Half way house

Insane. One week into the Rickshaw Run and I feel like I've been driving across this incredible country for months. Before I get started though, here's some KarmaKorma news...

First things first, I found a team mate. It is my pleasure to introduce Mr John Anthony - cameraman, cake enthusiast and able copilot. John was recruited in the bar the night before the race started. He has a big bag with lots of useful things in it. He's very smiley and is quite a good driver, but he tends to hang out the side of the Rickshaw and make it a bit unstable - more on this later.

Secondly, we have an official team sponsor: the lovely folk at sports consultancy **PressRed **have generously donated a wad of cash to our pot. Check them out at [www.pressred.co.uk](http://www.pressred.co.uk). You'll notice that our lovely Rickshaw has been painted up in PressRed colours - lots of piccies in our gallery. Thanks PressRed!

So, back to the plot. If you haven't read the blogs below, here's a pre-race summary: I lost my luggage, rode a burning train, had lunch with a nun, received no less than five proposals of marriage, scrambled a motorbike up a river in the dark, picked some tea, got an Indian makeover and found my luggage again. 

And then things really started to get interesting... this is the story so far:

The starting line

Last Sunday, the intrepid squadron of 55 rickshaws were flagged off from Shillong in a cloud of petrol fumes and engine backwash. It was mayhem. Most broke down before the first petrol station, but eventually we mastered the clutch control, found the filler cap and got the little beasties going again, and by 2pm we were heading out of Shillong and into hill country.

The cast list

As the crowds thinned, we formed little convoys. We've buddied up with two other teams - "the Toboganists" and "Tuk Tuk and Away". The former are Irish engineers Bob and John - they are brilliant at fixing the 'shaws when we break down, and they drink lots of gin. The latter are Dan, Paul and Cris, three very funny chaps from the West Country who painted their 'shaw to look like a Ferrari. They wear matching T-shirts and make everyone laugh by telling silly joke and singing songs. They don't have a map.

Day one - 12 April, Shillong to Nongstoin

Spectacular scenery - rolling hills covered with tea, tiny rural villages, rivers, rope bridges and excellent roads. But no hotels. Slept in a school classroom, on a concrete floor. Dinner was maggi noodles and fanta lemon. 

Day two - 13 April, Nongstoin to Goalpara

Rolled the 'shaw down a ditch. Only managed a 360 degree roll, but we got extra marks for our spectacular last minute bail outs (one each side) as the little three-wheeler disappeared over the embankment. Retrieved her from the rice paddy, squished her back into shape and she started first time - although we lost the windscreen. Paddled in a mountain stream then drove for six hours on the worst road in the world. Showered in a room with a tarantula, two of the convoy passed out a dinner but luckily we were dining opposite a hospital so we got them fixed up quick smart. Paul has a septic foot so needs jabs every 12 hours, so race schedule has been amended to include hospitals. Got chased home in a thunderstorm by armed guards at 11pm, after discovering the town had a curfew of 10pm. 

Day three - 14 April, Goalpara to Cooch Behar

After the two days of bone-shaker mountain roads we tweaked our trusty steeds a bit and set forth onto the highways: roads now improved from boulder beds to just mildly rubbley. Lots of driving, then found a mint hotel and stuffed ourselves with curry.

Day four - 15 April, Cooch Behar to Purnia

Took the highway again, pausing in Siliguri for luncheon and jabs. Long, hot day from West Bengal into Bihar, where we met other teams at Holiday Hotel. I don't recommend anyone goes to Holiday hotel for a holiday unless they really like mosquitoes. After three days of lovely cool mountain air, the plains were a nasty shock - I went a bit wobbly and vommity with heat exhaustion, but my comrades whipped out the hydration sachets and packed me off to bed.

Day five - 16 April, Purnia to Patna

Back on board by 5am, Ferrari boys had a day of engine troubles. We pressed on while they got their engine fixed up, calling into a Children's SOS village. Amazing place - a campus of modern, clean homes, each with a 'mother' who takes care of ten children. The campus also had a temple, a kindergarten school and beautiful play areas. Made a short film about the kids and let them drive our 'shaw around the campus, got lots of cuddles and photos - all will be on the site once we've got to Goa. Met up with the other two teams on the highway, where they'd broken down. Became minor celebrities in a village arranging a truck to transport the 'shaws to Patna, then drove ours four hours through the night with a police escort to reach our hotel at 2am - dirty, hungry but elated from the day's events. 

Day six - 17 April, Patna to bus stop in the middle of nowhere

After a glorious hot shower and buffet breakkie, we headed off to the Rickshaw wallah to get a new windscreen for us and a new engine for the Ferrari. Six hours later, we tootled off from the city towards the setting sun; our freshly  spruced 'shaw lasted about an hour before I had a small altercation with the central reservation while triple-overtaking. We now have a customised footwell. Later, witnessed a nasty RTA and decided that night driving wasn't much fun so pulled over and slept in a bus stop.

Day seven - 18 April, Bus stop in the middle of nowhere to Varanasi

After two hours sleep on a bit of concrete, we did some early morning yoga to fortify ourselves and hopped back on board. Our brief two hour drive to Varanasi turned into a slightly longer project after the road was closed (local beheading) and then our engine blew up. Conveniently we were only meters from a mechanic so the wait was only five hours this time. After almost 36 hours on the road, we crawled into Varanasi at 7pm, kidnapped a rickshaw driver who drove us to a snazzy hotel with swimming pool and internet, all for less than a tenner.  

Onwards and upwards?

This morning, we're regrouping the troops ready for part two. Rickshaws have been valeted, engine's are humming like kittens, washing is done and beer has been drunk. Paul's foot has reduced from elephantine proportions to just a slight clubfoot, and we're feeling smug. I mean, we've rolled the rickshaws, we've battled the trucks, we've  dodged bicycles, visited almost every hospital between Shillong and Varanasi, we've fixed two broken engines, slept rough (twice) and caught a sobering glimpse of an RTA. But we've also met some incredible people - orphans, mechanics, nuns, policemen, chai-wallahs and hoteliers. And the thousands of people that have waved us on along the way. I wonder what the roads will throw at us next? 

Thanks for your challenges - I've managed about one a day so far, but there is still time if you'd like to get involved: paste your requests under the 'comment' section below. And finally, if you haven't quite got round to sponsoring me, please do check out the [charity pages](index.php?mode=teamwebsites&name=karmakorma&page=charities) on the left. I've now first hand what a difference your contributions make to the lives of the forgotten children of India. Visit [the gallery ](index.php?mode=teamwebsites&name=karmakorma&page=gallery)to see some pictures that might just persuade you to part with a bit of cash. And remember, the sponsorship targets are a MINIMUM - if we raise more than that it would be fantastic - every penny you can spare goes such a long way in India.

Toodle pip for now.

Sarah

Back to my roots

My Grandmother lived in Darjeeling as a girl - her parents were jute dealers in NE India in the 1920s, and while they swapped gems and sipped gin, Gran was educated at the nearest quality establishment, an austere convent school for girls - St Helen's in Kurseong. It's a three hour train ride from Darjeeling, on the World Heritage-listed steam 'toy' train. National treasure it might be, but it was the longest three hours of my life.

Apart from the fact that the cloud were back, I think soot train is a more accurate description. The little engine puffed away, spilling clouds of vapour into the air while simultaneous making a high-pitched toot. Sadly, as the hot cloud hits the cold air it condenses, dumping a smattering of soot all over the passengers. The only people it didn't seem to bother was the gaggle of 'youths' that hopped onto my carriage and engaged me in conversation for the duration of the journey. Except the only phrase they knew was "Hey cutie, I love you". Imagine this on loop for three hours, accompanied by soot and fog. Not quite the panoramic extravagnza I had in mind.

On arrival in Kurseong, I fortified  myself with momos and chai before heading up to the convent to meet Sister Dominica. She showed me round the vast whitewashed building, through gardens filled with brightly coloured sping flowers, past classrooms lined with tiny wooden desks, through the sterile refectory and upstairs to a huge attic room filled with hundreds, literally hundreds of beds - each with matching striped blanket, a wooden chair and a bedside table. Red stripes for seniors, blue for juniors, yellow for infants. Gran was about three when she started at St Helens so would have occupied one of the tiniest bunks.

Later that night, I was finally reunited with my luggage at Bagdogra airport before boarding the night train to head east, deep into the remote Indian outpost of Assam. A swealtering three hour taxi ride from the plains terminated in Shillong, the starting line for my three-wheeled adventure. I'm celebrating today with a fresh pair of pants, a hot shower and a night off to recharging my batteries - both the metaphysical ones and my actual camera batteries! Tomorrow is the launch party - meet the rickshaws, play cricket and I believe there's a small social gathering too. And as you snooze through the early hours of Sunday morning, the Governor of Meghalaya will flag us off at noon, Indian time. There really is no going back now... and I wouldn't change it for the world. Get ready Goa, here we come! 

Cuppa tea?

Darjeeling is famous for its tea, and justifiably so. You can plonk yourself in the cute tea house that dot the hill station and slurp fragrant brews, while gazing out over Kanchenjunga - the world's third highest peak. Unless it's horribly cloudy, in which case Darjeeling is about as appealing as a wet weekend in Bognor Regis.

I waited, and gazed, and sipped and willed those pregnant grey masses to disappear. But for five long days they did nothing but pour their watery contents on my head. Luckily, I stumbled upon a distraction: I was staying with the NE India branch of Mercy Corps (one of the charites that the Rickshaw Run supports though not an official sponsor for the Spring 09 race). The boss - a lovely chap called John - is a biker, and was generous enough to loan me his Enfield for a day or two. Quicker that you can say Kanchenjunga, I was dodging raindrops, streaking through puddles, wobbling up muddy tracks on my way to stay in some remote village communities. Just as a refresher for the Rickshaw Run, you'll understand. I needed to practice my, errrr.... steering.

This part of India is mostly populated by Tibetean and Nepalese folk, and I stayed one night with a family in Lingten, where Rickshaw Run funding has established a paper-making factory, and a second night in a tea community close to Mirik. Away from the hullabaloo of Darjeeling, these villages are heavenly - strewn with wild orchids, scented by cardomom and populated by some of the friendliest people on earth. And the most humble. They unquestioningly opened their door and home to me, showing me their tea planation, their schools, the vegetables they grow organically on the steep terraces, and their cattle. Their modest homes were sparce but immaculate. At night, after huge dinners of fresh veetable curry, we sipped hot milk, taken from the cow an hour before and then steeped with spices, as the thunder clouds gathered and gave way to an electric storm. And we discussed their difficulties in selling their tea in the complicated tea market. Mercy Corps is helping small farmers like these get their produce to market, and implimenting measures to improve their standard of living - from clean water systems to help registering land in line with the new government standards, to support in dealing with the wealthy estate owners who are based in Calcutta and show little regard for the working conditions on the distant tea hills. I'm not going to harp on about it, but meeting these people and seeing how a few quid and some infrastructure has made it possible to earn a living is truely magical.

Talking of which, the next morning the sun rose over the horizon illuminating the stupendous skyline of Himalayan peaks that I was beginning to doubt existetd. It lasted an hour before the mist and cloud crept back in. But a wet week in Darjeeling was worth it just for that night at the tea plantation, and the wonderful dawn that followed.

Bugged out

India never fails to impress. From the three hours at Calcutta airport filling out 'lost luggage' forms, to the Darjeeling Mail train catching fire in the middle of the night, India immersed you in its meyhem from the word go. I'd barely been in the country 24 hours and I found myself sipping chai at the side of the tracks with a family from Siliguri while the guards tackled the five meter flames that were engulfing the front carriage. It was 3am and we were in the middle of nowhere. *No problem madam! Some new brakes are coming!* And sure enough we were back on the train a couple of hours later, whistling towards the hill station of Darjeeling.

Having no rucksack to lug around and no clothing choices to make is utterly liberating. I am a convert. My next trip, I'm going hand luggage only. In fact, I only thing I really miss is my industrial strength insect repellent: fresh white meat has proved incredibly tempting for the hoards of bugs that have chomped my ankles, forehead, wrists and calves on an hourly basis over the last week. I dread to think what they are, or what germs are now circulating in my bloodtream. I'm hoping to kill them off with lots of peppy Bengali curries. Not a proven cure for malaria, I'll admit. But an enjoyabe one. Like gin and tonic.