India

India, and more specifically Delhi was the first Asian destination in our World Tour 1998. India is a unique place. We were told by seasoned travellers that we'd either love it or hate it. We loved it and hated it at the same time. It is a unique place, a huge heaving populace scrabbling for a living, rigidly bound by religious and cultural rules, a remarkably peaceful and gentle people, yet gruelling. After a while the clamour gets to be too much, but in small doses, it's an amazing place. Our trip began in Delhi, where cut our teeth doing battle for the first time with the inevitable taxi touts. We spent a few days in Delhi acclimatising - though I'm not sure if you can ever get used to a place like this.

With only a few weeks in India, we decided to concentrate our travels in and around Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh. Rajasthan is famous for its fantastic fortress cities, ruled for centuries by the noble Rajput warrior clans. Pushkar, site of the largest camel fair in the world was our first stop, followed by Jaipur, the so called pink city, on account of the stone used in its walls and palaces. Jodhpur is the next largest city west of Jaipur, and yes it is where the eponymous trousers come from. We hired a man and a Hindustani motor car to show us around the surrounding villages, where locals live a basic existence, and opium addiction is rife. After Jodhpur we went to Jaiselmer, near the Pakistani border and ended up trekking across the Thar desert on a camel. Then it was back east to Agra and the Taj Mahal. We finished up getting embroiled in frenzied crowds during a religious festival in Varanassi, one of India's holiest cities, before heading north to Nepal on the worst bus journey in the universe.

We hadn't quite seen the last of India though, since on our return, we passed through Calcutta, lingering a few days before continuing to Thailand.

If you are thinking of visiting India, why not check-out our top 15 chart busting tips for travelling in this great subcontinent.

Delhi
We arrived in Delhi after a tiring overnight flight. Delhi was everything we expected, noisy, packed with people, and full of hustlers. We'd been warned that the taxi drivers don't always take you where you want to go, so we went to the government taxi desk at the airport in the hope that we might avoid a rip off. How wrong we were. Our driver, Kamal, ushered us to his ancient Hindustani cab and asked us where we were from. "England". "Is this your first time in Delhi?" - that's the fateful question. As soon as you say yes, it's taken as a green light to try and relieve you of as many of your nice fresh tourist dollars as they can.
He tried every trick in the book to convince us that the Paharganj, where we wanted to go, was a nasty place, full of thieves, dirty, all the hotels are fully booked etc etc. As far as I was concerned, he was the only crook, and we stood our ground. The Paharganj isn't exactly Beverly Hills, but it's colourful to say the least. There are dozens of budget hotels here, and contrary to popular myth, there are plenty of rooms. Ours, the Metropolis had air con, TV, room service and a great terrace restaurant all for $16 a night. Once we'd arrived, Katie asked me what we were going to do now. "Lets get a Delhi Belly" I said, and we headed out for a curry, the first of many no doubt. On the streets, you get hassled a lot by people selling everything from tours to Kashmir (er - no thanks, I don't feel like being kidnapped this week) to ganga (er no thanks, I don't feel like spending three years in an Indian jail). The curries here are great, as you might well expect. My only complaint is they don't serve alcohol in most of the restaurants, so that was a bit of a turn-off.		The Main Bazaar, Paharganj - Delhi Old City
After lunch we took a trip in a motorcycle Rickshaw down town to New Delhi. It was driven by a psychomaniac, who weaved in and out of immense fume belching buses with impunity. The most amazing sight on this hair-raising trip was of a beggar with no legs deftly wheeling himself around the cars on a small trolley to cadge money. I wondered if when he started his begging career he had all his limbs. New Delhi was planned by the British during colonial times as the capital of India. As such it has wide streets, colonnaded buildings, green areas. It's still crowded, noisy and dirty, and you still get hustled continuously. There aren't as many beggars as such. I imagined there would be more, and most of them are pretty 'armless anyway. (sorry I couldn't resist that one).
Delhi's tourist attractions
There are hundreds of City Tours on offer in Delhi, and the art is in choosing one which isn't going to be a complete rip-off. We went therefore went for the official government trip, booking it directly with the ITDC office the day before.
Dancing monkeys - India Gate	Unfortunately, we'd not counted on the jet lag, and the 8am start was a trifle hard to deal with. We'd missed the bus, and thus began a James Bond style chase through Delhi's choked streets in a motorcycle rickshaw; "Follow that bus!!!". We managed to catch up with the tour, having missed the first stop - the Lakshmi Narayan Temple - not a big deal - there's plenty more where that came from as we were to discover. Highlights of the tour were: In New Delhi, we drove down the immense Rajpath designed by Lutyens. It's enormity is broken by the India Gate monument. Humayan's tomb. Humayan was one of the earlier Mughal emperors, and this impressive marble tomb was built by his wife in 1546. It is one of the earliest examples of Mughal architecture in India. The Qutab Minar in southern Delhi is one of the oldest areas of the city. There is a 7m high iron pillar here that was stuck like a nail into the ground many centuries ago. It is a sacred site. One day someone tried to loosen the nail and as a result a plague of snakes was released from the ground. The Hindi words for 'loose nail' are 'Dili Nili' - and this is supposedly where the name Delhi came from - and if you believe that, you'll believe anything. Of course there was the inevitable stop at a craft shop (no doubt owned by the bus driver's cousin), but nobody was buying.
Delhi's Red Fort built by Shah Jahan	The Diwan i Khas inside the Red Fort - Emperor's Private rooms.	The Red Fort in the Old City was built in the 1600s by the penultimate Mughal emperor Shah Jahan - it's a vast military complex of red sandstone buildings spread over many acres. There is a The Red fort in the Old City was built in the 1600s by the penultimate Mughal emperor Shah Jahan - it's a vast military complex of red sandstone buildings spread over many acres. There is an impressive marble palace inside the fort with the magnificent public and private rooms, the Diwan i am or public reception area was where the emperor used to receive visitors, bowing and scraping their way down a 400m path leading to his rather large throne. From a distance, across the gardens, it all looks magnificent, but up close its all a bit decrepit.

We spent a couple more days in Delhi. It took us a while to overcome the jet lag and we found ourselves getting up at midday and ambling out into the throngs. We went up to the old city market, the Chandi Chowk, where goods are laid out on the ground on plastic sheets. We were still getting used to India. As a tourist, you get a lot of attention. Katie was looking at hair bands at one stall oblivious to the fact that there were about twenty blokes watching her fascinated. Everywhere is crowded in Delhi, there is barely enough space to breath.

We booked a bus out to Jaipur - paying a bit extra to get one with air-conditioning and a bit more leg-room. How gullible we were. Our bus was not Aircon - just A Con. - the only ventilation was a cracked window, and I've seen better vehicles in scrap yards.

The road to Jaipur leaves through New Delhi's rich neighbourhoods, a stark contrast with the grimy jam-packed streets of the old city, and an echo of colonial grandeur.

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Jaipur - The Pink City
It tool us longer than we'd been led to believe to get to Jaipur. This is because no-one told us we were stopping at Amber, 20km short, where a white haired man boarded the bus and offered to take people up to Amber fort, for a small fee of 15 rupees of course. "What if we just want to go to Jaipur?" I piped up. "You can wait in lay-by for 2 hours". Charming. We were beginning to feel a bit manipulated, but we took the trip.
Amber fort predates Jaipur as the early residence of the Maharajas of the region. It's impressively situated atop a precipitous table mountain overlooking a glassy lake, its sandy colours reflected in the water. We saw our first Indian elephants making the trek to the top, an arduous daily ritual. Entrance to the fort is a paltry 2 rupees, but if your carrying a camera its another 70 rupee camera fee. This is a common trick at tourist sites in india. The fort is fairly in-tact, and the scale is awesome. There are separate palaces for summer an winter living. The marblework is wonderful. These guys didn't spare anything when they built their palaces. Back at the bus, we made it another 5kms closer to Jaipur, which was only 10minutes away before the driver decided it was time for lunch - another money making scheme no doubt. The restaurant was grubby and fly-blown. We decided we'd had enough of the bus, we'd probably end up in some godforsaken carpet factory next. We commandeered a rickshaw, loading all our packs on our laps, and clattered off down the hill. Our driver introduced himself over the din of the engine "Hello, my name is Chand, but some people call me Jackie". "Oh Jackie Chand, - very funny - a joker for a driver." I thought. Then we got the inevitable "Why you want to go to Hotel Bissau, its expensive and dirty ...". "Uh oh!", Katie and I exchanged glances. "I like to recommend you much better place, Karni Niwas ...". "Look, just take us to the Bissau please"		Elephants work long hours taking tourists up to Amber fort
Chand, our friendly rickshaw driver and guide, with Adrian after visiting the temple	Chand took us to the Bissau, and I had to eat my hat, he was right, it was dirty and expensive. We decided to take a chance on his place, the Karni Niwas, which was run by two affable fat muslim brothers, and was clean and affordable. It was great, I ate three hats. Chand had intimated that he'd like to guide us around the town, so I invited him to join us for a beer to discuss terms. "You pay me what you think is right" he said. "What, nothing?" I asked? We arrived at a reasonable daily rate and had another beer. Chand ran us into town before we said goodbye. Jaipur is known as the Pink City on account of the red/pink sandstone that was used in most of its older buildings. It's a big place, encircled by walls and impressive city gates. We headed for one of the main thoroughfares, the MI, looking for a restaurant. Dusk was coming and the untouchables were already staking their claims to various bits of pavement. We ate at a place called the Copper Chimney, which was very good.
Temples, Palaces and Monkeys - In and around Jaipur
Chand arrived to show us the city just as we were finishing breakfast. We ordered more tea and sat down to discuss an itinerary. I was keen to understand more about Hinduism, and to visit a temple in action. Chand,a fairly devout Hindu, began describing with much gusto the Hindu pantheon. It was all a bit confusing, so many gods in different forms with different vehicles. I remembered some of the key figures, such as Ganesh, the god with the elephant's head, which was put there after his father, Shiva, cut of his human head mistaking him for a secret lover of his mother - very Oedipal. Confused? - I was.
We clambered into Chand's decrepit rickshaw and putt-putted into town. Our first stop was the Hawa Mahal, better known as the Palace of the Winds. It's a beautiful five story palace facing onto the main street, where the royal ladies used to hang out and watch general goings on in the streets. It's fairy-tale style turrets afford marvelous views of the city. The Hindu temple was next on the agenda. Temples are usually dedicated to a particular god. This one was rooting for Hanuman, the monkey god. It was Hanuman's day of the week too, a whole programme of ceremonies was planned throughout the day, and we attended the Rhajbog. We had to leave our shoes behind and wash our feet. The place was packed full of people chanting and praying. An old guy dressed in little more than a sheet was pushing through the crowd, and astonishingly, as he passed Katie, he made a calculated grab for her breast, had a quick feel then moved on as if nothing had happened. Katie roared "Get off you perv!" very loudly. It was outrageous, and quite funny. A gong was being beaten rhythmically, and people were hurling coins at the central shrine where a Brahmin priest sat smugly next to a garishly painted effigy of the monkey god. I forebore throwing any coins, since my aim is not too good, and I didn't want to ding some devotee on the back of the head. We left some money in a collection box and went outside to receive a tikka, a red stripe on the forehead, from a holy man as a symbol of our visit. We clambered back into the rickshaw - next stop the City Palace.		Palace of the Winds
	The Maharajah of Jaipur lives in the City Palace today. We were surprised to find that they still existed, but I suppose the same is sometimes said of our own Royal Family in Britain too. A good portion of the palace is open to the public, and displays local art and artifacts such as armour and weaponry. One of the more interesting items is a pair of large solid silver urns, weighing in at 345kg each. They were constructed for the Maharajah's visit to Britain, so that he could take his own water. Obviously Thames Water's finest isn't good enough! Just outside the palace, I joined in with a few local snake charmers. It's just as well the snakes are completely deaf - my pipe playing was dire, but I liked the turban. The snakes were cobras. We suggested lunch to Chand, but he seemed more intent on taking to his friend's jewelry factory. We compromised -"Lunch first then we might think about visiting the gem factory."
Encouraged, Chand started fishing for all sorts of potential money-making scams "I know man who does great painting, he paint your picture or write your name on a grain of rice". "Er, no thanks, I don't think an autographed grain of rice is going to be much use to me really." "How about you come to my friends textile factory, he make wonderful block print ...etc blah blah. "Er, no thanks, I don't want any clothes". "Maybe you buy present for people". "No!" Our resistance caved in however and we ended up accompanying Chand to the gem factory. It wasn't much of a factory - two token gem polishers were sat outside grinding some emeralds, and they were the only people producing anything. Inside it was one big showroom, and a very hard sell. We did like some of the gear. I put my bargaining hat on and spent the best part of an hour driving the price down by 45%. Katie got some new jewelry, and everybody seemed happy.
The Mausoleums of the Maharajahs are some distance out of town, and for some reason are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. All of the Maharajahs are remembered here. The last Maharajah died in London playing polo seven years ago, and they've still not finished his mausoleum, and his is relatively plain by comparison with those of his forebears. The mausoleums are masterpieces in marble, intricately carved with scenes from the Hindu scriptures, the Ramayana, Mahabarat, such as the tug of war between good and evil, where the rope is a five headed serpent.	Detail from the Maharajah's Mausoleum
Chand earned his keep explaining all of the mythology and the dynasty of Maharajahs. Painfully amusing was the story of one old royal who went through 162 wives and concubines, yet never fathered a son. Apparently he was too big for his wives, and who sadly all perished in coitus!
Elephant tamer kids	Talking of big animals - the sight of Elephants plodding through the streets is commonplace in Jaipur. We went to see some of them at rest at the end of the day. They live in a small yard hidden deep within a maze of narrow back-streets. Dozens of kids latched on to us, physically, as we made our way to the enclosure. After our Elephant encounter, we made our way to the edge of the city, where dusty streets start to give way to rocky hillsides. This is monkey territory. More than 10,000 monkeys are reckoned to roam wild in these hills. Like cows, they are sacred animals. We bought a bag of nuts to feed them, but were soon spotted by beggar children anxious for a hand-out too. One greedy monkey solved the dilemma by stealing the entire bag from Katies hand and disappearing to the safety of a nearby rooftop. A man appeared with a crate of bananas and began feeding the monkeys "It's the day of the monkey, he's doing his duty" explained Chand. The beggar children stood by. The sun started to dip behind the pink walls of the city, Jaipur looked its best. We we're exhausted, and Chand ran us back to the Karni Niwas.	Old man coming into Jaipur
A Matter of Economics Chand joined us for a beer, and we talked about his family. He has just two children, modest by Indian standards. "Will you have more?" I asked. "No, it's a matter of economics. We can live comfortably with two children, and make sure they get an education. Any more, and we would struggle." Chand is fairly typical of city dwellers these days, but out in the countryside the population is increasing at a frighteningly rapid rate. India looks set to overtake China as the most populated country in the world early next century. It's going to create enormous strain, even in a placid country like India.
We stayed in Jaipur another couple of days, and thoroughly enjoyed it. It's good for shopping as well as the sights mentioned above.	Chand dropped us off on our last day at the bus stop for Pushkar, and we were sad to be leaving. As usual, the bus was nowhere near as luxurious as advertised - an old heap in fact, and the driver insisted on playing the stereo at full blast. Those Bollywood film tracks sound like buzz saws to me - where's my earplugs?
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"It taking us a lot of effort not to spend all our money at once in Jaipur. Everywhere you go you get the hard sell treatment from zealous shop-keepers. They know every scam in the book, and have all got PhDs in emotional blackmail. Still we resisted reasonably well ... apart from the silver jewelry, the hand-block printed trousers, the cushion covers, wall hanging, antique brass scorpion padlock and of course the turban. "

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Pushkar, Mad Cows and Holy Men
Pushkar is most famous for its annual camel fair, which takes place in November. It attracts traders and tourists from thousands of miles around and the size of the town swells in a vast tented city. We were a bit too early in the year to witness all the excitement and experienced Upon arrival the bus was set upon by hordes of hotel touts - usual story. We normally avoid these people like the plague, but one young lad came across as exceptionally intelligent and well spoken, so we followed him. "You must watch out for the mad cow!" he warned us. "Oh you have a problem with BSE in India too?" I asked. He looked puzzled "No, no, I'm serious, there is a cow he's very angry, some boys taunt him and now he run wild in the streets". We took lodgings at a flyblown place called the Mayapur, and were chatting to the owner outside, when about twenty children came screaming past at high speed. The hotel owner grabbed Katie and swung her into the porch just in time to avoid a snorting , stampeding and very irritable looking bull. We were speechless. Was this India or Pamplona? I set off in pursuit - I didn't want to miss out on all the excitement. In a small open square, the bull was now surrounded by wary Indians trying to lasso it, but this isn't the wild west, and the Indian's skills with the lasso need a bit of practice. The beast broke away and the crowd scattered up trees and over walls. Myself, I went under a truck. That was the last I saw of it, but we later learned that it had been captured and unfortunately it had strangled itself to death in the lasso. Everyone was very sombre about the death of the sacred beast, even if it was mad as a hat.
Pushkar is for 95% of the year, a highly religious small market town. It is dominated by its sacred lake and a multitude of bathing ghats. From a distance it is beautiful. Up close - grubby.	Pushkar's sacred bathing ghats
If you go down to the ghats, you're sure to be approached by one of the many Saddhu's that lurk about here. These self styled holy-men rely on charity to survive. They can be quite colourful characters, dressed in orange robes, with painted faces, but fundamentally, they're a bunch of freeloaders. We were spotted from a distance of at least 500ft and entreated to come down to the water for a blessing. I was taken down - or should I say taken in? Katie refused point-blank tio have anything to do with it "I'm not a hindu, and I don't pray to Hindu gods. Leave me alone. No No No No." I admired her persistence, and theirs. I couldn't be bothered to resist though and found myself scattering petals on the water and having a coloured cord wrapped around my wrist. At the end of this small ceremony I was asked "How much you wantto give to Vishnu?" "You mean Hoiw much do I want to give you?" I corrected him. We negotiated a while and I gave him way too much.
We ate at a place called the Sunset cafe by the lake. Unfortunately there wasn't a sunset. Instead, it poured with rain. We ordered hot indian tea, chai, and played cards. There's a strict curfew in Pushkar at 9pm, so we headed back to the hotel Mayapur to find that our room had been colonised by thousands of insects. We deployed the mosquito nets and sank into fitful reverie.
The next day, we decided to check out of Pushkar and try and get to Jodhpur. We ate watery dhall at a roadside cafe by the bus station. The local us was unbelievably rickety. It took us to the next town, Ajmer. There's nothing much to stick around for here, so we got a rickshaw to a travel agency on the Kucharry Rd, (it wasn't exactly Thomas Cooks!) where we booked an onward bus ticket. The agent instructed teh rickshaw to take us to the bus stop. The bus stop was a muddy layby right on the edge of town. It really didn't look like a bus stop. A local family were lazing about in the shade of a tree. They were also waiting for a bus, but not to Jodhpur - nobody else was going to Jodhpur. We began to wonder if we'd been had. A dirty harijan turned up picking up scraps from the floor. "That mans penis is hanging out!" exclaimed Katie. Sure enough it was - but this is India, and I was becoming less and less surprised y these things. The bus was over an hour late, by which time we'd already planned world war three tactics against the travel agent and it was a long uncomfortable, noisy and hair raising journey to Jodhpur.

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Jodhpur - Where the silly trousers come from
We arrived fairly late and took a room at a place called the Govindh Hotel right in the centre of town. The rooms were pokey, but its saving grace is this superb roof-top bar and restaurant which serves up some pretty reasonable food and plentiful beer. It's four stories up, so the views of the town and the fort are excellent and the cooling breeze is a very welcome respite from the sweatily hot streets.
The hotel is close to the railway station, and we intended to get the train later in the week, so we thought we'd get a ticket in advance. It was Bedlam. Vast snaking lines of sweating men were pressed groin to bumcheek up against a bewildering array of ticket counters. There was no chance we'd get a ticket before it closed, so we left, pursued by a very persistent shoe shine boy who just didn't understand the words "no, I'm not interested.", or for that matter the words "leave me alone", "go away", or "bugger off".
We made our way to Jodhpur's old city, a labyrinth of narrow alleys encircled by 20ft high walls. Children ran out to greet us; "hello, hello..." they shouted smiling. The streets are tight packed with cottage industries, black-faced men half buried by machine parts, weavers, tailors, food makers. We were latched on to by a young man claiming to be a student. He was very friendly and offered to show us around. We went to see the grain market, where people squat behind piles of pulses and grain. It looked pretty quiet. One old couple were air drying their wheat using a hand-cranked wooden blower. In another stall, a 6ft pestle was being mechanically rotated amidst a pile sesame seeds and oil was dribbling out into a dented old can.
The Hindu Wedding Procession
In the evening, whilst relaxing on the rooftop of our hotel, we were priveleged to see a Hindu wedding procession go by. Hindu's spend a small fortune on their weddings, with the bride's father footing the bill and often getting horribly into debt rather than face the shame of not seeing his daughter off properly. What we saw was the procession which takes the groom with all his male friends and family members to the home of the bride. The groom was ridfing a fine white horse, and was dressed in a sequinned costume. This mobile stag party was surrounded by a dozen or so dancing girls carrying what can only be described as hand-held chandeliers. At the back of the procession was a small truck towing loaded up with a vast HiFi which was delivering high decibel hindu music. The truck was towing its own generator that was required to power this extravaganza. The waiter at the hotel told us respectfully that such a procession alone would cost 500 rupees (about $12) - a lot of money in India.
Jodhpur's Villages
Perhaps the most memorable day in Jodhpur was spent a doing a trip around the local villages. We hired a driver and his ancient Hindustani Ambassador motor car to show us something of India's rural tradition. About 20minutes out of town, we pulled up at a small farm with mud walls. A family of fifteen lived there. The eldest daughter, in her teens was beuatifully attired in a golden dress. Married with two children already, and pregnant with a third, she had her hands full. She was doing the laundry in the Indian fashion, by bashing it against a stone. There were three or four small boys in the family, and they hustled us for sweets. I had considered bringing pens or paper or some other more responsible presents, but no - sweets is what they want - sweets is what they got. The boys told us that they have to walk over three miles to school and back every day. The family grows millet, sesame seeds and lentils on scrubby looking fields, which they grind up by hand between two stone blocks. For fuel, they use dried out cow dung. In one corner, one of the boys was preparing an infusion of opium, ritualistically filtering it through a goatskin bag three times. Opium is a common feature of village life. They drink it, snort it eat it and smoke it.
Baby for sale - 70 rupees!	We stopped for refreshment at a small 'transport cafe'. Some truck drivers were sleeping off their fatigue on charpoys in the shade of a tree. Others were wolfing down fresh chappattis with raw chillies in front of trestle tables. A cook was slapping chappatti dough onto his clay oven. We had a couple of beers but skipped the chillies. At the next village, we visted the local pottery. The potter spins his wheel by hand with a stick. He makes just two products, bulb shaped water jars for the local villagers and saucer shaped oil lamps. The oil lamps were in big demand due to the forthcoming Diwali festival. All the pottery is fired overnight in a pit in the garden. Water chars sell for 50 Rs - about 30 pence, considerbly less than you'd pay in Habitat! Katie had a go slinging a pot or two and actually fashioned a passably good vase. Outside the pottery, Katie took a shine to a cute baby. Its mother offered to sell it to us for seventy rupees! Gobsmacked? Indeed! The Hindustani powered on alonfg the single track road, occasionally slowing to dodge a truck. These cars are based on the 1940s Morris Oxford. They're not reknoned for their reliablilty, but there's a mechanic in every village, so who cares. They're cheap and fast.
This young lad is eleven and engaged to be married	We were to have lunch as guests of a small farmming family. We were invited to take a seat on the charpoys in the yard. The eleven year old son of this family had been engaged to be married since the age of six to a girl from the next village (probably his cousin!). The family were all looking forward to the grand festivities they would have (at the bride's fathers expense!). Granny was 82, and had tatoos all the way up her arms and a long chain atrtached to her noise ring. I tried to imagine my own granny similarly adorned but failed.. She pulled out a tin containing what looked like snuff. It was opium though - they're all bloody junkies in these parts! Lunch was served by the girls, chappattis and dhall. It was good. Granny asked us to take siome photos of her and send them to her. We onliged. The family was very proud of it's newest addition, a young bullock.	86 year old matriarch of the village
Our final stop on this rustic runabout was at a weaving village. We met Roopraj, the master carpet weaver, crouched infront of a durrie that he was working on. It takes from two to six months to make each carpet depending on size. It's a painstaking process. They tried to sell us one of course, and we nearly succumbed. They were very good.
Places to eat in Jodhpur
Kalinga	Opposite the railway station. Refreshingly airconditioned. The food is very spicy - even if you ask them to tone it down, but absolutely fabulous.
Govindh Hotel	Food is variable. Some dishes, such as the Vegetable Korma are pretty good. Others are dire. Its rooftop location compensates for the mediocrity.
Getting the Train in India
There's just one tip - pay someone else to get the tickets for you. Its well worth it!

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Jaisalmer - Crossing the Thar Desert on a Camel
Jaisalmer is a desert outpost about 100 miles south of the Pakistani border. It is a rustic place, relatively tranquil compared to the mayhem of the larger cities, which is a relief. There is a fortress here, as with many cities in this state, where the warlike Rajput clans once held sway. It dominates the town like an overgrown sandcastle.
After a night in the town, we headed off into the scorched wastes of the Thar desert on a two day camel safari. We were supposed to be going for three days, but two hours would have been enough - ooh the pain. On the first day we set off in the late afternoon, a train of nine camels in the fading heat. After just over an hour we reached the Sam sand dunes, a 10 kilometre stretch of classic desert scenery, and descended from our mounts to make camp. We all ran to the top of the nearest dune to watch the desert sun setting. The sky lit up a marvellous pink.
The camel drivers, rough looking men in turbans, had lit a fire and were preparing hot sweet chai. We stretched out on blankets and chatted as first the chai and then the food was brought around, spicy vegetables with rice and the best chapattis ever. It was too hot for tents, so we decided to sleep under the stars. Unfortunately, armies of dung beetles also emerged to enjoy the night air, and sleep came fitfully. The following day was a long hard slog across the desert. The scenery here really isn't that inspiring, and the pain in our thighs was excruciating. By lunch we were begging to be allowed to descend. We recovered somewhat in the shade of gnarled desert bushes, most people just lay pole-axed on the ground.

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Varanassi

"Varanassi - very nasty, why you want to go there?" We hit this holy city at the time of the great Durga festival, and Katie found the local's religious fervour a little taxing to say the least.

People bathing the ganges at one of the ghats

Calcutta
We revisited India briefly after Nepal, since our flight to Bangkok was the original nerve centre of the British Raj. Flying into Calcutta international airport, our hearts sank as we encountered the mind-boggling inefficiency of Indian immigration. I used to think the USA was the worst place on earth to get into, but Calcutta takes the prize four sheer sour-faced bureaucracy at its worst. In the arrivals area, we went the official taxi office where the fat slob behind the counter tried to short change us. Welcome back to India! You've not even set foot outside the terminal before someone's trying to fleece you. Amazingly, however, our taxi driver broke with tradition and took us straight to our hotel without stopping at half a dozen different hotels, his uncle's carpet factory and his mate's bogus tourist office.

Unfortunately, the loony Lonely Planet guide proved to be hopelessly out of touch when it comes to hotel prices, and our chosen refuge would have cost us at least twice what we had been led to believe. We trudged off to look for alternatives and were immediately latched on to by a rickshaw driver who looked and laughed like the voodoo priest Baron Samedi, tilting his head back to reveal blackened teeth would belly laugh loudly at the slightest impulse "Ahh hah hah haaah ha ha ha ha ha..." Our would be guide showed amazing familiarity with the prices and standards of local hotels and before long we were fixed up in a somewhat grubby place called the Biwan Lodge.

Calcutta's streets were brighter and more lively than usual on account of the imminent Diwali religious festival.

These beggars on Calcutta's streets wanted me to be their Dad!!!	Hand-pulled rickshaws are still the norm in Calcutta

Footnote

Well - that was it for India. Three weeks is nowhere near enough to do the place justice, but it's enough. It is a very wearing place, in your face, up your nostrils, inescapable. You love it and hate it. You're relieved to leave it all behind but long to go back afterwards.

Here's our top fifteen tips for people thinking about backpacking in India.

1. Don't accept Rickshaw rides from bus stations - go round the corner
2. Never pay more than 50% of initial asking price for most goods and services (restaurants excepted)
3. When someone shakes your hand they're never just being friendly they're trying to take you to their carpet emporium whether you like it or not.
4. Never give money to beggars on the street unless you like to have 1000 people following you for the rest of the day.
5. If you go to hotels recommend by rickshaw drivers - you will be paying a large commission
6. Make sure you have candles or a torch in your hotel room - Power outages are frequent
7. Never believe anything they tell you about how luxurious the bus is - it's always an overbooked wreck driven by a lunatic
8. In fact - don't believe anything that anyone tells you about anything - face value doesn't exist in India
9. Always take earplugs with you on the buses - the Hindi music is played very loud. ...a blindfold might help too - the driving is hair-raising.
10. Don't bring books with you, buy them here, there's a great selection and they're all very cheap
11. Don't shake people by the left hand it's most rude
12. Don't exclaim (as Katie did) "they're all mad!" in the middle of a Hindu temple
13. Don't walk too close to cows - they butt (ouch) and you're not allowed to punch them back
14. It's worth paying an agent to get your train tickets for you unless you enjoy having apoplectic fits.
15. Avoid large religious festivals unless you like having your genitalia groped by strangers

You are reading the story of Adrian and Katie's travels through the Americas between May and August 1998.
Adrian and Katie put the rat race on hold for a year to travel the world.

                           

Adrian & Katie's World Tour News - India                                                 Last Updated: 12 May 1999
Web Page by Adrian Ball  (email: adrian.ball@virgin.net)