This will be my first significant solo trip for nearly 40 years!

First day of serious tourism

Saturday 8 January

Dil is a 23-year-old from Rajasthan, who grows on one as the day progresses, though he is very garrulous and his English difficult to understand. He is an excellent driver: smooth, not pushy, hardly ever honks his horn, and seems to manage to negotiate the second-by-second imminent collisions whilst turned round to give me a non-stop commentary on what we are passing.

First stop Rashtrapati Bhavan, the residence of the president (and previously the Viceroy) of India with huge government secretariat buildings on either side. The whole complex was designed and built by Lutyens and Sir Herbert Baker in 1921-29. Both Nehru and Ghandi disapproved of these extravagant, ostentatious "architectural piles" and I had expected to experience at the best disapproving disinterest at these symbols of imperialism. In fact I was impressed and almost moved by their grandeur. The view from the gates to the residence (you are not allowed inside) is somewhat reminiscent of the view through the gates of Fettes College in Edinburgh. My only criticism of the architecture is the slender Jaipur Column in front ot the residency, which interrupts the vista from afar.

Rashtrapati Bhavan is approached by a long wide avenue - Rajpath - and at the other end, half a km away, is India Gate, India's answer to Arc de Triomphe. Also designed by Lutyens, it commemorates the 90,000 India soldiers killed in the first war and subsequent wars.

I soon realised that Indians love to be tourists too: there were several groups photographing each other in front of the monuments, including a group of Tibetan monks. Meanwhile, as there is no parking allowed (and plenty of soldiers around to enforce the rule) several cars are cruising around in circles, including mine. Another noticeable feature of being a tourist in Delhi is the smog. India Gate is barely visible from Rashtrapati Bhavan.

We then whizzed past the huge circular Parliament House (also designed by Lutyens and Baker). Indeed I was beginning to realise that one of the problems of today is that it is difficult to stop the car all the time to look and photo sights, partly because of the traffic, partly because every stop involves an assault by people wanting to sell me something or beg. So on, past the ruins of sixteenth century Purana Qila fortress. This was the sixth city of Delhi, which has been through seven cities, the earliest was built in the 8th century - eight if you count the British building New Delhi.

We went through the prosperous South Delhi, past official ministers' homes and then the giant compounds of Delhi's rich. The compounds behind walls, with guards at the entrances and outside the usual cluster of people standing around, watching the world go by, reminded me of the GRAs (Government Residential Areas) we knew in Nigeria. As did other acronyms from the colonial past, like the giant GPO.

Next stop the QUTB Minar complex.

The most prominent feature is the amazing 72 metre red sandstone tower, started in 1199 to celebrate Qut-ud-din-Arbak's victory of Delhi. Successors added more stories, the top covered in marble. The importance of the Moghuls is so evident when you see such monuments.

To one side of the tower is the thirteenth century tomb of Iltutmish, and beyond, the ruins of India's first mosque Quwwat-ul-Islam, built with the remnants of earlier Hinud and Jain temples and using Hindu craftsmen, so an interesting mixture of Indian and Moghul styles. In the middle of the mosque is the curious iron pillar, whose origins are not entirely known, but has symbolic significance (don’t ask me to explain what).

These buildings are set in a park and there was a lovely ambience of Indian families enjoying the day out, photographing each other in front of the Iron pillar, picnicking, and children running down the slopes, just like at home. Beyond the mosque, I could hear the bird-like twitter of about a hundred primary school children, neat in their obviously private school uniforms, obvously out on a school trip, complete with lunch packs and thermos flasks.

Next stop: a much needed lunch break. Dil took me to a nearby tourist restaurant. Like the other restaurants I have seen, it looks like all the Indian restaurants in Britain, although this one had a large staff of discreet and elegantly uniformed staff. Food OK but not exceptional. Vegetarian thalis are going to be my standard fare for the time being, I think. And the bill for thali, lassi and coffee came to six pounds - about double my normal budget for lunch.

I now wanted to go to Old Delhi. Dil wasn't keen, and as we crossed the boundary, I realised why. Difficult to evoke a picture of the mass of humanity, the dirt, the squalor, and the absolutely mad traffic. There more cycle rickshaws, scooters carrying entire families and men pushing carts weaving their way between the usual army of auto rickshaws and dilapidated lorries and buses.

Dil put me down at the end of the path leading to the seventeenth century Jami Masjid, India's largest mosque. But first, to get there, I had to pass through the avenue packed with people selling things and smelling particularly unsavoury. As usual I was a target for every tout and beggar. As I mounted the steps to the mosque entrance, I was accosted by a man who spoke better English than usual, who led me to the seller of entrance tickets and guardian of shoes. He then tried to give me a tour of the mosque, which I politely refused, but on leaving he tried to demand money for this. A bit of an argument, with a couple of other guides backing him up. I finally walked away without paying, fearing further trouble, which luckily did not arrive.

The main impression of the mosque is its size - it is huge. It is full of people praying, but also families visiting. I had forgotten that I could not go up the tower to see the view of Old Delhi, as I don't have a man with me (!). Rats. Still, the architecture is impressive and there is a splendid view of the Red Fort, from the same period, half a km away. The fort occupies an area of about two km, filled with halls for receiving visitors, places, and mosques. Dil persuaded me not to go inside, as he said the one in Agra was much better, in size and condition. I agreed (becaue I had read this in a guide book as well) and decided to cut my losses in Old Delhi for the day and come back when I return to Delhi at the return of my visit. Dil did stop, however, at the second gate of the Red Fort, now army barracks, so I could take a photo of the fort walls, with the white turrets of the Jain temple in the distance.

As we were leaving Old Delhi, Dil drove me past Raj Ghat. This is a large park with the cremation sites of Mahatma Gandhi, and Indira and Rajiv Gandhi. I joined the crowd of Indian people who had come to pay their respects at the monument to Mahatma Gandhi "father of India". Again, there were lots of people strolling and sitting on the slopes, enjoying the green space. I noticed some more western style teenage couples, the first I have really seen. One girl asked me to stop so her boyfriend could take a photo of her standing beside me.

I was ready for home by now, but suddenly Dil stopped outside what looked like a very expensive bazaar selling Indian goods. I started to say I had no intention of buying anything, but Dil pleaded with me just to spend a quarter of an hour inside. He gets commision - "a good Diwali" from the bazaar owner for bringing tourists here. So in I went and had a hard time dealing with smoothly persuasive sellers, particularly as the carpets, shawls and jewellery was indeed very enticing. Half an hour later I emerged, even more ready to get home!

I asked Dil if he had children and that was when he said no, he was not married yet, as he was too poor to marry, but when he did, it would be an arranged marriage; love marriages, he said, were only for the rich. He was quite happy at the prospect of an arranged marriage, saying he had confidence in his parents choice and that an arranged marriage would become a love marriage. The important thing, he said, was that Indian marriages were for life, unlike European marriages, he said, disapprovingly. That was the moment when I confessed to him that I was the mother of two divorce lawyers!

We stopped at the agency to pay for the day. 800 rupees - 10 quid, plus small tip for Dil - too small, as I did not have any change. I'll have to make that up to him, as he really was very good, even though he worked hard much of the day to make me abandon my rail ticket and let him drive me round Rajasthan. Walked back to the hotel via an ATM bank outside Citibank. There was a guard outside, controlling the number of people allowed inside at one time, and embarassingly my Nationwide card was rejected, so the queue behind me grew, until I got my French card to work. Tomorrow I am arranging to change some sterling at the hotel, in order to get the 10 rupee notes without which life in India is impossible!

And now, finally, back to my room - and collapse. Supper consisted of a couple of bits of toast and coffee on the hotel terrace, with the roar of traffic in the background. There were some other tourists there, an American and a couple of British backpackers, but nobody showed any inclination to do more than nod hello. A bit disappointed as all the guidebooks say this is the way to pick up hints on where to go and stay.