A fleeting twenty-four hour visit to the capital, as we headed south again. And a bit of a shock: despite the almost universal horror stories about Delhi from fellow travellers, perhaps even rivalling those of that infamous toilet bowl Medan, we didn't think it was too bad! In fact, the main backpacker hub, Paharganj, could even be considered quite nice! Our hotel room wasn't, it was dingy and overpriced, as I gather one generally has to expect in Delhi (we weren't bothered for just a single night), but outside of our quarters was a thriving network of streets, centred on one main one, the Main Bazaar, filled with cafes, street stalls, hairdressers, fruit and veg stands, mobile phone, bike repair and hardware shops, and all the other elements you'd expect to find making up a small urban community. Plus, of course, there were plenty of souvenir shops for us Westerners. However, like Petaling Street in Kuala Lumpur or Singapore's Little India, it seemed like a genuine Indian community that enjoyed the revenue stream from tourists passing through, rather than one, as we've unfortunately seen before, completely and desperately reliant upon it. And it was nicely busy. Plenty of people, but by no means chaotic or difficult to navigate.

A quick word on German bakeries, though. There were several more German bakeries, as well (a standard fixture on virtually every street in Rishikesh and Dharamsala). But what is it about German bakeries? I say German because they themselves use the word, not because they actually are. I guarantee you now the kitchens are full of Sanjits and Anils, not Heinrichs or Sebastians, so it's purely a marketing ploy. But who came up with the notion that the Germans are particularly good at baking? I know they're partial to consuming the odd cake for breakfast, but I wasn't aware they were world renowned for making them! Isn't it the French who are good at that stuff? And we found the Poles to be the memorable cake-making talent of our adventures over the last year. In any case, whoever decided the Germans were the gurus, word has since got around, and India certainly believes it. And I'm not actually complaining, because we have eaten lots of nice cakes.

I digress, though. Delhi. And with limited time, we made our best effort to haul our arses around the city for an afternoon, in the smog and strength sapping humidity, to get a flavour of the place. Which, reflecting the nature of our whistle-stop tour, I'll summarise in not too many words.

Modern Delhi: namely Connaught Place, the modern, business hub of the city. Which isn't exactly what comes to mind when, given those words, you picture a cityscape - it's certainly no Hong Kong or New York! There are some modern, Western institutions; Nike and Reebok Stores, McDonalds, American Express, near devoid of customers inside, behind the smartly dressed security guards at the doors; but they're just small fragments of Western-ness in shells, with the normal Indian city out in front and all around, complete with litter, dust, constant traffic and crowds of people.

New Delhi: to the south. Strangely spacious and empty for part of an Indian city, with wide, two or three lane roads, and buildings obscured by trees, set within fenced off enclosures. We passed through swiftly in an auto-rickshaw, and without having stopped anywhere other than the massive India Gate monument, I can only assume this area is the home to Delhi's wealth and power.

And finally Old Delhi: chaotically busy, with constant streams of pedestrians and auto and pedal rickshaws, all trying to make their way in both directions down narrow streets, battling cars, cows and holes in the ground to do so, as well as each other. Paula reckoned it was the most Indian snapshot of India we'd experienced, and she's probably right!

There were two entertaining encounters during the day that come to mind, that I think are worth briefly recounting. Firstly, the incredibly helpful Indian gentleman who spotted us with our map out in Connaught Place, and decided to painstakingly show me not just where we were on it, but how to read it, taking it from me, turning it around, and demonstrating how to use landmarks to plot our position. Not that amusing to most people, but I suspect it might be to all those friends I've travelled with before who have referred to me using the nickname "map boy". Which is pretty much everyone I've ever travelled with.

The second encounter was a strange moment in Old Delhi, outside the mosque we'd gone to visit (Jama Masjid, India's largest, with space for about twenty-five thousand to kneel), when three other random Westerners bumped into us, and stopped to ask us about how to get in. And suddenly, as if we'd started fighting or something, a circle of locals gathered around us. And as we stood there for longer, doing nothing more than chatting, instead of realising there was nothing to see and dispersing, the small crowd pressed in to touching distance and their ranks continued to swell, with people jostling for position and mobile phones held aloft to get pictures. Of nothing! It was quite manic, but then, when our conversation elapsed (which can't have been more than a minute in total) and we set off in different directions, the crowd just went back to their business. Weird. Surely the sight of a foreigner in the capital city is nothing new, so I have no explanation as to what happened.

And that's Delhi, in a nutshell. Not too bad an experience, but we were still both happy to be in and out in a day.