I'm in Goa, and you're not.

Yes, Goa is great, all palmy-beachy in the heart of Summer. The rain here has just stopped, so there are really few people around. It's seriously chilled out. My hotel is on the beach and I'm paying four euro per night for the room. The sea is warm and beer cold. I'm not sure I'll have much else to say on this blog any more. I'm hoping my life will be eventless for the next week.

Ah.

I still did some sightseeing when I arrived though. I met a couple of English sisters on the plane, so we saw the sights of the capital, Panaji, on our first evening. That took ten minutes, so we went and had dinner instead. Prawn vindaloo I had. Tasty.

The next day we went to Old Goa. This was the capital when the Portugese first arrived, and all the religious orders were sent to convert the locals. Therefore, there are half a dozen of the biggest cathedrals in Asia within a few minutes walk of each other, in a town that is essentially a really well kept ghost-town, but that, it is said, used to rival Lisbon in its magnificence.

Later that day, we hopped on a bus to the beach we had carefully chosen. They decided on this beach because it is supposed to have the perfect mixture of a laid back atmosphere with a good night-life. I decided on coming here because it's called Anjuna, and so sounds like everybody's favourite Celtic vocal ensemble. I think I made the right decision.

By sheer coincidence, I met a couple of guys down here that I had met in Delhi (when they saved me from a firey Kashmiri who wanted to kick my ass - a story for another time), so yesterday we rented mopeds and toured around a bit. I ate crab curry on the beach as the sun set over the Arabian Sea. And to think, I could have been dragging 25kg of luggage through 40 degree heat, trying to find a cheap hotel in Jodhpur. Yes, I think I made the right choice.

I think I might go to another beach in a day or so. Then again, I might not. I can do what I like. Life is good.

Toby.

Me, happy to be in Goa and out of Delhi, finally.

Half a tower from an old church in the former capital, Old Goa.

This is the courtyard of a monastery in Old Goa.

This is the view from my hotel. Oh yes.

Easy rider.

The view from last night's dinner table. I had crab curry. It was good.

And here are the lads I had dinner with.

This is one of the many Portugese-style churches in Goa. This one is in Panaji, the capital.

The Taj Mahal and the Flight from Hell (to Goa).

I ended up booking my ticket and flying to Goa in a fit of pique, but am delighted to be out of Delhi, and even happier to be in Goa. While on the flight, I found the time to write the following piece on Agra and the Taj Mahal:

"I am writing this on the plane to Goa. Man that air hostess is hot. These are the worst people for boarding planes I have seen. It defies belief. You'd never think they were given seat numbers on their boarding cards: they just sit wherever they want. Their hand-luggage is bigger the back-pack I checked in - the back-pack I was worried might be too heavy for a domestic flight. The guy in front of me has already reclined his seat all the way back and we haven't yet taken off. And, although I haven't checked, I wouldn't be surprised if his tray-table wasn't stowed in the fully upright position. Twenty-something, middle class, Indian men are the worst behaved of any nation I know, and this flight is full of them.

"Ooo, they all just shut up for the safety spiel, perhaps because those giving the demonstration are worth keeping quiet for. I knew there were more attractive women in this country, it just turns out they were all on aeroplanes. Should have guessed.

"So, I am meant to be writing about Agra and the Taj Mahal, and since the former is almost the biggest hole we've seen (Siliguri was worse), I'll concentrate on the latter.

"Becky and I met our driver at our hotel early in the morning.We picked up our tour guide for the next few hours en route, and arrived at the Taj Mahal complex by 07.00.

"The guy next to me keeps elbowing me in the ribs. No idea of personal space. As soon as the announcement requesting everyone to stay seated had finished, a man stood up. And there goes another one. This could be the longest two-hour flight in history. My neighbour keeps trying to read over my shoulder. I hope he reads the rib thing. Maybe I should write more legibly to make sure. Now where was I?

"Ah yes. There is an exclusion zone of about 1km radius around the Taj Mahal itself where cars cannot drive, due to fears about pollution affecting the marble, so we hopped on the electric bus that shuttles tourists to the main attraction. There was also a camel in the car park. I never found out why.

"Despite the fact that we're at the end of the runway and the engines are powering up, there's a man near the front of the plane that won't stop pressing the button calling for the air-hostess. Unbelievable.

"Anyway. A brief history lesson: The Taj Mahal was built, as you may be aware, by the 17th Century Mughal Emperor, Shah Jahan. He paid for and helped design the building after his favourite wife, Mumtaz Mahal, died giving birth to their 14th child. (This is what happens when people don't have television.) The Taj became her tomb, and is known as the eternal monument to love, but I have a different theory about its origins.

"In my learned opinion, Emperor Shah Jahan erected the Taj Mahal as an eternal monument to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. This is the most symmetrical building there will ever be. The gardens are symmetrical. The mosque and living quarters flanking the building look identical. The Taj itself looks identical from four different sides. The inlay work is disturbingly regular in design.

"Not content with all of this, he wanted to build an identical building of black marble on the other side of the river to act as his own tomb, with a bridge linking the two. It was at this point that his third son, Aurangzeb, intervened. Having killed all other potential successors, he had his Father put under house-arrest in Agra fort, where he lived out his last seven years, presumeably spent washing his hands and avoiding the cracks in the floor. Aurangzeb imprisoned his Father to curb his spending and seize control, but his timing meant that Shah Jahan never got to enjoy his last magnificent erection - the Red Fort in Delhi.

"When the Emperor died in 1666, Aurangzeb, who obviously never quite understood his Father's obsession with symmetry, buried him in the Taj Mahal next to his wife, and thus his tomb is the only thing to ruin the symmetry of the building. A pathetic end. In fact, it is my learned opinion the Aurangzeb deliberately suggested this final resting place to his Father in a final attempt to finish him off.

"So, in summary, good day, nice building, was prepared to be under-awed but was not. Sunrise made it look pretty. Took lots of pictures."

You can see these pictures at http://TobysTaj.blogspot.com.

At the end of the flight, when the exasperated air hostess had finally got them all to turn off their phones and sit in their seats, she went and strapped herself in for landing. And then, as soon as we had descended below the clouds, all the men sitting in the aisle seats undid their seatbelts, stood up and leaned right over to see out of the window. They behaved more like 14 year-olds on a school trip. It really was unbelievable.

But I'm here now.

And it's great!

Toby.

Charming, as ever.

Delhi-tful. Not.

We arrived in Delhi after Varanasi, but it was closed. It was Independence Day, which meant that, instead of the carnival atmosphere I was expecting, the city shut down for the day. So what did we do, having spent the last twelve hours or so travelling? That's right, we travelled some more.

We decided to splash out on a three day trip that included some fancy hotels and our own driver. First we drove to Agra, where we decided it was too late go and see the Taj Mahal, and it was raining, so we got up early the next morning to see it. Our driver arranged the tour-guide for us, which meant we got the most out of it. Pictures can be seen at http://TobysTaj.blogspot.com/. Needless to say, it's a fantastic sight, and I promise to write a piece on our time there when I get the chance.

After there we went to Jaipur (http://TobysJaipurGallery.blogspot.com). It is an interesting, affluent place and we had a very entertaining tour guide for our day there. The previous evening, 'we' had gone shopping, and Becky had dashed any delusions I had about my own haggling skills. The girl's a bitch. She had grown men in floods of tears , begging for those last few rupees. Got a good price though.

After seeing Jaipur's sights, we headed back to Delhi and went out for a nice meal and a few drinks for Becky's last night in India. She flew home the following day, leaving me to fend for myself. I found a fairly pleasant hotel for a good price, but was feeling lousy with a cold, so stayed in my room for most of the rest of the day, and then went to find somewhere to eat. Alone. Sniff.

The next day I went serious sightseeing in Old Delhi (http://TobysDelhiGallery.blogspot.com/) which was busy but very impressive. Yesterday, I went sightseeing in New Delhi, which, apart from a few old tombs of Mughal Emperors, was nothing like anything I have seen in India. It is very spaced out, green, with big new monuments, and it didn't appeal to me. What's more, I had, as my rickshaw driver for the day, a young guy who didn't have a clue where I wanted to go, even after I showed him on a map and showed him a picture of the tomb I wanted to visit. It was a little frustrating.

But not nearly as frustrating as the rest of the day.

Before I headed out to see the new city, I had gone to the New Delhi train station to buy my ticket out of there. I had planned to go to Udaipur, and had filled in my form saying so and was waiting in the queue to buy my ticket, when I opened my Lonely Planet on a stunningly beautiful picture of the city of Jodhpur. So I changed the proposed detination on the form.

After I had trawled around the leafy expanses of New Delhi for the day, I collected my luggage from my hotel and went for a few drinks with another traveller I had met that day in the station, who was getting a train to Jaipur that was leaving at about the same time as mine. After an hour or so, we left for the station, and I enquired at the information window from which platform my train left. It turns out it would have been more appropriate to ask from which station.

My ticket said the train was departing from "Delhi", which apparently means "Old Delhi". I was annoyed. I jumped into a rickshaw and paid him double to get him to race to an internet cafe so I could chat to my girlfriend online, when it turns out it was closed early. I was increasingly annoyed. I then went back to the bar I had left twenty minutes earlier and bought another pitcher of beer and proceeded to share it with an Austrian bloke who had just arrived in Delhi. I bought a big fat cigar, lit it, picked up my luggage and started the ten minute walk back to the hotel where I had been staying.

On the way, I met a Russian guy called Andre, who was a bit strange, but we sat down in the middle of the pavement and started playing guitar and singing. At this point in the evening it started to rain. Hard. My cigar went out. I was soaked through.

I walked to the station, where I tried to get a refund on my ticket, but the man said that window was closed until four in the morning. I tried to ascertain when the next train out of Delhi was. He said the 5.15 to Mumbai. I asked where I could get a ticket. He said it was full. I asked when the following train was. He said the 7.30 to Mumbai. I asked if I could have a ticket for that. He said it was full. I wondered why he was being so unhelpful. He pointed me towards the information window in the next hall. I went there. He asked me where I wanted to go. I said anywhere. He said I should go to the booking office in the next hall. I realised that was from where I had just come. He shrugged. I went back to the first desk and asked the man if I could book a ticket. He said to go to the tourist information office. I asked if it was still open. He said it opens at eight o'clock. I died a little inside.

I decided to go and find an hotel, which meant braving the elements once more. They had almost all shut up shop for the night, so I had to go to a tout, because, although one pays a little extra to cover their commission, they know where is open and has rooms. I ended up in an awful place and collapsed in a drunken, tired, cold-ridden, wet heap on the bed, where I awoke, some hours later, in the same position (though you should replace 'drunken' with 'hungover'). I got stung for some made up government charge as I was checking out and three seperate people tried to tell me that the Tourist Office in the station was closed because it was Sunday, presumably to steer me to their own travel shops. When I finally got to the tourist office, I found my friend from the previous day sitting there. Apparently she too went to the wrong station. That made me feel a little better.

So, I have decided to forget Rajasthan and am going to splash out on a flight from here to Goa, since I managed to find a good deal. Otherwise it's a two day train ride and I don't really want to have to brave Mumbai on this trip. I think I will now spend a little more time than intended in the South, where the weather is meant to be a little more bearable, and maybe stray from the tourist trail I have been following for the last two weeks. Can't wait.

Toby.