In one piece, but melting fast

Apologies for a potentially awful blog and one full of typing mistakes. It is 33 degrees here (C), I have had about three or four hours sleep on the flight over, and have only eaten one peanut bar to sustain me. I am flagging fast, but will do my best.

India no longer surprises me, so maybe it is time for me to retire from holidaying here. After all the excitement looking forward to the trip, suddenly one hour before leaving for the airport I changed my mind; I didn't want to go. I often feel like that before travelling anywhere but this time it was stronger. I felt as though I was being ripped away from my comfort zone and the most of anything that I wanted to do was lie on the sofa and watch reruns of CSI on Freeview. There had been plans for my sister to come too but as we started arguing before we could even get out of the house, it was decided to veto that idea. Thankfully I hadn't booked her flight.

The mayhem of India is normal to me now. Mumbai in particular is an immoral extreme of absolute wealth and abject poverty, with slums built not far from new, high rise buildings and shanty towns holding up precariously by the edge of water and railways. All of this is normality here; a group of women and their children bathing in what is little more than a large mud puddle is nothing unusual, just as is a man bedding down for a morning kip by the side of the road using nothing but a garland of flowers for a pillow. Because life very much goes on here. Children turned out in neat, blue school uniforms play tag by tarpaulin slum homes, a girl in a pink dress dances by the window of a grubby apartment block, cars - once a rare sight - now weave around each other with motorbikes and bullock carts now a rarer sight.

I have grabbed a bunk at the Salvation Army hostel in Colaba, where it costs Rs165 (about two pounds fifty) for a grimy bunk. The travel sheet and inflatable pillow are out and I am looking forward to getting close to them.

But I need to get to Raichur, my next stop, so walked through the heat, humidity and car fumes to VT station. Apologies, it does have an Indian name, but I can only remember Victoria Terminus right now, and the locals knew what I meant when asking for directions. There, after being assisted by several people who wanted to 'help' I found the tourist desk where the clerk sang 'hurry hurry hurry' at me before booking my ticket for tomorrow evening. The assumption here is that any foreigner is heading straight for Goa and so my destination of Raichur has been greeted with a great deal of suprise with an expression that says, 'What do you want to go there for?'

I then argued with a few taxi drivers for a fare back to Colaba. I was told at the hostel it should be Rs25-30 but the lowest I could get was Rs50. But my driver was very honest about why he was ripping me off - 'taxi will come back empty' he told me. I was too tired and hot to fight, and he knew it. As it happened, as soon as he dropped me off he got another fare, so so much for that excuse! However he was entertaining and chatty so I guess I got Rs20 worth of conversation.

As always there are the beggars and hawkers, although the former don't seem to be out in force as much as before. The new thing is to beg for an 'English coin'. Flippin' heck, I know our currency isn't worth much these days....

Anyway I am now going to go to Leopolds, an over-priced cafe near to here that probably keeps its business going because it is in the Lonely Planet. But it has air conditioning, which is every reason to go (the train station booking office had AC too, so I loitered there for a bit, I can tell you.)

Anyway, more later but for now I need to refuel and then sleep.