It's hard to get to sleep because we have goats bleating in our hotel reception area, the hotel manager has a Banghra ringtone and either loads of mates or complaints, and there is a guy doing the call to prayer through a fisher price tannoy on steroids. He seems to have quite a liking for his own voice…he's been going five times longer than the other singers in their distant minarets, like the Duracell bunny.So, between the livestock-themed hotel and our persistent Muslim friend next door, we are unlikely to rest a great deal. I am beginning to think it is through keeping its travelling tourists in such sleep deprived, sick, and deafened states, that India manages to conjure up the dizzy mysticism it is so famed for.
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