India

There's an idyllic section of New Delhi called the Diplomatic Enclave where traffic flows smoothly along broad garden-lined avenues. Drivers don't need to keep blowing their horns all the time to avoid hitting cows, dogs, goats, pigs, donkeys, water-buffaloes, tuktuks, rickshaws or overloaded buses with passengers clinging to the sides or the roof. If the diplomats want to see the real India they should visit Karol Bagh or central Agra or Jaipur. But then it would be difficult for them to accurately describe the squalor and remain diplomatic.

As a variation from my usual independent travelling style, I'm taking a guided tour here, absorbing interesting facts such as "A woman passenger on a motorcyle doesn't need to wear a helmet, but a man does" and "A tour driver has to put his uniform shirt on before entering Jaipur or the traffic police will fine him."

The Taj Mahal is genuinely elegant, as expected. But I was equally impressed by Agra Fort, the abandoned city of Fatehpur Sikr and the gigantic astronomical instruments at the eighteenth-century Jantar Mantar observatory in Jaipur.

I've been very lucky with the weather. Recent heavy monsoon rains came to a halt the day before I arrived. The last few days have been dry, occasionally overcast and not too hot.

India has been quite a culture shock. But I'm learning not to be judgemental. On my first day in Delhi I frowned at the signt of a man urinating against a wall in a crowded street. But just an hour ago when I saw several men doing the same thing here in Jaipur, I realised some walls are actually open urinals.