3,980km - we're done!
A huge 3,980km, crossing six states in 14 days - the Little Master finally made it to the finish line! He may have taken longer than most and afforded little time to rest but boy did he cover some ground.
After treating a few niggling injuries in Pune, the Little Master burst out of the city like an opening batsman making his Test debut – fresh and ready to take on the best the country had to throw at him. Unfortunately we left the city with only a few hours of sunlight remaining in the day and although the treatment brought about a new lease of life for our three-wheeled friend, we discovered as the day succumbed to night that our headlights had returned to their non-existent state! Shining a head torch out from the passenger seat, and then later onto the petrol tank when the fuel dried up (in the middle of a very busy highway I might add), we amazingly made it to Kolahpur with the reward of a mouth-watering tandoori meat feast for dinner.
The next morning we dropped in on a training session in the traditional art of wrestling, *Kushti*. Women who feel intimidated entering the free weights area of their local gym should try visiting one of these sessions. The ‘gym’ was a pit carpeted with red ochre-coloured soil and pre-pubescent boys practicing winning moves on their opponents while large burly men caked in red clay instructed from above. After standing on the perimeter for several minutes, mesmerised by the display of power and strength, the unfriendly glances my way became a bit more obvious and I decided it was time I left the ring - this was clearly a game left to the boys.
Driving out of the state of Maharashtra came as a bit of a shock. After the conservative villages we passed through day after day, many of the women covered from head to toe, we had reached epicentre of Indian tourism - Goa. Surrounded by bikini-clad Russians, matt-haired hippies and billboards brazened with alcohol advertisements, this certainly wasn’t the India I had come to love and know. I had to stop myself on several occasions from yelling out ‘put some clothes on’ to anyone in hearing distance. Once I recovered from the culture shift and was convinced to loosen my pashmina, I soaked up the sun on the deck of our beach hut in Arambol, enjoying the waves crashing on the sand and diluting images of the flute-playing dread-locked stoners from my mind.
Palolem was much of the same. Our guide book suggested this was one of the lesser-known, untouched, beautiful beaches of south Goa but I guess once it’s confirmed in ink, tourists descend and we found ourselves once again immersed with our kind. After a lovely evening strolling along the beach, savouring the mesmerising sunset (somewhat disgruntledly with hundreds of others) we set off early in search of Karnataka’s Gokarna and its tranquil Om beach. Imagine your ideal beach getaway – coconut trees, white sand, bright blue sky, clear water lapping at your feet that’s as warm as a baby’s bath – well this is Om beach. Rescued from money-hungry developers, Om has been able to remain as it was originally intended – unspoilt and picture-perfect – and we only had time for breakfast!
Thousands of pilgrims are drawn to the holy town of Udupi in Karnataka every year so we figured this should be our next stop. We were lucky to witness a procession through the streets around the town’s holy centre, the Krishna temple. Led by a not-entirely-happy elephant, it was a sea of musicians, monks dressed in orange robes, drumming their bongos, and women with leathery skin and contoured lines etched in their faces dragging the shrine forward, thankful and humbled with the weight of responsibility on their spindly shoulders. On the outskirts there were others hoping to turn the spectacle into some earnings, as we found with most of India.
One of the acts drew quite a crowd. Children who couldn’t have been older than five were putting on a circus display with the command of a circus master, who we suspected could well have been their father. He hoisted them onto a tightrope high in the air, making them walk from one end to the other using a stick for balance, drawing crowds from all around. With their sad, anxious faces, eyes staring straight ahead, it wasn’t just the crowd who willed them across to the safety of solid ground. The air was thick with incense, cow pats and the remnants of firecrackers. We asked some people whether it was a special occasion or festival but it seemed as a though this was a normal evening for the town of Udupi –a million miles away from a typical evening in Adelaide.
The next day the Little Master urged us inland, over the rolling hills of Coorg to our rainforest retreat for the night. To this point, we had experienced our fair share of nail-biting, hands over eyes, terrifying millimetre collision avoidances with Indian road users – and one particular one which almost saw a cow join me in the driver’s seat thanks to the deafening horn from an overtaking truck! I was starting to think I was invincible, that was, until I spent a night in the rainforest – and possibly *the* most sleep-depriving, petrifying night I can ever remember.
As the day surrendered to night, I started wishing we had given up our exploration days and succumbed to the tranquillity of Om. Hey, I might have even swapped my London lifestyle to become a hippie – it certainly looked like a better option than spending a night in the rainforest – actually, spending an extended time in Antarctica looked like a better option (as a sun-lover I do not make this declaration lightly).
Spiders and I have never been friends. I don’t know why, but for whatever reason the friendship was never meant to be. On our 10-minute walk, which probably took more like an hour, from dinner back to our bungalow, we had hundreds of eight-legged furry companions to keep us company. I am *not* exaggerating – the path was lined with funnel webs and the coffee plants adorned with luminous spiders. After a precarious ‘I’m not sure I can go any further’ walk through the spider-loving forest, we somehow managed to reach our home for the evening, which now also appeared to be home to many of my eight-legged foes. Even though my knight in shining armour managed to get them out of my sight, they were certainly not out of mind. After a sleepless night buried deep under the blankets I discovered that apparently the Asian funnel webs aren’t as poisonous as their Aussie counterparts – but even this fact (as helpful as the information would have been the previous day) probably would have failed to give me some much-needed shut-eye.
So our 200km detour inland may not have seemed the best decision that night but the two-hour walk through the coffee and cardamom plantations the following morning soon managed to relieve some of my stress. Our bodies were certainly appreciative of moving around rather than bumping up and down in our three-wheeled friend for a change. The guide from our rainforest retreat took us through some of the medicinal benefits the forest had to offer – pain killers, skin repair, cold and flu remedies – you would probably never have to visit another doctor again. And with the surrounding coffee and tea plantations, a visit to the local café would seem ludicrous. The owners certainly know what it means to live sustainably.
On the way to our final destination, we decided to remind the Little Master of his all-important role in life (no, it wasn’t just to get us from the north of India to the south in one piece, although that was a massive bonus) – it was to be of service to the local community. Rolling into a bus stop full of waiting passengers, he picked up his first three thankful clients, although they didn’t seem quite so happy when the bus they were waiting for overtook us. Soon after the first drop off, a nun hailed us to take her two fellow sisters into town to get their sewing machines repaired. Even with little-to-no common language between us, we managed to work this out (the sewing machine was a pretty good indicator) and dropped our passengers off to their desired destination (or maybe they just pointed for us to stop because Gareth’s driving made them fear for their lives). Either way, we had helped the Little Master get back to his roots.
All in all, the journey was amazing. There was blood (I guess with a rate of about one death every 13 seconds we were bound to see a few Indian road casualties), sweat and tears, delays due to injuries; two punctures and too much oil in the old engine; and almost being ruled out of contention on the final day (thank goodness the push start worked) but he made it! With the help of some superb technical performances from new Indian teammates along the way and some coaxing from his biggest fans (us) he eventually chugged his way over the Fort Kochi finish line with just enough time for us to get the final ferry across to the end party on Bolgatty Island.
Thanks to all those reading this that helped us along our journey – the helpful and friendly Indians and fellow tourists and Rickshaw Runners we met as well as new and old friends and our family who donated to the cause – the money will help the most disadvantaged people in India, and after what we’ve seen, there is a substantial number of people who will rely on it.
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