Poshing it up in India during my last month away...

Visiting the Taj Mahal, which made me cry, during my first weekend in crazy, crazy India

I am writing this in Gulmarg, Kashmir, sitting in my cosy bed which is being warmed by an electric blanket, the fire glowing in the corner thanks to the room boy who just came in to add more wood. I am enjoying the last few days of no schedule, no work and living in luxury. We spent the day skiing – it’s the end of the season so the snow isn’t amazing but just to be skiing in India is incredible. As is the post-skiing relaxation, too…

Apologies for not posting a blog earlier, and for the subsequent length of this one. It has become harder and harder to find somewhere to upload it, as I need a good internet connection — especially to add pictures. India, like Cambodia and Thailand, suffers from frequent power cuts so I’m only hoping that after I’ve written this I will be able to post it!

This is a quiet road, in Rajasthan, but quite typical of the traffic

India is like nowhere else on earth. It’s dusty, crowded, noisy, dirty, difficult and…my favourite place so far. Which is amazing because I found it so intimidating to begin with that I nearly flew home on 2 April, as originally planned before my resignation. But I managed to get a couple of commissions for articles, which has increased the budget I had for the month enabling me to travel in a little more luxury than I would have.

To try to sum up this place, I want to relay a couple of anecdotes from last Friday. I was in Udaipur, in western Rajasthan, flying back to Delhi. It was early in the morning and I arrived at the airport by taxi. At the entrance, an armed guard looks in the car. I guess for a bomb, because he then asks the driver to open the glove box and the boot, which of course is where you’d hide such weapons from being found. To go into the airport itself, my flight ticket and passport were checked by another uniformed security guard who, comfortingly, didn’t appear to be able to read. Once checked in, I went to board the plane – as usual by finding the gate clearly signed with my flight destination. I duly joined the queue, presented my ticket and passport for inspection, only to be informed that this was the flight to Mumbai, not Delhi. How stupid of me. Of course, I should have known that a sign for Delhi actually meant Mumbai, nearly at the opposite end of the sub-continent. 

Sarogini Nagar market in Delhi, picking up a bargain

Once I’d found the correct plane I tried not to notice, as I boarded, that one of its tyres was flat, though a Brazilian man noticed me looking and kindly added that “these planes crash a lot”. As it happens we did land successfully, and as I disembarked I asked the two flight attendants whether we had landed at Delhi international or domestic airport. One said domestic and the other said international, leaving me to guess where I was to be collected from. And yes, my guess was wrong.

Later that afternoon, Sabrina and I went back to a camera shop where last week I bought a new camera and spare battery. The spare battery was only lasting for a day though, so it was clearly a dud. They would not give me a refund but opened a new packet, giving me a replacement and putting the one I was returning into the new packet and back on the shelf.

Beautiful, colourful India

You see, that’s how India works. It’s all negotiation, it’s all a con, it’s all give and take and you have to keep a sense of humour, take it all with a pinch of salt and shrug, laugh and wait until you get what you want. It's also beautiful, funny, colourful and delights at every turn — yet again I find myself on a learning curve, and I’m loving it.

The weekend we arrived in India, Sabrina and her boyfriend, Rahul, took me on a road trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. The experience virtually put me off India all together. There are cows wandering everywhere, people EVERWHERE: talking, shouting, pushing, manhandling you out of the way, getting in your way, pestering you, trying to sell you souvenir tat, asking you for money, trying to be your tour guide. And “no” is not an answer. The roads are terrifying — despite there being two or three clearly marked lanes, cars, lorries, motorbikes, scooters, buses, tractors and tuk tuks weave around each other, blasting their horns and trying to overtake, undertake, shunt, drive on the wrong side of the road and reverse into the traffic — all at terrifying speed. Also please imagine stray dogs, cows, donkeys, monkeys, the occasional camel and quite a few rickshaws joining the melee and you’ll soon start to get the general idea. It’s quite brilliant. 

With Rahul in a horse-drawn trap on the way to the Taj Mahal

The magic of the Taj Mahal, however, made it worthwhile. It is indescribable. Of course I’ve seen pictures of it before, but when I saw it for the first time with my own eyes I felt completely choked. Its beauty invokes such a strange, emotional response — one I hadn’t expected at all. Perhaps because I never before knew the love story behind it: in 1631 emperor Shah Jahan was so heartbroken at the death of his second wife (while giving birth to their 14^th child) that he commissioned the Taj Mahal to be built out of white marble as a memorial to her. Construction took eight years, and the legend says that he planned a black building, the exact mirror image, to be built across the river, for himself. But before work could start, his son threw him in jail, and the emperor lived out his days at Agra Fort, only able to see the beautiful Taj Mahal from his prison window. 

The following week was spent sight-seeing in Delhi. That is until I succumbed to Delhi Belly, embarrassingly after I had cooked dinner for Rahul and Sab at home. I’d even managed to eat street food for breakfast and dinner the day we visited the Taj Mahal, but I couldn’t survive my own cooking.

I met Sabrina and Rahul in Australia while learning to dive last Christmas on the Great Barrier Reef. They’re both in Delhi for a couple of years, having grown up in Switzerland, so we were all craving a home-cooked western meal. However. While making bruschetta and goats cheese, courgette and sundried tomato risotto with a lovely big green salad, I failed to sanitise all the salad and vegetables. Wouldn’t washing them three times in mineral water suffice? Clearly not, as I spent the next two days writhing around in bed with stomach pain — though did manage to write an article from my sickbed on day two. 

Celebrating recovery from Delhi belly with chocolate and banana milkshake and a slice of cheesecake while on the phone to the bank asking them to unblock my card for about the fourth time in one week...

The fruits of that article, which have also allowed me to travel in slightly more style, will appear in tomorrow’s Daily Mail. “How I cured my depression while travelling” — a different side to my journey round the world. I hope it makes an interesting read.

When I finally got out of bed I went riding with some friends of my Argentine friend Federico (whose estancia I stayed on, learning polo, at the start of this trip). I was directed to arrive at the Army Equestrian Centre on the outskirts of Delhi at 6.30am on the Saturday morning. Manisha and her husband, Hammit, keep several thoroughbred horses at the club, and we rode round in circles for a while in the school (with about 40 other people) before heading out to ride around the grounds, where we spied some beautiful peacocks (India’s national bird) dancing to their peahens in the early morning sun.

Riding at the Army Equestrian Centre in Delhi — thanks Fede!

From Delhi I headed west to Rajasthan to posh it up for a few days in the 300-year-old Castle Bijaipur, to ride some Mawari horses and relax on my own for the first time in a while. My friend Jonny Bealby, who runs a company called Wild Frontiers, has told me about the place several times before and I can now see why. 

The beautiful Castle Bijaipur in Rajasthan: I virtually had this glorious place to myself

The view from my "quarters"

My “quarters” consisted of four rooms, the white marble pool is enormous and I literally wanted for nothing. Being low season (on account of the heat) I was virtually the only guest all week and spent every day swimming, reading, riding and eating… Until I got sick again. This time with heatstroke after riding for four hours in 35-40c temperatures. The family at the castle kindly called the doctor, who prescribed a variety of pills to aid my recovery. As a precaution I texted a friend at home, asking him to Google one of the drugs, as I didn’t recognise its name. “Don’t take it” came the reply. “It’s been banned in many countries in the world after causing adverse reactions — most notably in India!!!”

My riding guide, Bala, on one of the castle's beautiful Mawari horses

Why do I always get the naughty horses? This Mawari reared about every 10 paces for the last 20 minutes of our ride. Not so much fun.

Anyway, after thinking I was about to die, I did get better but decided against taking the overnight train back to Delhi and instead spent a day in Udaipur — the gorgeous, romantic lakeside town where the James Bond film Octopussy was shot. As ever, I was so pleased I went, though I did manage to nearly break my toe which has had an impact on the enjoyment of this weekend’s activities in the mountains. 

About to hire some ski kit in Gulmarg!

We are now in Kashmir, having skied today, leaving Tuesday. I will write more about it once we return safely to Delhi. Suffice to say I have never seen so many armed men in my entire life: it’s not one of the most stable regions of the world. My old schoolfriend Mignonne then arrives on Wednesday, when we head south to Varkala in Kerala to stand on our heads and do sun salutes for a week, before heading back to the UK on 20 April.

Happy, happy girl, skiing in the Himalayas

I am looking forward to getting home — and not having to use a squat loo again for a while — but I can’t believe it has gone so damned quickly.