Go west.

We caught the train from Varkala back to Kochi, which was as sweaty an affair as we were anticipating. Thankfully there weren’t too many uncomfortable stares, and the journey passed without much incident. We caught tuk-tuks to the hotel, via an optician for Raf, who had found herself at the mercy of a rogue wave that swept away her spectacles, then had some kati rolls for lunch. We visited the Church of St. Francis, where Vasco da Gama’s tombstone is displayed, and the Dutch Palace, which houses excruciatingly beautiful murals that have stood the test of time, despite having been painted in vegetable colours. In the evening we watched a ‘cultural show’, and saw how traditional Keralan make up is applied. It’s the thickest in the world – you need coconut oil to get it off, and the end product was captivatingly grotesque. A Mohiniyattam dancer showed us her bewildering eyebrow moves (just like that Cadbury advert), and a triumvirate of old men provided the music. We then watched an extravagant Kathakali performance, in which a green-faced man denied the advances of a yellow-faced man dressed as a woman. We said our clipped goodbyes when we got back to the hotel – the fellowship was broken.

My journey west is my most ambitious so far. Estimated to take 40 hours, I’ll take three flights, with two 12 hour layovers, to reach Canada, and successfully circumnavigate the globe.

I got up at 06:00 on the 5th of April, and caught a taxi with Rachel to the airport. My first flight from Kochi to Mumbai was pain-free. I caught an illogocally infrequent bus to the international terminal, and was warned by the guard that there wasn’t much on offer until I went through security. He was right. The spotless atrium, supported by white arboreal pillars, was a barren wasteland of marble. I found a spot on the floor and alternated between my kindle and mp3, wondering if it might have been worth spending an extra £50 to get a more reasonable flight.

I ate at one of the two cafes available, and after nine hours of nothingness was able to check in and spend my last rupees. As I boarded the plane I consciously suppressed a wave of nausea. I was leaving India. I was leaving Asia.

I couldn’t sleep on the flight, partly because I was so full from the unnecessary meal at 03:00, and partly because the seat was uncomfortable. I was lucky not to have anyone next to me, and relaxed as best I could by watching films.

I arrived in London at 06:00 (having been awake for twenty-eight hours), and was overwhelmed by the oppressive black duffle coats, stern expressions, and sallow faces of my fellow passengers. I cried as I bounded into my Dad’s arms. It had been seven months since we’d seen each other, and when I’d left I’d had no idea when I’d be back. I dried my happy-tears, then we went to Windsor to make the most of our curtailed reunion.

The Queen was home; the Royal Standard billowed out as we watched the changing of the guard. We wandered around the picturesque town and I had a horrid lump of homesickness for Oxford. We had an ambrosial pub lunch, washed down by an ale that was like nectar, then sat by the river and watched awkward new couples on dates, and pensioners walking their dogs. All too quickly our time was up. Dad drove me back to the airport, and for the third time I found myself in a departure hall.

I settled into my window seat, did most of a crossword and watched yet another film. I was sentenced to more plane food (although at one point I was mercifully furnished with a scone, real jam, and Rodda’s clotted cream), and then the flight was over. I’d done it.

My brother and his girlfriend met me at the airport. An unfamiliar silence pervaded the night. No horns, no rubbish, no dust, no people. It was -1℃ (you can imagine how that felt in Birkenstocks), and icicles were strung along the car bumpers like bunting. I arrived at Mum’s house, buzzing from excess fatigue. By the time I went to sleep I’d been awake for fifty-two hours. I don’t think I’ll be doing that again.

Cashew nuts and cliff tops.

The next morning we got up at 06:30 to visit Kollam harbour. The smell of fish wafted up from the saline puddles as we splashed along the quay. Squadrons of men were mechanically unloading plastic baskets of fish, and carrying them down to women who sat on buckets, selling the catch. The energy was overwhelming, especially that early in the morning, so we recovered with some dosas. Once we’d munched our breakfast, we headed to a secluded cashew nut factory, hidden in the jungley suburbs. We watched as the workers shelled the nuts from the roasted cases (men by machine, women by hand), then peeled the skin off and graded the end product accordingly.

The hollow noise of knocking echoed around the walls like a xylophone, but everyone worked in silence. I didn’t know how to react. The workers have a steady job and a comparatively high income, but the work is manual and labour-intensive. We were told that they were happy to be there, and they smiled at us as we toured around, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable.

We took the bus back to the hotel, then caught two more buses to reach Varkala, a small town on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea. We had a late lunch then wandered along the beach, past cricket matches and souvenir shops. We enjoyed impossibly succulent fish for dinner, (which more than made up for the previous night’s repast), and went to bed, listening to the wind as it tore at the waves.

Ingrid and I were up early the next day to go to a yoga class. It was more spiritual and ritualistic than other classes I’ve attended; the teacher lit incense and splashed sweet-smelling water as we held our poses. It was really relaxing and I left the class feeling like there was a lot more space in my head. We met the others for breakfast at a restaurant perched on the cliff, then headed to the beach where the sun imperceptibly burnt us to a crisp. At about 15:00 we hit the shops, bargaining hard for some wall hangings (my inner-hippie has been unashamedly exposed) and then freshened up at the hotel.

We were lucky to be in town on the final day of a Hindu festival, celebrating Brahma. We encased ourselves in a sweaty crowd and watched as young men in mundus pounded their drums, and older men, convincingly dressed as women, twirled around in heavy costumes and thick makeup.

A procession of creepy floats (think fairground) followed the dancers, depicting scenes from Hindu mythology. The plastic figures jolted around robotically, twirling their arms and turning their heads. It was a little difficult to follow what was happening. We then walked up the road and caught up with the seven ceremonial elephants. It was heartbreaking to see their glazed eyes as they carried up to three people on their backs, laden with ceremonial pomp. The fear rolled off them like a dense fog, mixing with the incessant drums and the queasy songs blasting out of loudspeakers. Feeling humbled, we returned to the cliff for our last meal in Varkala.

Varkala is what I imagined Goa to be. It’s super relaxed, very hippie (though not to the scale of Pushkar), and utterly gorgeous. I’m very aware that I’m leaving Asia in a few days, and Varkala has been the perfect place to indulge my nostalgia and feel horrified at the thought of leaving. All good things…

Boating in the backwaters.

Not wanting to waste a day just flying, we decided to visit Old Goa on the way to the airport. We slunk around whitewashed churches and admired golden altars; the focal point of the heavy Portuguese influence of the town. The sweat drenched our clothes, and we regretted not being able to change before our flights. We had two short journeys, from Goa to Mumbai, then on to Kochi. We arrived at about 23:00, exhausted and a bit smelly.

The next morning we met our new guide, Sanjin, and three English girls who were joining us. We exchanged pleasantries, then hopped into some tuk-tuks to visit the oldest synagogue in the Commonwealth, which now has only seven devotees. After a little incident involving a flat tyre, we caught up with the others and looked at the unique Chinese tiles and the Belgian glass lamps of synagogue. We then got dropped off at the side of the road, and caught a local bus. Alexa and I sat at the front, to benefit from the panoramic view and the breeze coming through the open windows. An hour later we arrived at a harbour, boarded a boat which functioned much like a bus, and chugged along the Keralan backwaters, lined with luscious palm trees. Men hitched up their mundus as they lurched into the boat, and women smiled as we squished up to offer them seats. Soon we arrived at a beautiful homestay in Chennamkary (near Alappuzha), set on the river.

A delicious lunch was waiting for us, and later induced a food-coma on account of our inability to stop eating. After we’d recovered with some chai, we followed Thomas as he showed us his village. Combine harvesters were gathering rice as men sat watching and chatting. We passed an arboretum of fruit trees, and a litany of churches and Hindu temples. When it got dark we boarded a canoe, just as lightning lit up the sky like a strobe. Thunder rumbled over the song that the boatman was singing, and a few reluctant drops fell on our heads. We were back in time for dinner, and gorged ourselves silly once more, before winding down the night with travel preparations and stories of home.

The next morning we woke up to the sounds of cooing birds and the gentle chug of the houseboats as they patrolled the river. We caught tuk-tuks to the main boat station, then boarded a two story ferry which would take us to Kollam. The engine spluttered to life and we set off, at a sedate 12km/h, watching the emerald palms flutter as we passed. The dingy waters were sometimes so choked with vegetation that it didn’t look like the prow would be able to slice through.

After a couple of hours we came to a lock, which was manually operated by a small man in a mundu. The slightly bitter smell of salt water wound up our nostrils; a contrast to the fresh water that we’d been traversing all morning. We stopped for a quick banana leaf thali, before hurrying back on board as soon as the drivers had finished their meal, the horn honking at us impatiently. The waterway grew wider, expanding for fishermen’s nets, suspended on wooden frames. After eight hours the scenery got a bit repetitive, but it was nice to have some time to reflect and absorb as much of the experience as possible. We arrived in Kollam, caught tuk-tuks to the hotel, which was overly plush in an Austin Powers kind of way, and had a bizarre meal in a rainforest themed room, with a fake wooden bridge, and a cot in the corner. The food was an interesting Chinese-Indian fusion, and not in a good way. Nevertheless, we ate it and went to bed.

Kerala is one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in Asia, and is the first place in India that I could imagine living in. The calm serenity of the waters makes the bustling cities seem like a bad dream. People are noticeably friendlier down here, and are more likely to smile than stare. I miss the others who have already left, but I’m equally so happy that I’ve stayed on to experience more of India’s diversity. Every town could be a new country, and that’s what’s so exciting.

Please don’t Go-a!

We grabbed some lunch at the airport, then had a quick flight to Goa that took less than an hour. The green palm trees trapped the sultry air as we drove down tarmaced roads that occasionally broke out into a view of the sea. We arrived at our hotel, and Ingrid and I were presented with a palatial suite, replete with sitting room and giant balcony overlooking the pool. We wandered down Calangute beach, and felt a little uncomfortable about the men following us and taking photos (yes, we were fully clothed). We arrived in the grimy town, which offered wholesale cashew nuts and an ATM, then made our way back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.

Showered and scrubbed up, we caught some taxis to a restaurant on the beach, and indulged in some fresh seafood as the waves crushed against the shore. We had a few drinks, played some pool, then took the party back to the hotel. I left at 04:30, but the others showed no sign of slowing. I’ve never considered myself very hard-core.

By some miracle most of the group managed to surface the following day, so we dragged ourselves to Anjuna Beach; a short taxi drive north. After a couple of tactical vom-breaks (which weren’t fully utilised, but better to be safe than sorry, eh Rachel?!) we made it to the water. We commandeered some sunbeds and carefully roasted ourselves, occasionally partaking in the sea-rave that the locals were getting involved with. We returned to Calangute, showered, and went out for our last meal as a group which was a typically slow and inefficient affair. Only six of us from the original group are carrying on to Kochi. We said our goodbyes this morning and went our separate ways. I’ve never been good at parting words, and this was no exception. I can only hope that we meet up again; I’d say it’s highly probable.

Goa wasn’t quite the hippie paradise that I was expecting. The towns were a little run-down and the beaches were patrolled by creeps, but the water was warm, the sand was soft, and overall it was a nice place to chill out. I’m not a beach person, but it’s a lot more fun when you’re with other people. I guess most things are.

Humid Mumbai.

We caught a private bus from Udaipur, that was part sleeper, part seats. At some point over the course of the journey, an Indian family joined us, and the little girl laughed as Daniel and I tried to learn song lyrics from the film we had watched the day before. We arrived in Ahmedabad five hours later, quickly dropped our bags, then crossed the road to the Gandhi ashram. We learnt about his life and principles, before returning to the hotel, for the faffiest meal we’ve had so far. It took about an hour and a half for everyone to get their food, by which point it was time to leave again. We caught taxis to the train station, then found our bunks for the night. It was the first sleeper train for a lot of people, and they were surprised by the level of comfort. It was a lot cleaner than my experiences in China, perhaps because people don’t smoke, spit, or eat sunflower seeds.

We arrived in Mumbai at 06:00, caught tuk-tuks to the hotel, then ventured out into the 80% humidity. The city has a very different vibe from what we’ve seen so far. There’s a lot less rubbish, a lot more office-workers, and an aura of calm control that gently contains the chaos. We walked around the city, past colonial buildings scarred by damp veins and crumbling facades. We then visited the Gateway of India, and looked out at the foggy port.

We awkwardly sidled into the Taj Mahal Palace hotel and breathed in the fresh lemongrass scent that was circulated by currents of air conditioning. We bolted at the price of afternoon tea, and instead had a drink at Leopold’s (though I’m yet to read Shantaram, so don’t spoil it for me). We had a wander through the market, then caught a taxi to Chowpatty Beach. We walked along the sand, under the gaze of concrete towers running along the bay. We decided against splashing about in the toxic water, and instead climbed up to the Hanging Gardens for a view across the water.

By this point, the sweat was running in rivulets down our necks, and stinging our eyes. We returned to the hotel to recover, before heading back into town for dinner.

The next morning we caught taxis to Dhobi Ghat, the world’s biggest laundry (which isn’t perhaps the best advertisement for their business – I’m sure a few socks go astray). Jeans, sheets and t-shirts hung in regimented lines, organised by colour, as men scrubbed squares of material in concrete baths.

We didn’t have long in Mumbai, but it was enough for me to know that I like it. I love the verdent jungle gardens that are slowly reclaiming colonial ruins, and the cosmopolitan diversity that is visible as east meets west. Even the humid climate was a welcome change from the searing heat of Udaipur. It defied my expectations of sprawling slums and clogging pollution (although I’m sure these phenomena are visible in other parts of the city). That’s why I try not to have expectations before I arrive somewhere; I invariably leave with a different impression from the one that I started with.

A thali to die for in Udaipur.

We took tiny Jeeps to Ajmer in the late afternoon, and arrived at the train station. There’d been a bit of a kerfuffle in that our seats hadn’t been reserved. Binu called in the recurring Puja Man and he worked his magic, doing a deal with the platform manager, and kicking some people out of a carriage so that we could all sit together. Apparently the people were getting off the train anyway. We passed the six hours by watching snippets of dusty cricket matches out of the window, waving to children running along the track, and listening to horror stories about some of the groups Binu has had to lead. We arrived in Udaipur at 22:30, exhausted from having seen the sun rise and set.

We met at 10:00 the next morning and walked into town, avoiding the choking motorbikes, lethargic cows and heavily-laden donkeys. We visited a gallery, where the artists hand-painted detailed scenes on smooth silk, with brushes made of camel eyelashes and squirrel tails. We then visited the City Palace, which was a maze of coloured glass, mottled marble, and patterned tiles, overlooking the lake. We had some lunch, did some shopping, and met Binu to watch a procession to celebrate the Mewar festival.

Elegant women in colourful saris bore statues on their heads, and walked down to the lake. We then watched a cultural show. Young girls whirled around with their heads veils billowing behind them like jewelled sails. The bangles on their wrists clattered in time with the drum, glistening like tinsel as the spun in kaleidoscopic circles.

After the show we went for dinner, had some Binu storytime, then got some rum off a guy on a motorbike. We smashed my previous record of the number of losers you can get in a tuk-tuk (I’m up to twelve), and returned to the hotel. We merged with another tour group, and twenty of us squeezed into a twin room. The party didn’t stop until 03:00, by which point my common sense told me to go to bed.

We had a slow morning, lingering over breakfast on a rooftop, before finishing our shopping and returning to the hotel. At 13:00 we caught some tuk-tuks to a mall and bought cinema tickets. We settled into our seats, laden with Coke, popcorn and samosas, and followed the story of a man who didn’t like his wife because she was too fat, but romantically, over the course of a few months, condescended to love her. Feeling slightly bemused by the storyline, but unable to stop humming the songs, we went back to the Old Town and went on a boat around the lake, just as the sun was obfuscated by some clouds. We met Binu at an amazing thali place. It was like a sushi conveyor belt, but there was no sushi, and the conveyor belt was made of humans. A platoon of waiters filled our dishes continously, so that the mountain of food before us never got any smaller. Eventually, we had gorged ourselves to bursting, and were forced to stop.

Udaipur is a pleasant city. We were lucky to be here during the festival, and to experience the colours and atmosphere associated with it. The art produced here is beautiful, and the lakes are serene. I still feel a little distanced from ‘real India’, despite having watched an entire film in Hindi and having been part of the only white contingent in a restaurant. But maybe if I knew what I was being sheltered from, I’d be more grateful.

A puja in Pushkar.

We were thrust into two Mahindra Jeeps, which were to drive us to Tordi Saga; a village of three thousand five hundred inhabitants. We had managed to select the party bus, and pumped out the likes of Aqua, Akon, and Avril Lavigne as we hurtled down the motorway. The back door had a tendency to swing open every time we went over a bump; which developed from something quite amusing to something mildly terrifying. However, we made it to our destination safely, and visited a local man’s house for lunch. He served us a delicious dahl and some dense wheat bread, for which we thanked him profusely. We then had a wander around the village, and were henna-ed by a beautiful but shy local girl.

In the late afternoon we were picked up by more Jeeps, which drove us to some sand dunes. We were the only people there as the red sun drifted down to touch the horizon; we sipped hot chai as the darkness spread.

The next day we had a walk around the village. This wasn’t nearly as contrived as similar visits I’ve done; the locals called out to us, asking for their photos to be taken. We were definitely a novelty. After our walk we crawled back into the Jeeps and drove to Pushkar. We walked around the small town, dazed by the volume of shops vomiting out tie-dye, camel leather, and tea. It’s a hippie mecca, and we were struck by the number of older people, their grey grizzled dreadlocks belieing many a decade spent in a weedy Indian haze. We visited the temple dedicated to Brahma, the Hindu god of creation, then went down to the holy lake around which Pushkar is built. A Brahmin in yellow chinos and a stripey shirt conducted a puja for us; a series of prayers for ourselves and our families, banishing bad karma and welcoming good. We cast flower petals into the water, and were anointed with a mixture of rice and red powder. Feeling cleansed, we walked around the lake and had dinner, admiring the fireworks that were bringing in the Hindu New year.

We had a relaxed day after that, shopping for psychadelic hippie tat, eating wholesome hippie fare, and chilling by the hippie-free pool. As we headed into town we stumbled upon a procession, led by an enthusiastic man in orange.

I had an ayurvedic massage, which was enjoyable, but in a weird little parlour/office. I was told by Yogi Ji that I had a cool head, soft stomach, and hot feet, and that is good. He asked me if I was a farmer, because of my supposed good health, and was visibly surprised when I answered in the negative.

In the evening we split into two groups. The others opted to take a camel ride, but I was too stingy to partake. We hopped into Jeeps and met them in the desert, at the campsite of a nomadic family. The sun set and the moon rose as we were entertained by a bizarre magic show which culminated in the apparition of three pigeons in a basket, and four mesmerising dancers that orbited the fire.

A man ate some flames and we ate our dinner, comprised of lentils, breads, vegetables and rice. The man that had conducted our pujas was also there, for some unknown reason. The fire burned low and we said our goodbyes.

Our final day in Pushkar started at 05:00. We tripped in the darkness, following Shanka up a mountain. The incline was steep, and for the second time I regretted leaving my trainers in Thailand. The milky dawn was just spreading as we reached the temple at the summit. We crumpled into a sweaty heap, and revived ourselves with chai as the sun began to peek over the mountains, the pink reflection glistening off the lake.

It was a moment of calm contentment. Until a family of monkeys started chattering and leaping around. We reluctantly descended, but it was worth it for breakfast.

Pushkar is one of those strange hippie bubbles that I’ve stumbled on from time to time while I’ve been away. It’s chilled out, safe, colourful, but it also feels a bit disingenuous, artificial, and designed solely to cater to western needs. This isn’t the whole story: Pushkar has been a site of religious pilgrimage for hundreds of years, and the fact that the city is meat and alcohol free is a testament to that. I would have felt safe in Pushkar if I’d been by myself, but I was a bit intimidated by the clans of travellers, who seemed reluctant to engage with anyone who wasn’t wearing tie-dye (disclaimer: I own some tie-dye), or didn’t have dreads. I can imagine people staying in Pushkar for a long time. Maybe it’s just for the muesli.

The Jewels of Jaipur.

We had another early morning, boarding a local bus at about 07:30. We passed green fields and leafy trees that wouldn’t have been out of place in England. I quizzed Binu about Indian politics, the education system and his own travel, and the hours soon passed. We stopped on the way, and I experienced my first sweet, milky chai. It was delicious; definitely not the same as versions I’ve had at home. We arrived in Jaipur and checked into a lovely hotel. We had a little wander around, saw the Moon Gate, watched a herd of pigs writhing around in some rubbish, then joined Binu. He led us through the streets, explaining the significance of different marble shrines and religious statues. We grabbed another chai (I can already see this turning into an addiction) then took some tuk-tuks to a rooftop bar, where we watched the ruby sun set over the city.

The next day I woke up with the sunlight, and listened to the caws of the peacocks that live on the roof of a neighbouring apartment. After breakfast we visited the Amber Fort; a massive palatial complex set atop a mountain, overlooking the Rajistani countryside. The dusky stone walls and colourful frescos made it easy to imagine what life might have been like, but it was the ornate mirrored patterns of the hall for special assemblies that was truly breathtaking.

Once we’d had our fill of the stunning architecture, we visited the Water Palace and the Palace of the Winds. The latter was designed for royal ladies, so that they could watch processions behind the windows meshed with stone.

We wandered around for a while, then found a hotel with a pool, where we chilled out for the afternoon, before grabbing some dinner. Our meal was embellished with a bizarre (and unasked for) puppet show, that at times was rather lewd. After an uncomfortable few minutes we managed to escape, and return to the safety of the hotel.

Jaipur is a colourful combination of beautiful old buildings sporting the residual pink colour for which the city is famous, and a bustling population of busy people and sedate livestock, that trawl through dusty alleys and pits of rubbish. The honks of horns mix with the squeals of peacocks in a cacophony that doesn’t induce panic or stress. People calmly make their way through the chaos, which makes me think that perhaps it isn’t chaos at all.

Delhi-ted to Mahal you.

Shoshana and I caught the same flight from Yangon to Bangkok – it was the kind of flight where you land as soon as you take off. I took the free shuttle bus across to the other airport, where I had a wait of eight hours. I discovered that my prepaid cash card was being used fraudulently, so cancelling that kept me occupied for a little while. Eventually I boarded my second plane, and found myself in a tiny middle seat, but I scrunched up in a ball and managed to sleep more than I thought would be possible. I didn’t even feel the ascent or descent, and at midnight I landed in Delhi. I changed some dollars to rupees, then found an unforgiving plastic seat and managed to sleep a little more. After two hours I gave up on the seat, and laid on the cool, cleanish marble, which was surprisingly comfortable. At 07:00 it started to get light, so I felt comfortable taking a taxi. I arrived at the hotel, checked in, and was introduced to my roomie, lovely thirty-eight year-old Ingrid from Slovakia, just as I emerged (betowelled) from a much needed shower. We arranged to see the sights of Delhi together in a cab. First we saw the iconic India Gate, standing triumphantly against the sky in a beautifully manicured park. We then visited Humayun’s Tomb – a fascinating complex of Islamic architecture, comprised of impossibly intricate stone-carvings, and satisfyingly symmetrical turrets and gardens.

Our final stop before lunch was the Qutb Complex; home of a gargantuan minar and a series of smaller mosques. The earthy reds and golds, and the details of the masonry were mesmerising.

We had a late lunch at a weird restaurant, tucked above a textile merchant, then drove past some more temples and returned to the hotel.

At 17:00 it was time to meet the group. We had a detailed discussion, touching upon transport, accommodation and diarrhoea, before heading out for dinner to a restaurant that Bindu, our guide, recommended. Ingrid and I were still stuffed from lunch, but the curries and naans looked delicious. Everyone was pretty tired, so we had an early night.

At 05:15 the next morning we left the hotel and drove to the station. After weaving through a maze of taxis and tuk-tuks we boarded a very clean, comfortable train. The sun rose through the mist as we sped down the tracks. We passed a number of slums; defecating men watched us as they squatted, and pigs rooted around for anything edible in plastic mounds. After a couple of hours we arrived in Agra. We were driven to the hotel, dropped off our bags, then went to the Agra Fort. The detail was stunning, and our guide carefully explained the symbolism of the patterns, representing Hindu, Islamic, Buddhist and Christian culture.

We then went for lunch (splitting into a ‘curry’ faction and a ‘Pizza Hut’ faction – I opted for the former), before regrouping to visit the most iconic landmark of India.

I almost cried when I saw the Taj Mahal. It is absolutely perfect; its symmetry is breath taking, it’s story is heart-breaking, and my exorbitant expectations were met and exceeded. We spent a couple of hours taking too many photos, and staring in wonder and awe. It was hard to believe that it was real. Infuriatingly, I had The Darkness in my head for the entire visit (“You’re at the Taj Mahal, and I’m outside Big Ben…”), but that didn’t detract from the splendour or the atmosphere. Still tingling with exhilaration, we dragged ourselves away. We went for dinner then crashed into sleep.

So far, India has been spectacular. I was expecting chaos, unsanitary conditions, and harrassment, and what I’ve experienced has been beauty, history, and astonishment. Travelling with a group is bewilderingly easy – I don’t have to think about anything, and I’m grateful for the security it affords me. It’s early days, but I’m so happy to be here. I can’t wait to see what else this amazing country has to offer.