The Great Escape

Hello readers,

Some call it Bombay. Others call it Mumbai. I prefer a mixture of the two..... Bumbuy. Coincidentally, this name also describes the poor value you can expect should you ever have the misfortune to find yourself in this City.

Our train from Ahmedabad pulled in to Bumbuy Central Station roughly on time but the station was so far North of the area we were heading for (the tourist mecca of Colaba) that I fully expected the greeting touts to be steering huskies instead of taxis. Every other car on the road in Bumbuy is a taxi. They are all painted in the same yellow and black livery and would not have looked out of place in the 1950s. Whilst vehicles from the 1950s will seem like the height of modernity to most of you on our blog subscriber list, to us youngsters these are museum pieces.

We seem to have a knack for picking taxi drivers who couldn't find their way out of bed unless one side was against a wall and it was only by sheer chance we ended up in Colaba....eventually. We found ourselves parked on the riverside road whilst our driver quizzed locals as to the location of our hotel. It turned out we were right outside it the whole time but nobody knew where it was. The sooner they introduce 'The Knowledge' for budding taxi drivers in Bumbuy, like they do in London, the better.

We had found this hotel (Shelley's) on the web but couldn't believe it was the same place when we walked in. We can only think their website was last updated several years ago as the reception area and rooms themselves were unrecognisable from their lovely pictures on the web. As there were several other hotels along the riverside, we decided to give this one a wide berth and try next door. This happened to be one that was listed in 'Lonely Planet' as a mid-range option. The owners face lit up when we asked to see one of his 'rooms with a view' which was listed at GBP 25 per night (rooms in Bumbuy are much more expensive than in the rest of India) but the room suddenly became unavailable when we asked for a discount for a stay of around 7 days. He wasn't interested in showing us anything else (a couldn't care less attitude we found very prevalent in Bumbuy) so we headed next door to a hotel which looked OK but was one we knew nothing about. This was more of a top-end hotel as most rooms had views straight on to India Gate, one of Bumbuy's top tourist attractions. We got the room rate knocked down by GBP 10 per night and a free breakfast thrown in even though it did take 15 minutes of negotiation and putting our rucksacks back on, not once but twice. It was now almost midnight but fortunately the hotel had 24 hour room service so we managed to throw something down our necks before hitting the sack.

Waking the next morning, we looked out of the window and the glorious view of India Gate we were supposed to experience had to be left to the imagination. You could barely see across the road thanks to the smog. Whilst Bumbuy didn't seem that polluted especially compared to Delhi or Ahmedabad, this smog was a permanent feature throughout the whole of our stay.

After breakfast we walked up to India Gate which we found is a favourite gathering place for all manner of touts and scammers as well as beggars who were better dressed than both of us and seemed to own more jewellery than can be found in the whole of Hatton Garden. Lots of people would sidle up to you offering cut price tickets for boat trips which all departed from this point even though the official ticket offices were 20 feet away. We headed over to the Colaba Causeway which is the main road through the area and the whole length of one side is full of stalls selling tacky souvenirs and dodgy DVD's. The sellers would just stand there waving these goods in your face whilst hollering in your ear as you passed and it felt like a mile long obstacle course you had to go through every time you left the hotel. There were many more beggars here too than we had encountered anywhere else in India and they were far more persistant. They would hold on to your sleeve until you were practically dragging them down the street on their heels. These constant hassles are a pain to put up with at the best of times but in the highest temperatures we had experienced to date, it made it all the worse.

The following day we decided to walk along Marine Drive which sweeps around Back Bay from Nariman Point to Malabar Point taking in the famous Chowpatty Beach on the way. It is Bumbuy's most popular walking promenade and the lights that twinkle along it at night give it the nickname 'The Queen's Necklace'.

On arrival we found that most of the promenade was being dug up and we had to walk in the road which, in India, is dicing with death. We finally arrived at Chowpatty Beach in one piece but saw immediately that surely they meant to call it Cowpatty Beach. Not only were there cows wandering on the sand but loads of stray dogs and more pigeons than can be seen in Trafalgar Square. There were the usual mounds of rubbish just to make the whole place authentically Indian. Surprisingly there were quite a few beggars too so we assumed lots of tourists came here but we didn't see another one on our whole walk. We looked around for somewhere to get refreshments but facilities were badly lacking. There were the odd one or two street stalls where the food appeared to be cooked by sunlight and where you were guaranteed a large dose of botulism but getting a cup of tea was going to prove difficult. After walking on a bit further we did eventually come across a place and suitably refreshed, continued our walk.

The area leading around to Malabar Point is described in Lonely Planet as an expensive residential area but most of the apartment blocks wouldn't have looked out of place in Hackney. They were in an atrocious condition yet some were gated and almost all had armed guards outside them. The only redeeming feature seemed to be the view across the bay and that was only visible when the smog lifts.

On reaching Malabar Point we took a taxi to the railway reservation office to book our train seats for Goa in a few days time. We were told that all the trains were full for the next 10 days due to the Diwali holiday. Although the train journey was 10 hours, the bus takes almost 15 hours and travels overnight, not an option we favoured due to past experiences. We decided to check on the Internet for cheap flights and found that Air Sahara had a couple of seats spare in 5 days time. Fortunately, their offices were just around the corner from the Internet Cafe we happened to be in so, rather than tempt fate with dodgy Indian e-tickets that they probably wouldn't accept at the airport, we bought them direct from the airlines office and got them for the same price that was quoted on the Internet.

One of the biggest surprises we found about Bumbuy was the lack of 'one-cuisine' restaurants serving anything other than Indian food. There were hundreds of multi-cuisine restaurants but the menus tended to be 90 percent Indian, 5 percent Chinese and 5 percent Continental. Now I've been on the wrong side of the Channel on many occasions and have yet to see Jambalaya or Enchilladas on a typical French or German menu. We tend to prefer 'one-cuisine' restaurants as usually they do that one cuisine well rather than mess up 5 different ones. After some considerable searching and away from the tourist area, we did find one Chinese restaurant albeit with all Indian staff and a pizza place which wouldn't recognise an Italian diner if he arrived in a gondola singing 'O Sole Mio'. Still, the food was passable in both and made a change from the 'blow-your-head-off' chillie dishes that all of the Indian restaurants were serving.

On day 3 we spent the morning visiting the Dhobi Ghat (a place where clothes are washed) in Mahalaxmi, a few miles north of Colaba. Sounds dead boring but was in fact fascinating to watch. Around 5000 men use rows of open-air troughs to beat the dirt out of the tons of soiled clothes brought from all over the city each day. They also launder them on the spot too. The scene was one of total chaos from our viewing point on a bridge but when we went down for a closer look we could see they had a logical system in place and things seemed to run very smoothly.

In the afternoon, we went to Bumbuy Zoo. This must be the only zoo in the world where your camera has to pay a higher admission price than you do. It cost us 5 rupees each (about 6p) to get in but it cost 10 rupees (12p)to take my camera in. Despite temperatures of nearly 100 degrees, a notice outside prohibited you from taking in any food or drink. We were told that there were water taps inside but our protestations that we only drank mineral water fell on deaf ears. They even confiscated an apple that Jo had in her bag.

We didn't see a single fellow tourist around which we thought rather strange for a big city zoo but it soon became obvious why....80 percent of the cages were empty. The place was teeming with Indian visitors and we just couldn't understand why they happily accepted the fact that they paid over good money (no matter how cheap)and got nothing for it. There was a mangy old camel and a couple of lame deer but other than that, the few cages with life inside were either birds or small amphibians. Just another Indian rip off, I'm afraid.

The following day, we had the pleasure of being ripped off again, this time on Elephanta Island, Bumbuy's acclaimed top tourist attraction. You have two choices to get to Elephanta, either the economy boat (a glorified tin bath) or the deluxe boat (a glorified tin bath with English language guided commentary). The difference in price was only 20 rupees which aroused our suspicions immediately.

Elephanta Island lies 6 miles out to sea and takes an hour to get to. The purpose of visiting the Island is to see the three cave temples cut into the rock. Little is known about their origin but they are thought to have been created between AD 450 and 750.

The promised guided commentary didn't materialise (surely, not another untruth?) but we gave them the benefit of the doubt in case they were saving it for the return journey. Before the boat had even tied up, the touts were shouting their prices for the guided tours of the Island and groups of women, trying to look like authentic locals but looking just plain daft posing with plastic water bottles on their heads, were demanding money with menaces to have their photo taken. We snapped away as they just stood there posing for several minutes. They were absolutely mortified when we thanked them and walked straight past them without putting our hand in our pocket. We were followed for almost half a mile with them screaming 'Baksheesh' 'Baksheesh' at us much to the amusement of the other Europeans walking along the road. They eventually gave up when they realised they were wasting their time and went to pick on some other unsuspecting tourist (hopefully an Israeli one).

We then came across a toll booth with a big sign on it saying 'Foreign Tourist Tax - 5 Rupees'. I said to the guy that although we might look foreign we do in fact live in Delhi and therefore should be exempt. He just smiled and grabbed the money out of my hand.

Between the toll booth and the temples you have to run the gamut of hundreds of stalls on either side of the stairway leading up to the main site selling yet more rubbish that nobody wants. On top of all these distractions are several colonies of monkeys whose sole aim is to relieve you of anything you are carrying. We arrived at the temples to find yet another ticket office demanding the usual 10 times admission price that Indians pay and, to add insult to injury, another charge to take your camera in.

Of the three temples, only one is really worth seeing as the other two are just caves with nothing in them. Half an hour later and we were all done. There was nothing else on Elephanta to see and we decided to stroll back to the boat getting as many photos of the trickster women as we could. The normal pattern was that a group of women (and there were many groups) would just be sitting on a wall with the items they balanced on their heads sitting on the ground next to them. They would wait for any tourist (we never saw them once call out to an Indian visitor) to walk by and yell out 'Photo' followed by (once you got your camera out and all lined up) 'Ten Rupees'. They would then just stand there and pose for as long as you wanted them to because they assumed the more photos you took, the more you were going to pay. A very naive thought as far as we were concerned! We had one group pose there for almost 10 minutes whilst I pretended to take high angle, low angle, mid range and close ups shots of them as a group and individually. When they started to look like they were flagging, we put the camera away and waved goodbye. They were literally screaming 'Baksheesh" at us but we never looked back as we walked away with a big smile on our face. I know some will criticise us for such an attitude but after all the scams we had endured in India, we felt fully justified to get one over on them.

Our boat trip back to Bumbuy proved uneventful (i.e. no promised English commentary). We went straight to the ticket office to enquire why there was no commentary. We were told that the commentary was given at the temples and not on the boat but we never saw anyone the whole time we were there. Besides, if it was at the temples, the economy boat passengers would also get the benefit, so why were we paying extra? We reminded the guy that there was a tourist police office just yards from where he was sitting and we would have no hesitation in getting them over to sort it out. He refused to give us a refund at first but when we started informing the slowly forming queue behind us that they should think twice about paying for the deluxe boat, we were given the price difference back. It only amounted to 40 rupees but we felt like millionaires. At last we were getting our own back on these cheats.

I mentioned earlier the 'couldn't care less' attitude of the local populace and nowhere was this more evident than with the taxi drivers. As there were no rickshaws in this part of town, or indeed in most parts of Bumbuy, the taxi drivers had tourist transport pretty much sewn up. They would quote you a very inflated price and if you didn't like it, that was tough. They weren't going anywhere. The only exception was when you wanted to go quite some distance and then they were very flexible indeed. We found this was because they expected to bring you back and could then also charge you for waiting time. To us, this was another golden opportunity to get even.

The next day we were quoted almost twice the price of the real one to go to a beach resort (Juhu) about 35 miles from Colaba. We got him down to three-quarters of the correct price for the return journey plus waiting time. On arrival we paid him half of the agreed fare and said we would be back in around four hours time after we had looked at the local attractions. Guess what? Oh, you have! Yep, we had got to the resort for much less than we would have paid for the single fare so were 'rupees in' as the local parlance goes and we had no intention of going back in a taxi although it would have been even greater fun to have scammed two taxi drivers in one day. It's just a pity we couldn't enjoy the look on his face when we didn't turn up after 4 hours. Instead, we opted to get the train back just for a bit of variety. We later learnt that this was the same line that had been attacked by terrorist bombs just a short while earlier. Juhu turned out to be just another very rundown area with a rubbish strewn beach and the same amount of beggars as Cowpatty.

Overall, we were very disappointed with Bumbuy. We were expecting a very modern city with loads to do and plenty to see but after 5 days we had had more than enough. It was just as dilapidated as everywhere else we had been and, if anything, the people were more unfriendly. Our last couple of days were spent in Internet Cafes planning where we would visit and where we would stay in Goa.

We were quoted 500 rupees to take us to the airport and agreed on 350 after our initial 300 offer was refused. We arrived at the airport and went through the usual security formalities. If you're not flying, you don't even get in the terminal building. We had about a 1-1/2 hour wait for our flight so sat down with a cup of coffee. Jo then noticed that there was a bag on a chair that seemed to belong to nobody. It had been there when we arrived and as new people came and went without taking the bag, Jo decided to tell one of the airport staff. A girl came over, looked at it for several minutes and then went away. A security guard then arrived, looked it over for several minutes and went away. Next, came an army officer, fully tooled up. He went over to have a look, prodded it and took out his mobile phone. Ten minutes later, several other army officers and a guy in civvies (obviously some head honcho at the airport) gathered round. They then proceeded to have a mothers meeting with much jollity, shaking of hands and laughing. Then one of the uniformed army personnel had the bright idea of clearing the area and slowly went around to ask people to move away. Some 15 minutes later, the civvie dressed guy went over to the bag, wrenched it open and found a business suit inside. After much back-slapping and more laughing, they all toddled off whilst there was a mad rush by the passengers back to the seats. This whole episode of pure farce lasted 40 minutes but we were just thankful we weren't all blown to smithereens.

Our one hour flight to Goa passed without incident and we were soon in the terminal building waiting by the carousel for our luggage. The airport in Goa is very modern but very quiet (only one other flight had landed) so we thought we would be through in no time. Whilst Jo waited for our baggage, I went over to the Tourist Information Office to check on what the taxi fare should be to Calangute, our chosen resort. I was told it was a fixed fare of 700 rupees and was asked if I would like to book one. I declined as I thought I could probably negotiate with a driver outside. I was also given a tourist map of Goa showing all the excursions the Tourist Office could organize. It was dated February 2002 so I thought maybe I could use it to our advantage during our stay. We waited for 25 minutes by the carousel and eventually all the luggage was claimed but we could see no sign of ours. We searched a few piles of cases that seemed to be unclaimed but couldn't find our rucksacks. After 40 minutes someone from airport security came over to us and told us to look on the other carousel where some of the other flights baggage was still unclaimed and there they were. We saw there were several other people from our flight taking baggage off the other flights carousel. How they managed to mix them up, God only knows as they were at different ends of the terminal building.

We went outside to get a taxi and found that there was no other option but a 'fixed-fare' one. Basically, you quote your destination to a clerk at the ticket office, pay over your money and receive a ticket which you then give to the taxi driver who then claims the fare back. The taxis are called forward one at a time by the local mafia so there is no chance of even talking to them until your ticket has been produced. We saw on the board that our fare should be 640 rupees. We were actually charged 650 rupees but couldn't even be bothered to question why. It was simply Indian thieves at work again. We realised that the extra 50 rupees the Tourist Information clerk was quoting us was to telephone the ticket office 20 feet away.

Our taxi ride to Calangute took 20 minutes longer than the flight but it was pleasant enough. The countryside looked very different to the other parts of India we had seen. It was covered in palm trees and although there were plenty of the usual roadside shacks there were also many attractive stone buildings in the Portuguese style, this being a former Portuguese colony. On the surface Goa looked an attractive place, particular the far reaching views to the coastline but it wasn't long before you began to notice they had a big problem with stray dogs and evidence of fly-tipping was everywhere.

We had chosen Calangute as it was supposed to be a modern lively resort with plenty of things to do (according to the Tourist Info literature). As we drove through the main street, we were not at all impressed with how run down the place was and if this is the Indian idea of modern, they have a lot to learn. One area of barren land right in the centre of town was full of cows investigating the mountains of piled up rubbish. It suddenly dawned on us that this was the main bus station as bus after bus of Indian tourists piled out.

We went to our chosen guest house but although they had no room, we were driven to a self-contained flat they owned about a mile away. It was very basic but still quite central so we said we would check it out for one night and let him know the following day if we were going to extend our stay. The downside was that it didn't have air conditioning although there was a fan in the bedroom.

We went for a walk and although it was the very start of the tourist season in Goa, we were surprised to see so few Western tourists. There were thousands of Indian tourists, in town we were told for the Diwali holiday but that most of them would be leaving the next day so things would get considerably quieter. We strolled down to the beach to see the promised golden sand and palm trees but all we saw were thousands of people paddling (or was it piddling) at the waters edge, hardly any of whom were Western. They (the Westerners) all had the good sense to stay in the bars dotted around the beach. These people were sharing the beach not just with several cows but several herds of cows as well as the many piles of rubbish that seem to be an architectural feature of all Indian beaches. I repeat the question I asked in our last blog. Can someone please explain why anyone would want to spend hard-earned money on a 2 or 3 week holiday in such an unattractive, not to mention unhealthy, place such as this irrespective of how great the weather is?

Our original plan was to spend some time in Calangute before going on to Panjim, the state capital. We would then spend a week or so in one of the quieter resorts in Southern Goa. Well, that was the plan!!!

After what we had seen, we decided to leave Calangute the next morning. Besides, the fan in our flat just blew the warm air around and we could barely sleep in the heat. It also made a loud enough grinding noise to wake the dead.

Lonely Planet say that most people bypass Panjim on their way to the beaches but that this is a grave mistake. They describe it as one of India's most pleasant state capitals with attractive winding streets in its old Portuguese quarter. Sounds nice, eh? As far as we are concerned, Panjim comes in at number 2 as the place we would least like to revisit in the world after Delhi. Whilst the people in Calangute were at least more laid back and friendlier than we had been used to in India, the people of Panjim were just as surly as the rest of the nation. The one exception were the people who ran our guest house, the Panjim Inn, whom we found to be helpful. The food in many of the restaurants we tried was served barely warm and there were hardly any non-Indian places. All of the Internet Cafes in town were playing music so loud, you wondered if you walked into a rave club by mistake. Apart from 2 or 3 churches worth seeing and a couple of boat trips, the town had very little to offer.

The following morning we went down to the tourist office to book an all day coach trip of North Goa. The coach was due to leave at 10.00am so we decided to go down there at 9.30am to buy our ticket. We thought that at least doing it this way we would be able to check out the bus before handing over our money. We read in the tourist leaflet that the tour would only run with a minimum of 10 people and we had barely seen 10 other Westerners in town let alone waiting to go on the tour. The price quoted was twice what the tourist leaflet I had been handed at the airport listed so I pointed this fact out to the clerk. He mumbled something about 'old price' and 'no new leaflets in stock'. We believe this to be an Indian translation for 'We couldn't be bothered to print any leaflets for the last 4 years and basically your stuffed with the price we quote'.

We have mentioned before, you don't just buy a ticket in India. You have to fill in several forms with every detail of your life to date in triplicate before you can get anything done. This procedure completed, we asked him to confirm that the tour would indeed be running as nobody else seemed to have turned up with just 10 minutes to go. He assured us it would. Having been scammed once or six hundred times in India already, we suspected that once he had our money we would be told the tour was cancelled and we would be rebooked on the following days tour, which in all likelihood, would not run either. This would go on ad-infinitum. We also asked him about the air-conditioned coach that we were paying extra for as we could only see an upgraded ox-cart standing outside at the bus stop. Now, it is normally very easy to tell when an Indian is lying...it's every time they open their mouth. However, he did say that the air-conditioned coach was not available (i.e. they didn't own one) so that made the decision not to go very easy for us. As this official Tourist Office also ran all the boat trips in Panjim, we decided not to chance our luck on any of them either.

We decided instead to take a local bus and visit Old Goa, 6 miles out of Panjim. Old Goa is the former Portuguese capital and is supposedly a highlight of any visit to Goa. There are about half a dozen churches and cathedrals to see which are all that remain of the old city. Whilst the buildings were interesting enough in their own right, there was nothing there that couldn't be seen in almost any European city.

By now, we were both getting very fed up with India. Apart from the Golden Temple at Amritsar and the Taj Mahal, the country had failed to live up to our expectations. We had been cheated and scammed almost everywhere we had been and although we had planned to spend another 2 months in the country, we couldn't see any prospect of things improving. We felt we didn't want to waste any more time or money there so decided to leave as soon as we could get a flight out.

We went to a local travel agent in Panjim by the name of 'E-zee Travel', a misnomer if ever there was one. We told the clerk that we wanted to arrange flights to Kathmandu. We knew there were no direct flights from Goa and that we would have to change in either Delhi or Calcutta. We wanted to get to Kathmandu in one day so the next hour and a half was spent looking at every combination of flights by every airline for both legs. Only one, 'Go Air', had a flight from Goa at 7.30am that would get to Delhi at 10.30am. We would then catch an Air Sahara flight at 2.30pm that would arrive in Kathmandu at 3.30pm. The problem was that Air Saraha did not fly that route every day and we would have to wait another 5 days before seats were available.

We were informed that the only other option was to spend one night in Calcutta or Delhi. I said to the girl 'that I would rather have a rabid dog chew on my testicles and have both my eyes gouged out with a red hot poker as an unshaven, homosexual Turkish prison warder with halitosis shafted me from behind whilst I stood in a bath of scalding water filled with used razor blades....and that's only if I have to spend a night in Calcutta, a city I've never visited. You really wouldn't want to know what I'd be prepared to do if I had to spend another night in Delhi.'

We also asked about transferring between the flights and were told that the domestic terminal and international terminal in Delhi were all in the same building. We paid over our money and were told to come back in an hour for the tickets. Apparently, the agent cannot issue tickets themselves and they had to wait for both airlines to fax them through. An hour later we went to collect our tickets and found that the agent hadn't even requested them. An hour and a half later we finally got them and were praying the next five days would pass quickly.

Unfortunately, they dragged and staying in Panjim was like staying in Purgatory. The night before we departed we checked with the hotel to see what the taxi fare should be to the airport at 5.15am. They told us 500 rupees. We went to one of the taxi drivers who were always hanging about outside and asked him how much the fare would be. He quoted 600 rupees. When we questioned the price he said '500 rupees day price, 600 rupees night price'. We informed him that in our experience most Indians were up and working at 5.00am at the latest judging by the noise they made each morning and that 5.15 could in no way be construed as night-time. He told us that we wouldn't find anyone willing to take us for 500 rupees. This sounded like a challenge and one we knew from experience that we would easily win. Indians and especially Indian taxi drivers (with the possible exception of those in Bumbuy) are far too obsessed with making money not to accept almost anything you offer them. We strolled into town and the first guy we asked quoted 700 rupees. After doubling up with laughter we said 500 and not a paisa more. He came down to 600 and as we walked away came down to 550. We continued walking and after 5 minutes felt a tap on our should with an 'OK 500' but he then asked for '100 deposit'. Now, I never imagined I looked anything like Kermit the Frog but if he thought I was that green, then he was sorely mistaken. I told him that although I had no reason to distrust him personally, his fellow countrymen had not endeared themselves to us due to their lying and cheating and that if we handed over 100 rupees it would probably be the last we would see of him and our money again so the answer was 'NO'. Strangely, he quietly accepted these terms and said he would pick us up at the hotel the next morning. Obviously, he knows his countrymen as well as we do. He did insist on us giving him our room number. We thought this request a bit strange but could see no real harm in it.

The following morning he was waiting almost outside our bedroom door ten minutes before the agreed time. He obviously thought we might do a cheaper deal with another driver and leave him in the lurch. As we walked out to his taxi, the driver who refused to take us the previous day rushed over to us and said he would take us for 500. He had obviously got out of bed specially, knowing what time we were leaving. We just smiled and said 'Told you so' as we got in the other taxi. Not only were we leaving this God forsaken country but we scored yet more points over a scamming taxi driver.

We nearly came unstuck however as going along in the taxi we could hear a flapping noise but couldn't place what it was. A couple of miles from the guest house in a very quiet back lane we came to a halt. We realised the taxi had a puncture. Eventually, our driver got out in an absolute blind panic as he fumbled around for his tools to change the tyre. He was almost in tears and mumbling to himself. We wondered what the problem was and realised that we hadn't told him the time of our flight and that he was concerned we would miss it and might try to claim the cost from him. At the very least we were unlikely to pay the taxi fare. As always, we had ordered the taxi an hour earlier than we needed to just in case we got delayed but we didn't let on to him. The more he rushed, the more problems he was having and we thought he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. He finally managed to get a new tyre on and sped off like Michael Schumacker. We passed everything in sight on the way to the airport and made it in record time. All of our nerves were shattered by now. As we went in to the airport terminal we turned round to see him slumped against his taxi, wiping his brow and breathing a big sigh of relief.

Our plane to Delhi was only half full. Ten minutes into the flight, the attendant came round and asked if we wanted to 'buy' breakfast. OK, 'Go Air' are a no frills budget airline but we have not had to buy meals on an aircraft since we flew to New York with Freddie Laker in the mid seventies. When we saw that the breakfast was some kind of runny Masala concoction with Nan Bread, it was fairly easy to decline their kind offer. We arrived in Delhi and were somewhat taken aback to see a desk for the free transfer bus to the International Terminal. Hadn't we been told it was in the same building? Yes, indeed we had. Oh, I see.........you mean you lied to us again? We requested two seats on the next bus and were fully expecting to be quoted some kind of service charge. We stood there for ten minutes filling out yet more forms. One of the questions asked was 'Mothers Maiden Name' and another wanted to know on what date you arrived in India. I asked why any of this is relevant when I only want to catch a bus but couldn't decipher the noise he made in response. After filling in the forms, he said we should wait by the desk and he would call us in an hours time when the next one was due. ONE HOUR??? ARE YOU MAD??? We had a flight to catch and the International Terminal that was supposed to be in the same building was 5 miles away. We had no other choice but to brave the Delhi taxi drivers again and face another ride through this hell-hole of a city.

Now after our visit there several weeks earlier and our eloquent summing up of the city, you would have thought questions would have been raised in Parliament and that the authorities would have done something about all the scamming, lying cheats. Unfortunately, they are still very much in evidence, most of them working as taxi drivers at the airport. We were accosted the moment we walked outside the door and was quoted 450 rupees to be taken to the International Terminal. This was probably double what it should be, so we offered 300 and as usual this was declined until we started walking away. Before we had taken five steps, our price of 300 was accepted and we were told to follow the guy over to the taxi rank. As we were walking, he got on his mobile. We arrived at the taxi rank to find there was no taxi and was told it would be along shortly. He said 'Dont worry, you won't miss your flight...you give me 400 rupees and we get you there early'. Ummmmmm, I think you'll find we agreed 300!! The taxi turned up and the guy asked for the 300 as we got in. He was obviously an agent working a scam with the taxi drivers. He would organise the passenger, call the taxi, get paid and give the taxi driver the money less his commission. We told him nobody would be getting a penny until we got to the right terminal and at first he wouldn't let the taxi pull away. We just kept shouting 'Hurry, Hurry' and eventually they mumbled something to each other and we were on our way. Halfway along, the taxi driver slowed down and said 'Long way...400 rupees' and we again said the agreement was 300. We told him that if he wasn't happy, he could stop the car and we would jump in another taxi as we went to open the door. He said 'OK, OK' and we made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare but it was just one final reminder of what a s--thole, Delhi is.

We both gave a silent cheer as we climbed the stairs of the plane knowing we would never be setting foot in India again. We were escaping at last. It took a further hour thanks to the pollution over Delhi before we could actually take off but it wasn't long before the mountains of Nepal came into view.

Whilst there was an official fixed-rate taxi stand in the airport building, we decided to chance our arm with the touts we knew would be waiting outside as you can nearly always do a deal with them. As we left the terminal we were besieged by several of them yelling out 'Thamel, 250 rupees'. There was a very heavy police presence and several of the touts were pushed back, pretty roughly we felt. They all seemed to be in pairs and we knew this was because one would be driving whilst the other tried to convince you to go to a hotel of their choice plus sell you city tours. We picked on one pair and said we would pay 200. They readily agreed and our immediate thought was we should have offered 150. However, we later found out that we got a bargain and the correct fare was indeed 250 so we weren't being scammed. All that travel in India has made us too cynical for our own good. The non driver did try to convince us that he knew a better hotel than the one we were going to and it would of course be less than half the price but as always we insisted on going straight to the one we had chosen. We then told him that we knew what his game was and that if he was even thinking of selling us city tours, mountain flights or his own grandmother, he may as well quit now because even if we were interested in such things, it was our policy never to buy from anyone who pestered us. He got the message.

Unfortunately, our chosen hotel couldn't accommodate us for the full 7 nights we planned to stay but directed us to the one next door. This was a much newer hotel and we thought much more expensive. We were shown 3 different rooms and could see that almost all of the keys were on the hooks so there was obviously room for much bargaining as occupancy must be very low at the moment. We had read that printed hotel rates in Kathmandu were pure fiction and you can expect to get at least a 20 percent discount on any price quoted. He offered us a 40 percent discount which was very reasonable but not reasonable enough so we asked for another 10 percent due to the length of time we would be staying. We also said we wanted breakfast thrown in. He smiled, made some comment about being a poor man from the mountains, but nonetheless happily agreed to our offer.

The following morning we looked around the immediate area which was choc full of souvenir shops, restaurants and Internet Cafes. The atmosphere was totally different to India. People were smiling and many greeted you with the usual 'Namaste' (Hello). What is more, there wasn't a cow to be seen and the streets, while not spotless, were a darn sight cleaner than anywhere we had been in India. This wasn't just another country, it was almost another planet.

Although we had been in town less than 24 hours, our next stop had to be the airline offices to arrange a flight out. It may seem ridiculous but we had read that you needed to book well in advance for any flight out of Kathmandu. The most popular route is Kathmandu to Bangkok but we were intending to visit Dhaka in Bangladesh next and thought a queue to visit that place would be most unlikely especially following the previous weeks political violence there.

We went round to the offices of Biman Airlines (the national carrier of Bangladesh). Nobody even looked up from their desk as we went in. The office had paint peeling off the walls and brown-with-age photographs of old aircraft. A more uninviting office is difficult to imagine. We finally got to see someone (a bored 17 year old Bangladesh youth) after ten minutes and all we could ascertain from his mainly monosylabbic answers were that the fare was 111 Dollars and that there were no seats for at least 10 days. I'm afraid visions of India reared their ugly head. If this lot were typical of their fellow countrymen, did we really want to go to a country that was so like the one we had just escaped from? The answer was an emphatic NO!

We decided to go straight to Thailand instead so went round to the offices of Royal Thai Airlines. What a difference. They had a proper ticket queuing system and their staff were the most helpful we have come across anywhere. Nothing seemed too much trouble for them. We were told that the earliest available seats to Bangkok were in 3 weeks time on 21st November but that these were business class seats however there was a possibility of economy class seats on 24th November. We would have to go on a waiting list for these as they were reliant on cancellations. We asked to be put on the list and were told to check back in two days time. We did go back 3 days later but there was still no room and the first available economy seats that we could book were now more than 5 weeks away and getting further away each day. We asked if the business class seats were still available for the 21st November and how much they would be. They quoted 100 US Dollars each more than the economy fare which worked out at just over 50 quid each thanks to the weak-as-piss Dollar. OK, 100 quid is a 100 quid but at least we would be spending Christmas somewhere nice and warm rather than the great possibility of spending it at Kathmandu airport plus we would be flying in the style that residents of Bexhill are accustomed to. We paid by US Dollar travellers cheques and weren't even charged a commission or service charge. We like Thailand already. We have since read that Thai restaurants and taxi drivers don't expect to be tipped, so we love it even more now.

On returning to the hotel, we got chatting to the owner about mountain flights to see Everest. Almost all visitors to Nepal either take a mountain flight to see Everest or plan to trek in that region. He arranged everything including the taxi to and from the airport for the following morning....and no we weren't scammed. His price was exactly what all the guide books said it should be and what all the other agencies in town were advertising it at. It meant getting up at 4.30am to leave at 5.15am as the hour long flight takes off at 6.40am. On arrival at the airport we found that there were lots of mountain flights as each aircraft only holds 16 passengers so that you all get a window seat.

We took off but after 15 minutes and views of some distant mountains, the pilot said that there was too much cloud cover and we wouldn't see Everest that day. We returned to Kathmandu a bit disappointed but decided to re-book for the following morning. Apparently, if Everest itself can't be seen, they automatically turn round and come back and either refund you your money or re-book you for a time convenient to you.

We decided to spend the day looking around Durbar Square, probably the most famous area of Kathmandu. It is here that the old kings were crowned and from where they once ruled. Although many of the buildings are very old, a lot of damage was caused by a great earthquake in 1934 and many were rebuilt, not always in their original form.

Entry to the square costs 200 Nepali Rupees (about GBP 1.50) and the ticket is valid for a week. If you want a longer duration, you can swap it at another office for a pass which allows you to visit the square as often as you like for as long as your visa to Nepal is valid. The buildings themselves were like no others we had seen before but we were really surprised to see that none of them are protected from the commercial enterprises and the steps of every building were draped in all manner of souvenirs. Rather than explain about each of the buildings which would soon make very boring reading, we hope the photographs below will suffice.

The following morning we headed for the airport at the same unearthly hour as the previous day and this time managed to stay in the air for half an hour before the pilot said the cloud cover was once again too low and that he was heading back to Kathmandu. We decided to get a refund and try again in a couple of weeks time when we would be returning to Kathmandu after visiting Nepal's second city, Pokhara.

Kathmandu has a great atmosphere and its nice to be among so many travellers again. The choice of restaurants is excellent and one evening we even tried 'The Prince of Wales', an authentic English pub and restaurant. We were somewhat dubious of this claim when we saw an ex-sherpa behind the bar and yaks testicles on the menu but after ordering our drinks and getting a flat draught coke and a bottle of warm beer, we knew it was as authentic as they come. We have also tried a Tibetan restaurant and a Thai restaurant and there are several more still to be sampled.

Another day was spent just walking the streets South of Durbar Square, which are mainly residential. At every turn there is something fascinating to see. Kathmandu is really a living museum and almost every religious or artistic object that graces the streets there would warrant a place in a museum in the West. We saw fantastic decorated windows dating from the 16th century on tenement buildings. The Victoria and Albert Museum would give their right arm to have any one of them in their collection. There were hundreds of little courtyards accessed through the smallest innocuous entrance doors and passageways which housed grand shrines covered in bronze, silver and gold that were, for all the world, completely neglected. You could spend hours on just one short street and not notice half of what there is to see. A unique city, the like of which we have not experienced before.

We spent the best part of another day in Patan, a town which is separated from Kathmandu by the Bagmati River. Patan is the second largest town in the Kathmandu Valley and also has its own Durbar Square which if anything, is more fascinating than the one in Kathmandu. We had heard that a guided walk book written by the locals was available to buy and managed to find a copy on arrival. The walk took about 2 hours and covered much more of the town than your average tourist would normally see. We were astounded to see that the oldest stone known to have been worshipped at in the Kathmandu Valley was being used as a washing line pole.

Whilst there were very many obvious poor parts of town, it was just as interesting to walk around as Kathmandu and everywhere people would greet you with 'Namaste' and what is more, they didn't have any hidden agenda as they do in India. We had an enjoyable day and even managed to avoid the 200 NPR fee that we were told they charge to go into Durbar Square. It wasn't intentional on our part but we never saw a ticket office and nobody asked us for the money.

During our first week in Kathmandu, we also paid a visit to Bodhnath to see the largest stupa (Buddhist religious structure)in Nepal and one of the largest in the world. This particular stupa is the religious centre for Nepal's large population of Tibetans. Whilst the structure itself is quite impressive, we felt once again that commercialism ruined the atmosphere of the place. The Tibetan Mantra 'Om Mane Padme Hum' was blaring out from several different CD shops and the whole area was wall-to-wall souvenir shops. We were invited to donate a bucket of whitewash (which we declined) to help with the restoration of the stupa but that was just one of the many ways the enterprising Tibetans had of extracting money from you.

We then strolled for half an hour through farming communities to Pashupatinath which is Nepal's most important Hindu temple. We got talking to a local man who was showing a couple of German tourists around and he invited us to join him on his guided tour. Normally, we would have nothing to do with these guides but Pashupatinath is a huge site and he knew it like the back of his hand. He never once asked for any money, not even at the end of the tour, but was well worth the couple of hundred rupees we gave him as he knew all the best camera positions and took us to places within the complex that most tourists wouldn't even find.

Now, pay attention and I'll try to explain the significance of this temple because not only is it the most important Hindu temple in Nepal, it is also one of the most important Shiva temples on the subcontinent. Of course, you all know that Shiva is both the destroyer and creator of the Hindu pantheon and appears in many forms. His destructive forms are probably best known especially in Nepal where he appears as the cruel Bahairab but he also has peaceful incarnations, one of which is Pashupati, the lord of the beasts. Pashupati is considered to have a special concern for Nepal and he always features in official messages from the King. Indeed, the King always pays a visit to Pashupatinath to seek the gods blessing before commencing any important journey.

Commercialism was rife here but it was still possible to get away to quieter parts of the complex and soak up the atmosphere.

Pashupatinath stands on the Bagmati River which is considered by Hindus to be holy and is therefore a popular place to be cremated. Whilst we were there, we saw four separate cremations taking place and it was a very strange experience.

They even provide seating for the tourists on the opposite bank and offerings and flowers can be purchased from wandering sellers. There are one or two buildings on the site which non-hindus are not permitted to enter but we found the same thing in India as well. All around the site are sadhus (Hindu holy men) who become less than holy when you show no interest in taking their photograph for 20 rupees.

One of our final two days was spent in Bhaktapur, Kathmandu Valley's third largest town. Personally, I could have spent weeks there just taking photographs of the locals and the areas they live in. The cobblestone streets link a series of temples, monasteries, courtyards and squares and every side street has an amazing array of street furniture including shrines, wells and water tanks. The town is pretty much traffic free which makes walking around it a real pleasure. Bhaktapur too has its own Durbar Square and although there are fewer buildings than in Khatmandu or Patan, what remains is still fascinating.
The locals were quite happy to be photographed and everyone greeted us with a cheery smile and 'namaste'. Bhaktapur is a place I would highly recommend to anyone visiting Nepal.

On our final day we walked to Swayambhunath, a Buddhist temple which stands on top of a hill west of Kathmandu. It is also known as the 'Monkey Temple' and it's not difficult to see why as you climb the never-ending steep steps up to the temple itself. They amuse visitors by sliding down the central bannister but you have to be on your guard as they will happily make a grab for anything you are carrying. Whilst the view of Kathmandu from the top is worth the climb alone, the comings and goings at the temple itself made fascinating viewing. There were people in all manner of strange colourful dress, lots of chanting, hundreds of women with offering bowls, monkeys everywhere and the inevitable souvenir stalls and once again, the haunting 'Om Mane Padme Hum' could be heard all around the site.

The following morning we were up early again for our 7 hour bus ride to Pokhara. The bus was the one we were promised, our seats were the ones we were promised and lunch which was included in the price was excellent. Indian bus companies take note......come to Nepal to see how it should be done.

Pokhara is situated beneath the Annapurna mountain range and the tourist part of town is strung out along a beautiful lake. We are staying in a gorgeous lakeside hotel and have a lovely view over the surrounding mountains and the lake itself.

We had intended spending a week in Pokhara before returning to Kathmandu for another week before our flight to Thailand. It is likely we will spend longer in Pokhara and just have a couple of days in Kathmandu as we have covered most of what there is to see there. Hopefully, we will have a successful attempt at the mountain flight.

More about the rest of our stay in Nepal in our next blog which will more than likely be from Bangkok.

With love from us both
Mike and Jo
X X

p.s. More photos on Pages 4, 5 and 6.

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