We’ve been having problems with the kb size of our pictures on the blog site…but Han has set up a gallery on Kodak to view them all, so you can put pictures to my words…not that they need them of course. We’ll need to send you a confirmation email so if you want to leave your address in the comments section of the blog if you think we might not have your address then do so. That’s it for now, my wrist hurts.

The Pearl Palace in Jaipur is the ultimate backpackers dream. $4 a night each (yes, we decided to splash the cash) for a room with two double beds and extremely conveniently for me (considering the champions league semi finals) a huge TV. Our first night there washed over us in an awesome wave.
The ‘Pink City’ (so called because the buildings are…I won’t insult your intelligence) was a more orderly market place than Delhi. It shows just how immune Hannah and I have become to the street life that these ‘orderly’ roads still included camels, goats, cows, elephants, stray dogs , as well as you’re more traditional modes of accelerator activated transport.
A great view of the place was offered to us by a man who ran a rooftop café. The climb up the iron spiraling staircase did reveal a rooftop, but no café, or even railings around the side. Amid visions of being dangled over the edge I faked a bout of vertigo and stayed clinging to the edge...what a hero.
The next day was the highlight at the ‘monkey palace’. We walked really amongst the permanent residence…namely hundreds of monkeys, and watched as they did some ‘top bombing’ into a pool.
Hannah also got to experience the joys of being a western girl in India. Firstly, on our climb down to the palace where a group of kids, under the pretense of shaking both our hands, left me to stole on oblivious whilst grabbing some cheeky cheek time with Han.
Secondly, by one of the men swimming in the holy water of the palace (wet hugs) and thirdly by our impromptu tour guide/holy pool supervisor/ 25 year old who claimed to have a child who was a doctor 9something lost in translation or a bare faced liar me thinks) who continuously wanted Han to kiss him on the cheek and whose friend, when photos were taken, grabbed a handful of breast (pictorial evidence). In between times I was convinced a holy man who gave us Bhindi spots was trying to hypnotise me through the medium of song…I was quite paranoid apparently.
Some may ask, where was my protective arm? But in my defense, just prior to ‘boobgate’ our ‘guide’ had been telling me about his black belt credentials and asking whether I too was a fighter. Do know what? I’m not, but he still insisted on simulating forearm punches into my midriff.
So the understanding, however unspoken, was set. In return for not being decapitated in front of some monkeys his friend would be completely inappropriate on Polaroid. Don’t judge until you’re there.
Han really got into the spirit of tings on the climb down the winding hill pass…having a dump on the side of the hill (watched my a chubby sand bemused school boy wandering what the hell western women get up to), which a stray dog dutifully came along and started tucking in to. Thankfully no pictorial evidence is available…welcome to India folks!

We saw elephants the next day, but in truth it was the Pearl Palace, it’s legendry owner Mr Singh (Mr Singh Senior equally legendry for repeatedly telling me some white people are ugly but that I was beautiful…think he had cataracts) and the fellow travelers from Britain, American, France and Singapore we met there that made our Jaipur experience and was the turning point for our Indian travels. If you type pearl palace into t’internet you’ll see our crew in the gallery section. I look quite camp and we all discussed this at length…but then I guess I just am. You’ll also see Mr Singh in one of his 56 turbans (one to match every shirt…the crazy, vain Sikh).

Now even further west in Jodhpor, going on a two day camel trek with some cool Spanish, American and Dutch cats. Until after that, Hope you’re all well…we definitely are.

James and Hannah

So, we left (high tailed it out of) Delhi and made our way to Agra. Any fool with a map could work out that going East, then West to Rajistan, only to end up going back East to Kolkatta does not make geographical sense, but the crazy capital had disorientated us. Now we’re two weeks in and we’ve learnt to embrace and roll with the unorthodox and unsuspected punches India throws at you. It’s amazing how quickly you become acclimatized to walking past cows and nearly getting run down by rickshaws in the street. No longer are we chickening out of our plans by taking the easy life of Goa and kerela like so many brits do after the golden triangle (no names mentioned of course). The sheer size of the place means a month just in the North will hardly even do that section justice.

I digress. Agra epitomized the highs and the lows we had experienced in that first week. Namely that they are just far more extreme that anything you encounter in your comfortable life at home, where staying awake or falling asleep on the night us pretty much sets the bar at both ends.
One minute you’re looking at the Taj Mahal and the red fort (both impossibly built in the 1600s and for the fort at least, never ending)…the next minute you’re jumping off your rickshaw in the middle of no where because the ‘sweet’ old man is trying to scam us to go to his mates shop in the opposite direction to our hotel, thus surrounded by 20 Indian peasants.
Everything was, none the less, far less hectic in Agra and we did meet some well traveled citizens who had good advise…and so after a couple of nights (rooms being about $2 each!) we headed on another train to Jaipur (third pint of so called ‘Golden triangle’, although that’s not the colour that springs to mind about Delhi).

It's the end of the first day and hannah and I are finally sitting down to work out what we ant to do with our trip. Some people may call us disorganised...some people can pipe down. Well, we have now sorted out our Indian itinerary of which a 30 hour train journey from Mubai to Kulkutta promises to be a highlight, but as we have learnbed from 24 hours in Delhi, those plans are likely to fall on their arse.

We have hardly been here a day but experiencing where-evr the hell we are has left us feeling like seasoned travellers. It's alleged that we are pretty near by to Pahargari ( because that's supposedly where we are, although no hotel man, woman or cow will confirm this as English isn't spoken). is the tourist hub of Delhi. Being though it was twelve hours before we saw another (confused and lost as much as us) white woman, I dispute all claims. Never fear, we me leading us to the town centre at dusk, up the eqivalent of Delhi's A3 in pursuit of promised restaurants we inevitably got lost.

Sitting on a random side-street, crisps seemed the only option for our dinner, then accidently fell upon a rstaurant and were fed and watered with our first autehntic curry.

The assult on our senses is never-ending, never-the-less we are begining to come to terms with and slowly embracing it. Haggeliong has commenced already - sandles, tops, rickshaws, water, tableclths (in the post to mums) and we are begining to feel like pros in Delhi.

P.S. No pictures yet - combination of the fact that modern techonolgy is yet to reach delhi and also that pangs of guilt are preventing us from snapping the really interesting stuff - poverty and suffering will only lead to people hassling us for money.

never fear, soon we'll get lose all morality and have some juicy stuff for you.

Han and James