Wednesday 22 February 2012

Day 165: Udaipur to Chittorgarh

If only all cycling days were as easy as today.

Well, actually it wouldn't be half as much fun, but an easy day on smooth roads with a stonking tailwind is still a day to be treasured. Even the routefinding out of Udaipur was easy; I pointed my bike at the rising sun, crossed the nearest bridge, followed what seemed to be the main flow of traffic through the maze of alleys in Udaipur, and found myself onto the road to Chittorgarh without taking a single wrong turn, despite not having a map at a usable scale and despite there being no signs in English until I was ten miles out of town.

the Leopard Highway, Rajasthan

The Leopard Highway

The road rolled gently up and down, but never so seriously up that I got much of a sweat on, which was a good thing in the sweltering heat, and I cooled a bit on the descents. A tourist bus passed and I pitied the poor travellers stuck on that thing in those temperatures.

Also, it was a day without punctures or tyre catastrophes - for once. I started a maintenance log about two weeks ago, to keep track of punctures and general fettling. Irony of ironies, I'd had little to report until then. Since I started the log, I've had to scrap two tyres and I've had eleven punctures in a single day. Eleven! At least I could buy a new tyre here in India; I tried to choose parts which are universally available (or simple enough that I could bodge a repair) and it's passed the first test.

ruined tyre in Rajasthan

75 miles at 14 mph today. And u've started seeing signs for Allahabad, which would put me on the trail of Phileas Fogg. Maybe I won't bother riding south to the line of the Tropic of Cancer. If I'm lucky that wind will hold all the way to Varanasi.

Tuesday 14 February 2012

Help Help I'm in Puncture Hell

I've just patched four holes in the same tube and removed four thorns from the same tyre. Stupid thorns. Crappy tyres.

thorns in Rajasthan


damn thorns

damn thorns #2

Thursday 9 February 2012

Three Days in Rajasthan: Amer to Ajmer

Rajasthani camel driver

Before he left to go back to England, Jonathan said to me that he hoped I wouldn't have too nice a time without him, otherwise he'd be jealous.

I was still in the Golden Triangle, which is often the only bit of India tourists see (those without a luxurious three months here, anyway), so I didn't expect a great deal of change from the atmosphere around Delhi. I'd always planned to go to Jaipur; it was one of the few definite ideas I had about India before I came. Other than that, I simply wanted to see the place, to wander into it and let it happen to me. But with me on a bike, obviously. Going around Rajasthan simply fitted in with that vague intention.

Jaipur is famous for the Pink City, the city palace at its centre, and for the forts that stand at the top of the surrounding hills. I was pleased to see the troops of elephants going up the road to Amer Fort when I rode past, though I didn't get very close as I was on the other side of the lake and I didn't want to pay to get in. I had a great view, and an amusing conversation with a load of tuk-tuk drivers about the gears on my bike.

I quickly decided that I'd only spend one night in Jaipur. I found a decent cheap hotel and wandered back to the pink city. This was a bit like that event in the TV show Gladiators where the contestant runs a gauntlet of gladiators who assault her with pads and sticks. I dodged the beardy rickshawman, shook off the "student" who wanted to practice his English, then encountered a very persistent little beggar girl who kept trying to take my hand. While I was trying to fend her off, the "student" made his second move but he seemed disappointed by my lack of response "hey, don't you like talking to people?" he asked. I continued to ignore him, bent down, turned the little girl round and told her to go home as gently as I could.

the decaying Pink City, Jaipur

Tourist India (as I think of it) wasn't done with me yet, though. I wandered around the pink city, which is tumbledown and decaying, and atmospheric with it. I thought I'd check out the city palace while I was there - it's much better kept, and the armoury is as terrifying a collection of pointy, stabby, shooty, creative death as I've ever seen. They even had a camel gun, which, as I overheard a tour guide point out, wasn't for shooting camels, but was a 50 lb beastie to be used from the back of a camel in battle. I do enjoy overhearing snippets of other people's tours, though I don't feel I got the best out of the Hindi tour guide.

The lowlight of the City Palace was when I asked about going to the Chandra Mahal, the highest point of the palace, and the guy said it cost 2,500 rupees. For a second I thought I was back in Iran and he'd got his zeros mixed up, but no, that was the price. Per person. I suddenly felt proud of myself for having used my Stockton Borough Council library card to pass myself off as a student and get a discount on the entry. Sticking it to The Man.

There were a different set of beggars on MI Road when I walked back. They sprinted past me to pose pathetically in front of the Lassi shop, so my heartstrings remained unplucked that time. The same "student" didn't recognise me and started his patter until I said "oh no, not you again!"

I left Jaipur the next morning. I had an easy day's riding and I've had two nights of camping, two days of cycling around Rajasthan. I've had a perfect moment when I wandered out of my tent in time to see the full moon rise, I've tried to negotiate a vehicle swap with a Rajasthani camel driver, I've eaten roadside dahl and roadside macaroons and had a shave/face clean/head message (which was an amazing experience), I've left my bike with maps and iPhone on show in the care of street kids while I ate an omelette, and most unusually I've had some quiet roads and blissful camping.

kids watching my bike in Dudu, Rajasthan

Jonathan and I were taking the piss out of a group of Spaniards at the Ajanta Hotel who had wildly ambitious plans for their brief time in India; they were going to visit Delhi in a morning, then get a bus to the Taj Mahal in time for sunset, leave Agra the next day for Jaipur... As Jonathan said, they'd be lucky to get out of Delhi by then. It took me the best part of half a day to get a sim card, and in a car it was at least five hours to Agra. I hope it all worked out, but I don't think you can force India to fit your plan - I'm pleased to have the leisure to wander and let it happen to me, and especially pleased to get away from the tourist trail. I overpaid the macaroon seller this morning, and he insisted on giving me a cup of chai in return.

I think Jonathan would like this bit of India, which seems to be full of... well, people. People who stare at me and wave and smile and though they may see me as an object of curiosity, they don't look at me like a target. Also, the shave was hilarious. I've never been buffed before (it's quite like being hammered with very delicate hammers), especially not when the barber has to push the wires directly into the mains. I'm not sure Jonathan would have liked that bit, but we'd have laughed about it afterwards.

Rajasthan photos on Flickr


Monday 6 February 2012

A Day in the Life of a Cycle Tourist in India



[journal entry 05/02/2012]

Got up, got out of my sleeping bag.

Breakfast: coffee, porridge, a granola bar. I slept well and it was 9:30 by the time I'd struck camp and got on the road. That was some of the gnarliest undergrowth I've ever camped in - I had burrs and scratches all over me and my clothes. There were some big loud birds making a racket in the trees above me, about the size of crows but grey and with heads shaped like jays. I might look for a Guide to Indian Birds in Jaipur. It would be nice to know.

I overtook a few camels which were pulling carts along National Highway 8. A day or two ago that was still an unusual sight but now it's commonplace and out here they seem to be the commonest beasts of burden. Rajasthan is a desert state, I suppose.

Rajasthan!

I did enter Rajasthan this morning, and ran the gauntlet of traffic to get a photo of the sign, which was in the central reservation. I haven't taken many photos these last couple of days so I was pleased to get that one.

It was still flat as anything and I was merrily rolling along. I'm the focus of all eyes out here, and sometimes the approach of the locals is a bit weird. Alright, it's always weird. When I was sat scoffing my dinner a guy on his bike stopped, staring at me, then walked to within fifty yards and pretended to look out at the fields, but he kept looking askance at me. A guy in a car pulled up next to me, blared his horn in my lughole, then turned in front of me and stopped. He looked surprised when I rode on. Another guy on a bike overtook me v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y but still couldn't maintain the pace, so I went past him again, smiling and saying "namaste" as I did. He stared straight ahead. I shrugged. A few seconds later he came past again, still staring ahead, but this time he growled just like Lee Perry does at the start of Jungle Lion. He cut across me and towards a roadside restaurant, gesturing at me to join him. I had to laugh.

India is full of incidents like this. A day here is worth a week anywhere else.

I tried to buy some butter to put in my cheese sarnies. Yeah, I'm getting right into the cuisine. I asked at a roadside stall/restaurant which looked likely. I got some Pepsi and pineapple juice and asked if he did butter. He didn't understand. I repeated it, rolling the "r", but still no recognition. I tried more of an RP accent, in case he was confused by my flat vowels, I did it with and without the glottal stop. Eventually I threw my hands up in disgust and left, but I remembered that I had the butter packaging in my bag of rubbish, so I gestured him over and showed him the packaging. "Ah, butter!" says he, and rattles off a load of Hindi to the guy in the kitchen, in which the word "butter" is clearly distinguishable. Crazy country. It turned out to be margarine, too. I had the same issue later when I asked for some water, the guy shook his head and said "Mountain Dew?" but I repeated myself and he nodded. "Water, yes." I don't know what's happening any more. I'm not sure I dare trying to learn Hindi as that would give us an extra language in which to misunderstand one another.

I can't help liking the people, though. After my dinner I took a speed bump a bit too fast and came off with a rear wheel puncture. There didn't seem to be anyone around - I thought I might get away without the usual audience. No such luck. I don't know where they came from but there were soon half a dozen people around me. I felt the need to be a little bad-tempered as the last thing I wanted was an audience. Someone asked me a question and I replied "piss off." As he repeated it, "Piss-off-a," I guess they'd asked where I was from. I gestured and waved and told them to go and fix the road but they weren't going anywhere. Becoming more amused than exasperated, I asked about chai and one of them pointed to the tea stand over the road. I waved that one of them should go and get me a cup but I wasn't sure I'd been understood, or that they'd bother. Turns out, the subsequent babbled argument was about who had to go and get the tea - the youngest went and got me a cup of sweet milky cha which he handed to me just as I was fitting a spare innertube, and refused payment. I took a couple of photos of the gang and relaxed into the moment.

audience to a puncture

It was lucky they were there, really, as one of them pointed out the huge tear in the tyre sidewall. I deftly took it off and fitted my spare tyre. I think I'll have to get my sister to bring some new tyres when she comes to visit in March - those Marathon XR tyres have been rubbish. In the bin with it.

When I'd pumped the tyre back up and re-fitted the wheel, the lads were all admiring the bike and the pump and my Dennis the Menace doll. I gestured that the main guy should have a go on my bike, and as he was a bit stand-offish, one of his mates elbowed him out of the way to dive on and go wobbling up the road. He went so far that I half-thought he wasn't coming back. I think he was just having trouble making it turn. A couple of them rode it up and down the service road: grins all around. It was another weird encounter, not least the fact that I'd got my point across far more easily to people who spoke not a word of English.

Indian on my bike

I did manage to get milk. No beer though. Yesterday the road was lined with English Wine and Beer shops, but today none except one with its shutters up. Maybe it's a dry day in Rajasthan? Mind you, I prefer having no beer to having no milk: finding milk was hard. A random shop on a row of identical shops happened to have a few packets of milk in the fridge (packets of milk take me right back to being a kid). I still haven't picked up the cues when it comes to shops. Maybe there are none.

I started to look for somewhere to camp at about 4.30 - I didn't want to get too close to Jaipur. I could have made it there tonight, but I'd rather have a night in a tent followed by an afternoon and a morning in Jaipur than have a full day and have to stump up for an extra night in a hotel.

Rajasthan is much less populous than Utter Pradesh and the area around Delhi, but it was still a pain trying to find somewhere quiet to camp. I thought I'd found a decent spot behind a hill but one of the locals thought I was lost and tried to guide me out. I shook him off, then another local took a quarter-mile detour to stand next to me and stare, saying not a word. Maybe he was just engaging in that famous Indian pastime of staring at stuff, or maybe he was hinting that I should scarper. Either way, I wasn't lingering.

I rolled up the road a little ways and found a gap in a wall, so I'm camping within thirty yards of the road. It's quieter here within the Jaipur Ring Road (which may also explain the difficulty with finding a campsite), even with the buzzing of the power lines above me. I didn't set fire to myself when I made my tea tonight, which was pasta and cheese sauce again. I've come up with a very simple plan of where to go after Jaipur - I'll tour the J-towns of Rajasthan, so I'll go across the desert to Jaisalmer, which sounds beautiful and which fits in with my plan of getting into the desert, back to Jodhpur (I like the name) then I'll follow the line of hills down towards Gujarat. I'd like to get down to the Indian Ocean but not if it takes too long.

So: from near Bawal, NH8, Kotputli, here - 78.98 miles/ 392:41/ 12.07 mph average/ 23.5 mph max/ 5714 miles total

Sunday 5 February 2012

Delhi-ing Tactics

I'm camping somewhere near...well, somewhere on the road to Jaipur. I've ridden seventy-some miles today and there's another hundred and some to Jaipur, so that's a day and a half of easy riding if it stays as flat as today. It's quite fun to trounce along at 18 mph all day.

I was a bit nervous about camping - mainly nervous about security, and not security against tigers. This is such a populous place that there's no spare land, and I've been riding along today examining the roadside. Even though the NH8 goes through far more rural places than the roads north of Delhi, which was like riding through one very long town, there still aren't many quiet copses or abandoned houses I could use as shelter. The abandoned house turns out to have three families living inside it...

I have eventually found a quiet place behind some bushes and near a pond. This isn't as peaceful as it may sound - I'm only a hundred metres or so from the road and the traffic isn't letting up. I can hardly hear the calls of the wading birds in the pond, and I'd have no chance of hearing somebody approach in the night.

I'm still pleased to be back camping again. Last night's hotel was a dump. The walls were paper thin and I was awoken by the dawn chorus of the guy next door hawking, hacking and spitting so percussively that I had to go and check we weren't sharing a bathroom. He did it three more times while I was cooking my porridge. Then, at checkout, the guy at the counter tried to wangle 50 extra rupees out of me as a 10% tax. I wasn't rude (even though I'm at my snarly worst in the mornings, especially after being woken by somebody's nasal passage), I just wasn't paying it. Maybe something of my mood came over, as he didn't press the point and went on to ask me where I was going. Hah. Away from this dump, mate.

The ride out of Delhi was easy. I've always found riding and navigation in Delhi pretty easy. I stopped at a wee supermarket to get a couple of bits for the day, and waved at all the bus passengers, armed soldiers, layabouts and street people who stared at me as I passed. And the main road to Jaipur, NH8, is quite usable. I had a late start but I still covered seventy-odd miles before I stopped at about 4.30.

The hiatus has left me I a bit out of practice at camping, though. I nearly set fire to myself with my petrol stove just now, as I forgot to check the seal was in place, and even though I was pouring petrol onto the dry grass, I still tried to light it. The flames have died down now, though, and I've had my tea. I've opened one of the beers I bought in Connaught Place yesterday and which I carried all day. I've only passed about twelve English Wine and Beer shops. Ah well. It's a long time since I sat outside a tent with a beer, looking up at the moon and stars.

A lot of other cyclists I've met only camp on sufferance, when forced to by their budget or the lack of a hotel, but I've always thought of it as a central part of my trip. I like to be independent, I like the sense of my own space, I like the solitude, and I enjoy the rituals of finding a suitable spot, making sure to have enough food, ducking into the tent when it becomes too cold and striking camp as early as I can be bothered in the morning. Maybe I'll take an extra day on the road to Jaipur, and have another night under canvas.

Saturday 4 February 2012

Where I Am And Where I'm Going 03/02/2011

5,500 miles cycled so far.

The route: Darlo-Northallerton-York-Beverley-Hull-ferry-Zeebrugge-Brugges-Antwerp-Maastricht-Verviers-Stadtkyll-Cochem-Rheintal-Bingen-Mainz-Frankfurt-Mains-Tauber-Rothenburg-Altmuhl-Eichstatt-Landshut-Vilshofen-Donau-Passau-Linz-Krems-Vienna-Bratislava-Mosonmagyorovar-Gyor-Komorom-Tatabanya-Budapest-Dunaujvaros-Baja-Backi Breg-Sombor-Novi Sad-Strazilova-Belgrade-Pancevo-Smederovo-Pozerevac-Petrovac-Bor-Pirot-Dimitrovgrad-Sofia-Plovdiv-Edirne-Istanbul-Beykoz-Kayagze-Sile-Karacaköy-Kaynarca-Adapazari-Bolu-Ankara-Cappadocia-Kayseri-Sivas-Zara-Erzincan-Erzurum-Horason-Agri-Dogubayezit-Çaldiran-Van-Ozalp-Khom-Tabriz-Bostan-Abad-Zanjan-[bus]-Esfehan-Yazd-Shiraz-Firuz Abad-Bandar Abbas-Sharjah-Dubai-[aeroplane]-Delhi-Rishikesh-Delhi

So I'm in Delhi for the last time - the last time for six weeks, at least. Jonathan is catching a flight back tonight, and I'm booked into a ratbag hotel for the night. In the morning, I'll be on the road to Jaipur, the fabled pink city.

More importantly, I'll be back cycling, back on my own, and hopefully back in my tent, though this whole region is very populous, making it difficult to camp, and it be Tiger Country between Delhi and Jaipur. I've dealt with Monkey Corner and the Elephant Corridor - how hard can it be?

I also hope to get back to living cheaply. I don't think Jonathan realised how frugally I had been existing, and it wasn't really fair to force Jonathan to live like that for his two week-holiday, so we made a few compromises. Mainly, he paid for stuff. I look forward to trying out the street and roadside eateries - they're everywhere in India.

Being back on my own will be a bit like starting all over again, as I've been in Delhi for two weeks with Jonathan and had a week and a half of drinking in Dubai before that. I felt good on the cycling we have done - in fact, I felt amazingly fit on the hills around Rishikesh - and I'm itching to do more cycling.

Still, I'm glad to be returning to Delhi, as in six weeks my sister comes to visit. Six weeks to ride around Rajasthan, and possibly Gujarat, and I hope to fit in a visit to Varanasi, but that's in completely the opposite direction, even if Uttar Prasand is utterly flat. I'll work it out - India laughs at plans and itineraries, it's much better just to go and see what happens.

street scene in Old Delhi

Wednesday 1 February 2012

(Don't Go Back to) Rishikesh

crowds at the Taj Mahal

The last couple of days have had some of the worst and some of the best parts of my trip so far. Seven hours on the most appalling bus journey of my life, then the rip-roaring relief of getting off and blasting into Delhi's unique brand of insanity, and a trip to Agra (short for aggravation) to see the Taj Mahal. We even saw the elephant.

After a few days in Rishikesh, I was ready to leave. Although it was beautiful, I found the people who tended to go there mildly annoying. Dressing in purple robes, never smiling, and probably looking for a good crystal healer to erase their negative thoughts. One English girl had been robbed, groped, mugged and had her laptop stolen during her five months in India, but was still insistent that security wasn't an issue, and had been to every yoga and meditation class going in Rishikesh to restore her inner calm; given how sharply she banged the keyboard while updating her Facebook status, I thought she could do with asking for her money back. We did doss around the campfire with some very interesting people such as Teddy from Chicago whose amusing descriptions of the goings-on at Varanasi convinced me to go there, or Aussie Tim from Newcastle (NSW) who'd been around India in an auto-rickshaw, but there were also some rum 'uns there. A guy I named Mr India said that he'd done South India. In two weeks. He described it as "disappointing", then proceeded to complain about the quality of chicken he'd been given by the poor waiting staff, and the next day he was describing his experience at the Yoga Education Centre, using the word "energy" more often than I'd consider appropriate in somebody who doesn't work at the local power station. Earlier that day I'd seen an enraged monk in saffron robes punch a cow which tried to nick his dinner - that was probably the selfsame yoga instructor after spending a few hours in Mr India's company.

Buying alcohol in Rishikesh, where alcohol and meat are prohibited, was a clandestine affair. The little man who sold it was nervous, twitchy and hilarious. He asked me who'd told me that he sells beer, then pulled beer out of the various alcoves where it was secreted while furtively watching for the authorities. It did put me off going back to buy more, so when Stavros the Greek offered me a beer, I took it, even though he then charged me 150 rupees for it. They do say to beware Greeks bearing gifts. The next night, he started offering a couple of bottles of whisky around and charging people to drink it, and I decided I wasn't that bothered about having a drink after after all, even if it meant leaving Stavros's party early. We were the most interesting people there anyway.

I probably shouldn't be so judgmental, and God knows what they made of us, but some people try so damn hard to be cliches.

Hey, Rishikesh is the place of good vibes and positive energy, (although we didn't manage to do any yoga). It's where the Beatles went to study with the maharishi, and the sound of sitars can occasionally be heard over the car horns. These things cannot penetrate my shield of tranquility. Much. Maybe I should just get permanently stoned like the staff at the hostel.

Neep Waterfall

Visiting Neep Waterfall helped. Well, until the quarry on the other side of the valley set off about 200 pounds of dynamite. If it wasn't for the chance of shell shock, I'd say more people should go up there to seek inner peace, as it was beautiful. But more people would only spoil it, and since it was only 30 rupees maybe you don't get the same quality of enlightenment as you do if you pay 10,000 rupees to one of the city's many gurus. I meant to ask Mr India about that, but I didn't get chance as he was still sleeping off his hangover when we left.

On the whole, I was happy to leave, but we had to negotiate the bus on our return to Delhi. I had mentioned to Aussie Tim the irony that my cycling trip has so far involved seven ferries, two buses, a couple of wagons and a plane, and he was most amused by the fact that I'd cycled across Iran before I'd ever caught a plane.

The bus journey has this to say for it; it made me appreciate my bicycle so, so much. It was seven hours of pure shite. I get travel sick even on UK journeys, and spending seven hours on an Indian bus being driven by a horn-mad maniac who spent most of the time on the wrong side of the road when he wasn't aiming at every pothole, jerking around every obstacle and hitting the accelerator and the brake so frantically that I felt I'd wandered into the Indian astronaut training programme for dealing with extreme g's and heavy manoeuvring in space, was hellish. The bus was stuffy, hot, and loud, even before we were invaded by a half-dozen hawkers selling popcorn and "Man-e man-e man-e" at the tops of their voices, and the incomprehensible in-bus Indian movie, which, as Jonathan kindly pointed out, had nearly as many car crashes as the road outside the bus. I wanted to kill that driver. I wanted to get the loudest airhorn I could find and blast it next to his lughole for a few hours, or the rest of his life. As payback, I left my bag of sick on the bus for him to collect.

But getting off - that was such a joy. Back into the Delhi traffic. Back onto the bikes! I'd thought about getting him to drop us off early (like, about 40 miles early), but as it was we were on the wrong side of the river and about 10 miles from the hotel. 10 miles of unknown roads, an audience of stary Indians, no real idea of where we were, it was getting dark and we weren't wearing sunglasses.

Bridge over the Yamuna, Delhi

I don't think Jonathan was as pleased as me to get off the bus, but he did say that I looked in my element on the bike. I certainly felt more of a sense of oneness while navigating the traffic and the bridges with one eye on the iPhone in my right hand and another eye on the traffic than I'd felt in any other part of India, even trackstanding up the hills in Rishikesh to show off to the locals. And I enjoyed the bonkersness of it all. We followed Google maps, and as I had it set to Walking, we went along some roads that probably aren't drivable, though you never know in India. Back alleys with washing hanging out, cows and chickens to avoid, kids playing badminton and women chucking water into the gutter. It was very Jackie Chan. You might expect such a poor area to be unwelcoming, but the people looked pleased, or at worst amused and bemused, to see us riding through. We broke out onto the open roads, a seven-lane approach road to the main bridge across the Yamuna. This was where we met Captain Inappropriate Timing on his motorbike, who chose this moment to institute a conversation. I told him that it wasn't the perfect moment, and we touched fists in farewell. I don't think Jonathan even responded, since we had so much traffic to concentrate on. Over the bridge and down to Connaught Place, I wove between the cars, but I had to contain my enthusiasm at being released from the bus, as I was leaving Jonathan behind. Delhi is fabulous to cycle around: flat, with slow-moving traffic and no rules. Like India, just go with the flow and it works. Coming around Connaught Place, we even saw an elephant breasting the traffic on one of the world's busiest roundabouts, which made me stop and whoop and point in delight. While I was stopped, an Indian approached to ask if I needed any help - I told him I'd stopped to see the elephant, and pushed him around to see. He shrugged and turned back - it's probably an everyday thing in Delhi, like seeing a man with his head on fire walking down the road while conversing on his mobile phone, or being overtaken by an auto rickshaw with a couple of pigs laid across the back seats. It topped off a perfectly mad day.

mate, you're on fire!

The next day, more reinforcement of the rightness of cycling. We took a car down to Agra (short for Aggravation) and the Taj Mahal, stopping at yet-more bewildering service stations and firing our tour guide about thirty seconds into his spiel. To be honest, we didn't want a tour guide, and when it turned into a quiz which we refused to participate in, he threw a major huff and asked "Look, do you want a tour guide or not?" - I think he was genuinely surprised when we said "Actually, no". So, with the ten-hour car journey, the appalling crapness of Agra and its touts and filth and atmosphere of grubby desperation, with the crowds and the preposterous security precautions at the entrance (no diaries, no books, no food, no... there was a sign, but I didn't recognise half the things on it, apart from the handguns, which I hadn't intended to bring anyway), with the general air of being trooped in and out like characters in the painting of a Soviet-era factory, and despite the astonishing beauty of the Taj itself, I'd describe the Taj Mahal experience as "disappointing". I'd rather be out on my bike.

But whatever. We saw the elephant.

elephant in Connaught Place, Delhi

Taj Mahal photos on Flickr