Let's get outta here!

The old part of Delhi was much the same as any other city in India; busy, noisy, dusty and smelly, good scents being that “match made in heaven,” butter and garlic naan, along with spices and fresh cut flowers and bad being something similar to The Bull lavatory after a busy weekend mixed with Northern Aid’s body odour and a pinch of rotting vegetables.  The Red Fort outer walls were pretty impressive being 33m high in places and 2km long but as for the inside we will never know due to the impressive queue waiting in the blazing midday sun. Instead we walked round the outside, got our fix of imposing gateways, then sat in a nearby park and got stared at whilst being circled by huge birds of prey.

The following day w e were due to go to the Pakistan Embassy for our visa application interview, being encouragingly told previously this would be a mere formality, we were quietly confident we would breeze through it.

On arriving, we met an American traveler called Larry who had been circumnavigating the world for 10 years in his Ford V8 RUV, he seemed to know what the process involved and in great depth, divulged the whos, wheres, hows and ifs. The next step was actually entering the compound and after much shoving, toe stepping and yelling we were ushered through a tiny door to wait it out in the “VIP” area as Larry explained which consisted of brown plastic chairs rather than blue.

A couple of hours later and we were unexpectedly summoned to the office of the Consulate General and this is when the nerves set in, simply because if we didn’t get these visas, a logistical nightmare would have ensued. A rather imposing chap was sat behind a r ather imposing desk and after confirming our marital status asked us our names, no, our full names, gulp, I even stumbled at my name. He quizzed us on our occupations, previous visits and experience so far and demanded to know who made the decisions between us. Formality? This was like a full on job interview! He then went on to ask whether I got tired or if we had any problems on the way to which we maybe overenthusiastically blurted out adjectives like “wonderful” and “fantastic,” when he said those magical words, “so how long should I give you?” we breathed a deep sigh of relief and got our 15 day tourist visa.

How good was the feeling on leaving Delhi? It’s hard to explain. No more red tape and uncertainty, no more getting my boobs nuzzled or stared at in the street by complete strangers, it’s a shame it took 1 ½ hrs to get out but when we did, it was the best. 

Chandigarh was a strange one, it was designed to be a vision of utopia and built soon after partition in 1947, it’s a bit like certain parts of Milton Keynes with the dual carriageways and landscaping and it had a pedestrianised shopping street, similar to Queensway in Bletchley as well as funky bars playing 80’s chart music and a Levi’s store.  The housing reminded me of Coffee Hall with the curry smells and Netherfield, complete with sofas and washing machines in the front gardens.  The street art wasn't bad either. Quite how we couldn’t find our way out is beyond me, it even had regular signposts!