Le Depart:
https://picasaweb.google.com/116253494913081133936/DelhiAlbum?authkey=Gv1sRgCIb4_7H67KnKzAE#5647321199769867122
Jacqui and I looked at each other once we sat in our seats on the BA flight from Paris to London - we were almost dizzy with both relief and excitement. There had been so much to do before we left that it hardly seemed possible that we were going to make it. The girls had already left for England several days earlier, and We spent the last few days packing the house,cleaning it ready for the people renting it, sorting through all of our electronic files to decide what would be needed whilst we were away, scanning any documents that we thought we may need, back-ups, last purchases, last financial transactions etc. Several things of course, we should not have been doing at the last minute, but in fact it seemed our last few months were not very different.
Our second from last day was focused on the house - the rapid reaction team from Nerville (eternal thanks Vero, Christian and Galli) were with us for several hours, shifting boxes around the house, sweeping floors, tidying etc. Our last day was early morning last minute cleaning and arranging, and then the long handover process to our new tenants, who arrived en masse famille, and were all charming. A quick lunch at Vero's, deposit our loaned car (more eternal thanks to Elise and Eric - hope you found the keys) before we were handed over to Galli to take us to the airport. We felt like we hadn't slept for months. Our brains had ceased to function, and everyone was looking after us. Now, the house was let, the car was sold, we had renewed passports and visas, registered the girls for home schooling, the finances were sorted, goodbyes (the french and Irish ones) had been said, everything we were taking to India was packed into our two rucksacks (the girls already had theirs with them), and we were leaving for a year in Asia in 2 days, with nothing that could stand in our way.
We spent the last few days in England seeing the family - my (Guy) parents, grandmother of 95 years, Jacqui's Aunty Phil,Aunty Jo and brother Jimmy, and my sister Louise and family.Not feeling comfortable with this sudden drop in our stress levels, I decided, a few hours before our flight, in the middle of our magnificent goodbye lunch (thanks Andy and Mum), that the the girls sleeping bags were in-adequate and that we needed to buy new ones. They were too big when attached to their little rucksacks, and I had never been comfortable with their heat rating. Louise (her Formula 1 talents having remained dormant up to that point) rushed me into Newbury where in 2 minutes flat, I bought the best quality sleeping bags that Millets could offer. They were both more compact and with a comfort zone down to -5 degrees, for our cold nights in Himalayan huts that we were imagaining.
After a long check-in process (that already felt Indian), some tearful goodbyes to the Bassett seniors and the Griffi
ths, we were sitting on our Jet Airlines flight with engines revving. Now, for sure, nothing could stand in our way. The flight was wonderful. The girls were completely gripped with diferent films they could watch, or music they could listen to, the food was great, and we all slept. The only disturbance in the middle of our short night being when the chatty Nepalese boy sitting next to Jacqui managed to knock his glass of water into Jacqui's lap. Jacqui, rudely awoken from her sleep leapt up out of her seat with a scream, prompting a number of indian faces in front and behind us to pop up over their seats to see what was going on.
Jacqui and I looked at each other once we sat in our seats on the BA flight from Paris to London - we were almost dizzy with both relief and excitement. There had been so much to do before we left that it hardly seemed possible that we were going to make it. The girls had already left for England several days earlier, and We spent the last few days packing the house,cleaning it ready for the people renting it, sorting through all of our electronic files to decide what would be needed whilst we were away, scanning any documents that we thought we may need, back-ups, last purchases, last financial transactions etc. Several things of course, we should not have been doing at the last minute, but in fact it seemed our last few months were not very different.
Our second from last day was focused on the house - the rapid reaction team from Nerville (eternal thanks Vero, Christian and Galli) were with us for several hours, shifting boxes around the house, sweeping floors, tidying etc. Our last day was early morning last minute cleaning and arranging, and then the long handover process to our new tenants, who arrived en masse famille, and were all charming. A quick lunch at Vero's, deposit our loaned car (more eternal thanks to Elise and Eric - hope you found the keys) before we were handed over to Galli to take us to the airport. We felt like we hadn't slept for months. Our brains had ceased to function, and everyone was looking after us. Now, the house was let, the car was sold, we had renewed passports and visas, registered the girls for home schooling, the finances were sorted, goodbyes (the french and Irish ones) had been said, everything we were taking to India was packed into our two rucksacks (the girls already had theirs with them), and we were leaving for a year in Asia in 2 days, with nothing that could stand in our way.
We spent the last few days in England seeing the family - my (Guy) parents, grandmother of 95 years, Jacqui's Aunty Phil,Aunty Jo and brother Jimmy, and my sister Louise and family.Not feeling comfortable with this sudden drop in our stress levels, I decided, a few hours before our flight, in the middle of our magnificent goodbye lunch (thanks Andy and Mum), that the the girls sleeping bags were in-adequate and that we needed to buy new ones. They were too big when attached to their little rucksacks, and I had never been comfortable with their heat rating. Louise (her Formula 1 talents having remained dormant up to that point) rushed me into Newbury where in 2 minutes flat, I bought the best quality sleeping bags that Millets could offer. They were both more compact and with a comfort zone down to -5 degrees, for our cold nights in Himalayan huts that we were imagaining.
After a long check-in process (that already felt Indian), some tearful goodbyes to the Bassett seniors and the Griffi
ths, we were sitting on our Jet Airlines flight with engines revving. Now, for sure, nothing could stand in our way. The flight was wonderful. The girls were completely gripped with diferent films they could watch, or music they could listen to, the food was great, and we all slept. The only disturbance in the middle of our short night being when the chatty Nepalese boy sitting next to Jacqui managed to knock his glass of water into Jacqui's lap. Jacqui, rudely awoken from her sleep leapt up out of her seat with a scream, prompting a number of indian faces in front and behind us to pop up over their seats to see what was going on.
19 July 2011
Arrival in Delhi and our first day
We had phoned to reserve a hotel the day we left, and asked them to pick us up at the airport. In fact, no-one was there when we arrived, but we managed to get a trustworthy taxi fairly easily. He had to stop a few times to ask the directions (are there so few people staying where we are staying?).
Our hotel, engagingly named, 'The Cottage Yes Please Hotel', was no disappointment - we had a large air conditioned double room (or more like suite) with a small area with a sofa and coffee-table (where we would eat fruit in the morning) and another with a table and chairs (where the girls wrote their diaries), and a curtained off annex for a second double bed, where the girls slept, allowing us to continue to read, plan, work on e-mails etc after they had gone to bed. There was a bathroom with a western toilet (as they proudly call the sit-on type as opposed to the hole in the ground type), and a shower (which you had to hold), We never found hot water, but we never really tried as a cool shower suited us perfectly to refresh us after every sweat-drenched outing. The decor was certainly worn and a little shabby, with a characteristic half-finished look about the electrics and fittings, but it had touches of Indian grandeur which we loved.
The air conditioning was highly effective pumping out cold air straight onto Jacqui and my bed, and was supported by highly in-effective, but very atmospheric, brass ceiling fans. All worked together to maintain our room as a livable sanctuary from the extremely humid 30 something degrees Delhi life. As well as keeping us cool, the air conditioning had a bonus feature - a surrounding circle of blue neon flashing lights, which at night lit up our room to give a sort of Picadilly Circus feel - nice touch!
The room was costing us 2500 rupees (39 euros) a night - we knew this was stretching our budget, but we thought (correctly)that we could recuperate once outside Delhi.
On arrival in our room - it was around mid-day - Jacqui immediately collapsed asleep, while I read and the girl
s amused themselves in our new exciting living environment. We crossed the road for a quick lunch at the Malhotra restaurant (take the stairs above the gutted building sites on the ground and first floors, stepping over the building workers, follow the corridor around and voila), before we would take a little walk in our new surroundings.
Our hotel was situated in the middle of Parharganj district, not far from Delhi station. The area is full of budget hotels,and is popular with backpackers. But to jump out of a plane from europe into the middle of Parharganj is a shock for anyone, as Parharganj hides very little about the extremities of Delhi life. Wandering through the narrow streets, dirty, littered,constantly smelly and noisy and crammed with street vendors and homeless, giving a wide berth to the numerous loitering flee-bitten stray dogs (after being over-sensitised by Air France immunisation centre about the dangers of rabies), trying to maintain a smile while saying 'no' to the persistent beggars tapping your arm, taking care what you are treading in, but
regularly shuffling to the side of the road as a rickshaw or horn-blaring moped speeds past within centimetres from you.
I felt Tamsin's hand grip tighter onto mine as a ragged face peered closely to hers and smiled at her, revealing its few remaining black teeth. No doubt the girls were a bit intimidated by this overwhelming introduction to India, but they hardened to it quickly, and within the first few days fear and apprehension was making way for fascination and curiosity.
I had suggested we walk to Connaught Place, but had under-estimated the Delhi heat, and over-estimated the scale of the map,and we felt and looked like we had crossed a desert by the time we got there an hour later. But our thoughts were less on the heat than on the tourist touts that 'accompanied us' on our way.
I knew from past travels all about tourist touts - the seemingly friendly people that walk alongside you making conversation("where are you from? England?? David Beckham!! I have good friend in England, Edgeware Road....") all to try to persuade you, under the guise of helping you, to make some over-priced booking (tour of India, bus trip, visit to the Red Fort,whatever) through an agency or contact through which he can make some commission. I had pre-warned the girls about these tricksters, that can be so persistent and numerous as to be a menace. So prepared were we that prior to our trip, we had even rehearsed our plan of action - we would talk only in French, and claim to have no understanding of english - the girls loved their part in the act: "Nous sommes francais..Vous parlez francais?...only leeettle eeengleesh....no comprend...." etc. We were sure that no Indian tourist touts would be able to speak french and would certainly give up on us as soon as they realised we couldn't understand them.
Sure enough as we left the hotel and made our way down the street, one tout after another appeared magically next to us with the cliched lines. With a wink to each other we put our plan into action: the tourist touts all knew as far as a 'ahh francais.... ca va?' but as predicted their knowledge of the french language ended there, and they continued their endeavours in english. Some gave-up, but the third tout was persistent. He asked me repeatedly what we were going to see, and in response to my best confused face, and my apologetic pleas of 'no...no understand...je ne comprends pas, vous parlez francais?' continued to repeat the question, but each time with his face inching closer to mine, speaking more loudly, articulating the words more slowly and pointing at his eye to illustrate his question in an increasingly desperate effort to get around my ignorance. The rising tension was finally too much for Tamsin - the laborious rehearsals went out of the window, as she could hold herself back no longer: 'Daddy.....he is asking WHAT WE WANT TO SEE'. After a slight embarrassed pause when all three of us looked at each other, I tried to improvise and continued the act, but our credibility was damaged, and we walked the whole way to Connaught Place with this painful, frustrated tout at our side.
20 July 2011
Day 2
Tiredness caught up on us all, and when I woke up in our window-less room,it was already past mid-day. Tamsin took the record at 17 hours of sleep that night. Our productive days would have to start tomorrow.
Nevertheless, we were determined to make use of the remains of the day, and after breakfast at Malhotras, we squeezed into an auto rickshaw and headed off to see the Red Fort. It was a great way for us to travel: fun and cool, with the wind rushing past us, and never more than 1,50 euros. Despite our efforts to enthuse the girls in the immense cultural richness of Delhi,the rides in the auto-rickshaws remained their highlight.
The immense Red Fort is an impressive site. Built in the 17th century by the moguls when they moved their capital to Delhi,it shows the traces of the flamboyant and extravagant lifestyle they led. Shah Jahan, the mogul emperor that commissioned it was a busy man - he launched into the construction of the Red Fort before the finish
ing touches had been put on the now world famous tomb, the Taj Mahal, that he had built for his wife, and in his spare time knocked up the awesome Jama Masjid mosque (India's largest).
Our visit to the museum inside the fort, showing an interesting collection of pictures of India in the 19'th century and of the first battles of independence, was bought to an accelerated end when the museum closed at 5:00. But we wondered leisurely round the different buildings of the red fort, stopping periodically to read the background from our guide book.
At one point a family innocently asked us if they could take a photo of their son together with our two children. Not knowing what we were letting ourseleves in for, we of course accepted with delight and stood aside while their reluctant son was positioned in between Fia and Tamsin, who were already working on their camera poses. Once photos were taken of the son,the mother decided that she too should have some taken of her and squeezed herself in for further poses. Meanwhile, others started to notice the slight commotion, and when mother was finished two more families were already prepared, camera in hand,to take the stage. The more photos were taken, the more the crowd gathered, ea
ch wanting to have their photo taken, followed by their brother/father/sister/friend...then their brother and friend together and so on, until I had to stand on tiptoes to be able to see Fia and Tamsin's little patient, but slightly bemused, smiles over the heads and cameras of the growing paparazzi surrounding them. Jacqui and I laughed in incredulity, but at one point when there was little sign of the frenzy abating, we had to step in like celebrity bodyguards and start shuffling the little stars off to the side. Even then, our wo
rking day was not finished. Wherever we roamed in the grounds of the Red Fort, all it took was the first brave person to request the photo-shoot, and you could almost see a ripple spread outwards as people noticed the excitement, and felt for their cameras and phones as they gravitated inwards.We left the Red Fort with a trail of people following us - two at the front talking to us, eight listening in on the conversation and the rest following to try to keep in on the action. We felt like Kate and William on tour. and it wouldn't surprise me if that's who they thought we were.
We stayed in the area of the Red Fort in anticipation of the evening Sound and Light performance. We wondered through the streets of Chandry Chowk - the busiest and most chaotic Delhi bazar, to try to find somewhere to eat. But the crowds were so
intense and oppressive that it was a struggle to keep hold of Fia and Tamsin's hands and stay together, and we ended up jumping into an air conditioned McDonalds for a break and a McSpicey chicken (or something similar). The menu is adapted and prices are of course much cheaper than europe, but here we were in the company of the trendy and affluent Indian middle class.
The Sound and Light show at the Red Fort was predictably dodgy though nevertheless mildly entertaining and informative. At 10:30 we hopped into an auto rickshaw and weaved through the pulsating Delhi streets back to our hotel.
21 July 2011
Day 3
We were making an effort to claw our way out of our late night / late morning cycle, but the progress was slow and we were generally not finishing our breakfast before around 11-12 each morning.
We wondered the streets of Parharganj (by now becoming familiar) and bought a cheap shoulder bag for Jacqui. We needed some extra holding capacity. Every time we went out I loaded the camera and zoom lens, together with our 4 Kindle e-readers into
my bag - quite a weight, but we never wanted to leave any of it in the hotel room. The heavier laptop has a cable that allows us to lock it together with something solid (eg a table), and leave it in hotel rooms - but I am taking data back-ups in case.
I went to a tiny phone boutique to purchase our two local Vodaphone India SIM cards, so that we had the possibility to call each other and hotels etc without paying the huge roaming fees of using a French SIM card. On one of the SIMs we wanted a 3G capability - while we were in our Delhi hotel, we were well connected with an excellent wifi in our room, but we assumed this would not be the case everywhere so wanted an alternative connection possibility. It took a good hour (passport copies, forms to be filled and calls to vodaphone customer service) before I finally walked out of the boutique with the SIM cards, and a further 3 hours that night in the hotel room setting both numbers up in all our contact lists, testing out the 3G and then taken to the limit of my patience making repeated calls to Vodaphone customer service to resolve an SMS problem, each time fighting through automated call handling services, before painful conversations to agents with only a scratching of mutual understanding between us and frequently being abandoned and having to start again. The basics were resolved, though the 3G continued to give us problems.
It was already mid-afternoon when we began our sightseeing and headed off on a rickshaw to President Nehru's house, now a museum of the 20'th century independence movement. Set in beautiful grounds, it is a peaceful retreat, and is full of black
and white photos and texts of this interesting period. Fia and Tamsin struggled to maintain their enthusiasm, but the Ghandi story captured their imagination.
We ended the day back in Parharganj sitting on an incongruously pleasant rooftop terrace, drinking a divinely cold Kingfisher beer, and then afterwards eating our dinner in a more lively underground bar / restaurant where they had the India / England cricket on a big screen TV!
22 July 2011
Day 4
All records were beaten and we were in a rickshaw on our way to Humuyun's (16'th century 2'nd Mogul emperor) magnificent tomb by 10:30. Despite protestations and exaggerated stories from rickshaw drivers (some of whom we were starting to get to know)we decided to give the Delhi metro a try. All pre-conceptions were shatterred when we saw the modern clean
trains, clear maps, and digital signage, and we had an easy quick trip, followed by a 30 minute walk between the metro station and the tomb.
The emperor himself was buried here along with a large number of others who wanted to be in on the act, and the tomb (which is more like a castle estate than a simple tomb) is certainly magnificent.
We took a rickshaw to Connaught place with the thought of going to see a film, but we stumbled on the equivalents of Leicester Square/Champs Elysee cinemas and the prices were at european levels, so we decided to wait for another Bollywood opportunity.
Our return trip on the metro was a different experience - we had coincided with the Delhi rush hour. We were amazed to see that along the platform, the crowds were organised into single file queues, each lined up to where the door of the train would eventually arrive, and monitored by security guards. Not one single person was out of line. We dutifully joined a queue and awaited the train. As the rumbling train approached, you could sense an agitated tension mount in the crowds and the queues start to shudder slightly, but at the whoosh of the opening doors, the queues dissolved into one big mass of desperate commuters, pushing and shoving, those getting off as determined as those getting on. We were washed with the wave, backwards, forwards, sideways, but when the train was full, we were not on it, and as the security guard forcefully squeezed the last few heads and bodies behind the closing doors, the train left, with contorted faces squashed against the windows.
23 July 2011
Day 5 in Delhi
It was time to escape from Delhi, and we went straight to the New Delhi railway station in the morning to book tickets north to Shimla in Himachal Pradesh, and up in the foothills of the Himalayas. Shimla woud be one of maybe two stopping points on the way to Leh in Ladakh near the Tibetan border, where we planned to do some trecking and other activities.
There is thankfully a dedicated room for foreigners to make train reservations, though a number of suspicious characters tried to persuade us otherwise (presumably to try to get in on the act of our purchase and make some money on the way).
We sat in a seated queue which wound its way around the room. Everytime someone went up to one of the agents, the queue shuffled along their chairs up the queue. Highly civilised. There were not train seats available to travel to Shimla in one day, so
we decided for a stopover in Chandigarh on the way.
We managed to find a back-street tailor who professionally repaired a rip in my shorts, one in Fias dress, and Jacqui's bag (that had managed to last a full 2 days of usage), all for 1,20 euros.
ing touches had been put on the now world famous tomb, the Taj Mahal, that he had built for his wife, and in his spare time knocked up the awesome Jama Masjid mosque (India's largest).
Our visit to the museum inside the fort, showing an interesting collection of pictures of India in the 19'th century and of the first battles of independence, was bought to an accelerated end when the museum closed at 5:00. But we wondered leisurely round the different buildings of the red fort, stopping periodically to read the background from our guide book.
At one point a family innocently asked us if they could take a photo of their son together with our two children. Not knowing what we were letting ourseleves in for, we of course accepted with delight and stood aside while their reluctant son was positioned in between Fia and Tamsin, who were already working on their camera poses. Once photos were taken of the son,the mother decided that she too should have some taken of her and squeezed herself in for further poses. Meanwhile, others started to notice the slight commotion, and when mother was finished two more families were already prepared, camera in hand,to take the stage. The more photos were taken, the more the crowd gathered, ea
ch wanting to have their photo taken, followed by their brother/father/sister/friend...then their brother and friend together and so on, until I had to stand on tiptoes to be able to see Fia and Tamsin's little patient, but slightly bemused, smiles over the heads and cameras of the growing paparazzi surrounding them. Jacqui and I laughed in incredulity, but at one point when there was little sign of the frenzy abating, we had to step in like celebrity bodyguards and start shuffling the little stars off to the side. Even then, our wo
rking day was not finished. Wherever we roamed in the grounds of the Red Fort, all it took was the first brave person to request the photo-shoot, and you could almost see a ripple spread outwards as people noticed the excitement, and felt for their cameras and phones as they gravitated inwards.We left the Red Fort with a trail of people following us - two at the front talking to us, eight listening in on the conversation and the rest following to try to keep in on the action. We felt like Kate and William on tour. and it wouldn't surprise me if that's who they thought we were.
We stayed in the area of the Red Fort in anticipation of the evening Sound and Light performance. We wondered through the streets of Chandry Chowk - the busiest and most chaotic Delhi bazar, to try to find somewhere to eat. But the crowds were so
intense and oppressive that it was a struggle to keep hold of Fia and Tamsin's hands and stay together, and we ended up jumping into an air conditioned McDonalds for a break and a McSpicey chicken (or something similar). The menu is adapted and prices are of course much cheaper than europe, but here we were in the company of the trendy and affluent Indian middle class.
The Sound and Light show at the Red Fort was predictably dodgy though nevertheless mildly entertaining and informative. At 10:30 we hopped into an auto rickshaw and weaved through the pulsating Delhi streets back to our hotel.
21 July 2011
Day 3
We were making an effort to claw our way out of our late night / late morning cycle, but the progress was slow and we were generally not finishing our breakfast before around 11-12 each morning.
We wondered the streets of Parharganj (by now becoming familiar) and bought a cheap shoulder bag for Jacqui. We needed some extra holding capacity. Every time we went out I loaded the camera and zoom lens, together with our 4 Kindle e-readers into
my bag - quite a weight, but we never wanted to leave any of it in the hotel room. The heavier laptop has a cable that allows us to lock it together with something solid (eg a table), and leave it in hotel rooms - but I am taking data back-ups in case.
I went to a tiny phone boutique to purchase our two local Vodaphone India SIM cards, so that we had the possibility to call each other and hotels etc without paying the huge roaming fees of using a French SIM card. On one of the SIMs we wanted a 3G capability - while we were in our Delhi hotel, we were well connected with an excellent wifi in our room, but we assumed this would not be the case everywhere so wanted an alternative connection possibility. It took a good hour (passport copies, forms to be filled and calls to vodaphone customer service) before I finally walked out of the boutique with the SIM cards, and a further 3 hours that night in the hotel room setting both numbers up in all our contact lists, testing out the 3G and then taken to the limit of my patience making repeated calls to Vodaphone customer service to resolve an SMS problem, each time fighting through automated call handling services, before painful conversations to agents with only a scratching of mutual understanding between us and frequently being abandoned and having to start again. The basics were resolved, though the 3G continued to give us problems.
It was already mid-afternoon when we began our sightseeing and headed off on a rickshaw to President Nehru's house, now a museum of the 20'th century independence movement. Set in beautiful grounds, it is a peaceful retreat, and is full of black
and white photos and texts of this interesting period. Fia and Tamsin struggled to maintain their enthusiasm, but the Ghandi story captured their imagination.
We ended the day back in Parharganj sitting on an incongruously pleasant rooftop terrace, drinking a divinely cold Kingfisher beer, and then afterwards eating our dinner in a more lively underground bar / restaurant where they had the India / England cricket on a big screen TV!
22 July 2011
Day 4
All records were beaten and we were in a rickshaw on our way to Humuyun's (16'th century 2'nd Mogul emperor) magnificent tomb by 10:30. Despite protestations and exaggerated stories from rickshaw drivers (some of whom we were starting to get to know)we decided to give the Delhi metro a try. All pre-conceptions were shatterred when we saw the modern clean
trains, clear maps, and digital signage, and we had an easy quick trip, followed by a 30 minute walk between the metro station and the tomb.
The emperor himself was buried here along with a large number of others who wanted to be in on the act, and the tomb (which is more like a castle estate than a simple tomb) is certainly magnificent.
We took a rickshaw to Connaught place with the thought of going to see a film, but we stumbled on the equivalents of Leicester Square/Champs Elysee cinemas and the prices were at european levels, so we decided to wait for another Bollywood opportunity.
Our return trip on the metro was a different experience - we had coincided with the Delhi rush hour. We were amazed to see that along the platform, the crowds were organised into single file queues, each lined up to where the door of the train would eventually arrive, and monitored by security guards. Not one single person was out of line. We dutifully joined a queue and awaited the train. As the rumbling train approached, you could sense an agitated tension mount in the crowds and the queues start to shudder slightly, but at the whoosh of the opening doors, the queues dissolved into one big mass of desperate commuters, pushing and shoving, those getting off as determined as those getting on. We were washed with the wave, backwards, forwards, sideways, but when the train was full, we were not on it, and as the security guard forcefully squeezed the last few heads and bodies behind the closing doors, the train left, with contorted faces squashed against the windows.
23 July 2011
Day 5 in Delhi
It was time to escape from Delhi, and we went straight to the New Delhi railway station in the morning to book tickets north to Shimla in Himachal Pradesh, and up in the foothills of the Himalayas. Shimla woud be one of maybe two stopping points on the way to Leh in Ladakh near the Tibetan border, where we planned to do some trecking and other activities.
There is thankfully a dedicated room for foreigners to make train reservations, though a number of suspicious characters tried to persuade us otherwise (presumably to try to get in on the act of our purchase and make some money on the way).
We sat in a seated queue which wound its way around the room. Everytime someone went up to one of the agents, the queue shuffled along their chairs up the queue. Highly civilised. There were not train seats available to travel to Shimla in one day, so
we decided for a stopover in Chandigarh on the way.
We managed to find a back-street tailor who professionally repaired a rip in my shorts, one in Fias dress, and Jacqui's bag (that had managed to last a full 2 days of usage), all for 1,20 euros.
That afternoon we headed back to Connaught place to stock up at the pharmacy (malaria pills which we knew we would have to start using at some point, and various other first aid), as well as get some more Rupees, and headed back to the hotel reasonably early to pack, in preparation for our shockingly(!) early 7:30 wake up call.
