It’s been a travel day back from Amritsar today and I am starting to get into the mode of preparation for the next couple of countries, namely Hong Kong and Japan.

On waking this morning it was raining and surprisingly I was delighted.  It has been a bit dusty and dry out here so it will make for a change and a drop in the temperature of a few degrees.  My instinct was that if the driving was perilous in the dry it is even worse in the wet.  I was trying to impress to my Taxi driver this morning that I had plenty of time for my flight, but I don’t think he understood.  Yesterday’s drive on the way back from the border we passed a car that had just been involved in an accident.  Its front severely dented there were a heap of onlookers as we went by.  My driver talked to himself then did a little prayer.  I think it was along the lines of “There but for the grace of god go I” as it had clearly moved him that such things shouldn’t happen.  However, within 200 yards he was overtaking two cars on the dual carriageway down the middle of the white lines and blaring his horn for them to move out the way.

Leisurely flight to Delhi and the Express train again.  I am really impressed with this service.  It’s 3 times as good as the Heathrow Express and costs £1.40 each way and you get a running visible and audio commentary of exactly where you are.  The station terminals are also state of the art.

Feeling a bit hungry and in need of some basic food I kept my eyes peeled for the KFC which is prominently advertised and located in the Delhi Metro terminal.  As I wheeled my bag up the levels from the underground platform I noticed it was closed.  I assumed that they must have been closed for lunch.

Out into the infamous ‘back of the railway station’ I pulled my chariot with conviction through the on coming Tuk Tuks and Rickshaws and made my way to the Pre Paid Taxi Office.  I have now learned that you need to be more forthright.  Not as forceful as the Policeman I just passed with a 3 foot heavy bamboo ‘teaching’ stick.  “I need a Taxi for….” Price came back immediately and it was the same as a few days before.  A group of about 15 drivers were closely around me listening for dispatch.  I paid and a receipt was written. “So who is going to take me?, who knows where it is?”  They started discussing it between them and arguing.  A tall man with a white security uniform came to help me.  “So who will it be then?” I said.  He looked back in the office for help.  I started to gesture the route and to show my confidence that I knew where it was and therefore they should know.  One driver took the ticket and before we had left the group he started to light up what look like a spliff.  I pointed directly at him and said “and you can put that out now!” and he duly did, much to the amusement of the others.

And did he know the way.  Not a chance.  He had to keep stopping for directions.  He didn’t even see the hotel when we were parked outside it.

I have to say that India has given me a little perspective on its life.  I haven’t fully avoided all of the challenges that it deals with, but at the same time I am glad I haven’t ignored some of them.  My travelling friends have been a breath of fresh air.  It has been more an experience than a vacation and I am truly looking forward to the next 10 days just to recharge my batteries.  Everyone I have spoken to has said the same.  You go home or move on for a rest.   It has so many wonders to see and the people are on the whole friendly and with big hearts.  I really like the family values that they share.  The challenge I have found is that our western way of living is different to theirs and I am not going to judge, it’s just different.

In closing off on my India trip I have devised a simple game from my blogs over the last 14 days.  It’s a sort of India Bingo, I call it ‘I GO!’, where you need to see if you can remember the story where the word or couple of words came from.

I was going to make it competitive, but we will do it just for fun.  But to show you what you would might have won…

1. A copy of my cancelled Air India tickets to Amritsar

2. My recipe book for returning from ‘Delhi Belly’

3. A signed copy of my forthcoming bestseller ‘An Idiot guiding How to book Online!’

Here are the I GO key words…

And food today.  A Chicken Murgh Tikka Masala (Mild), with Pea Pulao and Chapatis.  Absolutely delicious.  And two packets of Skittles.  Appetite is coming back.

And for where next ? click on Where Next

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To update my friend Gary Williams who is following my food blog, I did venture into the Restaurant late last night and most of the diners had already left, except for a particular large family of Indian’s, who had some particularly large family members, who were continuing to dig into the buffet. I needed to get something wholesome, but I couldn’t see anything on the a la carte menu that suited. The Head Waiter came over and I explained my general condition and that I would eat Indian food as long as he could recommend something that is low in all things that … enough said. “What I could do is get Chef to do you a little Chicken off the tandoori, with a little gravy and you chose what you would like with it”.  Bang on I thought.  I asked for some sides of Pulao Rice, a bit Pilau but spelt differently, and some plain Naan.

A Kingfisher beer (low alcohol one) arrived to test my inner strength.

The dish came and there was a huge bowl of Chicken in a mild spicy sauce of a rich red colour, the Rice, with Peas, Green Beans and Onions and the Naan which was a bit heavy in ghee.  In fact I think it was all a bit heavy in ghee, but it didn’t put me off.  I tucked in and it was delicious.  The Chicken texture was more like a piece of slow braised beef and very moist and the side dishes were really balanced with the main dish.  I managed just over half of it, but it was large and sat back. One of the junior waiters came over and checked if everything was OK.  He is obviously still learning the art of table service, as I noticed that each piece of cutlery was placed entangled with one another, a bit like pick-me-up sticks but putting them into a mess rather than removing one at a time. I said everything was excellent it is just that I cannot eat anymore.  I asked what it was called. He smiled but looked puzzled. I started to gesture if he had a pen so he could could write it down. Within seconds a Customer Care survey was in front of me and he is pointing to the Excellent box for the food. Then he said “Excellent Service too, yes?”  I nodded and just completed it. I went back to my original question “WHAT, WAS, IN, THE, SAUCE?”  He came back at me politely…”TO, MART, TOE SAUCE”.

Topped up I went off to bed to finish off my Blogs and to take a quick FaceTime with Tom and Jon back home.

The next day I slept in until 9am which did wonders, but I was feeling guilty that I needed to get on and do Amritsar.  I was a bit apprehensive.  Today is Holi Day, the festival of colour.  You’ll have seen people in pictures throwing paint and powders of colours, well it’s today.  Major Tom had warned me, but he wasn’t the only person since I have been here, that Holi can get a bit raucous. Some kids have started throwing real paint or Cow dung and also in some areas throw people into mud. As it was, throughout the day I only saw small number of stained people. I think that is more luck than judgement.

The Car and Driver I arranged arrived at around 11am and the plan was to go through until 6pm.  Pradeep was my driver today.  My plan was to spend 3-4 hours at the Golden Temple as the maps I had seen suggested that this was where the concentration of things that I wanted to see and then move onto the Wagah Border which was about 35Km away. The Temple was only a couple of Kilometres of drive. Pradeep stopped on the side of a roundabout and pointed me to a checkpoint barrier that said ‘no cars’. He was going to park the car up and then I would come back to this point when I have finished. He pointed in the general direction down the street which was heaving with people but I just mingled and followed the masses. The road bent around into an L shape, but all I could see was a bric-a-brac Old Amritsar.

I was looking for clues. As a Sikh temple, a lot of locals wore Turbuns, but a number of visitors mostly Indian had bandanas, orange bandanas.  Street sellers sold them for 10 Rupees.  I bought one and then continued with the masses. At this stage everyone was fighting for space with 3 wheeled bicycle taxis and motor bikes. You are warned about pickpockets, so you have all your senses tingling for the least amount of pulling or pushing.  At the next corner, which was still only about 200 yards from where Pradeep dropped me, I saw a sign saying ‘Shoes’ and the masses were queuing up, well, sort of orderly pushing in. In India, if you snooze you lose. I promptly removed them and took them to the counter in exchange for token. I watched the lady trying to squeeze my size 11 walking shoes into the wooden pigeon hole.  From there the procession continued. I was being looked at, a lot. Not so much my height, as some Punjabi’s are really tall, but that I was obviously a foreigner and unlikely to be a Sikh. There was coconut matting rolled out to save the feet all the way to the Temple, only about another 150 yards on and then as you step into the Temple you paddle your feet in a trough of water. A young guy next to me lent down and scooped a handful into his mouth, hmm, I won’t follow that one I thought. As I turned into the large archway the Golden Temple was there right in front of me.  In the middle of a pool of water and surrounded by the most beautiful white buildings and a walkway all around of inlaid marble. It was both bigger and more elaborate than I had thought.  I’m not going to say too much on this, just see the pictures. The people had a purpose with this temple and were showing their thanks by praying, in some cases prostrate facedown with their hands together pointing towards the Temple in the middle of the pond. The Temple laden in gold shone in the sunshine.

Looking to the massive queue to go into the actual temple itself, this was not going to on my checklist today. The guide books warned that thousands would attend and they did. Going around the edges and sitting crossed legged by the side of the pool, there was plenty of space,  I was stopped a few times to ask my name and what Country I came from.  One old Sikh who proudly had his Daughter and her two children with him saw that I was taking photo’s and invited me to take one of them, with my own camera. I could see he was having a really special time and so was I, so I obliged.  I went into the Akal Takht which is to the one end and sat down for 15 minutes rest. An old man smiled at me but then guided me to swivel a bit. I was obviously pointing the wrong way. Another man assured me I was fine after I had adjusted myself.

There is live prayer called out on loud speakers continually. You do get a sense of good feeling.

So overall summary, this was as awesome as the Taj Mahal but for different reasons.

I held off taking water or food which the Temple provides to visitors of all faiths, as I wanted to make sure I controlled my ‘diet’. The mornings breakfast had been 6 plain digestive biscuits. I hope no one was offended that I didn’t take any food.

I got to about 3 hours and called time. I needed water desperately. You couldn’t take bags into the Temple so I ventured out with only my Camera bag today. I returned on the route that I had taken and recovered my shoes and removed the headscarf and headed for anywhere with a clean looking fridge. Suitably refilled with water, I did a couple of circuits of the side streets. I moved down to the Jallanwala Bagh, which is the scene of the Sikh massacre by the British in 1919. Not our finest hour and I did feel uncomfortable being in there. Irony was that it happen on the 13 April, my birthday. After this I headed to the meeting point for my Taxi. You get used to saying “No” to touts and hawkers, that when Pradeep called to me I pushed him off too. He tried again. I think he found it funny too.

We were soon on the road to the border with Pakistan. When I first booked my Visa there were notes about not travelling to certain areas close to borders, but on the recommendation of Major Tom, I headed for Wagah a live border frontier between the countries. Things do heat up between the countries every now and then so I was thinking, how ‘cold war’ could this be?

The driver took me to within 1 Km of the gate and we parked up in one of the usual bits of waste ground, but in this case everyone was there for the same event and there was almost a carnival atmosphere about it. Hoards of people were walking down the road to queue for the event. Now with the privilege of being ‘Johnny Tourist’ and a Foreign Passport holder I was a ‘VIP’, so what ever happens I get a seat at the event. The crowds start building and Pradeep said that not everyone would get in (except VIPs). There were 3 gates at the ‘off’ and 3 gates at the finish all within an Army controlled piece of land. To the right, Ladies were allowed to stand at a specific gate, then Gents, then to the far left a number of VIP Groups. The gates open around 4pm.  At about 10 mins to the hour the Ladies gate opens and they serenely, if not with a bit of giggle and gabble, stream through and make their way up a partitioned walkway which is on one side of a two-laned avenue. I moved into place on the right side then the gates opened for the final two groups. The masses in the Gents lane start running and pushing. A bit like a spanish bull chase. My gate opens, but the only benefit is the gate itself as within 25 yards the paths merge and we are in the thick of it. You know I have talked about Indian queuing. We are soon in a lane which is getting narrower and narrower as a Soldier on a horse is blocking the road. The heaving means that you lose your feet but are pulled along by the group. I was also afraid of losing my wallet, passport or cash from my pockets.  There are lots of smiley people, but you wouldn’t know if anyone had stolen from you.  They tend not to wear hooped T-shirts and carry bags with loot written on the side.

We made a couple of right turns into a narrow lane and I was close to going over the barriers to the Ladies section. One section of a heavy metal barrier came down on the women’s side and one lady went mad. I could not translate a word, but I understood ever bit of her sentiment. At this stage I thought back to my Rugby coaching. Low centre of gravity and use the legs to lever. It worked, I must have been holding about 6 people from a small ledge of tarmac, before we levelled out. The columns narrowed to a single check point and a security check. The fresh Pop Corn sellers at the car park that do a roaring trade, see their produce tossed to one side as it can’t go any further. They must pop their corn every day knowing that the Army will search and discard it anyway.

We are then through to a mild walk for the last few hundred yards to the final split. Gate 3 for VIPs, thats all I am interested in. As we go into the viewing area, the Indian VIP’s that need to book are shown to tiered seat and Foreigners are show to a narrow band of concrete steps about 4 people wide, but they work well. I find myself sitting next to a Chilean girl.

The setting.  Think of a road that is passing between the two countries and there is an ‘Indian’ side and a ‘Pakistan’ side, with two high metal gates that stop any passage, one for each country. The Security Border Post was on one side of the road and the gallery of viewers on the other. As you go down the road, the people in the ‘cheap’ seats are also behind the ‘Border Post’.  There must be 3000-4000 Indian people who have come along for the event. Less on the Pakistan side. The gate opening ceremony starts at 5pm but as a warm up both sides blast music out. On the Pakistan side a couple of fat men run with Flags towards the border to the cheer of their crowd. The Indians have relays of girls and then women to take part in the flag run doing the same. The Crowd go wild. It is a real fun atmosphere but very patriotic. The music turns to bangra and the girls are dancing in the road and that goes on for 30 minutes.  They sound like the latest hits as the girls are having a great time, very Indian and very enjoyable. As the music comes to a halt, the play off between the opposite Armies starts with a rush to the gate on both sides. The Pakistani’s in Black dress and the Indian’s in Khaki. Very colourful. They compete for bugles and holding a chant note, soldier by soldier, interleaved with a march to the gate and a high kick and turn to present themselves. This goes on in a build up until a soldier on both sides throws open their side of the gate in exact timing and without touching, stamp and high kick at each other to show their ‘feathers’. It ends with a crossing of the national flags and then a closing of the gates. Highly charged and I think Indian supporters edged it for passion. This rounded off an excellent tour day.

And back to the hotel.

‘Up for a Kurry?’  (the Hotel’s spelling note mine) , yep.  I waited a bit too late so couldn’t finish it all but the Lamb Chop Kebab’s (Gary, just like Punjab Paradise) were excellent and a Prawn Kurry which was a bit average.  Well that’s Amritsar in a nutshell.

The return train from Agra to Delhi was due in at 7.30am and I had a quick transfer by taxi.  At this early hour the place looks different. The temperature is ambient and people look happy to be about.  The station looked a much more interesting place than when I arrived 2 days ago.  Boys were walking down the tracks collecting plastic bottles, but being fuelled by lazy Indians who just threw them off the platform. I said I wouldn’t moan and I won’t, it was just different.

A man was being escorted by 4 armed police onto my train.  He was leashed with a long chain to one officer with a stick and there were 3 others with rifles that looked liked they had come out of World War 1.  It all seemed quite pleasant between them as they were all in happy conversation together.

It was fascinating to see people running over rail lines to catch a train from the wrong side.  Not sure how long I would survive back home doing that.  The train arrives late and unlike the process dictates, there is no seating chart pasted.  I managed to find my carriage with the help of the Guard, but the painted writing of ‘First Class’ was hardly visible on the dusty shell.

The station was really alive at this time.  The passengers, some of which had been travelling already for 9 hours, were hailed with “Pakora, Pakora, Pakora” then “Omlette, Omlette, Omlette”.  Boys were flying down the train picking up the breakfast business.  I’d been watching the food sellers on the platform before I alighted the train with their deep fried everything.

We were soon off and I was joining two guys that had been using the bunks as beds for the last section of the train.  The train left Agra about 20 mins late but managed to catch up on the lost time by the time we got to Delhi.  I had a long conversation with one of the men who was a Doctor in the field of Cancers.  There was a bit of purpose in my conversation as he said he was also getting off at Delhi too and I thought I could raise my understanding of the layout of the Railway Station. I needed to make my way over to the Airport Express and avoid the hassle of last friday.

In day light it certainly gives you more confidence of the layout of the Delhi Station and what to tactically avoid in advance.  The overhead walkway in the Station traversed all of the platforms.  I arrive at Platform 1 and the rear Exit was after Platform 16.  A couple of grunting hauls of my suitcase up a couple of flights of stairs and then a long walk over an open bridge. As I descended the final steps into the Car Park, it arrived right next to the Pre Paid Taxi office, and I could see the Metro Station, a nice new building, just 100 yards up the road.  To think that I had messed around for over an hour on Friday getting from the Metro to the taxi. I really must have looked like ‘Johnny Tourist’ and fair game for their game of fares. To think of all the travelling I had done through BT without too many hiccups.

The difference between the Street and the inside of the Metro Express Station is very stark.  Securitas guards are throughout this lovely oasis who basically keep the riff-raff out.

I knew I was really early into Delhi International Airport, some 6 hours early, but I couldn’t lug my wheelie bag around Delhi for a couple of hours.  Actually, I am getting a little tired with the constant barrage of the entrepreneurs and touts.  I was also really hungry for a meal.  The Airport at Delhi is really modern, bright and clean.  I approached Security at Departures Terminal as you need to be vetted before you go into the building.  He said that he wouldn’t let me in until 4 hours before the flight, but I should go to the Visitor Lounge at the end of the terminal.  I tried to get some advice inside this centre from Air India’s ‘Assistance’ kiosk.  What a misname that is.  I think ‘Assist’ is a verb so a ‘doing’ word, I had set my expectation a little high.  “I need some food and I need to wait until the 4 hours tolerance was up!”.  “Go to Arrivals downstairs there you will have it”. Down in the nice lifts and met by the Arrivals Security. “Yes, there are restaurants in here but you need to check your baggage first, you can’t come in here with your suitcase”. “Go back to the Visitor Lounge at the end of…”  By this stage I again looked like Johnny Tourist.  I gave in. I approached the Security at the entrance to the Waiting Lounge which was extremely strict and they checked my flight and passport and with nothing wrong let me in.  I was not only hungry I also had a craving for ‘Wine Gums’ or something similar.  I was trying to think of all the things back home that would meet the need.  Anyway, the Lounge did have a Coffee Stall with a number of snacks, mostly spicy. There were some Sandwich Rolls in cling film that I pointed to. “Chicken Burgers” the guy said.  Right answer, let me have one of those.  I did remember when coming from Kochi that they had a KFC in here somewhere.  He put it in the microwave and ‘ping’ it was ready, served with tomato sauce.  Yum, I thought.  Well it was a bun, it was Chicken and it did have salad on it.  The Chicken was a thin slice of processed meat and the lettuce and tomato had wilted with the power of the microwave.  It was the first salad I have had on trip.  Well I couldn’t wait any longer.  It was edible but a travellers nightmare.

I kicked my heels in the Lounge for a couple of hours and then headed to the back of the area, to yet another guard, who secured the entrance to Departures.  I’m in, let me find my flight, get checked-in and track down something chewy and sweet.  I found the flight board and went through first by ‘Time’, then by ‘Air India’.  Hmm, nothing.  Maybe it is one of those that is embedded in another hopper flight?  I went back to the ‘assistance office’ and waited patiently.  They had lots of people, but 5 or 6 were looking after one customer. Finally, I’m up. Within 30 seconds the man had reprinted my out and return flight, he said the return flight had changed by 30 mins but no problem. He scribble the Aisle and Counter for Check-in on the print out.  Off I went thinking about Fruit Pastilles. Straight to the front at Check-In. The smiley girl looked puzzled and turned to her colleague. They kept quoting my flight number and then tapping into their terminals.  The second girl came over and looked at my paperwork and then smiled directly at me. “Sir, you are 3 months too early for the flight!”  What a dipstick!, I thought.  I’ve been let loose on this big old world and had 2 bookings with the wrong date already.  Johnny Tourist should have gone to Skegness for a weeks holiday.

So I am starting to think quickly, can I re-book with Air India for tonight or do I call it a day now and rearrange my flight to Hong Kong?  The thought of the Golden Temple put me straight…and the Anthem.  Air India didn’t fly to Amritsar that evening but I knew Jet Airways did. They were the next window down and very responsive. They laughed when I told them the story. Sorted! and only 15 minutes further delay. Someone is looking down on me.  With eTicket in hand I walked off.

It got me thinking.  Not only did I fool myself, I fooled the Indian Army guards 3 times and the Air India assistance twice.  Well, all is well that ends well.

Check-in was not too bad other than my allowance of 20 Kilo was exceeded by 2.2Kg and there was an excess payment required, unless she said that I take 2 Kilo’s out of my main case and put it in my rucksack. I did just that with a quick juggle, but I should have said that I think I have lost 2Kg in weight through not eating today which would have compensated.

All done, I headed towards the Departure lounge in search of Wine Gums.  I compromise on Skittles. Maybe the Red Cross will pick this blog up ??

Descending into Amritsar now.  Bye y’all.

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Unfortunately my fears of some form of Delhi belly came to reality today.  Thankfully I had arranged for my driver Ali to pick me up after 9.30am.

I had been suitably stocked with medical supplies for the occasion, so we will see how it goes.  Ali and his co-driver, I have no idea why there were two people required other than the fact that one spoke pretty good tourist English, arrived at the hotel.   I told him that we will start with the Taj Mahal and see how we go.  He wanted to take me in a different order but I insisted.  He parked up and guided me how to get the ticket and what not to do.  A 10 seater electric golf trolley ferried the High Ticket payers (Foreigners) to within 200 yards of the gate. The Taj Mahal doesn’t allow vehicles to go any further to maintain the serenity of the place.  Once through the security scanners of the Army you immediately bump into ‘Guides’.  They stand there and do an assumptive sales close.  They talk about something and then say that they will be your guide for 100 Rupees.  You get a feel that they all do the Guide then Tour of their brother’s emporium.  There are also lots of touts who want to guide you on taking the best photos or sell you photos.  That aside, the whole site is really quite amazing and despite the volume of people and the pushing.  Yes, Indian’s have a tendency to push you if you are moving slowly in a queue.  Everyone knows that if you all run through a narrow space at the same time that you all get through quicker and safely.

Let’s talk about the Taj Mahal.  The first glimpse you get of the White Mausaleum, the pictures you see of this real wonder, is through a large domed gate.  From about 100 yards away, its like spying through a keyhole.  As you walk through the Gate, you really get a sense of ‘Wow’.  Bleached in the sunlight the marble is the brightest white.   The gardens and shallow ponds that create an aperitif for the main attraction are equally well manicured.  Built by the Shah Jahan as a tribute and resting ground for his wife.  He must have loved her a lot.  You can go off in any direction but lots of people try to see the central perspective that lines everything up and I have to say that is a special photo.  I hope I have done it proud.  In the sunlight it is hard to see the screen on your camera, so I made a double route to make sure.  The Mauseleum itself was a bit disappointing just due to the behaviour of the Indian tourists and the reaction of the security staff.  The sign says “No noise, no photography” and I think that is a bit of respect that the place deserves.  All you could hear was jabba, jabba, jabba as the sounds merged into one and Flash after Flash after Flash.  The security response was to blow a loud whistle and yell when a Flash went off.  Not quite the serenity that this deserved, more fitting a Milan local derby at the San Siro stadium.

But let me not detract from this wonder of architecture that has survived centuries to still be the icon of India.

Around the rest of the complex there are Templates and high walls of Red sandstone in a highly symmetrical layout.  It really is beautiful.  In this case pictures do say a 1000 words so just have a look.

I had about Two and a Half hours at the Taj Mahal and the sun was beginning to bake and my stomach was beginning to brew.  I made my way back to the the Driver in the exact reverse order, but also this time after having to forcefully tell a Bicycle Taxi to go away.  I advised the Driver to take me to the Hotel and he agreed that in this heat it is pointless seeing anything else until 4pm.  I was very hungry by this stage as I hadn’t eaten much in over a day but the only less spicy thing on the menu was some Pasta with Bolognese sauce.  It was fine though, not as in Milano, but…

At 4pm the two cohorts were in the Hotel Car Park waiting for me.  I told them that I would have to cancel my car now, but paid them a full days price to compensate them.  Ali asked if he could have a tip on top, but I just look at him and pointed to the 1000 Rupees I have given his co-pilot.  We had agreed a price of 960 the night before.  “Let me take you to one more location” said Ali.  I refused, but his co-pilot said “OK, but let me take you to see the treasure of Agra”.  This is when I could see that they were not listening and wanted to take me on the shopping trip.  This made me straighten up to my full high and I would say I was a foot taller than both of them.  They got the point, but did mutter between them as they left.  I know it is the way they doing things, but a pain nevertheless.  I really had seen what I had come for and it had beaten my expectation and I needed to fix myself for a long day up to Amritsar via the train and another flight from Delhi tomorrow, so I felt I had made the right decision.

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Not a good nights sleep on sunday night. The air conditioning was not at its best, my stomach was beginning to gurgle and the worry over whether I was to get a train seat to Agra was playing on my mine. The WiFi was playing up and I was behind in my contact with the Boys back home and my travel stories were Blog-jammed. WiFi is as important as water when you are travelling these days just because you get to rely on it being there. The check on the status of the rail ticket needed an online confirmation. Yes, I was starting to fret. My usual laid back and calculated approach was being put to the test. I was walking around the room at 6am holding my iPad in the air to get a better signal. Maybe I should have tipped a ‘WiFi man’ somewhere who would have turned up the volume somehow? Life is one big arbitrage in Delhi, that’s a jazzy word for saying everyone takes their cut. If there is a chance to be involved in the deal or introduce someone then they will do it. Very entrepreneurial from a country which is basically run on communism.

I had a very Indian breakfast this morning of Cornflakes and Fried Egg on toast and I was listening to the radio commentary blaring out across the open roof restaurant for the India v Australia test match.

I checked out and had an hour to waste so thought I would do a bit of sunday morning people watching. The hotel has a large glass frontage that views the street and also a security guard to try to stop the intrusion. A couple of guys are wailing a chant, dressed in what looks like the remnant of christmas tree decorations and their faces were painted dark brown black. They whack the glass door and then hold their hands out for a contribution. It wasn’t aimed at me, it was for the hotel who ignored them at first and then told them more forcefully. I got myself comfortable looking out.

The usual tuk tuk’s and taxis weaved each other in the street. A number of carts passed by selling nuts and seeds and then surprisingly a Bullock dragging a cart with 8 guys on board. Two were playing drums with their hands and the back two boys were dragging a large tree to the rear. The tree was full of leaves and branches must have been 15 feet in length. I was thinking, is this some kind of religious thing ??? Two minutes later another Bullock went by. A cart breaks down right outside. His cart is a 3 wheel bicycle and one of them has fallen off. He piles the large stash of wares to one side, much to the disgust of all others road users In a flash, the Boxes are onto another 3 wheel cart and the broken cart gets placed on top of that.

Oh and I forgot to tell you, my rail ticket was ‘Confirmed’ this morning, within 2 hours before departure. Quite a relief as I really didn’t want any chance of missing the Taj Mahal, one of the main checklist items for India.

Well, I was thinking let’s see how take-two of getting into the railway station would be, the same New Delhi station that caused my heart palpitations on Friday. I took a Taxi to the front of the Station where it was very open with a small concourse. To my delight it had a huge Departures Board, which immediately gave me a comfort feeling. Now when I talked in my Blog a couple of weeks ago about feeling that I was the main character of the Truman Show ?….On the departures board there were about 25 Trains, which flashed between Hindu and English every 20 seconds. All the Departures were in Yellow except for mine which was in White. It had an extra comment saying ‘Reschedule’, which is the India Rail’s term for ‘delayed’. No problem I have loads of time, but I peered through the railing and could see that my platform had lots of people on it that were waiting for the preceding train. I stayed put.

I was fortunate that the platform was the first through the security gate and a train had arrived for the earlier departure which was a similar sort of long distance express type train It arrived about 15 minutes before the Departure time. I saw people get off and thought as soon as it moves I will go through and appreciate a bit less hassle. I knew I might have a wait so I employed a simple ploy to avoid the various Hawkers. I put my iPhone Earplugs in and turned up the volume. I thought if I can’t hear them they don’t exist. Let me go back on a similar thought I had when I was 7 years old and in Primary School. We were in the Assembly Hall with the whole school doing the morning prayers. “Close your eyes and say after me the Lords Prayer…”. My thinking was that if I had my eyes closed I could bob up and down (I was always active) and nobody would see me. That was true for the 200 other children in the Hall but not for the 10 Teachers watching me! I saw the headmaster for that one. Anyway, after the obligatory travel anthem, I put on a Tim McGraw Album. First track ‘Live Like You Were Dying’, although a morbid title, great lyrics. And the Hawker shield ? worked a treat.

The train that had pulled up now over an hour ago, was still there. I moved through Security and walked straight to the platform. It was crowded with Coolies running with luggage and large see-saw type barrows laden with what looked like potatoes or onions. A man was fast asleep in front of me on a rolled out plastic sheet. The Passenger lists were eventually glued to the end of each Carriage and to my Truman amazement, my Berth was right in front of me. The time was ticking close to the delayed departure time and passengers started banging on windows as the doors hadn’t opened. There was about 15-20 carriages so a lot of people to load up. Eventually we were on. Of the 4 bunk beds in my Compartment there were only 2 occupied at this Station. Let me introduce my Travel Companion until Agra ‘Major Tom’ or to be very precise Colonel Tomajeet of the Indian Army. After an exchange over the electric sockets for our iPhones and my Heath Robbins and inaugural use of my Gorilla camera tripod, a 3 legged device that has bendy legs, which was used to hold the plug in place, we started to chat over everything from families to travel and …Strategy. He is a keen Golfer who only took up the sport 2 years ago but plays off 8! we covered India and Politics and I think again yet another person who shared similar values to myself. Great Guy and excellent company. It made the 3 and half hour journey fly by.

And into Agra, I got off the train and to show my confidence as there was not an Exit sign I turned left, after 25 yards I realised that this was contra to the direction that the other 500 passenger who also got off were going. Taxi into the Hotel was pretty straightforward with the customary pitch of how he could look after my itinerary for my day in Agra.

I didn’t have the head for a Beer tonight so stuck with some Tonic Waters as I was feeling a bit off. I ordered some simple Tandoori chicken and Naan bread, but after 10 minutes and the sound of the live music in the restaurant (2 locals with bongos and some kind of squeezebox) I called it a night.

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The hotel bed was very comfortable after my week of battling mosquitos. Today was a day to do the highlights of Delhi. I knew there was a lot more, but in the heat I was going to try for 3 or 4 main things. I made up a a list of the Red Fort, the Lotus Temple, the National Museum, India Gate and Qutab Minar.

It was a leisurely start as I knew up to 8 hours with a a driver would be quite tiring.

I arrange a car through the hotel and within 5 minutes he had promptly turned up outside the hotel next door. I had a tourist map supplied by the Hotel with the main sights printed on it and was something I could just point at. My driver today was Mohan, who spoke very little english, but if I said the place name 3 times and said “next” he did get it. We resorted to the map a few times as I was mispronouncing the sites anyway. My translation application on the iPad has thus far proved to be a waste of time as it only works in the hotel. I will know in the next couple of weeks if the 69 pence application has been value for money.

The first sight was the Red Fort. All of these areas have semi ‘official’ parking, which costs somewhere between 20 and 50 rupees. We finally got through the local traffic and pulled onto a bit of waste ground encircled by wooden beds. The area was a main tourist area so also attracts everyone else. It is amazing what they will sell on the streets. In one there was a pile of Flip Flops that could have come straight from the beach in Kochi. Every trader maximises the space to show their wares. Very colourful, if not a bit chaotic. It was good to have Mohan with me as we had another 400 yards to walk to the entrance of the Fort and via the smelliest of underpasses. Hawkers, Sellers and wanna-be Guides were shouting at me as soon as I got in sight. They never really give up. When I write my last blog on India, please someone remind me to pick out the top 10 ‘pitches’. The final words are often ‘my name is…remember me!’

Mohan told me where to meet as he wouldn’t be going inside with me.

The Red Fort was very impressive. Although now abandoned by the Indian Army, and like all of the tourist sights, there was a big armed Army presence at the gates and inside the attraction. As for the Fort, built in the 17th Century by a Shah, this was more like a walled city. I had imagined a place like Warwick Castle but this was a massive compound. The buildings and opulence was still here and although it has been through many hands over the years and despite the plundering the key buildings remain. Looking at the inside you do get a sense of the colonial British Army as well as some very beautiful Indian decor.

I saw an Indian man taking a photo of his wife and son and I did the right thing to offer my help so that he could be in the picture too. Click, I then pointed to my camera, he smiled. I was then very surprised that his family lined up by the side of me. Click. He showed his gratitude by attempting to touch my feet, well that’s what I though he was doing. He may have just dropped his lens cap.

As you entered the fort there was a bazaar type mall of jewellery shops. Fairly laid back being that there must have been 30 to 40 shop keepers vying for the same business. I continued to amble through the complex and one museum caught my eye. It was the Museum of India’s struggle against the British. If I ignored it then it would have been disrespectful. The museum displays were a series of paintings depicting mostly the retaliation by the united India forces against the British and East India Trading Company over our time of roving in India. It really made me feel that I had done something bad and that everyone was looking at me. I think if they had asked me if I was English, I would have said ‘no, I am Dutch’ (but you never now what suffering the Dutch imposed on India as well). You do have a lot of people with Orange hair out here.

We made our way back to the Car but by this time the traffic was at gridlock. At times like this, self delegated traffic policeman guide cars down pavements or any space for that matter. I could not see a Brit driving in Delhi. It is an art. How a car of the size of a Ford Fiesta can stop an oncoming rtruck-like Indian Bus made in the 50’s is just amazing to watch. We eventually get out and then make a hasty U turn and we are up to speed for at least 150 yards. We pass the Cricket Ground where the India-Australian Test was being played and make our way over to ‘India Gate’. The Gate is a bit like the Arc de Triomphe, but not French. Dedicated to those who died during WW1 and 2.

The sun was blazing down and I had a walk around for photo opportunities. Very impressive and clean and highly secured by armed military and police. The avenue of land to both sides of the Gate is a nice open thoroughfare, in stark contrast with the rest of central Delhi. On the one side, from the President’s Residence and the Government buildings looking towards India Gate, it is quite spectacular. A bit like the Queen’s view down The Mall, but longer.

We then headed off to a Sweet Centre for a snack. Yes, fresh Ras Malai! My family know how much I like it and a Donut-type ball filled with a Pistachio centre. There must have been 100 people eating there, so very popular. I wonder what ‘popular’ really means in Delhi with a population of 12.6 Million?

Next the National Museum. You will recall that I called into the Natural History Museum in London a few weeks back. Having time on my hands I wanted to see a bit of India’s heritage. Very interesting. I wish I had a better appreciation of the Gods and their stories. Krishna seemed to be a very popular fellow who was always adorned by women.

Getting close to the final circuit although they were spaced out across the city, ‘Next’, The Lotus Temple, run by a faith which accepts all other faiths and the building is open to visitors for quiet prayer for a long as you like. The building is designed as a Lotus Flower and arches a bit like Sydney Opera House for some parts. It is at the centre of a vast manicured garden. Everyone is barefoot through the temple and it did give me a good feeling and time to reflect on a few things and attempt a prayer. On exiting, and at my meeting point, there were lots of people and lots of cars. After 10 minutes a hand appeared out the crowd. I’m also getting better at crossing the road now!

Finally, the Qutub Minar. I hope I have spelt that right, a Muslim Temple and a victory monument remains with a huge tower. I was told that the tower is now listing so they have stopped tourist from going up. With the lowering sun it lit up bright Red. There were lots of remains in courtyards dating back many centuries.

I was getting really tired and all I wanted now was to stop. On the final way back, Mohan showed me the President’s Residence, the Government Buildings and Parliament and the view down to the India Gate in the distance. Like in all other Countries the cream of governors have the finest of places to work and sleep.

Back to the hotel for a shower, not forgetting to close the curtains before entering my goldfish bowl. I then headed up to the roof top Restaurant. A group of about a dozen Australians were celebrating that they were on the verge of their first Test win in 15 games. They are always so passionate about their cricket.

With the restaurant filling up a Swiss-Italian couple Lucia and Andreas joined my table and we struck up the usual conversation around ‘what are you eating’. Lucia’s philosophy is quite sound. If you don’t know what to eat and can’t read the menu, just look at what everyone else is having and point. Lucia is German Italian (Sicilian) and Andreas is Swiss Italian. They had been travelling for 17 days around India and were going home in the morning. It was an eye opener for them too. They had looked at trying to get a flight home after 7 days but Lufthansa wasn’t playing ball. We shared stories of the litter, begging, entrepreneurs, the driving etc etc as well as their experience of having Malaria tests during the holiday. I think that Lucia was looking forward to a plate of Pasta. Lovely couple and I wish them well. Lucia is also trying out for a Master Chef programme in Italy, but I would doubt that garam masala will be in any of her recipes.

Dear All

I am having a few issues with getting my devices connected so the next 3 posts should appear all together in the next day or so, fingers crossed.

Dunmoanin Dave

I seem to have talked a lot about food this week, so I promise to try harder at other cultural things up in North. This is just a day of travel so pretty mundane I was thinking.

From Kochi the taxi made a more circular route at a non rush-hour time to the airport which was mostly free of incident. I did hear the driver wince twice, once when a tuk tuk nearly took took him out and the other when I said that the fine for using a mobile phone while driving in the UK was £1000 (72,000 Rupees). He had just quickly lowered his phone when he saw a traffic policeman. The driver said that he earned 72,000 Rupees a year. Dropped at the airport front door, the nice clean airport was quiet and small. There was a tiny mall of 12-14 shops in the open side of the airport which I tried to see if I could get some sweets for the trip. Talk about hen house. Each shop had a woman sales assistant who called out “Sir, inside!” immediately as I approached. It was funny to watch as I tried not to make eye contact. As it was a closed ended mall, I had the same calls on the way back.

The rest of the airport was again a nice small provincial experience. Moving from Security through to the Departure lounge was really easy. Note to Heathrow, their rows of wooden armchairs were really comfortable, something you would have seen in your Gran’s house as a kid. A coffee and a fresh plump spicy samosa and well, that was about it.

The flight up to Delhi calls into Hyderabad on the way through and the first leg flight was empty. Comfortable with lots of room, a bit of Jana Kramer in my ‘phones and yet another meal. I don’t think I’m putting on weight?

Into Hyderabad we had a false landing at about 200 feet and had to re-ascend quickly. The Pilot apologised. A nice landing when it finally happened. Some people got off the plane and we took on other passengers. The Delhi part was full and added the dreaded businessmen too, I’ve been there. You squeeze everything into your oversize bag then play chinese puzzles with the overhead bins to make it fit.

An Indian Man with his family started up a conversation with me and offered some really useful advice on what to see in Delhi and how to go about doing it. He even typed things straight into my iPad. So just in case anyone bumps into him if you are ever in Delhi, his name is Ravi Gupta.

Into Delhi Airport, really impressed, straight onto the Airport Express, very impressed, impressive express station at New Delhi as well. I read in the Hindustani Times, as you do, that they were looking to invest in a new overhead walkway which would link the Delhi Airport Express Metro, The Metro and the Central Rail Station as they were about 200 yards apart from each other. Not a great deal?, keep reading. All I wanted was a Taxi. Oh My God! It was really dark outside the Express Metro Station with limited street lighting, I thought, if I looked like I knew what I was doing then the many Tuk Tuk drivers and Hawkers wouldn’t bother me. Getting past the first 20 I thought would be the hardest. “No, no tuk tuk, a taxi”, one off, next a square cut into the covers (cricket terms for the unaware), but there were just too many. One Tuk Tuk man knew I wasn’t budging and pointed to another dark area but with hundreds of people going to and fro and just said ‘Gate!’ I am sure in daylight this would not have looked like an evacuation scene, but it was amazingly frenetic. I think ‘Gate’ meant the Station entrance.

I looked up and saw a large building, which was across a road with a flow of moving cars and tuk tuk’s leaving the station. One thing I noticed in Kerala was that despite the hooting at pedestrians no driver actually wanted to hit any of them. So I trusted in my hypothesis and just went for it. Not sure why I felt so pleased with myself to just cross a road. I passed by all the porters, opportunistic taxi drivers and got up into the main Railway Station. Oh My God!, again. I thought, I have to try and catch a train from here on Sunday without a confirmed ticket (still Waitlist No.1). There were people everywhere and the lighting was dreadful. Outside there were taxi’s and Tuk Tuk’s bumper to bumper but I didn’t want to do a tour of Delhi and I knew the Hotel was about only a Kilometre away, so needed the official route. Ravi had told me there was an official taxi rate and it was ‘no problem to get one’. There is a saying in strategy, in that if you don’t know where you are going, any road will lead you there. I definitely did not have a clue which way, so wasn’t going to attempt to walk. Well, not at night.

Inside the station people were rushing in every direction. I spotted an Enquiry window, but as I approached, a guy from the side f me said “for Indians only”. I asked, “are you an Official?”, he said yes. I said I wanted to know how to get a taxi. I showed him the address and then the bullshit started. “You need a permit to get to that Hotel. You need to get a Tuk Tuk to a place call ‘Connaught’ (I had heard of that) but then he said you buy a permit and then and only then you are allowed to go to the area. It costs 150 Rupees. I gave him the look and my Indian spin bowler twisted wrist gesture and walked off. I thought the Prepaid Taxi desk must be somewhere around here. All hawker drivers could see I had luggage which meant a possible ride to the airport which is very lucrative, so one after another they pitched to me. Found it! At the end of the station frontage. It seemed that the hawkers for business had better slots than the ‘official’ taxis. Anyway, at the office there were 2 windows next to each other. ‘Auto’ and ‘Taxi ‘. I was approached for a taxi even while standing talking to the office. “Airport?”. I told them it was all local and they became less interested. The drivers pointed me to the Taxi window, in hindsight that may have been wrong. An old guy the spitting image of Mahatma Gandhi (Ben Kingsley) asked me where I was going, but a second before I had spotted a chart on the wall with range and zones and prices. I told him it was a close one and nodded forcefully and he started writing the ticket. “85 Rupees!”. Not sure how he derived that but fixed and low enough was fine. He handed it to a driver that entered the back of the office. He went ballistic. I could see where he was coming from in that he had waited for his turn and this foreigner…a short journey and then I will be back of the queue. He took it while shaking his head. I followed.

The taxi looked like some kind of hippy camper van you would have seen in the 60’s. He threw my case on the back seat and told me to get in by the side of it. My knees were up by my chin, it was a tiny van. In his rage he then reversed out of the parking area and straight square into a tuk tuk. There was no one in the other vehicle. The drivers around all gabbled and someone picked up a piece from his bumper and handed it to him. Eventually we set off but in heavy traffic within seconds. Horns everywhere and unusual loads of all sorts of descriptions being carted by cycle rickshaw and hand cart. Driving something Small is key in this city to avoid those driving something Big. They drive so close that you could shake hands. We eventually arrive at a side road off the main route which is heavily populated with pedestrian. There was a whole host of shops and businesses mostly operating out onto the street. Neon lights pointed to hotels and the cars beeped their ways through the mayhem. I arrive. A small boutique hotel with a neon light up the side. Checked in and shown to my room the porter sang to me in the glass lift going up to my room. He obviously mistook me for someone important.

Following my blog of a couple of days ago, let me tell you that my room on the fourth floor has the letters G, O and D outside my window. It is the only picture I can show you today as I am a bit technically challenged.

To take the photo, I have just turned out all the lights in the bedroom using the fancy electronic switches and I have just had another OMG moment. My bathroom is next to the bedroom and I have had a shower in there this evening. I have just noticed that it has a clear glass floor to ceiling- wall to wall window as its wall which is right opposite my outside window. I thought it was a mirror, but with the light inside…This is getting more like Amsterdam or Bangkok every second.

Final sustenance of the day in the form of a Chicken Murgh Curry (very hot and spicy) and Naan, washed down…

Heavy day tomorrow as I want to see some of Delhi’s main sights.

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Well I have reached the end of the opening part of the tour. Fort Kochi and Kerala has given me a little sense of India and I believe prepared me a sample for what I am about to receive in the North.

Breakfast chick pea curry and then an iPad solution session with the French. Papa has this time brought with him english speaking daughter ‘Nicole’. In short I fixed their problem and they were happy. I think I will have a Rue named in my honour. Funny how WiFi is as critical as Water nowadays.

The last day started with a complimentary foot massage at the Hotel’s Spa which had the sensation of basting a couple of chicken wings. It was good, but I did get the feeling that moving into the sun would produce a bit of Kerala Fried Chicken. However as this was the last day of the chill phase I thought I should invest in the whole chicken for a bit of TLC rather than KFC. I returned to get my body and head oiled, slapped and prodded. As the masseur got to my neck and shoulders I knew we would find it hard to ‘relax’ my muscles. I could sense the fingers clenching to knuckles as he tried to soften up my shoulders. He must have been thinking to himself that it may be the first day of spring, but this ain’t no spring chicken, more like a frozen Chicken that has been in the freezer for 2 years. Admit it we all have one of those tucked away somewhere. He did his best, but I did see defeat in his face as I bid him farewell and stepped out of his serene studio. His caution was not to do anything strenuous for a bit…fat chance of that I thought.

It was early afternoon by now and the temperature was up a notch. Time to update my blog and take a few of the final pictures like my room and the door etc. As I started to type I heard a soft thud a bit like someone punching a feather pillow. I knew what it was, the Indian Navy gun next door? The thud rang out half a dozen times. Well at least I had been part of it. A bit wrong. The tiny thud was from a patrol ship miles offshore. The responding salute went back…BOOM!!!! the whole Hotel shook, the floor, the windows, vases moved. I ran out onto the landing to get a better view. Another 5 shells were let off in quick succession. Each producing a plume of thick white smoke. Absolutely deafening. Now I think that would draw more attention to their rickety boundary line on a Saturday instead of the soldier with a whistle and a stick. Downside is it would probably leave more Flip Flops on the beach.

A late snack for lunch, a beer and lounging round the pool finished my afternoon off and I went back to my room to perch myself on the balcony for a last photo of the sun going down.

Dinner entree wasn’t anything special today. I ordered some kind type of whole spicy fish (Karimeen Pollichathu) wrapped in a banana leave and a couple of chapati’s. I thought that it was going to be the same fish steak that Chef had made on the first evening, but that’s not what I ordered. The restaurant was fairly empty tonight as a lot of guests had left, so the bengali waiter Suresh tried in vain to give me an unprompted précis of 300 years of Indian struggle against the British, classroom style. As a Bengali, who is still picking up his english some words didn’t translate, but in my usual politeness I nodded, agreed and sighed showing support. At the end of his story he caught me out a treat…”So what do you think?” Luckily my response was interrupted by some incoming guests just as I was going to talk some bull’ over previous generations and social classes. He didn’t come back except to bring my meal.

As for my fish, no blame here as the same thing has happened at home in our restaurants, but some fish go through ten rounds before they arrive in the kitchen and this one had broken bones all over the place (no pun intended).

Thinking of yesterday’s trip to the Backwater, I couldn’t leave without having another pudding dish called Maduram Chertha Nentharakaya. Which was grilled Banana with a rich sweet coconut, cardamon and syrup gritty topping with Ice Cream. I had room for two puddings but etiquette kicked in.

So I travel up North to Delhi tomorrow and the next chapter.

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I played my daily anthem and there was a bit of a spring in my step today, so it was time to do something…well, quite relaxing. I was going to head out to the Kerala Backwaters.

I went local with the breakfast choice on the morning of a steamed rice cake and a spicy vegetable stew. Very warming and I am finding that the spice is helping the digestion. However, my bunker supply of imodium is always at hand in case I step too far off patch.

With my enthusiasm, I was also up nice and early which was a real first and I was the only one taking breakfast. Two birds landed on the fence one after the other and I wanted to just share it with someone. The first I think was a Kingfisher, with a very large head and beak out of proportion with the rest of its body. The striking thing was the colour. It was mostly turquoise and with a dark brown head.

That was replaced by a Woodpecker type bird, that was the spitting image of the old Woody Woodpecker cartoon we used to watch, with a bright red head with a mohecan spike and slender neck. This is the way to drink your coffee each morning. Well that’s all folks..for breakfast.

Back to Backwater.

After the heavy rainfall the previous night, the air had cleared but the sun was even more intense. My taxi came and I asked if it had ‘AC’. A popular phrase out here for air conditioning. “No” so I just wound down the window and added natures answer. I just need the car to keep on moving, which for the first 10 minutes it flew. They are really ace combat drivers. Driving must be an issue in India even for the locals. A sign at one traffic island just said “follow the rules” as my taxi cut up the on coming bus. The buildings along the sides of the roads have a certain charm about them just because they are shabby and all different with them all using the roof and wall space for massive advert hoardings. The Bollywood stars, especially the unbelievably beautiful girls, endorse everything. I thought the currentness of one Ad was outstanding, a big board with a smiling face of Pope Francis promoting a brand of tea with a strap line of ‘Chai for me Argentina’.

We were soon into the heavy traffic of Ernakulam. My driver wasn’t weaving, but everything else was. You must hear horns 10 times a second, but they keep their cool and it is effective. The drivers have one sign for distain and that is a quick twist back and forth of the hand and a simple look. No rants and in seconds ‘it’s been said’ and the disagreement is over. Although it took an age to get to Vaikom just looking out the window at all of the different things made the humid heat bearable and the time flew. There was a constant set of smells in the air of sweet, fish and not so savoury aromas.

At Vaikom we met the Guide outside a number of shacks by the side of the road. The driver and guide exchanged a rendezvous (dropped some french in as it is in my head for something later) and I was then welcomed formally by my Guide, Priam. Well I think that was his name because after the fourth time of telling me I thought it rude not to be getting it. He got my name in one, so I felt like a right charlie. Actually a wrong David.

The Kerala Backwaters are natural inlets of water, rivers, lagoons and alike that have been further carved man-made with meandering shallow canals. “It’s supposed to be like Venice!” said Priam as we got into the boat. The boat was like a large kayak and I was invited to sit in the middle. A note for my Sister’s side of the family (aka The Smith’s) I would like to note that, Yes, the thought of me making a right mess of managing a canoe on the River Wye last year was forefront in my mind. But for the record, I did attempt to catch Deb’s sister Karen.

Anyway, I got in and sat squarely in the middle with Priam facing me on the next cross timber. A boatman was introduced to me, a guy who I would say was in his 60’s. He was going to be punting for us. Most events that start in life, when you say let’s go, begin with some kind of noise. This was as serene a launch as anything I have ever felt and we were off. Straightaway, I was chilled. I promised to improve my vocabulary, but honesty just being on the water and no other boats in a heavenly place was well…

“Kerala stands for Coconut Land” Priam said. And “This is God’s own country. This part is my village”. My link to the last blog was complete. Priam asked me if I was having a good stay and was very inquisitive of the detail behind my answers. He explained that it was very important that we get this right for me, for the Tourist. “We have a saying. Look after the tourists like you would look after your family”. They do the family and tourist bit really fine.

Priam explained how the backwater and the villages had came about and we cut across the main river and into the first backwater canal, a width of say 12 feet. Everyone we saw smiled and waved, as we punted our way through the leafy waterway. He wasn’t pushy but every now and then he’d point at something like a fruit or a tree and say what is was and explain how it was used. He pointed to some Pods in a tree and said “Cocoa…Cadbury’s”. You would think that it would not be interesting, but because it was so peaceful, I was hanging on ever word. He pointed to a Cashew fruit and if as on cue it dropped into the water by the side of the boat. It looked like a gourd, but the big fruit was like a bitter sweet melon and attached to it was the shell of the curly cashew that we all know. He said that children eat these, pointing to the fruit. Simple pleasures eh?

We were approaching an area of the narrow water where there were a hoard of people splashing around in the water, by decorated poles. He guided me that I could take photo’s then a quick exchange with the Boatman he said “sorry it’s a tribute to some who has died”. He didn’t have to say any more my camera was switched off. I could see he was pleased that we shared the same respect. “This is the 14th and the last day of mourning and they are washing off evil. They will have a celebration now”. And so they were within yards there were brightly colour people chatting and smiling and kids running back and forth. It was a bit like an Irish wake, but I couldn’t see anything that resembled alcohol.

The boatman pointed to a snake by the side of the boat. But I was assured it wasn’t poisonous. At this point if Sue had been here we would have been talking about flights home.

A hundred yards on a man in an orange loin cloth was swimming in the water with two bamboo sticks. Fishing in one of the backwater ways. They also use chinese fishing nets too. Priam said that nobody buys fish in his village as they just catch it from the passing waterway.

We pulled into the side and got off by a track leading up to an old grey concrete house. He said he would show me some spices. When I had my tuk tuk tour earlier in the week I knew that meant “I want to sell you something”. This wasn’t. He and the Boatman slowly walked from bush to bush up the track, zig zagging from one to another. Everything was under the shade of Coconut Palms, everywhere you looked. All their tropic gatherings are used. He pointed to two Palms opposite each other. This one is for Oil and this one is for just drinking. He explained the simple process of how they did it.

There was a great range of spices that he would pick off leaves, flowers or berries and hand them to me. He would suggest lesser known ones as used as imitation for something else. All as nature had intended, the lemon leaves gave a zesty smell, the curry leaves were aromatic, red pepper seeds were creeping up a trunk and look exactly as you would see them in a mill. A lot of the leaves looked to me like the privet that used to be so prevalent as a kid, but each smelled exactly as the guide and boatman said. Along the way he had pointed to a large nut a few times. I think it was the Areca nut (I had to search on the internet when I got back) While we were in the village he played out how the nut was used. He picked a large dark green leaf off a tree and said the nut would be mashed into the middle of the leave and then folded into a small package that you could pop into your mouth to chew. “It goes red in your mouth” he said and then tapping his temple “it goes here”. It was a local chew like cannabis or as they prepare it over here something akin to ‘Bhang’.

We moved down the water to the next stopping point, where a lady was spinning coconut strands into rope. It was an art and it wasn’t a side show. This is exactly what she did in the village.

We made a turn in the boat at a small cutting and then started to drift back using the slow current. It was a delightful trip which makes you think how serene and pleasurable life can be. Lots of sensory pleasures.

Off in the taxi we were back to the hotel in half the time, basically as he was driving twice as fast and using his horn even more so.

By this time I was parched and hungry so a cold beer, samosas and pakora hit the spot. Then off to relax by the pool, not forgetting my child training of 60 minutes wait before swimming.

While I was out Chef had been buying the fresh fish for a special meal that night. It turned out to be a nicely presented plate with a steak of King Fish and a whole Pomfret Fish done tandoori style. A pudding creation of Bananas, Tangerines, sweet fried noodles, vanilla ice cream and a butterscotch drizzle finished me off.

A relaxed evening and ended off with a couple of beers with two nice people. Mona and her son Cosmo from Finland.

As I left for bed, Chef who was also manning the night desk, asked for my help with a French guest who was trying to get his wifi to work on his iPad. Impromptu francais est tres difficile et le iPad ne travaille pas (It didn’t work). Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

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It has been an easy day today, just chillin’, watching people and observing all the things you would like to do if the world around you could just stop. But let’s start from the top.

Last night the mosquitoes created havoc with a counter attack which as a strategy man I have to admit was pretty stealthy.

The odds of a Mosquito being able to defeat me weight for weight are 36.2 million to one.  The odds of winning the jackpot of the UK national lottery are 14 million to one.  I was bitten 10 times last night.  My 4 poster netting turned into a UFC cage and I was duly bloodied.  I will have the last laugh.  At least I now have more faith in winning the lottery.  Mike Farrell note, some day your syndicate will win.  (Everyone note; Mike and his colleagues have stayed faithful for almost 20 years without a win).  So I now have faith that you will win someday… or, I will guarantee that you will be bitten by a mosquito.

Lizard… lizard… lizard…yes there was a Gekko in the room, but it kept its head down.  At only 24,000 to one in his favour against a mosquito he bottled it, it seems.

After an easy breakfast I had a stroll on the beach to watch the local fisherman.  They fish for Shrimp and small Catfish in the shallows with large circular nets that they toss like a rotating shot-putter over the shoulder and out about 20 feet in front of them.  A jerk technique for dragging them in pulls the weights together.  The prize stored in a plastic bag hanging over the rickety fence.  Not sure how effective it is, but they do come back day after day.  There are a couple of kayak-type boats dropping larger drag nets which they paddle frantically and then draw together.  It is a pace of life you could get used to watching.

The ferrel dogs trot back and forth into the surf and surprisingly come back with fish.  I am not sure how they do it.  The eagles also circle around and drop into the sea for the same catch.

Cows are wandering across the beach and into the surf.

Looking at the beach after the sunday gathering I couldn’t help noticing the debris that gets left behind, which got me into ‘business’ mode.  Why does this happen and how could you fix this?  You need to explore all the angles and I guess that I had time and an intrigue to have a go.  If anyone knows anybody at the Indian Tourist Office, send them my blog address.

Let me position this.  A small idyllic beach of beautiful sand, that is left with piles of litter and stuff after the weekend socialising.  In the UK there would be letters to the Council, headlines in The Sun and a Greenpeace ship anchored 250 yards off shore.

A bit of an odd make up of the litter.  This is where I become a gifted amateur quantity surveyor or a would be Bin man.  For my lovely colleagues in the USA…Trash Man.

I would say 30% Flip Flops, 30% Water Bottles, 30% Tropical eco waste (coconuts etc) and the rest in general litter.

Flip Flops ? Yes there were hundreds of shoes.  Now if I had forgotten my loved one had gone swimming and met Davy Jones,  I would have at least have taken their shoes home as a memory of them.

Coconuts and stuff, that’s life, so we need to work on the 40%.  We do litter in the UK but have the council police to mope up after the crowds have gone, so I am not suggesting we have a standard to copy.  Is it up to the bottlers and drink manufacturers to do their bit?  The interesting thing is that cultures, values and morality is a strong part of India, but not this bit.   So is it just about educating but is it a priority?  Maybe you get litter on the moral agenda? Or you just have the litter swept up Mayor Guiliano style and then a zero tolerance until you get it right?  Does this sound like a rant?  I promised dunmoanin and will try my best…

Here’s my solution.  When you buy a bottle of water, you have to give your Flip Flops as a deposit on the bottle.  You then offer a full refund on the drink purchased if you find a Coconut.  The Local Authority buys the Cocunuts back and grinds them down in to make eco-chic waste bins that can be placed on the beach.  Oh and for the remaining homeless Flip Flops, teach people to swim.

Well time for lunch.  Fried Tiger Prawns, Chapatis and an Onion sauce, washed down with an Indian Tonic Water.  I was topping up on the fabled quinnine.

Off for a swim and bumped in a couple and their young daughter Leela in the swimming pool and exchanged stories of Devon, as they came from Bideford, and Cornwall.   I have started talking to strangers!  Nice people with similar values.

I had been chatting over the last couple of days with the Hotel Manager, Ray Abernathy, on how Twitter and Blogging works.  I was also telling him of my night time bites.  Shortly after a big bowl of smoking Frankincense was being led through my room to ward off all of the evils of the mosquitoes.

Now, think back two days on my blog when I talked of my ‘Mary and Joseph’ moment in Oslo and recently at Heathrow.  It’s starting to all come together around me.  Sunday I was offered Gold at a shop in Kochi, next Ray introduced me to the Hotel Chef Murgh (bit like Myrrh ??) last night who prepared me a special Keralian dish and now Frankincense.  Together with the 3 cows wandering on the beach and my stomach, despite spicy food, is very Stable!!!  And top this, they call Kerala ‘God’s Country’.  Summary, No room at the Inn, Stable, Frankincense, Gold and Myrrh and 3 Cows ?…

Sorry mind wandered, back to the close of the chillin’ day.  Chef Murgh produced a lovely big platter of Seafood, prepare was  a medium hot Kerala marinade.  Squid, Tiger Prawns, two types of fish and Crab.  The dish was really awesome.

As I turned in the rain started pouring, and as I started to dose there was the most almighty (see there we go again) crash of thunder and a flash of lightning.   They do do tropical storms really well.

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I’m writing this for my first full day here at Fort Kochi, which also happens to be St Patrick’s Day.  A little coincidence that the India and Irish flags have the same colours and that they both start with the letter ‘i’.  It’s sunday today and the bustle of Formula 1 on the roads has tempered to more like a rush hour in a Cotswold village.  Overnight was a great sleep, the mosquitos did not come thanks to my bath in repellant and the 360 degree netting.

Leisurely breakfast and for all purposes a British Sunday morning was with me.  I opened up the iPad Papers and sat back looking out at the beach while sipping my coffee.  The beach was more popular today with the locals using their day of rest to socialise.  It is funny how simple things please people.  A man who I would say was about 50, more slimline than me, is doing handsprings across the sand.  I don’t think I could do that these days, but he had more grey hair than me so I guess that makes us even.  But I had to start experiencing the local stuff soon, so a constitutional walk across the sands sounded good, with or without gymnastics.

The hotel is a secure area, so I headed out through the front gate as I couldn’t see the back gate.  Actually I could see it, but it looked like no one had trodden that way before.  I always think if you can’t see the path grounded by years of trailblazers then avoid being a Livingstone.  How many countless missionaries have met their maker after the short conversation…”Livingstone I presume?”, response “nope!”.

Like passing some kind of mission impossible type sensor, I triggered a hail of “hey Taxi?”  A couple of Tuk Tuk drivers lay waiting in anticipation for something to make their morning worthwhile.  “No I am just walking to the beach”.  He seemed bemused with my argument that I wanted to get to the beach, as I was already there so must have that ticked off my do list.  I kept walking but he continued to give me his tourist offer.  I said maybe later, but he kept talking as he was now looking at me stepping onto the sand. “Hey, I’m Noshad!, what’s your name?”.  Thinking quick I shouted back “Eric”.  His reply, “David?, OK David, you come for tour when you have finished on the beach!”  How did that happen I thought.

Lots of people are just strolling too, but being a six foot white man they do tend to stare at you with an inquisitive look.  I wasn’t even wearing a pith helmet.

I hadn’t walked for 15 minutes when Noshad appeared again to ask if I was ready.  I rebuffed him again and said that I just wanted to walk.  “Ok, I will see you after the fishing nets” he said and pointed across the next large section of beach to the Chinese Fishing Nets.  These  Nets are used as huge scoops on a sort of cantilever to catch fish.  Also used to catch free Tourist labour to do it for them at a fee to the tourist.  Well this is entrepreneurial India.  I carried on and just 100 yards from the Nets up pops…we agreed the price on an hourly rate and he was going to show me a few of the sites and various faith temples.  Oh and a few of the shops that pay him to bring in tourists.  I had time so agreed and what he didn’t know was that I just wanted to ride in a Tuk Tuk.

So we did the various churches and temples, a washing area, I think he called it a ‘Dobby’  which was interesting and real.  Concrete cubicles of people rubbing clothes on stone and then organised washing lines and Ironing.  Some of the irons were huge charcoal filled and others were heavy electrical ones I imagine that Edison would have knocked up in his laboratory.  Noshad said that all of the washing from Hotels, Wealthy People and Hospitals comes into the Dobby.  I had thoughts of my M&S briefs wafting in the breeze.

We moved onto a range of shops, with some ‘historical interest’, not shopping, important areas!  After one he asked whether I like shopping.  “I hate shopping!, no more shops”.  It used to drive Sue mad that I would walk into a shop and select things immediately…”I’m done!”

Noshad asked me for a favour, “could you do one more please, as I need the point”.  At least there was a bit of honesty.  I did it, looked, discussed the finer details of how they could ship to the UK for free and avoid Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs and then Noshad dropped me back at the Hotel.  90 mins of Tuk Tuk for 200 Rupees, 3 pounds.  By now  the midday sun, 30 degrees C and time for a well shopped Beer.

Hot spicy grilled fish for lunch with chapatis.  It is funny that the hotter the weather the appetite for hot things does not wane.

After lunch and a semi-siesta, I watched the beach fill up with more and more locals.  Mostly they were watching nothing but the sea and talking but that’s what friends and families do here.  The kite seller is doing well with his wares and the breeze is pleasantly up.  The large tree by the side of my balcony terrace is a graveyard for kites that he had sold only 100 yards from it.  Some kind of eagles are gliding around competing with their imitators.  The people suddenly lined up across the beach by the wash of the waves as we approached 6pm ish.  The sun was dropping and it was starting to glisten across the water.  Absolutely gorgeous.  I have seen these sunsets before when in the Maldives and I had half a mind to go get my camera, but spoilt I thought, I will be sitting here again watching this tomorrow.

The evening ended with the band playing a mixed medley of old rock classics while I downed another spicy fish dish from Kerala.  A german tourist, a wedding photographer by trade, struck up a conversation and I sensed he had travelled.  When he said that he had just come from Rajasthan and was travelling on to Oman before heading back home I could tell that he was really thoughtful in where he picked.  And for photography he said, I look for a long while then take 2 photo’s not hundreds.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had my setting on 4 frames a second.  We talked Camera’s and thank god, he said I had picked a good one in an Olympus.  That could have really miffed me 1 day into my 3 and a half month trip.

A few more big ships passed in and out of the estuary and that was it for me.  I also had my facetime calls planned for Jon and Tom.  Duly done we caught up.

I spied a Gekko on the wall in my room and thought someone had sent another mosquito catcher to help me through the night.  Let’s hope he has an appetite and good night vision.

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The morning sunshine had already appeared as we descended into Kochi Airport.  The humid heat hit me like a vindaloo as I stepped off the plane, but it was nice to walk just 50 yards from the plane to the arrivals hall.  Heathrow take note, I was in a taxi within 10 minutes of landing after having pulled my luggage from the belt.

Kochi is a big city, but characteristic of a relaxed India that I think I am going to find all around here.  I think I used the word ‘relaxed’ too liberally there, let’s get straight into the taxi ride.

Can I first apologise to the expert drivers of the Stratford Road in Birmingham for my jaundice view of driving standards and can I also pay tribute to the Spitfire pilots of the Battle of Britain who kept the skies clear of evil, especially the ones who made it home.

How long will the journey take I asked the Prepayment Taxi clerk at the airport.  “About 45 minutes” said the clerk, but also rotated their head back and forth like it was on a spring.  Not sure if that was a nod or a shake of the head, but they were smiling which I guess was a positive sign.  The driver was 20 feet away and ready.  Not much English spoken but I showed him the address, packed my bags into the Corsa-sized limo and we were off.  3 things I noted.

1. He advised me to put my seat belt on,
2. He had a bonsai like plant growing on his dash board on what looked like a make shift oasis, and
3. There were two brass shrines gods and a picture of a lady behind the ‘desert island’.  I was tempted by the usual taxi chat, but I think he may have been offended if I had asked if the Old Lady was his mother and it turned out to be his betrothed wife.  I am learning…just keep your mouth shut.

It was number 1 where I would like to focus.  What goes on tour stays on tour?… No, if there is a road to perdition I think the Kochi Airport Road is it.  In the next 2 hours, we had about 50 near-misses and I think I saw about 2000 road violations that would have been straight 10-pointers at home.  Not sure if cows and goats can be indicted, but they weren’t blameless either.  There must have been some kind of order, like, generally they do drive on the left, press your horn when you are coming through, avoid hitting something and importantly don’t look back!  We had gone 50 yards before my Sphincter had closed deep-dive water tight.  My driver on a narrow road beeped and overtook 2 cars and a lorry, while the lorry was moving past a motor cycle.  With a car coming in the other direction my man looked confident, then BEEP BEEP, bandit at 5 o’clock overtook us and all other things.  Phew, I thought, you don’t see many of those events thank god.  Now play that out for 2 hours across the main ways and side roads into Fort Kochi.  My acknowledgement of the WW2 fighter pilots in the way that you need to be able to attack but avoid at all  times.  This taxi cost about £11.50, so I gave him a tip of £4 and wished him good luck on the way back.

Checked-in at the Old Lighthouse Bristow Hotel, a colonial style building backing onto the beach and the Indian Ocean.  A nice welcome from the staff and into my stately room.  It really is an awesome room with a large dining balcony.  The dark wooden polished floors reminded me of the Maldives.  Particularly the part when I slipped on the shiny stairs and almost broke my knee.  How Sue and I laughed about that one.

The room has a large 4 poster bed with mosquito net curtains to all sides, not on top though, so mosquitos cant be that clever.  We’ll see.

I was jet lagged so had an afternoon siesta.  By the time I made lunch, everyone had left the hacienda type restaurant, but the staff just circled to make me feel important.  Chef just asked me what I would like and he would do it, so ended up with a Kerala Fish dish and a curry.  The Fish, I will get a name for it, was in heavy hot spices wrapped in banana leaves and then grilled and he prepared a Fish Curry too, to give me a bit of ‘gravy’.  All served with Lemon rice and washed down with a Kingfisher beer.  There was a nice breeze coming off the sea, which reduced the heat somewhat.  Excellent food and a nice way to see saturday afternoon out.

This bit of Kochi is the west side of the main estuary.  Big ships roll in and out every hour or so.  The small beach stretches from a rocky pier on one side to a rickety fence on the left.  The fence recently put there by the India Navy and with it commandeering the coastline going down towards the tip of India.  This is modern day stuff.  3 naval staff observe the dotted line and nobody is allow to pass that bit of the Defence Land or Sea.  But you know, it isn’t off putting at all.  the waiter said that they tested their guns last week, so if I am lucky…surprisingly the beach is littered with plastic bottles, some from the oceans churn some from the locals, but it doesn’t detract from this being a tropical idyllic place and it is really is relaxing and it’s different.  Fishermen are casting their big nets into the shallows, locals are walking up and down the surf and large Gekko’s are posing on the low perimeter wall of the hotel.  Leafy trees cast a shadow over the terraces of the hotel.

Dinner was another Fish Curry.  Every 5 minutes I glanced at the Villa v QPR score.  I knew Jon and Tom were in the stands and it was a sort of way of being part of it.  A band played 80’s music on the hotel terrace and the night closed in.  Day One in Kerala over.

Well here we are. Started on the Virgin flight to Mumbai. After getting set after drinks, takeoff, ping seatbelts off, I played a song that Jon had recommended to me by Ellis Paul “The world ain’t slowin’ down”. 3 times. It brought a tear to my eye. You are also a bit more melancholic when you have had four glasses of champagne. My boys have been very supportive in the whole sabbatical process.

Well it’s not a Harley, but it may well be a bit of a mid-life thing. Not a ‘crisis’ though. I am blessed to have my health and a bit privileged that I can make this choice or at least take my chance at this time of life. Let us see where my direction takes me. Is a beard with beads too adventurous?

So how did it get to this point. Weeks of cogitation with Lonely Planet guides, endless route and accommodation options and flights, weighing up the flexibility, listening to everyone and thinking if this was the right thing to do. Schedule is set, although a bit like cornflour in water, it looks all solid and then you stir it up and it’s all fluid again.

Highly calculated and planned? Not quite. I checked into my cheapy Heathrow hotel thursday night and they were not expecting me until 14 June. Now I could have blamed it on systems, other people, the international date line, but no I take it fully on the chin, it was me. But forgive me for this one as this is the day that I next see Jon and Tom when they join me in Nashville, so it’s the most important date in my head. Thanks to the hotels flexibility to accommodate me. My cheap option was well…wasn’t.

Just remembered another one of my past business travels. The Mary and Joseph thing has happened to me many times before. Once in Oslo where the mathematically likelihood of overbooking happened. I arrived late and with nowhere else to go (remember Richard Gere in Officer and a Gentleman?) they came up with a solution. The Hotel wheeled a makeshift bed into a conference room, but the guidance was that to be sure that I got up and out by 7.30am before the delegates arrived. Upside, a plentiful supply of mints and sparkling water. Downside, I have never had so many panic wake up experiences in one night.

Back to the plane…Looking out the plane window I saw France bathed in snow. I could be tempted to make some of sort of Anglophile comments about the French like Trafalgar, Agincourt etc but I won’t. Today I love everything and everyone ou j’adore la monde (see Mr Cherry, 40 years on and I haven’t forgotten basic franglaise)

My cool headphones worked a treat for noise, but with my polite behaviour it was also a distraction, as you had to keep looking to see if the airline staff were trying to speak with you. I care about being helpful. Years of teaching from Sue. The boys think that I need a hearing aid anyway so it won’t be news to them. I don’t need an aid I just have problems with the sound range from 300 to 3,400 hertz (the human voice, but give me a bat and…).

Nice flight crew today. Richard B please note, my bitterness for losing my 91,286 airmiles is over. You really do do the airline stuff exceptionally well. And the staff were really, well, cute. The glass of Argentinian red was delightful and it was plucked with care from the Upper Class bin even though I was one seat back. Premium was just dandy. The soft foot rest really comfortable too. The flight was empty and you really feel that you were being overly pampered. You know that feeling like it’s your birthday and you think that everyone knows it’s your birthday and say nice things?

Caught up on a bit of BBC News on my iPad. “Samsung launch and demonstrate Galaxy’s ability to take two photo’s simultaneously”. What’s new there ? I have been capturing the photo I want to take and the one I actually got for years! “Rail workers find Black Death pit”. I didn’t know it was lost, as the Eurostar arrives in Brussels every hour. “Parties to deliver on press regulation”. ‘Delivery’ that would be nice from any political party.

Taylor Swift in my ears and time to let my mind wander and mind mapping on a random subject while sipping the rest of the red wine.

Into and out of Mumbai Airport. I thought that at 2am that I would be the guy they named the Lonely Planet guides after. How mistaken I was. Quiet at 2am, terminal full and jostling at 4am. Pleasant little domestic terminal. In my rush to get the Mosquito Deet applied I sampled its taste. It numbs your lips, I will not do that again.

I’ll leave the taxi ride from Kochi Airport to my next posting…I am still trying to find words.