India

We left Nairobi after a mooch around the public parks with Alice and Shirley (who had returned from climbing Mt Kenya they day before), arriving in Dubai around midnight. Our flight was at 5am, so that's when I posted most of my previous blog entries, after something to eat and a quick shop for essentials- hence the poor quality of writing. I uploaded some pictures from my camera-phone, but they took so long that I ran out of time.

We arrived in Delhi around mid-day, having had no sleep for about 30 hours and the worst breakfast in the world (it takes a very special airline to cock-up an omelet ready-meal!).
Just before meeting our Delhi contact at arrivals, Mrs Grasshopper and I cashed some travellers cheques. As I distributed my rupees into different pockets and money belt, I noticed Mrs G's money belt was outside her trousers, just visible below her t-shirt.
"Aren't you going to tuck that in?" I ask
"I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to be messing with the front of my trousers in public" she says.
"Fair enough", and I think nothing more of it.
We meet our contact, who escorts us through the busy airport carpark to a battered taxi, and we set of for the hotel.

Now, if I thought the traffic in Nairobi (and Kenya in general) was crazy, Delhi is off the scale! It was like the rules of the road, or even human self preservation, had been entirely replaced by hitting the horn.

Give way? Nah, just hit the horn and go! Check mirror, signal, then change lane? Nope again- hit the horn and go! Traffic stopped? Hit the horn and make a space!
Words cannot describe the traffic and road use. The road markings are never used, ever, and although India theoretically drives on the left, in reality it simply doesn't matter as long as your moving forwards. If in doubt-hit the horn!.
We got to a hotel, possibly the worst I've known , and the rudest porter in the world took my bags up to my room (despite my forceful protests). While scowling and shaking his hand at me for a tip, Mrs Grasshopper goes a peculiar colour.
"Grasshopper- my money belt has gone."
"Huh?"
"It's not there".
The porter was no help until I gave him some rupees, and only then we were able to run downstairs, checking the lobby, street, taxi, lift... before realising realised her money belt was definitely gone, containing among other things, her credit cards and all our travellers cheques.

After frantic (and expensive) phone calls to home and AmEx (who by the way, are amazing at being completely F--king useless), and we were on the craziest rickshaw trip into the city center, in an attempt to find the AmEx office and a police station (a police report was needed to replace the travellers cheques), and somewhere to buy some jeans.

Our rickshaw driver was reserved by Delhi standards, only putting us in fear for our lives a few times. However, he was insistent on dropping us off at 5 different spice, silk, tea and "tourist-gift" shops, despite clear instructions of where we actually wanted to go.

Thankfully we were prepared for this, but upon stopping outside yet another Indian silk shop, I was starting to get irritated.
"Police station, PLEASE" I ask
"I take you to place better than police station, they find anything you lost"
"No. Police station."
"You sure?"
"YES. POLICE STATION!"

The police report was nothing, what-so-ever, like what actually happened. However, upon explaining to the sub-inspector what Mrs G and I do in the UK, at least we got the report for free like it should be (and I made a new best friend out of the Inspector, who took our photos, gave me his mobile number and asked me to contact him when we are back in Delhi for a night out "without the wife-much better he he he"!). It was actually really interesting to be shown round the nick, and we were treated like honoured guests with tea and lots of laughing and chatting, although a correct report would still have been nice.

That night we ate chicken biriyani in our hotel room (the traditional way- using hands and not knife and fork- we're quite good at this now after Kenya), and done our best to keep the porter from constantly barging into our room unannounced and for no real reason. He was blatantly trying his best to get un-warranted tips, or a shot of Mrs G's tits, both of which I strongly objected to.

The next morning we travelled to the Idex office via a 6 hour bus to Jaipur (the organisation we are working for). For the next four days we were given lessons on Hindi (which was amusing-languages were never my strong point), Indian cultural issues, religion, and the situation for women in Indian society.

At night we stayed at an Indian families house, where our hostess Anju cooked the most amazing Indian food we've ever tasted. One afternoon we seen a bollywood movie, which was a fantastic experience, in the cities oldest, grandest cinema. Another afternoon we went shopping around the old town, buying Mrs Grasshopper some Indian clothes for working in, and I got a pair of genuine Levi's for about 13 quid. I don't envy Mrs G wearing those clothes- we are both still freezing cold after the heat of Kenya, and it's only going to get worse higher up in the mountains!

One morning we visited the Amber fort which was brilliant. We gave the elephant rides a miss though, after seeing such beautiful beasts in the wild, it was sickening to see them now a captured tourist attraction, de-tusked and forced to walk constantly up and down the hill.

Beautiful palace though.

Eventually our time in Jaipur was over, and we had the unusual experience of an overnight sleeper-train to Himichal Pradesh, kipping down on bunk-beds to hushed hindi, snoring and other peoples cabbage arse.

Then finally a 4 hour crazy, bald-tyred jeep ride up the mountains to our camp in Palampur...