We are woken early by chanting which penetrates through to the fifth floor. Sadly, upon peering through the curtains not only do we fail to see our morning devotees but also the Taj Mahal, despite the much vaunted 'Superior Taj View' we were promised when we paid for the upgrade. It's there, just hidden by the familiar fog.

A well-needed sleep followed by a visit to the gym to work off lunch (exacerbated by the fact that these damn photos are adding 20 pounds) meant that we were prepared for the next adventure, saying goodbye to 2009 in suitably glamorous style.

At the Gateway Hotel we were introduced to Rais, our guide for the next two days. A considered and rather slow-moving individual who obviously had the exact spiel worked out for each visit, and did not like to be deviated from it, he suggested we head straight for the Taj Mahal, to avoid the coachloads of tourists who would be arriving around noon.

Bleary-eyed and cursing, the phone rang. Our 4.30am wake-up call disturbed some very strange dreams, inspired no doubt by yesterday's sensory overload and the after-effects of our highly-spiced dinner. For the second morning we seemed to hear distant drums beating out a rhythmic tattoo that was hard to pinpoint.

So, after the rigours of dedicated tourism and with itching photo fingers to soothe, we decided to take advantage of the 5-star facilities of the Taj Mahal hotel. A quick visit to the gym to establish whether we, in our food-deprived state, could face doing any exercise swiftly turned to the negative when we noticed that next to the gym was a luxurious spa. An instant decision saw us jump straight into the candlelit jacuzzi, work up a sweat in the sauna, steam it all out in the hammam and then freeze in an ice-cold rain shower.

Our first Indian breakfast provided one or two new delicacies but mindful of a long day ahead, and with loo-paper carefully packed into the backpack, we erred on the side of caution and skipped the scariest-looking morsels.

God bless America! Any country that sells over the counter sleeping pills like Unisom should be applauded. So a nine hour flight became approximately two as I zonked my way across the sky – thanking the Lord for red wine, cocktails and pills. Unfortunately Coman was less susceptible to the narcoleptic bliss of alcohol and tranquilizers and ended up watching films, despite sporting the oh-so-fashionable Virgin Atlantic pyjamas and clamping an eyemask to his face. The glamour!