On the back of a great night’s sleep, I had ready a detailed plan of attack for my last full day in Delhi, largely built around the flight (which I had managed to change so that I could watch…) and the King’s Coronation. My planning had one flaw in it – and that was that I was originally due to fly home at the same time of the Coronation which I did not want to miss. Once again, lady luck smiled on me and I had managed to change the flight to the Sunday 02:00 departure which would also get me home in time for our street’s Coronation party!

A reasonably early breakfast was followed by an Uber ride back to the National Railways Museum which had been closed at the start of my trip due to Ramadan. Catching the museum at opening time, it was fairly empty and peaceful and made for a nice place to wander through and look at some interesting railway memorabilia, especially items from the UK and history of Indian Railways. I think it is accurate to say Indian Railways is close to me heart and I was rather pleased that I had made it to the museum and also that I managed to buy 3 cute little tea mugs from the museum shop suitable inscribed.

A quick stop at a fruit stall to buy 2 boxes of 12 alphonso mangoes to take home (at the airport I was asked a few times by fellow passengers if I was allowed to bring them in to the UK and confirmed that, according to the FCO website, this was possible) and then I returned to the hotel to check-out and spend about 4 hours in the bar watching the Coronation streaming on my laptop. It wasn’t the best place to enjoy the spectacle but I’m glad I didn’t miss it.

Once that was over, I decided one last push was in order and headed back in to Delhi to Kwality restaurant on Connaught Place, somewhere we had eaten twice as a family when we came in August. It was a slightly sub-par experience mostly because it is hard to eat as a solo diner especially when there are so many delicious dishes on the menu but also because by this point, I was truly spent.

Getting in to the airport was slightly challenging (the name on my ticket – Brian Crockford – didn’t match the name on my passport – Brian John Crockford – so the Army Officer needed some convincing it was the same person. Check-in was smooth but security quite chaotic and tedious. My premium economy seat with Virgin didn’t match the luxury and comfort of the Business Class product from Finnair. I was full from my large dinner but the food appeared unappetising (breakfast wasn’t much better) and service was at best dis-interested although perhaps that was due to the red-eye nature of the flight and the intent was to let people sleep. Unfortunately, the 2 people in front of me didn’t seem to be of the same mind.

And what about those mangoes? No questions in Delhi or from VS staff but the onboard pre-arrival announcement said that I would need to declare any fresh fruit and veg. I did so and the Customs Officers thanked me and waved me through. My family were very appreciative and the 24 lasted just 7 days.

Needless to say, the journey back around the M25 was starkly different to the chaos I had left. Boringly so! India. Simply spectacular. Simply chaotic. Simply everything.

My last train journey proved to be the least enjoyable. My berth was directly underneath a rather powerful aircon vent and I literally spent a freezing night of very disturbed sleep on what otherwise was a smooth, uneventful quiet trip back to Delhi. We arrived around 20 minutes early and I was anxious to get warm before heading on to the airport express out to Aerocity and my hotel for 1 night.

Back in the hotel where my adventures started, I realised that energy levels had hit a low. At no point during the 2 weeks had I felt any toil from my long journeys, heat or intensity of the cities I had visited but now I acknowledged I was tired so took some time to doze by the pool, refresh with a swim before heading out to Hauz Khas – a small village dating back to medieval times which has now been swallowed up by the Delhi metropolis. It is known for being a chilled place to hang out with some interesting ruins. Local metro links were challenging so I went for the easy option with Uber. It certainly didn’t feel like Delhi and was an enjoyable slice of relative calm until at least I headed back in to Chandni Chowk, wandering down the main thoroughfare, once again unable to resist some of the streetside offerings, meandering through some of the chaotic side streets and back to the Jama Masjid area. Being Friday, it was literally heaving and after having some delicious kababs at Karims, I headed back to the metro although things were so packed, that it actually felt a little frightening and that a crush could easily happen. The earlier feeling of exhaustion and a need to escape the full-on-in-your face experience returned and I was glad to get back to the peace and quiet of my room and slept extremely well.

I guess the day had a “on my way home” feel to it. The last train journey would be taking place in the afternoon and as easy as it would’ve been to say “ah, I’ve covered good ground in the last couple of days, stay by the pool”, I pushed myself to get out once more and was glad I did. I paid a brief visit to the Indian Museum, stunning building, not an huge amount of interest in there other than some impressive stone carvings from a number of temples. Stepping in to some of the display areas was like stepping back in time and it was if parts of the museum have not been touched for 100 or so years.

I ventured deeper in to the New Market specifically to get a bottle of Kasundi and found a dark little provisions store where they assured me the bottle they gave to me was the best quality. Wandering in to the meat section is not for the casual traveller. Crows were prominent, swooping down to feast on bits of meat and other discarded bits. Dogs roamed around thinking they must be in heaven. Four goats sat chained by a stall unaware of their possible impending fate. At least you know it’s fresh but it was certainly enough for a vegetarian to be assured they have made a right lifestyle choice.

Lunch was spent at a recommended street food style restaurant and I sampled the local kati roll that seems to have become popular in pop-up food stands in the UK. Most acceptable and washed down with some 2nd flush Darjeeling tea that came in a really neat tea-bag that hooks on to the side of the cup. I bought a box of 10 (each makes 2 cups) for Rs250 and wondered whether it would be a money-spinner to import them into the UK.

My train wasn’t until 16:55 so working backwards, I planned to leave the hotel at 15:00 allowing an hour to get to Howrah, which should be plenty. That gave me an hour for a traditional Indian head massage at the hotel. Wow – it was quite something. I kept hearing myself snort as I began to fall asleep and at times felt tingling down one side of my body. It was positively heavenly.

Unfortunately, the benefits dissipated quickly as I had opted for one more mode of Kolkata transport – the classic Ashok Leyland local bus. Traffic was clogged up badly. It was hot and the bus barely moved at any pace for the entire 4.5km – taking just over an hour. Good job I’d left enough time. I was a little annoyed as it didn’t really give me enough time to soak in the atmosphere of, surprise surprise, a frenetic Howrah station and soon we were snaking out of the station on the 12301 Rajdhani Express back to Delhi, with the 1,449km scheduled to take just over 17 hours.

The green tropical lush landscape of West Bengal soon slipped in to darkness and I just caught a glimpse of a deep red setting sun. My cabin companions were neither friendly nor unfriendly. They were just there. although one kept blasting out all sorts of songs and video clips from his phone and another gentleman with two phones went from one call on one phone to another call on the other and so on until he got off at the 2nd or 3rd stop a few hours later. I was quite relieved.

By that time, we were some way out of Kolkata – it had been a magnificent experience and a city that I really took to (apart from the hassle around New Market). I would like to think that the next time I am back here will not be alone – and on the way to Darjeeling and Assam.

With a full day planned on the streets of Kolkata I went for the easy start – a nice relaxed breakfast with the Times Of India to read. And then in to thick of it kicking off with a visit to South Park Street cemetery. I couldn’t pass up the chance to ride on India’s only tram (streetcar/trolleybus) which was great fun once I’d figured out where it stopped. The tram wasn’t busy and trundled through the clogged streets. The conductor kindly showed me where to get off but this had already been pointed out to me by Google maps. Kind of takes the fun out of things relying on a device but I guess it makes it more time efficient.

The cemetery opened in the mid-1700’s and was my first true taste of the colonial history of this city. It was one of the world’s first non-religious cemeteries and a fascinating place that in parts, had fallen in to a bit of disrepair, and in others was picture perfect with these enormous grandiose tombs. Unfortunately, other parts of the cemetery were littered with rubbish but overall it was a fascinating, surprising place.

Death was perhaps the theme of the day as I then headed over to the nearby Christian cemetery which said casual visitors were not welcome but I was welcome apparently. The grounds were quiet and peaceful until a mosque, which abutted in to the cemetery, started blasting out a call to prayer. It was quite a startling juxtaposition.

Mindful of the diverse modes of transport in the city, I opted to get an Ambassador taxi, deciding not to negotiate overly aggressively as I figured the driver could do with spending a bit on the maintenance of the ageing vehicle. Notwithstanding the premium paid, it was great fun and my driver was a top guy, full of smiles and proudly announcing our arrival at my destination – Howrah Bridge. So proud he announced it loudly twice.

I was in search of a sign. Not a religious sign. A sign about the bridge that I vividly remember from my visit 25 years ago about the engineering beauty and the need to look after it. I think it was sadly covered up by some hoarding so I will have to dig out the picture when I get home. Stepping out of the taxi I was completely absorbed by the frantic activity coming at me from all directions and at all senses. It was sensory overload and I was pretty much rooted to the spot trying to absorb and process it all. How can it be like this every day and it represents normality when any outside observers see it as the extreme opposite. How come it all works? How come all of these packages being carried on tops of peoples heads and dumped next to lorries 3 deep at the side of the street, find their way to the right places? How come no one appears to get mown down, I saw no minor bumps or collisions, no packages being dropped from the top of someone’s head, no one getting poked bumped or bruised by two men carrying long steel poles. It goes on. That’s why you end up standing there trying to take it all in. It can’t be worked out. It is all part of the ridiculously complex equation that is India. And Kolkata is the cube-root of that.

I navigated crossing the road. Just. That was a little more challenging than the usual city crossings and was greeted by a riot of people and colour and movement and rubbish and noise. Set as a backdrop to what was basically a (colourful) rubbish dump by the side of a railway line was a flower market in glorious technicolour. It captured India perfectly and I got some great shots just before the heavens opened and flowers were quickly covered up, extinguishing the riot of colour beneath me.

It chucked it down for some time and not having found the sign decided to eat at a street side stand, with some freshly made chapatis and some channa (chickpeas) and matter paneer (Indian cheese and peas). A few cups of wonderful Chai made right in front of me with the chai-wallah smashing the spices and stirring up the tea in a huge pot over a charcoal fire and it was absolutely delicious with all of the above costing a little more than Rs100.

By this time the downpour had started to ease off and I headed to take another look at the stunning Victorian GPO which presented some wonderful images of people (men) taking a nap on the white marble floors underneath towering columns capped off with intricate gold painted detail (there’s probably an architectural term for this but afternoon tea has just been served on the Rajdhani Express which I’m now on back to Delhi). Across the road was the former HQ of the East India Company now occupied by a Government department. An official seemed to be upset with me taking a picture of the facade so I walked across the street and “snapped” away without any hassle.

A few blocks round the corner took me to St John Church and the site of Job Charnock’s tomb. Charnock was a controversial administrator of the East India Company and credited with founding Calcutta as a city. The site also contained a memorial to the Black Hole of Calcutta victims and a number of interesting grave/tomb stones. It was well worth the Rs5 entry fee. The church itself was modelled on St Martin in The Field in London and, like St Pauls Cathedral is well worth a visit.

The history of the East India Company interests me and I would like to learn more.

I got my bearings slightly wrong and ended up wandering in the wrong direction and after covering a decent amount of ground by foot, called it quits and got another cab back to serenity and a very refreshing dip in the pool. A beer was in order before heading out to dinner although the bar at Oberoi Grand is not a patch on the Polo Bar at the Oberoi in Bengaluru. I say a beer but I opted for an Indian gin which I had in Bengaluru although at RS1,000 it felt very painful, especially as my dinner cost a little over half.

Slightly against my conscience, I took a human-pulled rickshaw on the basis that by doing so, it gave the man an income and undoubtedly more than he could’ve expected for such a short pull. He gainfully jogged some of the distance and seemed at ease pulling me. Mind you, I am not the heaviest person and wasn’t carrying any additional load, so it was probably a fairly easy 10 minutes for him with a good return.

I had opted for a local Bengali restaurant and again wasn’t disappointed especially with the fish fry and kasundi – a fermented mustard seed sauce which is delicious (a bottle of which is now triple wrapped in plastic bags in my backpack – and I’m sure this will become a household favourite when I get back!).

I walked back through New Market, again getting a fair amount of hassle from shopkeepers and touts, and retreated to the peaceful calm and cool of my room. Once my plan for my final half day in Kolkata had been prepared, I got my head down for another sound night’s sleep.

With the train journey cleansed out of my system, a refreshing swim in the perfect pool temperature and a light-ish lunch of mutton-curried tacos washed down by a ridiculously expensive Kingfisher, I felt energised and ready to tackle a city that I knew was going to be full on judging by the earlier Uber ride from the station. I wasn’t wrong.

The overwhelming first impression of the city – which was the known as the first Capital of the British Empire – was of a crazed energy that surpassed Mumbai and an intensity to horn honking that made the other cities seem relatively peaceful. Louder, harder, longer seems to be the motto. And all forms of transport coming at you from every single direction. Human pulled rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, bike pulled cargo trollies, human pulled cargo trollies, cars, rickety minibuses, rickety buses, both with people hanging out the doors and jumping on and off as they slowed down at stops and the clapped out yellow and black Ambassador taxis. All basically honking like it’s going out of fashion. And then people. Especially people with massive boxes, packs of things, packs of vegetables, people carrying iron bars. Everywhere. And then touts. Lots of them. Lots of hassle. I walked around the New Market – just round the corner from the Oberoi – and it was to a level I hadn’t experienced for a long time. I quit while the going was good and headed for the maidan and towards the Victoria Memorial. Walking across the park, I was invited to play cricket. There were no stumps, just a brick. Not that it made any difference as I went out for a duck! Never was much of a cricketer.

The Victoria Memorial was stunning and I arrived in enough time before closing to wander around as the only white face in the whole place. In fact in these 2 days, I have not seen a single white face outside of the hotel. It has felt like they are sheltering in the safety, comfort and oasis of calm that is the Oberoi not wanting to confront the very soul of this city and its chaos. I’m sure that’s not the case as there is so much here to see.

The Victoria Memorial has now had all of its various colonial artefacts removed by PM Modi and there is an exhibition on India’s First War of Independence.

Next up was St Pauls Anglican Cathedral, the first of its kind outside of the UK, closely followed by St Johns Cathedral in Hong Kong – where my wife and I got married. There was some similarity. Outside the Cathedral, I stopped for some roadside chai – all of which in this city has been fabulous – before looking for some eating options and happened to notice a micro-brewery listed. Well that sounded worth a visit although it was a little bit of a hike after a tiring 48+hrs but it came with the benefit of building up a thirst.

It was a little hard to find the Scrapyard Brewing company despite a prominent neon sign as it was tucked away behind a petrol station and on the top floor and roof of possibly an office building guarded by one very casual guard and quite a few of his buddies who were sat around doing not much really. The pointed me towards the lift and said 7. The bar was pretty empty but I could tell it was the sort of place where cool young Kolkatans would hang out later in the evening, with expensive small plates and pretty expensive beer. Most of the beers were appealing – never been a fan of flavoured beer and as much as I love mango (think I’ve eaten about 4 in 2 days), mango beer aint going to cut it. That left me with wheat beer which I’m not a fan of but will drink when there is nothing else. Which was the case. But I had a legitimate thirst on me and it went down well, so I ordered a second before heading off to a Bengali restaurant that seemed to have good reviews which was again a bit of a hike through the honking mad streets.

I was the only person in the restaurant when I sat down which worried me but the waiter, or supervisor as he basically stood hovering over me most of the time but engaging in some nice conversation, assured me it got busy later as Bengalis liked to eat later. He seemed to be right as more people came in as I got closer to the end of my meal. Which was totally delicious other than the fact that the mutton British colonial style (seemed fitting) had more bone than meat but the sauce was great and followed a classic local dish of a fried fish cutlet with Kasundi which is fermented mustard seeds, spices and sometimes dried mangoes and is a popular dipping sauce. It is really good.

Heading back to the hotel the intensity levels of chaos had seemed to step up a gear in the neighbourhood I was in. Totally brilliant mind staggeringly mad entertainment. Walk through the market, get hassled more and almost dragged in to shops. Manage to escape back to the serenity of the Oberoi and sleep well in a bed that is not made of blue plastic and rattles along from side to side.

1,660km to be precise. Chennai to Kolkata. Madras to Calcutta. And what turned out to be 28 hours. Was it hell? Was it a slog? Was I glad to get off the train at the end of that?

Similar to my last early morning train, I didn’t sleep well but there was some stress over whether I would be able to get a seat/berth. My status in an app told me I had been moved to RAC – or Reservation Against Cancellation – but this only meant I could board the train but would have to be assigned a berth by a Travelling Ticket Examiner (the “TTE”). I decided that I valued the extra 12hrs in Kolkata more than arriving at 11pm on the original booked train and losing the price of my original ticket as it was too late to cancel. I’ve read that Indian Railways only recovers 57% of their costs so they can consider this a donation.

I got to Chennai Central in plenty of time and the train was waiting at the platform – apparently having just arrived from Kolkata. Not really sure how much cleaning was going on other than taking all the bed linens off the train and loading up freight.

We pulled out of Chennai bang on time, just after an almighty downpour that rattled the corrugated roofing above the platform – and gave the carriages a bit of a wash. They certainly felt like they’ve done this long haul journey a fair few times. My seat had indeed also been assigned to someone else who sat a little further down with the rest of their family. About an hour in to the journey, after a conversation in limited English between a Bengali, a Tamil and myself, we established that the berth would be mine for the overnight part of the trip. In fact most of the time I had the seat to myself although when it was in the bed position – I was joined by a couple of other people. Again, everyone was friendly and we had some nice but limited conversations – including a video call with my Mum where everyone waved and shouted hello to her that really made her day. I’m not sure she enjoyed the video tour that included the WC!! I’ve been asked by a few people about the experience on a train journey this long and the greatest fear is the toilet.

I’ll be honest – they’re not great. But better than I remember. There was at least soap at the end of all of the journeys I’ve completed but the toilets are mostly squat style which presents challenges on a moving train. They are wet and it feels unhygienic. And yes, they do smell quite bad. But overall, they are not bad. Just be prepared with what you need and be sure to keep those hands super-clean.

Meal service was a bit erratic on this journey. There was a constant parade of chai, coffee and pani (water) and the occasional snacks but meal time was late and also there didn’t seem to be a breakfast served. I opted for veg at lunch and dinner and wish I’d varied it – as both meals were exactly the same. Anyway, it was tasty and at Rs60, hard to complain about.

Again I slept well but again, woke around 4:30. But again I managed to fall back to sleep waking briefly at 6ish then 07:30. The scenery was back to being tropical lush green and a lot of farmland and busy villages – in contrast to most of the journey out of Chennai which was largely quite uninspiring.

By 09:30 it was clear there was no breakfast so at a station, I grabbed the box shown at the top of this post from a platform vendor. Didn’t know what it was until I opened it back on the train. Fortunately, the plastic bag of curry sauce and something tasted much better than it looked and went well with the puri which are known as luchi in Bengal.

Approaching Kolkata there was an increase in the number of commuter trains with many folks clinging on by the open doors, which I did likewise from our 20 carriage long express as it zigzagged across junctions and wound its way to the featureless drab station of Shalimar, an industrial area 20-30 minutes outside of Kolkata. Not a grand ending to such a long journey – it was almost anti-climatic.

So did I want to get off? Well, sure, but not in a desperate sense. The 28 hours had really flown by. They were almost effortless – apart from the visits to the toilet.

The volume of people moving around the railway system is staggering. I’d love to know who is travelling on these routes and why – especially the ones who get off at intermediate stations at places that don’t look particularly large. I did speak to one gentleman in the next, first class, carriage (not much of a difference other than the fact they have doors to the compartments, great if you are travelling as 2 or 4, but perhaps a bit more challenging for a solo traveller, so 2nd, 2 tier A/C, is perfect.

Outside the station was the usual chaos but the hassle was not too bad once my explanation of a car being booked was understood. I had forgotten about the yellow and black Ambassador taxis of Kolkata. Fabulous. My Uber driver arrived after about 15 minutes and it took sometime to reach the magnificent Howrah Bridge and the Oberoi Grand – the grand old dame. The streets were clogged with people, traders, traffic, human pulled rickshaws (I was surprised to see them), bicycle rickshaws (ditto), auto-ricks, clapped out buses, the odd goat, plenty of dogs, more throngs of people, market stalls spilling on to the streets, trams (India’s only tram system…which I surely must ride). Complete bedlam. How fabulous – I knew I was going to really enjoy the next couple of days and my decision to leave Chennai early was the right one.

Walking through the doors of the Oberoi was simply wonderful, Cleansing the dirt, grime and tiredness almost instantly, and certainly after the cold fragrant towel and refreshing welcome mocktail. A stunning pool in a central, palm surrounded, courtyard and lunch beckoned.

Nearly 3hrs in to my ride to Kolkata and bombing along at a decent rate of knots. Time really does seem to fly!

Train schedules had determined I would spend a full day in Chennai and I had two options open – go and revisit a wonderful place I spent a lot of time in 25 years ago, or explore Chennai. I opted for the former. Something is not pulling me towards Chennai and may be I am doing the city a great dis-service?

I had been rudely awakened at around 05:00 by some awful screaming. It was quite alarming. I let it go on a little while thinking it would stop but it didn’t. I cautiously opened the door and was shocked to see 2 Indian women going hell for leather for each other. One smacked the other quite hard around the head and then I am sure she pulled off what I thought was a blonde wig. I wasn’t going to get involved but phoned reception and asked for security. I think they came but the shouting seemed to go on for some time. As I nodded back off to sleep I was further disturbed by some men returning shouting.

Apparently there had been some party and they were all drunk. The police were called and took the women away.

I had arranged for a car to take me to the temple coastal town of Mamallapuram, the used to be called Mahabalipuram, which has some lovely 7th and 8th century temples and carvings. I perhaps most remember the town for spending a few days hooked up to a drip suffering from amoebic dysentery but also for some time that I spent there when my sister joined me and we met a yogi on a hill top whilst watching sunrise.

I wasn’t keen on taking a car for a whole day but determined it was the only feasible option as the temples lay 1.5hrs south. It proved to be a good idea. I had told the hotel and driver that I didn’t want to go to any shops (usual trick that is pulled). Our first stop was at a living museum showcasing the way of life in various southern India states. I thought I’d probably only be there an hour tops but ended up staying 2.5hrs as it was so good. Already the advantages of a driver for the day were clear. As I left, the car park was chocker, and crowds of people were pouring in. Arriving at opening time could’ve made a difference to my experience to that of arriving at this point.

Mamallapuram looked a lot busier and built up than I remembered. I’d been dropped off at a seafood restaurant recommended by my driver and other than the fact that a rather assertive waiter tried to get me to order a massive Rs2,500 crab or king prawns that weren’t that large at Rs500, I pushed back enough for a more reasonably sized and priced black snapper that was grilled with spices and very delicious.

I think this was the street where I had stayed, as well as when I stayed with my sister but I couldn’t see the hospital where I spent some time. (Great, its 11am, and someone is already snoring loudly on this train – a feature of the sleepers). I took a quick walk on the beach but it was pretty hot so headed to the temples. They were surrounded by a string of the usual tourist tat stalls but again I didnt remember that from my first visit. The temples were as lovely as I remembered but by this point the heat was getting to me. From there, we headed to the main hillside group of temples and carvings and a massive boulder called Krishnas Ball that is precariously perched on a slope and provided perfect respite from the sun for a large huddle of people. I had to pay the usual vastly inflated tourist price of Rs650 to visit all the monuments and I seem to recall this was not the case on my first visit.

Despite the memory not quite matching the reality of things now, Mamallappuram remains a special place and I was really glad to go back.

The journey back was pretty smooth and I waved farewell to my driver, who having followed instructions, had not taken me to a shop and I was happy to give him the customary tip. He was a nice man who clearly worked hard and took pride in his appearance and wanted to learn better English. I also got to speak to his daughter on the phone! If you ever need a driver in Chennai, let me know as I have his number and he’d be most keen!

On arriving back at the hotel I needed a snooze and a swim. Duly refreshed, I showered and had another British Empire in the bar before going for dinner. I decided to eat in the hotel seeing that I would be eating poorly over the next day and a half and also on account of local options being limited. I wanted better than an OK Biryani. The restaurant is supposedly well known and been there for over 30 years and was certainly lovely inside, especially as there were 3 musicians playing traditional instruments. This always reminds me of a fabulous Indian restaurant in Hong Kong my wife and I used to eat at and where she went in to labour with our 3rd child!

I decided to opt for the Thali on the basis that it I was in Tamil Nadu and it was my last day. The amount of food was ridiculous however. I probably ate double what I needed to and only finished half it. At Rs2,200 I was also annoyed that so much went to waste and really spoilt what could’ve been been excellent. I mentioned this on checking out but was simply told Indians like to eat a lot.

The disappointment was further compounded by missing Liverpool FC score 3 goals in the first 15 minutes and then promptly conceding 3 once I was watching in my room, before scoring the winner in the 4th minute of added time. I am thankful however for the merits of a VPN and went to sleep late but reasonably happy!

I’m writing this on my 27hr trip from Chennai to Kolkata. But more on that later.

Saturday in Bangalore was uneventful and I enjoyed a relaxing morning at the Oberoi. A leisurely breakfast sat outside in what I would say was almost a cool temperature – 24C. I had scrambled eggs mixed with a spicy paste from Goa which was delicious (can’t remember the name annoyingly). in Goa, there was also a fabulous mackerel recheardo (found a recipie on BBC Good Food – fab!) and a tamarind paste which I’d like to find when I return to the UK.

Took a swim and spent a little time in the sun before a dash round the shops to try and find a few things. Unfortunately, the main shopping centre was closed so I struggled but at least I had the opportunity to visit another of my favourite institutions – the Indian Coffee House, run by the South India Coffee Co-operative for a veg cutlet and a cup of sweet coffee.

Packing up my things I was sad to check-out from the Oberoi and wonder when I will have chance to go back. I took the metro a few stops to Krantivira Sangolli Rayanna (“KSR”) Railway Station which was as easy as you like. As I reached there it started to hammer it down but it made for some great pictures of the long platform green corrugated iron roofing and lines of carriage rooftops and rails.

The Vande Bharat train was to take me 4.5hrs to Chennai. As India’s newest and fastest train there is a lot of pride in the fact it was also made in India. The train looks sleek and modern until you notice the windows which many had huge clunks of sealant wedged around them and a number of windows were also broken. Many people jostled for position to take a picture of it as it snaked in to the platform. The inside of the train itself is a long way from the majority of other trains and I found Executive Class similar to a short haul Business Class experience on a plane. Afternoon high tea was served but I found it odd that you had to pay Rs10 for an additional cup of tea. I struck up a nice conversation with a gentleman I was sat next to.

Arrival in to Chennai was 20 minutes early, even though we’d left a good 5 minutes late. I put that down to slack in the timetable rather than the speed the train achieved – although I did see at one point we were moving at 120kmph. It was a nice ride but boring. The train has no character. It feels pretty much like any other train outside of India. I almost regretted the experience and the fact it was such a short hop and not a great use of a travel day. Still, my morning in Bangalore had been lovely.

Outside of Chennai Central was chaos and a real struggle to find the Uber. The driver kept calling me but it was really hard to understand what he was actually saying. Like many experiences here however, it all worked out fine and I was soon crawling through awful traffic to my hotel on the south side of the city.

Chennai, previously known as Madras, did not hit it off with me the first time I visited although that was brief. This time, I did not get to experience any of the sights but again, I did not feel the right vibes for the place in my time there. The value of the stopover did come the following day but arriving at the hotel and checking out the eating options nearby the hotel was disappointing. I found a place serving biryani but it was only average and returned to the hotel for another comparatively expensive glass of beer – called British Empire!