As we passed the umpteenth bullock cart, weaved through the rest of the assorted traffic, nearly knocked over a man and his daughter on a motorbike and arrived at the 10h hotel - only to be told that they, too, were full - I had one of those moments where you wonder what on earth you're doing here.

Nestled beneath a medieval hilltop fort, which is visible from the press box in the Captain Roop Singh Stadium (a marvellous name which comes from India's hockey captain who led them to victory in the 1932 and 1936 Olympics), Gwalior is no tourist haven. The fort aside there is little to speak of, and as a result hotel space is at a premium when international cricket comes to town.

With online booking service Makemytrip completely screwing us over (they sent me an email saying my booking had been cancelled after we'd reached our hotel and been told they weren't expecting us and had no space), an afternoon trip around Gwalior revealed that the town was booked out.

After spending some time in budget hotels around India I can tell you that there's a general order to the quality of a place. First priority is clean bed sheets and a sit-down loo. Next come a shower (preferably hot) and the provision of a towel and extra bed sheet. You know you're in a really good place when they slip a newspaper under your door in the morning. Usually one can achieve all of the above for 600 rupees (around USD$16).

We eventually managed to wangle a room for one night in the three-star place we thought we'd booked, which turned out to be overpriced (to fail the newspaper test when the room costs Rs1800 is unforgivable). But we still needed somewhere to stay for the other two nights and so an afternoon reconnaissance mission was in order.

Halfway through I gave up, and decided to go to a barber for a shave - a magnificent experience for just Rs20, full of lotions and potions, facial massages, a proper lathering and genuine old-school razors - only to be intercepted by a tout with a handful of hotel business cards.

Off we went again in search of a bed, although our progress was slowed when the auto rickshaw failed to start after an injection of petrol at a service station. Driver and tout then argued furiously as they inserted thin metal wire into all sorts of places, including a part of the lawnmower-sized engine beneath the seat. The one wire was then attached to the engine, pulled taut and tied to the rearview mirror. Somehow that did the trick, because with a crank on the starter-handle we were back to full power.

With the English language a rare commodity in these parts, it seemed miraculous that I eventually found somewhere in the most remote back alley with a room that had three beds and negotiated a deal. I won't go into the bathroom details, but I now have a roof over my head for the grand price of Rs200 per night each.

Let's hope the cricket makes it all worthwhile. At least the presence of over 2000 noisy fans at training on Tuesday suggests the atmosphere certainly won't disappoint.