A Journey to Remember

Hassan, India (map)

In this blog: the colourful Indian railways, and a surprise festival

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I left Hampi with a smile on my face after a cracking few days amongst the amazing scenery there, and set off on a long and protracted journey of six separate journeys on trains and buses. The most interesting was the train from Hospet to Hubli, where I sat in the lowest-of-the-low second-class carriage with all the locals, a 90 mile journey that cost an unbelievable £0.30 (30 rupees). I found a seat in one of the busy booths alongside a couple of families, and at each station things got busier and busier until there were kids on strangers laps, people sat on the slatted wooden bunk beds above, many people standing, and squabbles over who just stole who's seat. For the first time in India I felt a bit of hostility as a westerner, when a couple of people separately indicated that I should give them my seat, and move to sit on the bunk above. I later wondered though if they were were actually trying to help by getting me out of all the madness. As ever, I was stared at constantly but for once was completely left alone, save for a guy who without so much as looking me in the eye, kindly gave me some fried peanuts and bought me a tea. 

The scenery outside was pretty dull, save for passing a chicken farm, where the many huge open-sided buildings contained thousands of stacked wire crates of poor white hens. Inside the train though was much more interesting. A man in traditional robe dress slept on his side on the wooden slats above, whilst another similarly dressed old guy sat cross legged on the opposite rack. When the train emptied out a bit many other passengers sat cross legged on seats, and kids ran around the place. When one child spat out the open window, his parents took the decision to not stop him, but teach him how to spit properly! A very common habit in India. Chai wallahs and crisp wallahs (sellers) got on the train selling their wares before getting off at the next station, and a couple of Indian ladyboys entered the carriage, clapping at people to demand money before continuing on. 

Humbli station

I changed trains for the overnight journey south, this time travelling in the more upmarket AC3 carriage where I was back to civilisation, and it was much duller for it save for a brightly-robed Buddhist monk sleeping in the same compartment. Waking up at the ungodly hour of 3.45am, and complete with a freshly acquired air-con cold, I got off at Hassan station, an insignificant city except for its transport links, and thought 'what now?' since the bus station didn't open for three hours. Bleary eyed, I decided to find a cheap hotel to get some kip and somehow despite the time of day and my tiredness, managed to haggle out a great deal on both a rickshaw to a hotel nearby, then on the nights stay. This, despite the fact that I was obviously the desperate one, giving them the upper hand on negotiations to name whatever price they wanted. You win some, you loose some.

Rude awakening

I was awoken the next morning by the sound of kids singing, and perplexed, drew back the curtain to find a large school assembly taking place in the gravel yard just outside, with uniformed kids all in line. Feeling pretty rough from both the interrupted sleep and my cold, I went and had a dosa for breakfast - a huge rolled-up pancake nearly half a metre long and made from rice batter, which you tear strips off and dip in a sauce. 

Walking to catch the bus at around 10am, a turn of events then happened that I could never have predicted, something which really made my day. 

Traditional dancers

I was trying to find the bus stop, when I saw a crowd gathered around a side road, and before I knew it a group wearing identical clothes started playing music. I stopped to watch. People started filming on video cameras, and the police diverted the traffic from the street. It was all very confusing, but I soon found out that I was at the opening ceremony for the Hassan Literature Festival of all things. Only in India would the streets come alive with a marching procession at 10am for a Literature Festival! And were they alive - a decorated tractor led the procession of three sets of marching drummers, various styles of dancers, people in traditional costumes, local scouts, ladies in saris, a band, and many others besides. There were hundreds, if not a thousand of them. And all this on my way to catch a bus!

I was stood, obviously looking a bit perplexed at all this when a guy in his fifties came and talked to me, explaining in broken English what was going on. He kindly ushered me along, and we walked through town alongside the procession, with him saying it was just for ten minutes (it was actually an hour!). We walked beside them all over town, stopping to watch a certain section before overtaking it again. It was very loud, colourful and really exciting, and comparable to a carnival in its energy and spirit. The guy who's name I sadly forget, stopped and bought a freshly squeezed sugarcane juice from a street vendor for each of us, kindly refusing to take any money. One of the officials introduced himself - 'Your country sir?' - and we briefly chatted. 

The procession ended at a large theatre, and we went inside and took a seat, whilst some of the parade went in one door and out the other. The guy then said he had to go and pick up his motorbike from a service, and I suddenly found myself looking like a right plonker, sat alone in shorts and t-shirt beside my big backpack, in this huge room full of smartly dressed Indians, with all of us bemused as to how I came to be there. Some curious teenagers from in their Air Cadet Corps uniforms sat next to me and asked the usual questions. A guy came and without asking, stood right in front of my face, took a photo and walked off. On the stage, various dignitaries entered and a ceremony took place, all in the local Karnatika language. Flowers were given, women sang a song, and flowers were given out, whilst the crowd clapped very briefly but quite insincerely. As fun as it had all been, I had no clue what was going on and was pretty bored after an hour, so with the excitement gone I decided to leave and head to where I was actually going in the first place. Which after this long story, I'll now leave for another day...

The friendly guy who showed me round

Festival president

Ladies with gifts

Sugarcane juice street stall - tasty stuff

Inside the auditorium

Slumdog Billionaire

Mumbai, India

In this blog: I see what the British left behind, visit the slums of Mumbai, and see the most expensive house in the world.

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6 months on the road... the route so far. Large map here

So first of all, a brief side note in that my arrival in Mumbai marked six months on the road. I'd like to say it's been awful, terrible, the worst experience of my life. But obviously I can't. I'm thoroughly enjoying the amazing experiences, unique sights and various wonderful people I meet, all often at unexpected moments. Sure, occasionally it feels a bit pointless, and making every decision on your own can be a bit draining, but it's all character building. I've learnt a lot about the countries and places I've been to, as well as assorted history I probably should have learnt at school, and have a broader understanding of the rights and wrongs of the world. And it goes without saying it's been a lot of fun! India itself has been a surprise as well; much more tolerable than expected, and full of excitement, chaos, and life. In fact the two months I expected to spend here have long come and gone, and I'll be here at least another month.

It's been a rollercoaster - but a good one - lots of excitement with the odd moment of feeling sick.

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I'd been a bit apprehensive about visiting Mumbai, but it took a while to actually realise this until I realise I'd been putting off visiting. I wanted to go but at the same time I didn't, I guess I had preconceptions that it was a huge overcrowded city, gridlocked, full of slums, dirty, noisy and unpleasant. In fact, it had elements of all of the above, but is overwhelmingly a modern, clean and developed metropolis and the source of half of India's tax income thanks to being the finance centre. In fact it turned out to be quite an endearing place, and I ended up quite liking it.

I arrived in the city mid-morning on a sleeper bus though can't say I was able to sleep a lot, and experienced straight-off the gridlock I'd heard about. Like Manhattan, a lot of the city is built on a peninsula, with too many people and cars in too small an area, and also like Manhatten were the hundreds of skyscrapers present, often surprisingly modern. Contrasting with this, the mass slums in various areas were also very apparent. It struck me straight away I was about to experience a very different India. 

The commuter trains at a quieter time of day

It was a lovely warm morning thanks to being much further south, and with the bus stopping far uptown, I took the urban train further south to the affluent Colaba district, witnessing packed commuter trains travelling with people hanging out of the wide doors that are left open all the time, a striking sight that took me back to Slumdog Millionaire which was filmed here. Partly thanks to people falling out said doors, Mumbai rail is the most dangerous in the world with a shocking 2,700 people dying every year - nearly ten every day. Property prices, and therefore accommodation prices are high in Mumbai, so once in the Colaba area I ended up taking a tiny windowless room on a fifth floor backstreet building, which sounds grim but was actually very clean and tidy so I didn't mind too much. Except for the urinal blocks they liked to put in the communal bathroom sinks to keep them fresh, which made me want to vomit every time I brushed my teeth. What a strange idea.

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I went for a stroll round the local area, which was cleaner, much less chaotic and generally more 'normal' than I've been used to of late - one of the most obvious differences being that there were actually pavements to walk on. Oh the little things. I reached the waterfront and saw the Arabian Sea for the first time, a refreshing feeling when you've not seen the sea for a good couple of months. A shoeless child of about seven followed me along the waterfront begging for money, the most persistent I've yet encountered - but as mentioned before it's not wise to give to them, cruel as it sounds, as it encourages dependency on begging, and often the money goes straight to discretly-hidden gang leaders instead of the kids anyway I understand. I passed India gate, an arched monument built by the British long ago, and beside this, the luxurious Taj Mahal Hotel where the devastating Mumbai terrorist attacks happened in 2008. I stopped nearby and tried a Kulfi Falooda - a desert of a soft dough with almonds and cherry, drizzled in pomegranate seeds and milk, pretty nice. 

British colonial architecture - the high court

Mumbai, or Bombay as it was then, was very important to the British back in the day and consequently retains a lot of relics from the Raj era. I walked to the district known as Fort, passing cricket pitches, grand museums and art galleries, the university, cathedral, fountains, parks, and the old city hall. All of these were crafted from local stone in a hybrid of British and Indian styles, but looked unmistakably British in origin. 

That night I met up with Shaun, an Australian who I'd been hanging around with a month or so before in the North Indian town of Rishikesh. We'd got on well and stayed in touch, and fortunately our travelling plans coincided in Mumbai, and so began a few evenings of beer and banter, starting at Leopolds, a place I discovered the next day was one of the other locations of the Mumbai terrorist attacks, oh joy. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place though, or so I hoped. Shaun is a long-term traveller of about eighteen months, and supports himself by doing copywriting for businesses and websites based back in Oz - he can work anywhere in the world as long as he has an internet connection, a dream job some would say.

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Thursday 16th Jan

Victoria station

The next day I took one of the old and characterful Mumbai cabs uptown, and set off around another part of the city. There were more relics of the British Raj - the rather grand Victoria Station which was more like a cathedral inside, some government buildings, the Central Post Office, and Crawford market. The latter was huge, and the speciality here seemed to be pet shops, where cages were stuffed often uncomfortably full of rats, mice, pigeons, cats, dogs, gerbils and brightly coloured birds. Not all together I must add, though that would be quite exciting to see. 

Further up the peninsula, I stopped as I walked past a university which was having some sort of games afternoon, and smiled whilst watching them do a tug-of-war competition in, of course a very Indian way. I spent the rest of the late afternoon at Chowpatty beach. It was a surprisingly impressive clean and pleasant stretch of sand, bang in the heart of the city, and was the perfect place to be in the late afternoon sun. Women sat on the sand in saaris and burkas, whilst chai-wallahs walked by carrying kettles continuously chanting 'chai, chai, chai' to the obviously tea-starved public. Not even tea-mad England has a cuppa on the beach.

Chowpatty beach

Mumbai is the home of Bollywood - the Indian film industry, and so there's cinemas everywhere. That evening, with not much nightlife going on locally, me and Shaun went to see Grudge Match, starring Robert de Niro and Sly Stallone, which in fact was American. The first surprise was to find that when you ordered food beforehand, they delivered it to your seat during the film. A great touch. The next was having to stand, along with the rest of the audience at the start, for the Indian National anthem which I decided wouldn't win any awards for catchiness. The cinema itself was fantastic, with a quality of picture and comfort of seat better than anything at home. Interestingly, despite being an American film with the dialogue in English, which many middle and upper-class Indians speak as a first language, it was also subtitled... in English! I guess some find the American accent unclear. Half-way through, the film abruptly stopped, and it was soon apparent it was for an interval. So old-school, I love it. It's funny how something as simple as going to the cinema can be so subtly so different in another country.

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Friday 17th January

Mumbai is sadly associated all over the world with it's slums, and the British-Indian movie Slumdog Mlllionaire gave us all an insight into what they were like. However, like many movies this portrayal was a little skewed as I've since found out. 

Dharavi Slum from the railway station

About half the population of Mumbai live on just 6% of the land in such slums, and Dharavi, filming location of said movie, is the largest. In fact it's the second largest slum in Asia. When I first heard a while back that companies do tours of the slums for tourists, I thought it sounded pretty low - turning people's misery into an almost circus-freak-show type attraction. When I looked deeper though, I learnt the company doing the tours aimed to build awareness of the reality of the conditions, gave eighty percent of the profits to community initiatives in the slum, and don't allow photography. It then sounded a bit more dignified and respectful, so inteagued, I decided to go along on one of the tours of Dharavi.

On the half-hour train journey there, I was surprised to see an Indian ladyboy (news to me) poncing around the carriage making strange sounds, then touching people on the shoulder and demanding money, followed by supposedly 'cursing' them if they didn't oblige. Fortunately I was out of range, but it was a peculiar sight to witness. Our tour group arrived at the station right beside the slum, and the thirty-odd people split into groups of seven. Our guide was a local chap and was very good at what he does. He was keen to emphasise that the aforementioned movie portrayed and exaggerated the bad sides of the slum, without pointing out the good sides. Good sides I thought? He led us into the nearest area, where the main business is recycling. All sorts of stuff is recycled, and is mostly done painstainingly and dangerously by hand. Plastic, paint tins, and drugs containers, all ripped apart manually without any safety equipment, and processed by cleaning out, burning off, dousing in chemicals etc, before putting through small electric-powered shredders and crushers, made in the slum. Some of the waste is from India, and some from abroad I understand. After all, those container ships bringing shiny goods from India to Europe can't go back empty, so why not pass our waste onto more desperate and less safety conscious people to deal with eh? The sad way the world works unfortunately, and we're all part of that chain whether we like it or not. You have to admire their ingenuity in making money from nothing, but the conditions these people were working in were pretty dismal. They seem to be tolerated out of a combination of desperation, and the lack of knowing the real consequences, earning each of them between £1.50 - £2 a day (150 - 200 rupees).

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Further on we came across some sewing workshops, where groups of about ten men sat in neatly laid out rooms making shirts. To be fair they looked reasonably content and the conditions didn't appear too bad. A lot was for the local Indian market, though the guide said some items were for Lee Cooper, via a middle man of course. The way that game often works. The surprise was that far from the local population wallowing round in piles of dirt and faeces, the paths round the slum were mostly concreted, everyone had a legal electric and water supply (I say legal - people used to tap in and steal it), there was a market, shoe shops, pharmacy, restaurant, hotel and butchers. We continued into this maze, past a guy being given a cut-throat shave whilst sat on a barrel, then some kids playing on the ground with medical waste. 

We were led into the very densely packed residential area, down very dark and narrow paths past houses, ducking below sagging overhead cables, and being careful not to get lost. The houses were almost all brick-built rather than tin shacks, and families mostly lived in single room homes about the same size as the average bathroom at home. Whilst it was obviously a completely inadequate standard of living in this day and age, at least they appeared to live with at least some dignity. The government are slowly doing something about it, bulldozing some areas and rehousing people in tower blocks, though not nearly fast enough. We continued on, looking in a small leather processing factory, watching women making pappadums on baskets laid on the street, kids playing cricket on the edge of a rubbish tip, and a very dirty looking river. We stopped at a community centre and saw the projects the charity was funding and organising which were all very positive.

It was a fascinating tour, though the whole way round I felt as if we shouldn't be there. We were obviously just generally interested, but it felt like they saw us as the rich people looking down our noses. That said, everyone was either friendly or indifferent towards us, so maybe this is just my imagination. Instead of coming away feeling a sense of despair, I saw a real sense of community, people working hard to better themselves, better sanitation than I imagined, and a good basic level of infrastructure. Yes, it all looks a bit inhumane to an outsider, but if you don't know any different do you see it as bad, or just normal?

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Antilla - a house in the shape of a tower block

Once the tour had finished, I left the group and in a complete contrast to what I'd just seen, caught the commuter train a few miles south, and walked to a very posh part of town to see Antilla. Worth over US $1bn, Antilla is the most expensive private residence in the world, and owned by the richest man in India. It's hard to believe the two areas I'd visited that day are so close, but such is the diversity of India. Built in 2009, it's been controversial ever since completion, with some saying it's an icon of the city and an inspiration for people to work hard and dream big - 'look what you could achieve'. Others say it's disgusting, and completely insensitive to build such a place when so many people live in such squalid conditions, and I tend to agree with the latter. The easterly windows even look out over Dharavi slum just a few miles away. The whole area was a surprising contrast to the previous two months of India, with Mercs, Golfs, Skodas, Hondas and Beemers cruising around, big posh houses and trees overhanging tidy streets, and I really questioned if I was still in the same country. 

Mumbai was a happening place, so more tales follow in a day or two. 

The chaos around Crawford market. The guy with the basket is a freelance delivery man, India's version of FedEx maybe?

Traditional Mumbai taxis

Crawford market

Pull!

Pushing On

Pushkar, India

'Sit here please foreigner' was the blunt instruction that hit me, as soon as I set foot in the train heading from Jaipur to Ajmer on New Years Day. The words came from a twelve year old boy, sat with his family in a bay just inside the door of the carriage, and I was quite taken aback for a second but decided to oblige as he seemed good natured.

For the two hour journey this cheeky young lad, so curious, and so pleased about meeting a 'foreigner', asked me everything he could possibly think of, holding back nothing whilst the rest of his family sat deadly silent. His English was perfect, as he goes to an 'English medium school' as they call it. The questions flew like shells from a machine gun: 'What country are you from?', 'what state you from?', 'what is your state capital?', 'do you have tsunamis?', 'is it colder than India?', 'do you learn Hindi at school', 'are you married or unmarried?', 'do you have a girlfriend?', 'how old are you?', 'you're 30 and unmarried???!!!'. He quietened down for a while, and I spent time looking out the open window at the increasingly arid scenery. Every so often he'd think of another one: 'Are you veg or non-veg? (I.e.- do you eat meat), 'who is your god?', 'how much is a bottle of water in England?', 'what is your salary?'. As normal in our culture I'd never normally discuss the last one, but I'd heard that Indians openly talk about what they earn, so I saw no harm in making him more aware of the world outside India by answering honestly. As a guide, even a minimum wage salary in Britain will still earn you twice that of a doctor here, but of course living costs are considerably cheaper here so it's all relative.

I'm hoping to try out all seven classes of train whilst in India to see what they're like, and this was the bottom rung - '2nd class unreserved' - the firm-cushioned cattle-class, you associate with images of people hanging off the side and roof. Those are in fact rare occurrences and it was pretty quiet that day, so at £0.50 for a two hour, 135km journey it couldn't be more of a bargain. It was nowhere near as uncomfortable as I expected, in fact nothing can be anymore after those nasty bus journeys I did in the Himalayas! Once at Ajmer, I took a rickshaw to the bus station, and an hour later was in the small desert town of Pushkar.

The lake at Pushkar

Pushkar is one of the most sacred sites in India for Hindus, and it was quite noticeable, with many Indians visiting to worship in one of the 500 temples or go bathing in the holy waters; doing small ceremonies by its side, and dropping flower petals onto the surface. After finding a hotel amongst then narrow jumbled backstreets that make up the town, I went for a wander around the small lake. I took great care to tread between, and hop over all the goose and pigeon poo as I wandered around the paved lake edge in my socks - a rule for all Hindu and Muslim religious places means you had to remove your shoes, even outside. As the sun set I sat on a ghat (set of steps) in the sun, taking in this interesting scene. 

Lakeside ghats

Vishnu temple

I looked round the rest of the town and started wandering the colourful, narrow and windy backstreets where the locals live. I've become more comfortable with exploring certain areas further afield, now I understand the people and country better, and it was fascinating seeing a glimpse of the humble but happy lives many people live. I've mentioned before that there are a lot of stray dogs on the streets in India, and I've found most of them to be quite placid until now, rarely even barking. Turning a corner in one of said streets, I glimpsed a couple of street dogs asleep on a step. As I passed one of them started barking quite loudly and aggressively without warning, so I walked on quickly. Then suddenly I felt a pain in my left calf. I was confused at first, then I realised the blighter had chased after me and bitten my leg.

In a bit of pain, as well as shock I sat down on some steps. A lady saw it all out of her window, and shouted to her friend who came over, asking in English what happened and could she see the bite. She said one word, one I didn't want to hear - 'hospital'. Her neighbour, a lad of my age arrived home on his motorbike at that moment and she told him the story and ushered me to hop on the bike. We weaved slowly around all the backstreets for a couple of minutes, and arrived at the hospital before I knew it. This kind chap spoke to the receptionist and then led me straight into a doctors consulting room. It wasn't the medical standards I'm used to, but at the same time wasn't at all bad. The doctor saw a tiny trace of blood where the dogs teeth had lightly pierced the skin, and said whilst it didn't look bad, I'd have to have the rabies vaccination as a precaution, as street dogs are sometimes infected - five jabs over the next month! Marvelous. At least his fee was painless at only £1 in cash! The hospital didn't hold the drugs, and I was then taken on the motorbike to a local pharmacy, who called a nurse out. Half an hour later the guy rocked up on his motorbike and gave me an injection in both arms. One of them actually left me with more pain than the dog bite itself! I also asked for something for my cold and was quickly handed a small foil of unidentifiable drugs without charge. Funnily enough I didn't take them. The owner of the hotel where I stayed told me that night that all the dogs in town have supposedly been collected, neutered and vaccinated against rabies in recent times which gives some comfort, but still, you never know.

Nature in harmony. It wasn't this dog, but it's similar looking mate around the corner

It was really great that night to spend a couple of hours on a video call via Skype, to my extended family who were all at my parents for New Years Day lunch, and for a change the quality was pretty clear.

The following morning I hiked to Savitri temple, set atop a single steep lump of a hill, all on its own. Anyone who's read my blogs of late would think I've gone through some religious transformation and become a Hindu. In actual fact they have temples everywhere so sometimes I visit by chance, sometimes cause its an interesting building, and sometimes they're just unavoidable when on top of a hill you want to hike! There was a fantastic view back down over the town, to the surrounding hills and far off into the distance in all directions, and it was quite noticeable here that the town was most definitely in the desert, with sand and scrub all around. 

I was glad to visit the unique town of Pushkar, but knew beforehand that there wasn't that much to see. So less than a day after I arrived, I headed back to Ajmer on the bus with all the locals, and caught the next train to Jodhpur, feeling a little wiser and a little sorer!

Nature in harmony. Wasn't this dog either!

The End / The Start

Jaipur, India 

In this episode of Be There Dreckly... I have my first cutthroat shave by a barber, break into a fort, get stoned by a teenager and celebrate New Years Eve on a rooftop...

After a fantastic Christmas in Agra, I moved a hundred odd miles west to the city of Jaipur, known as the as the Pink City due to the colour of the buildings in it's historic walled centre. Leaving Agra Fort station at daybreak, and only forty minutes late this time, the train passed through mostly wasteland alongside some very poor neighbourhoods. The lack of toilet facilities was very apparent, with hundreds of people squatting and deficating amongst the rubbish by the tracks with no apparent shame.

Once in the countryside though things were a lot more pleasant, mostly flat with the odd isolated hill, with large green fields of crops including rapeseed - a very common crop in India. After only seeing small scale farming until now, it was interesting to see agriculture that appeared to be more mechanised, and with 1.3 billion mouths to feed I guess it needs to be. Once again I took advantage of the lack of health and safety rules in India, and spent an hour or so hanging out the train door, carefully holding the rails both sides and taking in the nice scenery, something I must say I absolutely love doing. I am of course very careful before anyone worries!

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At Jaipur, I walked to the hotel, brushing off heaps of extremely irritating and persistent rickshaw drivers vying for business. They seemed to be worse here than anywhere else so far. I managed to find a room at Pearl Palace, known as one of the best guesthouses in the state of Rajasthan, certainly the best place I've stayed on the whole trip so far, and a bargain at £5 a night for a very swish double. I headed off towards the centre on foot, getting completely lost and taking a cycle rickshaw a couple of miles to get back on track. Some people feel these are degrading for the rider, other say it gives valuable income to some of the poorest people. I agree with the latter, if I was in their position I'd feel no shame in carting people round on a bike to earn a living, and don't tend to haggle the fare as they definitely earn it. It was hilarious to pass two men on bikes, one on each end of a long ladder as they rode with it up a fairly busy road. When they came to turn off across traffic it was nearly a real Laurel and Hardy moment!

I wandered around the centre for a while, passing by the touristy places like the palace and observatory. I've seen enough already on this trip, and only tend to pick and choose only those that really interest me now. What I won't get bored of, is wandering about the real bits of the city where people are going about their daily lives. I've mentioned before cows are free to wander the streets in India, and in Jaipur at times it seemed like the streets were a giant farmyard. I saw cows, oxen, goats, pigs, chickens and even a couple of sheep wandering about, mostly picking scraps out from the rubbish, and occasionally being given a bit of fresh veg or grain.  Apparently most of them have owners, but they just don't have land on which to keep them, and cows being sacred and protected by law, are thus allowed to go wherever they want. 

The small shops of Jaipur were neatly grouped together, so you walk along passing hardware shops, then fabric shops, then paint shops, spice shops, loose tea shops, cabinet shops, ingredients, bangles, cooking oil, and barbers. I looked briefly through the window of a barbers as I passed and ten metres later just stopped. On a whim I decided to go back and have a quick trim. Now, in Sweden the cheapest haircut I saw was £14, in Germany I paid £10, but here, it's the grand sum of £0.50! However, I got what I paid for - the guy spoke good English and seemed to understand when I asked him to cut off a very small amount, only to immediately chop nearly two inches straight off before I could stop him! Once he'd finished, he offered me a cutthroat shave. 

I looked at the Indian guy next to me who was having one, and having never had it before thought it would be a good experience. It's a pretty never racking having a stranger using a razor blade so close to your throat, a real test of faith! He was very particular in applying a base cream, then lathering on shaving foam for minute or two, carefully shaving all over, washing it all off and finally applying aftershave. I was ready to pay up, but he then offered a facial massage. He was a good salesman, and intrigued again I said yes. He took a machine out of the cupboard that looked a like a drill but with a vibrating disc on the end, and slowly worked it all over my face. It felt very unnatural, and when he put right on my ears, quite painful! Finally, he offered a head massage. I'd gone this far, so why not. Once again very pleasant, and with a grand total of £2 (200 rupees) shelled out for this hour-long experience, I left the place feeling like a new man. 

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Nahargarh Fort is set up in the hills and looms over Jaipur itself. The next morning I intended to hike up there rather than take the very long windy route up in a taxi like everyone else. After walking most of the way from the hotel, I took a rickshaw the remaining short distance to the base of the hill, so I could get the driver could show me where the path started, as it was supposedly a bit tricky to find. But like many of these cockroaches, the driver made it his duty to keep stopping and starting at hotels along the way where he'd get commission if I stayed, then persistently try to make me hire his driving services for the whole day. 

He wouldn't take no for an answer and eventually my patience ran out at one such stop, so in a rare bout of rudeness I dropped part of the fare on the ground for him to gather up, and walked off. Hopefully he got the message. However, this meant finding the path was very difficult, and after a lot of searching amongst the jumble of houses, I found what I thought was the route on the map. A local showed me the way up an alley and through someone's backyard, and I scrambled up a steep rocky hill, disappointingly  finding that gate into the fort was locked after half an hours hiking. 'I guide you, fifty rupees' said a couple of kids of around ten, who were hanging round the path. I declined again and again for five minutes, whilst they followed me and grabbed my arm. 

Eventually all I could do to loose them was raise my voice and firmly tell them to leave. As I walked along the wall of the fort trying to find another entrance, next thing I know a few stones seemed to be landing around me. I turned to find one of their teenage mates lobbing golf ball-sized rocks from a fifty metres or so away. I covered my head and moved on rapidly out of his range, but to find no other entrance to the fort. Not wanting to go all the way back down the hill through all the rabble, against my better judgement I reluctantly paid the kids the fifty rupees to show me how to get in. To my surprise one of them clambered up a twelve foot high section of wall into the fort, the only way it transpired. Great. I felt safe doing it, and it was an easy enough climb with lots of hand and footholds, so I was soon in. A few minutes later, looking back down on where I'd first encountered these delinquents, they were back flying kites together, back to being normal kids. The first time in over five months that I've encountered any form of aggression from other people.

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The fort was largely overgrown inside, though the old palace at one end of the complex was interesting enough to look around, a place where an old leader used to keep his many mistresses. It was quite modest as far as palaces go, and not too gaudy and over the top. After leaving it was then apparent that I'd gone up completely the wrong path earlier that day, as I found the actual nicely paved route back to the town! I couldn't get over how many friendly people said hello as I walked past the houses and shops outside of the centre. Nor how many kites were being flown - the sky was full of them!

Back at the hotel, I was unlocking the bedroom door when someone came out of the next room. Well blow me down, it was Wayne who I'd spent Christmas with! He'd just turned up on his bike from Agra. Wayne is a fascinating guy, extremely knowledgable and full of stories. A 43 year old construction project manager from Manchester, he's spent the past four years cycling around Europe, Africa, the Middle East and now Asia, covering over 50,000 miles so far, and now visiting his 91st country! See his blog if you're interested - wmhafrica.blogspot.com . As you might expect we had a lot in common so got on well and hung out together for a couple of days. He had many incredible stories, and to be honest I've not met anyone before with such a good general knowledge of the world and it's history. I learnt more about the establishment of Israel and it's problems, how borders between countries is a fairly modern phenomenon, life in Africa and central Asia, the problems Britain has caused over the years in many problems in the world, and much much more. In return I told him a bit about cows and engineering! 

Monkey temple

After a relaxing breakfast the next morning, we walked, bussed and rickshawed our way to the nearby village of Galta which houses the 'monkey temple' - a complex of buildings in a narrow valley, amongst which thousands of mostly rhesus monkeys hang out. At first it wasn't apparent how many there were, but over time you start to spot them everywhere in the buildings, on the path, in the trees and up in the hills. All pretty passive, and quite a sight. On the way back down, in a grimy little backstreet we found an interesting local cafe by chance, and tried some interesting  new Indian dishes. We had first a giant but very thin omelette which was fried until crispy, and rolled up with curried veg inside, then afterwards a kind of Indian pizza. Both excellent, and I've not seen them anywhere before or since.

The next day was New Years Eve, and I woke up feeling under the weather with a cold, the first of any sort of illness so far on this trip. Probably something to do with sitting in the hotel's rooftop restaurant 'til too late the night before - it's been warmish by day but fairly cold by night. I felt pretty shoddy that day so just took it easy for the day and caught up with some blog and photo stuff mostly. 

I was feeling marginally better by tea time, and ended up spending the evening with people solely from my home country for the first time on this trip - with again Wayne, and an English couple I'd met in the day. The four of us were talking away and having a few beers in the hotel, until suddenly we realised it was 11.30pm and we needed to find a party for midnight. We ended up on the rooftop of the hotel next door, where they had a traditional Indian band playing and about thirty other tourists. At midnight people shouted out the countdown, and the staff set off fireworks from a terrace above. It was the dodgiest fireworks display I've ever witnessed, with the tubes being balanced on the edge of a wall and people running around everywhere, but was very good and certainly memorable, even if it wasn't the biggest, best or wildest New Years event I've been to. 

Midnight fireworks

A big thanks to everyone who has followed the blog through the journey so far. I'm now getting between 8 and 25 visitors a day from a number of counties, which makes it well worth doing, even if it's a bit of a tie sometimes. Stay in touch, your feedback is always appreciated. Happy New Year everybody, and all the best for 2014!