Never complain about the binmen.

Slept terribly because of a pain in my left shoulder; I can no longer turn my neck left and instead have to rotate my torso. To add to this, somebody, possibly with a severe mental deficit, decided it would be a good idea to blow a whistle every minute or two from 4AM until sunrise. Whether or not they were angling for the proceeding barking battle between every mutt from here to the horizon remains unclear.

The 'house boy' who served breakfast this morning was a strange guy and clearly found reason to hover around the table making the meal rather uncomfortable. No doubt he was waiting for a tip; has he not figured me out yet?

After breakfast the morning was spent planning our trip from Amritsar to Goa, which remained undecided: An excellent 2 hours work. We were able to make one decision and that was to visit Palolem and Jog Falls before meeting Belinda and heading to Arambol.

After yesterday at the Taj this is a bit of a boring day to blog. We went for a 4km walk to check out the 'real' Agra. It was nice to be away from the main tourist locations and hence the majority of the leeches; only encountering 2 touts, 7 beggars and 70+ Rickshaw prospectors.

Once thing your notice when walking around Agra: It's a shitheap.

Agra's waste management and sanitation system were but a couple of metrics the town planners left off the blueprints for the city. I'm not accusing them of negligence but it seems to me that a shallow moat dug from your home to the road is not an efficient method to remove excrement. It succeeds in adding to the terrifically pungent odour that haunts the city: A colourful fragrance I'm sure Calvin Klein could only describe as London Zoo meets human urine. Each house manages to delicately fuse new odours to this exquisite eau de toilette until you reach to city's municipal waste system: A Cow. Or, sometimes, many cows. At this point and perhaps in a 15m radius around it wafts the stench of garbage. Perhaps waft is the wrong word, hovers or lingers would be more appropriate. Why bother wasting time and money constructing a furnace to incinerate waste when a cow can digest it for you? Exactly: There is no point. A Rupee save is a Rupee earned.



Agra's Municipal Waste System.

Walking back proved just as eventful. Carefully stepping around one of the huge puddles from the rain last night I heard a huge bang above me. Looking up I noticed a power line had exploded (just like in Final Destination 2 where the kid can't get out of the garage) and landed no more than 2m from my feet. To say I shit myself would be an understatement. Strangely the locals didn't bat an eyelid. In retrospect I am not surprised because the power cuts this city endures are some of the worse I have known. So frequent I have been unable to fully recharge my phone in the last 3 days.

By 8pm the heat of the day had unsettled the atmosphere sufficiently to generate one hell of a storm. I headed for the roof to get some shots of this lightshow but after a few minutes this became very dangerous due to the huge chunks of hail pelting down.

"You Pussy!" You're all thinking.

Well screw you! These hailstones were 3-4cm across. I have never been spectator to such a storm before and this is the closest I ever wish to come to a natural disaster.


Huge hailstone, partially melted.



Storm Damage.









Me Blogging.



You don't want this job!

Agra, 11th March - Taj Mahal

Sitting in the midday sun and gazing mesmerising at the Taj Mahal, which delivers the expected amazement; unlike most of the sites listed in Lonely Planet or Rough Guide books, I assumed I would be full of inspiration to write this blog entry. There isn't actually a cyber cafe here; I’m using the archaic pen and paper method.

Perhaps the reality that I’m here hasn't quite hit me yet, or, more likely, it is the rumbling in my gut that signifies the need to gorge myself with a lunchtime curry. Food isn't allowed into the Taj and the 500ml of free water just doesn't satisfy the same as a Potato and Spinach curry.

Checking my phone, and I have a text from my Dad: 2-2, Rooney and Ron. Bloody Brilliant! Just what we need: Another replay. I managed to stay up until 1.30 last night but missed the final 10mins of the match and woke some hours later with my glasses carving into my ear.

It's 6AM and the taxi to take us to the Taj Mahal will be here by 7.30AM. After a night at Colonel Lambdas Homestay I have decided, demotion or not, this man is a Chief. We had an excellent home cooked meal last night and then a filling (free :-D) breakfast this morning.

We arrived at the Taj Mahal after being slightly sidetracked because it was early, we were tired, and, couldn't read the Hindi signage. Once inside the majesty of the building swept me of my feet, it is truly amazing.

Examining the building and its appreciating the effort that went into its construction is awe-inspiring. The devotion to detail and fine carving really help to emotionally connect you with the sense of loss Shāh Jahān must of felt when designing the structure for his favourite wife: Mumtaz Mahel, in 1631. I must say, enough of the bollocks. Seriously it is nice and I can appreciate the time and effort but all I’ve been doing it farting about taking photos of the damn thing.

Loads of idiots have been taking photos like this and pretending to pinch the building out of the ground: Losers!



 









 










 






 






 

Touts and Con-Men

Delhi is synonymous with touts such that the Oxford English dictionary should reference the city when defining the term.

To experience Delhi, and, especially Agra without the touts would be to witness a mirage without the subsequent disappointment: It wouldn’t happen.

One very simple, correction, Two very simple rules exist if you wish to navigate the streets, gutters and roads without hassle:

1. If somebody speaks to you in good English they are a tout; this is a great shame when one of the prime reasons for traveling is to mix with the locals.

2. Never use a Rickshaw or Taxi that offers his services to you, flag your own. This will avoid further adventures to silk stores to buy gifts for Mothers, Sisters and Girlfriends.

"So what?" you say,

"Just ignore them" you scoff

Unfortunately something that comes with being British is politeness and they know this. A simple "Hello", if reciprocated, transforms a polite gesture into a pursuit as relentless and unyielding as the Delhi Sun. The usual lines used are:

"If I was in England and you advised me then I would be very grateful for the help, because, you know your country as I know mine."

The fact that a British person wouldn't rudely interrupt a conversation and inform somebody of this fact is lost on them.

or, to soften you into believing the guy is genuine, has the money not to scam you, knows England, and therefore you:

"I've just gotten back from a Holiday in London" he proudly announces.

"Really? Where?" You foolishly engage

"Wimbledon and Chelsea, and around that area". Any two football teams would probably work just as well.

After several tiresome conversations with these guys you find the best plan is to follow one of these rules:

1. Ignore Them - Takes practice to perfect when they erode your personal space so corrosively. And this method can take at least 2 minutes by which time another has attached himself so subtly that you're sure he used anesthetic.
   
2. Firmly say No - Not just "No!", say it with the eyes and the scowl that can be internationally translated to even to illiterate as: I’ve just written off my Jaguar, I haven't eaten for two day and to top it all I just found out that the Missus is shagging the Postman. They don't like this and, briefly, scowl back, it gets results though.
   
3. Play their game but when it comes to the point of following them just carry on walking where you actually want to go. Not to a booth the owner created using 4 pieces of Plywood for walls, 2 for a roof and a tub of white Dulux with brush to annotate: "Raj's City Tours"
   
4. Politely let them know your not a newbie and know exactly when your doing; making sure not to walk into the exit of the railway station at the same time.
   
   

After several days of this I have decided to ignore them or try the secret fifth option: To speak Polish to them.

Get outta that one Rommel

The Second Day

I'm not going to post the events from every day because that would just be idiotic; however, while it is all new to me I feel I should bore people with intricate details of my day.

"I was blind, but now I see" sung Bobby Gillespie and I awoke to Primal Screams' Moving on Up. I begun today with a boring bowl of porridge and then had a chat with the hotel owner, Avnish, a very friendly guy with great English; almost northern English in fact, about the easiest way to see things in Delhi and where would be good to eat. We decided that we would head towards the Red Fort and see the to the Jain Temple, the adjoining Bird Hospital and then to Jama Masjid Mosque which was beautiful.


Children scaring pigeons at the Jama Masjid

We suffered our first Richshaw abduction on the way to the Red Fort. Our driver decided that it was international women’s day and that we should buy gifts for our sister and mother. After telling him we weren't interested (Mum and Kate: sorry but we aren't carrying a gift around for 5 months) he decided that he would take us anyway. At this point I firmly told him:
"NO! We want to go to the Red Fort"

"Oh, but perhaps Mark you try to find nice gift for.."

"NO!" in a louder more aggressive tone
"Take us, TO THE RED FORT!"

"Oh, but if in England I was offered such advice of 50% on excellent silk I would be happy with the help and.."

"LOOK!" I spat, in what can only be described as a utterly pissed off tone,
"Take us to the Red Fort or we're getting out here and you get no fare whatsoever" I said placing one foot out of the Rickshaw. He took the hint but, knowing that he wouldn't get any commission now, decided he would drop us off at Connaught Place metro station for only 20Rupees, this forced us to use the metro (subway) which was amazing and dirt cheap. Only 8 Rupees/9p to go 4km. After this shaky start to the day it only got better.



Looking north from the Jama Masjid's southern minaret

I picked myself up a lovely, albeit fake, Rolex for a couple of quid, had a chicken biriyani for the same price and simply wandered around the Bazaars on which was a scorching, only 25 degree, afternoon.

In the evening we visited a plush restaurant and had curry which was very similar, if not a clone, of what I have eaten at S.Bs in Sheffield. However, a slight problem arose when we paid our bill and the waiter tried to pressure us into leaving a tip: I never leave tips unless I have been treated like a king; call me selfish or tight, probably the latter, I just don't do it.

Breathing down my neck he insisted in was the done thing, I told him, in not so many words, that if he included it on the bill then fair dos but as he didn't then tough excrement. Paul tried to pay the 100Rupees service charge but I’m not being pressured, and it was pressure: He blocked my exit until we gave some ground; 50rupees is all he got though. Jesus! I'm a tight S.O.B.

Headed home, passed lots of cows on the street and went to bed.

Look at the cow! Heh-heh, street cow.

The First Day

This post will be a little disjointed after the one I put up yesterday but nevermind.

Finally we arrived in Delhi after twelve and a half hours travelling. After the initial skepticism of Kuwait ariways the flights were actually really good, and we flew over Iraq to; excellent! Changing at Kuwait airport was a bit of a hassle due to the seeming inability of the Indian men to queue; once the gate was opened it was a free for all. Me and Paul both had our boarding cards checked at the same time yet when I turned round to speak to him the next second there were five or six people between us.

Immigration at Delhi airport was very good and we passed through it smoothly, the wait for our bags was anything but and after 35mins we began to worry. The large queue at the luggage counter dircetly behind us did nothing at all to ease our tired minds. Eventually, after 45mins, our luggage did arrive and we found our driver, waiting for a Mr Mark; I swear I booked using both names.

After attempting some small talk with the driver I decided his English wasn't up to it and that, after so long with shut-eye, I quite frankly couldn't be arsed. It was at this point I noticed the insanity on the roads; this load of nutters make the Italians look like Michael Schumacher. And then the sound of Delhi: The car horn. It has not ceased since I arrived here and I kid you not, from dusk till dawn all you here is BEEP BEEP. From the impotent meep meep of the Rickshaws to the soul destroying BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEP of the Buses and van; it simply doesn't stop. Cryptically the vans actually encourage horn love with their "Horn Please" signs scrawls on the rear. As I write all I hear it BEEEEEEP BEEP

Once I arived at the hotel I took a breakfast of Coffee and Potato Curry with Roti which was great, although any food would have been treated with admiration my hunger being what it was. Unfortunately though, this meal combined with one of my ever interesting politics book simply completed the kill and I was out like alight. Make no links between my choice of literature and drowsiness :)

Me and Paul at Breakfast

Come 22:30 we were awake and decided to take a Rickshaw into Delhi: Connaught Place, and faced our first haggle; I think the driver won this one; but only by 10 Rupees. The city is pretty much at a Standstill be this time so we gave up and headed back to the hotel.

Beep Beep BEEP

I can't write much now and will simply leave a link to the few photos I've already taken:

http://picasaweb.google.com/useyourillusiontoo/IndiaDelhi

I will write more soon but this internet connection sucks and I want food.

Packed and ready to go.

I was planning to write a little bit about the day i've gone through today but it has been so dump and its now so late I just want to go to bed. I have to be up at 4am Wedsnesday (6th) morning to leave for Heathrow and then have to try adn stay awake until we board the plane sometime before 10.

A brief rundown of why today was so shit:
1. I set out to buy a waterproof coat and some clothes from the otherside of Coventry this morning only to discover I didn't have my discount card for the CCC Outdoors store.
2. o2 cut my phone off because I closed my bank account, and, even though I provided them with new bank details they fucked up. After a little ranting though I got them to credit me £5 for the trouble. Excellent!
3. I went into town later on in the day to buy water purification tablets only to get there and find I had left my bastard Visa card at home, then when I did go back they didnt have what I required.
4. Well, I'm just struggling to make up numbers now.
5. Its much later than I anticipated going to sleep so i'm mardy.
6. Goodnight, Zzzz





My sexy new haircut, christ I look like a dick.