how to master big cities in India

Outside of cities you have the normal traffic without significant rules, but then you will get the total anarchy, anarchic anarchy. What to do? Try to flow with the traffic. At some point in time you will recognize that there is no need to avoid potholes, vehicles and other things, it just happens. Then the change: you don't flow anymore but you float. You are part of the traffic. You are part of the city's heartbeat, you are the traffic, you are the hearbeat, you ARE THE CITY!

THE END.

Elise’s parents arrived early morning and joined us for breakfast. A few photos were taken and off we went to do a bit of sightseeing while we still had the tuktuk in our procession. Best layed plans…Our miserable piece of crap which had performed so well until the very end had well and truly had enough. She didn’t want to start, she didn’t want to run, and she certainly didn’t want to go any further than the half block to the finish line. At 1300 team Rhumb Line – Professional Tucktukery crossed the finish line.

We have all had the most amazing experience. India is a country of amazement. None of us have had an Eat, Pray, Love revelation but we have all been deeply impressed with the generosity of the people, the food, and in some places the scenery. Except Malda, Malda was shit. Andy and Elise put up with our endless breakdowns and provided us tools, knowledge, and a comforting hug when on the precipice of torching the bastard and walking off.

We spend the afternoon around the pool, in the sun doing absolutely nothing. It was glorious. The evening gave host to our warp up party that turned into a most interesting affair.

The location was a private island that I can only assume had been selected for its ability to contain the carnage. On arrival the heavens opened. We were in an outdoor pavilion and for the most part were protected from the ribbons of rain. As the night descended into farce the shower intensified from mildly annoying to start looking for higher ground. For the first time we were all subjected to the full force of the Indian monsoon. As this was climatic conditions spiraled out of control faster than an unsupervised Justin Beiber we were treated to a performance from a local martial arts team. There were many swords, daggers, sticks, fire, sticks on fire, and man touching.

Within thirty minutes the pavilion was flooded, people were outside dancing in the rain, and the less intelligent of the group were rolling around in the mud. At some point, two people elected to jump into the fast flowing river and were swept away. Police were called, search and rescue were dispatched, and we were all held on the island. When we were finally allowed to board the boat the constabulary blocked our departure and we waited almost an hour. Around 0100 we finally set off.

There were some epic stories but the greatest one of all has to go to the team of two young English guys who on the outside had a miserable experience. We ran into them at the Bajaj dealer and they were waiting for a new engine. That was a whole other farce of Indian fueled ridiculousness, lots of time was lost. To make the finishing party they drove day and night. The only issue was they each contracted the runs. To work around this they bought a hammock chair, tied it to the roof rack, and cut a whole in it. When one was on the verge of an explosive movement pants were dropped and they would jump in while the other other would drive on. The locals apparently found this to be most amusing.

Not all the teams made the finish unfortunately, our friends from the Gohst Busters reported yesterday morning they had (another) rather terminal engine failure about 500km out. Hopefully they arrive soon as I think they have many stories.

The morons who jumped in the water were found, alive. They swam across the river narrowly escaping being caught up in the drag net of evolutionary failures.

Kochi, Kerala, India

Day 17 Kochi Well rested and fed after a full day of relax we easily drove to the finish line where we signed up our name in the arrival board. Mixed feeling when we had to give up our rickshaws. Those uncomfortable traps broke down continuously, didn’t repair us from the monsoon and forced us to stop in the ugliest places of India. That said they also carried us for more than 4000km withstanding our sporty driving style even in the bumpiest road! What’s the perfect finale for a travel like this? A crazy party on a random island where: - A monsoon storms during the night and floods the place with ankle-level water - People starts dancing in the rain and fight in the mud - Two people went for a “swim” across the huge river while the monsoon was storming (and they made it to other side)

kochi

We set off at 0600 with the intention of making a coastal city and mooring up at a resort. Before we could do this however, we had to take our tuktuk through the Macdonald’s drive through. There was a man out front washing the drive and he was considerably unimpressed with us tracking mud all around. Compounding the issue was the Macdonald’s was closed so we quickly powered our way out and set off.

Andy had found a resort of small huts located around a lake that was right on the beach. We were hoping for breakfast beers, champagne, good food, perhaps a massage, and crucially laundry. It was a short blast through some rice patty and a final stretch of testicle smashing, back jarring, concussion inducing highway. As our convoy approached the coast we started seeing lovely houses, places you would actually want to live in and not the mud hovels we have become accustomed to. We drove through Thrissur, which was mostly closed due to another strike. I am beginning to think striking is a national sport. Our tuktuk behaved appallingly: continually cutting out, coughing, sputtering, choking, and complaining. We didn’t care, we were so close to the finish that we figured we could drive through it. Neither of us wanted to see the inside of that dammed carburetor again.

We rounded a sharp 90o bend and found ourselves on the doorstep of the Arabian Sea. Without hesitation both tuktuks ended up on the beach, and eventually got stuck. I ran straight for the ocean and jumped in. General jubilation was had at crossing over. The fun kept coming as Elise backed her tuktuk straight up and into a palm tree. The resulting dent, a physical reminder of her interesting driving skill, was in no way as troublesome for her as the three of us on the ground laughing ourselves into oxygen depletion. Thankfully, many cameras were readily available to document the incident. Remember, she is a pilot.

We then set off for the resort, which had all the outward appearance of our highly converted pampering. And laundry. However, dreams are just that and reality is frequently not as kind. On arrival we were informed it was a health retreat, there was no meat, hourly yoga sessions, the huts were yurts, and that under no circumstances would alcohol be permitted. We left rather quickly and were distressed to find all other resorts in the area suffered from the same level of mismanagement. We pulled along the coast hoping to find something nice. Breakfast beers turned to lunch beers, which then turned into lunch without beer. Collectively we elected to head straight for Kochi and find somewhere plush to stay.

Hotels were checked into, hugs and high fives were exchanged, and beers were ordered. We had made it. Kochi. Rickshaws in varying conditions (exhausts tied to the roof and a rather liberal application of bondo) littered the streets like plastic on a beach.

Andy, James, and I enjoyed beers on our balcony overlooking the main drag to the finish. About thirty minutes later the police arrived and took away the hotel manager. Apparently, drinking is frowned upon in these parts. It was a precursor to a night of antics that had us wondering if we would be asked to leave the hotel.