In the beginning...

The taxi ride from the airport was a bit of a nerve-jangler to start things off. Think the driver was auditioning for the role of Keanu Reeves in Speed 3: Taxi Suicide. The most surreal bit was when he started to dismantle the steering wheel while driving down a busy street at about 50mph. He was trying to get the horn to work (almost as essential a part of the car as the steering wheel in India).

Anyway, he got me to my luxury accommodation. When I say luxury, I mean it had a flushing toilet. And that's about it. Although I did push the boat out and fork out an extra 2 quid (can't find pound sign) a night for aircon. Oh, the profligacy.

In India, white face = cash register. Everyone wants to be your friend. And polite refusals don't work. Someone told me the Urdu for "go away" yesterday, but I forgot it. It's a more vital phrase than Hello, Goodbye, Yes or No. Must find out what it is again. Might also try to find out what the more persuasive alternative means too in case of emergency.

But anyway, in spite of all that, I'm not really feeling particularly stressed. Must be mellowing in my old age. There's a lot of pestering but I haven't felt remotely threatened. And early experience of the food is encouraging too. A) it's staying down, and b) it tastes pretty good too.

So I've done a few of the tourist spots and completed my Indian initiation over the past couple of days. Tomorrow it's on to the Temple of Love. That's not 160 Holland Road, it's Agra, and the Taj Mahal.

From Delhi, with love.