Warning: Contains vivid depictions of toilet related escapades and graphic scenes of monkey sex. So what's new?

Mumbai from the air is a bewildering sight. Large areas of high rises and commercial buildings are interspersed with strange patches of undulating grey - like the view through a monochrome kaleidoscope. As the plane nears the ground, these strange blotches coalesce into millions upon millions of small ramshackle buildings with corrugated roofs squashed into a maze of tiny alleyways: the Mumbai Slums.

I had chosen a hotel near the airport for the first night because it was cheap and downtown Mumbai is notoriously expensive. I dumped my stuff and went on my usual reconnaissance of the local area. I was on the busy Mathuradas Vasanji Road, teeming with life, overcrowded with noisy vehicles. I passed a few restaurants noting which I could use later. A foul, heavily polluted river oozed nearby.

I walked around the edge of some slums. I wanted to walk down the darkening alleyways but strangely, it wasn't the threat of any danger that stopped me, but the feeling that I would be intruding. I was tired from the flight - air travel always knocks me out - so I grabbed dinner and went to bed early.

The next morning I did a little research and found that I was near the Nehru Centre, so I opted to stay another night and explore the area more. I wandered the streets aimlessly, hoping to find something interesting. This may sound like an ineffective way of doing things, but it usually works very well for me as I love walking and nearly always find something unusual or interesting to see that is off the beaten path. Today wasn't to be one of those days. I walked for what seemed like miles past nothing but construction sites and empty buildings. Feeling tired under the onslaught of the midday sun, I hailed an auto-rickshaw. It took five minutes to explain where I wanted to go before I gave up on the driver and continued to walk in the general direction of the Nehru Centre. By now my underpants were filling with sweat and my continuing diarrhoea made every fart potentially fatal.

Suddenly, my driver reappeared driving slowly along next to me. Apparently he had become enlightened and knew exactly where I wanted to go. Dubiously I climbed aboard. We trickled down the road in gridlocked traffic for five minutes before pulling in at a petrol station. He left me alone in the rickshaw while he disappeared for a while before jumping back in again. We stop-started down the road for a few more minutes before he turned left at a junction, did a U-turn and joined a queue for another petrol station that looked so long it could probably be seen from the International Space Station. We had travelled a grand total of fifty metres in twenty minutes. Exasperated, I tapped the driver on the shoulder and said, "I've had enough."

Seriously dehydrated from the diarrhoea and the temperature, I jumped out of the auto-rickshaw, bought a huge bottle of water and retired to my room for the rest of the day where I regained my strength gradually. During the evening, I let rip with what should have been a huge pump. Instead of the usual entertaining frapping sound, there was a dull pop. I can only conclude by saying that my fellow Stevenage alumnus Lewis Hamilton may be a better F1 racer than me, but I can leave more impressive skid marks.

The next day, I booked a cab to take me to the Hotel Oasis, a cheap downtown hotel I had booked online the night before. I shared the cab with a girl called Kay from Oxford who, by coincidence, was also going to the same hotel.

We drove in the clamorous Mumbai heat, casually chatting. I warmed immediately to Kay - she was well travelled, good natured and entertaining.

We stowed our bags and took a walk into town. We walked past an elaborate police station which the guards outside wouldn't let us look at for security reasons. Since the Mumbai attacks, there are armed police posted all over town.

We hit the Gate of India down by the docks, a large stone edifice similar to a triumphant arch designed by the British for a visit of King George V. I thought it was tired looking and preferred the view of the misty (polluted) bay.

We walked past the Taj Mahal Hotel which had been a focal point of the Mumbai attacks, with explosions, executions and people escaping from windows by tying bed sheets together. Around the block was the famous Leopald's, a Mumbai Café Bar where we had lunch. The food was average, and later I found out that more people had died in this place during the attacks.

We continued to walk around downtown Mumbai, taking in the University and High Court - all very grand and European in design and architecture.

As the sun was dipping we visited Jehangir Art Gallery. Although it contained some exceptional pieces, I found it pretty uninspiring. However, the good thing about this place is that it has a high reputation in the Indian art world and artists are on a fairly rapid rotation, so give it a go - you might get lucky.

Back at the hotel, I noticed a black spot on my pillow. I shook it and the black spot fell to the floor and slowly started crawling away. Repulsed and without thinking, I stamped on it. A thick sheen of crimson blood spattered across the floor. My blood - it was a bed bug.

The next day, Kay and I went on a long walk. First, we headed to Chatrapati Shivaji (Victoria) Railway Terminus, a grand and eloquently designed building, where thousands of people traversed the platforms.

I found a large colony of cockroaches scurrying around the ticket office in broad daylight. These were obviously the cockroach equivalent of the marines as they showed no fear as I approached and observed them.

We headed to Crawford Market - an amazing place which defines the word "lively". I saw a kitchen sink being sold there, so there's no limit to what else was on offer. I'm also pretty sure I saw a fully working light sabre, the One Ring and the Ark of the Covenant near the pitches of Elvis and Lord Lucan.

Crawford Market – this women is an expert at ignoring hawkers. Kudos!

Crawford Market – a young woman with something on her mind sells vegetables.

We walked further afield towards a mosque which we never found, where the streets took on an almost rustic, Gallic appearance.

Then we found our way into the backstreets and past some makeshift slums. A little boy was joyously playing in the streets and Kay noticed that his mother asked him to beg from me. He didn't - that kid will go far.

Back towards town we ran across more dilapidated dwellings by the side of the road.

One of the major things I noticed about downtown Mumbai is that on the whole, it was sedate and modern, with a few grand historic buildings thrown in too. And the biggest difference of all? No cows. I didn't see a single heifer swaggering around like it owned the place. The thing is, I'm a vegetarian so I have a real fondness for Hindu beliefs. However, letting cows wander wherever they like, although an admirable trait, simply isn't practical. Firstly, the cow needs to eat a lot and consequently, defecate a lot. When you have cow pats all over the road coupled with poor or nonexistent public services, sanitary conditions spiral down. And let's face it, if the mighty cow can shit and piss all over the place, why shouldn't people? I surmise that is why a lot of people follow suit - apart from the fact that there are large numbers of homeless people in the big cities. Not only that, but the cows end up eating rubbish left out in plastic bags. The plastic bags get entangled in the cow's gut, leading to a lingering, painful death. Personally, I think Mumbai is leading the way in not allowing cows into the city centre - intentionally or not. It certainly is one of the most sanitary city centres I have seen in India.

The next day, Kay's friend from England, Davita turned up. She was quick witted and lively and kept the conversations moving along nicely. We headed for Elephanta Island - a popular Mumbai tourist spot. On the island are many cave temples with embedded shrines. Most of the statues have eroded with age (the temples were carved out around 1500 years ago) but the most impressive statue of a three headed Shiva that stands six metres tall is both a captivating and immensely beautiful work of art.

There are several colonies of monkeys on the island and they caused mischief all day, from stealing some of Kay's lunch to a huge monkey war which we were lucky enough to witness. The monkeys were pin wheeling, gesturing and physically battering each other on the nearby hillside while others looked on dumbfounded. There was also some dirty monkey sex if you're into that kind of thing. They were going at it like England footballers at a fashion show, prompting one young lad to embarrass his mother by asking what the stringy, viscous fluid hanging from one young monkey's fingers was.

John Terry, yesterday.

That evening we relaxed by going to the Taj Hotel and sipping cocktails in the bar. We attempted to find the Insomnia nightclub but it had been temporarily closed. Never mind - I don't think any of us could have lasted the night anyway. I said my farewells to the girls - it was to be my last night in Mumbai, and in India.

The next day I packaged some books and clothes up to send back home. In India, you have people who parcel up your package in front of you before you mail it. As I stood opposite the Post Office while a large demonstration was going on outside it, the parcel wallah asked me to step away from underneath the overhead trees. I didn't understand why until a few seconds later a large white streak flashed down on my black shirt. Dirty pigeons!

I dispatched my goods (it cost more for me to post them than to initially buy them) and grabbed a cab for the airport.

It had been nine weeks, twenty three towns and cities, seven states and over three and a half thousand miles of travel. I'd been bitten by insects, stalked by giant arachnids, met some wonderful people, bumped into a few scoundrels, witnessed some heavenly places and been torn up by some terrible sights. India is truly a country of extremes; wonderful, absurd and intangible.

Most importantly, in India you always have a keen sense of the here and now; of being alive. Every sense is active, every heartbeat felt.

There is no other place like it in the world.

This blog covers the period 13-19 December 2009.