Location: Delhi
If Tuesday was a jet-lagged fever dream, Wednesday was the hangover.
We definitely overdid it last night—too many clandestine beers, too much laughing, and not nearly enough water (DON'T DRINK THE WATER!). This morning arrived with a pounding head and an unsettling awareness that we'd have to function like grown adults in a city that feels like a cross between a carnival and a pressure cooker.
Thankfully, Nirmal came to the rescue with a solid breakfast—spicy pancakes (savoury dosa-style with green chillies and herbs) and cooked fresh tomatoes, washed down with thick, milky coffee. Exactly the kind of comfort food you need when your stomach’s confused and your soul feels slightly bruised.
Spontaneity Strikes Again
With zero fixed plans and a desire to escape the Delhi madness, Lalid walked us through some nearby lanes and helped us book a sleeper bus north to Haldwani. We paid 1,877 INR total for two tickets—about £18—which felt like a bargain for an overnight ride.
Haldwani is a small city in the Indian state of Uttarakhand, about 280 km (175 miles) northeast of Delhi. It sits at the base of the Kumaon hills and is known as the "Gateway to Kumaon"—a sort of launchpad for heading into the Himalayas.
Through Visham’s translation, Nirmal explained that he’s originally from Nainital, a beautiful hill town about 40 km (25 miles) from Haldwani, nestled in the Himalayan foothills and set around a picturesque lake. It sounded idyllic—and cold. We are definitely not dressed for anything resembling winter, so we’re improvising as we go. Again.
I picked up a body warmer from a street market—just £4—and although it’s probably not windproof or waterproof or any kind of proof, it felt like a small gesture in the preparedness department. I squeezed it into my crammed rucksack. Functional fashion at its finest. Oh yeah, earlier I saw some old Sikhs, playing Shabad Kirtan, a hymn thing that is a central part of Sikh worship and involves the singing of holy hymns from the Guru Granth Sahib (the Sikh holy scripture) - it was immersive and hypnotic and extremely infectious to witness as they sauntered past.
What Even Is Kashmere Gate #5?
The bus was scheduled to depart from Kashmere Gate ISBT (Inter-State Bus Terminal), Platform #5, which—despite sounding official—is more like a sprawling, chaotic tangle of entrances, exits, platforms, and complete confusion.
We had no idea what the “Gates” actually were when we booked the bus. Turns out, the terminal is massive and split across multiple “bus stops” and “platforms” that aren't clearly marked, and aren’t always organized in any obvious order. It’s also a magnet for touts and misinformation, so finding the right bus felt like trying to solve a riddle in a different language while standing in the middle of a car horn orchestra.
Before that adventure, we spent the day walking through several different parts of Delhi, trying to take in as much as we could.
Majnu-ka-Tilla: A Slice of Tibet
We entered what we later discovered is called Majnu-ka-Tilla—Delhi’s Tibetan Enclave—by stumbling through tight, dark alleyways. It’s densely packed, a mix of incense, momo steamers, monks, and posters of the Dalai Lama. Despite the cramped conditions and visible poverty, there was a strange tranquility to it—young people sipping chai, monks laughing with vendors, signs in Tibetan and English above small restaurants. It felt like a different world inside an already different world. We had a chai tea at a cafe, a young boy was washing up as a rat scurried around his bare feet. He wasn't bothered by this as he was transfixed with Tim and myself, already battle scarred and looking rugged as we sipped the warm brew. The price was about 30p, I gave the cafe owner 100 rupees (about 90p) and gestured he kept the change. He seemed almost insulted that I wanted to tip him, so I insisted the kid got the money.
Saddar Bazaar were on the same label as my band, Sons Of Selina
Industrial Markets & Night-Time Wanderings
Later in the evening, we unintentionally walked through Jama Masjid in Old Delhi, a Muslim-majority area, where men were seated in lines along the pavement, waiting for food donations—possibly Iftar-style communal meals, even though it's not Ramadan. A solemn, powerful sight. Shocking to see Halal cows heads on display (not so sacred in this part of town!)
We found somewhere to change money (India is a closed currency, so you can't do it at home), and while Tim was negotiating his exchange I gave a kid outside a 100 rupee note; he was selling shoes at a shop next door and his face lit up like it was Christmas.
Our aimless wandering led us into an industrial/hardware district—called Sadar Bazaar, where shop after shop sold cement, pipes, industrial fans, timber, plumbing parts—all lining regular streets. It was staggering in scale and utterly disorienting. No zoning, no separation—just industry and humanity piled on top of each other in an organic sprawl.
And Then… No Bus.
After soaking up an overwhelming day, we returned to the smog of Kashmere Gate around 9:30pm, ready (we thought) for our sleeper bus to Haldwani. Only… it never came. Or it did, but we were either in the wrong place, the wrong line, or both.
Instructions were vague at best, often contradictory. One person pointed one way, another waved us somewhere else. The language barrier, lack of signage, and general overload finally defeated us. 10pm became 10:30. Then 11. At some point, we admitted defeat.
With no bus, no clue, and no plan, we grabbed a last-minute hotel nearby for £13 a room. It wasn’t much, but it was a bed and a door that locked. We’ll regroup in the morning and try again.
Reflections:
Delhi is not a city that holds your hand. It throws you in, chews you up, and expects you to keep moving. We’re improvising, adapting, and learning the hard way—but there’s a strange kind of thrill in it all. Nothing is certain. Nothing is smooth. But every single experience feels raw and real.
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