I’m stood wearing my backpack staring into the mirror in the luxurious bathroom in my sister’s UAE apartment wondering, “am I ready to do this again?”. Later today, I will be leaving the UAE and flying to India. Alone. Claire left for the UK three days ago to help her soon-to-be-wed best friend, Naomi, choose a wedding dress. I recall that the The Rough Guide to the First-Time Around the World book indicates that travelling alone is a good way to build confidence and one can wander as one pleases, without having to reach a quorum with others first. I really enjoy travelling with Claire: in addition to all the great things we have together, we lead each other through the inevitable dilemmas in which we find ourselves. Alas, now it’s my turn to go it alone.

For a soft introduction to what is renowned as one of the most difficult countries to backpack, I’ll be starting my trip in Goa; a beachy stretch on the west coast, inhabited by both Little Britain package holidaymakers and dope-smoking hippies alike (although the two stay at different villages and never the twain shall meet). I’ll be looking to find somewhere in between, and mingle with the natives along the way.

In the final hour I must admit that I’m quite nervous about the trip. The guidebooks hardly sell Goa as destination: One page it’s advising to steer clear of the overdeveloped “Costa del” Calangute complete with trashy alcohol- and drug-fuelled nonsense and the next it’s warning not to talk to any hippies either, because they too will be smoking joints. Hopefully, I can find something that’s more my cup of masala tea.

It’ll only be a couple of weeks before Claire joins me in Rajasthan, far further north in the country. If I really enjoy Goa then I’ll stay as long as I can and fly the distance. If not, then perhaps I’ll make my way up and do a little bit of backpacking on my own.

Wish me luck!