Day 4 - Delhi to Agra

I waken a tad too early (5.30am).  Go to inspect my eye in the bathroom mirror in the hope that all will be over and better now.  I am therefore horrified to discover a great big squashy cushion under my left eye.  I'm really not an attractive sight to inflict on India today.

Downstairs to breaky, where H ploughs his way through a strangely miscellaneous assortment of salad sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, fried bread rolls and some other peculiarities, whilst I have a cheese omelette.

We check out and head into the street to meet Salim, who's parked up a few yards away.  It's very quiet at this time in the morning - none of the shops have opened up yet.  Salim has a couple of suggestions for some more sight-seeing before we leave Delhi.

Humayan's Tomb
It is lovely and quiet here, being amongst the first visitors of the day to the red sandstone tomb, with white marble decoration.  Clusters of brilliant green parrots are at large and cheeky little chipmunks scatter along the paths.

Lotus Temple
Heading out of Delhi, Salim stops so we can photo the Lotus Temple.  Sadly, it's closed on a Monday, so we can't visit, but it's terribly impressive - a kind of Sydney Opera House, but with symmetry.

Shiva Shrine
Back on the road again, we head out of Delhi, with a top off to see a road-side Shiva shrine and statue.

Akbar's Mausoleum, Sikandra (son of Humayan)
We wander along the red sandstone walkways, with their mini 'levadas'.  There are more lively parrots here and some antelope graze in the lush green grounds.  Families play hide and seek in the cloisters of the mausoleum and seem to thoroughly enjoy their leisure time.  It appears we are a bit of a novelty here and people take photos of us.

Back on the road again.  The mad-cap capers of drivers, motorcyclists, cows, goats, dogs and people has a strangely sleep-inducing effect.  It seems bizarre how we both nod off with all that chaos going on around us. Maybe it is information overload and our brains are short-circuiting

We break unexpectedly for lunch at the Miramar roadside hotel, where a monkey in a frilly dress is made to jump up and down excitedly on the driveway and a snake-charmer tries to entice a rather tired looking cobra.

Into Agra, the traffic becomes even more fraught and aggressive and for a tense moment, Salim and a lorry driver exchange angry eye contact and I wonder if it's going to come to fisticuffs.

As we enter Agra, we are both disappointed by the sheer filth and squalor of it all.  It lacks any of the usual redeeming charm of India - and even though there are the amazing sights of the Taj Mahal and Red Forte, all else is a bit of a bum-boil.  We understand now why we are only scheduled to stop here for one night.

Hotel is of a good standard though - the usual troop of people accompanies us up to our room and all require tipping.  We stop in to dine in the downstairs restaurant.

Day 3 - Delhi

We wake at 9.40am, very touchingly are contacted by reception to ask if we are coming down to breakfast - but we don't have the energy!

Eventually get up and ready and ask reception to arrange us a taxi to Delhi Station.

It turns out to be rather a confusing place to say the least.  As we get out of our taxi, a man asks where we are going and tells us we must go up to the first floor.  That is all very well, but we can't even see the way in.  It isn't very obvious, because we need to step over piles of rubble, muddy puddles, broken bits of walling and corrugated plastic to reach a non-descript doorway, through which, people are pouring onto an escalator going up.  A man at the foot of the escalator asks us 'ticket, ticket'.  We hand him our Indrail passes and he tells us we needed to go to block N to get our reservations sorted.  He fixes us up with a tuk-tuk ride for 30 rupees, which takes us over to the 'International Travel Office'.  This is in another fairly inauspicious arse-end of a building.  We wade through mud and rubble to get to the door.

Inside, we meet Naz, who checks our Indrail passes and tells us that none of the reservations have been made.  He also explains that since most places North of Delhi are suffering flooding, we will need to have a radical change to our itinery.

Then, like a magician, he pulls 'Plan B' out of a hat, which involves driver Salim and a set of destinations, 'Which you will like'.

It all seems a pretty good set of alternatives.  H says that in his experience, holidays where plan A falls apart and something completely different happens are always the best sort.  We decide to go for it.  So, Naz packs us off with Salim, to have fun, while he does the paperwork.

Salim takes us for a very enjoyable lunch in Pinda Restaurant, which pleases H a lot, because a snake charmer with a cobra is on the forecourt.  Not sure if the snake charmer is equally happy though, with the measley 10 rupee note H gives him!

H is then pleased a second time, when he encounters a bike with a grindstone run off the back wheel - although he won't accept my theory that this was probably the point of manufacture of the very elaborately machined tooth picks, which are presented with at our table.

Other traders sell peacock feather fans and wooden, carved elephants.

Next, Salim whisks us off to the National Railway museum.  It's in the consulate quarter, all very green and pleasant with broad boulevards and attractively land-scaped road islands.

It's a bit confusing trying to find the way in to the museum, but after a couple of u-turns and stopping to ask the directions of a ten year od boy, who is busily washing his hands in a puddle, we get there.

The very first thing we hear is the miniature train run past the other side of the hedge, together with exhuberant shouts of young lads.  How very appropriate it is that this turns out the be called 'The Joy Train.

H wants a trip on this first, because it looks so much fun, so we hop on, causing a certain amount of consternation to the ticket collector as we haven't managed to work out how to purchase our tickets.  But off we go anyway, promising to pay at the end, which we later do.  Around the lake we go, (it's a cross between a pond and a blue tiled paddling pool).  A boy in a canoe goes round in ever decreasing circles, owing to most of the paddle being missing from one end of his oar.

The Joy Train sure lives up to its name, we discover half away through our journey, when young lads take the challenge of running up and leaping onto it as it goes by - much to the distaste of a solemn little girl sat opposite Harry.

After our trip, we walk over to the ticket office and pay up.  The Ticket collector then walks over to us, and ceremoniously make tears in the tickets, lest we be tempted to commit another dishonest act!

Off now for a wander amongst the exhibits.  Unfortunately, the lying rainwater makes a haven for biting insects, which are clearly delighted that I have brought my succulent self into their midst.

H is deeply thrilled to see the mono-rail track, but sadly disappointed that it is not running.  Especially sinece the wear marks on the concrete path imply that it has run tantalisingly recently.

Thunder and light drizzle give a portent of monsoon-y type things to come, so we make our way over to the round restaurant terrace that is set over the middle of the pond, for a refreshing drink of pop, before heading over to the display and shop area.

The display includes loads of interesting looking pushy buttons, not many of which actually do anything, apart from one on a model of a 'Rocket' type engine, with moving parts.  It makes a noise like the scream of a wild cat caught in a trap and proves itself irresistable to small boys.

Walk along the displays, coming out confusingly where we started - 'Because it's round Caro, did you not realise that?' - evidently not (I plead jet-lag!).

We decide we really ought to buy Fairy Queen ties, to wear when firing, only to discover that the gift shop is now closed.  So we go back to Salim, who has decieded that we must do a spot of sight-seeing and orders us to get snappy with our camers (this guy really is good value to money!).

He takes us past the Presidential Palace, to see the Delhi Gate.

We are dropped of off nearby and walk the rest of the way, accosted by a persistent hawker of rubber band-powered plastic helicopters.  'Five for 500 rupees, buy it for your Grandson', he says to me.  Bad selling technique! The sale is most definitely off after that wise-crack.

Take a stroll among the throng, who are gathering around the gate.  There are hoards of people because they are gathering to celebrate Eid.  The hawker is still in full flow and we're down to 5 for 400R now. 

A gang of lads asks to be photographed with us, so we pose with them and they all seem made up.

Afterwards, they all eagerly shake hands and say 'hello'.  So sweet.  I'm somewhat ashamed to check my bag in case it is a ruse, but feel better when H asks me to check his backpack has not been undone.

The hawker is getting desperate now.  We're down to 5 for 100R, then 4 for 100R, then back up to 5 for 100R.  A man takes pity on us and asks the hawker to leave us alone - but he is unstoppable.

He hasn't reckoned on the intractable natures of H&C though.  Eventually, even he has to concede that it ain't going to happen.

Back into the car with Salim and now we have sight-seen and photographed to his satisfaction, we are allowed to go back to Naz, who has our itinery sorted and all the bookings made.  All we need to do now is sign our agreement.

Salim brings us back to our hotel - he is rather concerned that the hotel staff may try to poach us back off him - but we agree to meet him up the street from the hotel first thing in the morning.

Back to our room and I'm horrified to discover in the mirror, that the mosquito bite under my left eye is looking like a botox job, gone very badly wrong.

It's been a fab day though and now we're back to being dog-tired - (but happy this time!).  Another night in which we have the restaurant to ourselves.  Something red, something orange and something exceptionally green with rice and chappatis.  Harry seems to be under the Delhi influence, and has to leave the table rather abruptly.

Thought for the day:  Is a person who lives in Delhi a Delite? 

Day 2 - Get ready for take off

Am woken at 5.30 am by a text from Willy, saying he's on the way into work, still drunk and is 'never doing that again'.

How many times have I heard that?!

I feel remarkably well on waking, all things considered - gin most definitely suits me.

We head out to Lambeth to drop H's phone at Sam's place.  It falls through the letter box to the tiled floor with a resounding clunk.  Hmm - wonder if it has survived that?  Oh well, better than losing it in India.

Wander back, pausing briefly to admire the 16.5 mile range guns outside the British War Museum.  Then make our way to Oxford St for a spot of trouser shopping for H.  He picks a nice couple of pairs in lovely warm corduroy and moleskin.  Mmm - just the thing for a hot climate!

Up at the top of Oxford Street, we stop for lunch in Cafe Rouge, where I have an astonishingly good chocolate mousse for dessert (note to self - must tell Kate about this).

Pick up our bags from hotel and yahooo, the real start to the adventure begins with our tube trip out to Heathrow.

Whoop, whooop, soooo exciting (although the hang-over's caught up a bit now!

There's a new development I've noticed today in my pshyche - I've got an obsession with toilet paper.  It's quite difficult to supress the urge to squirrel away any loose ones I encounter in my bags.  After all - who knows what perils may befall us in the next few weeks?

Going through the airport is all nice and relaxed.  A spot of shopping and a bit of dinner later and we're boarding our Jet Air plane.  It's all very nice, with lots of interesting entertainment gadjets to play with, which makes me very happy.  (H has seen it all before - so young and yet so jaded!).


My set of inflatable pillows come out and I'm very comfortable thank you, and H just gives me one of his long suffering looks.  I watch Shrek 3, a Bollywood movie and An Officer and a Gentleman.  We land just before the finish, but its ok as I already know the ending.

Into the terminal - and we decide to pop into the loos and there's a long queue in the ladies.  Finally I'm out, and expecting H to have left long before me, so am surprised not to find him waiting outside.  I decide that he must have carried on through to baggage retrieval, so make my way through passport control, only to find no sign of H at the conveyor.

So we're only 15 minutes in and already its gone wrong.  I can't backtrack to look for him, so I wonder how long he'll wait outside the ladies, thinking I must have serious problems - and we've barely started eating Indian food yet!

Eventually, he arrives through passports and the H&C show is back on the road again.

Our taxi driver is waiting outside holding up a card with big letters "Mr Harry".  We follow him out to the car park, and walk right up to the car, where two men suddenly step forward and lift our rucksacks out of our hands, place them in the boot and then demand tips for doing so.  I'm a more seasoned India traveller these days, so extortion is not on the menu thanks boys!

The drive into Delhi is that wonderful heart in the mouth experience, where near misses with other traffic takes place on avarage every 5 seconds.  The landscape is much flatter than either of us expected.  Soon, we arrive at the Grand President Hotel in an insalubrious alley.  The inside of the hotel is pleasantly surprising and we are warmly welcomed and invited to sit and drink a glass of fresh lemon water, before being escorted to our room.

Having missed a night's sleep, the main thing on our minds is gonking out, but the hotel staff have other ideas.  A succession of visitors come to the door, bringing bottled water, loo roll, and our passports, and somebody else opens our door and has a look in, out of sheer curiosity.

At last, they run out of reasons to disturb us, and we can have our showers and fall into blissful slumber.  I awaken a few hours later, completely disorientated and clueless what the time is, to find Harry telling me something completely incoherent, but evidently of some importance.  Failing to make any sense of it - I fall asleep for a few more hours.

So, now I'm writing up the diary while waiting for the restaurant to open.  I've already decided what I'm having on the room menu.  It's going to be very quick eats and back to bed for me.

As I write, there have been several intermittent power cuts, plunging us into darkness and my bed seems to be heading in two separate directions.  But hey - this is India and it's all part of the fun.

Well. we clock watched until it was time for the restaurant to open, then waitied until it was fashionably five minutes late, and went for anexclusive meal where we had the room and waiter all to ourselves.  Our first Indian meal.  H has his first taste of panneer in something very green and healthy looking (lots of spinach involved). I have channa dal with rice.

Wander outside after dinner, through thronging street market with all its smells, noise and colours, dogs, cars and motorbikes and unblievable overhead wiring.

Back at hotel, very tired, retire to bed.

Day 1 - At Last!

Finally, have got round to doing the last bits of packing, after all these weeks and months of planning.  Lots of lovely messages on Facebook from friends.

Met H and Dave at Waterloo station, complete with a push bike H is delivering to brother Sam.  We all have a quick coffee together and then Dave and H set off to deliver the bike to Sam, while I head over to Covent Garden to meet up with Willy, who's just finished work.

After a couple of beers, H joins us and we cross over the road to Navara Joe's Mexican restaurant to fullfil our plan of getting well plastered on the last night before we set off.

Several large gins and a variety of cocktails later, we seem to have accomplished our mission rather well.  We phone a few friends to tell them how much we love them and then wobble back towards Waterloo, taking a break for Harry to drive around in uneven circles on a Boris Bike.

Leave Willy at station and return to hotel.  I fall asleep with room twirling at a bit of a rate of knots.