Tuesday, 27 September 2011

Freewheelin' in India - Day 2: Even when i'm late, i'm always on time

We spent an hour in an awful ‘Irish’ pub at the airport, leaving just before the repetitive dirge on the radio fully took a hold of me, we boarded the last plane and were informed by our Sikh friend, Charanjit that our bags might have actually made it.

I rode out the last three hours unable to sleep, as usual, watched a film called ‘The Beaver’ starring Hitler’s favourite Australian, and wrote an ode to skinny air stewardesses (do they ever hire the short or stumpy?). Finally I had landed in India, fingers crossed that my bag was there with me.

We got through customs to find our bags almost instantly on the conveyor belt. I said goodbye to Hugh and Charanjit, spotted an Indian cabbie holding a sign which read ‘Dion Power’ (obviously a fan), and got him to deliver me to the overdue death of my day.

‘It was hot, it was baking, fandabidozy’, I thought as the madness of India first showed its face on the free-for-all roads, my driver, a somewhat peaceful fellow, driving like he had been drinking too much Lucozade.

I arrived in my cell-like room to receive a kiss from my favourite Miss, which re-energized my tired eyes. We pushed three weeks’ worth of love into two hours, and by 1pm I was finally asleep.

I awoke with Sarah’s return, took a shower and hit the streets of New Delhi’s main bazaar, where we strolled around the beautiful, dirty town, stopping off for a drink before searching a few shops for things I could wear (I’d purposefully not packed anything except a few worn out items I wanted to have reproduced). I paid 450 rupees (£6) for two pairs of comfortable trousers and a linen shirt so I had clothes for the next day, then we went for dinner in a roof-top restaurant. We returned home for another shower, and by 11pm, I was asleep.

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