First impressions of India...

Nothing can quite prepare you for your first experience of India. As soon as you step off the plane and exit the airport, your senses are assaulted. The heat, the humidity, the smells, the colours, the noise, the sheer number of people is, at first, overwhelming.

Our taxi ride to our hotel was another first experience. After collecting all our luggage we were relieved to see our names on a placard at the airport (always useful when touts try and send you to some other taxi rank and inevitably some other hotel that you never wanted to go to). We followed a sombre looking fella through the airport complex and out into the sticky Delhi night. After a few underpasses we came to a car park jammed with minibuses and motorbikes. Our driver loaded up our rucksacks, then clambered through one of the side entrances to open the door from the inside. After some gentle persuasion, the kind that you normally associate with a wrestling match, the sliding door flung open and he beckoned us in. Seatbelts? Who needs those? The taxi started up, belching some hideous fumes into the face of some poor unsuspecting passer by. The engine in this machine was clearly out of tune and had to be kept at a constant high rev just to make sure it didn't stall. And then we were off, into the night, heading into Delhi on what has to be the most white knuckled, and yet hilarious, journey I have ever taken in my life.

In India, driving lives up to its reputation. There are lanes, but they are just to guide you in the right direction (though this is sometimes ignored as well). Traffic lights are beautiful Christmas decorations that people admire as they cruise by. I think driving is a game, you see a space, you get into that space. The rules of the road are if you are bigger than the other vehicle, you're more likely to win. Everyone blows their horn constantly - you'll never fall asleep at the wheel here with all that noise and all the adrenalin surging round the system! What scared me the most was seeing motorbikes weaving in and out of cars, generally men at the front with their crash helmets on, and women perched side-saddle, sometimes carrying a baby in their arms. The women don't wear helmets. The number of times we saw near accidents.....

The taxi driver swerved across a few lanes, jumped out and handed us our rucksacks. We were on the outskirts of a network of tiny cobbled lanes, small narrow shops bursting out onto the streets with their wares on display, people shouting and jostling for your custom. The occasional cow stood transfixed in the middle of the road with rickshaws and motorbikes speeding by. We followed a porter (no uniform, just a willingness to carry our bags for the right price) down a warren of lanes, our senses being bombarded once again, especially with all the food being cooked in black shallow pans right in front of us. After fifteen minutes or so we turn left, past some open latrines, down a very narrow backstreet, ducking under the telephone and electric cables that hang like suspended knitting, round another corner, and there at last is our accommodation.
It's basic but functional and after two days and only four hours sleep we're just glad to be able to sleep.

The next morning, another early start, and off to New Delhi Railway Station. This is a big place, twenty five plus platforms and the most surreal experience. As you walk around the busy platforms, men will be using the water supply situated between tracks, presumably intended for the trains, as their personal bucket shower cubicle. Lathered up and washing down whilst the hefty diesel engines hammer past, almost oblivious to the fact they could be crushed if a second train passes simultaneously. A number of touts try to persuade us that our e-tickets were invalid (purchased previously on the internet, hence e-ticket, and a thoroughly recommended way of getting your ticket) but after a short time, after becoming thoroughly fed up with being told one thing or another, we just barged our way onto the platform, leaving the shouting touts behind. And there was our train waiting for us, and even better, on the outside of our carriage, glued to the outside window, our names appeared on the reservation list. What a relief!

Our train left on time, passing dirty looking shanty towns on the outskirts of Delhi, with people unashamedly using the track, yes the track, as their own toilet, and out further into the green countryside, packed with fields of ripening rice. Away from the noise and the bustle of Delhi, heading north into the Punjab...