Television programmes in the UK would like us to believe that all Indian trains are like Mumbai’s peak-hour ‘Super Dense Crush Load’. Thousands of human sardines crammed into a nine-carriage train, fifteen people to a square metre hanging out of doors and riding on the roof - you get the picture! Fortunately, outside of that vast over-populated metropolis the reality is usually quite different. In fact, I’ve always found Indian Railways reasonably comfortable, efficient and tremendous value for money. Trains have eight classes - not all of them on every train, but I’d hesitate to recommend anything other than 2A or 1A Classes, unless you’re a backpacker prepared to take the very rough with the never smooth. Look at The Man in Seat 61’s website for a complete run-down. On this trip, my train experiences were ... read more

For the price of a night at my last stop, I could have stayed for four or five nights at my next one. And, oh, how I wish I had! While I had an inkling of what I would find there, I was unprepared to be totally and utterly blown away by what must surely be one of the most spectacular sights anywhere in India. A scary 2½ hour drive from Gajner, mostly on a fast, two-lane highway, brought me to the Kurja Resort in an arid desert location two miles (3.5kms) outside the town of Phalodi. The ‘resort’, made up of a mix of accommodation in brick-built blocks and, later in the year, fully-equipped tents on a permanent base, is set in substantial grounds of lawns fringed by flowering hibiscus shrubs. There’s a pleasant ... read more

The train was already 15 minutes late as it pulled out of Abu Road station just after midday. I’d reserved a second class seat in what’s called '2A Class', an air-conditioned carriage with seats that convert to sleeping berths by night. My seat number was occupied by one of a group of people who insisted that they’d also booked it. They hadn’t of course – they just wanted to sit together. With the train conductor’s help, I was given a vacant berth nearby – in a private compartment still set up for night-time use, with one upper and one lower berth, complete with bed linen. Everyone was happy! It was a daytime train but, as it noisily click-clack, click-clacked northwards, the scenery was monotonous dry earth, scrub and a few sand-coloured hills interrupted only by ... read more

By eight o’clock this morning, I was at New Gate, one of the ancient-looking arched entrances to ‘The Pink City’, Jaipur’s old town. Everything was still asleep, the little signs of life just sweepers moving dust and rubbish from one place to another with their long swishing brooms, an occasional cycle-rickshaw with its pedalling driver cloaked in a blanket or a motorcyclist wearing a bandit mask against the cold. A few bedraggled street dogs wandered aimlessly in search of sustenance, uttering half-hearted barks at the approach of others. It was cool and hazy, a lull before the rising sun brought heat to what would become crowded streets noisy with the constant sounding of horns and lawnmower-engined auto-rickshaws belching fumes into the already polluted air. My new friend Manish arrived a few minutes later, quickly finding ... read more

Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, Lend me your grey mare. All along, down along, out along lea. For I want to go down to Widecombe Fair wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all.To be sung in a fake Devon yokel's accent, preferably after a few pints of strong local ale. So goes the first verse of a folk tune called 'Widecombe Fair'. It does go on quite a bit longer - possibly a bit too much longer, unless someone else is buying the next round of drinks. It tells a tale of Tom Pearce's old grey mare being borrowed, getting lost, falling ill, dying, and haunting the moor ever after. I won't bore you with it all here but, ... read more