Time to go!

Minus 2.5 degrees!! If I had ever doubted my decision to leave Wales for the winter, my first taste of minus numbers eradicated any niggling indecisions and it was dressed in nearly every scrap of clothing that I was taking with me to India that I began this latest voyage.

Peter dropped me off at the train station at 5.45am, the heating in the car making a valiant effort to keep me from freezing. My train ticket to London was First Class after a mix up of dates the previous week. The one I had booked way back in Oct had apparently been valid for October not November yet there are no bad things that happen only good things that take longer to understand and once I had received my FULL refund, the only other seats available had been in First Class and for £10 less than the refund!!!

There is no First Class from Machynlleth, (a slur on our population?) so it was with great anticipation that I watched the carriages arrive in Birmingham New Street. I patiently watched as the people swarmed from the train onto the platform, then I watched in stunned silence as the sign change from Euston to CANCELLED, I stood, unable to move, and watched as the men lock the doors and turned away from me. I watched them all depart as I silently stood there, all the time clutching my very first First Class Train ticket!!!

I must have stood for a full minute as the implications sunk in. No Train, No Reservation, my flight in 6 hours!!! I blindly followed people back into the station, I watched as they rushed this way and that still not sure what I should do.

Sense came flooding back, I needed to find another train! I asked at the exit. Yes!! All I had to do was walk to the next station, out the doors, turn left, under the flyover, she rattled off instructions as I stood in front of her, still holding my First Class Ticket!!!

I confess I did have to ask for extra directions half way to the flyover but I am a girl and chatting to a group of nice guys who even offered to escort me to my destination has never been a problem to me. At the New Train Station I had a new problem, Non of the trains went to Euston! A lady came to stand by my side, she scanned the board and headed off purposely. “Are you going to London?” I asked as I followed her, she was and Sue became my new best friend. A seasoned train commuter she was used to these 'minor' hiccup and soon had me safely on the right platform, getting on the right train and had given me a new set of Tube connections from Marylebone as this was where we were now heading. My new best friend not only accompanied me all the way to London but also got me to the Underground entrance before disappearing into the either like an amazing guardian angel.



Tube connections were connected, people stood in silent worlds, no-one looked up or to the side, papers rustled, automated announcements became the only spoken word between us as we rattled from station to station. People got off, a handful got on, the carriages emptied until I was alone.



Check in was a welcome relief, conversation although limited to a few questions was at least conversation! A seat was allocated, the lack of luggage questioned and I was off to be X-rayed scanned, searched and stamped!




The airport, like the train was full of people in individual worlds. I smiled and tried to make eye contact but everyone looked straight ahead, alone on their missions. I played peek a boo with a baby to pass the time.


Once on the plane I was determined not to spend the next 8 hours in continuing isolation and struck up a conversation with my neighbour François. The young French man was beginning a year long adventure of his own and we chatted pleasantly about destinations and places visited. Despite his ambitious plans and the 12 flights this involved as we taxied to the runway it became clear that flying was not François favourite activity. Bravely he ignored the roaring engines, fearlessly he gripped the arm rests, conversation ceased as we hurtled down the runway and into the air. Conversation remained silent as we climbed. I patted his hand, he smiled weakly and looked straight ahead again!

François had also travelled from Paris that day and was soon asleep. I popped on my headphones and filled up on my Film watching. Thor and Pirates of the Caribbean 4 were absorbed, interspersed by a wonderful Chick pea curry complete with chutneys and followed by rice pudding Indian style! François remained sleeping!

He slept the sleep of the exhausted, I slept the sleep of the traveller, light yet oblivious to everything around me. I awoke refreshed 1 hour away from India only to find François vainly trying to understand the constant conversation of the Indian gentleman on the far side of him. Rest for him was no longer an option as the helpful guy pointed out all sorts of things on the travel map while pointing out of the window! François spoke wonderful English, yet English with a very thick Indian twist seemed to be getting the better of him, being asked to look out of the window at distant lights many miles below wasn't helping him either!

I smiled, he smiled back and I drew him into conversation about his plans leaving our Indian companion to continue his continuous rendition of our flight path. 30 minutes to landing and François filled in our Indian friends arrival card – I'm still not sure how he ended up holding the guys passport in one hand and the arrival form in the other and neither does he, but the relief when we walked off the plane was apparent.

The endless queues slowly reduced, passports were checked, François was sent back until he wrote an Indian Address on his arrival form. He didn't have anything booked he said. No Address No Entry! I quietly told him to write Hare Krishna Hotel in the space, the hotel I was staying at and his entry to India was completed. The fact that he had a transit flight to Mumbai was not important, the authorities had an address, however tentative!!

We swapped e-mails and said good bye, he had another 3 hours to wait for his flight, I, although 40 minutes late had a taxi booked!!!

Or did I? I had so looked forward to being met by someone holding a placard with my name on it, a name held high above the crowds. I scanned the crowd, I walked back and forth twice to make sure but no-one held my name. The guy holding an 'Alison Jones' beamed at me but I sadly shook my head, he shrugged sympathetically and smiled.

I walked outside to the even bigger crowd waiting behind the barrier. 10 to 15 names were waved in my direction but non of them were anything even remotely similar. It was 6am I was an hour late but surely he would have waited. I tried calling the hotel, Number not recognised! I gazed back at the happy man still waving his 'Alison Jones' and thought about changing my name!

I waited for an hour. An easy feat to do when taxi drivers, strangers and passing children want to chat. “Hello, where you from?” is followed by pleasant chit chat. “You want taxi?”would end each conversation as I explained I was due to be collected. At 7am I headed for the Taxis!. For 200RPS less than the hotel had quoted they would take me to the Hotel,. I climbed in as my driver called the Hotels correct number to inform them that he had one of their guests! The 'Alison Jones' man rushed past with his charge and without a backward glance I headed into the streets of Dehli.



I had Arrived!



The Hare Krishna Hotel on the Main Bazzar is simple and clean. Check in took ages as passports were photocopied, phones were answered and people off the street wandered in to ask and haggle over prices. I had been told 495RPS over the internet for a Single room. This however had not included the 10% tax that is popped onto everything and is hidden in the small print! I handed over a £20 note while he phoned for today;s exchange rates. The 70RPS to the pound that he quoted gave me change of 300RPS. With smiles and keys firmly in the hands of a young teenager we headed for the stairs. I passed him my bag as I glimpsed the number on the key 404!!Fourth Floor! He would expect a tip for showing me to my room so carrying my bags made sure he had earned it.

The room was surprisingly spacious and wonderful! I had listened as the guy on reception had quoted 1500RPS to the various people as they had come through the door and had though that at only 550RPS (tax included!) my room would be tiny! A large double bed with clean sheets and warm blanket dominated the room. It also had a full length mirror, bed side cupboards, an attached bathroom with hot shower, sink and loo. There was no window but I was on the top floor and fresh air from the open roof top streamed in through the doorway.


Up a small flight of stairs to the left of the landing was the rooftop restaurant, open 24 hours with views all over the city. I dropped my hat and handed over 20RPS with a beam!


Despite my mere 2 hours of sleep I went immediately to the roof to gaze at Dehli in the first light of the day. The sun was red as it rose through the dust of the city, the streets were quiet, birds flew overhead in formation.



I had read about the Pigeon flyers of Delhi and here I was watching their birds swoop and turn on the morning breeze.


I sat undisturbed for an hour, the reality of my arrival soaking in. I tried my phone and called Peter.

It was 2am in the UK but he answered with a smile and having established I was safe said goodbye and drifted off to sleep again. An hour later I too could keep my eyes open no longer and in my wonderful dark room, without a window to let in the growing noise of the day, I slept solid until noon.


Delhi is not the maddened city that I expected of it. Ho Chi Ming is by far more hectic. I walked the Main Bazaar outside the Hotel to the Train Station, people called Namaste, a lady got me to sign her petition and then asked for the donation to accompany it!!


I handed over another 20RPS to the old beggar man behind her and continued on my way. Begging is unfortunately a way of life in India. Worthy organisations fight bravely to help the homeless and destitute. Donations to these organisations will help more than giving away your cash on the street, but some people ask so nicely!


Later as I walked back Diddy (sister) asked again, asking for her children and family. I said I had given to her once but she persisted. Firmly I asked her to stop and with a little smile she drifted away again.


There are no rules as to what you do when approached by a pleading hand. The locals give more often than the tourists, and we have so much more! At a dress shop I spotted a Nightie, a soft flowing Indian dress. The cut was nice, the colour practical, I asked the price. 225 RPS (£3) and my package was soon in my bag. People continued to stop me and chat. “How long are you here for? Where are you going? Let me show you good place to go!!”, with a smile I stepped into the office, maps were pointed at, I talked about my plan, he had a better one, for a small cost of course . A tailor made tour of Rajastan Very good price!! We laughed, I declined, we said goodbye!



I passed a money exchange, its rate plainly on display. 79RPS to the UK pound! I changed £50 and smiled!



The buildings on the Main Bazaar at street level look amazingly similar, long narrow shops that fade into the darkening distance.



Look up however, and you will see an assortment of structures that take their characteristics from the Monghul , the Raj, and of course Modern India.




Street transport is as diverse as the buildings.



People pass by with oxen, bicycle wallahs edge their way around trucks and tut-tuts, their passengers bumped along in the back.


By 3pm I was back on my roof top sorting photos and taking even more.



The sun was hot but not burning hot, the boys in the restaurant left me to my own devices once they had ascertained that nothing more than water was going to touch my lips that afternoon.




Below at street level, activity continued.



A game of cards echoed up from the back street, beside them a man re-covered his bed.



Today is an adjustment day. Today is the day that is needed to change from Welsh Time to Indian Time, not only in terms of jet lag but also in terms of pace.




I have 6 months of Time ahead of me.



In the Airport I had explained to Francouis that from this point on, his life was no longer going to be like anything he had done before. He would have Time now to Stop, to Look., to Listen, to Absorb.



He had given himself the opportunity to open the door of the individualistic world so many of us survive in and step outside.

One step at a Time!