There is no worse feeling in a travellers stomach than the sinking feeling when you are sitting in an airport lounge and googling something minor... airport taxis in Delhi for instance, and there at the top of the google search page is a big announcement saying your flight has been delayed 4 hours. Really? Really?! Our stomachs were doing quite enough sinking of their own accord after suffering 48 hours of the Myanmar Malady. We checked at the front desk and while Air India is famous for its delays, we still hadn’t thought it would happen to us. Yep. 11 pm departure now heading out at 2.40 am. Thanks Google. Thanks a bunch. It was around 7pm at that point and we settled in for the long haul. James was well enough to sample most of the delights of Singapore Air’s Silver Kris Lounge in Terminal 2. I looked at the delights (the champagne... the cheese... the sauvignon blanc, the braised beef & mushroom. Just looked. Had some dry crackers. Yum.) The airmchairs pulled together well and the staff magicked up some pillows and blankets and I caught some much needed sleep as the night wore on and the lounge emptied out. There were about 3 of us left at 1.30 am when we trekked to the gate.

With recent heightened tensions in the region we weren’t surprised to have to go through yet another layer of security. Thankfully we were flying at the pointy end due to airmiles purchased from Avianca (Colombia’s national carrier don’t you know). Which meant we didn’t need to queue up. A blessing. This was our first flight on a Boeing 787 Dreamliner and these are big planes. Huge. Which mean huge queues. Massive even. It being almost 3 am by the time we trundled to the runway and, still being under the weather, we only had a couple of bites of the savoury hot snacks, used our hot towels, declined the champagne, turned the seats into beds and slept for almost 5 hours. We think we were both out like lights within about 10 minutes. The crew were somewhat alarmed that we weren’t eating and absolutely desperate to at least make teas and coffees when we were on approach to New Delhi. James let them make him a tea. I managed water. Utterly tragic to not be able to take advantage of all the perks of the pointy end, but the beds made up for everything.

James has been to India before but it’s my first time. We finally made it through immigration. The time was not actually taken with queueing - the time was taken with finding the right queue. There was the big queue for foreign passports (not us), there was the tiny queue of 3 in the First/Business queue - tried that - also not us. In the end we were directed to the e-visa queue - which seems a bit daft since surely having the e-visa means you can just go to a regular queue. But there you have it - welcome to India. In the scheme of things, not too long at all.

Then to the taxis. It is a shame, but the way of the world and some countries are worse than others, but just getting out of the airport grounds we were the subject of 3 attempts to scam us out of our hard-earned coin. This may be our first time in India boys, but it’s not our first rodeo. We left with finances intact and arrived at our hotel in due course, a few hundred metres down the road from H.Nizamuddin Railway Station - the main northern railway station in Delhi. This is where the rending of the eyes and the tearing of the hair happened. The plan (remember the plan... never survives first contact with the enemy - in this case Air India’s on-time perforamce schedules or lack thereof). We were supposed to land at 2.20 am - get to the hotel shortly after 3 am - have a good few hours sleep, shower, head to the train station around 9.15 am for our 10 am train down to Rajasthan. Well the flight landed about 6.15 am, we were at the hotel at 7.30 am - even had to sign a glorious, red-cloth-bound old fashioned hotel register and then had all of 90 minutes, not allowing breakfasting time, to enjoy a room with the most comfortable bed we’ve encountered since, since... well Saigon in early December actually. Aaarrgh! Ah well - cookies crumble and you sweep it up and move on.

We certainly enjoyed the shower, reorganised our bags so we were stowed away and as un-get-at-able as possible then at 8.45 am back down in the lift to check out. Snaffled a few delights from the buffet breakfast to have on the train. The front desk called us an Ola (India has Uber, but Ola is like the home-grown version of Uber and also widely used). A tiny box of a car turned up with no boot/trunk so the two big bags had to go in the front passenger seat next to the bags and the two small bags and us were jammed in the back. 700 odd metres to the train station, anywhere else in the world, with wheely luggage would be nothing (OK - anywhere but Asia) but between overpasses, no footpaths, traffic, heat and sun - the $1.80 in the taxi was worth it. Strictly speaking 85 rupees... but not one person in this nation has change, even for tiny notes. But we were prepared this time and had the front desk man at the hotel change a 100 rupee note for us (A$2) - so we only paid out 90 rupees in 10 rupee notes. Heaven forbid we encourage a false economy and overpay at every forced ‘opportunity’ to do so.

We got to the station and were immediately set upon by porters. (Pestered? Molested? It’s a fine line.) But if we can pack these bags, we can carry them (exceptions were made in Myanmar due to high steep sand banks with no stairs... but we can manage a few stairs here in India). Not so much we don’t want to pay the porters - we just don’t trust them as far as we can throw them as they are horrendously rough with luggage and insist on whipping out the wheeling handle at the slightest chance and endeavouring to break it off). So lug the bags we did. Got to the right platform, found a helpful, young, welldressed lady - as a woman, she will speak to me and be helpful - thanks to James for finding that tip on the internet. She had her phone out and told us which end of the platform to be on, 6 carriages behind the engine. Nothering worse than being at the wrong end of a very long train. Fortunately it was the originating station for our express to Rajasthan, so it pulled in about 9.30 am and we had plenty of time to follow it a short distance, get on our carriage and wow!

A European sleeper train this was not. A Vietnamese sleeper train this was also not - which is saying something. We had wanted to get first class airconditioned berths, but even though we booked back in November, there was only 1 first class berth left... not enough. So we booked the two second class berths. First time we’ve been in a carriage where curtains reign supreme. But still - frightfully tired and we claimed our territory, held our ground against intruders and settled in. When it comes to railway berths, sharing and caring is not how we roll.

The curtained compartments look a bit grubby - but the seats were clean vinyl and as we got on at the origin station, there were stacks of clean sheets, a pillow and blanket per berth. We had to peer into the compartments (through the curtains) to see the berth numbers. We only saw the guard once when he checked our tickets and passports. Thankfully we’d brought our own food (like d’oh) and settled in to enjoy a delayed breakfast from the hotel. Whilst doing so we were pestered, almost to death, by half a dozen different sandwich and food touts desperate to flog us dodgy, glad wrapped offerings of dubious heritage. Just another irritation, like the porters, but the train trip was smooth, we remained unmolested and we were only 10-15 minutes late into Sawai Madopur station - 350 km away - so 100% on time by local standards. (SWM station pictured - from the safety of the car just before we head to the hotel.)

The porters were there, seemingly attached at the hip to the man from our hotel who was waiting at the door of our carriage when we pulled into the station. They were nothing to do with him or the hotel but followed us like flies all the way through the station to the exit, very put out indeed that we were using the ramps and wheeling our bags. ‘Tis a crying shame - the porters’ union is probably still fuming over the advent of wheeling luggage. Into the air-con car and we wended our way through the porters, pigs, people and cows, a great many of each, until we were slightly out of town and reached Nirvana.

Obviously not the real Nirvana and a Buddhist would have been disappointed, but for us, the gates of the Ranthambore Regency swinging open were positively heavenly. Pretty sure we heard harps. We were looking out for St Peter. Hot towels, wreaths of fragrant marigolds around our necks, hot lemon and honey drinks to soothe away the railway trip. This hotel earned it’s 5 stars on Tripadvisor when they were waiting at the train door - it was just getting better from there.

The room was lovely with a massive tub and a soft bed (yippee!) But first they escorted us down to the dining hall. We arrived about 3.20 pm in the end and the lunch buffet is usually open from 1 pm until 3 pm - so they had saved a platter of everything for us and we had them all served at the table for our picking and choosing - we hadn’t expected lunch at all so it was a lovely surprise - even to our truncated appetites. We had planned a snooze and a bath - but by the time we had lunch, settled in and unpacked a bit it was 5.30 pm. What now? Now it’s tea, coffee and cookies by the pool - of course it is! Something to fend off the munchies until dinner started at 7.30 pm. The times may look on the late side - breakfast from 8 am to 11, lunch 1 to 3 and then dinner 7.30 pm until 10 - but we’re in Rajasthan now, Ranthambore to be specific - and our timetable revolves around the tigers timetable.

A great dinner, early to bed and only two alarms set for 5.45 am. A tiger-hunting we will go! (And the sunrise. Mustn’t forget the sunrise.)