Finish lines, farewells and failed wildlife watching

Throughout the many Indian states we have passed through there has remained a few constants. The first and most disconcerting is the staring. It is understandable when you live in remote areas of India, and you see a White man practically wearing a rickshaw, that a reaction would be to stare, however some have gone beyond that. The worst offender was a motorcyclist, he had 3 passengers (standard in India), his stare was held for almost half a kilometer, and only broken to avoid hitting a cow that was making it's way accross the 3 lanes of traffic. The other constant is bad driving. I am not saying all Indians are dangerous drivers, but 99.99% certainly are. The worst of these are the lorry and bus drivers. Right of way in India goes to the largest vehicle and in most cases the one traveling the fastest. These are usually the aforementioned. To make matters worse in festival season these vehicles are festooned with flower chains and tinsel, obscuring all but a little piece of windscreen. This has been terrifying!

Alleppey is a charming city referred to as the Venice of the East. We arrived in good time and went straight to the pool. The two days we spent there allowed us to recuperate and prepare for the final stretch. The food there was excellent, some of the best curries I have had on the trip. We left refreshed and ready to finally finish our epic journey.

I would love tell you that our union flag fluttered gloriously as we hit the NH47 on the final stretch, however the previous night some beastly little git saw fit to rid our magnificent wagon of all it's patriotism by snapping the flag pole and stealing the flag. Not content with ridding it of its flag, they also ripped the horn wires out. This is the first instance we have had of any wanton vandalism or negativity, and it left us with a tainted memory of Alleppey. The actual drive to Trivandrum was effortless, the road beautifully smooth and the weather wonderful, and we made good time. Our final destination wasn't in the city itself but slightly south on the coast, in the seaside town of Kovalam. We thought it would be nice however, purely for ceremonial reasons of course, to drive through Trivandrum city itself. Perhaps it was the lack of a finish line, a welcome party, or jut a sign that we were in the actual city, but it was a rather subdued affair. In fact the gravity of what we had a achieved didn't actually sink in until we said it to ourselves several times overlooking the setting sun from our balcony.

With the journey over we still found ourselves in possession of a 2004 reg, diesel Piaggio Ape rickshaw, and we needed to sell it. Again this was a lot less painful than we thought. We simply asked the hotel if they knew anyone and within 2 days we had met, negotiated and sold the rickshaw for a fraction less than we paid for it, a real result.

With the journey finished and the tuck sold, we were still desperate to see a tiger. We made some enquiries, did some research and found a wildlife reserve 30kms away that had Leopard, Tiger and elephant etc. With no rickshaw we suffered the 3 hours it took public transport to get there, only to find that they close on Monday's, something which no one told us and isn't made clear on the Internet. We then had to wait two hours for a bus to show up, for it to then take another 3 hours to get us back, a thorough waste of a day.

Tomorrow is our last day, I am writing this watching the sun plunge into the Arabian sea, nursing a kingfisher. We have conquered India by rickshaw, but I know I will be back. It is only through adventures such as these that you see a country at it's best and worst, that you discover what it is like to live among natives and drive like they do. If it wasn't for such silly ideas as driving a tuck from Nepal to South India I wouldn't be able to tell you what a fine vehicle that rickshaw was. That chariot of tin and iron took on some of the worst terrain I have seen, and never faltered. It is a triumph of engineering and one that deserves a better reputation than it has.

That is all I have to say. Until the next stupid idea..

Artful Dodging

After every journey Steph and I take time to wash the oil and sweat off our hands and bodies and take about half an hour of peace and quiet to reflect on what's just happened. During this time a ritual has evolved, one that has now become so important that I look forward to it with childlike anticipation. During our half an hour respite I take out the Michelin map of India I bought in the planning stages, and place a red sticker on the spot we have reached. This may not sound like much, but when you see the journey you have just made, on a scale map, it helps it sink in.

Goa was much over due. The rest and food and drinking was welcomed by both of us with the same gusto in which we lapped up it's beaches. It was in this enchanting state that I tasted one of the most delicious pieces of culinary magic on Gods earth. Take an ordinary piece of Naan dough, stuff it with parmesan cheese and chopped black olives, roast it in a tandori oven, and you will have achieved the ambrosia of all foods. This simple side dish was the most delicious thing I think I have ever eaten. But enough about food.

The journey from Palolem beach in South Goa, took us on to the NH 17 straight down the coast into the state of Karnataka. Not hassled by police or boarder checkings I was fooled into thinking we would make good time. But India decided to test our meagre suspension with some of it's finest potholes. Avoiding such hazards has become an art form, and one that has come with a lot of practice. Thus I have decided to don the temporary title of India's 'Artful Dodger'.

We made it to the temple town of Udupi and set off in search of the Krishna temple and its famous elephants. We were not disappointed, there in the centre of the temple was an elephant and his ruthless nazi trainer, who bowed on a musical cue and was anointed by a priest. For a small offering you can be blessed by the beast. A procedure which involves handing a 5 rupee coin to it's trunk and getting bashed on the head by it. I was brave enough to have a go, but the trainer would not alow us to film it.

From Udupi we drove down the still potholed NH17 and made it to Kannur, where we stayed with a friendly but slightly mad Indian man in his deserted guest house on the cliff. Watching the sunset over the ocean from his roof, in the knowledge we were now in Kerala, our final state was special. It was from here that we set off bright and early to another temple town of Guruvayoor. Slightly inland this town housed another Krishna temple and after being treated to a traditional dance and some murderous elephants in a sanctuary, Steph and I settled into our more than pleasant hotel room, with Alleppey, our penultimate stop in our sights.

Indore to Goa, and some well deserved RnR.

When faced with a long days drive ahead of us, Steph and I have found it preferable to get up at dawn and get much of the driving out of the way before the heat of the day sets in, this usually allows us to arrive at our destination in good time. The streets of Indian cities are a different place in the early hours. Streets that hours before had been a writhing chaotic mess of screaming horns and two stroke engines, are earily quiet as the sun kisses the night sky. The secen is very much as if you have stumbled into the aftermath of an apocalyptic party. People literally sleep where they fall, be it in ther rickshaws, the central reservation, round abouts or their market tables. This bscene once again presented itself as we left Indore for the transit town of Nasik (also Nashik). This journey didnt present a problem and we made their in time despite the journey approaching 416 Kilometers. Nashik is renowned for is vibrant and noisy Hindu cultur and it didnt dissappoint, festivities continued well into the night not that it mattered as I could have slept through a nuclear holocaust.

Again we set off early, this time with our sights set on India's finest named city, Pune. I have been childishly excited about this place, mostly due to its name, but also because it boasts a modernity that we had struggled to find in India. It didn't disappoint and we arrived and booked ourselves into a very nice hotel, sick of sleeping on beds made out of wood, and sunk into a sprung mattress and some hasty room service. Luxuries such as these are priceless in a country where most people are content sleeping on wood. Pune gave us an opportunity to get in touch with the west again and we managed to find a McDonalds, something which i would normally avoid back home becomes irresistible when faced with curry for three meals a day.

After a hasty breakfast in Pune we set off for Kolhapur, another transit town and oe we were apprehansive about as we didnt have any accomodation booked. WHilst stopping for a coffee along the way we happened to come accross a lovely man who spoke perfect English. He too wa journeying India, but his mode of transport was a Royal Enfield Motorcycle. He couldnt believe the stupidity of what we were doing, but applauded us for making it this far. He also told of a game reserve not far from Goa, where for very little money you can camp and see Panthers. These kind of encounters are unique to traveling and restore faith in people. With the prosepct of some wildlife in the future the journey to Kolhapur went quickly.

Kolhapur was our last stop before Goa, a part of the journey that both Steph and I had been looking forward to as a chance to finally let our hair down and chill for a few days. After a free Breakfast we set off, excited at the opportunity to relax. What should have been a relatively simple journey was hindered by the fact that every map in India is WRONG. In addition no one knows where anything is. As a result we drove for an hour in a complete circle and ended up back where we started. Not too much fun. Propelled by a diet of Pepsi and Oreo's we set off again this time in the right direction for Goa. As is customary when living off children's party food, both Steph and I have found at about 3.30 we experience an almighty sugar crash. This usually coincides beautifully with our having to negotiate our way round a city to find our accommodation. This I fear may be a factor in both of our road rage. We did arrive in Goa however, and with the promise of the sea, sand and unadulterated relaxation we made it to by far the nicest hotel we had seen on the whole trip. And with a room price of 17 GBP I literally wept into the soft down pillows and the spring mattress. Whilst watching the sun turn the sky over the Arabian Sea a blood red, I realised that we have really achieved something. We have driven from Central Nepal to Goa, in under 2 weeks. Has it been worth it so far. Yes!

Potholes, Policeman and Tonk Speedbumps

As was to be expected, no insurance was delivered by 7pm on our last night in Agra. in true Indian political fashion, those who i had paid for the privilege of same day delivery dropped pens and had an impromptu festival. It wasn't until 11:45 the next morning after we had viewed the spectacular Taj Mahal upclose that we were finally insured. Steph and I then set off on an unplanned backstreet tour of Agra. When we finally managed to leave the city, we set sail for Jaipur. The drive was long but reasonably uneventful, and we arrived at sunset at the spectacular entrance to the enchanting Pink City of Jaipur. Then the fun began...

Having previously selected a hotel, it was then left to us to try and locate it in this sprawling metropolis of a city. Easier said then done at night. In the end we picked up a helpful but clueless Indian, who claimed to know where the hotel was. When it turned out he didn't and had us driving the wrong way down a one way street into busy oncoming traffic my simmering road rage finally hit boiling point. I should really learn to control my temper, but in this case it approved effective, as when we finally arrived he was so terrified he forgot to ask for a tip and left without a word. Having been planning rooms with a view to how comfortable they would be to be sick in, I knew I'd chosen well. After my heartless mockery of Steph's suffering Karma bit back and I was suffering at the hands of a horrid microbe wishing I was dead. After a slow 24 hours we set off to the transit town of Kota. It was here that we first experienced the 'National Highway 12'. Only in India would a piece of land resembling the M42 after a successful bombing raid pass as a National Highway. The journey, slowed massively by this uniquely frustrating challenge, was not dissimilar to the earthquake we experienced in Pokhara.This however, was not the only challenge. When you were able to get any speed on a reasonable surface, the Indian road authorities like to treat you with a combination of lethal speed humps. These are not the speedhumps you find in the UK, rather their larger, meaner, steroid-using, cousin, and they are not forgiving. All was not lost, we passed through one of India's most wonderfully named dwellings, Tonk and we made it in one piece to the blissfully simple town of Kota.

We left Kota and much to our dismay we found ourselves once again riding the hellish nightmare of the NH 12. This time the Tuk Tuk didn't fair so well. After about 3 hours the fuel gauge stopped working and after a panicked stop for fuel we found the battery had disconnected. This may not sound like a big deal, but to two mechanical retards such as Steph and myself, this was our worst nightmare come true. By some divine power and with the use of much foul language and many cable ties, we combined our two brain cells and made it work again. Once we left Rajasthan on a cheeky shortcut we found on a map the roads were beautifully maintained and the scenery stunning. It was here that we were stopped by the police for the first time. This went surprisingly smoothly, the policeman's english was exemplary, and apart from our Rickshaw being documented as a different colour we were ushered on with a smile and a wave. 360 KM later we arrived in the metropolitan jungle of Indore, our tin steed still in good health.     

Lucknow to Agra

Despite our hotel in Lucknow being more than adequate I still found myself tucking my money belt deeper into my groin whilst eying people with Gestapo like suspicion. Unnecessary really when the closest we have come to being robbed is by the cycle rickshaw drivers who do so in plain daylight. after another confusing exit and a quick stop to ask directions from the only white person we say (an albino Indian man incedently, so useless) we set off on the NH2 road to Agra.

It is easy to see why the Taj Mahal is the number one sight to see in India, as Steph and I limped the last remaining kilometers of the 370ish KM drive from Lucknow, the towers and dome of the Taj became visible. the heat of Agra was nothing like what we had experienced anywhere else in India. It was ferocious, made worse by the fact that it was the suns highest point of the day. It is always a challenge trying to find your hotel in the chaotic streets of an Indian city, so we thought we could make things easier by using google maps.. our plan failed and once again we were touring the side streets of an Indian city swearing and wondering how anyone could live like this. Eventually we got to the Taj Mahal and were told that we could drive no further, we would have to park and walk to our hotel, and that the Tuk couldnt be left over night. This was a nightmare as there was literally no where to park within 5 kilometers. The result was we had to abandon our hotel booking after some strong words from the police, and we settled for one further away but still with a good view of the Taj. there really is no way to describe the taste of a cold beer watching the sun set and the bats fly over the Taj Mahal, easily one of the greatest experiences of my life.

After deciding that the Taj was best seen in the morning before the hordes arrived Steph and I decided a day of rest was needed, during which we could finally sort out some sort of insurance for the rickshaw. This proved to be very entertaining, with the help of my new over enthusiastic freind Mathew and his accomplice, we negotiated the streets of Agra to the Transport Naga (transport district). Steph, who had Delhi belly remained at the hotel suffering hard whilst i fought the bureaucracy of three overwheight men sat on chairs by the side of the road with a stack of paper. Needless to say some extra money was needed to ensure that our insurance was done today. After a quick dash across 4 lanes of fast moving motorway traffic and a trip to the ATM I was 4000Rs lighter and awaiting my finished documents which are going to be delivered tonight. We will have to wait and see.

Tansen to India

Once we had paid the full amount, and explored Pokhara a little more the time had come to start the adventure for real. At 6am Steph and I set off up the steep unforgiving terrain of the mountains of Nepal carving our own tread pattern in the subcontinents already swollen carbon footprint. The views from the mountain road joining Pokhara and the little town of Tansen are breathtaking, if it wasnt for the very loud chugging of the diesel engine, all I would have heard is steph's camera click. We encountered our first real problem when we were approaching Tansen. The Tuk had been making odd noises along the journey, something we attributed to the undulating terrain. When faced by the brutal climb into Tansen the Tuk decided that gears were no longer and option and gave up on us. It took a combined effort of the village passers by and Steph and I and 30 minutes worth of pushing up a 1:3 incline to get the rickshaw on to some flat(ish) ground. A further two hours and much head shaking and Nepalese cursing ensued. We stood by hopelessly as the towns mystri (mechanics) set to work. Finally there was a flurry of movement from the tiny man now inside our engine, and he told us to start her up and test his work.. result, the remaining hilly climb to our hotel was made easy by the Tuk and we arrived in time for a cold shower, some tea and a poor nights sleep.

The next morning we woke to the sound of horns (a now regular occurrence) and possibly the greatest view either of us have ever seen. A hasty breakfast and then we hit the road heading for the boarder town of Sonauli. After a brief stop at a Hindu temple for a blessing for our journey and some red dots smeared on our sweating brows we could see the boarder. One would think that in Nepal and India crossing the boarder would at least have some formality to it, but we literally drove straight through at about 50KM P/H and we greeted by the smell of shit and curry on the other side. Words cannot describe the change in scenery literally yards from the crossing point, squalid is an understatement. Not deterred we carried on in the searing heat through forests, paddies and through crowded bizaars to finally reach the Indian City of Gorakpur. Once there we battled through the traffic, horns blazing to find a suitable looking hotel that promised a room for Rs1000 (approx 12 quid) with aircon and a double bed... It was full, so too were every other reasonable looking hotel in the whole of the city. After 2 hours in the now stifling midday heat and with much swearing at confused desk clerks we settled for Hotel Sunrise, opposite the railway station and right next to where everyone tests their horns.. at least it has aircon. Next stop Lucknow.. 

Witchcraft related injuries..

Pokhara is by far my favourite part of Nepal. An airport second to none, no luggage carousel, no air con, no shops, just a man with a large rifle. I have never had an airport experience like it, England could learn a thing or two from Nepalese logistics, they are flawlessly simple. I was pleased to find out my ticket had contributed towards a charity that helps children who are victims of domestic and witchcraft related violence etc. It was the inclusion of the etc that made me laugh, witchcraft related violence had to be mentioned and no covered simply by the etc.

Pokhara is much nicer than Kathmandu, it's cleaner, lusher and warmer and the people don't eye you with the ferocity of a rapist. We met up with Rick of Hearts and Tears fame to touch base and talk rickshaw. Needless to say we got very drunk, i moreso than usual and out the otherside of my expensive drinking degree and out of practice I was punished by the cruel hand of Ghurka beer and am now writing this in-between alcohol shakes.

After a hair raising test drive today, Steph and I are now the proud owners of a diesel powered Piaggio Rickshaw. The beast is a bugger to drive and noisy and smelly, but you can't stop smiling in it, particularly when your presence attracts an audience everywhere you go. With the final payment going down tomorrow Steph's and my adventure starts for real.