---

---

Touchdown. South India. Summer heat and monsoon rain. We were excited to back back. If we'd known what was in store, we might been more apprehensive.

Getting out of the airport was easy. It was raining when we got outside though and rickshaw negotiations (we were offered a series of random prices ranging from 150 to 400 - we settled on 100) were a rather damp affair, as was the ride through town to the train station. The correct train was located and beds were appropriated without much fuss and we headed back to the platform for some snacks. An old man offered us a biscuit, which we accepted. Oops. Before long we were stuck in a conversation in which he made some stunningly bold assertions about our personal lives and then predicted our marriage by the year's end! Interesting fellow... We beat a hasty retreat to our bunks when the train started moving.

Things went pretty smoothly for a while, which provided some pre-emptive respite from the confusion still to come. We hadn't slept the night before and were getting pretty tired by afternoon as we settled down to make an attempt at sleep. Something went wrong. It was dark outside when someone noticed that we were moving backwards. One by one, sketchy details spread through the carriage in hushed, urgent tones. There had been a landslide further up the line and the route was impassable. The train was heading south to Bangalore where there may be another train service. Now there wasn't another train, anyone heading to Goa would have to catch a 9 hour bus from Bangalore. Those heading to Bombay would be ok as this train would get there via an inland route. All this may have been pure conjecture, as we hadn't heard anything at all from the train staff, who either didn't know or didn't care what was happening.

Welcome back travellers! It's been a long time.

A group of Goans were trying to get home and were working on some kind of route - we were welcome to tag along if we wanted. We definately wanted - we didn't have a clue. One of the Goans stayed awake all night so as not to miss the Bangalore jump-off point (expected some time between 2 and 4am). His efforts were to no avail - Bangalore never came. That's right, the ever-helpful train company had done it again, redirecting the train to save an hour or so and stranding us (again) in the process. Morning came and still we rolled on - where we were no one seemed to know. Where we were headed was an even bigger mystery and all over the carriage little groups coalesced, crowding around maps and discussing possible directions. It was like the operations room in an old war film where the germans are pushing little red counters around a huge map of europe. We were the germans, India was Europe and just as then, we were fighting a losing battle.

It was then that we met Anja, a swiss traveller with a multitude of maps and hence, many friends. Anja and her Indian travelling companion were both good company and immesurably helpful. Unfortunately, they were going to Mumbai and we were headed for Goa so our paths were destined to soon part. Our Goan friend appeared with another plan which they thought would be ok and get us where we wanted to go only about 24 hours late. This was actually better than the alternative we had come up with, which may have taken another 30 or so! We decided to go along with them.

What followed was a restless, endless day of waiting on platforms, riding in crammed trains and trying to snatch a few hours rest amidst all the action. The Goans were a large group who were all heading home from a christian retreat so there was plenty of wholesome, non-offensive chat to be had. One of the group confided that he had taken counselling to help him get over his hatred of Muslims... We can imagine his internal conflict when we boarded one train to find a bearded, capped and robed gentleman sleeping on the luggage rack above us, forcing us to cram all of our stuff into a single rack. Good times indeed! Even better when 2 guys wanted to sit on our bench. There was an argument involving quite a few people and one of the newcomers started to lose his temper. OUt of nowhere a man appeared to escort them off the train and as we pulled away, we saw him taking down personal details. We later heard that angry guy was a known criminal whos picture was posted on the railway station wall. Presumably he's now rotting away in prison. It's a funny ol' world.

Our last journey promised to be a toughy - we had a choice between slumming it with the entire population of India in the public carriages or boarding a sleeper compartment in the hope of either an empty bunk, or at least being allowed to sleep on the floor. We opted for the sleeper, which turned out to be a good move as we ended up getting a bunk to share. An older member of the christian group proved himself to be something of a modern-day Moses as he lead his band of outcasts into the train, made everyone's sleeping arrangements for them and sweet-talked the ticket inspector into letting us stay. An impressive feat no doubt. He quietly confided to us that he was the national sales manager for a large pharmeceutical company. We put on faces to show that we were impressed which prompted him to joke "I have 2 kids of my own and 300 kids around India". We made appreciative snorts of amusement but maybe weren't clear enough. He went on: "Do you understand what I mean by that?" Inside, we speculated about the sexual prolificy of this balding middle-aged man while our faces remained impassive. "What I mean is, that I have 300 people under me. They report to me." Thanks for clearing that up!

Having told and explained his excellent joke, the man bade us good night and we tried to make ourselves small as we head-to-toe'd in the narrow bunk. It wasn't easy. One broken night's sleep later, we finally pulled into Vasco-de-Gama station in Goa. The journey had been long - about 53 hours seperated out departure from the flat in KL and the guesthouse we found in Goa. Ugh.

Time to relax

We weren't in Goa to party. We picked up our motorcycle, complained to each other about the heat and got out of there after 2 nights. There is a reason this isn't the 'tourist season'. For half the day the beaches are lashed with monsoon rain, and for the other half the intense heat evaporates it, resulting in about 3 million percent humidity. Still, there were a few brave travellers hanging around... not us though.

Another train journey lay ahead and this time with the added complication of taking our bike. Things got off to a wretched start when the heavens opened up on our way to the station. We didn't know the way and rode around in circles - being drenched all the while. Eventually we found the station, found the freight office and were told to come back with photocopies of the registration and a passport. Unfortunately, the officious manager couldn't be persuaded otherwise and we were soon back in the rain, hotel-bound. A few choice words were probably muttered at this point but we don't recall...

On our return, things weren't much better as an argument erupted over costs. Figures were quoted as 'official standard price' but no one was able to provide an official document to back them up. The incidental taxes and fees mounted into much more than we'd been led to expect but eventually (half an hour later) the official documents were provided and we had to stump up the full amount... ho ho what fun we had. Anyway, we caught the train and so did our bike and we settled into a 29 hour journey all the way up to Delhi. Along the way we passed through the deserts of Rajasthan, complete with dust storms that forces all windows shut. This of course resulted in tremendous discomfort as temperatures soared and we were left to sweat it out in a hot, dark carriage. Eventually the dust subsided, windows were opened and even hotter air started blasting in... sigh.

We arrived at Delhi at night and after a few minor hassles managed to get our gear and our bike out of the station and into the street. Delhi looked much as our imaginations had remembered - the narrow street was crowded with people and vehicles. Here and there the poor scavenged along the gutters and the piles of rubbish which lay around the place. The sound of horns pierced the night air above the constant din of shouted banter and idle chatter. The whole scene was dimly illuminated by a couple of blinking streetlights and the occasional trash fire. Dust and people were everywhere. Breath it in - ahhh Delhi, sweet Delhi.

We found our way to Parhaganj in surprisingly good time and checked into the nearest hotel - a pleasingly air-conditioned 3 star where we could at last relax. The trip from KL to Delhi had been long and tiring and it was good to be here.

The 3 star was nice but a bit above our budget so the next morning we checked into a more modestly priced establishment on the hectic Main Bazzar. The heat in Delhi was pretty intense (we'd seen reports of up to 43°) and our days were punctuated by trips back to our room for a shower and some AC. One night we had dinner in a street-side cafe and spent an hour or so watching parhaganji life go by. Just down the street a man was accruing karma by giving out free rice pudding to anyone who wanted it. We had one cup and gave another to a boy who came begging. He made it clear that he would prefer money but when he next passed us we got a grateful smile - it was good pudding.

While in Delhi we sorted our bike out with a big fat knobly back tire for the mountain roads ahead, and K had some medical tests for her Australian Visa application. Busy busy.

So once again, we did no sightseeing in Delhi. We didn't mind though, and at least this time appreciated it for what it is - a hyperactive, amplified version of India where everything is taken to extremes. With the benefit of experience, Delhi didn't seem imtimidating or dangerous as it did last time and we're glad we went back.

It was soon time to leave though and we were back on the road this time, headed in the direction of Chandigarh - partly because it was in the right direction and partly to visit the amazing Sai Sweets, a sweet shop / cafe we'd been dreaming of since leaving C'garh last november. The sweets were every bit as good as we'd remembered and we picked up a few extras for the trip (which were all gone within 2 days of course). It was a fleeting visit and the next afternoon we reluctantly set out in the rain to Shimla - India's most popular hill-station, former 'summer capital' of the Raj and the real start of our northern roadtrip. Into the hills we go...

Be sure to check out the freshly-updated FLICKR PAGE!!!

---