India - Jammu & Kashmir

Leaving the dust and heat of Delhi again, we took a flight up to the far North West corner of India to the troubled state of Kashmir. Arriving in the city of Srinagar we were greeted by some distinctly English weather and a very high police and military presence, Kashmir being the disputed territory between India and Pakistan ever since Indian independence from the British in 1949. Prior to independence Kashmir was a separate country effectively, post independence India decided it wanted to make the border territory their own, so just took it. A few years later Pakistan decided they wanted it, so attempted to take it by force, and it has subsequently been the subject of several wars and multiple terrorist attacks in an attempt to reclaim it. The irony is that the majority of the Kashmiri people still consider themselves an autonomous area and don't really want much to do with either India or Pakistan, feeling that they would’ve been far better off if the British had maintained control over them.

The other major difference to the other parts of India we had visited so far was religion. Everywhere we had been to date had been predominantly Hindu, here in Srinagar it is 95% Muslim, and the difference is immediately noticeable - women walking around in full burkha's and barely a turban in sight on the men.

Srinagar is a town/city en circled by the Himalayas and situated on two lakes - Dal Lake and Nagin Lake. It is now a hugely attractive tourist destination for Indian tourists, despite the fact the last big troubles in the area were as recent as 2008, and apparently minor uprisings are still frequent. In the early days of British rule, the Kashmir people resisted the English presence, and as such banned the Brits from actually basing themselves on Kashmir soil. To get around this the Brits brought in houseboats and plonked them on the two main lakes and proceeded to live on them while they went ahead with trying to take over the region. The lasting legacy of this act of defiance has provided Srinagar with its biggest tourist attraction, as now hoards of people - predominantly Indian tourists - flock here to stay a few nights on one of the many house boats on the lakes.

We didn't bother with house boats, there were hundreds of them all lined up in a row, none of them actually go anywhere, they are alongside a string of significantly cheaper guest houses and they look out onto the main boulevard lined with tacky shops and restaurants heaving with traffic and people. Opting to stay at one of the guesthouses on the lake, we spent a few days exploring the place. The old town has a nice feel about it, and there are many European styled alpine villas and buildings, adding to the feeling that we could've quite easily been in a different country.

Kashmir people like to make quite a big deal about their supposed warm hospitality; we weren't exactly feeling that in Srinagar- there was a much harder nosed approach to their general attitude, going for the hard and hassled sell in the shops. There were plenty of scornful looks thrown Claire’s way, being a western woman not fully covered up in Muslim attire and a general edge about the place - largely due to the added tension the constant military presence adds. So after a few days we decided to start the 2 day journey across the mountains to the region of Ladakh (literal translation: ‘the land of high passes') and the town of Leh.

The distance from Srinagar to Leh is about 400kms, though due to the terrain you have to cross to get there it takes 2 full 10-12 hour days to reach by bus or jeep. You can work out the average speed you travel at yourselves, but suffice to say it was slow going journey but quite comfortable in our 'super deluxe' coach...

Winding our way up the mountains we reach the town of Sonamarg where hundreds of men with horses are stood waiting for business.... taking Indian tourists up the 5km trail to the Thajiwas Glacier and the first taste of snow for many. In June to August, the town is swamped with over half a million Indian Hindu pilgrims making their way to Armanath’s Ice Lingam, a cave with a stone lingam (better to look the word up than try to explain.... ) that during these months becomes encrusted with ice.... madness.

Slow speed is definitely the way to do this journey, as it involves some of the most daunting and dangerous stretches of road we have travelled, even surpassing some of the roads in South America. One particular stretch of road is a high pass on a 4000m high road that rises vertically up from a valley floor that is set at around 2000m. Thankfully they close the road in one direction at a time to reduce the danger, though this doesn't stop overzealous bus and truck drivers trying to overtake on it. The road is only open for a few months a year, it being completely inaccessible for the large part due to snow or landslides. As a result the road is in a constant state of repair and disrepair, it never gets to a stage of being resurfaced and it is a very rough and rocky track just about wide enough for one vehicle that zig zags it's way up an almost sheer face, making for a very long but incredibly quick way down if the driver makes a mistake. To add to the drama, we were going through the middle of a snow storm and there were large sections of snow and ice still covering stretches of the road, the road having only just opened for this year, a week prior, when we took it.

Anyway, we frantically start reading large sections of our books to take our minds off the potential disaster movie we were about to take the leading roles in and eventually we crossed the high pass and arrived in the town of Drass for a brief cup of chai, an omelette and chapatti sandwich and an opportunity to kiss the ground before we carried on.

Drass is a fairly typical high altitude one horse town, though it does have a couple of claims to fame. Firstly, it holds the record for the second coldest inhabited place on earth, with a recorded temperature of minus 60 degrees C being taken a few years ago and secondly, it was the site of the 1999 short but bloody India/Pakistan war, fighting over Kashmir again for the third time.
A few more hours through beautiful Himalayan mountain scenery we arrived at the halfway point and overnight stop of the journey, the town of Kargil. Deciding that we had pushed our luck enough by travelling on local bus through day one of the journey we opted to take a shared taxi jeep for day two, the vehicle being a little smaller and more nimble to negotiate the road ahead and there still being another two high passes over 4000 metres to come. This road is the only link between these remote mountain towns, so not only does it act as a pretty busy freight route bringing much needed supplies in, but it is also a highly militarised region and as such convoys of huge army lorries are a regular additional obstruction.

Setting off in our jeep our fellow passengers spent the first ten or twenty minutes saying their prayers, before stopping at the final ‘shrine’ on the way out of town (as we now entered a predominantly Buddhist region) where they all made offerings for a safe journey...confident?!?

For the most part our driver was pretty good, only nearly falling off the side of the cliff or nearly having a head on collision with a much bigger truck or military convey on a blind corner about a dozen or so times. Towards the end of the day though he was obviously getting a bit bored of the slow and steady approach and decided to see how quickly and recklessly he could make his way down the zig zag track from the top of the highest pass of the journey. After we had bumped and skidded our way down the track at ridiculous speed we shouted to him that he needed to slow down. This was apparently a source of great amusement to our fellow passengers who fell about laughing. After all, why could we possibly need to take any sensible precaution in the way the jeep was being driven when they had already said their prayers and made their offerings - surely that was enough?!? Maybe in their world, but certainly not in ours.

And therein pretty much lies the problem (or art, depending on your view point) with Indian driving. There is such a constant barrage of things on the roads that could make for a fatal journey, most of which are completely out of the control of the driver, that they choose to put their faith in religion and hope for the best, if your time is up your time is up. To a degree that's fine, but what a lot of these drivers also need to bear in mind is their ability to limit the potential for an accident by taking responsibility over their own actions on the road rather than relying on some higher power, that unfortunately doesn't have a great track record of protecting against idiots who attempt to defy the basic laws of physics and gravity while driving.

Anyway, eventually we make it to Leh in one piece.

India - Rajasthan part 3 - Bundi: Cricket, Tea & the VIP's

The bus network in India is a little different to most other places we have found so far. There are numerous classes of bus, the highest class being the ‘Volvo’ fleet, air conditioned 'cleanish' comfortable coaches (though nothing to rave about), next in the pecking order are the air conditioned ‘Goldline’ class, which we took on our journey back from Jodhpur, basically pretty beaten up old things that have a/c. Next is the ‘Deluxe’ class, which proved to be our only available option on the next leg of our tour of Rajasthan, to the town of Bundi in the far east of the state. ‘Deluxe’ doesn't actually mean anything like what the name suggests, no a/c, filthy dirty inside and out and battered to hell, so in the heat of the midday sun during one of the hottest months in one of the hottest places on earth we embarked on our 6 hour journey across the desert state.

Temperatures were now consistently hitting 48 degrees most days although apparently in June temperatures get up to 52 degrees. With windows wide open as the only way of getting any air as we drove through the dusty landscape we quickly had a thick film of dirt over our clothes and bodies. We once again however passed through many small rural communities and passed a seemingly endless stream of brightly coloured and elaborately decorated lorries, over loaded beyond a rational level that kept us entertained, meaning the journey wasn't as bad as what it could’ve been. That is until we broke down. Our grinding halt meaning no air flow coming into the bus while we waited for the driver to fix the bus. After about half an hour of him pouring large amounts of water over and in everything he could find the bus miraculously started again, and just about got us the 10 kms or so down the road to where there was a mechanic, or a boy of about 13 as it turned out, covered from head to toe in grease and engine oil, who after another half hour or so had us fixed up and flawlessly on our way for the rest of the journey to Bundi.

Bundi is a small hillside town, described as 'the Rajasthan the travel brochures promise', i.e., not yet spoilt by the mass presence of tourists and the associated tourism industry. A beautifully dilapidated old palace and fort crown the dominant hillside of Bundi, deep medieval step wells or baori's as they are locally known, are a big feature of the town, architecturally grand and ornate for what was once a special ritual of gathering water. Narrow streets lined with more blue buildings, many traditional heritage style havelli's and hoards of Langur monkeys that scamper across the roof tops in the late afternoons, pilfering items of interest or food if left unattended, hence a room with air con and closed windows is a good choice if you actually want to hang onto any of your possessions.

Spending a day wandering the narrow streets we were introduced to the genuinely warm hospitality and amiability of the locals, with offers of chai (tea) coming from most open doorways. As this was off season and the tourist numbers rarely get that high anyway, the whole place very quickly got to know who we were. We were introduced to one person, he tells his 400 or so family members that everyone seems to have, they tell their friends, and before you know it you are being greeted on first name terms by complete strangers.

While at our havelli guesthouse one morning, a friend of the owner approached us and invited to be his guests at a cricket tournament that was taking place at a village some 40kms down the road, followed by dinner at his family home, to which we gratefully accepted. Slightly unsure about what actually lay ahead...the cricket tournament was apparently a nationwide affair of 70 teams, the current rounds being hosted in the town of Deoli, our host, Mr. Vikas, was part of the local organisation that was responsible for putting it on, along with all other cultural and sporting events in the region. So Mr. Vikas and his driver picked us up and drove us to Deoli, where we proceeded to spend the next couple of hours doing a tour of numerous households and small business' where we were proudly introduced as 'Paul Philip' (or sometimes John Philip when he forgot my name) and 'Claire Jane' , his very good friends from London. Every stop we made we were given drink, which everyone insisted we drink even after protests of 'we have just had 7 cups of chai, 3 mango juices and 2 bottles of Pepsi each in close succession.’ A visit to a jeweller followed where we given our choice of a ring each, which they insist we take (at no charge), we think to act as dummy wedding or engagement rings, such is the importance attached to marriage in India. Next stop a photo studio where a professional photographer took photos of Mr. Vikas and the two of us, complete with cuddly tiger sprawled across our laps… Lots of conversations on his phone in Hindi, which the only gist of what was going on we were able to gleen from the odd mention of our names and the term 'chief guests', we started to get some idea of what we were getting roped into we arrived at the cricket ground to be greeted by a fanfare of banging drums and handshakes as we were ushered onto a podium and proceeded to take the centre seats of the head table.

Introduced over the PA system to the entire place, the local and state newspaper and TV photographers then descended on us and started on what turned out to be an endless photo shoot. Before long, the rest of esteemed guests arrived who were duly introduced, who turned to be none other than several key Rajasthan political leaders and head honchos from the Indian national security forces...sat there in our shorts and t-shirts among these genuine VIPs we felt somewhat underdressed. This situation was not made altogether that much better when we were both presented with turbans in the bright multi coloured Rajasthan state colours. To our hosts however we were clearly looking suitably respectable as we then had the microphone thrust upon us and asked to make a speech to the entire gathered crowds and players (some 700 people apparently). Claire doing the sensible thing and playing on the male dominance of Indian culture, insisted she wasn't suited to public speaking and the message should come from me...so up I got and greeted the crowds, introducing myself as Paul Philip from London for continuities sake and proceeded to thank our hosts for their very unexpected (and somewhat unwanted!) display of hospitality, thanked the players for the marvelous display of cricket we had been treated to so far (of which we had seen next to none due to our level of diplomatic duties), and wished for the best team to win. Swiftly sitting down amidst a slightly bemused applause coming from the crowds who were clearly thinking 'who the hell are these two', it was then that Mr. Vikas leant over, thanked me for the speech and requested that during my next speech could I please mention the fact the I had known him for 5 or 6 years and we were now best friends.... 'Next speech'!?!

Just when we thought it was all over as we were all ushered off the stage, rather than being led toward the exit we were led out into the centre of the now floodlit pitch with all the other big wigs for more photo shoots with the teams. I was given the ball and told to bowl at the Rajasthan Minister of Culture. Not having bowled a cricket ball since I was about 8 years old I wasn't exactly confident in my ability, playing it safe I decided to go for an incredibly lame underarm effort that still managed to go wide, Claire nearly having her head taken off by the wildly flailing batsmen in his attempt to reach the ball. It was after this display of sporting prowess by myself, still stood on the pitch under the floodlights that the microphone was handed back to me again, oh joy. Making up some story about meeting Mr. Vikas some 6 years ago during a previous visit to India, we were now very privileged to be invited back here as the guests of honour by our 'best friend', the usual flannel about the great cricket and the best team winning and all that, we then made our way back to the podium slightly slowed down by all the players now wanting their photos taken with us. Next up was the awards ceremony for man of the match etc. Each member of the top table handed over the awards, ourselves included, not even sure what trophy we were handing over.

When we finally came to leave the ground we were mobbed by everyone who had clearly decided we must be important in one way or another, and they now all wanted their photos with us. After obliging for a few minutes, we were being pulled into the card by Mr. Vikas and onto his family home where we introduced to his entire family ('best friends from London' and all that), we went for a meal and then finally somewhat to our relief we were taken back to our guesthouse. Mr. Vikas was keen that we go back the following evening and partake in the Bollywood dancing - but we declined. A very funny, incredibly strange and surreal evening to say the least!

We had another couple of days just ambling around Bundi and taking regular chai breaks with the locals, one local even retelling the Indian version of our English/Irish jokes, i.e. Indian/Pakistan which were all dreadful but they all found them hilarious. We had an hour or so playing street cricket with some local kids, sticking to batting this time we managed considerably better than at the tournament. The people were all really friendly and very very nice, everyone wanted us to take their photo, which in other places we have been usually involves them then asking for money, not here though; they just wanted to see the pictures of themselves on the camera afterwards.

Bundi was a fitting finale to our 2.5 weeks around Rajasthan, definitely worth a visit if anyone is planning a trip out here. We made our way back on another private a/c bus back to Jaipur but not without one final visit from Mr. Vikas, who not only knew what bus we were on but knew the owner and so stopped the bus on-route to present us with some drinks for the journey… one weird and slightly mad individual!

We arrive back in Jaipur and stay one final night at our favourite guesthouse in Rajasthan, the ‘Krishna Palace’ before heading back up to Delhi for one brief night before catching an internal flight up into the far north west corner of Indian, the Himalayan state of Jammu & Kashmir.

India - Rajasthan Part 2 - The 'Blue City' - Jodphur

The advantages to being in India during the off season are the reduced rates on accommodation and the lack of the tourist hoards everywhere you go. The disadvantages however is the searing heat, reduced facilities available and far fewer transportation options. Due to the latter we had to take a taxi from Udaipur, via the Maharajas fort of Kumbulgarh and the Jain temple of Ranakpur and onto the city on the edge of India’s great desert, the Thar desert, Jodhpur. Both sites date back to the 1400's,

Kumbulgarh was apparently never defeated as a fort, and boasts what they claim is the 2nd largest defence wall next to China's great wall, as its outer perimeter. Stretching for some 37kms around the surrounding mountain tops with various temples and strategic fighting posts dotted within.


Ranakpur on the other hand couldn't be more different in its fundamental purpose. It dates back to the 14th century and being a Jainist temple, which is a sort of version of Hinduism and Buddhism, its main philosophy centres around the non violent approach to all living things. For this reason even leather belts have to be removed before entering the temple as it is deemed that leather is acquired through violent actions to animals. From the outside the temple is similar in style to Indonesia's great Hindu temples of Prambanan, though once inside it takes on a very different form. Intricately carved entirely from white marble and sandstone, the myriad of pillars, columns, stupas, ceilings, doors, platforms and walls is very impressive. Not being of any particular religious leaning ourselves we are able to take these structures at face value and architectural merit, and on these fronts alone the temple of Ranakpur ranks as one of the most impressive of all the temples we have seen during our entire trip.

As a desert state, it comes as a bit of a surprise to find out that a large part of Rajasthan’s economy is based on agriculture however most of it is at a subsistence level, and as we passed through numerous small villages and towns witnessing the people going about their daily routines.... pumping water from wells, carrying bundles of crops on their heads and working the land and all with an explosion of colour, the beautifully bright and vibrant colours that everyone wears, acting as a stark contrast to the largely parched and barren landscapes of the desert. A common site would also prove to be overladen transport whether it be commercial trucks or local transport... men and women hanging on for dear life for fear of there never being another bus or truck passing that way again!

The Israeli girl who ran the hotel we stayed at in Udaipur described Jodhpur as the garbage dump of Rajasthan. Hundreds of stray cows freely roam the streets, meaning piles of cow dung all over the place, clogged open sewers run through the narrow overcrowded streets of the old town and litter is just dumped anywhere and everywhere. Their view on it was along the lines of 'until India develops a proper and effective method for garbage disposal why waste the time and effort in collecting it all up just to take it to an empty space 5kms out of town just to dump it on the ground again'... there are clearly a few simple ways that we could’ve responded to that point of view with, but it was already too hot to get into any sort of debate, heated or not. So why go to Jodhpur? You may well ask.

Litter, cow shit, open sewers, pollution, over crowdedness and noise aside, it is actually quite a nice place. Rose tinted specs preferable obviously; fortunately we purchased ours some time ago, as they only had shit tinted specs for sale in Jodhpur. A medieval walled city packed with narrow winding lanes and streets, packed with markets and bazaars, it has something of a Moroccan feel about it. Set out on the very edge of the Thar Desert, a mountain with an incredibly grand and elaborate fortified palace stands within the middle of the old city from where the Maharajas would hold court over the city. Jodhpur is known as the ‘blue city’ and a large proportion of the buildings are painted a powder blue, apparently for not only aesthetic purposes, but the chemicals in the paint acting as an insect repellent and keep termites etc out of the buildings.

The cliff top fort that dominates the Jodhpur skyline, is known as Mehrangarh is one of the most impressive forts in Rajasthan. It is now open to the public and run by descendants of the Maharajas. It is a beautifully elaborate piece of architecture with a Palace within the walls. It was built in the 1800’s and still contains many historical artifacts housed in a museum within the palace rooms. Looking out from the hilltop, you can see a mausoleum in the distance belonging to the last ruling Maharaja, and another half palace, half hotel where the current 'would’ve been heir' now lives. The Maharaja now being powerless since Indian independence from British rule in 1949, his role in life now seems to be conservation of the Maharaja properties and legacy.

Jodhpur was the hottest place we had been to yet as well, reaching 48 degrees, which really is as bad as it sounds and aircon was an essential when it came to booking accommodation albeit non on the units really cooled the air unless you slept within 1m of the actual unit... not really practical. After a couple of uncomfortable nights, we jumped on a bus the following morning heading back to Jaipur, to the best place we have stayed at yet in India, the Krishna Palace for a night before we travel on to the town of Bundi in the morning.

India - Rajasthan Part1 - The 'Pink City' & 'Venice of The East'

The train from Agra to Jaipur was certainly an experience. The train tickets were pre booked days in advance, but due to the road linking the 2 cities being closed as a result of land disputes going on, there were no buses running so everyone had piled onto the trains. This meant we couldn't get tickets for the relatively comfortable air conditioned carriages with individual seats. Second prize was the non a/c carriages with bench seats, seat numbered so as to indicate 3 people per bench, though in reality there were a minimum of 5 crammed onto each row, with every bit of floor space completely taken up by the standing passengers and all exits doors, wide open and several people hanging outside. Thankfully there was no glass in the windows, just bars across them which apart from making you feel like we were in some hellishly overcrowded prison cell, did actually allow some air flow (albeit 44 degree air that didn't really offer any cooling potential) and so we trundled for the next 7 hours..

The heaps of litter that lined the sides of the tracks on the way out of Agra coupled with the stagnant black swampy streams that ran alongside the tracks, clogged with human waste and litter contributed to some already pretty funky aromas that were going on inside the carriage. Once again the only westerners on the train, we initially tried to just blend in and make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible by quietly reading our books, which was obviously impossible, as we soon became the centre of attention for all the people around us, whether they spoke English or not. Squashed in against 2 old holy guys, dressed in little more than their loin cloths, all wild hair and unkempt beards, we felt strangely at home..... we ended up spending the majority of the journey chatting to a young lad called Krishna, originally from one of the farming villages just out of Agra, now completing a degree in mechanical engineering in Jaipur. He told us how the majority of people from his village were illiterate and how he was the only person from there to have attended university or really completed any form of formal education. He then acted as translator between us and the non English speaking guys we were nestled against.

Our guesthouse, the ‘Krishna Palace', was a beautiful old heritage building with enormous rambling rooms and bathrooms, with the best shower we have had for some time. The peace and tranquility of the guesthouse proved too good to resist on the first day, choosing to drift between the roof terrace restaurant, gardens and air conditioned room.

By day two we made our way out to the ' Amber Palace’, a beautiful old medieval palace/ castle perched on a hillside out of town. Making our way through the old walled ‘pink’ city centre, we pass by all sorts of traffic, from camels pulling flat bed trailers loaded with building supplies, to cows towing trailers loaded with marble, elephants taxiing people through the city, to every conceivable type of bike, car, bus & rickshaw - making for a pretty eclectic mix. Visiting temples with the entire interior decorated in a host of multi coloured mirrors, palaces constructed in the middle of desert lakes, forts atop several hills and a giant defence wall lining the edges of the mountains, this is a place with a very grand history.

In the centre of the old town is an astrological observatory, Jantar Mantar, created in the 1700's, with all manner of odd looking stone and marble constructions that indicate the correct time to within a tolerance of 2 seconds, show the angle of inclination of the sun and the degrees at which the earth is orbiting the sun, as well as providing details on the 12 astrological signs and playing host to the world’s largest sun dial at some 23 metres high. Astrology remains an important facet in the lives of many Hindus and nothing happens without consulting the astrological charts. The charts/calendar is consulted before making any important decisions i.e weddings can only happen on auspicious dates and times of the year to ensure a happy and fruitful life, the charts of individuals are consulted before assessing compatability for an arranged marriage or for opening a business or moving house.

The most distinctive landmark in Jaipur however, is the Hawa Mahal, a huge 5 storey building, also built in the 1700’s, with a honeycomb appearance where women of the Royal household could watch the world pass by below through one of the many windows without the persons on the street below knowing they were there.

We manage to get ourselves booked onto the night bus to the city of Udaipur and arranged to meet up with Krishna again for some food in town, at a place we discovered that does the best chicken tandoori and tikka in India, at the cheapest prices. Completely stuffed from all the food, we prepared ourselves for another sleepless night on the bus, no doubt as the centre of attention yet again to all the locals.

We had been reliably informed by absolutely everyone that the night bus from Jaipur would arrive at about 8-9am… unbelievably, it actually pulled into the station at 4.30am and we were left with the prospect of finding somewhere to stay in the pitch black while everyone was sleeping. It didn’t take long for someone to find us and convince us that he was manager of a guesthouse and they had rooms and so we checked in to get some sleep. What they failed to tell us before check in was that the Indian government has imposed mandatory power cuts on certain places to save energy, and Udaipur’s time was from 9-11am but this particular morning it went from 8-12, meaning our nicely air conditioned room very quickly became an unbearable sauna as the temperature quickly got up into the mid 40's outside.

Udaipur is located on a beautiful lake town and known as the ‘Venice of the East’, India's city of romance, and was one of the main homes to the old ruling elite/ royalty of Rajasthan, the Maharaja's. It has India’s largest palace overlooking a lake, as well as a palace in the lake alongside the iconic lake palace hotel, which famously featured in the James Bond film, Octopussy. Many of the old narrow winding streets and alleys with their grand old architecture were featured in the film, and the town still trades fairly heavily on its Bond fame with many restaurants and guesthouse showing the film every night on their roof top terraces.

It is also a place of great colour, the locals dressing in all manner of brightly coloured saris, kurta's and turbans to signify their marital status, parenthood status, ethnic origin and what they are celebrating/mourning. There are also far more woman seen out and about here than the other places we have been in India so far. India obviously being a heavily male dominated society, it still comes as a surprise to see quite so many men everywhere and quite so few women. Udaipur definitely makes a refreshing change on this front, and the woman are a big part of the reason why this place is so colourful and has a more relaxed and balanced feel to it.

Being India's desert state, Rajasthan depends heavily on a good monsoon each year to provide the necessary amounts of water needed to survive but unfortunately the last five years has not really delivered on this front so living conditions in certain areas become increasingly difficult. The area is very barren and dry and the lakes that Udaipur is so synonymous with are currently only about 1/3 full. All the locals keep asking us why we haven't brought the rain with us like the English used to do whenever they travelled anywhere – there’s certainly rain to spare in the UK these days.

We spent a great few days soaking up the atmosphere of Udaipur, exploring the huge ornate City Palace, strolling through the many bazaars and spice markets, hanging with the locals down at the lakeshore for sunset and having a go of their handmade instruments which when played by them sound fantastic; though when played by the likes of us sound worse than a violin being learnt by a child. On one of Claire's previous trips to India she had bought me a sitar, though I never really had a clue how to play it, so while here I also took some lessons - I’m not quite Ravi Shanka yet but it's certainly pointed me in the right direction!

Agra - India's finest, the Taj Mahal

Our first Indian train journey complete, (& remarkably pain free) we arrive in the even hotter than Delhi city of Agra, famous for the Taj Mahal, the Agra Fort & getting the hell out of there as soon as possible. We found a nice enough hotel, the Maya Hotel, 10 mins walk from the East Gate of the Taj Mahal and a couple of kms from Agra Fort. Our onward train was booked for 5pm the following night, so the plan was head to Agra Fort late afternoon for sunset on day one then head to the Taj Mahal at 6am for sunrise the next.

Thankfully our hotel had an immaculately clean kitchen and served great food, if slightly overpriced (£1.20 for a whole meal instead of 80p....), but we figured it was worth the additional cost to hopefully avoid any stomach problems, and we made this our place of choice for all our meals while here.

Considering the Taj Mahal is India’s most iconic tourist attraction for both foreign and domestic tourists, it is a shame that the city itself is still so impoverished, and as such presents no reasons for people to stay any longer than a maximum of one night, many people choosing to day trip, so the local economy realises limited benefit from living on the doorstep of the countries number one attraction. Some government money spent on making the place a little more appealing outside of just the two sites would be money well spent on helping give a significant leg up to the local people, the majority of whom appear to live in dirty streets, with stagnant overflowing open sewers running past their front doors.

We take what is possibly the most beaten up rickshaw we have seen, the few km’s up the road to the Agra Fort, an elaborate castle, palace, mosque, prison structure, built from red sandstone and marble in the 1500's. It famously acted as a prison for the king who had built the Taj Mahal when he was overthrown and imprisoned by his son. He remained there for 8 years until he died and was then buried alongside his wife in the Taj Mahal.

The Taj is in sight of the fort, so the son thought his act completely acceptable as at least his father would be able to see his wife's tomb from his cell. Not dissimilar to our visit to Borobudur in Indonesia when we were constantly ask to pose in hundreds of photos, here at the Agra Fort again we featured in many family photo shoots of people we don't know from Adam. Everybody was always so nice and polite about the whole thing, and so genuinely pleased with their photo that we couldn't refuse any of the requests, quite endearing.

After sunset we made our way back to town for dinner, found ourselves greeted with about the 10th power cut we have experienced since being in India and a nice dust storm blowing in our faces. Up at 5.30 the following morning we stroll down towards the Taj, passing a park on the way completely full of families picnicking, playing badminton, football and of course - cricket, using piles of bricks as stumps. Clearly Indian families taking advantage of the short amount of daylight available to them before the sun is fully up, making the prospect of any of these sort of activities hell on earth. Included within your £11 (!!) entrance ticket to the Taj is a bottle of drinking water and some shoe covers, so when you walk around on the White marble you don't blemish it in any way - an improvement from the last time Claire was here several years ago, when you just had to remove your shoes, though once the sun is up the marble got so hot walking around bare foot was pretty much impossible unless you happen to have asbestos soles on your feet...

Catching the first glimpse of the Taj is every bit as spectacular as you imagine it to be, an amazing structure laid out in perfect symmetry throughout with the exception of the second tomb added by the overthrown kings son at a later date. It supposedly took some 25 odd years to construct by the hands of some 20,000 workers in the mid 1600's. There are many myths about Taj and one is that all the craftsmen who participated in its construction had their hands chopped off afterwards to prevent them making anything as beautiful ever again… there is not actual evidence to support this but it adds to the mysticism all the same. Many domestic visitors to the Taj come on a pilgrimage to touch the sacred tombs, which means they are not there for the perfect photo opportunity like your average non Indian tourist, hence getting there for sunrise means there are only a handful of people around, the light is great for photos and the heat of the day has not yet become unbearable. By 8 am we were heading back to the hotel for breakfast, though thought we would take a detour around the back streets of Agra.

Unsurprisingly we didn't stumble upon some lovely little district at the foot of the Taj, but yet more poverty and squalor. People were starting their days after having slept on the street, the same streets kids were openly using as a toilet, surrounded by litter and flies. The levels of poverty, sanitation and hygiene reflecting something that really should not still exist in the 21st century.

Leaving Agra we board a train headed to the state of Rajasthan and its capital, the ‘Pink City’ of Jaipur.

Delhi - Flies, lies and building sites.....

Arriving at New Delhi airport the most surprising initial impression was the distinct lack of chaos, we were expecting to be mobbed by hoards of taxi and hostel wallahs but the reality couldn't have been farther from that. Our driver we had arranged through the homestay we had booked into was patiently waiting for us with a name sign, and we were calmly ushered out to our taxi - a classic old Morris Ambassador. One initial impression however that proved to be true pretty much throughout Delhi was the fact that the airport and the majority of the city is currently under major construction, feeling very much like you have just arrived in the world’s largest building site.

No strangers to insane road and driving conditions after what we have experienced throughout this entire trip, India makes a valiant effort at taking the insanity to a new level. Rickshaw drivers have rearview mirrors on the inside of the vehicle purely for the purpose of being able to look at the passengers whilst talking to them when they really should be looking at where they are going. Not that it would make much of a difference as every mode of transport jostles in and out of one another and blindly pulls out onto every junction and roundabout. The only thing on the road that halts anyone’s chaotic progress is the presence of a stray cow wandering through the road. Being seen as holy in India, no one would dream of harming a cow, whereas another person...well that's just bad luck apparently…

Our first full day in Delhi marked the year to the day point since we left England heading for Mexico, how quickly that time has passed, but it's incredible to think of all we have seen and done on that time as well. So, to mark the occasion of the 1 year anniversary of our trip we head out into the 42 deg heat of dusty dirty Delhi and get our first taste of the incessant lies and rampant opportunism that seems to pretty much define Indian travel companies. Claire having been to India with work several times in the past, this came as no great surprise, and we were only entertaining the travel companies as a means of gathering information for what was on offer and what sort of prices things were before going off and organising it for ourselves.

Leanne had already spent a couple of months travelling around India with 2 friends, and had told us that, not unlike China and Vietnam, to ensure a seat on a train or bus you need to be booked up several days in advance, so after 3 travel companies had told us that there was no availability on the train to our next destination after Delhi, Agra, on anything other than their organised tours we made our way across town to the delights of New Delhi train station to find out for ourselves.

A seriously overcrowded and dirty 9 platform station, with entire families sat around with their entire worldly possessions and everywhere you look, hords of porters carrying an unfeasible amount of luggage on their heads and arms at the same time. Thanks to the fact that the toilets on the trains constitute nothing more than a hole in the bottom of the carriage, and there are no restrictions to using the toilets whilst the trains are in the stations, the mess in-between the tracks, the associated stench and the inevitable swarms of flies all around, make a pretty disgusting environment.

Anyway, after being told by numerous less than honest individuals that the official ticket office was no longer open in the station, and telling us we should follow them to the 'official office' (we politely declined their kind offers of leading us there), we found the official office inside the station (upstairs above platform 1 if anyone needs it) and proceeded to discover that there were in fact plenty of seats still available to Agra in 3 days time and we were also able to book our onward tickets for the next leg, Agra to Jaipur a couple of days after.

That afternoon Leanne also arrived in Delhi, so we all met up for a few drinks and a great meal of south Indian vegetarian food, which an Indian guy Leanne, Sonia and Charlotte had met on their train journey, guided us to. Delhi is hosting the 2010 commonwealth games this year, which is adding significantly to the construction that is going on and the main central point of the city, Connaught Place, is really being given the makeover treatment in preparation. Walking around it on our way to the restaurant in the dark with next to no street lighting felt more like being in Beirut than Delhi what with all the holes in the road and general destruction everywhere!

Although the temperature in Delhi is incredibly high, it is actually not as debilitating as the mid 30's heat of South East Asia as there is barely any humidity. Though this creates another problem in as much as everywhere is so dry the levels of dust are ridiculous. Coupled with the building site effect that is ever present, the minute you set foot outside you are dirty and have a permanent unquenchable thirst. Having a nice air conditioned room with cable TV at our accommodation, the ‘Incredible Homestay', we opted to spend the majority of the day indoors (which happened to be my birthday), while Leanne, Sonia and Charlotte spent the day in the same way as what we had the previous day, trying to arrange onward transport out of the building site. We all meet up again in the evening for a funny night of birthday celebrations, ending up in some funny Indian club, dancing away like a bunch of idiots with our new found buddies for the night. Being the only non Indians in the place, not to mention the fact there were no other woman in the club (apparently wasn't a gay bar either), we were all quite the centre of attention.

The following day Leanne Sonia and Charlotte caught a bus to their next destination, and we said goodbye for what will probably be the final time of this trip, until we are all back in England. Managing to drag ourselves out of the a/c'd room for a few hours, we made our way across town to Humayun's Tomb, the mausoleum that was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal, a beautiful and peaceful sanctuary in amongst the mayhem of Delhi, dating back to the late 1500's.

During the course of our couple of months we intend to spend in India we will probably end up coming back through Delhi a few times, so after a failed evening of trying to skype friends and family thanks to intermittent Internet availability, we woke up and jumped on the 7am train from another of Delhi’s delightful train stations to Agra.