Baga, Goa: Next morning at Panaji we take a taxi to Baga beach and check into a family run guesthouse. This is the cleanest (and so far) cheapest place I've stayed. We settle into a routine of rising late, taking breakfast on the patio, walking the Calungute-Baga road in search of market stall bargains - Ludo is an ace haggler - playing and reading on the beach, and finally taking an evening meal and drinks.

Baga, like the rest of Goa, is not yet in season. There are plenty of travelers here, though it won't fill up until the package tourists arrive in late November. With its Portuguese-Mediterranean heritage - evident in place names, architecture and even the people - and the thrown-together nature of most restaurants and shops, I am reminded of southern Europe's most crass hotspots, perhaps Playa de las Americas or de las Inglés. It is not really India, but it's probably the best place to acclimatise to the heat and the compromised levels of hygiene. We, like everybody else here, form a small community of friends very quickly, among them Vanessa and Gayle from the UK, Nemo from Sweden and a couple of French guys, Christophe and Olivier.

After a week or so, Ludo and Gaille, Nemo and myself head off to Hampi, the site of the 15th century Vijayanagar ruins. We take another government bus, this one leaves at nine in the morning and arrives in Hospet fourteen hours later. At least it would if our bus was working. We get no more than 100 yards down the road and it conks out. One of the advantages of Indian transport is that the movement creates a welcome breeze. We are not enjoying these benefits now and, by the time we are underway we are sweat-soaked.