LOST....in the Maaaaiiiiin Bazaaaaaaaaaaar

Well! It's all here, folks! Just as ordered, just like it said in all the guidebooks. They exist, the rickshaw-wallahs, the touts, the scammers, the beggars, the magnificent street-cooking, the midgets in bikinis (I made that one up). The narrow streets and alleys of Pahar Ganj are crammed with dogs, sadhus and chai-wallahs, and with row upon row of different coloured cloths. The cows really do wander the streets - in fact, it's quite a lot of fun to watch the Hindu stall and shop-owners shoo them away, obviously fighting against themselves to be civil. They're a lot more arrogant than English cows, the ones over here. They swagger a bit. In fact, the first attempt to pick my pocket was made by a cow. I'm surprised he didn't take me by the arm and try to guide me into a shop.

If I sound a bit cynical it's because the first day or so has at times been something of a hassle. I'm starting to wish mum hadn't washed my tops so well because the shop-owners and beggars can sense your freshness and look at you like so much meat. Understandable, really. The place is intimidating at first. You don't have a single moment to stop and peer between the piled-up signs, looking for that cafe the Rough Guide said was 'not bad' - in fact, the one time I tried to a nearby tout screamed ''LOST!!!...in the Maaaaiiiiinn Bazaaaaaaarr!!' and jumped out in front of me with his arms held weirdly aloft. That said, by far the biggest danger to your wallet and your patience are the well-dressed, thoroughly-groomed young men who fall into step with you as you walk the streets of the tourist district. The lines 'Hello, friend', and 'Where you from? England? Nice country' and even 'Welcome to India' are all starting to sound a little worn. These dapper gents are invariably trying to lead you to a shop, a market, a fake tourist office or to distract you long enough for their friends to pick your pocket. I chatted to a web-developer named (Chris? Greg?) this morning in a cafe at brekky - lived here for 2 1/2 years, no less - and he said the only way to avoid hassle is to ignore them. Practically everyone, that is. It sounds harsh, but if you so much as look at a pair of sunglasses, the walking street-vendors will follow you, murmuring the same words over and over ('very good quality...very good design...Ray-ban...very good quality...'). The same can be said, I'm afraid to say, of the street children. I'm glad that I read about the rampant solvent-addiction that lies behind every imploring look, every softly-spoken 'Sahib, namaste' and every tug at the sleeve because if not I'd probably have given away my first week's budget already without helping anybody.

And yes, I have been scammed ('Widows of Bangladesh', indeed). On the first day, also, barely twenty minutes after stepping out of the hotel, I was led to a fake tourist office by my charming companion, 'Raj' - I think he was taking the piss - and, what with my British diffidence, it was really a struggle to leave. I was told later on by the brothers who run the Namaskar that these places are a real problem, posing as official, and have duped many travellers (on closer inspection of the central district, Connaught Place, they are everywhere). That said, 540 English pounds for a car tour of Rajasthan was ever-so-slightly out of my price range and I was in no danger of paying up. They picked the wrong guy to mess with this time!...because I'm far too poor.

These things aside, the real Delhi - the chaotic markets and forgotten backstreets - has a real charm, and it's growing on me moment-by-moment. Today I took an a/c bus tour of Old Delhi for 105 Rs. (about one pound twenty) - I even tried to haggle with the operators and demanded to see paperwork for about ten minutes, such was my wariness, before realising that I was actually sat inside the official tourist office of India and the fee was non-negotiable - and after all those cool, spacious gardens and thunderous tombs it was actually quite a joy to put-put into brash, noisy Pahar Ganj market-place aboard my auto-rickshaw (I'll talk about Indian driving another time). Its colour, its sheer liveliness, is incredible. The place may smell like Satan's flip-flops, but it's starting to feel like home. And I managed to walk the whole length of the Main Bazaar without being hassled once! I think I've cracked it.