Ben Fogle's country travels: my first visit to India The vast snowy peaks soared over the lush green valleys as I led a water buffalo across the field to a stable. I say "I led," but it might be described better as the water buffalo leading me. They are strong beasts with an equally powerful will. Last week I was in the north east of India, in Uttarakhand, close to the border with Nepal and the Himalayas. I was living with a remote hilltop farming family who kept, among other animals, two large female buffalo. They are prolific across India, where they are used as beasts of burden. Before I could milk it, however, I had to bathe it. Buffalos have a leathery skin with thick bristles of black hair. I poured water over its head and began to give it a rub with my hands. It tipped its head in appreciation as I rubbed behind its ears and cleaned off the mud and manure from its body. Soon I was ready to begin the milking. Here in India, milking tends to be the job of the women (as do quite a few of the hard physical tasks) so my first task was to ensure that the buffalo bonded with me. As with cattle, if a cow doesn't feel comfortable in your company, it will withhold the milk. In the past I have done everything from playing Classic FM to even John Humphrys's Today show to encourage the flow of milk (The Archers is a guaranteed winner). The buffalo was unsure - without a colourful sari I must have looked strange and unfamiliar. I tethered it and pressed my head against its leathery, clammy side and then reached for the udder. It was still uncertain, but some soothing words from one of the local female farmhands put it at ease and milk soon flowed into the pan. I carried my small bounty back to the farmhouse, where I poured it into my morning tea. It was my first visit to the subcontinent but already I was hooked. India is a riot of noise, colour, taste and smell. Wherever you look is a rich tapestry of life. The remote and sparsely populated mountains are a different world to the mass of humanity of Delhi. Monkeys bound through the trees while birds of prey wheel on thermals high above. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation on my leg; there was a leech feasting on my blood. The unseasonably late rain had extended the monsoon season, and hence that of the leech. They sense vibrations and heat and latch on to passing shoes before working their way up to a picnic spot. Fortunately I had come prepared. I sprinkled salt from my pocket and watched as it recoiled and slid off into the undergrowth.