Mumbai

The hotel porter in Missouri prepared us for Delhi, falsely adding 60 rupees to our hotel bill for a coffee that only cost 30 rupees and was paid for at the time. I decided I couldn't be bothered arguing, as we had our bags on, and were about to leave the room to catch the bus.

He had been waiting outside our room, and had refused to let me pay for our stay at the reception desk, in order for his scam to work. I looked though my pockets and wallet for small notes, knowing full well he would claim to have no change. As I fished in my wallet to pay the bill he started jabbering "tip, tip, tip, give me tip! tip tip tip!". Trying not to get irritated, I gave him a 100 on top of the room bill, all I had left to cover his bull-shit coffee and a tip (even if it was for being a weirdo who loitered outside our hotel room whenever we were in, trying to squeeze tips out of us)

He looked at the money like I'd wiped my arse with it. "Tip, tip, tip, give me a tip" He stared again.

"YOU GOT IT THERE!" I point at it, stare at him, and turn around to leave. A f---ing 100 for f--k all I think to myself as we make our way to the bus stop.

We were soon on the bus to DheraDun, and from there (via a stop at a roadside vendor for stuffed parantha), we soon found the bus to Delhi, the conductor hanging around it shouting "delhidelhidelhidelhidelhidelhi!!". We got seats at the front, and despite being a state bus, it was more comfortable than the "delux" bus we got to Rishikesh, even with all our luggage. I had a nice older chap next to me trying to make conversation, but our language differences made it almost impossible, so we settled into a companionable silence as Mrs Grasshopper settled into a comfortable snooze.

7 Hours later we pulled up at Delhi interstate bus terminal, and were immediatly jumped on by auto-rickshaw touts, hawkers and beggers.

They left the Indian travellers alone of course!

We pushed our way out towards the police-run pre-paid booth, constantly refusing the touts and pointing to the booth "we go there"!! Once bloke grabbed me and said "No need, I'm from the pre-paid booth, you can book with me."

I pulled up short, and couldn't help but smile as I said in a loud voice "So your a policeman then are you?" He looked, just for a moment, like he was going to try that angle. Then he shook his head, and instantly disappered, common sense prevailing.

The bobby at the booth gave us a price of 55 rupees (which was amazingly cheap for the distance!), and we were whisked off to the hotel, just as the sun set. We went to the same hotel as before (better the devil you know), and started arguing for the same room fee we paid last time. They claimed we should have paid 500, then hinted that we had lied to them and claimed single occupancy when we should have paid for double. I kept my happy face on, grinning like an idiot (maybe that's why they all treat me like one?) while shaking my head and Mrs Grasshopper gave it "scary eyes" and kept pointing to the register; "Check it- we paid 350!"

We got it for 350 and after signing in (and seeing the 2 guests next door paid 250), we had a couple of beers with our curry at the bar down the road, and then settled in for an early night in front of the movie channel.

The next morning, at 7am the hotel organised a taxi for us to the airport (I like taxi drivers- they seem so much more honest than the tourist-preying rickshaw drivers), and we were there in plenty of time.

We flew with Jet airways, an indian airline who were simply amazing- on par with Singapore airlines, at least for suchg a small flight. They had put us on an earlier flight during check-in at no extra cost because we were there early, and within a few hours we were boarded, in the air, eating chiken tikka, down again, and standing outside Mumbai airport.

Just like that.

Sweat poured out of us after the cold of the mountains, and the heat set off our cold induced coughs, as we looked for our contact in the crowd of name-card waving men.

No irritating auto-touts!

Vishal, our Goa project executive, soon found us as the only westerners there, and took us via taxi to an excellent hotel in Northern Mumbia. There we met a few other volunteers, including James, a decent glaswegian-australian chap who chatted a fair bit with us at reception. Once booked in, Mrs G and I grabbed some tea from the Chai-wallah on the road outside before heading off to Juhu beach, a 45 minute, 150 rupee taxi drive away.

Mrs Grasshopper and I were amazed!!

There were Indian women on there own on the beach- wearing strappy tops, and drinking beer! Joggers huffed past us, and families played in the sand as the sun set- and no-one stared at us!! It generally had a great atmosphere, and although the pollution was heavy in the air, the beach was pretty clean, and the sun was bright and hot, unlike the cold shrouded globe we seen in Delhi.

We found a beach-front resturant and ordered a curry which we ate with our fingers, and drank an ice cold beer as the sun set, watching the kite-flyers and kids have fun. It was brilliant.

Afterwards we set off back to the hotel for an early night, as we had a few hours on the bus the next day to Lonovla, where we would be staying for our ashram "thing" and trekking.

Shirly (who we had worked with in Africa), who we had been desperatly hoping would be at the airport, didn't arrive until the early hours of the morning. However, she knocked on a 8am, calling "Jambo!". Hugs all round (glad I put my kecks on!) and we swapped stories for a bit as the air con cooled the room. I noticed how brown she was, and totally unaffected by the heat, unlike us, having spent her time in Malaysia. We had a hurried breakfast at a place around the corner, so hurried in fact, Shirlies veg-toasty had to be wrapped to go. It was brilliant seeing her again, and we were in really high spirits as we into old mini-busses with the other volunteers for our drive to Lonovla...