Sunset in Mayabunder and Avis Island

After a night of chilled beer and garlic chilli prawns back in Port Blair a 4am bus to Mayabunder beckoned. Barely awake, the overcrowded excuse for public transport started its 9 hours trip north to Mayabunder at Middle Andaman's most north easterly tip.

Wow. The drive was stunning - though we were both a little worried about piles - as the dirt road wove its way north through first mangroves and later rainforest. Travel was slow and painful - doc says "no piles"- as vehicles must travel in convoys to avoid trouble with spear-bearing locals dressed only in loin cloths (actually I'm making the loin cloth bit up, though we have it on good authority the Jawaras do eat each other). But it's all worth it.

Mayabunder is much like any other Indian fishing town, a dump! But we were there to see Avis Island, a small circular outcrop of rock and sand that is truly stunning.

We chartered a fishing boat and headed the 30 minutes or so east before seeing the island for the first time. Alone and in love we quickly made the island our own (it was, no other person was there) and I set about burning me goolies and Marit her bum. It was worth all the sweat (permits are required for some more remote places and some are still outa bounds) and tears - as one Indian official passed us onto the next - and for sure our highlight of the Andaman trip.

Pooja Paradise beach, Havelock

Home sweet home! Or in Andaman, hut sweet mud hut!

You'd have thought after three days at sea we'd be in search of a little luxury, and you thought right. There was no way we were gonna dangle from trees in our hammocks, so a mud hut it was.

Pooja was a lovely place complete with international flavour that provided us with our first jaw-dropping sights of the islands. Just yards from am idylic beach, Pooja is tucked away in a quiet corner of Havelock one of the Andaman's busiest destinations. This place was perfect, picture perfect. Elephants walk the beach while we sit back and sip coffee. A single road links us to the handful of other resorts dotted around, which include Beach Number 7 (a top five beach in the world according to Time Out magazine).

What was meant as just a couple of days soon became a week, I think the pictures show why! Met some cracking characters here - a big heads up to Luca, the yanks, Adam, Yanir & Carmel, Alan and Carl (how's the head mate?) - which made the stay all the more easy! Of course, this is India so there's always a downside. In the case of Havelock it was a worrying shortage of beer forcing the dozens of thirsty travellers to toast the nights away with warm rum and flat coke! What a shame eh!

And I think Marit's finally forgiven me for making her straddle a motorbike as I learned to use gears on a two-wheeler for the first time. She must've been petrified at the thought of clining onto the rusty motor, but it wasn't long before we were clocking up the kilometres and blazing a dusty trail.

Put quite simply, paradise.

Message in a bottle

Gobbled up as many vitamins as is physically possible before boarding MV Nicobar, our ride to the Andaman Islands some 700 nautical miles east. Coconuts, bananas, oranges, sultanas (could've settled for a bowl of Special Crunch eh) were consumed en mass in a last ditch attempt to avoid a bout of cholera, or rickets even, at sea.

There really aren't enough words to describe our 70 hour trip. But given the sights and sounds below deck I'm gonna give it a go! Right, we went "bunk" class. We're talking Marit and I sharing a dorm with 1500 Indians at the very bottom of the Nicobar's hull. Get the picture?!

Right, now imagine the smell and noise "below deck" after three nights at sea. Not pretty eh! Christ, the ship even had some bloke hosing down turds every morning that were stacked in the four toilets a mile high. Showers were blocked with rice and dhal - Indians' obviously deem showers as advanced forms of dish washing - while bins somehow attracted flies! How the hell do you get flies 500 miles out at sea?

But that is nowt compared to the melee that unfolded when the same 1500 Indians landed on the canteen for meal time! I must add here that upon boarding all passengers in "poverty" class are forced to exchange cash for meal tokens ensuring the system of alloted times works smoothly - it doesn't! I can only say it was like being in the frontline during feeding time at San Diego zoo! And this lot want the western world to hold them in a better light....animals, they're all animals! Food was great though. Rice and dhal followed by rice and dhal followed by rice and dhal followed by, get the picture! Come to think of it, the dhal must have been responsible for the colour of the squatters down below.

Noise and smell aside, the trip was truly great and an unforgetable experience. Time was passed drinking the liquor travellers successfully smuggled aboard, playing cards, writing, hide n'seek, sunbathing and, in our case, doing the cliched "message in a bottle" thing. After all, who knows where the thing may end up!

The sight of Port Blair (the islands' capital) on the horizon was a welcoming one and was only marred by the red-tape bollox (that can only happen in India) that held us back two hours after 1500 savages had descended on the town as we waited patiently for our permits to enter the islands.

Indian swimming sensation, Mamalapuram

There have been a few sights so far that have stopped us in our tracks - hundreds of fishermen simultaneously crapping on Chennai beach springs to mind - but not many will top the sight of Indians enjoying a Sunday swim in Mamallapuram!

Now to put this into perspective, Indians can't - by all acounts - swim very well. In fact they're bloody terrible at it! So imagine the picture when thousands of the buggers converged on the village's southern beach to frollick in the waves. Men, stripped down to their undies, and women sporting saris hop, skipped and jumped the waves howling like injured wolves when ever one of them was caught by a bit of the wet stuff. Just for once grown men ceased being pervs (the downside of Indian beaches is the way in which mobiles and cameras are used to record the delights of white skin) and concentrated on surving the ocean's surf....comical to say the least.

Top place Mamallapuram, a real travellers' enclave. Famous for its sea sure temples and stone carvings the small fishing village attracts all sorts with its groovy laid back atmosphere, funky bars and cafes and cheap accommodation. A real delight that anyone visiting Tamil Nadu should note.

Movie stars!!

The town of Pondy might have been a bit boring, but it all went down when some famous hiphop band called 'Clik' decided to shoot their video on the pier. Lights, cameras, important people and a lot of curious tourists made for an interesting afternoon. Especially since we were asked to be extras. As always, nothing is straight forward in India so what was supposed to be a ten minute 'waste-some-time-before-a-drink moment' ended up in a two hour spectacle of repeating the same moves over and over. Now why is she holding an accoustic guitar for a hiphop music video I can hear you think. Well, don't ask me, but it was funny nevertheless.

Pondicherry

The old French colonial town of Pondicherry. Nice place this - a parting reminder that the French did at some stage have a small foothold in India!

The town's straight boulevards and beach promenade were pleasing to the eye, while a vast assortment of good restaurants made for a welcome break from colon damaging local cusine. French pate, fish, and strong black coffee appeared on our table every night washed down with chilled Kingfisher. Noice!

The food aside, "Pondy" soon got a little boring - the strong rips make this a definite no-no for swimming - but we managed a break from the tedium when we appeared in our Indian first music video. Marit managed to turn heads with a rip-roaring guitar solo (it went something like: "twang, twang, twang") while the film crew looked on in awe. I, meanwhile, was forced to straddle a rock and mime to the hip-hop esque lyrics pouring forth from the singers' mouths - in short I looked like a class-a twit!

Tickets for the boat to Andaman Islands

Not sure what was worst, our heads after Marit's birthday extravagnza, or the chaos that unfolded as we queued for boat tickets to the Andamans!

Marit's birthday really was crazy night - ended somewhat prematurely when a hotel porter advised us that romantic dancing on the roof of the building probably would'nt go down to well with the local police (well these folk should think twice before leaving bamboo ladders perilously perched against balconies more or less inviting drunken travellers to climb upwards) - and the 7am rise was most unwelcome!

10am the queuing started, and we'd made the front. Strange then, don't you think, that it wasn't until nearly 1pm we secured our bunks aboard the "Nicobar" despite being first in the queue. Course we have to explain here how the Indian's queue, they don't. Instead these smelly muppets cheat and conspire their way to the front using whatever means necessary. Our situation wasn't helped either by the jobsworths employed (by whom I'll never know) by the Director of Shipping, who spend longer sipping chai behind drawn curtains than doing what they're paid to do. Bloody Indians!

Still, a couple of hours of shouting and elbowing later we emerged from the crowd clutching our tickets - elated that we were indeed bound for paradise. But first we have a few weeks in Kerala to look forward to.

Happy birthday to me!

My birthday started on an overnight train from Kayakollum to Chennai. Not the best place to start I suppose, but you get used to smelly carriages and snoring people. It all turned out ok when Kris surprised me with a birthday cake, candle included. I think the plan was for Kris to take a picture of me blowing out the candles, but by the time he managed to find the camera I had already gobbled the whole cake down. Quite an impressive accomplishment if I may say so myself and the rest of the day was just as impressive. A trip to the shopping centre set us back a small fortune in sweets and crisps for and an evening in the Sheraton Hotel set us back a huge fortune drinking cocktails. But it was a great day which ended on the roof of our hotel overlooking the city. I can't grumble can I!

The backwaters in Kollam, Kerala

Beautiful eh! This is the place to be, so it seems, this time of the year.

Climb aboard a Keralan houseboat, kick off those smelly sandals and sit back to take in the beauty of more than 900km of canals and waterways. Course, 900km is not possible in three days but it was more than enough for a snapshot of what is out there.

Boats created from hollowed out trees weave their way, all be it at a snail's pace, through the networks, created hunderds of years ago as a way of carrying supplies (locally, copra (dried coconut meat) cashews and sand) between villages and towns. Now the waterways offer tourists a laid back chance of exploring Kerala, though some of the beautiful houseboats can set you back a small fortune for the privilege!

We opted for the cheaper option, a coupla quid for an afternoon on some local's boat. And it was worth every of the 200 or so pennies as we got a glimpse of locals in action. Alleppey (about 40km) north followed, and here we made do with the local ferries - about ten pence for three hours afloat.

Mind you, for such a popular place with "westerners" the social scene was distinctly lacking. Not that it stopped us having a tipple or 22 as we took advantage of the best accommodation to date. 4 quid a night for a brand new room in a large guesthouse, complete with massive balcony. Ah, life's good!

Varkala Beach

Tucked away on the west coast between Tamil Nadu and Kerala, Varkala is a beautiful beach set below a stunning cliff backdrop - the sunsets over the Arabian Sea are awsome!

Took time out of our whirlwind tour of the south to kick back and take it easy, which is exactly what we did! Three days of sunning, swimming, drinking and eating. Not such a bad life eh! It's a world away from the religious freaks further south yet manages to retain its charm by not selling out to package tourism like Goa.

Fresh fish stalls crowd the single cliff-top pass after sunset as travellers, much like ourselves, gather to barter for locally caught fish the likes of wish we'd never seen before. Our only regret - not staying longer before heading up the coast to the "backwaters" and the bedlam in Kollam.

Great city, bad smell!

Chennai, formally Madras after the arse-splitting curry, was a great place to stop and take in a bit of culture....and food.

We walked for miles, got lost a couple of times - to be fair which is most unlike me when armed with a map - and found ourselves on the beach. It seems half the city's 7m inhabitants were spending their Sunday afternoon taking turns to be Dravid or Tendulkar. Those not involved - fishermen - were too busy casting their nets....and by that we mean deficating the beach with their scraggy yellow turds!

Explored the portside, where everything from iPods to hairdriers are freely available - guess they just wash up on the dockside eh - at discount prices! Very tempting to part with wads of this silly cash but manged to stand firm. Splashed out on some leather sandals instead at a bargain 1 pound fifty!

Exploring the streets on foot, as usual, and taken a shining to the fresh fruit juices concocted roadside. Very "fresh"! Just as are the spicy dishes that make waking up in the morning something not worth looking forward to!

Deep and darkest Tamil Nadu

Andaman dates confirmed we set off south into deepest darkest Tamil Nadu - one of the country's holiest states and home to some of its most spectacular temples.

Trichy was first up. A small little place, Tiruchirappalli, situated on the banks of the river Cauvery was once the citadel of the early Cholas which later fell to the Pallavas dynasty. Not the most interesting place we'd visited (in fact it was dull as dish water) the town's focal point is its eye pleasing Rock Fort and the 1000-plus steps one must climb to the summit.

An afternoon done and dusted we quickly boarded the late night train to Madurai, one of the oldest cities of India, with a history dating all the way back to the Sangam period of the pre Christian era. The glory of Madurai returned in a diminished form in the earlier part of this millennium; it later on came under the rule of the Vijayanagar kingdom after its ransack by the ravaging armies of Delhi. Here the city's temple structures dominate the skyline and helped kill afew hours as we explored the side and back streets (we were more than templed out by this stage - you've seen one temple, you've seen em all!)

Kaniyakumari, India's most southern tip

Kaniyakumari, India's most southern tip
Originally uploaded by krisandmarit.

After an agonizing journey where Kris slept all the way and Marit was eaten alive by mosquitos we finally arrived in Kanniyakumari, India's most southern and very holy town. Since it was 5 am Kris decided to stay awake for sunrise, figuring that would probably the one and only opportunity to experience a sunrise without having to get his lazy bum out of bed. Marit couldn't even be bothered with that, but agreed that it looks great in the pictures. Kanniyakumari has great spiritual significance to the Hindus and we happened to arrive during the Festival of Pongol (a festival to celebrate the harvest in Tamil Nadu). The place was swamped with pilgrims from all over the state so that gave it a good feel. Apart from a temple on an island there isn't much to do, but we enjoyed a stroll to the end of the country to watch the three seas come together (not that you can actually see it, but it's a nice thought!). Marit was convinced she saw a person, (possibly a refugee from Sri Lanka) bobbing in the sea, but it was just a coconut.

Hampi

Despite the rule that prohibits alcohol being drunk in and around Hampi, not to mention the shite food and dire service, this archealogical wonder site is a joy to behold. Situated on the banks of the Tungabhadra river in northern Karnataka, the village of Hampi is located within the jaw-dropping ruins of Vijayanagara, former capital of one of India's most fericious empires. A UNESCO world heritage site, the place is truly stunning, brimming with hidden temples and some of the most amazing architecture we've ever seen. Once in the reserve you're left alone to explore the vast ruins of this past empire at leisure. Sunrise from some of the towering hills are spectacular while sunset over the surrounding valleys is equally mind-blowing. We must have clocked up dozens of miles hiking from one ruin to the next, all the time it seemed as though we had this amazing place to ourselves. However, this is India, so for all the beauty and adventure the ruins offered, the village itself was a total shambles. Roof top restaurants boasting "Lonely Planet" recommendations line the mazy narrow streets, home to some of India's most useless cooks! If random dishes weren't appearing on our table it was the promise of fresh coffee being shattered with a palate-numbing Nescafe. I never knew there were Indian's who could actually f**k up curries, but here they reside aplenty! Given the powerful healing strengths Kingfisher can have on weary limbs, we comandeered a rickshaw and left behind us a trail of dust as we set out in search of chilled refreshment and edible cuisine. Much to our delight we found the former but the latter proved elusive throughout Hampi and its surrounding towns!

Goan trance

And so to Goa, home to some of India's finest beaches and the chance to team up with normality for a beer or 20! After a gruelling 16 hour overnighter bus ride we pitched up at Agonda, the first of the seven beaches we frequented during our 10 day break here. First impressions couldn't have been better. A two-mile beach without so much as one living soul. Paradise! Here we quickly settled into our hut, the bamboo door of which opened onto soft white sand flanked by exotic palm trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. Neighbouring Palolem - a 7km rickshaw ride away - offered much more in the way of nightlife and we soon got acquainted with some of the beaches most popular drinking holes! Christmas Day we dined in style on the beach - the King fish was bbq'd tandoor style and was arguably the finest fish I've ever tasted! Boxing Day bought with it the arrival of Dukestar and Carrys, who we met in Margao and ventured to Colva Beach with. Here package tourism exists on a mass-scale and lobster red Brits line the, shitty, beach amid Domino Pizza cartons and freshly drained Kingfisher bottles. Mind you, the trip was worth it just to see our friend's look of amazement as countless Indians joined us in the taxi on our way back to Margao station! After several days exploring the southern beaches we packed up our packs and made the 120km trek north to team up with Luke and get a look at some of Goa's hippier beaches in the North. Beaches like Anjuna, home to the 60s hippy and drug boom, and Vagator were a welcome change from the slower paced south. Groovy markets, hip bars and beautiful bronze women! Mind you, nothing can detract from the crowds of Indian tourists - perverts! They line the beach with one handing gripping their penis while the other directs a mobile phone at unsuspecting caucasian flesh. And if they're not directing their own testosterone-fuelled movie then they're frollicking about in the surf like a bunch of pre-pubescents how really should be at school! New Years was a blinder. Euphoric from the cheap beer and some of Goa's finest herbs we partied until the wee hours amid the beautiful stars and refreshing waves. The fires burned and the fireworks exploded in the sky above as we danced our tits off to the hardcore beat that is Goan trance. It's easy to see why these wannabe hippies get stuck on the golden beaches of Goa, but that lifestyle is not for us. After 10 days of little more than sunbathing and swimming in the warm Arabian Sea pastures new beckon - the archealogical delights of Hampi and then later the fiery curries of Chennai!

Mysore

Mysore, though a beautiful city and home to India's booming sandlewood industry wil be best remembered for my first real hissy fit! After three weeks of intense travelling, and a three hour bus ride from Bangalore, we pitched up in this delightful place for several days of recouperation only to be met by hoards of useless Indians! I'm not embarrassed to say that after three weeks of constant questioning ("rickshaw? school pen? 10 rupees. hashish?") I finally blew my top and laid into one unsuspecting local. All I wanted was to stop, light a ciggy and keep walking. But no. This preverbial pain in the arse had to stop me in my tracks by waving a lighter in my face. He then seized the guidebook and, in his best English - which was Hindi with a slant - tried to direct us to some place neither of us knew where! After ripping strips of the idiot and forcing him to turn and run, we headed straight for a bar so I could gather my thoughts over a chilled beer. And for a few moments I really had had enough of this place. The lack or personal space, courtesy and manners. The need for people to make unnecessary noise. The smells. The sight of men pissing and shitting everywhere you turn. The constant haggling and bartering. And the head-bobble. Oh the head-bobbling! Word of warning. Never ask an Indian an open-ended question. Before you know it you'll be some place that doesn't appear on the map being courted by saris salesmen desparate for your dollars. You see the head-bobble is the south Indian way of communicating but for us westerners it just serves to baffle and frustrate! The neck muscles allow the head to move upwards and downwards and from side to side making for an infuriating retort to any manner of question. Why can't the silly sods just say "yes" or "no" instead of bobbling about like a heap of gelo!? As for Mysore, well great place. The state of Karnataka's second largest city is dominated by the stunning Maharajah's Palace, one of the largest palaces in the country. For the record, the original - built of wood - was burnt down in 1897 and rebuilt for the twenty fourth Wodeyar Raja in 1912. Designed in Indo-Saracenic style by the well-known British architect, Henry Irwin, the palace is a treasure house of exquisite carvings and works of art from all over the world.

Nearby, and a muscle-aching climb up a flight of 1000 steps, is the summit of Mysore's famous hills and home to the Chamundeswari temple. Boasting large silver gates and golden idols, the temple is considered hugely religious - the goddesses blessing is said to help devotees fulfill their daily needs - and thousands of pilgrims climb the steps daily in search of improved karmas.

Bangalore & Nandi Hills

Nicknamed "Traffic City" and it's immediately noticable why! Bangalore's crazy network of 10-lane wide roads are rammed with every conceivable vehicle - vans, cars, buses, taxis, rickshaws, lorries....the list is endless. The result is a nose filled to picking point with some of the most grusome boggies discovered by man and a throat so dry and sore that only an ice cold beer will suffice! They say this place is fast becoming home to some of southern India's most chic and expensive bars - but all we saw was over-dressed teenagers trying to act cool. It's also said to be India's techy hub, attracting many of the sub-continent's computer whizz kids. That may well be true, but all the city's good points are lost to delapidated infrastructure and neglect of basic services such as bus stops and public loos. Though first impressions were dour (never before had we seen so many people in such a small space - MG Road was like a Mumbai slum only ten times worse) we set about righting wrongs by exploring the city's few monuments by foot. What a mistake. The mock Windsor Castle took three hours to find and when we finally came upon the scaled down build some cheeky dick wanted to charge us 200 Rupees to take a pic. Thought we'd take a break from Bangalore's fumes by catching a bus to Nandi Hills. The bus journey was rewarding as the road first carved through the city's rich suburbs and then onwards and upwards towards the national park. Here we spent the day trekking and taking in the fantastic vistas - though we were both disturbed by the cushion of smog that towered above Bangalore and its 7m inhabitants some 120km away. But even out in the sticks all is not well. If it wasn't enough that monkey's held us to randsom for our bright yellow bananas, then it certainly was when some mock guru demanded a fist full of rupees for smashing a coconut at the feet of some shrine. "That's it," said Marit. "No more f**king temples!" And so it was we returned to traffic city eager to jump on the first bus out.

Hyderabad, Golconda Fort & Tombs of the Qutb Shah Kings

Two days in Aurangabad is enough, more than enough in fact. Christ, even the small task of onward rail tickets to Hyderabad proved a thankless task as we got our first taste of Indian queuing. Put simply the impatient slackers don't! It's a free for all. A fight for survival and the absolute test of patience and stamina. The small little buggers wriggle past you from every possible angle, shouting and screaming as they frantically wave about documents and passports (yes, it really is an anally retentive system requiring you to fill out forms backed up with passport details and cash withdrawl statements) in a bid to have their requests authorised before the clerk takes a "chai break". And all the time beggars are pulling at your clothes in search of that eluding rupee. A farce, a bloody farce!

Fortunately the second rail trip was free of freedom fighters, thus allowing us an excellent night's sleep during the 15 hour trip to Hyderabad - "Pearl city". Now this place is a treat to be in, despite the problems trying to secure a bed for the night. After several hours of walking we were forced to say "yes" to a flee-bitten hovel in which the bed sheets were stained with bird shit (work that one out) and the squat toilet was home to a new strain of super virus.

But once out on the streets the city soon charms. The smell of chai and sweet milky coffee (that has become an Indian institution) hit you like a brick wall, while the city's thousands of bangle and jewellery sellers will do anything to secure a little business. Big Buddah dominates the city's beautiful lake, while exploring the many bazaars, selling everything from spices to toothbrushes, are a memorable experience.

Home of the Biriyani, Hyderabad boast fine restaurants of all shape and size and we manged to dote on our tummies during our four day stay with some stunning Indian cusine. Aside from the beautiful mosques and minarets that dominate the city skyline, Hyderabad is home to Golconda Fort, one of the most stunning fortress complexes in the whole of India. The Fort dates back to the early 13th century, when this south eastern part of the country was ruled by the Kakatiyas. The bulk of the ruins of this fort, date from the time of the Qutub Shahi kings, who had ruled this area in the 16th and 17th century. The fortress is built on a granite hill 120 metres high, surrounded by massive ramparts.

Golconda consists of four distinct forts with a 10km long outer wall having 87 semi circular bastions; some still mounted with cannons, eight gateways, four drawbridges and number of royal chambers and halls, temples, mosques, magazines and stables inside.

Aurangabad & Ajanta Caves

Oh how things can change overnight eh - quite literally given the first taste of India's ancient rail network! The scene that greeted us as we arrived at the city's Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus (an awsome looking building erected, of course, by the Brits) will never be forgotten. Imagine 100 Eustons piled on top of each other and then multiply the number of bodies ten fold!

Heading on our first overnight journey - to Aurangabad some 400km east - we were stunned to find half a dozen smelly bar stewards curled up in our designated beds some 90 minutes ahead of departure. And the situation just got worse! By the time we were ready to hit the sack more than three times the number of permitted bodies has engulfed the carriage (old, young, healthy and sick) giving it the look and feel of one of those lorries you pass on the motorway packed full with cattle on their way to the slaugher house! Course just our luck that we opted for the same train as some 2000 freedom fighters heading east after a convention in Mumbai. Tickets, what tickets! No wonder so many buggers die when the trains here derail or crash!

We arrived in Aurangabad in one piece (though in desperate need of delicing and deoderant) at about 5am and didn't have to wander the streets for long before a group of bedraggled street urchins collared us and informed us of a "good place to stay". Given the night's adventures we simply followed like homesick dogs and were releaved to curl up under clean sheets less than half an our later.

As for the town, what a shithole! If the rest of India is like this then so help us God! Rickshaw drivers with a death wish dominate the trash-ridden streets, while feral goats, pigs, cows and dogs follow you around constantly. People are rude and no help whatsoever (they merely point with their noses and chins without so much as looking you in the eye), while the dust and fumes make nose-picking a hazard.

Mind you, the caves are something special, if a little monotonous. Discovered by a British hunting party in the mid 1800s the offered us our first serious insight into the history that hangs over the sub-continent like a thick layer of cloud. The first Buddhist cave monuments date from the 2nd and 1st centuries BC. During the Gupta period (5th and 6th centuries A.D.), many more richly decorated caves were added to the original group. The paintings and sculptures of Ajanta, considered masterpieces of Buddhist religious art, have had a considerable artistic influence.a period (5th and 6th centuries A.D.) and more richly decorated caves were added to the original group. Paintings are considered masterpieces of Buddhist religious art and have had a considerable artistic influence since.

Mumbai

Just found time to stop and draw breath after a chaotic few days. Mumbai, or the "Gateway to India" is immense, with a real "in ya face" feel that only the sub-continent can truly possess.

It took just minutes for the mayhem to rear its ugly head - the traffic outside the airport was like nothing we'd seen before. The best way to detail the chaos is that the taxi journey to the Colaba district (about 22km) took longer than the two hour flight from Muscat! Seriously, the roads were just a sea of vehicles pulsing intoxicating gases into the air!

Opted for the city's cheapest hostel, The Salvation Army. Here the dorms are basic and toilets....interesting! But at the end of the day a bed's a bed, right? So with our first accommodation sorted we set about exploring this wonderfully colourful metropolis - and what a city it proved to be!

Far from daunting, the place is everything you want in a city boasting 15m people, and more. Different districts boast different surprises - the gulf between rich and poor has never been more apparent. 5 Star hotels line Colaba's Marine prommande, their backs turned on the ever-growing slums housing some of India's poorest.

Already the traditions and customs of the Hindus has had an intoxicating affect on us, while the businessman in every Indian is all too obvious. Where ever you turn some malnourished bloke will try to flog something useless, while the fruit and veg varies in price depending on facial colour!

They say this city's the most expensive in India. Well that'll stand us in good stead given that a great curry sets you back about 60p and you can wash it down with a litre of Kingfisher for about 80p - and that's expensive?! And though we're taking it easy with the food, so as to not invite the shits, the variety of restaurants, eateries and street stalls is truly amazing

The Maidan dominates the city's business centre, packed full of young wannabe Tendulkars! Victorian and neo-classical architecture towers above the wide streets while some of the newer buildings would put London's CBD to shame.

Then there is Chowpatty Beach, an idyllic stretch of sand where locals congregate every evening for sunrise and to gulp down an eccelectic mix of dishes, such as Mumbai favourite "puri". Temples jump out at every corner, while a number of the city's famous, both dead and alive, are remembered by way of towering monuments, street names and bars.

The urban train network must run on blood, sweat and tears, but is hugely efficient and runs like clockwork - though the melee that unfolds when a train is announced certainly takes some getting used to! And we've clocked up countless miles in our bid to make sure we unearth its many delights! I wonder if things will stay like this, or whether the novelty will quickly wear off and the India portrayed in the west soon begins to take hold!?