Delhi, the return. 19-22nd March

I've had my fill of Delhi now, originally the return was planned for one week but after festering in its stench for three days, three days was too much. This isn't to say I've not enjoyed my time here, just that, as with London, big cities begin to wear you down; physically and mentally. After spending a few days in Varanasi returning here felt like a chore.

The capital city's initial charm wore off so much so that several of its more interesting sights remain, sadly, unfulfilled. I would have loved to visit the Qutub Minar, Lotus Temple and, for comedy value, its toilet museum. It is, with more than a little sorrow that I head to Shimla knowing I won't visit these places.

Finding a scapegoat to attach blame for this new found loathing and disenchantment with the city isn't terribly difficult:

1. Annoying, overcharging, Rickshaw drivers who haev no idea where you want to go. Depserate for cash though, they drive you around hopelessly searching. Maps don't even seem to help these idiots establish even the vaguest geographic picture of their city. By the end of the day walking, even in 32 degree heat, was preferable.
   
2. Wankers, touts, con-men and beggars. OK, so this is old ground but in such a big city it can be pleasant, well, necessary to take 10 minutes time out and sit down for a break. Good Luck! Today, in 10 minutes, I was offered: Cosmo Magazine, the Oxford English Dictionary, Postcards, the chance to give bread to a beggarchild in order to feed his damned dog and of course the usual enticing toutversation
   "Hi mate, where you from?"
   "No time for bollocks chit chat today mate!"
   

The pulic's inability to queue. This is a consistant trait among most Indians but the cheeky weasels here don't even try to appear as if they are queuing. One guy today decides to walk straight to the front of a seven deep queue. When I barged him out of the way to ensure I was served first he lookedt me pussled as if to question my modus operandi.

Humayun's Tomb

Aside from this though I've had a good couple of days here. Arriving at 6am on Monday we spent the day sightseeing. Daylight hours saw a visit to Humayun's Tomb, the pre-cursor to the Taj Mahal. It looks better on film that in reality, I have no idea why it was built only that is was done so by the Moghuls and I can tick it off my to-do list. After the tomb we got a free rickshaw ride to our next destination, sadly that was TGI Fridays, on condition we visit a few shops with the driver. They were dull except for the second one which managed to induce mortal fear into me.

Arriving at a eight foot tall, solid steel gate, the rickshaw driver signalled the doorman to open up. This was no shop, rather a house and we were being shepered into its garage. Upon sitting down the owner sluggishly wonders in flanked by what I assume were his four sons. Pashmena scarves were strewn everywhere and I wondered when this cave had last seen customers. After 15 minutes of looking, with absolutely no intention of buying, I informed the owner it was time for us to leave.

"This isn't what I was after but thanks for your time"

A gaze of filtered rage appeared in his eyes:

"You make me come downstairs, open up, show you my scarves and you don't even buy anything? My friend, this is not good!"
You could say he had a point, there were no windows on the steel gate or the lockup through which to shop.

As I got up to leave he they attempted to herd me back into the den with further rude and agressive behaviour. Getting back to the rickshaw and past the perimeter was a relief, until, 5 minutes later the rickshaw driver begins wheeling us backwards saying:

"Sorry, their is a problem"

Visions of me being filmed begging for my freedom and tapes distributed to Al-Arabiya shot through my mind. Luckily her drove off and the only problem was that he[the driver] wouldn't be getting any commission. That evening consisted of sitting in TGI Fridays for a few quiet beers, average food and the televisual feast of India versus Bermuda in the ICC World Cup. By 21:30 we were ready to leave but our newly found Goan friend offered us a free beer and how could we refuse? Four beers later, a batting world record smashed (India 413-5) and multiple "BOO-YA IND-E-AR" chants we got up and heded home.

Tuesday was a write off until about 16:00 when my hangover subsided sufficiently for me to operate heavy machinery. We headed out to the India Gate, a memorial to war dead, and to the Parliament. This three hour outing offered us some light hearted entertainment in the form of a comical rickshaw driver. After attempting to woo us into his cart he proceeded to drive down the street, park, and on our approach call over:

"India Gate: 2km"
Then the same routine

"India Gate: 1.5km"
And so on until we arrived at the gate and he informed us he would wait "Just over there", pointing at a sea of rickshaws.

The gate was impressive, the dusk sunlight falling upon it gave it a warm orangey glow. Walking around the administrative area of New Delhi reminded me of a cross between London, for its inextricably British planning, and, Washington, for it grandiose waste of acreage.

India Gate

That evening we eate a disgraceful Chinese meal after being promised by the menu that the "Instant one of our culinary creations comes into contact with your palette, pure, and unadulterated pleasure results in an Enduring Nirvana" The only Nirvana felt that night was by the manager who parted me from my Rs350. Did they receive a tip you ask?!