I will always remember Delhi, though I am unconvinced it is entirely for the right reasons. Indubitably, the city is possessed of the omnipresent grime that clogs the capillaries of any developing metropolis; the difference being that where some such cities may be exhibiting a straightforward case of arteriosclerosis, Delhi is the outcome of consuming a McDonalds and three packets of cigarettes at every meal. Aesthetically, it can be equally pleasant.

Far more impressive from my standpoint was Humayoun's Tomb, although I fear my memory of it may have been somewhat enhanced by an incident of amusement it caused me. The building itself is widely considered to be the prototype of the Taj Mahal, and it's almost equally appealing. A rich, red colour, one which you will see in the sandstone buildings throughout Delhi, it rises out of some beautiful gardens, where you will find some other family tombs of historical interest. The grounds themselves are extremely attractive, and evocative of an English park, complete with resplendent peacocks; it's really rather a pleasant place to be.

Worth a trip in its own right, Bukhara is ridiculously expensive as India goes - you can expect to pay around £15 for a main course, which I would consider a touch on the dear side in England. It's worth it for the experience alone, however, watching the cooks ply their trade through a glass wall at the side of the restaurant, and being fussed over in a way that makes you wonder what perfume you put on that morning, or if your clothes are looking particularly stylish today. However, we arrived a little too late for lunch (having had an absurd amount of trouble finding a rickshaw driver who had any idea where the Sheraton was or could decipher our mangled Hindi pronunciation of road names), and were directed to another cafe in the hotel complex, being told to try again at dinner time.

This all being said, two of us were absolutely fine. The problem was that our other friend, who had pretty much eaten plain rice and the odd chapatti for the entire holiday, and had been looking forward to his marinated leg of lamb in Bukhara for rather a long time, did not escape quite so lightly. After gradually acquiring a zombie-like pallor during the course of our wandering through Humayoun's grounds, he eventually dashed behind a tree with predictable results. To be fair to the lad, he demonstrated the requisite English stiff upper lip, and, stating in no uncertain terms that he was going to have his damned leg of lamb regardless of which end it made its reappearance from, he did in fact make it to the Sheraton.

However, if you don't touch the mozzarella cheese in the Sheraton (or anywhere else), you should be alright in Delhi. Yes, you may get offered a bloodied goat's head in the market outside the mosque (quite what they expect you to do with it, I don't know), and yes, you will probably get ripped off at every possible opportunity unless you are a seasoned campaigner (and even if you are, don't underestimate the ingenuity with which you will be countered!). But Delhi has an odd, filthy charm, in the same way that a particularly flatulent and moth-eaten Rajasthani camel might be termed 'cute', and it is worth taking some time to get to grips with it.

I can't recommend Delhi for its radiant beauty and fabulous weather - it's really rather grotty and the humidity is overpowering at times. However, I can recommend it for being one of the cultural melting-pots of the world, a colourful and vibrant festival of a city, with everything you could expect or want from an Indian metropolis and more. It's all to easy to skip through it in a couple of days and come out the other side barely alive, whispering 'Delhi is hell on earth', but as someone who has endured a night in Varanasi train station, I can tell you that it isn't even close. It's one of those places where you get out what you put in, and although I wouldn't call it relaxing, it has to be one of the most fun places I've been.