Delhi but no belly (yet)

We have driven up the middle of India along most of the north-south corridor. It is one of the major roads in India but at times there was no sign of this status. At times it was one the the worst roads we have driven on but we soldered through with not a single repair to our names as of yet.
Exploring Delhi, when we arrived yesterday, in Wilma with Larry was quite an experience. It was a this point that we discovered just how inaccurate and varied Indian directions can be whilst driving amid the culmination of years of ingrained bad driving. The tourist office (and their map) took us to the heart and soul of Old Delhi, an area only traversed by pedestrians, cows and carts, on the way to a campsite that everyone knew the local of but which no longer exists. It took us ages to drive through amid the 100s of people, all of whom were gawping at us.

After marching into the tourist office again, late that evening, to demand better service, we managed to find a guesthouse at the top of a building with no lift that, after taking our bags in, told us that we could not stay as we did not have our visa numbers with us. We later found a lovely guesthouse in a Tibetan colony just north of the centre. Currently enjoying the spiritual life of the street community and taking advantage of all the facilities here including a young boy who will shine your shoes for 10 rupees whilst changing the colour at no extra cost.

We do not have our visa numbers on us as our passports are currently in the Iranian embassy having visas attached. We should be able to pick them up tomorrow morning. Our visas are extraordinarily expensive.

A couple of nights ago, after seeing the taj mahal (one of the biggest disappointments of the trip), we had to camp at an abandoned petrol station along the main road as it was already very late. When we started cooking we were approached by an ex-military-turned-nightwatchman Indian with a torch and his cronies. He can only be described as an utter nutter. He said we could stay and make sure no harm came to us so we gave him 100 rupees; he then proceeded to stay and interfere with everything we did. He even, what can only be described as, forced his way inside the tent despite my protests to 'help' set out the mats and sleeping bags whilst suggestively muttering about being unmarried. The highlight of this whole performance was when he woke us up at 04:30 because he thought that was what we wanted. Unsuccessful, he came back 45 minutes later with a bugle and some drums and again just after we woke up to check.
He wanted more money from us.


These are just a small taster of some of the exciting new 'vehicles on the way' photographs that I know you are all dying to see. The first one in the second row is a prime example of the result of typical Indian lorry driving. Since leaving Bangalore we have seen at least one overturned/ broken down lorry per hour. They range from fresh to rusted, they may be in the middle of the road or in a ditch at the side and in this photographs they chaps in the lorry have decided to use the opportunity to have a jolly well earned cup of tea.
The last photograph is of some Indian tanks (easy to photograph) because you know we love a bit of military photograph.

A couple of shots of us in motion. The first is Daddy, Tessie and Lewis at our first market stall next to the main road. The second is the father pumping water from a local pump into our only remaining water container. We are back to camping every day.

A couple of signs we have seen along the way. Gina and Rob (we stayed with them in Bangalore) have given us a book dedicated to amusing Indian road signs. It is amusing. These are not taken from the book.

Some good views in India. The first is of one of the few nice, forest, national parks in India. After daddy insisting that we would find rest houses absolutely everywhere, we found our first in a village in the national park. Lovely and cool with only a minor electricity-cutting-out problem. The last is to prove we are back on the road again and document the existence of at least 500m of good road in India.

This is cricket. First day of the first test in Chennai. We were there. Ha, ha, ha.

A couple of days later we had a very different but equally interesting time at the cricket when Tessie spotted a local match in a small town we were passing through and we thought it a good idea to stop and watch. It was hot and dry and we were standing so we were most jealous of the special people who got to stand in the commentary box. One second later an announcement issued forth from the commentary box of which the only intelligible words were 'British' and 'come to box'; we then had no choice but to walk in front of the packed India crowed, inside the boundary of the pitch with everyone staring, cheering, waving, smiling and touching.

Everyone wanted to shake our hands whilst taking our photos. The men escorting us acted as a proud bodyguard for the royal family. We were mobbed in the box and given flowers, tea and front row seats. They talked to us and were constantly shaking our hands. Shortly after we arrived and daddy had undergone an unsuccessful and forced session and the mic, all play was stopped as the players and umpires lined up on the pitch while we went to shake the whole teams hands.

We had to watch the whole of the match (putting us behind schedule) and as we left the box the whole of the cricket crowed turned into the wood family crowed and swarmed us so we could barely move forward. Wanting to kiss us, photographs us and shake our hands, the mob surged with us towards Wilma and Larry making it difficult for daddy to maneuver our escape for fear of running someone over. Most exciting.