There’s not a whole heck o a lot to do here, so we idled in the hotel until midday when we had to check out. Making the most of the cable TV and so on, then dropping our bags into left luggage before hailing a cab into the city.

McD’s for breakfast (at 1:30pm), then some internet time which didn’t last long as the machines kept crashing. Then more internet. Then flight bookings (we’re now sorted for travel to Kolkata and Bangladesh). Finally, we went to the railway station and paged through the tome they call a timetable to book our train ticket to Bangalore.

A quick snack in Leopold’s was the only other thing. We were going to see Kabul Express at the cinema, but it seems it’s only in Hindi which is a shame.

So now, we just while away the time and wait for our 3:40am flight to Sri Lanka!

*twiddles thumbs*

I’ll get back to that title further down, but I’m not exaggerating. I am a law breaker. I am on the lam. And it’s not as exciting as you’d think!

As detailed in the Accommodation for India page, the Hotel Pearl we opted for is good but a little out of the way. We hadn’t realised how out of the way until this morning. After lazing for too long, watching the telly an reading the free newspaper, we set off for the Crossroads Mall (no relation to the motel, so I’m told).

Well, finding a rickshaw around here just isn’t the same as getting one in Delhi. Nobody hassled us. Nobody tried to sell us anything or beg off us. Nobody in the gazillion autorickshaws spoke English.

Problem.

After walking for some time, we found another hotel and they kindly organised one for us. They also recommended we go to another mall as it was just as big and a lot closer. Good advice, and much appreciated. Off we went with our autorickshaw man at the stick. Brooooom….

An hour later the tuk-tuk stopped. In the middle of nowhere. Certainly not a mall. Not unless three tyre repair places and a shop selling ou-of-date chocolate classes as a mall. Hum. It seems he’d been given a district to take us to, but it was miles away so he didn’t know it that well.

We managed to get “mall” across to him and off he drove. After asking around four other people, we eventually lucked out with a man who spoke English. He explained that the hotel had told him to go to the InOrbit mall, but the guy didn’t know the area. He got us close and we moved into a “local” tuk-tuk who dropped us off where we wanted to go. Overall journey time was somewhere over 90 minutes.

Our travel fun didn’t stop there.

After lunch at Nando’s and a walk around the shops, we asked at reception how to get to Colaba, the touristy area. Their advice was to get a three-wheeler to the nearby train station, a train to Churchgate and then another autorickshaw to the Gate of India or thereabouts. Cheapest and fastest route. We thanked them and flagged down another psycho in a three-wheeled mobile horn.

The driver worked out where we wanted to end up and told us he’d take us to a different train station as the one we’d been told to go to would mean changing trains partway down the route. This was good for us (and turned out to be true as well – he wasn’t fleecing us) so off we went. Almost an hour later we were dropped off at a bustling railway station and set about sorting out tickets.

This turned out to be nice and easy. Queue up for a while, ask at the front for “Churchgate – second class” and pay a whole 8Rp. First class was 78Rp. Big jump!

With the help of a couple of nice members of the public who saw our confused glances, we made our way to Platform 5 and awaited the correct train. It arrived, we hopped on.

When it turned up, our thoughts were “uh-oh”. People clinging to the sides and exploding out of the open doors. It turned out that the trains were actually quite spacious, just that people crowd the doors to ensure they can get off before the ones on the platform force their way on board. Fans on the ceiling, even seats though we didnt’ get one. Not bad. Health and safety in the UK would go mental about the people jumping on and off at the train moved, and I don’t think it had doors let alone closed them.

Before we pulled into the next station, the ticket inspector walked up. We handed him our tickets and he turned away. Shame, I wanted mine as a souvenir but never mind. Then he turned back.

“Your ticket second class. This first class. You each owe 300 Rupees. You pay now. 600 Rupees. Give me now.”

My response: “Erm, no. The carriage has no signs on to say this is first class. It’s an honest mistake. Where is second class and we’ll change at the next station.”

Hans’ response: “This guy’s trying to rip us off. 300 Rupees?”

Inspector’s response: “No, give me 600 Rupees. You pay now.”

Me: “With what? I bought second class as that’s all we can afford. I have no more Rupees. Let us move to the second class carriage. It’s just a mistake anyway.”

Inspector: “No, you come with me. Get off next station. Come to my office.”

Hans: “Let’s just walk off.”

So we did.

After all, this was one short, overweight middle-aged man who’d collared five people with the wrong ticket. He was holding on to one Indian guy who was quite young – I assume he just thought he’d run off. There was another, older, man as well who seemed to be helping the inspector, but he never identified himself or anything, just insisted we followed on and walked behind us.

As we crossed the bridge to the main street, the main part of the group veered right towards “The Office”. Hans and I just kept walking in a straight line and out the door.

We are bad, bad men.

The old guy at the back tried to grab me, but it was a half-hearted effort. I turned and stared at him and he just let me go.

So we ended up in a taxi after all, which cost us a fair bit but still nowhere near what you’d pay back home.

In Colaba, we saw the Gateway to India. A huge archway at the harbour built to commemorate a visit by King George V and through which pretty much all the Brits walked when they left Mumbai twenty years later. Unfortunately, I don’t think you can take photos of it without a license and I’d already broken the law once today. I wasn’t about to stretch my luck.

We then did the usual – email checks, and so on. We managed to get our passports photocopied and faxed to Bhutan for our visas. That’s going to be an expensive trip, but we’re both looking forward to it, mainly as nobody ever goes there. Yet it’s meant to be amazing. I guess we’ll find out!

I also managed to get hold of Indy’s parents in Sri Lanka and they’ve very kindly said they’ll collect us from the airport despite our arrival time being 6am. Thank you both so much and it’ll be wonderful to see you again after so long! And Michi, nice to speak to you again, too. Keep thinking about SE Asia early next year!

For dinner, we settled on Leopold’s (on Shahid Bhagat Sing Marg) near the Regal cinema. Amazingly, this place isn’t in Lonely Planet yet it was still heaving with tourists. The food was good, a little expensive (but this is Mumbai) and the atmosphere fine. Hey, even the toilet was clean. I had a chicken ticka masalla and Hans went for chicken biryani – we can recommend both. Also the grape juice was a delicious drink. And the fruit salad desert was generous in proportion and fresh as you’d like it.

While we were waiting for desert, a girl on her own sat down nearby. I’ve spent long enough travelling on my own to recognise the lonely looks being cast about, so we invited her over to our table for some company. Time flew with an extra person to speak to – nice to meet you, Isabel! – and it was gone 11pm by the time we sorted our taxi back home.

We used a trick we may well employ later on. If in doubt about getting a taxi who’ll understand English… go to the closest posh hotel and ask the staff their to sort one for you. The Taj Mahal is a glorious palacial hotel that we could never afford to stay in, but the doorman was only too glad to flag us down a taxi and explain where we wanted to go. We even got a reasonable fare of 350Rp for the hour-long drive.

And back to the hotel. We check out tomorrow at midday and will have to leave our bags here to go wandering. Our flight to Sri Lanka is at around 3:40am so we’ll aim to be back at around midnight to collect the bags and head to the airport.

Again, apologies for the lack of photos. Annoyingly, the mall we went to today has a wireless area that I think is free, but I didn’t have my laptop with me. I did manage to get a photo up for the Taj Mahal day, as the uploading on Blogger itself seems to be ok – I just have to get the pics to a PC. However, I was using Picasa before and with a recent update they seem to have shafted the picture uploading pretty much totally.

I’m trying to keep the Accommodation Page up to date, though, and it’s correct as of last night.

Our flight boarded on time, and then took off slightly before it was due to land. Fog has been causing nightmares in Delhi and watching the news when we reached our hotel it seems we were lucky to get here tonight at all.

We checked how much a taxi should cost us when we got to the airport and rejected the first guy who tried to charge us 200 Rp too much. Despite his protestations that his car had aircon, we went for another guy who was happy to quote us exactly 350Rp. Although he pulled the usual trick and asked for 400 when he dropped us off.

The hotel is certainly a mile better than the dingy pit we were stuck in in Agra. The shower works, as does the TV, and it’s actually clean. The only downside is that there’s an aircon unit teasing us by being there, but it doesn’t work. A shame as it’s actually hot and muggy down here.

Tomorrow should be fun as there is no running water in Mumbai. They’re turning it off right across the city for some major pipework to be done. I guess I’ll have to get up early for my shower then!

Oh, and I finished The Money Changers before bed. The first time I’ve read a novel cover-to-cover in a day in longer than I can remember.

Another day to thank the inventor of ear plugs. Hans was awoken sometime in the night by someone hammering nails into a wall, or similar. Thankfully I slept though it, though the call for prayer at around 5:30 did rouse me slightly. I’d intended to have a shower in the morning, but I couldn’t tell if the water was on or off and didn’t want to blow up the boiler.

Oh, boy – were we glad to get out of that hotel. So glad, we didn’t even bother with breakfast. Our car arrived and we dove straight in. Had one of us been driving, there would have been a scream of tyres and a plume of dust as we set off.

Our driver stopped at Akbar’s Tomb on the way out of Agra. Another big red building which looked like countless other big red buildings we’d seen. He’d made the effort, so I popped out and took a couple of snaps. We then set off on the 200-ish kilometre trek to Delhi.

On the way I finished Dan Brown’s Angels & Demons and Hans wrapped up Crichton’s Next. I started on another Arthur Hailey book and Hans snoozed.

We made it to Delhi for around 2pm and asked our driver to drop us in Conaught Place so we could get a KFC while he sorted out some lunch for himself. Food was eaten and Hans and I killed a while by going for a wander. We struck lucky with one street seller hawking off dodgy copies of Lonely Planet guides with the covers ripped off. OK, so they’re a little out of date but they were only 195Rp each.

After another minor scare (two ATM’s rejecting my cash card – memories of Hanoi bubbled to the surface), I managed to get some cash and we posted some cards to people in our respective home countries.

Hans had a go at one of the usual suspects who was trying to convince him he really wanted a rickshaw. Or a restaurant. Or if not now, maybe later? We’s started to walk off, obviously a little fed up with it all and the lad asked “Why are you angry?” to which Hans replied, “We’re not angry. Yet. But we will be if you don’t leave us alone!” It worked, as well. We’ll have to remember that one.

And then to the airport where I’m typing this section up. On the way, the heavens opened and we saw our first rain since arriving here. Thankfully, the roof of the domestic lounge doesn’t leak! Annoyingly, there’s a wireless internet system here for 50Rp an hour (less than twice the going rate at a cybercafe, so acceptable) but I can’t find a single place selling the scratchcards needed to login and use it.

Next stop – Mumbai… assuming our flight’s not delayed by the fog.

Oh, and our driver’s name was Harban Singh. I promised I’d find it out for you!

OK, we have two sections to today’s report. First of all the one to make you all jealous. While you were stuck with crappy television, repeats of comedy shows that were bad enough the first time, enough turkey to choke a herd of Tyranosaurs and so many paper hats the local fire brigade branded your house a fire hazard… Hans and I were walking around one of the architectural wonders of the world.

Well, eventually we were. First of all we had to fend off the “guides” without whom we wouldn’t understand the Taj Mahal. And then we had to tell more than a handful of kids that, no, we wouldn’t be visiting their shop on the way back. Oh, and no – we don’t need a rickshaw and we did know it was a whole kilometre from the car park to the Taj Mahal, but that we personally didn’t consider that a long distance.

Finally we got to the gate. Then we bought our tickets (Foreigner: 500Rp “tax” ticket which covers you for all five major local monuments on the day of issue, plus 250Rp entry fee for the Taj. Indian: 20Rp) and then we queued. Men on one side, women on the other for some reason. Finally, at the front, we were subjected to a fairly thorough search. First a metal detector and then a frisk. My camera bag was rooted through and the majority of the contents removed. Bizarrely, the cables for the charger were taken out but the chargers themselves left behind.

Hans had his iPod speakers taken off him as well. They’re really strict about what you can take in with you, though the rules are bizarre and their searches actually somewhat lax given that they didn’t query what was in my pockets even though the guard could feel there was something in there (my second camera). All the bumph ended up in Hans’ rucksack which we put into storage – for free, thankfully. I’m glad Hans had his rucksack as the guy there was refusing to accept my camera bits and bobs without a bag to put them in and I needed the bag itself with me to carry the equipment I was allowed to keep.

All very bizarre. Anyway, off we toddled inside to watch the school groups posing for photos, families posing for photos, and individuals posing for photos while they pretended to hold the Taj Mahal by its pointy spire.

Oh, yes. The Taj Mahal. That’s what you’re wanting to hear about. A feat of human engineering, built around 400 years ago as a mausoleum dedicated to the wife of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. It was built on raised ground with a clear backdrop to ensure that it would always stand out. Nothing is allowed to be built behind it to spoil the perfect skyline and took 17 years to complete.

It’s huge. There’s no denying that. It’s impressive as well. Amazingly, it’s also still remarkably clean and white except around certain points close up where the marble seems to have yellowed. Walking inside the Taj Mahal is quite quick and unidirectional. You remove your shoes before setting foot on the white marble and queue, though this seems to move quite quickly. In honesty, the inside’s just not as impressive as the exterior partly because it’s dingy and partly because you simply can’t appreciate the scale from there.

The second section of this report reads thus: meh. Big building. Looks nice. Gleams. Impressive in a way, but meh.

Maybe I’ve seen too many huge buildings recently, maybe it’s just because I’m down at the moment, but on the whole I’m just glad to say I’ve been and can tick it off the list. Animals still interest me more. As I explained to Hans, we could build another Taj Mahal but could anyone design a new cow and build it from scratch? or a dolphin? Or an ant? My mind works in weird ways!

After retrieving our terrorist equipment (a handful of USB leads, a plug adaptor, a camera tripod and Hans’ iPod speakers) from the locker room – and being asked for a tip when the Indians paying a fraction of our entry fee weren’t – we once more braved the “Postcard? Book? Rickshaw? Taj Mahal snowglobe?” brigade. Seriously. We had been joking about this the previous day, but one guy did try to sell us Taj Mahal snowglobes. They really exist. And they’re as shoddy as you’d expect.

Stop two in the morning was the Red Fort. Another huge building. Only this one is red. The clue’s in the name.

Again we queued to get in. This time it was just one queue and the guy behind me seemed to think that the harder he pushed me, the faster said queue would move. If he’d got any closer I’d have had to ask him to marry me. I just took to leaning backwards and then suddenly shifting to the side to see if I could knock him off balance. That was fun for a while. Then I spent a minute or to trying to conjure up a fart, but to no avail. That would have been funny as he was so close – I am not kidding – that he’d have felt the heat had I been able to let one rip.

The ticket here was a further 250Rp after we showed the “tax ticket” we’d received at the Taj Mahal. We went in, walked around, took some pictures and left again. It was a fort. We’ve seen about 6 in the last 10 days. The one in Jodhpur was better.

Our final port of call for the day was to be the Roman Catholic cemetery – the largest European burial ground in India and home to the oldest marked European grave in the country, as well as a mausoleum dedicated to some of Dewi’s ancestors.

Only we couldn’t find it.

Sorry, Dewi. We did try, I promise you. I managed to find out the name of the area it was located in online, but when we got there nobody had a clue where it was. The closest we got was a catholic college with a church and a school next to it. Surprisingly, the church had a fair going on in the grounds but itself wasn’t open. I couldn’t find anyone who could tell me where the cemetery was.

Well, we got to see a new part of Agra that very few tourists visit. So few, in fact, that the locals there didn’t even harass me. I can only assume that the fact I was so far away from the touristy areas made them think I must be a local myself.

For lunch we headed back to the Sudar Market area where we (erm… I) had spent a fortune on cheap paperbacks the previous night. And McD’s. Hey, we weakened, OK? And Hans had another Chicken Maharaja Mac so it’s still kinda Indian.

After getting back to the hotel, we cut our driver loose and went for a wander. Hans had read that one of the nearby hotels had a decent bar, so we walked that direction. Eventually we passed it and went into the Mughal Sheraton instead. It was ever so slightly more upmarket than our fleapit, with bar prices to match. It made a nice change, though.

We managed to drag our beers out to an hour or so, and then walked to the aforementioned bar in the Kant Hotel over the road. There were only two people in it and it smelled funny, so we left.

Closer to base, we popped into the Howard Park Plaza (we think – the name kind of escapes both of us right now) which wasn’t quite up to Sheraton standards, but was still better than what we were paying for. The manager tried to convince us to join the party downstairs at 500Rp a head. In fairness, it looked like a good spread with a huge buffet. On the other hand, they had a DJ, a dancefloor, and party hats. Pretty much everything I was trying to avoid today. Plus, we had no idea how many – or few – people would be attending.

Instead, we noticed their bar was still on happy hour, so popped in there. Nice place. Low lighting, very quiet ambient music and relaxing. The beer was cold and surprisingly cheap especially with the 50% discount.

An Indian couple were sat near us and as they made their way out, the young guy approached us apologising for earwigging some of our conversation. He’d heard Hans talking about his trek up Kilimanjaro a few years ago and had some questions as he was considering the same trip next year.

Within five minutes he’d sat down and the woman with him – his mother – joined us. It turns out they weren’t as local as we’d first thought – they both live in Canada! We had a great chat for over an hour, nattering about travel, India, cultures, Bollywood, places for him to visit in the UK and so on. We swapped details and hopefully we can trade more information.

From the hotel to one of the dodgy phone places where I called my folks back home and then a very good friend of mine who I had promised I would ring. Viv, as ever it was lovely to speak to you and I’m glad I cheered you up. Trust me, you did the same in return! And see you in Prague…

For dinner… Pizza Hut. We arrived to find the place in full swing. The staff were dancing to Indian music – literally… five of them in a line boogying. When the music stopped, a bunch of kids who must have been there for a party started popping balloons and running around yelling. As I stated yesterday, I just don’t “do” Christmas. I have various reasons – this year more than most in recent history – but if there’s one thing that’ll make me smile it’s watching kids playing about and having a good time.

Try and invite me to a dinner party for xmas and you can forget it. No offence, but I’d rather sit at home with a pile of DVDs and a cuddly cat. Invite me to a house which will have even one small child ripping open presents with wide eyes and I’ll be on your doorstep at the crack of dawn to make sure I don’t miss it. Kids are Christmas. I don’t care about the religious significance (it’s been buried behind all the commercialism these days anyway) – the festive season is about children. In my book anyway.

So the day turned out to be not too bad after all, though it took a long time to get going. Tomorrow we drive back up to Delhi and then hop on a plane to Mumbai. With any luck internet connectivity will be better there and I can get pictures online!