The Taj Mahal is situated in Agra in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. It was built by the Moghul Emperor, Shah Jahan in memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal and is the 7^th wonder of the world. It’s worth noting that the Taj Mahal is closed to visitors on Mondays.

There are three ways you can reach the Taj Mahal from Delhi. You can fly with Indian Airlines from Delhi to Agra. The airport, Kheria, is about 6km from Agra and can be reached at fixed rates by taxis (Rs 75) and auto-rickshaws (Rs 50).

There are several trains that connect Delhi with Agra. These include the Shatabdi Express which takes 2 hours, or the Taj Express 2 ½ hours or the Intercity Express which takes 3 hrs. The third option is to travel by car from Delhi to Agra. There are express bus services (a/c and non-a/c) are available from Delhi, Jaipur, Lucknow, Gwalior, and Jhansi. Distances to Agra from the following are as follows:

Mathura – 58 kms Bharatpur – 60 kms Gwalior – 118 kms Delhi – 203 kms Jaipur – 236 kms Khajuraho – 393 kms

U. S. Soldiers Home, Washington: during a century of travel (well 78 years!) both in and out of service I have travelled to over 150 countries (I count both North and South Dakota as countries) and for some reason have jotted signs and happenings that I thought funny at the time (and now wonder why). So here is the perfect opportunity to share some of my anecdotes.

In Japan, often near railroad stations, they have what they call Capsule Hotels. They are like train berths one on top of the other or some refer to them as coffins. Businessmen after a night at the bars and who miss their trains home often stay in them. They even have a very small TV set in the bunk with you and a telephone. If you can’t find a place elsewhere then you look for a capsule hotel. I stayed in several. One had a sign at the entrance. No elevator. No Cooking. No tattoos (they associate tattoos with criminals and Cher.) No dead drunks. One time the bunk over me was not occupied and for some strange reason I left my money on the bunk overhead like it was a shelf. When I returned that night the manager handed me the money. I guess he knew only a foolish foreigner would do that. One time I went into a coffee shop near train station in Ueno section of Tokyo and when I left I left my backpack at the stool. I went to downtown Tokyo before discovering my backpack was missing. I thought maybe it got pulled off in the crowded subway. There are thousands of coffee shops in Ueno and I did not know if I could remember which one I was in. I went into one and the manager held up my backpack as if he had been holding it all day waiting for my return. The Japanese are just incredibly honest. More about capsule hotels later.

One way to cut down on expenses in Japan is to use the many vending machines found on streets everywhere. Food etc is cheaper there. Coffee in YMCA was $4 a cup. In the machines, $1.10. In McDonalds $1.80 a cup. Beer can cost you $6.00 in a bar but in vending machines outside $2.90 or less. They even sell whisky in vending machines on the street. I don’t know how they keep children from buying whisky from the vending machines. Japan has clear plastic umbrellas you can see thorough so you won’t run into people and spike them. Stores have stands outside to place your wet umbrella and not take into store.

A Japanese man that looked older than me stopped me on the street in Tokyo one time evidently to try out his English and said to me. “My, you look old. Are you tired? It turned out he was older than me and had been a Japanese fighter pilot in WWII with he said 303 missions. (I suspect I heard wrong.) His English was not too good. For some reason he told me he did not like Italians. He sang a bit of song Coming thru the Rye and asked me if I knew the name of that song. He laughed when he heard my military background and saluted me and then scooted away. I would have liked to have found out more about him like did he bomb Pearl Harbour. It was a most strange encounter. About as strange as these notes.

The honour of inventing the useful rickshaw falls to an American missionary in Japan who designed one for his invalid wife. The Japanese appropriated the idea and then the Chinese.

I one time was on a train in Japan and some Indian congressmen asked me if I would have lunch with them in a week as they were invited to the States. Before I met with them, I read up books about our Congress, how many how chosen etc so I would not look like a dummy. The first question they asked me is: “What is pie a la mode?” (It is pie with ice cream on top if asked.) They then asked about tipping which they were not used to in Japan. I did not tell them I went to places where tipping is not required Ha! I have met particularly Australians that have worked while travelling. I met an Irishman that got a job as extra in Japanese movies where they needed a Caucasian face in background checking into hotel, airport etc. He talked me into taking such a job. Military Intelligence found out about it and suggested I not do this as the studio Nichikecki (or something), sometimes slanted their picture anti American and I might not know from scene I was in. There went my movie career. I could have been a star. I met an Australian temporarily tending bar in US Military Sanno Hotel. Some try jobs that do not take away jobs from locals. Like big firms hiring foreigners for practice in conversational English. I met some Japanese that had had British teachers. I had to smile when I heard them talking with a Japanese accent. I don’t know if your Embassies would know of trade shows or possibilities for temporary work that did not take away jobs from others or not. They hired a Japanese to teach my Irish friend some Japanese He got more pay if he spoke a few words. We think of Japan as having high class films but they also make a lot of cheap films. One day my friend was playing the part of a reporter in front of Judge’s stand. The Japanese actor Judge did not show up the next day so my Irish friend was promoted to Judge in same movie.

Next month, Mac discusses India.

If you would like to contact Mac, he can be e-mailed on: macsan400@yahoo.com

Etna burst into our view as we explored Taormina’s Teatro Greco early one April morning. The day’s clear skies allowed us to look out across from this large amphitheatre and notice how the volcano formed a marvellous and deliberate backdrop through the semi ruined red brick stage walls. The Greek colonists certainly a had sense of place and made the most of the peak and its domination of eastern Sicily’s skyline. Two thousand years later its presence also acted as beacon – this time in fulfilling our day’s aim of appreciating a major reason for visiting the island.

Driving anti-clockwise around the Parco d. Etna allowed a plan of seeing how far we could actually get into the heart of Etna to be hatched. As our steady passage along a somewhat haphazard route succeeded in drawing us closer towards Etna, all seemed to bode well as we strained our necks along unhindered views of the still snow caped peak. But more and more we bumped into the consistent problems of vague road signs & our poor navigational skills and as such we found ourselves failing to penetrate very far into the park at all, apart from a few impassable trails near Bronte. Even at this point our first lava flows, whether hundreds of years old or more recent, looked impressive as their long since cooled remains lie amid the trails of destruction wrought across the surrounding countryside. Walking on top of these flows felt like walking out onto the remains of a burnt out BBQ – the crunching steps sounded much like the point where the charcoal can be crumbled into nothing and lacks any density.

Time and lack of progress soon concluded that heading inward from the north west was going to fail and as an alternative we struggled round to the southern entrance at Belpasso. Finally, after passing through a number of grey, industrial communities we started to get drawn in towards the dwarfing centre. We moved up through kilometres of ever switching roads, across grander lava flows and on past a more disturbed countryside. Our road finished at Cantoniera d’Etna (a mere 1881 m above sea level) and we crossed up on to a landscape that looked like a cross between the moon and a war hardened battlefield. Varying craters from previous eruptions littered the scenery, whilst the main peak stood away up another 1500 meters. Even at this level heat and steam still rose, whilst swirling winds and eerie silences added to the atmosphere and only machines being used to repair the most recently damaged roads broke the spell.

Etna’s continual eruptions have generated huge outpouring of ash, which over time has settled as dust into everywhere. We noticed that it covered the remainder of the winter’s snow and formed much of a crater we clambered up to get a better view of the quickly clouding over peak. Walking up such dusty surroundings made staggering across a sandy beach in heavy boots seem easier, as each step gained cost us half a stride backwards. Our calf muscles ached for a respite by the time we reached our wind blown crater rim…

Once back in breath there was time to enjoy the stunning views – south through the hazy sunshine towards the eastern coast of Sicily and round behind ourselves and up to towards the now almost shrouded summit. Our photographic urges found us trying to capture the surrounding colours of a fired furnace contrasted reds, yellows & deep charcoals and across the horizon toward the remnants of a chairlift which had been left upright, like hairs on the back of a hand. Down below many of the restaurants and administration buildings had either been completely brushed aside or remained semi submerged within the lava flows! These sights left me wondering how such a natural force can discharge so much power and toss aside all human activities with disdain!

Such was the magnetism of Etna and its surroundings that it was with some reluctance and much lateness that we found ourselves moving on from this step of our Mediterranean tour. However when looking to fulfil the ever present needs of food and accommodation, even Etna’s charms could only sway for so long…

If you’d like to contact Matt, to ask him any questions or ask advice, please e-mail him on: matt

This beautiful cottage that dates from 1614 has been converted to a Youth Hostel. Thanks to fellow Globetrotters Jeanie Copland’s organisation, we met in the middle of National Trust land with Polesden Lacey estate in front of us. Those who arrived on time had the pleasure of starting the weekend at the Pilgrim pub in Dorking. The two who were late put up their tents in the dark, having a spot of trouble when the tents kept sliding down the steep slope.

The Youth Hostel might be a good half an hour walk away from the nearest means of transport but that didn’t mean a quiet and relaxing night: the owls seemed to be in the biggest chat room ever above us, and Elvis the pedigree Dorking cockerel (who does not deserve to have his photo shown here) kept us awake for the most of the night. The green woodpeckers were not wasting their time either and you could see them just in front of the place.

An arduous walk on Saturday got me and our party to the top of Box Hill after which I retreated gracefully with John back to the camp whilst the more energetic people in our group decided to add another 5 miles to do the shopping. Yummy dinner followed in the evening.

On Sunday there was a 1936 reproduction of Lady Greville house parties. Can you imagine! We witnessed 1930's Mercs and Bentleys which all in all seemed a bit too posh for an average Globie so we moved on for a long walk.

Brilliant weekend. Thanks Jeanie and Tracey for getting it so well organized.