Jaisalmer Evening and Day 1

Dear all,

We were now in Thar desert proper. Like the Talkamakan desert, it was bleak but not empty, there were pockets of life and the odd fortified city. Of course following a tourist trail isn't a representative sample of a desert, but I like to think that as in China the chai, pee and lunch stops brought us closer to the real lives of Indians than any of our city hopping. Of course touts and trinket vendors have real Indian lives too but those aren't the lives that tourists are looking for.

We stopped somewhere in the desert en route to Jaisalmer. It had big pots visible from the road that suggested they may have enough food for all of us. And so they did. We sat on plastic beds and either tried to spot or ignore the rats in the back shed.

As usual everyone was pleased to see us and gathered round to stare, especially at the girls. Frenchie joined the cook at the stove and tried his hand at making chapatis, forming a new audience.

It was difficult to eat dhal off a bed while sitting on a bed using only fingers. I made a big mess. The others got a good laugh out of it and all of it fell on the easily wipeable plastic bed so no big deal.

The food was excellent as well as fun to eat, better than any restaurant meal in Delhi. Everybody else enjoyed it also. It followed a pattern that would become familiar. Dhal, fresh and plentiful chapati, some kind of highly spiced and rich mixed veg, and white, bitty, sour curd to drink. I began to realise that I've been making dhal "wrong" my entire life. I found at home that when I followed dhal recipes it came out like soup, so I began adjusting and reducing so that it came out with the consistency of mashed potato. Now I was learning that according to the authoritative source (Indians cooking at truck stops) it was supposed to have the consistency of soup. I'm not sure how I'll cook my dhal when I return.

I'd finished my seconds so I began wandering. Danni had pointed out an elderly chap with a colourful turban and said she wished she could get a photo of him so I approached him and asked if I could take his photo. He accepted. I got the impression that he liked the attention that was attracted by his colourful turban. His friends also liked to pose. Most Indian men liked to have their photo taken.

A small boy borrowed my camera and took many photos with it, all a bit sketchy bar this one.

I'm wearing a 600 rupee (£6) Kurta I bought in Delhi's government emporiums (well stocked fixed price places selling goods from all round India). It keeps the sun off and it seems to get a positive reception from most locals, even when they're all wearing tshirts and short sleeved shirts.

We arrived at our hotel in Jaisalmer at around 4pm that afternoon. Paul, Danni and Trish saw the pool and expressed an interest in getting in as soon as possible so I did also. We don't talk much on the truck and at lunch I'd chatted mainly with John (and about his son's job growing the hair of the blue folk in Avatar for WETA in New Zealand) so I welcomed the opportunity for poolside bonding time with beer.

At the pool I mainly reclined against the side and chatted with Trish. I learned that though she was Australian, she'd lived and worked in London for long enough to get her British citizenship and now was working as a nurse in Saudi Arabia. She lives on an expat only gated compound and was randomly assigned other expat workers as villa mates. She said it was so hot you couldn't go outside for long, men's attitude to women was worse than in India, she had to be careful of the religious police if she wanted to walk alone without a man to escort her, and that alcohol was unobtainable unless you became good friends with someone from the American embassy or brewed it yourself. Personally she made grapefruit wine.

I questioned why she wanted to live there and didn't receive a clear answer. I can only presume that the money is very good.

The question of dinner came up. The four of us were unanimous that we didn't want to eat at the hotel restaurant, despite it now getting dark and us not knowing where we were, the direction in which the fort (the centre of Jaisalmer) lay, how far it was or what was there. I was glad that these young folk had a sense of adventure because it is far preferable for four to venture into town of an evening for dinner than for one to do the same.

Danni suggested we meet at 7pm and go from there. On my last trip, whenever we arrived at a new location Claire would always say something like, "We'll be meeting at 7:30 in reception to go for dinner. Come along if you like, or you can do your own thing, no worries." Dave was making no such statements, possibly to leave himself free to do his own thing. This had the consequence that we were splintering into subgroups, each small group venturing out independently. Of course if you stuck at the hotel restaurant and went to dinner at 8 you would inevitably find company, but where was the fun in that?

Trish, Danni, Paul and I headed out into the dark at 7 and walked down the wide quiet lane to the busy  main road that gave no indication of direction of centre. Having the most past experience of the practice, I flagged down a tuk tuk and asked "how much to gate of fort?", responded "no no too much too much" to his first answer and settled on 40 rupees for the ride. We all squeezed in whereupon he  headed off down unknown alleys, past dogs and cows, ancient walls and new rubbish, until we arrived at "gate of fort" sooner than I expected.

Wanting an uncomplicated night I spotted a sign that said "restaurant" and suggested we go there but the others were not interested. They headed straight up the ramp through the gate into the fort of unknown contents. I could smell bat. The street reminded me of Prague.

Inside we found a surprising number of touristic shops open for 8pm, with various persons hanging round trying to sell us second hand books, clothes, drinking water and hashish. As we passed each vendor would list all the items they had in their store in the off chance they happened to mention an item that one of us wanted but hadn't yet sought. It didn't happen.

A man sitting outside an open door greeted us and struck up a conversation, asking all the usual questions. - where were we from, how long were we staying etc. To my surprise the others seemed interested in sticking round and talking to this man (personally I suspected an agenda) and so we all sat down on a ledge in this alley and shook hands with the man. He was slim, well dressed, well spoken and charming. He introduced his wife, who didn't speak English, as his "Elephant wife" because "she has ballooned in size". She was rather large but not so large as he made out.

Danni asked him to recommend a restaurant. He mentioned "sunset palace" and directed us. As we left he asked us to return to have tea with him the next morning.

Sunset Palace was beautiful. It was up steep steps, atop the battlements of the fort, with cushions and low tables scattered over the stone floor. We picked a spot on a turret with a long sheer drop below. We ordered from the "Rajastani Specialities" section of the menu and shared everything. Highlights included mixed desert vegetables containing some sort of edible green needles and tomatoes stuffed with creamed coconut. Each dish cost around 120 rupees (£1.20). It was a feast with a view. Danni showed me how to put my camera into "shutter priority" mode, allowing me to open the aperture for a full ten seconds to capture enough light from the darkness below.

I tried to take a picture of the others but forgot to change the camera settings back.

After our small banquet we returned to our hotel, pleased with the outcome of our venture.

The next morning I had breakfast on the roof. I overlooked desert on one side and fort and city on the other. This was quite new to me. I could not recall any stop in China where rural areas were visible from the hotel.

I had not made any arrangements to rendezvous with others so I made my way to the fort alone. It was   my first city in Rajasthan - a beautiful, ancient city, with a Jain temple, Havelis (old mansions), battlements and Indian people. I was torn between exploring freely and spending time with others. Since I was alone I decided to explore freely.

I went on foot towards the walls. I didn't know which way to go but considered that I would be safe from confusion in daylight - if you walk around a building, even a large one, you will eventually find the entrance.

I passed women carrying sand on their heads. This section of the walls looked very new. I think they were repairing it. Next was a cow standing in the middle of the road near a pile of burning rubbish. The road was wide and there was little traffic.

I turned a corner and recognised the fort gates. The street was less beautiful in the day. There was a "German bakery", numerous shouty signs and many tuk tuk drivers beckoning me. However if I looked up all I could see was the achievement of an empire past. I ascended the cobbled street, through the gatehouses, past the numerous hanging cloths and scarves indicated by ever optimistic sellers and to the Jain temple.

I don't know much about Jainism so couldn't make head or tail of the depictions within this temple. I know that they're vegetarian but that isn't much use. They worship this figure:

Of which there are many, many reproductions around the temple. I think they have a thousand because that's a magic number. You can see some more of them to the left and right.

There were some holy men wearing orange loincloths hanging round the temple. They wanted money for temple explanations. They asked for this standing next to a sign reading, "do not give money to the priests, please make donations in the boxes provided". I refused the explanations offered.

The temple also had carvings of a woman and a man who is presumably her husband.

I exited this temple and headed to the second room opposite. On emerging back into the courtyard I saw some of my truckmates sitting on a ledge. There was Gill, her husband Dennis, Lutz, Danni and Paul. Gill waved to me. I was glad to see them. I joined them and they informed me that they were on a tour led by the charming man we met the night before. The man himself then appeared, shook my hand, asked me how I was and what I had seen so far. I explained I was halfway through looking at the Jain temple. They promised to wait for me.

The second room was smaller but very busy with carvings. More women, elephants and kings resided here. I tried to hurry but not to hurry too much. I wanted to do the temple justice but not make my considerate co-travellers wait too long. But when I reappeared they appeared unworried by this delay. We set off with the guide.

I asked them where we were going. We were going shopping. The guide had a few emporiums to show us, as well as a few Havelis. We were walking slowly. I began to regret joining this tour. I explained to the nearest person that I did not want to shop today then headed in the opposite direction, feeling a little guilty about abandoning them after they waited for me, but still confident I was doing the right thing. The same logic applies to restaurants and movies. If you sit down in a restaurant or begin a movie then realise that it is not an experience you wish to undergo, the only sensible thing to do is to walk out rather than finish only because you have begun. A little embarassment for a minute is worth it for the two hours it will give back to you.

I wandered, picking alleys I did not recognise where possible. Most were dead ends, led to people's back yards, or both. However one took me to the walkway along the battlements, opening up my view to the towers above and the expanse of city laid out beneath me. This was the way to see a fort, not from the inside of shops.

My way was partially obstructed by boulders, overgrown plants, rubbish tips and diversions through backyards but it was possible to continue around the perimeter. As I continued the fort gate came into view. It made more sense from above.

Further along I spotted an window in a tower. It had nice curtains and there was a sign mentioning Cafe. I looked for a way to reach the inside of the tower. I passed a pile of rubbish in which a dog was suckling pups in her home under a discarded tin roof and found my way to a courtyard. There was a man waiting to beckon me in.

Inside there was a beautifully furnished room, with many cushions and carpets and low tables. There was a young couple on phones in a bay window and a middle aged man sitting inside the room with a laptop looking at The Guardian. I struck up a conversation with the man. I learnt that he was from Sheffield and some other facts which I have now forgotten. I didn't approach the couple (it is harder to approach a couple).

It was a pleasant place but the window that was not the bay window was a little small. I settled down next to it anyway and ordered a pot of Chai.

Jan and John, the retired couple from New Zealand, appeared. We were surprised and pleased to see one another. They had noted there were seats on the roof of the tower. We relocated. It was a clear, hot day. We could clearly see the city but the sun was uncomfortable and there was no shade. I put my hat on and did not mind it.

I drank and chatted with Jan and John but they did not stay long. I relocated again, this time to a rug  at the edge of the tower, on a section jutting out over the bay window. All around me was open space. When I stood up I felt a bit giddy, a sudden gust of wind would send me over the edge. Or maybe not.

I spent my time standing there, cup and saucer in hand, admiring the view in all directions. To the right of me was a cannon that appeared to be a tourist attraction. Pairs of Westerners would periodically appear, take a few photos, then leave. A crowd of Indian tourists appeared. They saw me standing in my jungle hat and Kurta and began taking pictures of me. We waved at one another many times.

After I left I visited the cannon and took a picture from there of my home for an hour, my vantage point above the bay.

I was back amongst the alleys. Some scruffy but healthy and happy looking children were sitting on a rooftop inside a construction site. I stepped inside to take a picture of them but I was obstructing the paths of workmen. I departed.

I passed two boys playing a game. I stopped to watch and they invited me to join them. It appeared the goal was to flick a counter to hit a counter to get that counter into one of eight holes. But it had to be the right counter at the right time. He explained the rules to me with gestures and single words. It was enough.

The game took a long time because the board wasn't level and I wasn't very good at it but I was happy. Afterwards I asked if I could take a photo of them by gesturing with my camera. They ran away. I was surprised as I thought we had been getting along. I heard conversations in the back with a persom who sounded like his father. The boy reappeared with outstretched hand and said "money". I refused and left.

I returned to the hotel to meet the others and pack a small bag. That afternoon we would be heading out into the Thar desert on camels to stay the night.

Stephen

Bikaner

Dear all,

Our first stop was to be Bikaner and the sacred rat temple. This was an unusual event - I'd seen plenty of temples but precious few rats. Before that, however, we needed to rise at 5am In Delhi, drive all day and stay one night in a Bikaner hotel. We would visit the rats the following morning.

When we rose early on the morning on the 24th September we climbed into my, Freddie's, Danni's and Trish's new truck, long familiar to the others. However it was dark so I couldn't see it which rendered my first introduction to my new home a bit lacking in feeling.

We drove out of Delhi on quiet streets, watching men brush their teeth and poop at the verges, seeing the less fancy streets of India for the first time. I wasn't shocked, it wasn't so different from China - lots of shacks, washing hanging any place, people living under one other's feet, a definite lack of sensible garbage disposal measures.

At our first pee stop I made a point of photographing the truck. Looks much the same as the previous, except it was built in 2004, not 1992. The engine was quieter and more powerful, the gears didn't clunk horrendously, and they'd never had a breakdown.

The truck, driven by Dave and Frenchie, had recently been from Istanbul to Beijing to Kathmandu to Delhi. Postcards of the Apsaras I'd seen in Dunhuang were stuck to the ceiling. This gave a nice sense of continuity and smugness to my ride - after all, I had been on the road for a full two months now, I was no longer a novice. I made a point of telling my fellow passengers where the postcards were from and that I was there just a couple of months ago. Of course my fellow passengers had just come from Africa, Cambodia and South America so I had no right to be so smug. Nonetheless I was proud to find and identify celestial beings here in India also.

At our first of many, many chai stops I was the first to leap out the truck, smile at everyone staring at me, pick a plastic chair, recline and await my chai. At this chai stop however no chai was forthcoming for no explicable reason. We waited for ten minutes, watching a nearby truck / bus load up with passengers, then left to find another chai stop.

The sun was setting in the scrub before we arrived at Bikaner.

Fortunately the hotel was wonderful. There were four independent male travellers in total - Freddie, Lutz, myself, Paul. However Freddie had decided that he wanted to pay extra for his own room each night, leaving three men and two rooms. This meant that on one in three nights I would get my own room. Tonight was my night.

The room had a marble floor, something I initially considered a sign of expensive construction but later considered a sign that they have a lot of marble to hand. The furniture was exclusively hand carved hardwood, again not a sign of a high end room but a sign that there's a lot of wood and poorly paid carpenters about. This cheapening of items consisted in the UK to be luxuries appealed to me.

I soon headed up to the rooftop restaurant for dinner. I am sure it had a lovely view of the surrounding city and fort but it was dark so I couldn't see anything. I was the first one to arrive. I picked a seat in the middle of a large table to wait and listen. Three musicians were sitting cross-legged in a corner, playing and singing. The music was entrancing, especially alone in candlelight, but unfortunately they kept on stopping for one to text and take phone calls. Then they left.

Others soon joined me. I was pleased when Danni and Trish sat close to me. They would be sharing a room for the entire trip and already seemed to be getting along well. They were both outgoing, quick to laugh and to poke fun, not ones to take anything very seriously. I felt a little envious of the convenience and good fortune of their friendship. I had a notion that myself and Paul would not be able to laugh together like that.

The following morning we visited the temple. The day was hot but I didn't care because that was an aspect of India and there were camels outside.

The place was smaller and tattier than I had imagined but there was no real need for it to be big. Better to have a thousand rats than ten thousand. We took our sandals off - compulsory for entering any temple, including rat laden ones - and carefully tip toed in. We did not have to look hard to see the rats. They lined the walls and crevices like furry mould, not afraid of humans but still preferring to have a wall against their backs. Fortunately they did not seem keen to run across our feet, despite it supposedly being good luck.

I reached for my camera and started snapping. It was easy to take pictures but it had the disadvantage of restricting my field of vision, making me less aware of what was going on around me rat-wise. Sometimes I would jump suddenly realising there was one moving inches from my foot or head. 

Danni and Trish behaved entirely contrary to stereotypes of young women, being entirely unafraid of the rats. I was jumping and stepping gingerly everywhere I went but they had no such qualms. I tried to see the rats less as repulsive vermin and more as harmless ornaments and to step as boldly as they. With this in mind I decided to leave the pathway and pose as close to the rats as possible.

There was a passage leading behind the shrine area (which we largely shied away from, not wanting to disturb those here to worship rather than gawp at rats).

The passage was lit only by electric lights. I ventured down this passage, followed by some girls from another group of tourists, wanting to explore the final passage for sake of completionism, not from expectation of finding great wonders down there.

It was difficult because the passage was narrow and the rats were hence nearer. Then the lights went out and we unexpectedly found ourselves in near complete darkness with the nearby rats. The girls behind me screamed and I took a sharp intake of breath. We moved rather swiftly, though not running, towards the light.

Outside I was glad to return to the hot sun, open spaces and my sandals. I took a picture of a camel shackled to a cart and watched the persistent beggars beckoning far up to passengers at the windows of our truck. Then we were off again.

We did not get very far. In town we were crawling along with traffic when we discovered that our GPS ordained route took us through a very narrow two way stone tunnel. It took a while to persuade the tuk tuks and scooters to stop nipping ahead of us so that we could pass through, at which point we near scraped the sides but just managed. After that we reached a level crossing where we were surrounded at all points by pedestrians and scooters. We'd gone the wrong way so we needed to reverse through them. Luckily some police were on hand to help.

We reversed down the busy road, back through the very narrow tunnel, then did a U turn (we have very good drivers). Here Dave left the truck to ask directions. The man he asked offered to lead us out of this mess on his scooter. Dave jumped on the back of the scooter and appeared in front of the truck, a nippy guide to deliver us from chaos. It reminded me of the many computer games where you are trying to escape, following an AI friend ahead, clearing obstacles, shouting advice, leading the way. Dave is the man in the green shirt.

As we progressed the roads became wider and quieter. We were finally able to rely on our GPS and parted from our timely guide. He refused to accept any money for his assistance.

Stephen

Beginning of Dragoman India

Dear all,

I checked into Florence Inn, New Delhi a day early. I was loathe to leave Sham Nath Villa and the companionable and intelligent people I had met there but this was my plan. As in Xi'an, I wanted to join the group a day early, thereby extending my Dragoman trip by a day for free. However since my newly extended trip would have me on the road for a total of thirty nine days with this group joining them a day early no longer seemed so important but no matter, every day is worth something.

I had nearly had my fill of the crowds and metro of Delhi so on the morning of 22nd September I restricted myself to simply travelling to some gardens of Delhi and going for a solitary walk there.

It was a beautiful place. The tropical flora surrounded me yet it was well spaced with a well kept lawn, hidden within the gardens were ruins of an old mosque and tombs. As I walked they would emerge silently from the foliage, further vestiges of former empires now sitting as mysterious testaments to projects long since abandoned. Unlike the plush apartment buildings surrounding the gardens, they fitted the environs well and did not jar.

When I walk in a park I hope that the outer tranquillity will match or help bring about a corresponding inner tranquility, the distance from worldly aims and people and diverse difficult purposes increasing with time to bring about a peace of mind that may even be retained on my return to streetsun  and persons. It was not so this time. It appeared to be a very "coupley" park. In various corners couples were enjoying the freedom from crowds and onlookers to enjoy some private time together. While keeping my distance from these pairs I began to think about my truck friends currently travelling through Kyrgyzstan, the friendly academics still comfortably lodged at Sham Nath villa, and a few beautiful women now a few thousand miles away. A dog lay under a tree and howled atmospherically nearby. I was looking forward to meeting my new truckmates.

I found a place entirely free of people, an overgrown courtyard, watched critters and birds hop about and listened to the breeze. My thoughts began to shift to a less melancholy direction and when I rose I was ready to complete my exploration of the park, though also ready to return to my hotel room to work on my blog entry for Kashgar.

On my return I took my iPad, my bottle of water and myself down to the lobby. It was 3pm and the group was scheduled to arrive at this hotel sometime today. I had not seen them yet but driving from Jaipur they could not be long.

They arrived en masse with backpacks, sweaty and dirty, collapsing onto seats around me. I gazed around me with curiosity and a smile, inspecting every face before I said, "You can only be the Dragoman group. My name's Stephen, I'll be joining you", whereupon they perked up and looked at me with interest and surprise. They all introduced themselves, giving their names which I immediately forgot but which I knew I would soon never forget. There was one among them, Sebastian, who was leaving today - his trip was restricted to Kathmandu to New Delhi. I made a mental note to try to sit near him at dinner.

We ate at a nearby restaurant that seemed to be targeted at tourists, though its possible that the menu was multi-cuisine simply because Indians like eating Chinese noodles and Italian pasta occasionally. I sat next to Dave, our jolly and laid back trip leader from Australia, quick to laugh and smile and opposite Sebastian - as I had hoped. Sebastian was a junior doctor from Austria in his mid twenties. I hope he wasn't offended when I said his accent sounded slightly American - fellow diners were quick to correct me, suggesting that I had that impression because I couldn't hear him clearly.

Dave was pleased at my suggestion that we share some dishes. I've found that sharing food is the easiest way to be sociable during a meal - it's easier to dish up food and share views on it than to keep a conversation going about this and that during the whole meal. However this wasn't to be an issue with Dave, or today - meeting every passenger for the first time is mutually exciting. I have to keep reminding myself not to be too curious too soon - there will be plenty of time to converse in the future.

I liked Dave which I counted as very fortunate. Of all the people on the truck, I think it may be most important to get on with the people you depend on most. But then I expect that Dragoman crew must be better conversationalists than most people on earth. With the exception of the other driver, their contract consists of transient friends, the group composition changing every couple of weeks or so. Every time they must start from scratch and enlist the new passenger's help in kitchen duties, handling baggage and not being an arsehole.

We drank and ate together and at the end the waiters presented us with individual bills and individual change, a feat I can't recall ever seeing in China or England for that matter. It was one of the more expensive meals I've had in India, costing 740 rupees including beer. I've since learned that a typical daily wage for a labourer is 150 rupees.

That evening I learned that three other passengers would be joining the group the next day, bringing our total to twelve. They were a twenty three year old woman from England named Danni, a thirty year old woman from Australia named Trish and a sixty two year man from Holland named Freddie. I would be sharing a room with Freddie the day after.

I tried to imagine what these people would be like. I was pleased they were independent travellers like myself. There were three couples on the truck and I expected that as in China these people would be largely self sufficient units with less need to find other passengers to wander cities with. My new friends might be Danni, Trish, Freddie and/or that guy at the other end of the table I hadn't spoken to yet. Besides the couples, the was also a German chap named Lutz in his seventies but he seemed rather taciturn. I went to bed with hopes and optimism.

On the afternoon of the next day, l lay on my bed in a twin after some final wanders in Delhi, cancelled my extra nights in Mumbai and waited for Freddie. He appeared at about 4pm and introduced himself. He was a portly, white haired man with a moustache with an odd way of speaking. Despite speaking good English himself he asked me to make sure I speak slowly and loudly and move my lips (he demonstrated) so that he could understand me. I didn't do this and he didn't have problems. He cracked unusual jokes that I didn't often get and often referred to his Dutchness to which he ascribed (in jest) his stinginess and his love of seedy women. I asked him what he did for a living and he said he worked for the supermarket emptying Bourbon bottles.

Despite all this I found him easy to talk to. If I simply passed over the blue or incomprensible jokes we could have a friendly, intermittent and blunt conversation. No need to make small talk, he filled any pauses with his eccentric one-sided banter.

The pre-departure meeting was at 6pm. I descended the stairs and seated myself in the lobby with Dave and Frenchie, the crew, and Danni and Trish, fellow new passengers. I met Frenchie, from France, whose real name is Ivan. He told me that he dad claimed to have called him Ivan so that he wouldn't have any trouble if the Russians invaded. He looked equally as brown and messy as Dave - both had a vague tangle of hair, torn clothes and various stains - but I had learned to expect this from long term travellers. He also seemed laid back and cheerful but of a quieter disposition, more prone to sit back and observe.

I also exchanged brief introductions with Danni and Trish - too brief to get a feel for them as people. What I could tell however was that Danni was very attractive - a slim blonde girl with long hair and fair skin. I knew that I wanted to talk more with her but resolved not to aim to take a seat next to her on our first dinner. I did not want to look so keen to get to know the one single young blonde over all other the other passengers. There was plenty of time.

Trish was also pretty. But she tended to speak mainly in jest, which I understand can serve to lighten the tone of first encounters but for me makes it difficult to get a handle on what they are feeling at that point. It's a sociable smokescreen.

Dave asked the girls what clothes they had packed to wear. His task was to tell us what we needed to know for our own safety and for the girls this included some things that Danni didn't much like, namely that the bulk of her wardrobe shouldn't be worn in public. Apparently something called a singlet wasn't "appropriate" and short shorts were also out. Danni reacted to this like she might to the stereotypical father telling her, "no way are you going out dressed like that young lady", with grumbles and a plans on how to get round the prohibitions after Dave had left. She planned to wear her singlet anyway and see how it went. I informed her that with men by her side she would get stares and photos but nothing more. The women I'd met at the B&B faced similar problems. One responded by consistently dressing with covered arms and legs and always travelling in the women's carriage and the other wore what she wanted and said she didn't mind the attentions.

Freddie arrived late and mid trip intro chat introduced himself to everyone including some Indians who just happened to be sitting nearby. I think he knew what he was doing but pretended to be oblivious to the conventions of our meeting. He then made the request to Dave, "please move your lips", seconds later repeating it to Frenchie. He also repeated the same story about working for the supermarket emptying Bourbon bottles. We had identified the truck joker.

After the meeting we went for dinner. Like the evening before, this was at a touristy upmarket restaurant, surprisingly similar to those at home - both serving rich, heavy, ample meat curry. The curry tasted better and there was a wider range of choices (Tikka Marsala and Rogan Josh were still on the menu however) but very similar otherwise. This was not what had hoped for from the local food - it was  inferior to my own and my Indian friend's creations. However this was just the beginning - better was to come.

That evening I became better acquainted with Jan and John, a couple from New Zealand. John had a strange manner. He could often be observed staring into space in a fixed manner (unlike my own staring into space, which tends to wander frequently according to fleeting whim unless a particularly pressing thought takes me and I forget my surroundings). When I talked to him, he would fix that intense stare on myself and talk quietly, earnestly and urgently, usually about some thing that I ought to know that he surmised that I do not. He was friendly, warm and not arrogant, so I would listen as intently as he spoke, though sometimes losing the thread of what he was telling me and why. From left to right the people below are Jan, John, Lutz, unknown waiter and Freddie.

Paul, a twenty one year old man from Vancouver and the only other independent male traveller below sixty on the truck, sat to the right of me. He's craning his neck backwards because he wrongly assumed I didn't want him in my photo.

When I and other passengers asked him, "what do you do back home?", he was in the habit of repeating the question to himself in an amused tone. "What do I do back home... well, I used to be an Arts student, and I'm thinking of studying Sciences, but at the moment I'm mainly working in construction". Judging from that. Canadian education sounds terribly broad. Focus is needed sometimes, but failing that one can always go to India for a few months.

I tried to strike up a conversation with him but it frequently petered out. We didn't have much in common and we found it difficult to understand one another. We both speak quietly and with contrary accents.

I went to bed not much the wiser about my new truckmates, but was prepared to bide my time and learn slowly. I had thirty nine days to spend with them and India.

Stephen

Agra and the Taj Mahal

Dear all,

I was booked to take a 7am express train from Delhi to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, returning at 8:30pm that evening to get into Delhi at about 11pm. To tell the truth I was not looking forward to it. It would be a long, tiring day, I was not convinced there was enough in Agra to keep me occupied for twelve hours and I expected that I would be spending the day alone.

From chance or good planning I found that I was seated next to two fellow travellers - a man in his twenties from Japan and an attractive woman in her thirties from South Korea. The woman from South Korea seemed keen to chat and exchange tales of recent travels. The man from Japan may have been keen to chat also but we couldn't because he didn't speak much English. I was seated at the window, the man next to me and the woman next to him. As a result conversation quickly lapsed, nobody really likes talking across another (too much leaning and it seems impolite). Instead we attended to our complimentary breakfasts and the view.

Indians don't do well at Western style breakfasts. The slices of bread are thin, slightly sweet and lacking in any texture or taste, the jam on offer is usually labelled "mixed fruit" with no fruit discernible within the formless pink paste, and the eggs are unseasoned and boiled. On the other hand, the Indian breakfasts - usually Chai, chapati (always wholewheat) and dhal, or maybe samosa with sauce - are consistently excellent. I've taken to discarding my egg and toast every time.

This time I made the mistake of trying the hard mango sweet that came with the breakfast. It tasted like paint.

Over the first ten minutes of our journey I hatched a simple plan. I would walk with these two other independent travellers out of station, catch a tuk tuk with them to the hotel area near the Taj Mahal (both were staying the night) and at some point along the way suggest that we see the Taj Mahal together. I was quite proud of my plan - one simple question had the potential to transform a day (with a slim chance of transforming some distant days thereafter also).

Outside the station the Japanese man went his own way - his hotel was in a different direction. This was acceptable. For her part the Korean woman seemed glad to have a chaperone to her hotel - it's usually fine for a foreign woman to take a tuk tuk alone in India but you hear stories.

At the hotel I sat down on a ledge while the girl completed her check in and found her room. As she headed to her room she saw me sitting there and looked surprised. "Are you waiting for me?", she asked. I realised that I hadn't actually asked if she'd like to see the Taj together but had only assumed it. I asked her if she would like to see the Taj together. She accepted and looked pleased. She was concerned however that I would mind waiting whilst she got herself sorted in her room. I didn't mind waiting.

As we walked out of the hotel and headed in the direction in which we assumed we would find the Taj, trying our best to ignore the occasionally obstructive touts and tuk tuk drivers calling "Hello friend!" and "Where are you from?", I realised that I hadn't yet asked her name. I did so and learnt that her name was Gayeong. I tried hard to remember how to pronounce it.

Surprisingly we found the Taj Mahal ticket office directly with no wrong turns. We were charged the foreigner rate of 750 rupees each. We moved swiftly away, ignoring offers from badged and unbadged guides alike, then Gayeong apologised, saying she needed to sit to have a smoke. Such lack of hurry was entirely acceptable, we had the entire day. I shooed away offers of Taj snowglobes whilst she smoked almost in peace.

Inside the Taj Mahal looked like a postcard. A beautiful, shimmering, curved white construction simply sat alone not far away, looking like it had been painted on the blue for the enjoyment of the aesthetically minded by someone tired of the sight of piles of rubbish and shacks. I couldn't tell how big it was but regardless of the size it appeared correct, well formed and pristine, a rarity of late.

Inside we tried to locate a good spot for us to take pictures of ourselves with one another's cameras. Despite my repeated best intentions photography remains the top priority for me in such spots. I still don't understand why because I am sure plenty of high resolution images of this building already exist and I already have pictures of myself as well as mirrors. It must be for bragging rights, or for proof of a visit, lest anyone think that I am only telling stories here, that these are wholly fictional and I am not in India but instead ensconced safely in the cubicle of a library.

There was little relief at the Taj Mahal; the patterns were made by rock and precious stones set flush with the white marble.

Gayeong and I chatted while we strolled. We talked about our work, past relationships, why we are travelling and our lives back home. It was pleasant to share those things once again. I did notice that my answer to the question, "why did you split up with your wife, if you don't mind me asking?" is evolving over time. It may do for some years to come.

I counted myself fortunate because I felt like there was little we weren't able to talk about. That may not have been true but the free flow of the conversation left me with that impression. I discovered that she works as the voice director / translator for Blizzard Entertainment in South Korea, the creators of World of Warcraft, Diablo and Starcraft. Some of these games are incredibly popular in Korea (competitive. games of Starcraft are televised and watched by millions) so it's quite a responsibility, and also, I imagine, quite fun.

Our wanders were occasionally interrupted by requests for photos. Not just young men now, young women approached Gayeong and asked for her photo. A mother asked her for a photo of Gayeong holding her child. Apparently this is not the first time this has happened. She hasn't been able to figure out why the mothers have this desire. The only explanation we could come up with is the association of nobility with paleness of skin. Out of curiosity, we compared the whiteness of our arms. They were equally light but of different shades.

We met another Korean traveller, a rarity in India. Gayeong chatted with her and asked her to take a photo of us in front of the Taj Mahal.

I really wanted to put my arm round her for this photo but wasn't sure whether I should. I erred on the side of caution.

It did not take long to walk round the site. I think both of us think it should have taken longer so as we walked out we kept glancing over our shoulders to note once more this "wonder of the world". 

Outside we determined that both of us wished to continue our mutual exploration of Agra. It was also only 1pm. We knew there was another attraction called Agra Fort about half an hour's walk away. I encouraged walking over tuk tuk, imagining wonderful street food and colourful spectacle between here and there. Alas it was just a barren highway. We caught a tuk tuk.

Agra Fort turned out to be more palace than fort. The fort aspects of it were currently in use by the Indian military, leaving the palace as the main attraction. This works well because installations for royalty are usually plusher than installations for soldiers. Indians put their ancient buildings to good use. Some make good homes for bats, others house cattle or laundry, nearly all have groups muttering and prostrating before a shrine, very few are fenced off and all feel very... alive. Some are genuinely forgotten, but that's alright because then they are forgotten by touts, ticket sellers and fencers also.

It was easy and pleasant to get lost in the many rooms of this palace. It had a full size mosque, a mini mosque, gardens designed according to Islamic geometric patterns and a little tower for use as a prison. The Mughal who built the Taj Mahal for his dead wife was overthrown by his son and imprisoned in the tower room of his own palace. Fortunately this room has a good room of the Taj, allowing him to he spend the final nine years of his life in prison gazing at the achievement of his lifetime wondering whether he should have spent less time waging wars and building monuments and more time teaching his son good manners.

It was a hot day and we were very tired so we sat down to rest in the alcove of a window. It was sahdy and there was a cool breeze blowing from the open spaces on the other side of the wall. We may have attracted many curious stares - I don't know because I was looking out the window (across the river, at the Taj) and at Gayeong. We sat quietly for some time. There's two types of silences you can have with another. One is where you're trying to think of the right thing to say next. The other is where you're not. This silence was of the latter kind.

Eventually we moved on, back to the heat and light and touristic obligations. Fortunately we decided to leave our sightseeing of Agra at the Taj and Fort only and retire to a rooftop restaurant to have lunch.

We picked one of the taller roofs that Gayeong thought had been mentioned in her guidebook. In practice they all appeared to be the same but of different height. There we had Thalis and the ubiquitous Kingfisher beer. Beer was not on the menu, this being a Muslim town, but it was available on request.

We talked about video game dialogue translation and whether it is inevitable that over many years a relationship will devolve into "just good friends" with little romantic connection, as it did with my parents, as it did with me and my wife. She thought it was, I think it is not.

The afternoon was beginning to sit heavy on us. Both of us were yawning, having had early starts and late nights. I knew that if I were in her place I would want to retire to my hotel room for a nap.

It was as I predicted. Now came the tricky point of determining what I would do now and next. If she wanted to simply part, so be it. If she wanted to meet later that evening that would be fine also. But as at that point I was feeling practical minded and sleepy I asked her if I might have a nap also on her other bed. I was aware of how this question might be taken.

She refused saying that it would be "culturally inappropriate" for her. This seemed an odd thing to say - if she was British a refusal would have entirely reasonable also. I understood (though not without a small pang of disappointment) and ambled off to find another rooftop restaurant. There I yawned and ordered caffeinated products while slowly reading (and often rereading) a passage in The Magic Mountain where the hero reads a biology textbook and daydreams about the many poorly understood and hidden workings of the human body.

At 5pm I returned to her room and knocked on the door. She let me lie on the other bed for a little while (with the door left open) before we made our way upstairs to dinner. Later in the day simpler solutions are preferred and the hotel restaurant is the simplest. 

After spending all day together conversation was beginning to dry up but I did not mind so much. A day out has its natural beginning, middle and end and ours was drawing to a close. It was at that point that she related the term "single serving friend" from Fight Club. Even though I acknowledged its truth I protested - I did not want this temporary friendship from being so tidily dismissed. Of course we exchanged email addresses, added each other on Facebook and promised to look one another up If I were ever in South Korea or she in the UK - all largely symbolic gestures designed to communicate our desire to continue friendship even though that is realistically impossible. However there would be more people to meet and some of them would live in the UK. I would be meeting most of them the next day.

Stephen