Jaipur Here We Come

He strode to my front door like a tribal chief looking for a scalping. But the postman who delivered my passport containing my Indian visa just happens to have a permanent scowl, a receding hairline and a loud voice. But you couldn’t wish for a nicer person than Carlos, to be knocking on your front door at 10am on a Monday morning. He greets me with double kisses and then stands back from the front door and bellows ‘Buenos Dias SeƱora’ and tells me, in a voice so loud so that the whole street can hear, what he has brought for me. He might as well be thrashing his tribal drums.

visa

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