Out-back, Down-Under

Today was spent enjoying this most wonderful part of England, the Yorkshire Dales. We have based ourselves in the gorgeous 18th century or earlier, village of Dent, tucked into the folds of the lush green topography of the Dales; any exit is uphill. Our day started with a visit to Sedbergh via the exceedingly narrow, stone walled lined lanes, reminiscent of an episodeof Postman Pat, initially to fill up with petrol, but surprised to discover just how delightful a place Sedbergh is, with a particular influence of bookshops selling new, old and collectable books.

Then we were off to seek out Dent Station, a stop on the Settle Carlisle railway, famous for being the highest station in the UK at 1150 feet. There was some disagreement regarding the distance the station was from the village, and it was clear the only agreement was that is was a long way. The 4 carriage 12.11 took us across the Ribblehead viaduct into Settle along the line famously rescued from closure by Michael Portillo in April 1989. After a coffee in the Naked Man Cafe, we set out on foot to Giggleswick, just over a mile away. What a pretty village it was, with quite some history. In recent times, in St. Alkelda's Churchyard, Russell Harty was buried. A workparty was clearing weeds around graves and were able to point us in the direction of the final resting place of the aforementioned broadcaster. Settle is famous for frequent visit made by Edward Elgar to his friend Dr Bucks, living in the market place. The visit could not be considered complete without a visit to a local collectibles emporium.

Our train took us back to Dent and hence to our little stone cottage in the centre of the tiny, pretty village, next to the Sun Inn.

Perfect day, perfect way to celebrate my 75th birthday.

We arrived home eventually at around teatime on Saturday. Exhausted by the time differences, but perhaps not as bad as some other journeys.

Our reflections are maybe still generating. The idea of joining two continents in one trip worked well. Australia was great, and was, well, Australia, and because we know it so well, we know that wherever we choose to travel in Australia, we will enjoy it. And so it was. Although we were familiar with some areas such as Melbourne, Perth and Fremantle, we were delighted to find that the bits that join them all together were stunning and unique. The problem with Melbourne and Perth is that it is really too easy to get them muddled up. They are rather boringly similar. You cannot go wrong with Fremantle though, because of its colonial character and more importantly the Little Creatures brewery, and the proximity of Cottesloe for access to a reasonable beach.

Heading inland from Perth was where our trip essentially began. Few people probably would choose Kalgoorlie as a holiday resort. Neither would we, but we were compelled to visit, peer over the edge of one of the largest holes on the planet and see where such a large proportion of the world's gold is found. It's such a large hole, it reminds you of the bit in TVs Porridge when Fletcher has for some reason dug a big hole in Slade Prison, and Mr MacKay says, just one thing Fletcher, when you dug this hole, what did you do with the dirt. Simple, Mr MacKay, we dug another one and put it in there. But this one is so big, it can be seen from space! Kalgoorlie was an interesting town, built for the mine, and it is the mine. A water supply pipe was needed to supply the town 350 miles in length without which, nothing could happen there. This is an amazing place. The people are hardened to the life there. They work hard and play hard. Their playtime is in the street pubs that are filled with rednecked country folk, dusty after a hard day's work, orange and navy blue workwear, long shifts at the quarry, thirsty, relaxing in groups at the long bar, loud, male and female workers, although these aren't dainty, shy little girls. Bar staff are what they call skimpies, slim girls serving large quantities of skooners filled with Australian beer, wearing just underwear. It's like all those black and white cowboy films you ever saw on a Sunday afternoon. This is the inner workings of Australia and needs to be seen. Nullarbor Plain next, with the longest completely straight road anywhere, reaching right across the desert, turning eventually right into the Eyre Peninsula, with its coastline revealing one delight after the next; including Coffin Bay at the furthest southerly point. Adelaide was our next biggest surprise. Previous visits had not thrilled us, but with 4 nights here, we completely changed our opinion of the place, and were intrigued by it for its clean wide open design, fetching river and interesting cricket ground. We both had friends at school who ten pound pommed out to Adelaide and have been intrigued about where they settled down into life in Australia and have often wondered what happened to them.

Flying into Delhi, on the way home was absolutely facinating. We are so glad we did this. Undoubtedly, we needed to be shown and introduced to India in a sanitised way. The thought of being left to our own devices, loose in India on our own is terrifying. You would not dare drive, without someone carefully explaining the rules. However, while telling us the rules, perhaps expand the exercise to the other 20 million drivers who would not appear to know there are rules at all. There are thought to be 35 million people in Delhi. More than 1.4 billion throughout India. It is a big country, but a big population too. Our first impressions were of noise, crowds, the poor, dirt, rubble, animals roaming the streets; cows, monkeys. Then we went on our first tour of Old Delhi, and we caught our first glimpse of the history of India; the Mosques, Hindu Temples, the Palaces, the Sikh Temple offering succour to the poor and needy. Then we discovered the heritage of India, its origins, its wealth of culture and we were stunned. We saw the fissure that was the time of Empire. Then Gandhi, partition and independence. Then hope. India may well have a massive population, it may have huge welfare issues, but it has 7% growth this year; soon likely to be the 4th largest economy in the world. India is moving, changing. Massive investment in infrastructure, new businesses, innovations, space race, slum clearance and hopefully an end to poverty. India still has a long way to go, but it already has come a long way and I'm sure she can reach her goals. See India now, while you can see both ends of the journey.

Australia and India; two very different countries, but Australia is a young country, but already highly successful. India is a very old country, amazing traditions and yet a great future. Both have tremendous diversity; tropics through to savanna and desert. Both have vast empty spaces, but also fertile plains with crops abounding. We shall undoubtedly plan to return to Australia, simply because there is yet more to do there, but we would equally like to return to India, to another part and make comparisons, but in the safety and security of a programmed tour. The Palace on Wheels was an ideal mechanism for discovery, but not if you were only interested in train journeys.

We sat out on the patio of the Imperial Hotel whiling away the time, unsure exactly what time our taxi to the airport might arrive. Dressed for our return flight to colder climbs, we were beginning ro roast in the soaring temperatures. The smog lifting and the sun in an impossibly blue sky, taunting us and letting us know this would be the last we would see of it for a while. Young lads were bringing sections of a arena stage, kit form, from nearby trucks and piling them on the green lawns for erection, facing centrally onto the rear of this magnificent art deco facade. Concert? Wedding? unknown. The taxi arrived, driver plus tour guide, reinforcing the concept of never just send one person when two could do the job just as easily as one.

The airport process in India is absolutely unbelievable. It's like a modern airport with processes, procedures designed to the usual international standards but operated by people more suited to handling a broom. Fellow passengers, who forget whose side they are on, barge through in front of you with cases the size of a small bus and then bring the entire queue to a standstill while they debate with the check-in girl just why that lot are not going to be allowed onto this aircraft or any other aircraft for that matter! Even our elephant would have had doubts. Each time there is an element of officialdom, they want to see the boarding card. Our card has more stamps on it than our passports. Then the passport security check. An enormous queue for that, where boarding passes are rechecked and stamped. Then security checks on carry on baggage. After boarding passes are checked and stamped again, practically everything you stand up in is decamped into tiny A4 sized trays which you have to source yourselves and fill on surfaces not quite A4 in size. This leads inevitably to a large Indian lady shoving one end of a line of these things along, such that two trays equal in size to her two, find themselves displaced at the other end of a stacked tray run. Clunk they go on the floor, jackets and bags spew out into inaccessible areas that only trained broom handlers are allowed to go to. A verbal report is now issued by the woman erstwhile owner of the jackets and bags now no longer travelling with her. I think it was Indian for Oi, you fat Indian woman pick this lot up! Or something less polite.The women then have to leave all this carnage behind, walk several meters down the hall to pass through a women only body scanner, because I suppose women carrying knives and Kalashnikovs will be identified more easily than if they were to pass through the men's scanner. Having walked through the portal, you need then to stand on a box where after once more the boarding pass is checked, and the operative enquires where you are going, even though this information is contained on the boarding pass, which incidentally is now illegible due to the number of stamps. You get the impression he is only making polite conversation and doesn't really care anyway. He scans away with his little wand and seems puzzled and for that matter somewhat amused that it pipped everything it passed the metal button on my jeans. Why this should be a source of interest I could not say, but eventually after replaying this several times, I was permitted to pursue my journey. I just hope that it wasn't the sight of the Cadby belly button that was causing the continued interest! Meanwhile the intensely bored broom handler looking at the screen displaying the xrayed contents of bags and coats stirs momentarily into consciousness and then resumes his more preferred comatosed position. We were a little concerned because we did buy something in the antiques emporium that was actually old, and were advised, if questioned at the airport about it, should the subject arise, mention that we thought it was brand new and it hadn't occurred that any particular interest in its provenance would require explanation. As it trundled slowly and progressively towards his all revealing scanner, big Zs from the broom handler told us we needn't have worried. How old is it we asked in the emporium. Oh, he said, its old.

We were disgorged eventually into the glaring light of the departure halls, pausing briefly to make some purchases, once more presenting the now battered and stamped boarding passes. Then to the departure gates for the boarding pass trick to be replayed, through the gates and passes checked again! Then onto the Boeing Dreamliner with a final check, slump into the seat and just hope to be left alone for the next 10 hours.

A great night's sleep. The huge hotel bed didn't keep stopping in stations, vibrate or sway.

We are on a countdown now to starting the journey home tomorrow, but enjoying a relaxing time in the fantastic 5 star Imperial Hotel. This is the oldest 5 star hotel in Delhi and one of the oldest in India. The hotel is happy to give a tour of the place, and we were happy to have one.

FB Blomfield, an associate of Edwin Lutyens, designed the art deco style building which was commissioned by Sardar Bahadur Ranjit Singh in 1932, and opening its doors for the first time in 1936. Lady Willingdon, wife of the then Viceroy, was instrumental in its style and presentation. Initially the Maharajah used it for large events in Indian society life, but it became a hub for political debate and in the 1940s was the meeting place of Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, and Lord Mountbatten to discuss the Partition of Pakistan. Our guide took us to an unassuming little marble topped table in the main restaurant where some of these discussions took place; called surprisingly, the Gandhi table. This really is a great hotel. Besides the main restaurant, there is one to celebrate the Spice Route, with its interior decorated with original artifacts from a far eastern temple and serving South East Asian cuisine. An Italian restaurant, the San Gmignano, offersyet more choice. The hotel is also a museum for a collection of 5,500 works of art, much it on display.

We shall leave this place with thoughts of a return some day to India. There is something much to see here, its just a question of where to start.

Gandhi's Table

Gandhi without the loin cloth

The Spice Route restaurant

The coronation of George V

Overnight, our train slid quietly into Delhi Station and we awoke to the reconciliation of the fact our train voyage of discovery was now officially over. Just one final breakfast was permitted and then they wanted us gone, history, ready to be nice and smiley to a new set of travellers. Our bulters bowed, hands together in an attitude of prayer, for the last time and we made our farewells to the staff and our fellow travellers. It was an odd and slightly surprising mix of guests. Just three of us from UK, a couple from Norway, 2 couples from the US, a couple from Paris. The remaining 22 or so were Indians. 63 staff for just that small number of guests; mainly tour manager. Security manager, chefs, kitchen staff, butlers, maintenance, drivers etc etc. Our cabin was much bigger than previous train journeys have provided. With twin beds permanently made, with comfortable chair, wardrobe, desk and ensuite, the whole thing about 4 meters by 2 and half meters. Perhaps unlike our previous journeys, it wasn't a trip for rail enthusiasts who stopped off for the odd excursion, it was instead a tour seeing the main sights on the golden triangle, but getting there by train. There is a subtle difference. Given the alternatives, it was an extremely good way of achieving this, very enjoyable, but excruciatingly tiring. We are amazed that some of the older guests managed it at all, and 4 of them were in wheelchairs, pushed by the butlers, up and down the steep slopes of the various Forts and Palaces.

Our driver and tour representative were waiting for us at 8 am at the station. It always takes two to move us and our luggage from A to B. By committee they moved us back to our luxurious Imperial Hotel where we were enthusiastically greeted, welcome back they said, Happy Holi. Unlike yesterday, that should have been Holi day, until they discovered there was an eclipse of the moon, today had no such impediment, and celebrations were uncurtailed. Once more the coloured powders were out, and liberal redistribution over other people took place. I had need of the facilities the afternoon, and popped into the gents. There was a chap sitting on a chair in his Y fronts, with his head caked in the coloured powders of Holi. Thankfully, the attendant who stands behind you at the wash basin passing the soap dispenser and towel at an opportune moment, was temporarily absent, so I had to somehow manage on my own.

Feeling totally exhausted after the events of the week just finished, we managed it down to the pool and basked in the 33 degrees issued. We are expecting more of the same tomorrow.

We have checked in for our Friday flight to Heathrow and all at this stage looks normal. By contrast, others on the train, travelling to Dubai are going nowhere at the moment. The French guests have decided on a week in Goa while things settle down, and perhaps Trump finds someone else to bully.

The Maharajah dining carriage

Happy Holi

We were awakened at some ghastly hour to don some very white Indian pyjamas, get off the train at the rather scruffy town of Bharatpur, and get into the coach. Apparently it is the Hindu celebrations for Holi. We needed first to get to the Ghana Bird Sanctuary where it would appear birds get up early. I wish they could once in a while have a lie in. We saw cormorants, snake birds and ducks.

Holi, the Hindu "Festival of Colours" and Spring, is a vibrant two-day celebration (often in March) marking the victory of good over evil, the end of winter, and the arrival of spring. Well, we were ready for it. Pyjamas on, breakfast at a Palace hotel also owned by our train operator, ready that is for the pink, yellow, blue and purple powder that would soon leave their nice neat piles and be deposited all over our clean Pyjamas. At that point word went around that because there was to be an eclipse of the moon somewhere this afternoon, Holi would be postponed till tomorrow. Oh. Didn't anyone spot that coming? Apparently not. Anyway the powders were ready, the new Pyjamas on, so it must be Holi. Powders flew, smeared, wiped, dubbed, politely at first, administratively and deliberately later. I understand how we could be considered red Indians, holiday or not. We embarked our waiting train and set off a little late for Agra.

Lucky us, first stop on arrival in Agra, was the Fort. This one built in 1565 by the Mughal Emperor Akbar with the present day structure completed in 1573. Built in a Muslim design, it has well laid out gardens, some altered by the British, but the inner garden retains a traditional Muslim design of 4 sections, each representing the ingredients of life; honey, milk, water and wine. It served as a Mughal residence until the capital shifted from Agra to Delhi in 1638. After that, various dynasties had it until the British captured it in 1803 in the second Anglo-Maratha war. The Fort was again a battlefield in 1857 during the Indian Rebellion which prompted a decree from Queen Victoria that the East India Company would be abolished and direct rule by the British from London would be established. Which of course remained the case until 1947.

Lunch followed at a 5 star hotel in Agra and then free time till we started on our final tour of the trip, and possibly the destination we had looked forward to most; that of the visit to Taj Mahal.

Taj Mahal was commissioned in 1632 by Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan, to house the tomb of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Mumtaz, an appropriate name since in their 20 year marriage, she managed to give birth to 14 children. She died of a haemorrhage during childbirth of the 15th. Unfortunately 8 died. The survivors, 2 girls and 4 boys. Of the 4 boys, the youngest reckoned he ought to inherit, so one by one he killed his older brothers, and locked his father up in a tower in the Fort. His father had been building the Taj for his dead wife using local white marble, and the plan was to build himself something rather similar but in black marble. The surviving son was keeping a close eye on his inheritance, so when the time came, he opted for the much cheaper solution of popping his old dad in the same tomb as his old mum. However, the whole principle of the design was symmetry. The Taj Mahal has an identical design on all four sides. To the left is a fully functioning standalone Mosque, to the right is a mirror image Mosque lookalike; and had once been used as a hotel, but now remains an empty building. So, Shah Jahan was buried to the left of his wife, who had been placed in the middle, and so consequently, he was off centre! The design of Taj was managed by a board of architects, with Ustad-Ahmad Lahori generally considered the principal designer. It is thought over 20,000 artisans were involved in its construction, and work began a year after the death of Mumtaz and completed by 1648. It is always thought to be a labour of the love he had for his third wife and Taj to be representative of her house in paradise. And how beautiful it is too. We were concerned that when we turned the corner from the East Gate and had our first sighting of the Taj we might be disappointed in some way, but as soon as we saw it, goosebumps went up our backs. There it was, a World Heritage Site and worth every penny. Around 25,000 people visit each day, but the vision we had of it, as it sits at the end of the long channelled lakes, was individual and ours alone, and it was as if all the others were not there, because you cannot take your gaze from the white marble building itself. Your eyes are fixed on the building itself, transfixed. They say it looks different at sunrise and sunset. We could not stay that long, so perhaps another time? Martine sat on the same seat as Princess Diana, but at that moment we realised, we were not alone.

He was in the bird sanctuary

Our fellow train guests before the Holi celebrations began

I scored some direct hits

The Agra Fort

Agra Fort

After such a late return to the train last night, and still feeling like we'd the camel was between our legs, given half a chance we would have overslept. However, the knock on the door was becoming more insistent, verging on urgent. Coffee was served, and we had 30 minutes to make an appearance in the dining carriage. Our gang of three English guests gathered with a singleness of mind, minimum breakfast and definitely not to include curry. We have as an entity switched to poached eggs. Mine still arrived with unrequited toast, but I think that's because they can't see there is any point having poached egg on toast without toast. At least they didn't serve it with potatoes today. I looked out with interest to see where we were. The station name said Mandor. There was a shuffling on the platform of uniformed bandsmen, and so I braced myself for a potential audio onslaught. The band were all very smart, but it sounded like a traffic jam, and very loud. We escaped the red dot though today.

Our clean white tour bus took us from the station across town to the Mesrangarh Fort high on the hill overlooking Jodhpur and the Blue City. Now, this is, it has to be said, is in a long line of Forts and Palaces we have seen, and it is as about as much as we can do not to stifle a small yawn when we are told we are about to see another one. However, this one takes the spicy Indian biscuit. On pretty much every count, it scored high, imposing - tick, ornate carved architecture - tick, a civil engineering nightmare to building in the first place - tick, extremely fetching building - tick. What might have ruined it was the lift to the starter point way above our heads had broken down and the lift engineer was in attendance. Well that I suppose was two things to worry about. Anyway, after a little wait, the all clear was given and up we went. Now this Fort may be found 400 feet on the top of a hill, 36 meters from there up; it is one of India's largest forts and it is often referred to as 'The Citaldel of the Sun'. Built in 1459 by Rao Jodha. The term Rao, I believe is a forerunner to Maharajah. We are constantly amazed about the history of this country, especially where it pre-dates British participation. The lift clanked open and we found ourselves on a high open courtyard overlooking the vast expanse of Jodhpur and the Blue City. So named because people of a high caste painted their houses in a particular shade of blue that couldn't easily be obtained in B&Q. I guess they were trying to attract the Farrow and Ball class of people. The Fort, as is the case for all these structures was also a Palace, and for various Maharajahs. Legend has it that a local woman, Cheeria Nathji, who was living on the hill at the time planning permission was granted to build the Fort, put a curse on it. Our Rao Jodha was concerned about this, and was assured the usual method for dealing with this situation was to sacrifice someone by burying them alive within the walls. Remarkably, a volunteer was found for the task, and to this day there is a plaque in his honour. Well that was something at least. It remained home to the dynasty until 1943 when a new Art Deco replacement was constructed across town with a lot more space. And we were to visit this later on, but first we were to visit a beautiful white marble construction, a prelude to the design for Taj Mahal. Jaswant Thada was built in 1899 by Maharajah Sardar Singh for his father as a cenotaph for the cremation site. We don't know now where the cremation were carried out, but today it has peaceful, well maintained gardens and a beautiful temple cenotaph overlooking the city. Now bundled back into the bus because lunch was almost in sight, we were taken to Umaid Bhawan Palace. Now the building of the replacement to Mesrangarh Fort was also complicated by a curse. Clearly this family were trouble, but in the 1920s it was determined that a curse was to bring drought, and economic disaster upon the region and the local department of agriculture and fish, so the incumbant then upon the hill, Maharajah Umaid Singh kindly took to build his new replacement 347 roomed Palace using 3,000 odd local fellows as labourers. So this rather fixed the employment issues, although how in a drought they mixed concrete might have been another problem to contend with. However, by 1929, things were underway and by 1943 removal trucks appeared outside. This continued to be an unlucky place because our Umaid only lived there 4 years before he died, Hanwant Singh took over, won the general election in 1952 and then died in a plane crash, before Gaj Singh inherits and turned the place into a hotel. So far so good. I can't say I particularly liked what they call the dung coloured limestone Palace, but maybe its all a matter of taste.

One final stop before lunch, and it would have been my choice to spend a bit more time at. It was an emporium of Indian artifacts for sale. We did partake as much as we could and Air India might allow, but suffice it to say, the purchasing department was wholly supportive.

It was now officially lunch, which was taken in a most acceptable 5 star hotel in the centre of town, before being repatriated to our train for some most appreciated R&R.

Spotted on the platform, a small cabin with its defining door sign saying it was the 'Penal Room'. Most likely explanation for this most punitive of places is a simple spelling mistake. It perhaps should have said, 'Panel Room' in electrical terminology. But then electricians were never the brightest sparks and you never know, it could be where they go to be chastised.

ps. News has hit even Indian TV of Trumps latest triumphs. Many on this train are likely to be affected by flight cancellations. We ourselves await news from Trailfinders to see if we might have impact.

The Mesrangarh Fort

The Maharajahs bedroom

The Blue City

Martine has friends in high places

Jaswant Thada

Beautifully kept gardens

Umaid Bhawan Palace 1943

The Railway Station that stared back at us when we woke this morning was Jaisalmer, in the province of Rajasthan, and what a tidy looking station it was too. Usually, it is hard to tell if the station is being built, or being knocked down. So, after breakfast, we were directed to a waiting fleet of extremely uncomfortable tuc tucs and we bounced into the old town of Jaisalmer. Jaisalmer has a population of 85,000, but 3,000 of those live within the old stone walls of the Fort town. Yep, another Fort. This one was built in 1156 AD by its first ruler, Rawal Jaisal Bhati. The population spread today is roughly two thirds Hindu and one third Muslim, but despite being less than 120 kms from the Pakistan border, everyone gets in very well. Oh, and it is 110 kn where India did nuclear testing.

It was fun travelling in by tuc tuc amongst the mayhem of town traffic. I said, I'm surprised there are not more accidents. I was told that the main reason there are few accidents is that they don't travel very fast. We were deposited in the square outside of the City Walls, and made our way through the gateway into the Fort. Motorcycles, cows, people milled around us, and as we turned the corner at the City gate, so it was that indivuals started to sing at us, or play squeeze boxes. It was as though the signal went out, and wealthy tourists were coming. We climbed the steep cobbled road up through the town, and the towering palace walls. The siege of 1299, Rawal Jait Singh faced the armies of Alauddin Khalji. Because things were not going well, the women of the town committed Jauhar, a process where they made their mark on the wall, and then threw themselves into flames. The men were slain. The town was eventually saved by surviving warriors. Well, all these forts seem to have some tale such as this.

We then took our shoes off, and made our way into one of the two Jain Temples. Jain, as far as I can make out is a kind of Hindu religion, but just a bit extreme. The main problem for me might be one of diet. Not only are these chaps vegetarian, but they are not permitted to eat any vegetables with a root on it, or even used to have a root on it. Well, I'm not really sure what you can eat then.

A short break then occurred sitting on the roof top terrace overlooking the city, sipping a coke. Then it was off to the outlet where cotton shawls and quilts might be purchased at very reasonable prices. To my surprise, some of our party played the game and bought some. We returned once more in tuc tucs, bouncing all the way back to the bus, then the train for a spot of luncheon.

This afternoon held great excitement. We were taken out of the confines of Jaisalmer and taken to the desert region for an inspection of camels. Just over an hour's drive from the train was the Lohagarh Desert Resort set among the sand dunes made up of very nice ensuite glamping units and beyond the gates were our patiently waiting camels. Eight camels with two guests each went out on their 30 minute ride across the dunes. Jeeps took the rest of us to the end of the camel ride for us to lumber back. Our camel, Babalo seemed fine about the deal. Martine slid on in front, me behind, and on the command, Babalo kind of lurched forward, neck straight out with a most determined look on his face. Martine was told at that moment she should lean backwards and I should learn forward. We clashed, obviously, midway. Babalo was on his feet, we were still on his back, so all's right with the world. Then, the ship of the desert began plodding, and we holding very tight; It was such a lovely experience. The sun had just set across the sand, and the remaining rays from over the horizon cast a beautiful glow across the heavens, and the silence, the sway of the beast beneath almost charming us as a snake charmer entices the reptile out of his basket home, the warm evening air engulfing us, was just perfect. Then, on return to the complex, the train staff had set a stage with local musicians, tables and chairs, and a buffet Indian meal supplied by the train chefs. Great evening under the stars in the desert, miles from the bright lights of Jaisalmer. Another fantastic, orchestrated day.

Sugar beet spreading

Jain Temple

The Palace

The latter part of the night, the train sat by a platform of Udaipur Station, and we woke at 06.55, just before our butler tapped lightly on the door with our morning coffee. Pulling back the curtains, we were not surprised to see three men sitting cross legged on the platform around a small fire. Our threshold to be 'surprised' has dropped some amount since we've been in India. Breakfast done with, we packed a bag with our hats, suncream, sunnies, glasses, money and water, and presented ourselves by the train door, shortly to be led off the train and packed into a coach. But first of course there was the garland and the red dot on the forehead once more making us look a victim of a road accident.

It was just a short ride to our first stop of the day, Saheliyon-Ki-Bari.This is a beautiful green garden, planted with palms, mangos and vivid pink bougainvilleas. Fountains adorned the whole garden being quite a feature of the garden design. Now owned and run by the city for its people, it was originally given as a gift to his wife by Rana Sangram Singh in 1710. It was such a peaceful place in the centre of a very busy city, and so well maintained. We were once again reminded of the strict rules regarding street vendors. Do not look at them, let alone in the eye! We were just about to board the bus at the conclusion of the visit. We had successfully seen off the boys selling beautiful pictures playing cards, and the fridge magnets. We were thinking we've cracked this, then came along the china elephant. Now I'm sure i only saw this thing out of the corner of my eye, but I recall thinking, oh that's quite nice. They can read minds, and before you know where you are he's all over you like a rash. He was like all his Christmases had come at once. Despite by now us sitting in our seats, still there were offers. How do they know? What is this antennae they have?

The bus whizzed off leaving a most disappointed sales executive by the roadside. If that was Daniel, then our next stop had to be the Lions Den. It was an art gallery where they paint traditional miniature water colour pictures on camel bone. OK, so asking for it really, but they were very good. Do I need one, no. However, it was their wish that I shell out £400 on one. It's camel bone he said. And? I thought. Anyway. I explained, I'd never get that through purchasing department! Dead right said the purchasing department currently residing under Martine's hat. I think he eventually felt sorry for us since we both had red spots and looked like we'd been involved in the same accident.

Our third tour was a triumph. Still in Udaipur, the coach pulled up at the Udaipur City Palace. This is by far the largest Palace in Rajasthan, and the second largest in the whole of India. Built in 1559 by Maharana Udai Singh II and he and his descendants kept building it for the next 400 years. It is a collection of buildings constructed of granite and marble which originally formed one Palace joined together by courtyards. The whole Palace sits on a hillside along the Eastern shore of Lake Pichola, an absolutely stunning location, location, location. Wow. Today, two of the buildings are now hotels, but owned and operated by the current Maharana. A Maharana is one up from being a lowly Maharajah. We toured the Palace and had the security design explained. Attack was always possible and one of the features was that the corridors were built deliberately narrow so that invaders would not be able ro rush the place. The doorways deliberately low so that invaders would stoop forward allowing their heads to be more conveniently positioned for hacking off. Well it all sounds a little Home Alone, but I suppose its worth a go. Maybe add an electric fire or two, and some bags of cement etc. A most bizarre story is that of the incumbant Maharana in 1874 till 1884, Maharana Sajjan Singh had a bit of a liking for crystal. So he ordered a very large job lot of the stuff from a company in Birmingham, F&C Osler. He told no-one about this huge order, and unfortunately died before it arrived. This was big, chandeliers, bed, furniture glasses, anything they made times ten. Well in due course the entire shipment arrived and there was a good deal of head scratching and comments such as, well I'm sure its all very nice, but I don't really like crystal. So all the crates got put in the spare room and forgotten about for 100 years. Then the last Maharana took a look at them and decided to get the lot out, get a team over from Birmingham and have it all put together. And there it all was today. Not my cup of tea. Far too much bling for me. It looked the sort of stuff you'd get in HomeSense.

Great visit, but what followed was even better. We boarded one of those little trains that drives through streets, down to the lake and embarked on a little boat which took us on a short cruise but ultimately to the Jagmandir Island Palace built on an island on the lake. Such an awe inspiring place with the mountains looking down on us. We were fast tracked onto the boat and led into a reserved, private party section of this lovely restaurant in the middle of a lake. A delicious curried buffet meal was set out for us. Another red spot and bead garland supplied and we spent a fantastic hour or two eating an amazing meal in such privileged surroundings. Reluctantly, we were eventually returned to our bus, and subsequently to the Palace on Wheels to continue our journey.

Saheliyon-Ki-Bari.

The City Palace

Maharana's bedroom

Jagmandir Island Palace

Jagmandir Island Palace

The knock came even earlier today; 6.15am to be precise. 2 butlers again trying to deliver the coffee. It was a necessary early call because, as you know, tigers get up very early and if you want to catch one in their striped pyjamas, you need to synchronise watches. The plan was to muster at 7am by the door and then we were to be whisked off to the Ranthambhore National Park to go looking for tigers. One minute late, we were and there's a butler tapping on the door, plis you come now. A long Britsh Racing Green skip on wheels with seats was waiting for us by the station entrance, so all aboard and we were away to the game reserve. Our expectations for a sighting of a tiger was pretty low, so on that score we were not to be disappointed. The park is 1,334 square kilometres and there are estimated to be 75 tigers somewhere in it, so I guess the chances of seeing one are reasonably poor. However, the hot-spots for finding them are well known. Well we didn't see one but it wasn't for lack of trying. We did see quite a few marsh crocodiles, monkeys, sambar deer, mongoose, black cormorant, tree pie, heron and many sundry duck types. The National Park was, however, beautiful. It had been a hunting estate for the Maharajah, and there were ornate lodges around on the banks of lakes where no doubt they had exotic hunting parties. Our ride back to the train took us through the small but scruffy town of Ranthambhore. Cows and water buffalo roam unhindered wherever they wish. We passed an open sided cabin the size of a small garden shed. There was a barber's chair that almost filled it with a large Indian having a shave. The streets in these towns have something of the look of Gaza about them, but not quite so systomatically devastated. They wouldn't appear so bad if they cleaned them up a bit. There's always someone sweeping, but they just seem to be moving the dust over a bit.

Back on the train, and we had a very late breakfast. The tigers were probably doing the same.

We were actually able to have a relaxing time for once, so we sat in our cabin and read, stared out of the window at India going by outside. While the towns are scruffy, the lush green countryside is beautiful, and tidy. A crop of wheat has been harvested, and farmers are laboriously cutting the stubble and bundling it for fodder. At home, this would be mechanised, but here, they appear to prefer the hard way; by hand. The landscape is transformed in the countryside from crowds and traffic jams, to open fields, little sign of life, hills and mountains. This really is not how you imagine India to be. In the country, even the small rural stations look charming and tidy.

After our welcome period of relaxation, our train came to a stop at Chittorgarh, famous for its 650AD fort complex on top of a 180m high range of hills. The Fort, established by Chitrangada Mori encompasses Rani Padmini's Palace, the Meera Temple, the Tower of Victory, and the Tower of Fame, all on a 700 acre site, reached by a steeply climbing road from the town, passing through six security gatehouses. The Fort is known for three major historic sieges (1303, 1535, and 1568) and is steeped in a history of mystery, intrigue, deceit and romance. The Hindu architecture is stunning with intricate limestone carvings including the three main symbols of the elephant for wisdom or luck, camel for endurance or love, and horse for power. What an interesting and enjoyable visit. The setting was beautiful with the lakes surrounding the palace which are fed from a water source yet to be identified. Our time there was concluded with a light show to accompany the narration of the complete story behind the complex. As the story progresses, various of the buildings are dramatically lit from within or externally. A great end to the day. We boarded our mini buses, and our driver weaved his way back down the hill carefully avoiding the cows roaming the dark streets.

Man being given shave in shed

The Chittorgarh Palace

Tower of Victory

Monkeys

Temple

The Fort history light show

The Palace on Wheels chose its own time to depart Delhi Station with something like 36 guests on board to 63 staff. We boarded the train, both with garlands of flowers around our necks and a fresh red dot on our foreheads. After an extremely long induction speech from the marketing director and a complimentary drink, we were launched straight into our dining experience as the train slowly and surprisingly smoothly slid out of the station. Indian Railways have an odd selection of rolling stock, from quite modern overhead powered trains not dissimilar to ours at home, to the other end of the extreme, carriages far more antiquated than our heritage trains and nowhere near to the level of maintenance.

The social contrasts and extremes of India have already been plain to see, but we were quite horrified to look out of the train window to witness people living in one roomed hovels, that lead out literally onto the railway tracks. Small children sitting on the railway lines, dogs running up and down. The Indian population is now approaching 1.5bn people, with 15m being born every year. Even with an enviable 7% growth to the economy, and being now the 5th richest economy in the world, the GDP is greater than ours, but GDP per capita is only $2,000 compared with our 47,000. Poverty ain't going away any too soon.

The day started early, at 6.30am, when after a rather timid knock on the cabin door, two butlers jossled in with cups of extremely welcome coffee. Then breakfast in the dining carriage before being lined up outside on the platform at 8am for the tours of the day. A noisy band of drums, squawking sackbuts and horns hallowed our disembarking of the train and migration to our waiting coach via yet another red spot on the forehead and more garlands of flowers. We were in Jaipur and our coach took us through busy streets to the City Palace owned by the Maharaja of Jaipur, which is the capital city of Rajasthan. While the government of India does not recognise the status of Maharajas, there are still some 500 of them still in existence. The Palace is within the walls of the old city which Prince Albert, later to be King Edward VII, on his visit in 1876 described the place as the Pink City and the name has stuck ever since. Pink, simply because it has been painted pink. The contrast between the pink stone and white marble is absolutely stunning. Most buildings in this old city date from 1727, including the Palace itself, and the astrological clock, the size and alignment of it making it accurate to about 2 seconds is a feat of human ingenuity. The Palace, still occupied by the Maharajah and his family,, was a most beautiful building and is developed on a theme of peacocks, which is the national bird of India.

Bundled back into the coach, we were then removed to a place containing an entire line of Indian elephants, and we were introduced to one called Guba who was to plod us slowly around a well rehearsed circuit. For the fun of it, he demonstrated his technique for slinging water at us stored within his hygienic trunk. How we laughed. Thankfully, instead of the two suggested methods for getting onto the elephant's back, ie either climbing up its tail, or permitting a trunk lift, they relented and we were entitled to climb up a stone block and slide on.

Well all that excitement set us up nicely for luncheon, so back on the coach, appreciating a minute squirt of hand cleanser, and we drove up the mountains to a wedding venue for a very tasty meal.

Having seen the Pink City, we were taken back in time to see the Amber Fort, a magnificent complex built in the hills by the Maharajah J Singh in 1572. This was constructed in a unique Hindu Persian style, using symbols in a marriage from both regions. The outer and lower courtyard was for all people to gather in. The upper courtyard was a court where justice was dispensed by the Maharajah, and observed by the women, concealed by a screen on the top courtyard. The Fort was positioned in the hills overlooking such beautiful vistas with views of the surrounding Fort's defence walls built as almost a miniature form of the Great Wall of China, climbing and following the contours over the steep slopes of the range of hills; ornate towers punctuating the vast stone structure at regular intervals. Such a fantastic and complex example of 16th century civil engineering. And then, despite this being such a fantastic facility, in 1727, it closed and the Maharajah and all his household moved to the City Palace we had visited earlier.

A brief stop to view the usual skilful demonstration of carpet knotting and then the subsequent trained avoidance of eye contact when they attempt to sell you a carpet.

Not all of Jaipur is pretty. In fact we noticed that apart from the historic bits a lot of it has rows of seedy little shops in run down areas, demonstrating once again the contrast between the well maintained World Heritage sites, the new areas, and the desperately poor parts, where there seems little hope for ordinary people.

Tired and exhausted after a very long day we rode in silence on the bus back to the train but reflecting very much on how rich a heritage this country has and especially before the British became involved.

Maharaja's Palace

Our elephant

Lunch

We left this beautiful hotel this afternoon to board the Palace on Wheels; 7 nights travelling the Golden Triangle on a luxury train. But we will return here for a couple of nights when we disembark the train.

I did a little digging on the history of this hotel, The Imperial. It was conceived and built in 1934 in the Victorian, Colonial and Art Deco style. It was built by Sardar Bahadur Ranjit Singh and designed by FB Blomfield, an associate of Edwin Lutyens. Its elegance, and level of service can be second to none. It separates itself from the external city, but is still very much part of the city noise and bustle. Lying here by the pool, Kites circling overhead, the sounds of car horns, traffic, and sirens, are very evident of life beyond the high walls with razor wire. The grounds permanently have police vehicles in them, and when I raised the blinds this morning, an armed guard walked by. There are many hotel security personnel, before the next tier of staff being the smart, scarlet dressed meet and greet men and women. Staff appear to outnumber guests at about six to one and are positioned at every door ready to open it for you. The slightest hesitation and their antennas go up, 'can I help you sir?'. I was most concerned when I popped to the gents before the taxi whisked us away to the station. After doing what I was there so to do, I moved over to the wash basin. No sooner were my hands sufficiently wet, than an attendant sprang into action and moved a plastic soap dispenser within reach. I was about to make use of it, when I realised the rules. I had to cup my hands beneath the nozzle, and he very kindly was on hand to depress the plastic pump and lo, there was the soap expertly dispensed, right on target. I knew instantly where I had been going wrong all these years. I lathered first quite a while keeping an eye on my assistant in these matters. After ensuring all was clean, because I did feel I was being judged, a hand towel was then thrust into my approved clean hands. I was left on my own to place the used towel into the basket. I hope I managed it OK but I was hoping for feedback.

The history of this hotel is impeccable. It was here that, with others, Lord Mountbatten met with Mahatma Gandhi to discuss the partition of India and the birth of Pakistan. Today, it is still a hotel frequented by the influencers. Rishi Sunak stayed next door last week. Prime Ministers and Presidents stay here; the reason for the level of security no doubt. We even had the Vice Chancellor of Birmingham University here last night.

Our restaurant is called 1911. I was intrigued by the name, as well as its origins. 1911 comes up a lot, and it goes back to a time before the hotel, but an important aspect of the history of Delhi itself. 1911 was as we all know the date King George V acceded the throne. What we overlook perhaps is what came next. He became the first reigning monarch of the Empire to visit India, and in December 1911, he had some key announcements to make. It is said he made some without discussing with Parliament, but his rebuke was, I'm the Emperor of India, I don't need to ask you! True? I don't know. The event took place at Coronation Park, which was the site of the 1911 Delhi Durbar. When he did step up to the microphone, if they had one in 1911, he would have tapped it, dup dup, is this on? A huge feedback squeal around the masses and then he made 5 big announcements right here in Delhi.

1/ We are moving the centre of British India from Calcutta to Delhi. Huge gasp.

2/ The annulment of the 1905 partition of Bengal. Bigger gasp. This had been a huge contentious issue.

3/ Administrative Changes. The creation of a Governorship for the reunited Presidency of Bengal and Bengal returned to the administration of a Chief Commissioner, with its capital moved back to Shillong.

A new province of Bihar and Orissa was created.

4/ The Viceroy would concentrate more on Imperial issues. More local issues could be run more by Governors-in-Council and elected bodies. Gasp.

5/ He laid the foundation stone for a New Delhi and the vision of a new City.

Alright, carry on.

These were huge issues of importance, and it happened here, so no wonder 1911 is held so highly. King George V and Queen Mary, not the boat, were reaffirmed as Emperor and Empress of India. Well talk about hitting the ground running, he only had his coronation on 22 June 1911.

We were picked up from The Imperial at 4.30pm and transported to our train, later than planned because the train was delayed.

I'm of the opinion time keeping for Indian Railways is optional. So far, if we depart today we will be exceeding expectations. We have a train and passengers, what can possibly go wrong??

We actually do have WiFi on board.

Martine's swimming pool

Imperial Hotel

Imperial Hotel

Here we are ready to go.

At the outset we had no idea at all what this day would hold. We just knew we should be in reception at 9am and our guide would meet us there. The tour was pre-booked by Trailfinders and so we were working to instruction. After a hearty breakfast we were shaking hands with our guide Raj and being introduced to our driver, Mr Singh, who most bravely was to swing his very nice new shiny motor car out into the maelstrom of the Delhi road nightmare. The only clue we had for the day was that we would need to observe the:

Hands, shoulders, knees and toes rules and cover up when required in case we should offend Deities or Their employees. I wore jeans, Martine had a headscarf, dress and leggings, which we assumed would cover most things that might cause offence.

The first call of the day was to be the Jama Mosque in Old Delhi, or Jama Masjid. Built by Mughal Emperor Dhab Jahan in 1648 with intricate Persian influences. At that time India did not have the skills to built such a structure, so they were brought in from Persia. It is one of the largest Mosque Temples in India. With approximately 18% Indians Muslim, it will still attract a large congregation on Fridays, but nothing like the attendance from pre-partition days. When built, the Emperor would take up position on a daise at the front and face the congregation. This continued until 1857 when the British, taking control of things, had a one way trip planned for the Mughal Emperor and his families which did not end happily. A most impressive structure and nice to think it is still in use today. The two tall minarets either side of the central dome, now no longer require climbing for the call to prayer, being substituted by a loud speaker. Our mode of transport changed radically for the next section of our Old Delhi tour, as we climbed into the back of a peddle driven rickshaw. Or more to the point, a very skinny youngster who displayed immense energy conveying us through the crowded, noisy and insense filled narrow streets, lined with busy shops. We shared the limited space with heavy hand carts loaded with vast sacks, heaved along by longsuffering non-union members, other rickshaws, motor scooters, tuc tucs, pedestrians weaving around and between, all with a sense of choreography that would astound a Hollywood film set. How a major collision was avoided I have no idea. And that was before the monkeys got involved. Nothing would have prepared us for the industrious nature of the people applying themselves to some form of business, nor indeed for the hopelessness for others who would be sitting around hoping for work that day but not getting any, or for the physical efforts required by others in work. Neither could we be prepared for the conditions they find themselves in. Our voyeurism seemed misplaced, and yet we photographed it all. Our cyclist was spent and I'm sure he used his 5 mins break wisely before setting off again, he with another load, we in the shiny white car, this time to Raj Ghat, passing the Red Fort where only too recently in November 2025 a car bomb exploded killing 15 people.

Raj Ghat was the final resting place for Mahatma Gandhi and his funeral pyre to be lit on 31st January 1948. So soon after partition in 1947 and the ultimation put forward by Lord Mountbatten from the Atlee government, it was going to go ahead. Gandhi would have had thoughts of a less provocative scheme, but instead he paid the ultimate sacrifice. Partition went ahead anyway and Gandhi was caught in the crosswires. Today a pleasant park has been created leading down to the Yamuna River. A simple black marble plinth with an eternal flame marks the exact spot. A simple message too marked on it; his last words when he faced his assassin, 'Oh God'. Was that an expression of fear on meeting his attacker, or a prayer to his maker. I suspect the latter. It was a moving, but immensely peaceful place, to commemorate such a good man, whose life still means so much to the modern India of today. He said, 'A word uttered from a pure heart never goes in vain'

We were on the move again, this time, via a view of the 44 metre high India Gate, the WW1 memorial, and then on to the Isa Khan tomb, a noble buried in a magnificent tomb in 1547 in the Humayun tomb complex. I think the reason for our visit was to prepare us for our later visit in a few days time to the Taj Mahal. This tomb predates the Taj, but it kind of gives a hint into the way tomb design was progressing, especially as we then moved across the site to Humayun's tomb itself. The Persian influence highly evident in this octagonal structure built in 1565 conveniently after the gent died at the tender age of 41 when he fell down a flight of stairs. Ironically, the very steep climb of stone steps we had to negotiate, puffing all the way up to reach his sarcophagus was definitely a flight he himself would have had to take care on given his track record.

No visit to Delhi should miss the experience of the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, the largest and most sacred Sikh temple probably in India, maybe the world. Here we found a fascinating welfare system in operation. The teachings based on the 10 Gurus was in operation as we filed bared footed, heads covered and hands placed in an attitude of supplication and where they could be seen. The book containing the works of the Gurus, which aspire to the worship of the one and only God, was tucked out of view beneath a shroud. As we padded our barefeet first through a trench of water, then into the complex, we saw the good works that this place performs. Every day a kitchen is at work cooking a free meal for literally thousands of people of any religion creed or nationality. We visited the kitchens and saw women sitting forming the roti type breads, the vast vats of lentil stews and rice which is despatched to a waiting queue. Outside, another queue forms where medicines are available for one tenth of the retail price to those in need. A large water area is there for people to make their way down to, to scoop water which they proceed to anoint themselves with, in order to cure ailments. This was indeed a truly inspiring place and great to see. Whilst we were there, huge quantities of flour and lentils were being delivered, donations that would continue the work of feeding the needy. With that we were returned to our extremely smart hotel, made our farewells to Raj and Mr Singh and had a well earned cup of tea before making for the poolside, and write this up. What a fantastic, interesting day.

Maybe some more curry tonight. I ate too much last night but it was delicious.

ps. Perhaps one of the saddest experiences was the sight of small girls who were just tall enough to push their faces up to the car windows to beg.

Jama Masjid

Our Rickshaw

At the Raj Ghat where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated

The Isa Khan tomb

The Humayun Tomb.

The Gurudwara Bangla Sahib Sikh Temple

Making roti bread

Lentils

Our Air India Boeing 787 Dreamliner touched down in Delhi, eventually at approximately 4am this morning and after a succession of formalities we were spilled out into baggage collection. To start with Martine needed to have her biometrics recorded for posterity; finger & palm prints. When the official looked at me, he asked as though assuming, you are 70? Yes I said. Oh well you are exempt. Border control examined our passports and paper entry visa. Stomp, stomp, came from the bowels of his desk, and we were now officially allowed to enter India. Well, in the stomp, stomp process for Martine's passport, he included a stamp of the official visa. Not so on mine! A fact noticed later by our hotel receptionist. It's not a problem she said, which actually translates as, this is a problem. You must come to reception later in the morning and we will make a call.

We were met at arrivals by Trailfinders man in Delhi. He explained just how happy he was to meet us many times, and took us to a waiting car, with driver; he sitting in the front with the driver, we at the back, and with a cacophony of drivers horns we set off on the 30 minute drive to the Imperial Hotel, Delhi, passing the odd stray dog in heavy traffic even at that time in the morning. Driving here is totally suicidal, and not a pursuit for the faint hearted, or possiblythe sane. Martine asked what the smell on the streets was. It's mist our guide told us. Not to be alarmed he said, its not fog, it's really pollution. Oh well, that's OK then. It'll go when the sun comes up he said assuredly. We did ask, is it Delhi, or New Delhi? Well, he said, we called it Delhi, but there's Old Delhi and New Delhi. By way of explanation, he said the old part tends to be referred to by some as Old Delhi, and the new parts, New Delhi. That cleared that up quite nicely I thought.

Breakfast was fantastic, and what choice. Mine was eggs benedict. The Imperial is a flash back to times long gone by. Filled with white English and Ivy League American guests. Pictures of the Raj and past British royalty. Opulent grandeur is the order of the day. On passing the threshold for the first time, a traditionally dressed young lady carefully painted a red dot on our foreheads perhaps for no other reason than because we didn't have one already. We felt like sheep that have been tupped. At every opportunity, there is a member of staff that will, with a small bow, show deference, hands together as in an attitude of prayer causing us embarrassment as to how, or should we respond. And all the while there is the constant worry of, 'to tip or not to tip' and if so, how much. Our driver hovered for rather a long time before giving up.

After breakfast, we rather bravely ventured out of the safe confines of our nice hotel, making our way in the heat, as directed, to the shopping areas and market halls. Stray dogs and monkeys abound feeding ravenously off leftover scraps. The general background noise and the constant sound of car horns engulf you. Offers of assistance to visit tourist sites, 'no strings attached' advice on where to go, tuc tuc taxis offering rides, offers of beads and other goods you have no need of barrage you until you once again find refuge within the safe harbour of the Imperial Hotel and peace returns once more.

Delhi is a city of 25 million people, most of whom we feel we have met already today. It is a clash of cultures; third world meets AI. The closing meeting of the India AI Impact Summit 2026 is happening around the corner from us as we speak with recent input from notables such as Macron, United Nations Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, and Google DeepMind Demiss Hassabis. And yet alongside all this high tech, is a traditional way of life and immense squalor and poverty. We have a couple of days here before boarding the Palace on Wheels which will convey us effortlessly around what is known as the Golden Triangle, before returning to the Imperial once again for another couple of nights.

The monkeys on the streets

The Imperial Hotel

The dreaded day that we leave the Lucky Country has arrived far too soon, and we were duty bound to make for the airport and reintroduce ourselves to Air India and partake several meals of Chicken Curry. But first, of course, as is always the way on our last day in Oz, we observe it is raining. Not only today, we note, but indeed forecasted every day for the next two weeks in Melbourne! However, temperatures will still be in the twenties; today 30. Martine was relieved to note that the lady in the apartment opposite has taken her washing in.

We partook of a most acceptable brunch in the Old Gasworks Cafe. A very popular choice as it turned out for all sorts to gather to enjoy a breakfast and bring almost the entire population of dogs currently residing in Australia, well that's what it seemed like. Until 1957, this was the generating site for the local town gas, produced from the burning of coal. The works had been there since the second half of the 19th century, with a slight interruption of output in 1920 when one gas holder exploded. The site was cleared in the early 1980s and the remaining building stock converted into cafe, art studios and theatre. Breakfast was good; mine, the large meat eater's. I think they mean the size of the meal v the size of the eater. It was rather nice that this very pleasant park and buildings complex had risen from the ashes of its otherwise very ugly, dirty, industrial, former life.

The time came to depart, and we rumbled our cases down to the port to embark the tram to the City. The skies were leaden, with precipitation, and the sea kind of matched colour for colour. It always rains when we leave Australia. Everything clicked into place without a murmur. The tram was waiting, the Skybus was waiting and before long we were pulling up outside T2 at Melbourne Tullamarine airport. This is where things slowed. The Air India check-in desks were all closed. Queue forming. A specially employed frumpy woman stood guard at the entrance. Suspecting a coup might be taking place or something I approached the frumpy woman. Are all these people waiting for Air India? I asked. Yis she said; further information was on a need to know basis. Any idea when we shall be able to proceed? No, they are having a staff briefing. A staff briefing, I repeated incredulously. Yis. How long do staff briefings go on for? I enquired. Until they are finished. She affirmed. Clarity is the name of the game. Oh, I said. Now am I on a different planet again? International airline, International Airport; grinds to a halt because they have a staff briefing! No automated checking in machines, oh no. Personal touch is all important. Come the lunar new year, and the desks were suddenly repopulated. The frumpy woman ignored me, but a slightly cheerier employee indicated where to go to get a different frumpy person. Judging by the fracas unwinding at the adjacent desk where an Indian is trying to get three camel loads of luggage through on his 23kg quota, and his frumpy woman is having none of it, I would guess the staff briefing might have had luggage allowance as item 3 on the agenda. All was well with us because unbeknownst to our frumpy woman, we whipped an item out of the bag before she weighed it, and replaced if again afterwards. There are ways, but these could be on the next briefing for intense discussion.

The only other problem to resolve before boarding the Air India flying elephant was to purchase a travel adaptor to plug into the form of electricity they might have in Delhi. India was not a popular destination choice at the WH Smith desk, but there was one surviving example of a possible solution. Obviously, a direct UK to Indian 3 round pins would not be on offer. However, an option I felt could work would be to convert UK to Australian, then Australian to Indian. Do you think that might work, or will it fuse all the lights in the hotel, I enquired of the quite jolly girl. ( she doesn't work for Air India, so has no instruction to be frumpy). I wouldn't know, she said, I don't travel.

ps. A small child was having all his chums over to help celebrate his 2nd birthday. Dear me, what a palaver. Vast arrays of balloons of various sizes, spiderman in person. I'm sure it impressed the other parents.

Waiting for breakfast

The Old Gasworks

A 2 year oldest party taking place

The 1920 exploded gas container

On this our penultimate day in Australia, our immediate thoughts were a dash into Melbourne City for the morning. It was warm but overcast as we caught the 109 tram from Port Melbourne. We were certainly unprepared for how busy it was to be, and determined to get our business done as quickly as possible returning us to the less busy coastline. So having been in the heaving Saturday Victoria Market we rather comically bought a takeaway Chinese for tonight's dinner. This thing had to be transported safely through the crowds, and then onto a packed tram home. Seeing the possible viscous nature of our package, fellow tram riders thankfully made a passageway through for something that may well smell delicious now, but would not after a fortnight on their threads. Most people were understanding and an elderly lady on the front seat seemed positively salivating at the aromas emanating from the depths of our plastic bag.

After a yellow labelled chunky steak pie consumed, it was down to the beach for one last time. Being a Saturday, others had similar thoughts, with temperatures now into the thirties, the sun shining, and for an Australian beach it was pretty busy. Returning to the apartment, our fellow apartment dwellers were behaving as most Australians; they hide in gloomy places, Dracula fashion, just in case their pale skins should come in contact with sunlight and possibly turn brown.

This chapter of the trip is now in practice over, and as is always the case, it seems like we are marking time before the next begins. The flight to Delhi tomorrow is not until 8.30pm. We were looking for things to do, that you can easily do with 2 suitcases and 2 small rucksacks, until our landlady very nicely said we could stay as long as we liked.

Saturday night, and Port Melbourne was buzzing. Things were going on; vintage cars for some reason were displaying their wheels driving noisily up and down the High Street, and component parts of a Chinese dragon were walking about, assembling for a Luner New Year celebration. The beer was good in a little bar along the shopping parade despite not really having that Australian feel about it. We just love the little outback towns; the drink on a stool on a verandah, surrounded by rednecked tradies and station hands. We don't feel very much for cities. Our last night in Australia was ultimately spent with the Chinese meal purchased earlier, and quite a lot of SB, sitting on our little balcony, observing each life represented by individual 60W bulbs in the apartments opposite to us as the stars slowly appeared forming their familiar but unrecognised constellations.

So we left the utopian dream that is Adelaide and we awoke once more in Port Melbourne, some few hundred metres from where we were staying 35 days ago, but which seems more like 35 years ago. The day started with a run along the promenade which is easily reached from our rather smart apartment complex, with room for many swimming pools. Our landlady, when pointing out the benefits and attributes of said apartment, mentioned it has a sea view. Yes it has, If you stand on the ample balcony, and lean somewhat to the right. There it is.

The first task of the day was to retrieve our second suitcase which had languished in a storage depot. That's a posh term for being under someone's desk and paying a small fortune for the privilege, but at least it saved us lugging right across WA, SA and on two flights.

Now that the sun is up, and we have had a chance to explore our new surroundings, we have formed one or two impressions about the place. Firstly and foremost is that the complex has total security. Good I hear you say. Hmm, let me develop this theme. To get into the grounds of #3 block you need a key fob. To get into the block that contains apartment 58, your fob will also be required. It will not permit access to any other block. You will now enter the lift and once again the key fob is required to reach floor 4. It will not allow access to any other floor. Now here is the tricky bit, the fob has a key to unlock your front door. Fairly common tactic, but when you close the door, the door remains locked and you cannot open it without a key on the inside. Should you drop your key in the corridor outside of the apartment, you are now locked in for all time. If you unlock the door inside with the key, you cannot lock it outside! We were warned by the lady. In the grounds are swimming pools, gym, and park benches with 'he loved this spot' type messages. And our conclusion is that we are in a very acceptable apartment, but is it sheltered living for old gits? I mean we have only seen old people. When we went out the gates, we were concerned because we hadn't informed matron. We are now on the lookout for small groups singing, 'It's a long way to Tipperary'. We will most likely have to form an escape committee to go to the pub!

We got a signed chitty and made our escape to the beach. A P&O cruise ship was in Port, dominating the horizon. Happy sailors were on excursion buses, no doubt singing 'for he's a jolly good driver' all the way into Melbourne for the day, before returning to the Windjammer restaurant on top deck. Port Melbourne is not Australia's best beach by far, but it wasn't crammed with tourists and in the heat of the day, with a slight breeze, it was most pleasant.

Then back to Coles for some more SB and then home. Already we find ourselves in 'move on' mode, because in two days time we must fly to New Delhi for the next stage of the trip. No rubbery chicken tonight.

The P&O ship in Port Melbourne

Our apartment complex with views of the sea!