I had booked, with quite an amount of pride for being so well planned, trains from Varanasi to New Jalgapuri, then to Darjeeling, a return to New Jalgurpuri and lastly onwards to Kolkata. However in the evening, three hours before the first was due to depart, I received a message saying that it had been cancelled.

My flight to Kolkata was at 1pm, so I had some time for a complimentary breakfast at the hotel beforehand. Martin had long since departed for his early flight, so I ordered a taxi for myself at 10am to the airport after we had both been told that tuk tuks don’t go to the airport. Martin and I theorised that this is likely because the hotelier’s brother, uncle or cousin ran a taxi service and it turns out we weren’t far from the truth.

In the colourful city of Varanasi, tuk tuk drivers are more choosy about their fares.

Venturing out of Delhi, I experience the true gut-wrenching India.

It seems in India, you don't just book a train, you have to fight to learn how to book it. And even then the train might decide that actually it doesn't want you.

Language is a complex thing and as long as I'm not tasked with international relations, I'll always laugh about misunderstandings.

Arriving at a bustling Delhi airport, I find a taxi service performing the old game of swindling the unsuspecting tourist.