The National Museum of Derp

We’ve arrived in Delhi a day early. Normally this would be great, but because Will decided to drive here in one day instead of two we were on the road for 16 hours. I think we all started to go a little stir crazy when we pulled up at a lunch stop and they were playing Bollywood versions of Christmas carols.

Delhi hasn’t been anything like the stereotypical assault on the senses I thought it would be. From all the guide books and reviews I was expecting aggressive, crowded filth – of course there are plenty of beggars and touts and streets that smell like public toilets, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. The roads are actually lined with honest to goodness trees. And hey, once you get in the mindset of ignoring anyone who approaches in a rickshaw it’s not that bad.

Aside from finding our way around (unsurprisingly quite difficult when the drivers translate anything you say as ‘I rather fancy spending all my fine English pounds in your cousin’s shop’), we spent most of our first day getting spectacularly hammered on happy hour cocktails for Little Will’s birthday. Will doesn’t remember any of the night, which in guy logic of course means he had a brilliant time.

Second day we behaved like real tourists and went to the Red Fort.  Which is… red… and forty. I also saw the longest dreads I have ever seen on the skinniest little twig of a bloke and this grossed me out enough that I was more interested in photographing him than the monument.



Then spent the rest of the afternoon in the museum where we saw many splendidly interesting and beautiful things, but instead you get a photo series of the most stupid faces I could find in the museum. Lucky you.








(My apologies if the last one gives you nightmares, that thing is beyond creepy)


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