This morning we moved into the dormitory after a breakfast of omelette, toast and porridge in the Delhicacy. From there our task was to trudge 6 km. out of town to the Youth Hostel (which we had used as a Post Restante address for our friends and family) to collect any mail that may have arrived.
After a long hot walk along wide clean British-made roads with well-tended lawns and gardens, and for a change few people, we reached the huge Youth Hostel. Here we picked up several letters from home. A bit of a mystery with Georges, none from his girlfriend Kim and one without an envelope. We sat down with a cola in the canteen hall to read them. We were well cheered up by the news from home. All was well and, indeed, many changes had occurred.
We roared with laughter at the letter from Martin McCormack which seem too literate for his simple brain but gave us a concrete rendezvous to work on at last. Martin was planning to fly to India to join us in our travels. We walked back, pausing to check out the swimming pool which seemed expensive at 20 Indian Rupees for 2 hours (18:00 to 20:00 hrs.). Back at the hotel we wrote aerogrammes home on the roof of Ringo’s in the sun and away from our “fellow travellers” (check out the type at https://www.wanderlust.co.uk/content/orlando-charmon-hilarious-guide-to-gap-yah/).
Extract of overheard conversation last night: Girl (in a moronic drawl) “Ya know, I’d kinda like to live a good life and be fit and give up smoking and eat all the right foods”. Man (in fatherly advice tone) “Yeah but that kind of life is very hard and boring”.
Back at the Dehlicacy Restaurant we had mid-afternoon lemon tea and finished our letter writing. A statue of Mahatma Gandhi leading the Indian people to freedom was impressive enough to warrant a photograph but looking at the British-built New Delhi in comparison with more modern Indian areas you wonder what they have done with that freedom. Let all the old buildings go to wrack and ruin and jerry-build new ones.
It’s about time they gave up harping on about how free they all are and put their arses in to gear in an attempt to pull the country out of the Middle Ages. Walking back into the heavily populated area the stink of piss and shit assailed our nostrils afresh. We must have been getting used to it.
We posted our aerogrammes and after getting mildly lost returned, yet again to the Delhicacy Restaurant (which appears to be thriving still: https://www.facebook.com/Delhicacy-324239071097991/) for evening coffee.
Here I was in better letter writing form and used my last aerogramme to write a long overdue brief to Kerry (a friend of mine from my Judo class in Isleworth). George has just blatted a gigantic ant that crawled out of our sugar bowl and the one-legged newspaper vendor outside is still beckoning us to buy the evening news. He’s got 2 hopes (no hope and Bob Hope!) as we have only got 10 Indian Rupees between us until the banks open tomorrow.
Back at the dormitory we made elementary plans for trekking in Nepal aided by a loud conversation from the far end of the room on the same subject. A fat American and a couple were being advised by a Bob Dylan look-alike. We read and slept as a new singer sang country songs and the Yankie bint caterwauled alongside him.
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