Friday 15th February - Up the Kriek

Breakfast is the same as yesterday but with particularly slow and surly service. We give up when not only is the tea order wrong, but there is a crack the size of the Rift Valley in R's cup. Today we plan to visit Golcanda Fort to the west of the city. This has involved an arcane manoeuvre to get a late check out. Reception want £25 for this, extending for an extra night through booking.com will cost £15. It will be worth it to get a rest during the hot hours and a shower before we go for tonight's train. Most important of all it means that we can recover our laundry and repack it.

D has given up on Ola in Hyderabad as it appears totally useless. We have a short wait for our Uber driver to arrive and then we get going. The streets appear to be much quieter this morning. Our route takes us through the middle of a goat/sheep market as it is all happening. D spots a sign by the road that reads "Contemnors will be Prosecuted".  Every time we come to India we expand our English vocabulary. 

Outside the Fort the guides don't put up much of a struggle and at the ticket desk we are told that guidebooks are on sale inside. We pass through security and the ticket check to find ourselves in a high open sided building described on the notice as the Clapping Chamber. One of the ticket checkers steps forward and claps his hands, which generates a resounding echo. He assures us that this signal can be heard at the top of the fort. Inside we discover that the guide book counter is not open so we trust to luck. After one false start we find the route up through the ruins, past the gardens and up the stairs. We see a purple sunbird in a flowering shrubs just by the path but he does not pose well.

From the upper levels of the fort it is easy to see why it was so important. It dominates the countryside for miles around. Black kites soar around the summit and for a while it is an idyllic place to be until the first groups of lads out for a hooly arrive and start taking unauthorised pictures of us. R draws the line at this and our agent gets a bit huffy too. We start back down the steps on the sunny side and are grateful that we did not have to toil up these in the heat. The ruins are extensive and the place must have been splendid in its pomp.

We find the cafe which only has disgusting powdered chai from a Nespresso machine, a real crime against humanity. No decadent Sprite or Seven Up either so we settle for a bottle of water and two paper cups. We have yet to have a Limca on this trip. Has it gone? It gives us chance to plan the rest of the day. We take a turn round the gardens to see if Mr Sunbird is still about. We have no luck and decide to adjourn for lunch. 

An online search for good food with beer turns up the Belgium Beerhouse, a twenty minute auto ride away. A couple of chaps get into a dispute about who will provide the ride for us. We go with the more polite chap who turns out to speak a little bit of English. We are cut up by a large Toyota with registration plates proclaiming that the occupant is an MP. "Big shot" says D and the driver laughs. He asks if the place we are going is good and we have to tell him that we don't know, but it soon turns out to be the very dab.
The bar is on the second floor of a modern block that is occupied by a very smart ladies outfitter on the ground floor. We are the first customers of the day and get to chose our table on the shady balcony. This overlooks a National Park named after a local politician. We look it up, to discover that its opening hours are 05.00 - 09.30 and 16.00 - 19.00. How odd. Our waiter is a splendid young man who gets 11/10 in our book. R has a large bucket of Belgian Kriek cherry beer and D plays safe with wheat beer.  To eat we have a Lebanese Platter with Chicken Satay (sorry GD). It is yummy and very satisfying. We linger over our beers and watch the birds in the trees. Bee-eaters, kites and some splendid purple sunbirds, shimmering in the sunlight. R votes this the best pub she has ever been to in Hyderabad.

We flag an auto to take us to the nearest Metro station which provokes a lively discussion between the driver, the valet parking staff, the security guards and a couple of passers by. Eventually a concensus is reached that Ameerpet is the place to go. D has to fend for himself when it comes to fare haggling. The metro is a model of efficiency and a young man offers R his Senior Priority seat. An older chap tells D to ask someone to give him a seat. D explains that he is not as old as he looks. By the time we make it back to base it is scorching. The app says 34°C but it must be sitting in a deep, dark cave somewhere.

After a reviving cuppa D sets out to recover the laundry. He arrives exactly one minute before the appointed hour and causes quite a stir. Everybody has an opinion ranging from 'Closed today' through to "Lunchtime. Back soon". There is a phone number over the door but it turns out to have a digit too few to work these days. D is relying on the lure of a few hundred bucks and sits on the steps to wait it out. It seems like a good opportunity to write some of today's blog on the phone, which provides great entertainment for the local school children. The dhobi walla works on Indian time and arrives at quarter past complete with a large bag of very neatly folded laundry. Each t shirt is carefully wrapped around a piece of newspaper. Sadly it wasn't the Hyderabad Chronicle which runs the Andy Capp cartoon strip.

We get packed, showered, have another cup of tea and eventually decide that it is time for the off. D has consulted the oracle and once again we have been allocated the coupe. This makes it a perfect 3 out of 3. Our last overnightAn Uber is summoned and we are soon heading through the traffic towards Kacheguda (KCG) station. The building is quite imposing and there are lots of people about but for a large station it is strangely lacking in trains. Sadly that great institution, the charts, appears to have fallen into disuse. The boards with reams of printout paper were always part of the entertainment at major stations. KCG has a couple of screens that appear to have stuck on the first 2AC Waitlist page. Shame about that. It's always good to know something about the neighbours. The practice of pasting a copy o+n the side of the coach, next to the door, has also ceased much to R's relief. Now everybody on the train has to guess her age. Instead of the pasted chart there is a logo and some writing which possibly says "Should have gone to Specsavers".

We get settled in our cosy coupe in good time. The train sets off two minutes late at 21.07, then again at 21.09 and again at 21.11 before finally departing at 21.13. A vendor comes along the corridor shouting "Karachi biscuits". How we laugh. After the TTE has been we sort ourselves out for the night.

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