Doing the tourist bit

Today was spent visiting the Taj Mahal, a remarkable building in unremarkable surroundings. Many were awestruck, others less so, but only Peter Hobbs was entirely unmoved, comparing the grounds unfavourably to Cranleigh’s own Stocklund Square. From there we went to the Red Fort, an equally impressive site.

The journey to the attractions was gruelling – five hours each way on roads which only have a passing resemblance to what we are used to calling such. Driving in India is not for those of a nervous disposition. Staying on the right side of the road is optional; you sound your horn when behind a vehicle, when overtaking, when considering overtaking or when the road is empty, although the latter never happens. When confronted with a vehicle in front, the tactic is to accelerate to within five feet of its rear and lean on your horn. While this is not too worrying when you are behind a moped, it is more so when it’s a tanker with “Highly Flammable” painted on the back. Add into the equation that you are being bounced around like an egg in a blender, and you have a rough idea.

On the way we were relived to see a sign alerting us that the Taj Mahal was only 90kms away. Three hours later we arrived. The return trip took about a week.

The tour buses are helpfully painted with TOURIST on the front. The sole aim of this appears to be to alert the thousands of hawkers that you have arrived an want nothing more than to spend money on plastic ornaments, bracelets and carved camels. Most resisted, although Mike Payne proved to be a valuable decoy as the hawkers picked him off as he seemed to exude gullibility. Tristan Rosenfeldt, who got into a state after declaring a morbid fear of all animals only to spot ninja monkeys at the Red Fort, bought a whip for reasons only he knows.

Dick of the Day Eds Copleston ... again. He lost the bow tie within three hours of getting it. Another 24 hours.