KOLKATA: CONFUSED!

We arrive in Kolkata. We get a taxi from the train station. The driver knows where he is going and doesn't ask for more money: I'm confused! We check into our hotel: Its clean: I'm confused. We walk down the street. There is no one hassling us for money; to buy something crap; or to go on a tour: I'm confused! There are no taxi drivers asking us if "We want taxi?" every two seconds. We actually have to flag one down: I'm very confused! Kolkata is just well? Confusing!

Kolkata was nothing like I thought it was going to be. I had images of starving children in the streets being tended to by Mother Theresa type nuns; beggars everywhere pulling at my feet and an environment of complete chaos. Instead we find a tranquil, chilled city. Don't get me wrong there is poverty and beggars here, but no more, maybe even less than what I have seen in other great hubs in India. You see for decades now Kolkata or Calcutta as it was formally know has been edged in people's brains across this world, as a city of horror and human suffering, due to Mother Theresa and books such as City of Joy. What I see now is a city that doesn't quite know what it is suppose to be.

India was ruled by the British for 250 years. Over that time we left our mark: the railways; public schools; cricket and the scattering of the English language, but travelling around India you can hardly tell we were ever here. This is not the case in Kolkata. It was the former capital of the Raj and a city more less built from scratch by the British. This can be seen with its orderly planning from wide tree lined avenues to the grid street plan. There a monuments and statues everywhere, the grandest of which is the Victoria memorial, that looks just as impressive as any grandiose building we have in London. There seems to be a organisation to this city that so far I haven't seen anywhere else. Even the cars stick to their lanes (Well sort of)? Even with its British heritage though, it's confused. The old street names of the British were changed to Indian ones by the government, many years ago, along with the change of the name of the city from Calcutta to Kolkata. The only problem is everyone still uses the British ones, which gets very? Well you guessed it! Confusing.

It is not only the relative calm of this place but there are glimpses of the modern world too, which seemed exciting after being in a time warp of places like Varanasi and Rajasthan. Coffee shops; music shops and book stores (Kolkata is the art and literature capital of India). But the best thing of all was there were bars! I'd been teetotal for my time in India up till now. Im not a alcoholic, but I like a drink. I'm the first to admit I drink too much. For a person like me giving up alcohol for a month was not the easiest task. I'd always intended to have a little break from alcohol after the excesses of the Christmas period, but with the E.coli it hadn't even been a choice. After our medication had finished, I realised I wasn't missing alcohol at all. It was nice to wake up feeling fresh everyday, and so I continued not to drink. Now in Kolkata I was surrounded by all the trappings of modern life and the thought of an ice cold beer seemed very tempting indeed. We found a bar that looked like the set from "Cheers" and sat down. As we sat drinking our beers, the bar started to fill with young Indians. The guys all looked modern, but the thing I noticed the most was the women. Most wore heels, short dresses and low cut tops. It was like any other bar you would see back in the west! Well that was until the band started playing; 80s power ballads; which were all out of tune and sang with a thick Indian accent! Another beer was needed.

Even though Kolkata was not the Hell hole I was expecting; it can certainly be said, that this was not the case in the past. When India gained her independence from the British in 1947, the country was also separated. The new Muslim territories of Pakistan and East Pakistan (Now Bangladesh) were created. The partition saw one of the biggest human migrations in history, with 10 million people losing their homes and moving to their allotted country. Kolkata was badly effected during this time, receiving all the Hindu refugees fleeing East Pakistan. Four million people flooded into the already over crowded city. As well as the over crowding the city suffered badly economically with the departure of the British and the partition. With all these factors combined, Kolkata became a city of extreme poverty and horror, where people were actually starving to death on the streets.
It was during this time that a little nun from Albania, who was stationed in Kolkata in a covent, educating the children of rich Indian's, heard the voice of God, telling her to go and help the poor. So she left her convent, and set out on her own to the slums, dressed in only a simple white cotton sari with a blue trim. Her name was Mother Theresa.
I am not a religious person and no matter what you think of religion yourself, there is no way you can look at Mother Theresa and her charity and say what she did was of no good. Before she came a long there was no help for the poor on the streets and she unselfishly devoted her life to this cause.
Me and Lauren went a long to her house and to see her tomb which was right next to our hotel. We were guided my a nun in the now traditional cotton sari uniform of the Mother Theresa nuns to her tomb, which resides in the "Mother House." It was a sober room, where silence was required while nuns and priests prayed in the back ground. Me and Lauren sat there quietly looking at the tomb, when a school party of Indian children came in. The teacher walks straight up to us and stands blocking our view.
"Where are you from?"
"England" I reply very embarrassed.
"Oh very good. Good cricket. We excited to see you." Photo?"
Before we can say yes or no. We are surrounded by a mass of school children smiling and shouting, while a queue has formed in front us for the next photo. We are completely trapped, and not only that we can't see the tomb anymore because the children have all turned their backs on it and are facing us! Mother Theresa the image of human sacrifice; saviour of thousands; who many see as a saint, is being over shadowed by Carly and Lauren; two costumes girls from London; who do silly things; and feel that real hardship is when you don't have hot showers and toilet paper! I turn and look at Lauren who looks frozen with it all, as the non stop photos continued and said "I'm modified! We are definitely going to Hell now!"

When it came the time for us to leave Kolkata, we found a taxi to take us to the airport. Our taxi driver was a scrawny looking man with thin features but a big smile, which showed he didn't have a full set of teeth. He was extremely chatty.
"I am Laba Hadu. I from Nepal. Where are you from?"
"England."
"You married?"
"No."
"How old are you?"
"25 & 33."
He turns to me and laughs, "Ha. You older than me. I 32."
"What! What the Hell! I'm older than him. You have to be taking the piss! He looks about 55!" I think. Of course I don't say this, I just go "Oh really?" and smile.
As we drive along he turns to us and says,
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"No I mean smoke!" And pulls out a massive bag of hash!
"You want some?" he asks.
"Oh!" I say shocked "We will give it a miss. We are just about to get on a plane" I reply politely.
"You know it's good to smoke pot" he starts "The God Shiva, he smoke lots of hash. Shiva like hash. This is good. Pot is good."
Me and Lauren just nod a long.
"You have papers?" He looks towards us with a big smile. "I want paper to roll big spliff."
Luckily we didn't have any paper, as his driving was bad enough, without him being stoned! Don't worry everyone, I got his mobile number. So if anyone needs a pothead Nepalese taxi driver in Kolkata, Laba Hadu is your man!

I liked Kolkata very much, though even now after I have left, it is a city that I can still not figure out. On one hand Kolkata represents the India of today in trying to move forward, with it's modern shops and more liberal thinking. On the other hand it is a city very much living in the past, still stuck in its old ways. It is a city with a identity crisis, not sure of what it should be.
One evening I was in Kolkata in a music store trying to purchase some India music like the Hit man had played, when I noticed an old India man. I say he was India, but he dressed like a typical old English gentleman from the 1930s with his tweed blazer, walking stick and silk cravat. He spoke loudly to the shop assistant in his best queens English with only a slight hint of an Indian accent. He was oddly out of place in this modern music shop. I suddenly felt very sad looking at him. He had been left behind. This man was from another time, another era but that era had left nearly 80 years ago, and with it they took their afternoon teas; posh ways; and their strange clothes. All that was left now were their crumbling mansions, hidden behind their also crumbling high walls. They left India alone and gave them back their freedom. Had no one told this man? Or maybe they had and he just hadn't wanted to believe it. Maybe it was all too confusing?
Next stop Tamil Nadu!

VARANASI: SHIT!

"Varanasi! Varanasi! You don't want to go there! It's full of shit! It's everywhere. Filthy!"
I'm sat in front of the log fire in Wales, with Lauren and Sir Gareth. Me and Lauren have just finished telling him about the places we really want to go and see, while we are in India. Varanasi was one of them. Sir Gareth must of felt very strongly on this point as he even interrupted his News Night viewing for this outburst.
"Filthy. Bloody awful place!" he finishes.
To be fair Sir Gareth was right. Varanasi was full of shit. Dog shit, Cow shit, human shit, and shit that you never knew existed before! It's filthy, but there is so much more to Varanasi than just shit!

There was no train from Khujuraho to Varanasi for 2 days and even then they were probably full because of the Kumbh Mela. There was no direct bus either. "Great where stuck here" I thought. Well that was until our guest house suggested:
"Private taxi Madam. Very cheap! Very good!"
It did turn out to be very cheap for a 9 hour drive in your own private car. "We'll do it" we said.
The next day we awoke before sunrise, ready for our big drive. As we exited the guesthouse we were greeted by a shiny white, brand new car. "Well this makes a change" I thought after all the transport we had been before looked like it was falling apart. Then a man appeared. He was tall and dark skinned with a thick black moustache. He had an air of calm and collectiveness about him. His face was expressionless as he said,
"Hello. I am your driver."
Our driver was a man of few words, but that didn't matter. He was there to do a job: Drive! Anyway. I didn't care because he liked music and he played the best selection of Bollywood retro tunes ever. This guy was seriously cool. He kept stopping every now and again. Firstly for his morning Puja (prayers) but then after that at random places, to talk to different men. When he did this he would always take with him a leather file which I saw inside of once. It had lots of documents and typed papers. He would never say to us what he was doing during these little excursions. On one of these occasions I got out to buy some masala crisps (love them and their E numbers!) as me and Lauren were starving. He seemed quite unhappy when he saw me out of the car.
"I need some water as well" I explained.
"Not here. I will take you to the water" he calmly but firmly said. As we got back into the car, two beggars leered at us and started trying to touch me and Lauren through the window. He shut the window and stared them away with his eyes. "Nobody messes with the driver" I thought.

It was on another of his stops, when he was out the car, Lauren turned to me and said:
"Do you think our driver is some kind of assassin or hit man!"
I looked around. The seats were covered with towels and white cloth; he kept a leather file; he made secret stops to talk to different people; and he has great music taste. He had to be a hit man! It was like that movie with Tom cruise and Jamie Foxx. Collateral, but this time he was the hit man and the driver. All he needed now was some black leather gloves. How I wished he had black leather gloves. If I'd had, had some, I would of given them to him. As you can tell, I was not scared at the thought of our driver being a potential Hit man. In fact I quite liked it. If that makes me morally wrong for liking Hit men, then so be it!
Hit man dropped us by the train station as cars aren't allowed into the centre of Varanasi. I refused his offer to find us a Auto rickshaw driver (because as you know I'm a strong independent woman and everything), but as soon as we got out of his car and out of his protection, we were like lambs to the slaughter. Now I'd heard Varanasi was crazy, but even I'm a little bit like a rabbit in the head lights! There are men pissing at the side of us; a open manhole in the street; traffic everywhere; and the taxi drivers are non stop! I run straight back to Hit man.
"Actually, could you ring that friend of yours" I plead. He smoothly gets out his phone and dials without a word. His friend arrives in minutes. How does he do it. After seeing us off safely, Hit man drives away into the sunset, off on his next mission. Probably to shoot some high ranking official.

Hit mans friend drives us as far as he can in his Auto rickshaw, but the last part of the journey has to be done on foot. I'm glad we have Hit mans friend to guide us, as once you get into the old city it turns into a maze of small alleys, filled with pilgrims; cows; dogs; street vendors and just, you guessed it! Shit! . All I think is "How the Hell will we ever find our way round this place!" We also have touts flowing us like vultures.
"Where you go?"
"Which hostel?"
"No wrong way. I tell you. You go this way!"
I turn round.
"I'm with him! Go away!"
I also feel like saying, "I'm with Hit mans friend and you better leave us alone or Hit man will come and find you and open a six can of whoop ass on you!" Of course I don't say that, but the thought is there.
Hit mans friend delivers us safely to our hostel and I'm so grateful as we would of never found it. Only problem is the hostel is full! So is the one next door! Great! It's hot, we haven't eaten nearly all day and we are lost in a maze! Luckily one of the hostels takes pity on us and finds us a room in its sister branch. We are then guided through more shit and cow filled alleys to our simple but pleasant hostel with a scarf wearing owner who says
"If God pleases" at the end of most sentences. I liked him very much.

To find our way round Varanasi me and Lauren have to use markers. This can be anything from a shop sign to a pile of cow shit! The next morning I have my biggest test yet! I have to get to and from, the train station, to get tickets. I'm was doing it solo as well, as Lauren wasn't feeling too well. I haven't a clue where I'm going, but I start walking and memorising as much as possible. Luckily I see a porter with a Japanese family carrying their bags. "They must be heading for the Main Street" I tell myself. I hit the Main Street. It's a mass of chaos and energy. I strike a deal with a cycle rickshaw to take me there and back.
The legend that is my Nana Lil, use to live in Singapore many moons ago. She has many a great story from those days. When I travelled there a few years ago, I came back and told her all about it. She seemed sadly disappointed with my tales of skyscrapers and a clean and highly modern place.
"Would you not like to go back and visit? I asked her.
"Oh no!" She replied. "I wouldn't like it. I preferred it more, when it was dirty and gritty, with brothels and opium dens! It was much more exciting and real."
I always thought about what Lil had said after that, but it was only now sat high on a cycle rickshaw being drove through the masses in Varanasi, that I finally understood what she meant. I had never felt so alive. Around me were crowds; animals; men pushing carts laden with rice; chickens in cages; food vendors; and street kids running around playing games. It was life at its most simplest; gritty; and energetic form. If time travel was possible this is what it would be like, for Varanasi is like going back in time. There is nowhere like it on earth, that I have ever been. I sat for the rest of the journey totally absorbed in this world around me.

Later that day, after Lauren was feeling better, we found are way down to the river; to the sacred Ganges. Varanasi is one of the worlds oldest continually inhabited cities and is regarded as one of Hinduism's seven holy cities. Pilgrims from all over India come to the ghats lining the River Ganges to wash away a life time of sin. The Ganges is also one of the most polluted rivers in the world. Downstream of Varanasi, the Ganges is a black septic river with 3000 times the acceptable limit of faecal coliform bacteria. It's hard to watch people submerging themselves and drinking this water, with such faith and devotion, when you know that it is probably going to make them ill, or even kill some of them, but this is India and their religion. They would not believe you if you told them anyway.

People also come to Varanasi to die, since expiring here offers moksha (liberation from the cycle of birth and death). Death is everywhere in Varanasi and I mean everywhere. It is the Hindu tradition to cremate bodies and this is done in public at the burning ghats at the side of the river. They first douse the body in the Ganges then cremate it in huge piles of wood. Me and Lauren sat and watched the burnings. It was a weird feeling. Fascinating and morbid at the same time. You could smell the burning flesh; dogs scavenged for food among the rumble; the doms (the handlers of the dead bodies) where covered in dirt and smoke; and the touts tried to swindle money from tourists and mourners as the bodies burned in the back ground. It felt medieval, like this scene before me had not changed in centuries. It was life at its grittiest.

That evening we hired a boatman to row us along the river at sunset. We watched from a far the ever burning fires of the dead; and the ancient fire and dance ceremony of the Ganga aarti. The Hindus light candles surrounded by flowers and place them on the river. They are prayers for the dead; or requests to the Gods for a good husband or a healthy child. Lauren's great Aunt had died a couple of days before, so lit one in Pray to her. And me? I lit one too, and asked the Gods for something, but I will not tell you what for. It's my secret.

We stayed a couple of days in Varanasi, but we could of stayed there forever. Me and Lauren agreed it was one of our favourite places in India. It's one of the most unrelenting; chaotic; and unapologetic places on earth, but it is also one of the most blinding and absorbing places too, even with the shit, but isn't most of life full of shit anyway?
Next stop Kolkata.

KHAJURAHO: SEXY!

For me India is one of the most sexually repressed countries in the world. It gives off the impression that sex is seen as a dirty word here. It is some poison from the west. A man should never touch a woman until they are married. Sex should only be something that happens in marriage and then only for the conceiving of children. They don't even show sex in films or TV! In truth, India is a country filled with sexuality just like any other, if not more, because to suppress ones desires will only make them stronger in my belief. India has one of the highest rape figures in the world, which was brought to the worlds attention recently with the horrific rape of a student in Delhi. India also has high rates of women who are trafficked into prostitution, and like rape here, most turn a blind eye to it. You have to ask yourself the questions, that if India had a more liberal attitude towards sex, would the number of these cases be so high? Is it when you sexual repress a human being, that sex really does become something dirty? I don't have the answer to this. It is too complicated as an issue to try and solve, but as a woman travelling India, it is something I have debated a lot, because believe me it's not easy being a woman India, especially for one that is liberal and values her freedom so much.

I have travelled India three times now, but I have never travelled with a man. I often wonder what kind of experience I would have travelling with one; how different it would be? As I said being a woman here is not easy and being a western woman here with out a male is full of difficulties. From the moment you step into India, you are met with constant stares, not just from men but women and children too. You are an oddity with your light skin; funny coloured hair and strange ways. The difference with the men is most of them look at you in sexual way. Why? Because western woman are seen as different. We have sex before marriage, if we even get married at all; we wear revealing clothes; and in life we may have more than one sexual partner. This means we are more accessible; this makes us more sexual, or as we have been told: "SEXY!" Not like I can see how anyone can be classed as sexy when you haven't brushed your hair; have no make up on and are wearing the same clothes you have had on for the last three days!

Being "Sexy" means that a lot of men seem to thing you will have sex with them or are a least up for being touched. This results in you being friendly, being translated as a come on; a hug turning into hands being where they shouldn't be; and me and Lauren being felt up on public transport (Lauren on the bus; me on the train)! There is also the constant barrage of having your photo taken. I now know what it must feel like to be famous and I don't like it! I don't mind the photo calls with the families, as the thought of being the photo of the token white girl in a family holiday album doesn't bother me, but photos for the single guys does. They pester constantly and when you say no, they try and take it anyway. Me and Lauren have taken to putting our scarves over our faces to defeat them. I wish I had a Burka sometimes. Why do these guys want these photos? I have heard different theories. One is they show their friends and say your their girlfriends. Another is that they do with it, what guys do alone with a photo that they fine sexy! OMG! Its so tiring. I love India. I love the people, but this is one aspect of life, I will never get use to here. You might think I'm being harsh; stereotyping; even slightly racist, for they are just doing what guys in England do over Page 3 girls and Nuts Magazine. You could even say I'm a huge hypocrite. Do I not sexualise myself all the time by wearing short skirts and posting pictures of myself on Face Book in some scantily clad bikini? Yes I do, but its my choice and that's the difference. I think one of the strongest things a woman has is her sexuality, but it must always be her, that is in control of it. In India we have no control on the way our sexuality is perceived and it is this problem that western women feel frustrated, scared and powerless here sometimes. Now I've finished my feminist rant, I await the backlash I shall probably receive from it.

It wasn't always like this in India. This is the country that gave us the Karmasutra; though this is also about leading a moral and gracious life, as well as how many sexual positions you can do in one night when you have had too much to drink. Me and Lauren ventured to a small town called Khajuraho to see their famous World Heritage listed temples. Great! More temples your thinking. Yes, but these ones are different. These ones are sexy!

The 25 temples that are left were built AD 950 and well they seem to have a big theme running through them: Sex! Everywhere you look there is tits and ass and people doing positions I didn't even think was possible. You find yourself looking upside down! You can tell where the raunchiest bits are, as they usually have the most people crowded around them, so of course I rush over. The favourite seems to be the nine person orgy. Next to it is a guy, well...... Hmm! Tending to his horse is the best way to put it. Most people pretend not to take much notice of this one, but then secretly sneak back when no one is around to take a picture, or was that just me?

In fact people's reactions to it are quite funny. The Indians are obviously interested because they are there, but also seemed extremely embarrassed at the same time, apart from the teenage boys who are taking loads of photos for their statue porn collection. The Japanese and Koreans don't seem to have any reaction and the French and the Germans look at it as something as normal as watching their favourite soap. Oh! And me and Lauren! How did we react? We were hot! Really hot! Not from the statues! The weather. I've seen both series of Games of Thrones! It's going to take more than that to get me hot under the collar!
Next stop Varanasi!

AGRA: JOURNEYS

"The embodiment of all things pure", that's what Rudyard Kipling said about me. Ha! I wish! In fact it was these words that Mr Kipling, (Rudyard, not the cake man!) used to describe the monument that has come to symbolise India. We ventured to Agra especially to see it, like millions do ever year. Lauren was especially excited, as you couldn't go to India and not see the Taj Mahal. I was less excited as I been there done that and got the T-shirt, on my last trip. As well as that, Agra was a complete shit hole, which has nothing going for it apart from the Taj. It was also, if I remember rightly, bloody freezing!

Our train arrived at 6.00am in the bitch black and my memory was right: Agra was bloody freezing! After finding our guest house, we were told we couldn't check in until 10.00am.
"Come on Lauren, lets go and see the Taj then. It's nice at sunrise."
Well that is when your not freezing your ass off; dressed like a homeless person to try and keep warm; have to walk 1.5km to the ticket office where some bright spark has decided to put it thinking it was a good idea; thus missing sunset; and then being given a lift back to the Taj on a giant electric golf cart with a load of Japanese tourists with mouth masks on!!! Yeah! Great idea! All that said, it didn't ruin the moment. Even looking upon the Taj Mahal for a second time was still breath taking. I looked at Lauren. It was having the same effect on her.
"It doesn't look real" she said.
Even though you are stood there looking at it with your own eyes, the Taj has this dream like effect. It doesn't look real. It looks like a painting; a very beautiful painting. This is why it is one the most beautiful things ever created by man and even the tourists, the touts and the crap souvenirs can't destroy that, and that surely is a feat in itself! Maybe it is so special because it was built out of pure love. The Mughal emperor Shan Jahan build it for his fourth wife (greedy) after she died giving birth to their 14th child (should of kept it in your pants mate)! Hmmm! The best thing I have ever got built out of love was a Valentines day card from my ex with a blurred picture of him sticking out his tongue, which was cut out into a heart shape and then outlined in screwed up balls of toilet paper, with "Happy Valentines" written very badly in biro at the bottom. I guess it's the thought that counts? I still have it actually. Maybe it is the simple things that make you smile?

The next day we went to Fatepur Sikri which is an abandoned palace near Agra. It was built by a Mughal emperor but was only inhabited for 7 years because of water storages in the area (You would of thought they'd check that out before they built the Dam thing)! Anyway it was OK, but after the amazing palaces of Rajasthan it seemed a little boring and nothing to write home about. It was also full of annoying touts trying to rip us off! No the highlight of that day was not the actual place, it was the process of getting there and back. You see, I have found through travelling that sometimes it's the journeys that that far out do the destination.

Fatepur Sikri is 48km outside of Agra. Auto rickshaws do not go there and taxis are expensive. We decided the best and cheapest way to get there would be the local bus. Local buses are well? Hmmm different! For a start we turned up at the bus station. No one really speaks English. We have to say the destination a hundred times before anyone understands you. After that we point a lot at a bus, staying the destination again to make sure this is the right one, until we get a nod. Well we actually get the Indian head wiggle (the Indian gesture where they wiggle their head side to side). It means just about anything, so you never have a clue if there saying yes or no. We eventually find a bus, that we think is the right one. It looks like its seen better days and is falling to pieces, as my seat is coming off its barracks and slides side to side when moving, which makes me feel travel sick! After 15 minutes of travel the inevitable happens: the bus breaks down. I look out the window. The driver seems to be under the bus banging around. He then gets up and him and the conductor argue for a bit. Then they scratch their heads for a bit. Then they talk on their phones for a bit. In the mean time some of the passengers have got off and have formed a crowd around them. There is a lot of commotion, and then the rest of the passengers get off the bus. Me and Lauren just look confused as we haven't got a clue what is going on. We get off the bus. We are told that this bus cannot be mended and we have to wait for the next bus. After half an hour, sat on a busy road side curb and being harassed by some beggar kids, the next bus turns up. Everyone rushes forward to get on and as it already has passengers on board, there is quite a scuffle to get a seat. Luckily me and Lauren get one. With a sudden new influx of passengers, the new bus driver doesn't seem happy. He is refusing to drive and shouting at everyone in Hindi. We just sit there as we haven't got a clue what he is saying. Sometimes it's good to be ignorant. After a while he stops arguing about God knows what, and we are on the road again. I'm sat there (thankfully not on a rocking chair this time!) and I start to close my eyes when the bus comes to a sudden screeching halt and we are all flung forward on the bus. When I have up righted myself I see that the sudden drama was because of an oil tanker that had just decided to pull out in front us. OMG! We just nearly crashed into an oil tanker!!!!! Mr bus driver is even more unhappy now and is screaming at the driver of the tanker out of his window. Both drivers are just hurling abuse at one another while all the passengers look on. Our conductor gets involved now too, and shoves his head out the window and screams also. Now I don't know what the tanker driver said to the conductor (maybe it was something about his mother, like that Italian player said to Zidane which made him head butt him?), but the next thing the conductor gets out of the bus and tries to attack the tanker driver, but he has locked his door. For the next 5 minutes the conductor tries to get the door open and is just shouting a lot as well as the bus driver! We did eventually get to our destination.
I would like to say the return journey went more smoothly, but that would be lie! Firstly we were told it wasn't the bus back to Agra even though it was, by some cafe guy who wanted us to eat his establishment. Not long into the journey a man gets on who is clearly drunk as he is slurring his words, and is trying to eat some green stuff but is spreading most of it around his mouth. The journey seemed to be going quite well, apart from the drunk, until a group of young boys get on. The conductor goes down to them to take payment. Then he starts screaming at them. Then the rest of the bus starts screaming at them (Can everyone just stop arguing for a minute)! We drive for another 10 minutes with all this going on until the driver stops and the conductor gets off the bus and comes back with a policeman who then drags the boys off! What the hell is going on? The man behind us informs us in his bad English.
"Madams. They no pay ticket. People not happy. Things get very temperature!"
I look around the drunk is now passed out.
After half an hour the boys return to the bus looking guilty and we continue our journey, and the shouting, as the conductor and the passengers begin to berate the boys again.
"Yes Madams. Very temperature indeed" says the man behind us again.
That night after dinner, I was haggling with auto rickshaw drivers to get back to our guest house, when a cycle rickshaw came forward and agreed to 40 rupees straight away. As we sat in the back, the night air was cold and I looked at our driver. He was thin and frail looking and even though it was cold he only wore a fine cotton shirt and flip flops. As the journey wore on I realised it was a lot longer than I expected. We felt guilty. 40 Rupees is 50p.
"I'm going to give him more" said Lauren "He seems like a good man and he reminds me of my Dad. Just this once."
At the end she gave him 500 Rupees, nearly a weeks wages for him. He looked down and at first was shocked, but he gave the most wonderful smile, and that made it the best journey ever.
Next stop Khajuraho.

JODPHUR: BONKERS

Why do I love India so much? Good question. I could say its the food; the beautiful fabrics; or the amazing buildings; all of which I do love, but I believe a country is nothing without its people, so it's the people I love the most about India. Yes, there are way too many of them; some of them just want to rip you off; and others just one to make you bang your head against a wall; a very hard wall! What I really love about the Indian people is the fact they are bonkers! Completely bonkers! And has you know I love crazy people.

EXAMPLES OF WHY INDIANS ARE BONKERS!

* DRIVING
As me and Lauren made our way to the bus station to catch our bus to Jodphur in the early hours of the morning, in an auto rickshaw, something became quite apparent to me. It was still bitch black, but there was no light lighting the way from our vehicle.
"Lauren, I don't think this guy has any lights on this vehicle, that work."
Lauren quickly agreed. To make matters worse, it also seemed that he didn't have a working horn too, which was actually more serious, as the way to drive in India is to beep your God dam horn. Thats all they do! So we were completely invisible in the dark to any on coming traffic. It was a bit like watching one of those driving computer games, where you think your probably going to crash any minute and die, but this being real life the crashing and dying bit would be a lot more painful and final. By some pure miracle we made it to the bus stop in one piece. Not for long though, as there is always another bonkers journey awaiting you in India. Our driver from the bus station in Jodphur decided to go the wrong direction down a one way street, facing on coming traffic, so he could take a short cut!!!!! This is actually an everyday occurrence in India.

BUSES
* Me and Lauren hadn't been on a bus since the pukesville episode from Amritsar and I was feeling a bit nervous. Luckily this time no puking! As we got on at the first stop this meant we got a seat. This is not the case for everyone our 7 hour bus journey. As the bus starts to fill up, space becomes less and less and people are crammed in and start sitting on the floor. They also start to sit on my seat, unannounced! Well the arm of my seat anyway, as a Rajasthani woman does and sits there staring at me for the next hour. This happened to me with a man when I was traveling on my own in India, though he went a bit further and decided to actually sit on me and cop a feel at the same time. It took 2 Aussie guys to pull him off me which was quite good going as he was about 100. Another time I got passed a woman's 6 month old baby as it was getting crushed. I sat with it on my lap for an hour, thinking OMG! I hope it doesn't dirty itself!

* QUEUING
Our bus makes the one stop for a break. This means everyone rushes to the toilet at once. Now being English, I like to queue. In fact the English are very anal about queuing. It's just a shame the rest of the world isn't, especially India! Me and Lauren are at the front of the queue when a Indian woman and her daughter jostle up. They start up the usual conversation that most Indians do with us:
"Which country?"
"Your names?"
"First time India?"
"Like India?"
The toilet door opens and before I know it, there off in front of us. She is just about to shut the door, when she comes back out and passes me her handbag.
"Please hold!" And shuffles back into the toilet shutting the door on me!
So not only has she pushed in front of me. I'm holding her God Dam hand bag as well. Total bitch!
Indians railways get very busy. In fact it's the busiest rail network in the world transporting 20 million people a day. It is especially busy at the moment due to the fact it's the Kumbh Mela. The Kumbh Mela a Hindu religious festival and is the biggest human gathering on earth. It happens 3 times every 12 years. This gathering at the moment is a very special one due to the alinement of the moon or something like that. It's predicted that 80 million people will attend. This means there are a lot of people trying to get to one place at once and us being in and around the area it's happening, has made getting train tickets impossible. That's until we discovered Tactal! Tactal is where an emergency quota of extra tickets come out the day before the train you want leaves.They come on sale at 10.00am and to have any hope of getting any you have to get there before then. At Jodphur station we were met with a huge crowd already at 9.30am. Luckily most of them were men and women had their own separate queue (For once its good to be a woman in India). This queue was also allowed to contain senior citizens; foreigners (that's us) and funnily enough freedom fighters. I'm not sure how you classify a freedom fighter, maybe they have their own ID cards with freedom fighters on them? All that said it was still a bit like fight club (women can be just as aggressive as men) as people jostled and pushed trying to get served next. Lauren was just about near the front when some old Indian guy turned to her and said:'
"You are not a senior citizen!"
What! What's he on? I really wasn't in the mood for this and retorted back:
"I don't think we look Indian do we? Look its says foreign tourists too (actually foreign was spelt forign) and think I classify as a lady (open to debate)! That shut him up. We finally got to the front and triumphantly got our tickets Indian style.

* DEVINDA
After finding our first choice guesthouse in Jodphur full, we found ourselves at Yogi's, a 500 year old Haveli (courtyard house). It was painted the traditional blue of Jodphur (Jodphur is known as the blue city) and as we entered the place, it was filled with old Indian bric-a-brac and strangely Elvis pictures? We loved it. We entered the reception area, but the place seemed to be deserted.
"Hello is there anyone there?"
"Yeeeessssssss!" came a voice from nowhere, and then suddenly a lanky skinny boy appeared from around the corner. He had thick Mick Jagger type lips; slightly bucked teeth; and seemed to look a bit stoned.
"Do you have any rooms?" I enquired.
"Yes, many rooms. You see, follow me" and as he finished the sentence in did a big burp!
We followed him up the stairs as he dragged his socks and Sandalled feet, to the first room. He flung open the door.
"Descent room" he moves to the bathroom door and flings it open. "Descent bathroom". He moves to another door and flings it open. "Descent balcony!" He says it all in the most monotone, bored fashion.
"Come next room I show" and we follow him again, for the same process.
"Room 2. Descent room; descent bathroom; descent balcony; descent TV!" He smiles as he says this as to show the upgrade of this room.
"Very nice" I say.
"No, another room" and he's off to the next one.
"Room 3. Descent room; descent bathroom; descent TV and......." And smiles again as he throws open the doors of "Descent view" which is a balcony over looking the fort.
"Very nice, but we will take the cheapest one. The first room" I say.
He looks disappointed.
"You don't want descent room; descent TV; descent view?"
"No. Just descent room; descent bathroom; descent balcony" I reply.
"No descent TV?"
"No. We don't need a TV. We don't watch it."
He seems confused by this but gives in.
"OK. Here key. Do check in and passports later" (We never did check in) and with that he shuffles off down the corridor doing another huge burp! This is our introduction to Devinda.
Later I'm in reception trying to sort out our next step. I see Devinda.
"Can I book train tickets here" I asked.
"Yeeeesss."
Then he just stands there and looks at me. This goes on for quite a while. I'm confused.
"Well can I book them then?"
"Yeeeessss."
He just stands there again. For Gods sake I think!
"As I said. Can I book them?"
"You need big boss to book" he replies. What is this? The mafia (actually Lauren did think our guesthouse was run by the India Mafia, due one guy saying "If anyone messes with you, just say your staying at Yogi's)!
"OK! Where is big boss then."
"Big boss not here."
"When is big boss back."
"Don't know."
I think I'm going to scream, but then:
"I ring big boss" says Devinder.
He picks up the phone and has a conversation for a bit in Hindi and puts the phone down.
"So what did big boss say?" I ask.
"He will ring back in a bit. Stay here. Wait" and with that he walks away saying "When ring. Pick phone up." I'm just left there staring at a phone, thinking, what am I? The receptionist now?
The next day I'm trying to send some emails and Skype but the the Wi-Fi only seems to work in reception. I go down to find Devinder sat watching India's version of MTV.
"What you do" he says.
"I'm trying to Skype my brother" I reply.
"Oh! You give me your phone number. You ring me."
"Why?" I reply
"In England. You ring me" he then comes and sits right next to me. Oh God! Devinda is trying to chat me up! He only looks sixteen.
"It's very expensive Devinder and I don't think my boyfriend would like me ringing other men" I say quickly making up an imaginary boyfriend.
"You have boyfriend?" He says sadly.
"Yes"!
He gets over his disappointment quickly and tells me he is from Nepal; his favourite Bollywood stars and how many rupees his jumper cost. He is interrupted by the screaming of his name.
"Big boss! I have to clean. I hate cleaning" and off he goes.
Later that night as we go to get the train, Devinda is there.
"You check out" he says.
"We never checked in remember?"
He laughs in response. He then follows us out into the street.
"Are you going out then?" I ask
"No. I'm going out."
Isn't that what I just said, I think to myself confused. He then turns to me and says a verse that sounds like some poetry in English and then walks off down the alley way into the night.
"What did he just say to you?" Asks Lauren.
"I haven't got a bloody clue!" I reply.

* SERVICE
The guest house in Jodphur has a roof top restaurant. Me and Lauren are ravenous after being on a bus all day and not eating much. We get the waiter over. He flings down the menu and a pen and paper and says
"You write" and then burps (What is it with all the burping!) and then leaves. Great! We have a burping waiter, who doesn't even take the order.
We wait, and then we wait, and then we wait some more, but no food arrives. We are starving and have been waiting well over an hour, while the burping waiter is just sat doing nothing. Lauren calls him over.
"Hi" she says " I'm just wondering where our food is? As we have been waiting over an hour!"
"Sorry Madam but the kitchen is very busy tonight."
I look around. The restaurant is spartan with a few customers, who are all not eating. What the Hell!
"There is nobody eating! Is it just me but can you see anybody eating!"
It's too late, burping waiter has already gone and only the Germans at the table next to us hear my outburst and start to laugh.
The food eventually arrives which is good as I was going to start to eat my hand or the Germans!
I would like to say the service got better, but that would be a lie. Not only did we have to write our own order, we had to go and give it to burping waiter. I may as well cooked it myself too, it would have been a darn sight quicker. Burping waiter did not get any tips from me before you ask!
Next stop Agra.

UDAIPUR: WASTERS & HIPPIES

I'm going to be quite frank with you now. I haven't really ever mixed with too many other travellers in India. South America, I met loads of people. The rest of Asia I've never had a problem meeting fun people, but India? No! Why? Because I really don't like most of them. The reasons for this are as follows:

1. They are all trying so hard to be different, they all end up being the same.

2. A lot of them smell!

3. Some are just total wasters!

4. Just because your travelling, this does not give you the excuse to lose all dress sense, which most of them do. Oh! and just if your thinking I'm a self righteous bitch, I include myself in this category too!

5. Some of them are just plain weird!

Ok, so travellers fall into 4 categories in India. There is:

* The tour groups. You don't really have much interaction with them as they don't really leave their 5 star hotels, or air con buses. Besides you can't really talk to sheep.

* Society's rejects: These ones are quite easy to spot as they have lots of facial hair, wear skirts (Yes men too) and smell (A lot)! These are the ones that were probably outsiders in their own world and came to India for an adventure, but 20 years later they still haven't left; they have forgotten their own name; where they came from and actually think they are Indian. We had an interaction with one at a temple the other day and he kept going on about how did they hide the temple? And did they brush leaves all over it. Me and Lauren looked at each other and made a sharp exit. I found him later talking Hindi with an Indian woman. The only problem was, he couldn't talk Hindi! Sharp exit again.

* Wasters: The ones that just are here to get drunk and stoned, like they probably do at home but just in a hotter country. In fact most of them really don't like India. These usually stick to certain areas such as Goa, Puskar, Goa and Puskar. Though they do venture out now and again, but usually have to go back to their zones when they realise they cannot get weed and alcohol on tap.

* Hippies: These are the most common. Easy to spot because of stupid dress sense and like society's rejects, they smell and have lots of hair. The difference is hippies can communicate, probably too much though, as they can't stop going on about how they have found themselves; that they love everything and to be at peace with yourself and others. They also show the characteristic of sitting crossed legged; with eyes shut; praying and humming for hours. They are clearing their minds of everything, so are probably thinking of sex and would curry veggie option they should have tonight. This is called meditation.

* Actually there is another group. The highly intelligent, amazing, fun, very attractive group, as where would I put me and Lauren? OK! We probably fall into all of the above?

Me and Lauren got the night train to Udaipur from Jaipur. As we sat waiting on the platform, I could tell Lauren was nervous, as she had never been on a sleeper train before. I guess I hadn't help by telling her not to get use to the 1st class train we had taken by accident and that I had once been felt up on a sleeper, when I was travelling a lone.
"Oh God! Is that what our train will be like?" She asked as over crowded sleeper trains went by.
"No" I replied.
"But is says sleeper on the carriage. I don't think I can sleep in that!"
"Yes Lauren, it does because it is sleeper class. We are in second class air-con because I'm being nice to you" (I thought for her first time I'd break her in gently).
The train pulls up and we find our carriage and our berths. Lauren looks pleasantly surprised.
"This is alright isn't it?" Lauren exclaimed.
Oh, thee of little faith I thought.
After a really good nights sleep, considering the rocking train and snoring old man next to us, we arrived at Udaipur station, in the early hours of the morning. While trying to haggle for a auto rickshaw we were approached by a young guy. His name was Harry, from England, only 22 and he wanted to share a ride. He looked like a pleasant person, so we said yes. As it was early, we arrived at our chosen guest house in the cold and pitch black. I expected a long cold wait until we could check into our room, as usual. The owner called Raju opened the door and said he had spare rooms, but not yet, but then escorted to a just checked out of room.
"If you don't mind if its not cleaned, you can sleep here until later, when I have ready room for you" he said.
I was quite in shock. That normally never happens, I thought. I wonder how much we are going to get charged for this. All the same we slept.

When we awoke, Raju had a lovely clean and cheap room waiting for us. Harry took a small single room next to ours. Raju then gave us free Wi-Fi and booked us cheap onward bus tickets. This guy seemed to good to be true.

After a full days sight seeing, me and Lauren sat by the lake chilling and having food. This is when Harry turned up with his friend Norman and sat with us! Norman from the moment I saw him looked like trouble. He was your stereotyped blue eyed blonde German (Berliner in fact), but his skin had shrivelled on his face from too much tanning and he had a crazed look in his eyes. Maybe this was because he was secretly drinking Rum straight from the bottle under the table, or maybe it was too much sun; or it could have been the amount of drugs he had done in Goa? Harry had met him in Puskar (Funny that)! Norman at first entertained me with his dry straight face German humour, which I like, but then he got obnoxious. Even though Norman was traveling around India on a motorbike and was learning Hindi, it was clear he didn't have much respect for Indians or even like India that much.
"Fucking Indians. All they care about is your money. They would leave you if you lay dying at the side of the road. They couldn't give a shit" he moaned. I changed the subject.
"We really want to go to Varanasi and Kolkata" I said
"You don't want to go to Varanasi, it's horrible" replied Norman.
"Oh!" I said "What about Kolkata?"
"Horrible too, though I have never been" he said.
"Well how can you say it's bad then? Have you even been to Varanasi either?" I asked shocked.
"No" he replied unapologetic " but I know it will be horrible, like most of India. I'm heading back to Goa."
Good! I thought and stay there!

Norman and Harry tried to Persuade us to carry on with them on their drinking spree, but as we were still up to our eye balls on medication and banned from drinking, we declined and went back to our guest house. Besides I was starting to think Norman was a bit of arse hole!
Later we lay in bed trying to sleep, but it was pretty hard due to the fact that some of the travellers were having a party up stairs. I don't normally mind this, as living in Hackney Wick for 5 years I'd been used to parties all the time, but this time I wasn't happy. Why?:
1. I couldn't join in any partying due to the fact I was still recovering from stupid E. coli!

2. Their music was really shit! If your going to keep people up all night, at least play descent music!

3. This wasn't some big hotel or business, it was a family home as well as a guest house. It was Raju's home, the nicest man ever and it was disrespectful to him and his family,

It carried on most of the night. I drifted in and out of sleep, hearing drunken rants, heavy music and smashing bottles. Not good. The next morning at breakfast there was a lot of unhappy people. Guests were complaining about the commotion of the night before. Raju came over to us.
"Did you hear all the noise last night" he asked.
"Yes it was terrible" I replied.
"They were all drunk and playing music. They smoked hash and were shouting. I pulled the electricity, but they came on to the roof top and carried on drinking. They then threw beer bottles in my neighbours yard. The neighbours come and shout at me this morning. This my family house" said Ruju.
"Where were they from" I asked.
"English!"
Bloody knew it! I thought. Always the stupid English.
"Look" said Raju "There is one lay there ill. I found him passed out on sofa this morning, so I put blanket over him. The others left."
I look over and see a body wrapped in a blanket, moving and groaning every now and again.
"I'd throw a bucket of water over him and chuck him out" I retorted.
"No. I couldn't do that" he said.
"Your far to nice, Raju."
We sat reading our books on the terrace when I notice a group sat at the table in front of me. The group is three women and a guy and they are all talking softly and serenely. There is something not quite right about them and I feel the need to eaves drop. It soon becomes quite clear, they are American hippies, two of whom have just been staying in an Ashram in Rishikesh.
OK! For those of you who don't know what an ashram is, it's a place of communal living established around the philosophies of a guru ( a spiritual guide or teacher) where people strive for spiritual enrichment. However some ashrams have become know for treading a fine line between spiritual community and personality cult, often of a sexual nature. I met a French woman in Jaipur that told me that one ashram made you take a HIV test before you could join!
Rishikesh is a town in India, that proclaims itself the yoga capital of the world and has a ton of ashrams. It was made famous in the 60's when the Beatles stayed at Marharishi Mahesh yogi's ashram and wrote the white album. Though it said that they soon became disillusioned with Mahesh's behaviour towards female disciples and demands of money.
Anyway! Now the explaining bit is done, back to the story!
The guy and one of the girl hippies is telling the other two girl hippies about their time in ashram and how they will love it.
Guy Hippy: Like I totally feel like I found myself there. I feel it's my spiritual home.
Girl Hippy 1: Totally. Everyone is so lovely. I love everyone there and you two will too. They will become your new family.
Girl Hippies 2 & 3: Totally.
They then start looking at photos
Guy Hippy: So this is Sabine. You will love her, and this is her lover Greg. You will love him too.
I listen more. There seems to be a lot of loving and lovers going on in this conversation, I think. They then start holding hands. Then their food arrives and still holding hands they close their eyes and start meditating. Oh God! I think, they are all so banging each other! Later I go down stairs to my room to get a book and walk past the room next to ours. It's doors are wide open and inside are the hippies and they are all stood there hugging each other saying "I love you so much!"
They are definitely all banging each other now, I think!

Later still sat reading, we receive a surprise guest! Norman! He strolls up to our table and it soon becomes clear that he is still drunk from the night before.
"What did you get up to last night" I asked, not really interested.
"We got more drink and came back here."
"You weren't one of the people that caused all the trouble here were you?" And then it slowly dawns on me. "Where's Harry?" I ask and I suddenly get up and walk over to the passed out figure rolled in the blanket. It's Harry. Total idiot! When Harry does eventually wake, Raju berates him and Norman but they deny all memories of the event and instead of apologising they find it all very funny. I've had enough! Bloody Hippies and wasters!
"Lauren, lets go. I need a walk!" And we make a sharp exit.

We settled our bill with Ruju. There was no extra charge for the early bed. He sat and told us about his family and about his new project to build a hotel. He really was a truly good man. I told him so too. I asked him how he put up with travellers and their behaviour sometimes.
"There are good and bad people everywhere, not just travellers, but Indian people too."
You see, for enrichment in your life you don't need to get wasted (though I have to be the worst for it at times) and you don't need need to join an ashram and have group sex. No! You just need good people in it, like Raju the nicest man in India!
Next stop Jodphur!