As the uncle who disappeared for lengthy periods, usually in winter time to India, I was curious about what my very young nephew thought I might be finding in such a place. It may have been his exposure to the enigmatic Scottish poet Ivor Cutler, but he only had to think for a second or two and announced that there were probably egg trees.
Ticket to Delhi: Even being understood was part of the trickiness, as I found out myself when wishing to travel from Agra, where I’d been staying with my girlfriend, back to Delhi to meet a new group. Now Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal must be one of the worlds most visited cities and anyone flying in to Delhi would make the detour wherever possible. Read more . .
I was asked to lead some walking tours in Hungary and as I flew into Budapest with the national airline, Malev on a flight for a four day recce of the route and accommodation I realised that I couldn’t decipher a single word of the Hungarian newspaper I had asked for. Read more . .
I was chatting to the curator when from inside the building I saw a sudden illumination and several shouts. Out came one of the group followed closely by sundry attendants who explained that the person involved had been taking photos. The curator immediately exploded with rage and demanded the camera and its contents. Read more . .
