Left Edinburgh 9.30am in the rain. Seen off by Mum and Dad, Rainneach, Malcolm, Geoff, Jockey, Mark and Jackie. Very good of them to come along. Arrived Victoria a bit after 6pm. Journey - bearable. Presently in a pub.

Jenny did us proud with Chicken Kiev, mackerel, crab and salmon paté and more wine than we could handle. Her flat is lovely with a spacious living room and floodlights in the garden. Charlie seems a nice sort - he does a very good Rowan Atkinson impersonation. They gave us the (squeaky) double bed. [PS It didn't squeak - too tired - Cathy]

We're sitting by the Embankment enjoying steak pies and tea, having survived the INDIAN VISA experience. Arrived 10.15am, out at 12 noon. The queue to pay is the longest one, so have one member of the party stand in this queue from the beginning. We didn't. Get the permit for Darjeeling here (no extra cost and less hassle than in Delhi). Costs: Cathy (Australian national) £2.60; Mary (Irish national) £3.10; me (UK national) £20!

Next step - air tickets. No problem - except that Elaine's Kathmandu-Delhi flight on the 28th October had been transmogrified into a Delhi-Kathmandu flight on 6th November.

Wednesday evening - met Eileen and Dave, Snash and Phil Marshall at the "Crusting Pipe" in Covent Garden, and drank many bottles of wine, then went for a pizza at "Grunts". An excellent evening. Dave is keen to do a placement in Australia so we may see them there.

Stayed at Sue's, a friend of Elaine's, in the East End. A startling contrast to the West End. Sorted out Elaine's ticket at Dabin Travel - only Mary's return to take care of. Sent Cathy's box and sleeping bag home - £31.20! (surface). Cathy's off to Vidal Sassoon to have her hair massacred. We're at Mary's.

Later - 9.50pm. Cathy's speaking to George on the phone (They've never met).

12.15. Elaine's just sewn her clothes to the inside of her rucksack.

11.30am and we're in the departure lounge at Heathrow. The plane's been delayed for two hours but that's the least of our problems. When we checked in only Cathy and I had seats. It transpired that Modern Air had phoned up yesterday in a panic to book our seats, and there were only two. If we hadn't been calling Modern Air yesterday there might not even have been two. This is Modern Air's responsibility since we are paying them to book and confirm our seats.

Anyway, we're here, after cursory checks on tickets and passports and a thorough rummage through my admittedly disreputable-looking bag. We'll be here for a while since the flight has been delayed from 11.25am to 2pm.

2 minutes to two and I've left British soil for a bit. We are now paying guests of Aeroflot - Soviet Airlines, on an Ilyushin Il-62m (the one that looks like a VC-10) and shortly (I hope) bound for Moscow.

20 to three and we're over the Thames estuary. I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking backwards. The pilot is still climbing, and about 50% of the passengers (mostly Japanese, with some Indians) are asleep. Cathy's one of them - so is the pudgy little Japanese girl on her left, who had difficulty understanding about seat belts.

It was reassuring that the Russian air hostesses went through the same emergency drill as on British airlines, even though I doubt whether lifejackets have save the lives of many airline passengers.

Cathy and I are in the rear cabin (there are two) over the starboard wing. We're climbing more slowly now, and the sky overhead is a very deep blue.

We're flying at 10,000m+, at 950 km/hour, and we're now over the Russian border. I've managed to put my watch forward 3 hours to Moscow time.

Russia looks quite like parts of Britain (should that be surprising?) with a lot of forests interspersed with agricultural land, and a scattering of smallish lakes. I hope I see a Russian fighter plane...

The passengers have woken up. Jabber, jabber - the foreign languages make it futile to eavesdrop. A European-looking couple opposite (Russian?) are playing poker dice.

8.03pm Moscow time (3 hours flying time). We're on approach to Moscow. Temperature is 11°C. Better put my jersey on.

8.23pm. Now descending at an ear-knackering rate, still above the clouds. The sky is a beautiful pink around the horizon, and there's a ¾ moon lying roughly south.

9.18pm Moscow time. A slick, if slightly unnerving, change of planes at Moscow. Militiamen in khaki uniforms at the gangway and passport control. The airport was almost empty, and semi-blacked out - I think they were just waiting for our flight.

We're now on an Ilyushin Il-86, the only Soviet wide-body jet. It has a lower deck, 8 seats abreast and is stuffed full of Indians. They're (the airline, not the Indians) playing the same muzak as before the last flight - over-orchestrated versions of the Moonlight Sonata and Bach's Prelude in C.

We're up in the back, in the extreme tail, next to an emergency exit on the starboard side. A few Buddhist monks in maroon robes are over to our left. Cathy's reading "Unreliable Memoirs" by Clive James.

I forgot to mention the age of the militiamen - young. In fact barely out of school.

Technical corner: distance to our first stop, which is Tashkent, is 3,000km, or 3½ hours flying time. There are Tupolev Tu-16 bombers parked next to the runway.

9.56pm. With a loud and unhealthy rumble resembling empty GPO trolleys at a railway station the behemoth began to lumber down the runway. "It'll never fly,"" I muttered, but after a mile or two of runway it did, unfortunately with little reduction in noise level. I hope the runway at Delhi is long enough to land it.

The seatbelt sign is now off. The Buddhist monks are already asleep, lying across three seats. A number of our fellow passengers back here are members of the Nepal handball team.

Time for a sleep.

One very short nap later - the stewardesses have just come round with a drinks trolley, from which I chose mineral water. One had long red hair and a lovely smile, and could easily have been Scottish. Apart from the noise I'm quite impressed with this plane. It's very roomy.

FOOD - sardine-like fish, then a huge ¼ chicken, cold, a gherkin, tomato, rye bread, a roll, a sweet cookie and tea. Very tasty. Real knife and fork.

12.51 Moscow time. Fasten seat belts to land in Tashkent (where?). It's still dark outside so nothing to see. The stewardesses brought their trolley around a while ago and we asked for juice. It turned out to be like the syrup from a tin of peaches.

I've been passing the time napping, reading Paul Theroux's "The Great Railway Bazaar" or listening to the Stones. Cathy's unwell again.

I forgot to mention our small brown friend, a cockroach who was crawling round the window while we ate, and recently landed on my book to take a look.

Sad to say, the Tashkent stop is not particularly riveting. It's the middle of the night and we have a hour and twenty minutes for refuelling etc. (includes cleaning the toilets behind us. Good) One noteworthy item is the apparent age of the trucks. No turbo-intercooling here - they look just like trucks pictured in National Geographics of the 40s or 50s.

We flew over Tashkent on the way in - it looks like a largish place.

2.45am. On our way again. The lights of Tashkent are sliding past below and the pong from the loos is back (disinfectant). We have a Disembarkation Card to fill out for India which looks likely to cause trouble.

Two types - AF (one copy)

AB (two copies, one for re-embarkation)

Usual questions on name, date of birth, purpose of visit etc. Plus Customs Clearance part - duty concessions - up to 0.95 litres of alcohol. Our bottles are 1 litre. We will have to fill in a Tourist Baggage Re-export form for our camera gear (but hopefully not for my personal stereo). In addition, since we all have more than US$1000, we need to declare our travellers cheques to customs on a currency declaration form.

The final hassle is the last note: "All foreigners except those specially exempted are required to settle their hotel bills directly in foreign exchange."

All this hassle will hit us just as we are at our most tired and vulnerable. Great.

4.33am Moscow Time (6.33 Delhi?). Sunrise over India, from 10,000m in a big Russian jet. I never thought I'd see this.

5.29 Moscow time. We've landed, after an aerial tour of New Delhi. The air temperature is 27°C. Help!

12.15pm local time. The airport wasn't too much of an ordeal - we had to find a Disembarkation Card with two parts (lying on a table) and present this to a Sikh on the immigration desk. The building was pretty empty at that time of the morning - in fact practically deserted.

On our way to pick up our luggage we saw people having their luggage emptied at the "Something to Declare" bit. So after filling out a Currency Exchange Form (which took quite a while) we sloped off in an ignorant sort of fashion towards the "Nothing to Declare" exit. Our luck was in - the Customs man even helpfully pointed out the bank, where we changed $90 in my case, £50 in the others'.

The humidity hit us when we walked off the plane (in fact the air coming in the roof vents had formed clouds on hitting the colder cabin air) but the heat didn't strike us till we walked outside. It was very warm, something that might be interesting for 5 minutes, but all day?

At this point I must mention the smell. I don't know whether it's characteristic of the whole of India, or just this part, but it's a bit like having your head stuck into a pot of hospital curried offcuts and not being able to take it out.

Mary chatted up a new Finnish arrival, Joumi, who guided us to the area north of Connaught Place. We overpaid the auto-rickshaw driver something rotten (Rs 6) and were taken on a hair-raising journey, which reminded me of a particularly imaginative fairground ride.

So we've had the works - kids offering to polish our shoes, men wanting to sell us accommodation, and crowds gathering round when we stop and look helpless. We are now in the "Crystal Hotel", and by the hammering and banging outside the door it's still being built. Still, Rs90 for a double room, and it has a fan and an attached (Indian-style) bathroom. I am now going to crash out.

The "Hotel Crystal" is apparently at 8126 Arakashan Road. I think we're paying Rs90 because of the fan.

After a long sleep till 8pm, and a shower, we wandered out to see the streets of Delhi. We left the hotel to find incredible scenes of business and bustle, even after 9m. Do they ever sleep? In one block we saw people building, having their hair cut, selling sandals, bags, food. We saw about three sawmills, two doctors' surgeries, a chemist, a plastic works and a foundry. We saw people cooking chapattis on little wood stoves on the pavement, others peeling limes or bananas, selling vegetables, bus tickets, clothes and food. There were a couple of tailors (which I might visit) and a little shop selling soft drinks and bottled water. Trishaw riders were asleep on their seats and, more pitifully, others were sleeping on the pavement. I nearly trod on a little heap of brown rags that turned out to be a person, hunched-up and staring at the traffic. No real hopelessness apparent, though, such as George says he saw in Bombay. On the contrary, everyone seems lively and industrious. I've never seen so many little businesses so close together. Maybe that's what Maggie wants Britain to be like.

We walked slowly through all this, feeling (in my case anyway) that it was dreamlike, a film set. Some of the little food stands looked very tempting - one had a wide, shallow bowl with frying buns, and another with a creamy sauce over rolled-up pastry things. Another couple had square, metal boxes filled with water, with little, white, round things bobbing around (milk balls). Another was making omelettes, another boiling eggs. One woman had a huge, shallow pan with milk (I think) simmering gently. There was a bloke selling pineapples, or pineapple juice. I feel hungry just thinking about it.

And then there were the animals. Sacred cows - white with humps, or brown without. Some were wandering around, others lying down; one was feeding, tied by a rope to its feeding box. Another (white with swept-back horns) was harnessed to a cart. There were donkeys, and ponies, one little pony pulling a cart with about eight or ten people on it, at the trot.

There are dogs of course - one's howling outside our window now. Some were thin and wiry, scurrying through the streets. Two puppies were fat and well-fed; a larger black cur was lying asleep in the dead pose.

Outside the cinema (with a queue to see an "adults-only" film) we saw geckos running up the walls. No rats Or cats. We bought a litre of water each, and I bought a couple of disposable razors. We're now back in the hotel, appreciating the air-conditioning and writing diaries. We've ordered breakfast - tea and toast - for 9 tomorrow morning. (We chose from a menu which had such delights as "Hambur Gers" and "Corn Flaks".)

We've finished the "Highland Spring" mineral water (It was lovely). We've also almost finished the water we bought. We've been putting sterilising tablets in the bottled water, just to be on the safe side. We have 192 tablets between Cathy and myself, so at 3 litres each per day, that's 32 days' supply. Cathy also has 100ml of Milton 2 sterilising fluid, enough for another 184 litres. Finally, I have potassium permanganate, although I don't know how much that'll treat.

We've resolved to drink no untreated water, and we've made up a Milton's solution for doing our teeth.

6.18pm. Talking of teeth, we're now rotting ours with bottles of Campa-Cola (at 2.5 "ruples" - Mary's word). We could have had "Patato Chop" which sounds worthwhile. We're in a tearoom/cafe at the Red Fort. Two firsts today - first Indian food and first rain. We ate at the "Volga" in Connaught Place, as much to get out of the heat as anything else. It was fairly elegant, the staff all in uniforms. We had lassi, tea, soup, nans, vegetables in cream with spices, paratha, more nans and more tea. Total cost for four - Rs180 including service charge (£8.44). I had a chat with an Indian gentleman and his wife. He was interested in my camera (worth Rs2800 apparently) and eventually bought my bottle of Red Label for Rs250 (£11.75; it cost £6.40).

We took a trip on an ancient, clapped-out Harley from Connaught Place to the Red Fort, and here we are. I feel bad because a young Indian chap came up to me and said, "Excuse me, sir," and I, thinking he might be trying to take money from me for something, got up and walked away. He gave a genuinely disappointed "Awww..." and didn't follow me, so I feel a heel.

Later - As the sun went down the Red Fort positively glowed. I wandered out to the grass behind the Campa Cola cafe, where the trees seemed a brighter green that usual against the dark sky and the buildings and earth were glowing red. I stopped dead when I realised the animal under a tree was a large, old monkey. I looked around to see several smaller, younger monkeys playing with something white, running up and down trees and turning somersaults. I could have stayed for ages watching them. It was very peaceful.

The street market that we walked through was not peaceful. It really was teeming millions stuff, an apparently endless line of wooden tables selling largely cheap, imported junk, but some more attractive home-grown items. Cathy bought a sari, which she hasn't yet worked out how to wear, and all three girls bought plastic flip-flops [the British word for thongs]. I bought a size 38 shirt but the damn thing was too small.

We took a trip home in a motor-trishaw driven by a Sikh. Very cramped, very fast and worrying.

1.40pm. Back in the "Volga" again - lassi, pizza and a tomato omelette. We've booked tickets to Bombay for the 19th, so we'd better be back by then. 1st class - air-conditioned chair car, Rs325 (about £15). We couldn't book any other tickets - they have to be booked at the departure station.

Cathy didn't sleep last night - she was imagining people coming in the doors and windows.

Bank guards have shotguns.

Soldiers carry rifles (dark green uniforms).

Policemen (sand-coloured uniforms) carry bamboo sticks or submachine guns.

Saw a little chipmunk creature at the Red Fort. Big hooded crows, and birds of prey the size and colour of buzzards (one on the Red Fort). Outside the Hotel Crystal was a 2" brown cockroach.

I've fallen badly behind with the diary. Quickly, Monday we set off at 6pm for a 25-hour bus journey to Srinagar, arriving at 7pm on Tuesday. Yesterday we slept in, had a late breakfast and took a walk around town. Last night there was a thunderstorm.

This morning we visited the Mogul Gardens - three of them - Spring (couldn't catch the name), Romance (Shalimar) and Pleasure (Nishat). We were then taken on an extremely slick visit to the carpetmaking factory - handshakes all round, the story of the industry, a demonstration of how the carpets are made, and then Kashmiri tea (with honey, saffron, cinnamon and cardamom) while they sold us carpets (more later).

We are now being paddled around Dal Lake on a shikara. Very relaxing. Schoolkids racing boats, people selling from little shops beside the water, floating gardens, kingfishers and lots of hubble bubble pipes (Example of the shops - "Cheap John for Smiling Arts and Crafts.")

This journey took 12 hours and we constantly overestimated the distance travelled, and underestimated the time to go. See the map in the Lonely Planet Guide for the whereabouts of the following places:

Udhampur - first town - lots of Indian soldiers. Already in the mountains, with a deep river valley on our right as we climbed.

Kud - 1738m altitude. Veggie restaurant.

Batote - 1560m. The veggie restaurant might have been here.

In between these spots there was another massive river valley, this time with a broad and fast-flowing river, a milky grey in colour.

"Reckless Drivers Kill and Die!
Leaving Kith and Kin to Cry."

"Life is Wonderful, Ponder and Think,
Why Cut It Short by Speed and Drink."

"I am Guarding You
Do Not Damage Me."

"This is not a Race or a Rally
Drive Safely and Enjoy Kashmir Valley."

Jawarhal Tunnel - 2½km long. 93km from Srinagar and 200km from Jammu. Banihal is 17km on the Indian side of the tunnel, and marks the border of the Kashmir region, but once out of the tunnel you immediately hit the lush, green Vale of Kashmir, with Western-style houses, rice paddy-fields, woods and stacks of roughly-shaped cricket bats (Kashmir is cricket-mad, and exports cricket bats all over the world).

Kashmir was independent and very poor in the 17th Century, and the King, Shah Jahan, visited neighbouring countries to look for ideas for a new industry to improve his people's lot. In Persia he decided that a carpet industry would be a good thing, because in Kashmir it was icy cold in the winter and for six months people liked to stay indoors.

The first stage in making a new carpet is the design. This is drafted out on graph paper and approved by the Government (to ensure that the designs are commercially attractive). Then the colours are chosen, and marked on the graph paper. The next stage is surprising - the design is translated into a list of stitches/colours, so the people doing the weaving don't know how the pattern will end up - they simply follow the symbols scribbled onto strips of brown paper.

The loom is set up with two sets of threads (either cotton or silk) running vertically - one set at the front, one at the back. The yarn is suspended from a string along the top, and each knot is tied by pulling down the appropriate colour, tying the knot, and cutting the yarn with a knife. It takes typically eighteen months for one carpet.

On completion the carpet is washed, and then trimmed with scissors to make sure all the knots are the same length, and the carpet is smooth to the touch.

There are four different qualities of carpet. The most expensive is silk on silk (the weavers often cut their fingers on the silk backing). Then comes silk on cotton (considered as "pure silk"). Then silk and wool mixed, and finally pure wool.

All this we learnt at a carpet-making factory/exhibition/sales centre a few kilometres from Srinagar. It is owned by a co-operative of 350 families (4½ thousand people) and run by a smooth crew who had no difficulty in parting us from money we didn't even have. They did it by showing us into a large room with beautiful carpets all round the walls and a plush green carpet on the floor. We were seated, and supplied with Kashmiri tea flavoured with honey, saffron, cinnamon and cardamom. The boss (a dashing man in white, with a natty beard and a spiky haircut) had his sidekicks lined up with carpets at the ready. As he explained the different types and sizes they moved into a well-rehearsed stage-show, throwing carpets on the floor with a flourish, and whirling them around to demonstrate the changes in colour as the light struck them at different angles. He started off with a mammoth 6' by 9' silk on silk "Qum" design, with squares each with a different design, and worked down through 6' x 4', 3' x 5' (£200-£800), 2½' x 4' (£110-£450) to the smallest, 2' x 3' (£50-£350).

At this point we were hooked, mesmerised, whatever analogy you care to think of. He proceeded to land his catch by asking us to pick out the ones we liked, and laying them out on the floor for us to examine more closely. More tea, and biscuits, helped here. At this point even I (with no background in carpets, or house furnishings of any kind) couldn't have got away without buying something. I was thinking we could get away with a £50 job as a souvenir. No chance. Cathy and I put down a deposit on two beautiful carpets, both silk, to a total value of £700. Yikes.

PS. I shouldn't mention the war, but apparently the Indians and Chinese have been fighting over a glacier for the past 15 days. This news doesn't get reported in the papers.

We're on a "water trek" down the river ?. We've been through the mediæval suburbs of Srinagar and we're now in a wide, slow-flowing stretch of water with trees either side. Behind the trees grows Maize, and under the trees (and pretty well everywhere else) grows marijuana ("Kashmiri tobacco"). Other natural history: two kinds of kingfisher, traditional gold and blue, and also a white one with black spots and patches. Lots of eagles. Geese, ducks, swans, dogs. Dead dogs, horses, cows and unidentifiable swollen things floating downstream, some with crows perched on them.

The Shikara looks like this:

11.23am. Our boatmen are now stoned out of their skulls over their hubble bubble pipe. There's a hubble bubble sound from the back of the boat, interspersed with singing and much hilarity. The boat is drifting from one side of the river to the other. I think our boatmen might be having a better time than we are.

This is where swallows go in the winter. I've just seen them perched on telephone wires over the river.

Walked up to Shankaracharya Jee Temple (5km walk - 1 hour) after a lazy morning sitting reading.

Back down to Jammu on an ‘A' class bus (Rs53). Much more awake, and saw more this time (map in film logbook). I like the monkeys sitting beside the road (especially at "Monkey Point") waiting for drivers to throw them bread. Reddish hair, very nimble. Some had young, one I caught a glimpse of between tree and wall (but not with the camera).

More beacons:

"My curves are gorgeous - drive on them smoothly."

"Feel horny on bends. Horn."

"Beep, beep, don't fall asleep."

We saw a truck on its side. Probably the driver had fallen asleep.

Jammu - pretty ropey. Hotel -very ropey ("India Pride" - Rs20 a double, with geckos and bedbugs. Had a light meal in the "Hotel Cosmopolitan" - nice lassi, tea, soup, pakora.

Rs35 in a ‘B' class bus to Dharamsala. It felt good to get out of the dry, dusty plain into hilly, green surroundings. Saw rice in paddy fields, tea, bamboo, bananas, palms, cactus, marijuana (growing wild), a plant with tea-like leaves and pretty orange or red/yellow flowers [lantana]. Some bits were really lovely - a grassy clearing in a forest, below us in a curve of the road, with a stream running through it, and a boy leading a few cows.

We are now, after a few problems (like being caught in a thunderstorm) installed in a Tibetan cafe in McLeod Ganj (Dharamsala), eating (and very much enjoying) banana pancakes, chocolate cake, lemon tea, hot chocolate, banana milk shake etc, and listening to Fleetwood Mac. It's obviously a legacy of all the hippies who came here in the 60s and 70s, but we love it. We really were getting tired of Indian food.

This is a lovely place - stunning views, quiet, peaceful. No beggars or pushy salesmanship. The Tibetans are lovely - they really show up the Indians (who carry out unwanted services, then ask for money, like the man who helped me down with the bags from the roof of the bus). The cafe is the "Cafe Shabhala". It has only four tables, a star map and a print of a nineteenth century European tapestry on the wall. It has honey and a shelf of books for sale.

Later - now in the "Friends Bar" drinking Golden Eagle Lager Beer and writing postcards. Eric Clapton singing "I Shot the Sheriff" on the tape. I wrote a little poem about Delhi. Here it is:

There are many advantages to this little place:

• Temperature - shirtsleeve environment, well into the evening. No sweating.
• Tibetans - quiet, friendly, good-looking (especially when they smile, which is often).
• The views - incredible perspectives, both up to the mountains and down to the plain below.
• Food. Western. Let's face it, we like Indian food on occasion, but not slop every day (Their fried things are good, though, eg fried bread on the bus trip).
• Music. Tibetan bells, or rhythmic crashing, or Western tapes. No Indian wailing.
• Shops. They don't babble at you. No hard sell.
• Accommodation. Clean and cheap (Rs40 a double).

4pm. At the graveyard of St John's in the Wilderness. Examples of the stones (crosses - poignant) -

"Sacred to the memory of Captain James Muscroft, 1st Gurkha Rifles. Killed by the earthquake at Dharmsala 4th April 1905, aged 34 years."

"In memory of John Smith, H.M.81st L.L.V. who died August 13th 1875 aged 24. Also of Eli Warra, H.M.81st L.L.V. who died August 13th 1875 aged 16. Thy will be done. Erected by their fellow soldiers."

"In Memory of Florence Mary, the Beloved Daughter of Thomas Conway, and Frances Mary, Vaughan. Born 17th December 1867. Died 2nd June 1880. She is not dead but sleepeth."

The church is still in use - worship is every Sunday at 11am - "Peoples of all religions are most welcome". The steeple came down in the earthquake of 1905. The roof is sheathed outside in galvanised corrugated iron, but inside most of it looks original. It has the exact quiet, reverential atmosphere of a church back home - a haven of peace and tranquillity. It has a memorial plaque to men killed in the 1914-18 war (and Baluchistan 1919), and several In Memoria plaques to individuals, eg:

"In loving memory of Thomas William Knowles who met with his death at Dharamsalla by an attack from a bear on the 25th October 1883 aged 50 years."

"In Affectionate Memory of Major Henry Darrell Minchington, M.C., aged 39 years, who was killed in a climbing accident on the "Mun" on 3rd June 1927." [The "Mun" is in the Alps, I believe.]

"In affectionate memory of Captain J.L. Barry, M.B.E., 1st K.G.O. Goorka Rifles, who died at Moffat on 21st January 1924, aged 25 years, on the Eve of his Marriage. This tablet is erected by his fiancee Eleanor Constance Rundall and his brother officers."

The church was built in 1852 and closed 40 years ago. It is the oldest church in Northern India. Roof was slate originally. 110 years ago Iain McLeod was C.O. of the Gurkha Rifles based at Dharamsala. After the earthquake a new bell was provide from London in 1915, but never installed. It is on a plinth outside - 400kg and 9 kinds of metal. An earthquake killed 20,000 people here in 1986 (if my notes are right). On April 26th this year there was a smaller earthquake. The first permanent pastor of this church is telling us all this. The church was for officers of the Gurkha Rifles, 423 graves in the graveyard, 40 were killed in the 1905 earthquake.

(Pastor, Kunjumon K J.
Kochuparambil House, Kuzhipura Yidom,
Manarcad (P.P.), Kottayam. District Kerala, India.)

The pastor is from Kerala. The British moved their capital from Dharamsala to Simla.

Later - dinner at the Om Restaurant - Too-Fu-Momo (steamed). Little parcels of a simple flour/water paste, stuffed with Tofu and vegetables and pinched together like little Cornish pasties. Good with soy sauce. Finished with Banana Rice Pudding. Total cost Rs13.50 (61p) with a lemon lassi. Lassi is Rs3.50 here, compared with Rs9 at the Volga in Delhi.

Desh Raj Negri
c/o Lala Narotam Shopkeeper
Sheguli bazar
Banjas P.O. Banjas
Distt Kullu (H.P.)
PIN - 175123

The address above is that of a 21-year old Indian student of science. He's studying for his B.Sc. at Lower Dharamsala, then he does his M.Sc. at Simla, and may do an M.Phil. there as well. His speciality is optics.

I'd been wanting to meet an educated Indian to tell me about the country, and Desh fitted the bill exactly. He told me about the drought, the poor education (only 30% literacy, including those who can only sign their own name. Only one in 1000 has any English). In common with many other students (and not only in India) he is a Communist and is studying Marxism alongside his Physics (oh, dear). He intends to visit Russia, like his uncle who married a Russian girl. I was relieved to hear that he thought the Communists will gain power through the parliamentary process and not through violent revolution. He said he was an atheist, because of his socialism, so it came as a surprise when he suddenly said, "Do you believe in Palmistry?" He enthusiastically examined our palms, predicting long lives, health, wealth, happiness, the usual stuff. What a joke.

Our walk was to the waterfall on the road to Bhagsu. Lovely, cool, clear water, and good views. I walked down to Dharamsala to get our bus tickets for tomorrow, and saw vultures and a mongoose. The vultures were perched on a tree, or endlessly circling, as is right and proper for vultures. The mongoose was dead.

I met the girls on the way back, and Cathy and I had a drink (lemon lassi in my case, lemonade in Cathy's) sitting on the roof of the Om, looking out over the green plain below (not the main Indian plain, but one at a higher level). Afterwards we walked to the Hotel Bhagsu to look at the mountains. The sunset was lovely (no film).

We met Mary and Elaine for cheese omelettes, soup and banana lassis at the Green Hotel, and from there we've proceeded to the Shabhala Cafe for banana pancakes, chocolate cake and apple pie.

Cathy gave me a joss-stick holder with the Hindu symbol for "Om" on it. I've bought another, simpler one, a shoulder bag (for Irene) and two bootleg tapes - Beatles White Album and Grace Jones - Island Life.

More wildlife (or tame) - monkeys, even in the village. Lots of dogs - they look very well treated but people aren't above giving them a kick up the bum if they get in the way. The puppies are lovely. There's a cat which seems to live near the big prayer wheel in the centre of town. We saw a huge, hairy caterpillar eating a leaf, but an old Tibetan fellow warned us in sign language (very graphical) not to touch it or our stomachs would swell up and we would fall over. The slugs are horrible here - like mobile jobbies.

I really don't want to go back to Delhi, especially not on a ‘B' class bus leaving at 4am (70 ruples). Never mind - apparently there are more Tibetans in Darjeeling and Nepal, but it'll take a lot to beat this.

The little lad in Shabhala's has the air of a slightly-defeated housewife.

Took the bus from Dharamsala to Delhi. ‘B' Class - Rs70 (including Rs1 booking fee. Nothing much to say about the journey except that our driver was the worst I've ever seen. Even the Indians were worried. When approaching a congested area (maybe a bazaar, with trucks parked, people crossing, oxcarts etc) his technique was to charge up at full throttle and only slow up if a gap hadn't miraculously opened for him. He would slow by standing on the brake, throwing everyone forwards against the seat in front. Twice the kid behind burst into tears because his head had been smashed off the seat frame. The driver specialised in forcing other vehicles off the road - cyclists, scooters, motorbikes, cars, even buses and trucks if he could. By the end of the thirteen hour journey we'd resolved never to take a bus again if we could help it. 4am is a silly time to leave anyway (no buses travel through the night in the Punjab, because of terrorist attacks).

Evening - back to the Hotel Crystal (a better room). Showers, then French onion soup, pizzas and fresh lime soda at Nirula's.

2.40pm. Cathy and I are back indoors again, escaping from the heat. We're in the Volga, sipping lassis. This morning we walked out to the Nepalese Embassy to get our visas - Rs120. Cathy finally sold her bottle of whisky - Rs220. That's £4 profit. We pick up the visas at 5pm, after collecting Cathy's passport photos. The four of us had a bite at the United Coffee House, and then split up. Cathy and I went to the post office - I bought stamps for posting my films home (Rs7 each). Then I finally found an acceptable pair of shorts (for Rs62 - £2.44). We now need to find some sun-tan lotion, which might be difficult, since obviously the Indians don't need it. [We never did find any.]

Our train is the Rajdhani Express (No 152up) from New Delhi to Bombay Central. It's all one class, with seats being numbered and reserved in advance. Cost is Rs325 for the 1388km trip, and this includes meals, a detailed description of which follows.

Within half an hour of the train leaving, a couple of men appeared with little green and silver thermos flasks containing about 1½ cups of hot, sweet tea, and orange plastic cups to drink it from. With the tea there was a small bridie-like pastry filled with chopped egg and vegetables, and also a chocolate toffee chew.

Dinner appeared an hour later. First a thermos of tea again, then a plate of spicy tomato soup. Then a full vegetarian thali appeared - a big helping of rice (the only thing I didn't like) and an enormous, folded chapatti. Around the outside were four different savouries - one was a lump of cheese in a curry sauce, one was curried vegetables, the third was dal and finally there was a vegetarian cutlet sort of thing. There was also a separate dish of yoghurt, and the whole thing was finished off with a tub of Kwality ice-cream.

Breakfast was tea again, then an hour later yet again, with more vegetarian cutlets, buttered bread and bananas. British Rail could learn from these people.

Plain Porridge
Banana Porridge
Fruit Porridge
Pooched Eggs
Rum Jum Omlet
Beef Sandwish
Cheese Macoroni
Spagatie Naprotune
Banana Flitters
Coconut Pencake
Thumps-Up

Lying on the beach at Goa and all the travelling has been worth it. This is very relaxing. Briefly, our travel details were:

Sunday 20th. Arrive at Bombay Central. Electric train to Churchgate Station - no extra charge. Walked to Coluba and booked into the Rex Hotel. Very expensive - Rs115 for a tiny double without a bathroom. Cathy and I walked to the Prince of Wales Museum - Rs2 to get in. Full of art treasures and archaeological remains - not particularly interesting. Exterior much better. We ate in the "Alps" (ropey, but passable) and later on at Shamiana in the Taj Mahal. Chocolate and praline souffle - Rs22 - expensive but good. Lovely surroundings. Met a Greek sailor (an officer) who showed us round the old Taj. Very elegant.

Monday 21st. Morning spent chasing around bus and train stations. Can't book 2nd Class sleeper in advance (but cost is only Rs112 compared with Rs420 for 1st Class). The train leaves Bombay Victoria Terminus at 1615 and arrives in Agra the next day at 1555 (Punjab Mail). We need to book the previous morning. (We'll probably stay at the Sally Ann at Bombay.) Afternoon - 3.30 departure on a ‘B' class bus for the supposedly 16 hour journey to Panjim (Panaji). A pleasant journey initially, through green, fertile countryside, with clean, attractive villages. Two meal stops - at the second Cathy and I tried some new food - puffy deep-fried nothings with a sweet sponge and yoghurt. The rest of the bus journey - ouch! Very little sleep. At least the driver was safe, and didn't use his horn. Cost - Rs74.

Tuesday 22nd. Arrived Panaji 7am - earlier than expected. Ferry to the south side of town (free - the bridge has been washed away). Bus to the bus station - Rs0.50. Bus to Margao - Rs2.75 - past palms, pigs and churches. Taxi from Margao to Benaulim Rs25 for 4.

Wednesday 23rd. Lazy day on the beach. Sunburnt. Swam in the sea - somewhat murky, but warm. Lots of jellyfish, and cuttlefish (dead). No seagulls - crows instead. Not nearly so nice. Around Pedro's the tame animals include dogs pigs, goats and a cat. Around our accommodation (Rs55) the wildlife includes geckos, cockroaches, flies and probably fleas, judging by the new bites I find every morning. On the beach there are tunnelling wasps, and little black and white birds like oystercatchers, but not so pretty.

The fishermen go out to sea in wooden boats with outriggers - very ethnic. They also ethnically spread their catch out to dry upwind of our cottage, in the hot sun. The smell is powerful, and vile.

So, on to today. No sun at the moment - overcast and a strong wind, but still warm. I'm conserving money and energy. High points of the days here - breakfast, lunch and tea. Breakfast - typically porridge, banana pancake and lemon tea (Rs7.50). Lunch - omelette, chips, Limca and coconut cake (Rs15). Tea - Kalimari (squid) in garlic sauce with chips and salad, or stuffed fish, pineapple lassi and coconut fenny (a powerful spirit) - Rs18.50. Total cost of food for one day - £1.90.

PS. 2pm. The sun's out now, and scorching hot.

I think the nights in Goa have more of an atmosphere than the days. Last night we ate at Xavier's, along the beach towards Colva. As we were eating the sky was periodically lit up by bright flashes - sheet lightning - yet there was no storm. We get this every night, although tonight it was less pronounced. One night we saw forked lightning flash between the clouds and the sea, but still there was no storm.

Walking back last night the waves were luminous with phosphorescence as they broke. Typically we'd see bright flashes as rogue waves broke a little distance offshore, then a bright green glow as a nearer wave breaks, with an intense band where the tip of the crest strikes the sea. Closer in the sand is stirred up and the phosphorescence is not obvious.

The stars are impressive too, especially in the Milky Way. Not many of the constellations are familiar, although I saw Orion from Dharamsala.

Tonight we hired bicycles (1 rupee for an hour) and rode through the little lanes, between coconut palms and rice paddies, past little chapels and elaborate villas, to Colva. We cycled back along the beach after sunset. Beautiful.

Tomorrow, unfortunately, we leave here for Panjim. We hope to have the afternoon free for Old Goa, then next day it's the dreaded ‘B' class bus back to Bombay.

Back in Bombay after a bone-crunching bus ride in the back seats of a supposedly deluxe coach (with a flippin' video as well). We are now in the Cafe Shaheen, which I can recommend, especially the Nauratan Korma - very nice and only Rs7.

Accommodation - four of us crammed into a double at the "Seashore Hotel" for Rs150. Cheap for Bombay, and a good view of the harbour. India's aircraft carrier is out there - ex-Illustrious or somesuch. India's the only country which bases Soviet-made helicopters on a British-built ship.

Had a letter from Seymour via Amex (although I'm not really supposed to).

Later - now crammed into our hotel room like sardines, along with a quantity of insects. A small dragonfly landed on my pillow - very pretty, with an apple-green body, a long, yellow tail and a pale, sky-blue yip to the tail. Cathy forcibly evicted a brown stick insect about 2½" long that was crawling up her skirt.

We've just come from a lovely meal in the Sea Lounge of the Taj Mahal - Cathy and I had mushroom vol-au-vents with white wine, while Mary had a Hawaiian veggieburger with pineapple. Elaine was scrimping and saving - soup and tea. Cathy and I went the whole hog with ice-creams (chocolate truffle and mango respectively) and the sweet lassis were the best yet. Cost - Rs101 for mine.

Outside I gave away my small change to a man with one leg (who expressed surprise at the piddling amount I'd given him - I felt like taking it back) and a boy who couldn't stand up (Cathy thought he was a dog at first). When he saw us again he smiled and said hello.

On a boat going out to Elephanta Island. Rs30 for de-luxe, including the services of a guide (whom I hope speaks English). The plan is - leave 9am, arrive 10am, 2 hours on the island, return 1pm. We're passing the ships in the bay. We passed the aircraft carrier - Sea Kings and Alouettes on deck, but no Kamils. Saw the DSV British Providence (Hamilton - Ontario?) which I last saw in Leith. Very modern, impeccably painted German container ship - Ea Progress (Hamburg) next to a very ropey Indian cargo ship - Denovar Ganga (Bombay). There appears to be a wide cultural gap between pride in a job on one hand and a completely couldn't care less attitude on the other.

There's also a jack-up rig (for overhaul? or actively drilling?) and apparently still in-use port fortifications (many AA guns) flying the Indian Navy ensign.

On the way back we saw a second aircraft carrier in dock, plus missile-armed destroyers. Two jack-up rigs. British Providence has sailed.

The walk up to the caves was very hot - shirt soaked with sweat. The guide was very good. She explained all the statues of Shiva and Parvati and at the same time gave us a brief (not that brief) overview of Hinduism. Even more briefly - Hindus believe in no God, but in a "cosmic energy". Hinduism is not a religion, but a philosophy - it emphasises thought and disciplining the mind rather than blind faith or obedience. All the pantheon of gods, goddesses and other objects of worship are only symbols - because very few of the population could read or write it was easier to weave stories around concepts of good and evil, marriage, the different stages of life etc. Also this meant children could be taught quite complex morals - eg the battle between good and evil is not as simple as in Christianity - the demon Andhoka did some good, so was granted wishes, one of which was that he couldn't be killed. This shows that there is good and evil in all of us. Hinduism teaches that each person must learn what is good and bad within themselves, and try to emphasise the former and reduce the latter - "Think good, speak good, do good". Practice makes perfect. There's nothing about "divine forgiveness for sins" - it's DIY.

Hindus don't believe in heaven or hell - just in reincarnation. The ultimate goal is to be freed from this cycle of birth and death, and be as one with the cosmic energy.

There was much more - but I'm only writing down what I remember clearly. I like the way that Hinduism values science and scientific thought. Of course, this was one educated Indian's interpretation of Hinduism.

[Strangely, I didn't actually write down much about the caves themselves, except for a description of one of the carvings:] Shiva killing Andhoka (but can't kill him, as each drop of blood will turn into another demon, so S. collects blood in a cup). Also carries an hour glass to time the moment of death.

We had our first major cock-up of the trip in Bombay when we tried to board the train we had booked to Agra, only to find that the clerk had booked us on the previous day's train. A hectic, sweat-soaked hour followed, while our tourist quota man tried to get us on that train (no go) then on another one at 10.40pm.

All this is being written on that train (57down - the Dadar-Amritsar Express). We've had a comfortable nights's sleep, and we're now travelling through the unbearable heat of the day, and it's only 10am.

Rakesh Kumar (Ricky)
27/846 Dr. Ambedkar Nagar
Sector III
New Delhi - 110062

­ This was one of the schoolboys who had the two bunks next to ours. He is 17, and goes to college on Delhi to study commerce and business management. He taught me a few words of Hindi:

Rakesh seemed older than 17, and to have much more certainty and self-confidence than most people in Britain of that age.

Even more self-confident was a younger (?) schoolboy with an unhealthy interest in Nazi Germany, and a strong belief that India needed conscription to build character and reform potentially antisocial elements.

We had about 3½ hours unbroken sleep and an hour and a half of napping with one eye on the clock and the other on the map, to make sure we didn't miss Agra. At the station a steam locomotive rumbled and hissed its way down the platform and stopped, so I went for a closer look. It was a black behemoth, something like 2-8-4 but I'm not sure, with high and low-pressure cylinders and an 8-wheel tender. The driver saw me admiring it and asked me up to the footplate for a demonstration of shovelling coal, blowing the whistle, and tapping the steam gauge. With his black eye-patch he looked like a pirate.

The auto-rickshaw to the hotel was Rs5. Naturally at 3.30am the door was locked but the manager let us in (to the auto-rickshaw man's disgust, because he wanted to take us to ‘his' hotel, the Akhbar Inn).

So here we are in the "Shah Jahan Hotel", sitting on the roof terrace with a good view of the Taj. It's 8am, and we're waiting for breakfast. Our first sight of the Taj was a floodlit arch over the rooftops at 3.30am. As the sky lightened the Taj Mahal proper gradually materialised until at 5.30am it could be seen clearly. We were first in the gate at 6am and from then until 7.30 it was snap! snap! snap!

Need I say that the Taj Mahal is beautiful?

Taj Mahal before dawn

Saturday 3rd October

The names and addresses above are those of four employees of Maruti who contributed to making Agra possibly the easiest of all our destinations (and just as well for me because the food on the train has given me a fairly devastating attack of "Delhi Belly").

We met them when we returned to the Taj at sunset, and they offered to take us to a Hindu festival. After some private deliberation we agreed, and they were greatly pleased. Unfortunately we spent so long in their hotel room (they were on leave from Delhi), drinking beer and gossiping, that we missed the main part of the festival - the burning of an effigy of some god (Raman?) by another (Ram?) symbolising the victory of Truth over Falseness. But when they heard that we were going to see the deserted city of Fatehpur Sikri the next day, they offered to take us in their van, and this they did.

So on Saturday we were their guests. The only things we managed to pay for were some soft drinks and our entrance fee for the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary. They took us to the Deserted City (actually just to the mosque) where we saw a 70 year-old man jump from the wall into a deep well of green slime (he's been doing this for 45 years, and was on TV last month, so he's a bit of a celebrity). The boys had us trying betel nut and drinking Kingfisher beer on the way to the Bird Sanctuary. There we found that it was hard to get very close to the birds (especially with all the joking, laughing and shouting going on) but we saw green parrots, cranes, a sort of heron (brownish), a green and brown "gasping bird", and deer. On the way back we called on Dempy's cousin for more soft drinks, and Indian sweets.

Yesterday, Sunday, we slept late, then headed off for the Red Fort. We took a pony and trap to the fort. I climbed up beside the driver, and was momentarily alarmed to find a wooden leg standing on the floor. The driver had only one leg. (Cost was Rs2 each.) The fort is around 400 years old, and has some good views. Shah Jahan was locked up here by his son Aurangezeb for the last 17 years of his life. This at first seems unjust, but when you remember that he had himself had all the hands of the workmen involved in building the Taj chopped off (so they wouldn't be inclined to build another), it seems that he deserved at least a life sentence.

On the way back we saw the Taj again at sunset, and I bought a small marble tile for Seymour and Doreen (Rs115). On return to our hotel Elaine had a pleasant surprise when the manager handed her her blouse, which had been nicked off the line by an errant monkey, stripped of its buttons and left in the mosque next door.

We had tea (for me - 2 pots of hot lemon, and yoghurt with a banana and a lemon) and then collected our train tickets to Varanasi from the manager. He charged us Rs10 each commission for making our reservations, which was money well spent (Tickets were Rs73 each).

We travelled in to Agra Cantt Station by cycle-rickshaw - Rs4 each, 2 in each rickshaw. Very quiet, a lovely way to see things, and the chap taking Mary and Elaine was a bit of a joker, so he kept us amused all the way.

At the station the girls collected their rucksacks while I found our carriage number (on a typed sheet on the noticeboard). A little boy climbed into one of the bunks next to ours, on his way back to school in Lucknow, and his father confirmed what I'd suspected from the loud hissings, smoke etc - that we were being pulled by a steam engine. So I went to sleep happily, and dreamt of steam trains, with the expectation of being able to photograph the engine today.

Unfortunately, during the night it's been transmogrified into a dull diesel. Oh, well.

One other Agra character I forgot to mention. On our way back from the fort we were accosted by a small boy (maybe 8 years old) selling books of postcards. The girls fell for him - he had a very open smile. But no-one wanted to buy his postcards, even when he dropped his price to Rs5. But Cathy wanted a photograph, and she thought Rs1 might be an appropriate token of our esteem. However he refused to take it, saying, "I am selling." When I tried to push the coin into his hand he still refused, and added, "I am no baksheesh." So Cathy finally bought his postcards. What a salesman.

Five weeks have flown past, and we're now in Darjeeling, our last port of call in India. Our train trip to Varanasi was uneventful, and Varanasi itself I can dispose of in a few words, mainly derogatory.

We arrived to worse than usual hassle from cycle rickshaw men - one even implied nastily that I expected everything in India to be cheap. We eventually found two auto-rickshaw drivers who said they would take us to Tandon Lodge. Well, they didn't. They took us to a poxy hotel where they would get commission. When we objected, the manager claimed it was the Tandon Lodge, but had just changed its name. We told them what we thought, and that they weren't being paid. We finally walked to the Tandon Lodge, getting there at 5pm, and it was as the girl in Goa had said, quiet with a view over the river. Our double was Rs50; the girls' was Rs30. We had mashed potato and fried egg for tea, and homemade tomato soup, and this is just about all I can find to praise in Varanasi.

Our boat trip up the river at 6am the next day (the 6th) was relaxing, but disappointing because the day was completely overcast, so the light was flat and unsuitable for photographs. We passed all the ghats, and saw people bathing, drinking the water (ech!) and collecting it in little brass pots to take it home. On the way back there was a body at the burning ghats. The cost of the boat was Rs15 each. The boatman, having already doubled his price, asked for baksheesh - we told him to get stuffed.

After breakfast I crashed out, having a relapse of the bug, while the girls set off to Moghulserai, 18km away, to book our tickets to New Jagalpaiguri. They returned hours later in a bad frame of mind, having been told there was no tourist quota, they couldn't reserve seats, and if we wanted to turn up at 6am the next morning we might get seats.

So at 4.30am the next day we crawled out of bed. I had a quick shower, only momentarily interrupted by a rat which zipped out of a hole in the wall, up a pipe and out another hole into the room next door. This was probably the same rat that had been trying to gnaw its way through the brick covering the mousehole next to my bed all night.

We got to the station in the nick of time. It was a steam train to Moghulserai (Rs1) and the trip was quite scenic - with the engine and black smoke silhouetted against the blue dawn. We did get seats, but the train was late and we eventually got into New Jagalpaiguri at 4am yesterday. The journey was made unforgettable for me by a nighttime crossing of the Ganges. The bridge was above a barrier consisting of many gates, and I was blearily looking down from my bunk at the water swirling around, and the flotsam and jetsam, when suddenly I saw a big, pale figure in a froglike pose, and realised with horror that it was a human figure floating face down, turning slowly in the eddy.

At New J.P. we had the bad news that the Toy Train no longer ran to Darjeeling, only to Siliguri Junction, a few minutes away. I believe the problem is a landslip. We took it to Siliguri, which gave us a tantalising glimpse of how lovely the whole trip would have been, and were then fleeced by paying Rs30 each for the bus, the long way round (6 hours) whereas it should have been Rs13 and 3½ hours by following the route of the railway. It also rained on our packs.

The scenery was spectacular though, especially once we were out of the jungle and into the more open tea plantations. The perspectives were dizzying, both up and down. We stopped at 11am for coffee at a place on the India-Nepalese border (no photographs allowed). We eventually got into Darjeeling at 1pm. The last stretch from Ghoom was along the railway route - it's curious the way the line winds backwards and forwards across the road. What a shame it's not running.

Darjeeling Station looks something like this:

The actual terminus runs along a row of tiny shops (presumably just to allow the locomotive to get back to the front of the train). It's all a masterpiece of miniaturisation.

We slogged up to the Youth Hostel where the warden was kind enough to let us use the sitting room since the dorms were full. Rs6 per night so can't complain. And HOT WATER for showers and shaving. Lovely. Afterwards we wandered down to the Himalaya restaurant and had chow mein or fried rice, coffee and toast. After a cosy night tucked up in a Y.H. sleeping bag that might have seen active service on Everest I woke up to Cathy declaring that the view was tremendous and we'd regret it if we didn't wake up. She was right - Kanchenjunga loomed above us, snow-covered and very impressive - far closer and larger than I'd have thought. I'm glad we saw it when we did before the sun drove huge clouds of vapour out of the valleys, which obscured everything.

We walked down the hill and had breakfast in the "Washington" - the best porridge in India, two poached eggs on toast (with chips, gratis), coffee and tea. Then we meandered slowly along to the zoo and Mountaineering Institute (where Cathy and I emulated Seymour and Doreen 22 years ago, posing under the name and the two climbers). The exhibitions were fascinating - photographs of the big names in mountaineering's history, the equipment used, the mountains, a relief map of the Himalayas, stories of the attempts on Everest. A tough breed of men (and women). The Institute seems to be similar to Outward Bound type courses, but running all the way to full Himalayan mountaineering with oxygen, porters, ropes, yaks, you name it.

At the zoo we saw tigers, leopards, a panther, leopard cats, bears and a deer, but unfortunately most had been locked up for the night in tiny cages, and were pacing back and forth looking trapped, and completely unnatural. But nothing can stop a tiger from looking big, powerful and fearsome.

So, here we are, back in the Youth Hostel common room, a big, empty room totally devoid of any atmosphere. Or at least it was, till the lads from Calcutta came in. The atmosphere is now thick with the smell of cheap Indian slop, which gets right up my nose and makes me want to gag. It smells just like the lunch on the Bombay-Agra train. It will be a long time till I have Indian food again.

I've left until last the description of our dinner, so that hopefully I'll go to bed remembering it. Tomato soup, chips, eggs, fluffy pancakes and jam, Chinese tea and surprise, surprise, two glasses of perfect Ovaltine.

6.40am. Up at 5.15 this morning to see the sunrise on Kanchenjunga. Beautiful. It will probably become cloudy again later in the day.

I'm reading "The Statesman" dated 8th October. What a lot we haven't been aware of: India and Pakistan fighting on Sept 23-25 in the Siachen glacier; Pakistan offensives in the area; more people killed in the Punjab; people dying by floods and by terrorist action in the south; China supporting insurgents in the north-east; demonstrations in Llasa. No peace and quiet here. Also something about entry of foreigners to Indian territory, and exit, being via Raxaul in Bihar, Sonauli in U.P. and Raniganj in West Bengal (to/from Nepal?).

On the bus to Siliguri, following the route of the Toy Train. Rs120 Darjeeling-Kathmandu, covering this bus, jeep from Siliguri to the border, then night bus to Kathmandu, E.T.A. 8.30am tomorrow. The Y.H. was only Rs18 for 3 nights, and I got a Darjeeling stamp in my book (first outside Scotland).

Yesterday was a full day - up at 5.15am (as already mentioned) to see dawn on Kanchenjunga, then down to the "Himalaya" for breakfast - porridge, Tibetan bread and honey, coffee and hot lemon. The Tibetan bread was a huge, fluffy lump of batter, like a doughnut, the size of a dinner plate, and an inch thick, smothered in honey - lakes and rivers of honey, with honeyfalls pouring off its flanks. After eating it I could hardly move.

We walked to the Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Centre, then to the chairlift which (you've guessed it) wasn't working. Then on to the Happy Valley Tea Plantation where we saw women picking the leaves, and all the stages of drying, fermenting, grading and packing. The views over the hills were tremendous - hills, then clouds, more hills and so on into the distance.

4pm. At Indian "port of disembarkation" Raniganj. Got here by jeep - Willys, but modified somewhat with a plastic jerrycan at the driver's feet for the fuel tank (much to our alarm, the driver smoked), and a welded steel tube roof. 15 people - 4 in front, 4 in the back seat (us) and 4 behind, plus 2 kids, and the 15th up on the roof together with 6 packs, suitcase, trunk and bags. It's quite peaceful here - out in the country, the sun still warm, birds singing, insects buzzing and a low natter of voices at the checkpoint. The Indian fellow doesn't seem at all worried about currency exchange forms or any of that bumph, so carefully collected and stored.

5pm. We're in a bus at Kakarvita in Nepal, but not the bus. Much confusion over tickets. Anyway, the seats are comfortable, and there's no video, so I think we'll be OK. We leave at 5.30. First happy sight across the border was a Coca-Cola sign, and I had a lovely bottle of Fanta Orange, for Rs2.50 Indian.

I spoke too soon yesterday. We were evicted from the comfortable seats and packed along with ten others in the driver's compartment. It was hell in there. I survived by shutting my eyes and pretending I was in a hard hull inflatable in a Force 6. The road was the worst I've seen anywhere, quite unbelievably bad - merely a tight formation of potholes, mainly dusty but with the odd stretch of mire. After daybreak we at least had the distraction of watching the scenery. It was beautiful - terraced like Kashmir but with steeper gradients. Among all this grandeur there were delightful human touches - a laughing boy playing a hose over his naked little brother, a swing, a table-tennis table, a girl skipping, a solitary road worker carefully filling potholes with turfs. I tried taking photographs but I don't hold out much hope for the results.

Anyway, we're here in Kathmandu, at last. To be precise, we're in Kumari's Restaurant in Freak Street. Cathy and I have just dined on vegetable moussaka and mashed potato with cheese sauce accompanied by hot lemon and a pot of hot chocolate. Yum.

(Our hotel is the Century Lodge - Rs35 double + 10% tax. Currency conversion is US$1 = Rs21.90 which is fairly advantageous.)

First day's wandering around Kathmandu. It's just as the guides say - a lively blend of the mediæval with the modern. You walk down a street that could be mediæval York, with intricately carved wooden balconies leaning out towards one another, and then hear Cyndi Lauper from one of the shops.

We dealt with Royal Nepal Airlines first, and brought our flights forward to 1st November. Then we wandered slowly up from Durbar Square to the Thamel area; in particular, Narayan's Restaurant, which had an incredible menu (especially to our India-conditioned eyes). I had spinach canelloni, banana cream pie and banana lassi. All I could eat for Rs45 - £1.25.

Next stop was to commit ourselves to US$104 for two days white water rafting, then a day and a half's safari in Chitwan National Park, including three hours' elephant ride to see rhinos, and a canoe trip through crocodile-infested waters. Then it's off to Pokhara for a few days' trekking. I think this might be the centrepiece of our trip, in more than just time.

But back to Kathmandu. We wandered slowly back to New Road, past temples and markets, crowds of schoolchildren, and many shops selling jerseys, packs, T-shirts and books or tapes. Bought material to make a blouse for Cathy, then found Pie Alley which begins in the 20th Century and ends in the 15th. From the end, at the river, there is a tremendous view of mountains all around.

Back here at Kumari's I had toasted cheese and gateau basque, and I can definitely say that today I have overeaten.

Later...and also overspent. I've been working out by budget (now a ritual for at least three of us). Summary: US$180 changed so far in Nepal. $40 left (after cost of rafting and Chitwan, $70 to be changed, This means I have to live on $7.80/day - that's Rs170: say accommodation 20, food 80, transport etc 70. Not much.

Hired bicycles from the hotel (Rs10/day and cycled to Patan - 10 to 15 minutes, past a Chinese trolley bus, across the river and up a hill. I came upon Durbar square, which at first sight appeared a jumble of temples and buildings, with no form, but after half an hour's wandering separated itself into amazing woodcarvings, golden statues and doors, and human activity. For once I've got a detailed photo log - essential. 33 pictures at Patan today, then some on the way back, of the countryside. All the lads were coming home from school, people were still working and shopping, and aircraft flew low overhead. (Concorde took off this morning, and all the children in Kathmandu are playing with dart-shaped paper aeroplanes.)

This evening we wandered down Pie Alley, and I bought Alasdair's Christmas present - a "Tiger Moving Game" played on a brass board with 4 tigers and 20 goats. It's all brass, and I think it's right up Alasdair's street (price: Rs200 - £5.58). We also saw a good collection of small paper maché masks for Rs45 (£1.25).

We're now in the Lunch Box, back in Freak Street. John Martyn's on the stereo, and our salivary glands are working overtime in anticipation. The place is full of travellers, as predicted, but none we've met before.

Walked up to Swayanbhunath Temple, outside Kathmandu.

On the bus to Kathmandu we were befriended by a young Tibetan who was on his way from Darjeeling (his home town) to Kathmandu to do a Puja for his father, who died a year ago. He told me about the Tibetans in exile, how they would never go back to Tibet, about the culture gap that existed between him and his father (who was a monk, of a sect allowed to marry). He doesn't see Tibet ever being independent, and thinks that many exiled Tibetans are feeling guilty about their trade in relics from Tibet. On the plus side, he thinks the Tibetan culture will never die.

Back safely from our rafting and safari. We're now in Pokhara. I'm having lunch in the "Hungry Eye" restaurant. So, time to write up rafting and Chitwan.

We woke up at 6am on the 16th and had just time to pack before being met by our taxi at 6.30am. The bus left at around 7.30 and the trip took bloody ages, over possibly the most devastated main road in Nepal. We arrived at the raft departure point at 1pm, 1½ hours late, and were somewhat discouraged to find 17 people and one raft. It was nearly 4pm by the time a second raft arrived and we set off.

Once underway, all teething troubles were forgotten as we hit white water almost immediately and were soaked to the skin. We had a fairly exciting trip till our tea stop at around 5.30pm. Tents were all set up and the food was good, eaten under the stars (and satellites) by the light of simple lamps made from candles stuck into boxes filled with sand, and screened by polythene bags and sticks.

Next morning we had porridge and eggs for breakfast and set off at 10am (after a delay caused by a bus overturning beside the bridge at Mugling. One person killed, we were told.)

Again we hit rapids immediately, and one of the English girls, Sally, was thrown out, which all added to the fun. During the day the rapids became less exciting as we neared the Terai, but lunchtime was enlivened by a film crew rolling up, complete with villain in yellow wellies, black shirt and bald nut. We watched their first couple of takes then pushed off. We waved at the crew from the middle of the river and were only a little surprised when they all waved back.

We pulled in at the bank finally at 4pm after a bit of jumping off a rock. It really was excellent fun, probably the closest yet to the kind of atmosphere that prevails on diving trips.

Our translation between rafting and safari was none too smooth. Our rafting guide flagged down a southbound bus, which turned out to be the Death Bus from the morning's crash, empty apart from mud and broken glass. He didn't, however, give them any instructions on where to drop us off. The bus crew thought we wanted the Chitwan Hotel, and in the end they got directions from the manager there (after he'd failed to persuade me to spend the night there. They never miss a chance.)

So we got to Tandi, where our ox cart awaited. This must be one of the most uncomfortable modes of travel ever invented, especially with nine people on board, plus packs. However I suppose it's worse for the oxen. The trip was 1½ hours, including a river crossing, and we arrived after dark, to find that our room (basically a mud hut) was surprisingly pleasant, with clean bedding and a mosquito net. The meal was a traditional Nepali Dal Bhat Tarkari - rice, dhal, vegetable curry and potatoes in butter, with a semolina-type thing called "aloa" for sweet. The drums from next door lent an African atmosphere to the scene, which sat well with the pictures of rhino and elephants around the walls.

We met a few of our fellow-adventurers, and heard their stories of being chased by rhino, or, conversely, not seeing any. We also had the news that we were going to get up at 4.30 the next morning for our elephant trek, to try to ensure that we did see something.

So after a quick cup of tea we staggered outside in the almost-black of 5.15am to see three enormous shapes standing patiently next to the platform - our elephants (which I'd heard the previous night trumpeting loudly, along with monkeys chattering, dogs howling and other typical country noises). Each elephant carried four tourists and one "mahout" - elephant boy. We climbed a ladder to the boarding platform, and stepped on to the elephant's back. It was one of those parts of the trip where you think, "Good grief, is this really happening?"

Once the elephants set off, we realised it was surprisingly comfortable. It's a very slow gait, not at all the bump, bump, bump that you get from a horse, and you have a fantastic view. The only discomfort was from the wooden edge of the platform under the thigh.

It wasn't long before we did see rhino - two of them in a muddy puddle about 10 feet away. Unfortunately I had the telephoto lens on, and they didn't hang around for me to change to the wide angle, which I could have used in that light. We didn't see anything else, but we must have stumbled on something, because our elephant and the one in front suddenly started rumbling and shaking, like a tiger growling, and then let out an ear-splitting trumpeting sound in protest at the mahout trying to urge them on. I don't know what frightened them but it left us feeling nervous.

On our way back through the villages the elephants repeated the performance whenever they saw a dog, so perhaps this is a clue.

Compared to the elephant trek, everything else that day was a bit of an anticlimax. We did see one crocodile from the (overloaded and unsteady) dugout canoe, but it didn't pose for photos. Neither did the enormous black and white stork-type bird which I've christened the "waiter-bird" because of its plumage.

The rest of the time we walked through the jungle. This was slightly worrying because of the leeches (one wriggled through Cathy's sock to attach itself to her ankle) but was fascinating in the diversity of plant growth, insects (some enormous, red beetles), smells and sounds. Of large animals there was no sign, except for some monkeys up a tree (rhesus monkeys, which we saw more of at Swayambhu temple in Kathmandu, and "long-tailed monkeys". These have a black face, a white mane, grey bodies and a long, prehensile tail. We saw more of them from the raft) and two spotted deer glimpsed through some intervening undergrowth.

For tea we had a weird mixture of vegetarian cutlet, fried rice, potato and pumpkin, and then we retired to bed, expecting to wake up early the next morning (the 19th) for our bird-watching and village visit.

All through the night it poured with rain, and there was no let-up the next day. There was a unanimous thumbs-down to the morning's planned activities, and we contented ourselves with a lie-in before breakfast.

After breakfast we had another lovely 1½ hour ox cart ride back to the road, during which we were soaked, and then a long bus journey to Pokhara, arriving in the dark. I didn't notice much, having by now a stinking cold, but there was a lovely glimpse of blue sky over the hills just before the night shut down completely.

Cathy and I stayed briefly at the "Hotel Super" but left this morning on grounds of noise and indifferent food. We're now in the "Anzuk Hotel" - in a "common room" - 3 beds with toilet and shower around the corner (Rs50 - Rs25 each/night). Breakfast this morning was Rs28 for porridge and milk, French toast and a pot of hot chocolate.

By the time we'd finished breakfast the sky had cleared sufficiently for us to see one of Annapurna's four peaks - very close and very clear. Unfortunately since then the Himalayas have remained shrouded in cloud.

The lower hills around the lake are attractively green, and in fact with the lake in front look so like the hills around Loch Ard or Loch Lubnaig that for a moment I was completely disorientated and imagined myself back in Scotland. This was heightened by the conversation of two men behind me, about Killin and Ben Lawyers.

So, it's 3.50pm and probably time I was heading back, since I have now the only key to the padlock on our room. Lunch has been very satisfactory, although, as the blue book says, more expensive and not as good as Kathmandu - lasagne with aubergines - Rs30, 2 hot lemons at Rs4 each, and a cheesecake, which was very nice, for Rs16 (I think).

Sitting in "Don't Cross Me By" which appears to me to have the best selection of good quality cakes and pies in Pokhara. We've ordered apple crumble and custard, and I'm having a piece of brownie wrapped up for trekking tomorrow. We've just come from the "Sunny Garden" where I had an astonishing dish consisting of mashed potatoes, onion, spinach, cheese and mushroom. Wow. We were entertained by traditional Nepali dancing put on by adults and children, for which we forked out a rupee each. This is the first day of one of the most important festivals, and candles are burning everywhere. The effect is magical.

Briefly, our activities over the last couple of days have been: yesterday - eating, writing diary, boating (Rs10/hour). Today - cycling (Rs10/day) up to the Gandaki (government) hospital, saw the Seti river in its canyons and flats, watched an HS 748 landing and taking off (looks exciting) and saw the Devi Falls - Rs3 to see them, and quite unimpressive.

Moments later... We've been dreaming about apple crumble and custard since Delhi, and it was worth waiting for - YUM!

7pm and we're being entertained by the children of Naudanda who are singing and dancing by the light of hundreds of candles all round the village. They're also collecting sponds.

Our walk up here (I can't call it a trek and keep a straight face) was remarkably easy. Most of the way was on the level, with just one steep climb at the end from Suikhet. In the morning we had the best view yet of the mountains - Annapurna and Machapuchare. We passed through a couple of villages on the way, saw plenty of Sherpas, some with small groups of trekkers, and others who appeared to be simply supplying the shops and hotels in the villages. Our lunch break was ¾ of the way up the steep part, overlooking the river valley and a pool where a buffalo was bathing. The chocolate brownie was delicious.

(Time for the anti-malaria pills again...) Our hotel in Naudanda is the Hotel Mountain Lodge. It has doubles at Rs10 and Rs15, with clean, earth floors and a menu as long as your arm. Last night we dined on onion soup, Swiss rosti and banana fritters, and it was all tasty, particularly he fritters, which were light, fluffy and hot. SO much for our (my?) fears of having nothing to eat but lentils and rice. Obviously you have to get much further from Pokhara before this becomes the case.

We woke this morning to mist and a steady drizzle, but already (it's 8.20am) the rain's stopped, the mist's clearing, and I don't think we'll be delayed.

It was a stiff walk down from Naudanda. We set off late - 9.45am - and it was 4pm before we made it to "Don't Cross Me By" for more of that lovely apple crumble and custard. I added to my quota of pleasure by having chicken and mushroom crepes, quite possibly the best I've had since Jersey in January ‘84.

Cathy and I are having a very lazy day on a boat on the lake at Pokhara (Rs40/day). I've written letters and postcards and Cathy's finally finished Clive James' "Unreliable Memoirs". I'm now watching dragonflies mating. They do it in mid-air, like this:

which I think is pretty remarkable.

2pm. Now back at "Don't Cross Me By" for lunch. We've taken our paddles with us, to ensure that our boat is still there on our return. I've just changed £10 of my emergency cash, since otherwise I'll be stealing from the budgeted amounts for Thailand and the rest (The rate was Rs36.3 to the £).

Five days:

• Day 1 (Oct 20th) - crows, the messengers of death, are honoured.
• Day 2 - in honour of dogs, the guardians of the dead. The dogs have garlands of flowers.
• Day 3 - in honour of cows. This was the day we set of on our trek, and we saw many cows with circles of paint, garlands and other decorations. This day is also called Deepavali, the Festival of Lights, and all households must be lit by lamps or candles to the Goddess of wealth.
• Day 4 - no mention in the book (but lots of dancing and singing last night).
• Day 5 - Bhai Tika (24th, ie today) - for brothers and sisters.

Lunch is chicken and mushroom crepe and garlic steak, split between Cathy and I. Delicious! Steak very tender and tasty.

Beautiful sunrise on the Himalayas this morning, over Annapurna and Machapuchare. We saw ranges to the east that we'd never seen before for clouds.

Breakfast in the Hotel Garden indicated that it was a good hotel. We were very rushed, but the toast and jam and all our drinks came very quickly and were very good. Afterwards I bought a big lump of cheese (200g for Rs20) to go along with the croissants.

By a combination of this good advance planning, good luck and the generosity of the guy in the seat next to mine, this turned out to be the most enjoyable bus journey so far. My neighbour gave me "Thunderball" when he'd read it, and I completed the entire book on the trip. I also had two satisfying meals of croissants and cheese, then apple strudel, and rounded it off at the top of the last hill before Kathmandu.

The only glitch came at this point, when the police saw a busload of white tourists and guessed that their chances of a big drugs bust were good. So they turfed us all off the bus and one of them led a sniffer dog on board. This hound knew its job. It made a beeline for the back of the bus where we'd been eating, and poked around hopefully for crumbs. Then it sat on Mary's seat and smiled at us through the open window. Meanwhile the other half of the duo was up on the roof. Rolling back the tarpaulin for maximum effect he trampled all over our baggage while presumably using X-ray vision to search for the stash. However none was found and, hopes of promotion dashed, they left us to finish our trip.

We're presently eating in the "Paradise" Vegetarian Restaurant (attached to the Annapurna Lodge). It's a real find. My plain old sweet & sour vegetables was a feast, with a huge mound of tasty brown rice (first I've had in Asia); Cathy's mushrooms and spinach in garlic and buttered parsley potatoes was very tasty and Elaine's cheese balls and mash were large and very cheesy. I had hot chocolate, which tasted (delightfully) of evaporated milk. My taste for this must be a hangover from childhood. Cathy hates it, so if I buy tins of it they'll be safe.

Yesterday was spent wandering around Kathmandu, changing money, finding a new place to stay (Annapurna Lodge - Rs70/double - very clean, light, spacious and pleasant) and, of course, eating. High point was a visit to the American Express office where there were two letters waiting for me (and one each for Mary and Elaine). Cathy proved her resourcefulness by palming both letters and passing them to Mary to take outside, while keeping up a distracting patter ("Oh, there's nothing here. We could come back tomorrow...")

One letter was from Mum and Dad (written 11th October) and the other from Grandma and Grandpa. Lots of news, some good, some not so good. Donald's arrived in Kansas (but I still haven't got his address); my tax rebate was £388; Dad's retiring from ICI in a year (good or bad?); Mum's lost her driving licence for another 2 years [for health reasons]; Keith Logie's had a road accident (but is expected to recover); Grandpa has lumbago; the Mod's on in Stirling, and so on.

We're now back in Kumari's, sort of the Last Supper before Elaine goes. My guts are playing up again, so it's mash and don't stray too far from the loo. Cathy's drawing a farewell picture for Elaine.

First day as a threesome. Morning spent wandering around Durbar Square. Narayan's for lunch a let down because no electricity and the waiter's stroppy. Still, they have banana cream pie again. Last night we tried Mom's Health Food and for Rs19 I had the smallest cheese and tomato sandwich I've ever seen. Just as well I wasn't hungry. (Tasted nice, though.)

In Bhaktapur. Travelled here by Chinese trolleybus (Rs125) after about an hour spent at the post office sending off the last of my films, letters and postcards. We're in the Nyatapola Restaurant, where Cathy and Mary tried the much lauded Bhaktapur curd and found it not to their taste (and not as good as the stuff at the Annapurna Lodge). We do, however, have a good view of the Nyatapola Temple.

6.45pm. Too early to go to sleep, Cathy and Mary both hors de combat and I'm bored. We had a buying spree today - bought a singing bowl and a tiger moving game for Rs440, a yak rug for Rs100 and collected Cathy's T-shirt. Had nothing to eat after breakfast but a brownie and a coke at Narayan's at lunchtime, and two croissants, some yak cheese and an apple strudel for tea. Nothing much to do now but read Clive James. So far this trip I've read:

plus National Geographic, Time, various guidebooks and newspapers. Oh well, here goes with C.J.

Slept badly last night, and grumbling stomach heralded another day of squits. Mary and Cathy still not 100%, and I've spent almost the whole day in or near bed, venturing outside only briefly to buy water and a book ("The Shepherd" by Frederick Forsyth. I've finished it. It's a very touching story. I've also finished Clive James.)

So our last couple of days in Kathmandu have not gone according to plan. I'd wanted to get out into the valley, see other temples, hills and villages, and most of all I was looking forward to a big steak for tea tonight. Tomorrow we fly out to Bangkok, and I think you could say we've ended Nepal with not a bang but with a whimper.

I feel the trip's really been in two parts - a long, leisurely look at India and Nepal, followed by a mad dash through South-East Asia. Let's hope our travel arrangements run smoothly, and the budget holds out. But most of all let's hope we're well from now on.

P.S. A visit from the police this evening to check our visas. Policeman: "Give me your passports." Cathy: "Please." (They smiled.)

9.20am. We're sitting in the restaurant at Kathmandu's airport, trying hard to spend the last of our money. It's not easy. Having overcome the little detail of Mary's ticket not being valid (no Dabin Travel stamp), we've got ourselves seats 9a, 10a and 11a, ie one behind the other on the left side of the aircraft. Touch wood, this should mean a view of the mountains as we leave Nepal.

12.10pm. Our choice of seats paid off. We had a beautiful view of the Himalayas while our pilot told us their names. Kanchenjunga was on its own, out to the right, then the first mountain in the main range was Makalu, then Everest, along with Nuptse and Lhotse, looking like three pyramids. Since the plane was brand-new and the perspex unscratched, the photographs I took should come out OK.

3.29pm Bangkok time (2.14 Kathmandu). On approach to Bangkok. It's been a good flight. Our plane is a Boeing 757, a very elegant aircraft, and smooth and quiet in the air. We've been flying at 37,000ft, and through the window we've had an ever-changing view of the tropics - from Nepal's red-brick villages and the snowy peaks of the Himalayas to the green hills around Darjeeling. Then Burma's patchwork of little, square fields, huge river deltas, the sea, blue with clay-red areas where sediment pours off the land, then the hills of Thailand. We've seen several rainbows, one circular on the cloud below, and one beautiful, bright rainbow where white sheets of rain were pouring down from a fluffy, white cumulus cloud onto the green, sunlit land below.

We've also had a lot of cloud and mist, and we're headed through a greyish cloudscape now, with only distant streaks of blue showing (sky or land? It's too far away to tell).

We've been warned that Bangkok will be hot and humid. Delhi all over again? We'll find out soon enough.

9pm. Yes, as far as humidity's concerned, it's like Delhi. In every other respect, however, Bangkok is different. It's clean, full of variety and there are no beggars. I like it already. We're staying in the "Hello" guest house (of which I suspect there are several). It's 50b each, which is £1.14 (or about US$2). All around are near-identical restaurants/bars, each showing 3 videos a night. You don't choose where to eat, it's which film do you want to see.

But the food is such as we have not yet seen - barbecues on the pavement with fresh fish, mussels, cockles, satay. We're gradually recovering, and I think we may be hitting the food in a big way in Thailand - even the local food sounds so much more appetising than dal and rice.

P.S. We had the invaluable help of a Thai lad called Phy Lo (I'm guessing the spelling - pron. Pylo). He told us which bus to get to Banglamphu (No 59), how much it would cost (2b), how far it was (6km), how long it would take (2 hours - pardon?) and where to get off (the Golden Horse). It wasn't his fault that we paid 20b for a taxi to take is twice round the block before finding that our guest house was a few doors along the street from where we caught it.

Bangkok Chinatown - coffins, chickens, Mercedes and lottery tickets. Smelly - meat cooking, or dried fish. First food shock was chicken embryos. Yuk. Had first mangosteens. Delicious. It's 3.20pm now. Booking our ticket to Koh Samui was a breeze - helped by very friendly Thais. 399b for a 2nd Class lower berth with connecting bus and ferry to Koh Samui. That's on Wednesday. Bangkok station - colonial architecture, lots of columns and an arched roof without supporting pillars.

[...and that's where my diary ends, thanks to the thief who broke into our flat and stole all my camera gear, along with the other volume of my travel diary, in January 1991. Scum.]