Another interesting bus ride

Bliss. Sheer bliss. It feels like coming home to be in Jackie's flat in Delhi. There is aircon, and toilets, and everything!

I am stopping over in Delhi before heading north. I had planned to stay in Udaipur for a while, but frankly didn't fall in love with the town as anticipated. Maybe my expectations were too high. Don't get me wrong, it is magnificent: the enormous golden palace sits on the edge of Lake Pichola, overlooking the ghats and beautiful buildings on the water's edge, while a rolling backdrop of green lush hills stretches to the horizon. In the middle of the lake itself are a number of rather spectacular palaces, in particular the Lake Palace hotel, a marble white construction which no photo can do real justice.

From the City Palace, shop-lined streets trickle downwards, past temples and havelis. Each lane is cramped with life: hawkers, women wrapped in wondrous colours, while automated rickshaws, battered cars, motorbikes and pedestrians flow into every opening and empty space, jostling to get ahead, to move. It is exciting and vibrant. But I don't know. I loved the calm complacency of Pushkar, the thrilling fort overlooking the Thar desert in Jaisalmer, the friendliness of Jodpur. But I didn't really love Udaipur. So I decided to move and northwards.

Last night's journey wasn't quite as planned. I'd booked a single sleeper on a bus (I've described these before, these are overhead sleeping compartments running the length of the bus where the luggage rack would usually be). On arrival to catch the coach, I discovered that the bus wasn't running but there was another one I could jump on. And I could have a sleeper too. But it meant sharing with this Italian. It was a difficult choice, but I was tired, my bag was heavy and Alessandro looked harmless enough. As it turned out he was a sweet boy: a 33 year old who worked in a bank and stilled lived at home with his mama in Florence. Over dinner he wistfully sighed, reminiscing with misty eyes about her pizza and lasagne... But his English was fairly limited and my Italian is pants. Whoever said Italian is like Spanish is talking rubbish. Each time I spoke in Spanish with an Italian accent, he didn't have a clue what I was going on about.

We stopped for dinner at a roadside cafe. I was slightly concerned that the bus would go without us and throughout the meal kept wandering over to the door to make sure it was still there. At one point, I noted the seats were filling up and clearly it was getting ready to go. But Alessandro mocked my fears, stating categorically (in broken English) that it wouldn't go without us. Then suddenly there was a loud "toot toot". I called the waiter over, threw some rupees at him and ran out the door. My worst fears were realised: there was no bus. I scoured the road and noticed that several people were running after a bus which was slowly pulling away. I ran too, shouting "Delhi?!". There was nod and hands came out to pull me on. But where the hell was Alessandro? I shouted at them to stop because there was someone else coming, it slowed and I stood, one foot in the open, crowded door, and one on the ground. Waiting. And waiting, as people on the bus shouted abuse telling me to get in. Clearly the Mediterranean attitude wasn't going to be compromised, and Alessandro wasn't going to hurry. I couldn't go and find him, as I was pretty certain the bus would go (with my belongings and ruck sack but without me) if I went back to the restaurant.

But, as ever with these tales, it turned out alright in the end. Alessandro finally turned up, nonchalantly limbering over towards us, without a care in the world. I scolded him. He ignored me. And we went to bed. Only one sharp elbow was required during the night to make sure he kept his side of the sleeper. So all is well that ends well.

I ought to go and post some things home. But I am truly pooped today. So being lazy. Tut tut.