After flying from Dublin to London and then onto Delhi, I arrive in Delhi at 11am where I am greeted with a grey mist which envelopes the city. It is a muggy 31 degrees and the sombre sky casts a heavy atmosphere. Guards make hacking sounds as they prepare to spit on the streets. Women move gracefully in their stylish colourful saris - an elegant combination which looks if dissected like pyjama bottoms underneath a structured mid-length dress. The overall impression they create is one of grace, elegance, practicality and femininity. The light material of the saris is perfect for enabling free flowing movement and the jewelled, bright colours and the upper body structure, (as the lines are cut sharp at the top half of the sari giving a structured, neat look), mean they are the perfect fashion blend of comfort and style. I feel sorry for two women I see wearing blacked jewelled burkas covering them from head to ankles in the sweltering heat. Only their eyes and their brightly coloured flip flops belie the personality beneath as they stand beside their long bearded husbands and hoards of luggage.

After taking a quick ride on a shuttle bus transferring me from Delhi's international airport to the domestic airport, I was pleasantly surprised to see signs saying 'Free WI-FI' and even more delighted to see that there were foot massage machines available. “How much is it to use the foot massagers?", I asked as I purchased a bottle of water for ten rupees. "Oh it is free" replied the water seller as he handed me my change. I was incredulous - what bliss it was to sink my feet into the massage machine after a long haul flight! In Ireland we count ourselves lucky when we manage to keep a hold of our boarding pass so that we don't have to pay forty euros for the 'privilege' of getting a replacement copy - Michael O'Leary please take note!

After my blissful foot revival, I boarded a flight to Bangalore with Spice airways. This spice girl was pleased to be given a free bottle of water on the two hour flight which again reminded me of the 'rip-off republic of Ryanair' that we Irish and Europeans have grown accustomed to. At Bangalore airport I was swiftly greeted by a representative from GapGuru who whittled away the hour long car journey to my host family's house by chatting about the caste system in India, the importance of education in India and solemnly informing me that "money is everything." After realising that Indian car journeys are akin to boarding a roller coaster, where you cling on with your knuckles poised for twists and turns, it was time to meet my host family. Ammini is a music teacher and her husband Ram a retired executive who has a passion for radio broadcasting and it shows as I tell him he has what we call in Ireland "the gift of the gab" or the gift of speech.

After a frantic panic when my hosts rushed about trying to find some liquid soap, after I assured them that a regular bar would be just fine, I was greeted with a delicious beef dish and vegetables. I was served my dinner by a member of house staff. This is common practice in India and may seem a little strange at first to us westerners but on the plus side it gives your hosts more time to talk with you so that you can gain a real sense of Indian culture.