a form to fill in. Joyfully I returned to the back of the queue just praying there wasn't yet another mystery queue I was supposed to be in. Finally I succeeded in canceling my ticket and recieved a generous 50% rebate on the price. All I required now was a new ticket for the next train, so I asked my friendly reservations officer:
- Apparently a ticket for the 4-o-clock train to Delhi was only available from a different office on the other side of the station compound... of course it was.. it all made so much sense. So off I went with a skip in my step and nothng but seething pain and hatred in my eyes. Today was a good day.

After another spirit sapping queue was defeated I asked the attendant for a ticket to Delhi. Expecting to be given yet another painfully unnecassary form to fill in I was pleasantly suprised when he replied "Cerainly sir, that will be 68Rs". As it happened I had a 100Rs note already scrunched up in my hand which I had been carefully scrutinising in the queue to relieve the intense boredom and stress that was welling up inside me. I handed it over, happy that this transaction was to be over quickly, and the man smiled. I felt a tug on my sleeve. Looking down I saw yet another of the small begger children which seem to take up residence beneath my feet whenever I stand still. Shooing them away (as has become second nature now) I looked up and waited to recieve my change.

"68Rs sir, you need to give me another 18" said the attendant, smiling and holding in his hand a crisp new 50Rs note.

"Excuse me" I replied looking at the gleaming 50Rs note, realising that the man had just performed a switch for my grubby and scrunched up 100Rs whilst the child had distracted me.

I couldn't believe it (or rather I could). This damn place was not going to let me go without a fight. It wanted my money hard, and I wasn't going to give it the pleasure. A 5 minute stand off entailed, with him demanding more money and me screaming at him that I had given him a 100Rs note, and that I didn't even have a 50 on me, let alone a brand new one like the one he was waving. Suddenly his english became really bad and he couldn't understand my words. How convienient. Then I uttered the magical word 'Police' and suddenly things changed. He found the 100Rs note and immediately gave me my change appologising for the inconvienience. I had no idea he was such a big fan, I wonder if he liked Sting's solo work aswell? We will never know.

I spent an hour on the platform waiting for the next train chatting to an insane man who felt I was somehow responsible for the entire British Raj era and listening to his inane dribble about the might of the Indian Army and his unhappy marriage to his wife. He then demanded I come back to his village where he would organise a naked indian girl in a dark room for me. Honoured by his generosity I regretfully declined his offer and made a run for the train which was just pulling into the station.

I spent the next 6 hours standing in a very cramped gangway as the train moved slowly from station to station while various mens attempts to fondle my groin were met with a shove and an angry growl. I wandered if the insane mans offer of the dark room might not have been preferable. It was indeed a happy day.

Where was Delhi?

Agra-vation

And so it is... a visit to India will never feel complete until you've been to see the Taj Mahal. Part of me screamed "No, don't bow down to the blatant tourism", but more of me screamed "I want to see it... I want to see it", and so here I am. Agra, in Uttar Pradesh, home of the infamous Taj.

My train arrived into Agra Fort station at the late hour of 10:30pm. Predictably again It was not long before I was acosted by multiple offers of rikshaw rides and sightseeing tours for the next day. Having already booked my accomodation right next to the Taj Mahal I decided a tour was not required and a simple journey to my hotel would suffice. And so it was. However, upon arrival, getting rid of my rikshaw man proved to be the toughest job yet - he was quite insistant that I took a tour with him in the morning, 'No' didn't seem to be a word he was farmiliar with, despite his otherwise comprehensive grasp of the English language. Agra appears to be home to some of the most persitant tradesmen in the business. It's little wonder, as 90% of tourists will eventually find themselves here just as I do now. Easy pickings.

In the morning I was up at 6:00am, bright and early and ready to catch the first radient dance of the sun across the polished marble of the world's greatest testament to love. Opening my door I was met with greyness and the promise of thick cloud overhead. Slightly disapointing, but I felt sure it couldn't last long.

By 7:00am I was entering the East Gate of the Taj compound and unquestioningly paying the obscene foreign ticket price and undergoing a rigouraous security check. Where else in the world would it be considered OK to charge a person of one race 20Rs, and a person of another race 750Rs for the same attraction. This is Indian equality at it's finest, still, there really is no arguing and people like me keep on paying (after travelling so far to see it) and so it goes on.

Once inside the gate I began my walk along the pristine pathways to the centre of the first courtyard. This courtyard was dominated by the main gateway to the Taj garden, with it's Arabic etchings and powerful red brickwork. From here the Taj is not yet visible.

Walking through the archway it all unfolded infront of my eyes. There it stood amidst its perfectly kept lawns and hedgerows. A building of some beauty it has to be said, appearing in a slight haze which denoted it's distance and magnitude. Appearing mathematically perfect, almost like a drawing rather than a physical structure. My camera was out in an instant, and almost as quickly the rain began to fall. At no point in my visit did the sun show its face which to be fair was kind of upsetting, as the play of light across the structure is talked of in such high regard. However as testament to this magical buildings allure, even on a dull grey day it managed to radiate an almost unatural white-ness which cannot be interpreted as anything less than impressive against an angry sky.

I was soaked to the core in under a minute so I ceased to care about it and instead busied myself with (failed) photography attempts and the business of meeting fellow Britains with whom I could discuss the weather. At one point I found myself standing on a raised area admiring the side view of the Taj (it is identical from all sides, this I did not know) when the sudden sinking feeling hits you as you notice that everyone around you is bare foot and that everyone is staring at you. How am I supposed to know??? It happens to everyone at some point i'm sure.

A particularly sad moment was realised when I found myself standing within the most beautiful building ever built, deeply involved in a conversation with 3 strangers about Coventry, Basildon, Slough, Newport and Middlesbrough. Immediately I felt that the moment was being lost to me and directed my attentions to the intricate marble tiling with precious stone inlays.

Exiting the building we found that the rain had stopped and things were a little brighter, but still no sun. A slow miander along the stretched lawns with my new 'friend for the day' Tom, rewarded us with an opportunity to grab a few reasonable photos with which we could be happy and we decided it was probably time to leave.

Next stop was to be Agra Fort. Our ludicrously overpriced tickets for the Taj Mahal came with promise of free entry to four other Agra sights, one of which included the fort, so we decided we should at least try and get our moneys worth from it. Upon arrival at the gate of the fort we were informed that entry (normally 50Rs for foreigners) was indeed free with our magic tickets, however a charge of 250Rs was also required as a top-up for the 'Indian Archeological Society' administration.

Disgusted with the blatant corruption of the whole business we decided to kick up a bit of a fuss. It didn't help to see the locals filing past for a mere 20Rs admition fee, and no mention of the 250Rs IAS charge. Nobody seemed interested in our arguments, but we managed to get all the way up to see the manager of the location who simply set his mouth to repeat "250Rs for foreigners". Tom was getting quite irate by this time and demanded that the official look him dead in the eyes and tell him he thought that the pricing system was fair. The man sat there looking slightly aukward and staring down at the table repeating his same words. He could not bring himself to look either of us in the eye. The situation became rediculous as both sides sat repeating his case with no hint at a settlement on either side. In the end we had to leave before we ended up in a state prison.

Needless to say we did not visit the fort or indeed anywhere else in Agra which it seems has fallen very deeply into a chaotic and sadening scramble for money. Rikshaw drivers even seem reluctant to drive you anywhere unless you agree to visit 2 or 3 shops enroute so they can pick up their commision. Therefor I have taken to walking everywhere which is helping to pass the time whilst I wait to get out of this place. I daren't even walk close to a shop for fear of being dragged in and forcefully sold something I don't want.

How sad it is that one of Indias greatest treasures should be surrounded on all sides by one of it's blackest marks.

Jaipur

Arriving in Jaipur station at 6:00am, the Rikshaw-Wallahs were over me like fleas before my foot had even touched the platform. I couldn't decide whether my out of season travelling had helped or hindered me. On one hand they can't have been expecting me, on the other hand there was no-one else around for them to pounce on, so all came to me. anyway, I was strict with my man and informed him he was to take me directly to the hotel of MY choice. No messing.

"But sir, that place is no good and very expensive, and has mafia connections... you'd be far better somewhere else, I can arrange it for 100Rs if you like"

I stuck to my guns and told him to take me to the place of my choice. He relented eventually. We went. I carried my bags in and asked to look at the room I had booked. I returned with my bags and told him to take me somewhere else, he had been right.

Eventually I booked in to the family run Sivam Guesthouse, a little out of town but modestly priced. It proved to be a winner as the only other inhabitants appart from myself were a bunch of students from the nearby college, studying for their MBAs. They seemed thrilled to see me and immediately made me feel welcome. I spent most of the morning watching clips of Hindi movies and Bollywood music videos on their laptops, whilst I traded them some modern UK dance numbers from my MP3 player.

That day I decided to investigate Jaipur. It started badly after a run-in with a particularly determined Rikshaw-Wallah who decided he was going to take me to see all the sights of Jaipur whether I wanted to see them or not, at a price decided by him. I eventually managed to escape his grasp and hotfooted it down a side street and made my way through the winding streets toward Tiger Fort which is omnipresent above the 'pink' coloured buildings. Jaipur is called the 'Pink City' because of the colour of it's buildings, but I'm inclined to say that the wash used looks more like orange than pink. Not only that but upon climbing the footpath to Tiger Fort, a look across the rooftop reveals more blue buildings than 'pink' ones. At least this was my impression.

The hike up to Tiger Fort was indeed quite a trek in the midday sun, and frequent sitting on the wall was required. Not that I minded as it offered me the opportunity to look out over the city and gain some bearings which had been completely lost by the insident with my 'would be' tour-guide. There was one place I really wanted to visit here, and that was the Jantar Mantar (Observatory). It was immediately obvious from my current height and I made a mental roadmap in my head for later on.

The grounds of Tiger Fort itself are actually quite enchanting. Maybe it was the architecture or maybe it was because I had found the first place in India where a man can be alone for more than a few minutes. I'm inclined to think it was the latter, although I did enjoy walking round the parimeter wall and climbing the turrets too.

After climbing back down from the fort, the mental map I had made in my head told me that the Jantar Mantar was indeed quite a walk from my present location. With that in mind I wasted no time in employing the services of a cycle-rikshaw. It was now that I discovered that a cycle-rikshaw ride over bumpy ground costs far less than an auto-rikshaw over the same distance. The catch (because in India there is always one) is that it can also cost you anything upto 3 slipped discs with the possibility of permanent spinal damage. Still, it's all a bit of fun isn't it.

The Jantar Mantar is an ancient Observatory built in the 1600s and contains the worlds largest sundial along with many other devices carved in marble and stone designed to uncover everything from the suns angle and position to unlocking the secrets of the Zodiac. For the first time on my trip I decided it was appropriate to get myself a guide to explain to me the workings of these facinating structures. He also, upon my request, gave me a ride on his motorbike to a cheap and local eatery where I fed myself on Channa Masala and Chappati till I was fit to burst.

The rest of my stay in Jaipur revolved around the guys from the guesthouse. One guy in particular became a good pal for that short time and we talked about many subjects ranging from Girls (most indian mens favourite subject it would seem) to Pickles and back to Girls again. I was taken to good and cheap eateries where I got a fantastic Tandori Chicken, rice, chappatis, salad and a drink for around 50Rs, drank loads of tea and lassies and generally killed time observing the real india, the people.

Time rolled on and, as always happens when travelling, it became time for me to move on. A 3:30pm train to Agra ends this chapter.

I hear the sound of drums

The last few days in Udaipur have been quite relaxing. I have wandered the streets and shorelines and visited many little shops and stalls without any of the hassle from vendors I would expect in other towns and cities. I have been a model tourist and marvelled at the Elephants walking the roadways, laughed at the Cows which appear to own the city streets and watched amused but slightly confused as Men (or Unuchs) dressed as ladies danced and cavorted in the streets.

Yesterday I took up some Tabla lessons with a delightfully enthusiastic music shop owner called Rajesh. Having only 2 days to teach me, we tore through the basics and he got me to a level where I could accompany him on his Sitar. The excersises were a little boring I have to say but the resulting accompaniment was quite rewarding. OK, so I'm still no good, but at least I have an appreciation of the techniques now, so hopefully I can make some use of my own Tabla when I return.

My stomach has been a bit on edge these last few days (must be something I ate!) so I've been keeping things simple and not venturing too far from my hotel or suitable bathroom facilities. However, I decided I couldn't leave Udaipur without visiting the Monsoon Palace up on that distant hill, so I hired a rikshaw and off we went at full tilt. What had been a nice day decended into greyness and by the time we had reached the summit we were in a full blown storm. Soaked to the bone in a second, I decided (to apease the disapointment in my mind) that the only time to visit the Monsoon Palace was in Monsoon conditions. As I looked out over the highly talked about landscape I saw only fog and driving rain, but I was happy.

On the back steps of the palace I met some college students who were hiding from the weather and at their request began to explain the differences between our two countries, as I saw it. We had coffee as we chatted and after some time the fog began to disperse and a hint of the wonderful panoramic hidden behind came into view. I decided however that I had best get back into town before I missed my train, and sure enough upon arriving at the station my train was sitting there waiting for me. I had plenty of time to settle into my bunk before the whistle blew and the engine hauled it's human cargo eastward, toward Jaipur.

Udaipur has a lake!

Udaipur's charm lies in its lakeside setting and magical floating palaces. What a blow to it's tourist trade then, when for the last three years it has been dry as a bone. Water replaced by sand, boat rides replaced by camel treks, and romantic reflections replaced by a brown slime. With this in mind, how happy I was to arrive just after a particularly heavy monsoon to find the lake full to the brim and back to it's former glory.

I have to agree with the general consensus that Udaipur is a very lovely place indeed. Not only is it quite beautiful, but it also exudes a peaceful and serene atmosphere which is a world apart from any other place I have visited so far in India (which granted, isn't all that many). I only wish my arrival had born similar qualities...

After sweating the night away in my "Air Conditioned" coach, I had eventually fallen into a light, but far from comfortable, slumber. Upon opening my eyes again I noticed that we had just made a drop off and were begining to move once more. Without knowing where I was, with no visible sign to aid me, and with the horrible realisation that the man I had been speaking to earlier about Udaipur had now departed the coach, I began a mild panic! Rolling from the top bunk I began scrambling together my belongings and saying 'Udaipur, Udaipur' to bewildered onlookers. When I finally located the coach conductor and uttered the word 'Udaipur' to him the brakes came on abruptly and the coach slid to a halt. The door slid open and I was directed to leave the coach, which I did, to find myself in the middle of nowhere, at 4:30am, fair game to the first lucky Rikshaw-Wallah who happened to find me.

It took less than a minute for me to be completely surrounded on all sides. The numbers however worked in my favour as I instigated a bidding war for my fair. The winner netted himself a still useful sum of 40Rs but to his credit he earned it by waking an entire street of hotel and haveli owners in order to find me a room. I ended up with a fairly decent room with a balcony and a lake view for 175Rs which wasn't too bad although I'm sure I could have got better if I really wanted to. However, the lure of a nice comfortable bed got the better of me and I drifted off at around 5am to recoup a little sleep.

Waking at around 10:00am I decided to check out the hotel restaurant up on the roof, and found it to have a lovely view to all sides. After grabbing a bite to eat I used the height advantage of the building to click a few photos and generally take in the view. A sudden onset of wind proceeded by a torrent of rain drove me back inside the covered restaurant where I met 'Memu', a French girl who had spent an entire month in Rajastan learning about textiles and the various techniques employed in their creation. We had a good chat and spent the rest of the day walking around the lake, avoiding scattered showers and taking tea at every opportunity. The night finished atop another rooftop restaurant with a nice meal acompanied by a showing of the Bond film 'Octopussy'. This is a nightly fixture in almost every rooftop in Udaipur as half the film was shot here. It features such sights as the Lake Palace, Monsoon Palace and the infamous 'Rikshaw chase' through the city streets. It may have been a cliche but a spot of James Bond was exactly what I needed after 2 and a half months away from home. It was quite exciting also to see them point to the Monsoon Palace in the film and then to turn my head to the left and see it sitting resplendant on the distant hill. And similarly with the Lake Palace which was just below me on the water.

When the film finished it was time for Memu to grab her bags and run for the station, onward to her next destination, whilst I decided it was time for an early night.

Jodhpur

Jodhpur is nicknamed the Blue City, and the reason for this becomes obvious as you assend the road up to the mighty fort which dominates the city skyline. Most of the buidlings in this area have been given a wash of delicate light blue paint which when viewed at street level is quite pleasing to the eye but when viewed en-mass becomes really very impressive and beautiful. It is not a huge City and the old town especially appears to have been created soley for the purpose of extracting money from the pockets of foreigners.

The market by the clock tower is a prime example of this, with vendors falling over themselves to bring you in to their small textile shops and show you the latest pashmina's they have just produced exclusively for Paul Smith, Armani and Kenzo... all available to me only, just for today, at a specially reduced price because I am their 'first customer' and a sale from me alone will bring them good luck (and Rupees it would appear). Riiiiiight... I'm sure Paul Smith would be overjoyed with the washed out mismatch of colours used in the classic 'Stripes' design, but nice try all the same.

After the obligatory visit to the Fort which is very nice and all that (well serviced by an audio guide system that comes free with your overpriced entry ticket), I stopped for lunch on my way down the hill at another guest house which a passing traveller had recommended. I certainly was not disapointed as the 'Thali' I demolished was absolutely lovely. Not only that but the place was attracting travellers from all over which lead to a lengthly and interesting conversation ranging from Israili Passport restrictions to the almighty rock quartet 'Queen'.

After picking up a few useful travel tips it was time to proceed onwards to Udaipor, this time by A/C sleeper coach. All very nice if the A/C had been working. I'm probably now about a stone lighter.

Train Lines and Fun times

I woke up and looked at the clock to that sickly, sinking feeling one gets when they realise that they are late for something important. That something in this case was my train to
Jodhpur. It wasn't so much that I was late, more the fact that my bag lay in the corner of the room pathetically empty whilst the contents were strewn unhelpfully throughout the flat. Minutes past like seconds as I stuffed 'objects' inside my now bulging rucksack. With barely enough time to fill my water bottle from the filtering device above the sink, I ran out of the flat and down the stairs praying that I hadn't left behind anything too crucial.

A frenetic rickshaw ride later and I arrived at Borivali Station with my 2 unecessarily heavy bags, a ticket for the train and no clue of which platform to catch it from. The station signage did little to ease my plight and I cursed myself for not having learnt to read Hindi. Come to think of it, learning to speak Hindi would have been a similarly good investment as my desperate cries for help were met with blank looks from all station officials. Finally one man started mumbling '4 number platform, 4 number platform' under his breath as he stared at the floor and turned his back to me. Out of options I ran to platform number 4 to see a tiny board at the other end flashing with the number of the train which was printed on my ticket. Pheeeeew!

I've never sweated quite so much in my entire life. A mixture of midday heat, running around with 25kg of luggage on my back, and blind panic had succeded in turning my once pristine t-shirt into a soggy rag.

25 minutes past and the train still hadn't arrived. My body however was still managing to produce enough sweat to fill an olympic swimming pool. Onlookers on the platform seemed quite fascinated by this bizarre human specimin, an remained staring at me for the duration. You have to love it.

Finally the train arrives and everyone bundles on. My sleeping bunk is one of 6 in a booth in coah S2. The remaining 5 bunks are taken up by one entire family who seem very unhappy to see me become the 6th member. A slightly aukward moment passes. I decide to move further down the coach for a while, allowing the breeze to dry my rather moist clothing before returning to my loving family of 5. They seem a little less unpset now and appear satisfied with just ignoring me. This is fine.

A 19 hour journey passes relatively quickly with a mixture of activities inluding, reading, drinking water, eating snacks, reading, running out of water, reading, becoming unbelievably thirsty, reading, and eventually sleeping to supress the pain of extreme dehydration. Upon waking I thought I was about to die. There was nothing I wouldn't do to get my hands on some water. At 3am in the morning the train pulled into some random station and sat there. All I could see was the man standing about 50 meters away selling bottles of water. Could I make it in time before the train pulled away? What would happen If it did pull away? Where was I?... Did I care? No... I ran for it. Bought the water, waited as the man maticulously counted out my change with extreme slowness, and then legged it for the open door of the train. Just as I grabbed the railing the train began to move off. I polished off half a litre before even reaching my bunk. Bliss!

Arriving in Jodhpur at 6.30am and I was immediately faced with a wall of people on the platform. Some waiting for a train, but the majority seemed to be living on the platform. Whole families just asleep under rags. Picking my way through the crowds I managed to secure myself a Rickshaw and headed off into the labarynth of streets that make up the old town, beneath the immense fort that dominates the skyline. Amazingly the rickshaw guy did not try to take me to a hotel of his choosing (to grab some commission) but dropped me directly at my pre-booked destination, Yogi's Guesthouse, at around 7am where I preceeded to fall straight to sleep for another 3 hours.

150Rs for a single room with shared bathroom. No ventialtion and extremely hot when the fan stops whiring. Great place though, lovely rooftop and plenty of friendly travellers.

The Girl's are back in town!

My week here has flown by, so much so that I almost forgot that Jessie would be returning to commandeer her flat back off me.

She arrived yesterday in the small hours of the morning and headed straight to sleep only to be woken at around 10am by a phone call telling her that her interview (for Virgin Atlantic again!) had been moved forward to 12.30pm that day. Panic ensued. Her CV wasn't ready, she had no photos to hand over, and (of course) nothing to wear. In a magical effort on both parts we managed to scrape everything together and get her down to Central Mumbai in the absolute nik of time. I left her to it and went for a walk along Marine Drive eventually settling myself on the wall to read a book. An hour passed and I had made 2 new friends... Sandy, a student from the near-by college, and Jaysh, a guide from the 'Prince of Wales Museum' who offered to give me free entry and a free tour some time. Very kind, might do that tomorrow.

After her interview (which apparently went "OK") we went and had lunch at Leopold's in Cabala then walked around some of the street stalls and ended up at the 'Gateway of India'. At this point we realised we had grossely mistimed things and now faced a hard slog back to the flat during rush hour which actually lasts about 4 hours in reality. Being a big fan of taxi's, this was Jessie's first attempt at the trains in rush hour (I was by now an old hand), and she didn't seem too impressed by the experience. We split into respective mens and ladies coaches and proceeded to be squished to a pulp for the best part of an hour. She has been here 6 months and never experienced it, about time I say, but somehow I doubt she will ever travel in that way again.

Last night The rest of her flat mates returned, once more in the middle of the night, so I woke to find the flat which at one point had been soley my domain was now crawling with 4 girls all nattering away. Quite a change. In a good way of course.

Today I have had an elongated tour of all the Air India facilities in Mumbai whilst Jessie and Somu tried in vein to sign up for their next flight schedule. It being a Saturday, most of the locations had shut at midday so we zig zagged across town in Auto rikshaws until we finally found one location to be open. I spent a facinating hour in the gaurds hut, staring at the celing fan, whilst the girls dissapeared inside to sort out their schedule.

Tonight we will probably go out somewhere for a few drinks, maybe a club.

Tomorrow I will need to sort out a ticket out of here to continue my onward travel as I am sure I will shortly outstay my welcome at the flat now that it is full to bursting. But it's been good to see a more suburban side of Mumbai life.

I am truely very thankful to Jessie and her lovely housemates for their warm welcome.

Mumbai or Bombay.

Well, I've arrived in Mumabi, and have now been here about 7 days. So much has happened I don't know what to say. What a MAD place this is.

My first problem came immediately. I entered the country at 4am, with no money and no idea where to go. The ATM at the airport was broken. With no money I couldn't get a taxi. Without a taxi I couldn't get any money. Oooops. OK, I confess, sometimes you should plan ahead... can't believe i just said that.

Short of it is... i swapped 2.50 (english pounds in change) for someone at the airport's $5 bill. I converted that at the Forex buero for 210Rs. Enough for a taxi into the city. I blagged a room at the Salvation Army Hostel and then waited till morning to go find an ATM. Good old HSBC...

Later that day I decided to call up Jessie (from Delhi, but now lives in Mumbai) and found that she was at home, but due to fly out for a week with work. We met for a drink to catch up and she very kindly offered me the use of her flat while she was away. So kind of her, I wasn't sure if to accept but in the end my budget and the need to get clean won out and I accepted. No need for the Salvation Army now...!

So I've spent the best part of this week living as a suburban Mumbaiker up in Kandivali East, with occasional trips into central on the suburban rail link, an hour each way (22p return, unbelievable). I've also been found wandering the streets of Thakur Village, Kandivali, Bandra, jeting around in Auto-Rikshaw and hitting the mall (InOrbit Mall) like a true westerner.

So far my highlights are...

1/ The crazy train journeys. People hanging out of the doors for the whole journey, jumping from the train as its still moving along the platform, people jumping in as its still going, people going hell for leather just to get a seat, people cruhing onto the trains until my pelvis almost snapped into two.

2/ 'Sledgehammer' a classic rock covers band who I saw play at 'Not just Jazz by the Bay'. They rocked the house, it was awesome to hear classic Hendrix and Zeplin coming out of India. Not what i was expecting, but indeed welcome.

3/ An enterprising old man who used the inner folds of his ear to hold his loose change. Maybe you had to see it to appreciate it.

4/ Taking a ride in an Auto (Rikshaw) on the crazy Mumbai highways. There is no order, there is no peace. It's horns at the ready as you weave at full pelt through the suburban sprawl. Never more tha 2 inches away from a hideous road accident, I just dont understand how we aren't all killed instantly. But it seems to work. Road rage isn't concidered a problem, its a neccessity.

5/ Sunset from the wall of Marine Drive on Mumbai's South West side. On a cloudy day what you get is a fire in the sky, silhouetting the opposing penisulars tall buildings beautifully.

6/ Victoria Station. Built by the same man who gave us London's St Pancras Station. Victoria is reminiscent but fells much grander, possibly due to its dominence over its surroundings. I mixture of gothic and Indian. Very inspiring.

On the downside, beggars are becoming a neusance. At first it was a novelty, and I fended their demands off politely as any resposible tourist should. But now after 6 days of it, im getting kind of annoyed by it all. Please can they just leave me alone. Please... Still, it's not so bad. I just wish they didn't make me feel so bad.