Journey's End

Day 13 - 25.04.2009

Kolhapur, Maharashtra to Colva Beach 274km

Total distance Shillong to Goa - 3'707km

We made it, pulling up at the finishing line last night at Colva Beach just before 8pm. Out of the 47 teams we came in 20th and 21st.

We took time in the morning to see the New Palace/ Shree Chatrapati Museum in Kolhapur which houses a bizarre collection of artefacts including an impressive taxidermy collection (Gerard was very impressed by the Wild Buffalo) and also wandered into and around a buzzing Hindu temple in the city centre. It was amazing seeing the devoted jockeying for position at the alters in the tightly collonnaded space. The stalls around the temple were full of flower garlands covered in feeding bees.

The last day's drive was relatively stress free. We set off south just before midday along National Highway 7. The road was good and it was difficult to stay awake while driving in the heat with few obstacles to dodge. We then had to fight our way through Belgaum. In the middle of a traffic jam caused by cabbage unloading an agitated policeman scolded me for taking a photo of two oxen and cart.

Leaving Belgaum the landscape became heavily wooded and we drove through dappled light on a superb surface to Londa. We did manage a couple of near scrapes for old times sake, the best of which was when an oncoming overtaking bus left us with no choice but to drive off the road. As the road quality deteriorated the scene was reminiscent of our second day's driving in the Khalsi hills driving north to Assam in which the bright red soil covered the dense foliage along the road. We then started a demanding descent towards Goa with fantastic long views over the forest below. The difference in humidity between the arid plateau and the humid low-land of Goa is extreme. It was well after dark when we got into Colva Beach and enjoyed a beer with recently arrived teams coming to greet us.

The sense of achievement was deflated somewhat but the theft of one of Gerard's bags from the rickshaw within 30mins of arrival. Ironically we had driven through some of the poorest parts of India without any theft despite the large numbers of people taking a close interest in the rickshaws. Indians have frequently warned us to look after our possessions along the way but we had become casual about security because of the lack of perceived threat. The greatest loss was Gerard's photos in his camera. Shame.

All the other teams have interesting tales of their adventures. The two teams with whom we left Varanasi at the half-way point, our Belgian friends, Willem and Peter in No Stress, and The Sticky Bandits Part Deux, both had to resort to putting their rickshaws on a train / truck to get to Goa. The Sticky Bandits had persistent mechanical failure and No Stress had a serious accident. According to folklore the rickshaw rolled twice when clipped by an overtaking bus. Willem has an injury to his ankle and is on some serious painkillers but has been seen limping round Goa. There are other horror stories which I can bore you with at leisure.

So here we are in Goa. The sun is out, its very humid and the surf looks great. Tomorrow we will go for a swim and possibly take a boat out to do some snorkelling. Tonight there is a party for all the teams that have made it. On Monday Stu, Andrew and I will head to Mumbai by train while Gerard will stay for a while trying to find some corner of this country that he likes (be prepared for some unfavourable comparisons with his beloved Thailand).

I thought about having a conclusion to the blog that tries to summarise the experience. We have shaken the hands of a lot of Indians in the last two weeks and seen a lot of India. Perhaps this is best left till we meet up next.

Till then.

Douglas

One day to Goa

Day 12 - 24.04.2009

Ahmadnagar, Maharashtra to Kolhapur, Maharashtra - 371km

Another good day of driving with little to unruffle our feathers on the homeward flight to Goa. We leisurely got up at 7 after another good seven hours sleep to partake in the underwhelming complementary onion breakfast at the hotel. I could only sleep for six hours because my time clock now things that this is the maximum permissible rest.

The provincial towns are beginning to blur already in the memory into one jumble of chaos and Ahmadnagar was little different. Our plan was to cut the corner and avoid Pune by taking some minor roads to Satara where we would join one of the national highways running south from Mumbai. We managed to get a little lost in the middle and clocked up an unnecessary 80+km which in a tuk-tuk is at least two hours driving. (We are obviously hooked on the buzz of night-driving.) Fortunately the roads in the south are better than those first experienced so we can canter along at 40-50km/hr even on a minor road.

After a number of days of fairly montonous landscape the scenery was much more interesting today. We oscillated from the high rocky passes on top of the Ghats down to the green, fertile plains below. The Ghats are distinctive mountains west of Mumbai that rise abruptly from plain. On top they are barren, rocky and almost uninhabited whereas the plains below are rich with colour and greenery. The main crop grown in sugar cane with the occasional field of maize, sun flowers and chilli peppers. We stopped for a break to drink some sugar-cane juice with lime. Avenues of eucalyptus trees sometime line the road. There are also avenues of huge banyan trees with the roots dropping from branches down to the ground. There are numerous trees in blossom bringing a welcome blaze of colour after the arid countryside we have been driving through. 

The National Highway was almost of western standards with the occasional goat herder trying to push his vulnerable flock across fast moving lanes. I wish him luck.

We drove into Kolhapur after dusk and it was the normal anarchy: a counter flow was in operation because they had only completed one half of the road, naturally. The traffic coming in the opposite direction had lights on full-beam burning holes in one's retina. Throw in some viscious road humps, gravel traps running across the carriageway, a group of children crossing in the dark, a rickshaw driving diagonally across the oncoming traffic, motorcylists who pull across within the thickness of a bumper sticker in front of our rickshaw (not that there is a bumper on the front of course), a pedestrian strolling across the road without a care in the world.........

This time tomorrow we should be at the journey's end.

Carved in stone

Day 11 - 23.04.2009

Jalgaon, Maharashtra to Ahmadnagar, Maharashtra- 312km

After the last few days, it was about time we enjoyed a day of plain sailing. Amongst other things we enjoyed: seven hours of sleep + no break-downs (mechanical / emotional / psychological) + less than one hour of night-driving + managed to find a hotel within 30mins of entering Ahmadnagar. Unprecedented.

We woke feeling refreshed for once. The Hotel Plaze in Jalgaon was unusually clean with a unusually house-proud owner (Mr Am I Disturbing You? - well yes, we just want to get some sleep rather than be shown how to turn on a tap).

Having chatted to a friendly relatively-newly-wed couple in reception who were heading to the Ellora Caves, we offered them a lift. We chauffered Miriam, a well-travelled, 24 year old from Bath, while Dodds Tuk Tours took Simon, her equally well-travelled, 27 year old, bearded husband in their 'shaw. They have been travelling in India for four months and head home the same day as Stu, Andrew and I. It was good to have some alternative company and the rickshaw conversation increased ten-fold in the relatively short journey to Ellora.

I cannot really adequately describe how impressive the carved monolithic temples at Ellora are so I suggest you look it up on Wikipedia. If I was more IT literate I would be able to give you a snazzy link of course. Try this: [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellora_Caves](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellora_Caves)

I cannot really get my head around how they managed to excavate so much rock and manage to stop precisely at the correct place so they did not accidentally remove the top of stupa that three generations of their family had been painstakingly digging down to. The logistical planning involved would put today's contractors to shame.

Gerard was fascinated to find a crab in a fresh water pool and has been scratching his head since as to how it got there. Answers on a postcard please.

We dropped Miriam and Simon at Aurangabad and road west into the sunset on a silk smooth asphalt surface. To tempt fate it would appear, without blowing a gasket, we can get to Goa for Saturday evening's festivities. Does this mean we will have a shocker tomorrow?

Watch this space.

Heads says drive west

Day 10 - 22.04.2009Nagpur, Maharashtra to Jalgaon, Maharashtra- 459km

Despite spending some time the night before trying to decide as to whether to head south towards Hyderabad and the amazing ruined temples of Hampi or drive west to see the caves at Ellora, we still had not decided as we stood in front of the hotel in the early morning. We rummaged around for 5 rupee piece. The coin's decision was that we should take the slightly longer route west to the Caves. 

As we moved south some things were assisting our progress: the volume of traffic was considerably less than that experienced in West Bengal when approached Shiliguru (our first and probably most horrendous night-drive) and the roads were generally improving. The Indian road building programme looks like my DIY projects with numerous roads started but few ever finished. The highway systems consists of numerous stretches of relatively smooth asphalt linked by equally numerous sections of rutted track. We travelled for long sections on counter flows, switching carriage-ways frequently as one and then the other side of the road was under construction.

We made slow progress into a blustery headwind.

One of the percieved advantages of driving west was that the scenery was more likely to change. It didn't. The landscape was arid and flat and the heat blistering. We had another watermelon breakfast and stopped regularly for water and pop and to let the engines cool.

At one junction late in the afternoon, we turned left and the Dodds drove straight on. As we waited a group of smiling grease-gunners came to greet us. When Tuk-Tours finally found us we could not start the engine. There was large group of Indians with many individuals giving their advice. We ignored the general suggestion that nothing was wrong and got towed into town by the Dodds after a slightly tense situation. A case of too many cooks in a very hot kitchen.

We were eventually back on the road having found a mechanic who replaced a gasket that had only lasted a couple of days. With perfect irony Dodds Tuk Tours ran out of petrol as they crossed the junction where everything had gone horribly wrong earlier. They needed to push the rickshaw off the junction and refuel at the side of the road as the grease monkeys laughed on. We try and keep people amused.

Inevitably more night-driving was required before we got Jalgaon where, shock-horror, we found a clean hotel. Stone the crows.

Crash Course

Day 9 - 21.04.2009Jabulpur, Madhya Pradesh to Nagpur, Maharashtra - 282km

A day of frustratingly slow progress. Despite the modest distance some night-driving was still required after the numerous mechanical problems on route to Nagpur.

The first stop at a village off the highway was because the 4th gear appeared to be slipping out at high speed. After all the men in the village turned out to give their advice on the issue we carried on with only a squirt of grease to show for our communication efforts. It was increasingly difficult to find an English speakers amongst the throngs. People would jabber at us in Hindi expecting us to understand but to no avail. Trying to explain an intermittent mechanical problem with hand movements was not getting results. The grease-gun squirt may be done the trick though because the problem on occurred one more time.

We drove slowly through the hottest part of the day. The temperature in the region rose to 46 degrees celsius. The pinking sound was coming back again. We were covered with grime that was a combination of wind blown dust + sweat + sun tan lotion.

The further south we travelled we were conscious that the travelling gringo circus was not getting the reception that we had come to expect. Gone were the days of groups of smiling, waving children lining the road. There was none of the bewilderment and bemusement that we enjoyed in Bihar. Indians were increasingly trying to flag us down asssuming we were an autorickshaw taxi and looked on with dismay as we puttered on passed. We were barely able to raise and eyebrow or a frown these days. Desperate times = desperate measures.

Only a two or three minutes after the moped hit the side of the rickshaw a group of about a hundred people had gathered around the moped rider and passenger. I was driving in the front rickshaw. The moped was travelling diagonally across the road. When the lady driver did not look around at all to view the traffic on the carriageway I gave her lots of distance and beeped the horn. To no avail. She proceeded to drive in the right back wheel arch. She was clearly a follower of the popular shut-your-eyes-and-ears school of Indian driving.

At the start of the Run all kinds of rumours were circulating about lynching mobs that gather at the scene of crashes to vent their anger at the rickshaw driver. With some apprehension I parked at the side of the road and walked back up the road towards the mob. As I approached the crowd parted to reveal a women looking a bit bedraggled on a plastic seat. Fortunately there was no evidence of blood and the injuries were restricted to a few scuffs. A few "namastes" later I was taken to inspect the vehicle which rather fortunately was also not showing any signs of obvious injury. The elected spokesman of the mob (who smelt strongly of alcohol) then smiled and waved me to go. With no more ado I flip-flopped away with much haste, a relieved man.

On arrival at the rickshaw I went to turn the keys in the ignition to find that they were not there. Andrew had been driving with me and he confirmed he had taken the key out. He started padding the pockets down  of this 50-pocket-shorts trying to find the key.

*********wind back to earlier in the day********

Our rickshaws were sitting at the side of the road in the heat. Shillong Farewell was threatening to break down and the multi-tool had been lost. Andrew had given to Stuart. Stuart had given it to Gerard. Gerard had given it to Andrew. Fifteen minutes later the tool was found in Andrew's back pocket.

*********wind forward***********

The mob was moving down the road from the scene of the crime to where the rickshaws were parked. The brother of the passenger grabbed my arm and told me to go with him while elders tried reminstrating with him in Hindi. Although my Hindi only stretches to about four words the message I was being given by a number of people was quite clear: get the hell out of here! Meanwhile Andrew has only searched a fraction of the pockets in his shorts.

I was not going to wait for someone to find a length of rope. I jumped into the back of Dodds Tuk Tours and Stuart drove away at high speed (for a tuk-tuk). It took about another ten minutes of Andrew searching his shorts only to find the key in his back pocket. Gerard's community policing was severely tested as he conducted a tense Q+A session and pumped as many hands as he could manage.

As we drove through some beautiful unspoilt forest I was a happy and relieved man for the rest of the day.

The night-drive into Nagpur was particularly testing. There was a wonderful moment at a roundabout which was packed with so many cyclist/ moped/ motorbikes and rickshaws that it seemed possible that the whole thing would lock permanently together. Amongst a hail of expletives Gerard was heard uttering "This is not natural".

Having found the filthy hotel eventually we slept well in the deshevelled room.  

 

 

no Loo stopping

I am writing this from a nicely air-conditioned cyber cafe in Goa determined to fill in the three eventful days in which we on the road for such long periods we only managed to find a hotel, grab some dinner and fall into bed before the next day's endeavour.

Day 8 - 20.04.2009Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh to Jabulpur, Madhya Pradesh - 501km

The earliest start of the campaign: 03:30. We drove out of Varanasi in the dark in a convoy of four: Dodds Tuk Tours, No Stress, The Sticky Bandits Part Deux and of course Shillong Farewell. The route was incredibly complicated so we were thankful to have the services of the cabby how guided us into Varanasi to guide us back out. He rode in the Dodds rickshaw for more than an hour before we left him at the side of the road to catch the bus back into town.

By the time it was daylight our Belgian friends were already toiling. No Stress was only managing 30km/hr despite the new piston and it was clear they were not going to be able to hack the pace. They stopped at the nearest village to find a mechanic. (It was later that day that their Run was abruptly ended when they were hit by an overtaking bus and knocked off the road. Check out their team site for photos of the wrecked 'shaw.)

The Sticky Bandits broke down only an hour or so later on the first noticeable climb for many days. We towed them into the nearest town where an extremely youthful mechanic took off their cyclinder head to reveal a hole in their piston. (The Sticky Bandits then had persistent problems with leaking engine oil after that point and eventually threw in the towel and put their tuk-tuk on a truck to Goa. Their journey by bus was comfortable but they had to concentrate on not watching the driving of their typically wreckless driver. Two out of three members of the team: Glyn and Kevin had done the Rickshaw Run before.)

Then there we two.

We drove up into the Kaimer Range of hills with some dramatic climbs in the heat. The land was increasingly rocky, dusty and inhospitable with a sparcity of population we had not experienced before. Even in the most hostile conditions an Indian family can be found scratching a meagre living from the land.

The "Loo" the blustery relentless wind from the west was really picking up and this persisted for the next four days. Imagine standing under a hot air curtain at the entrance to a shop on a hot summers day. The rickshaws really did not enjoy the cross-wind and our speed dropped by about 10km/hr. 

By this stage of the journey we were all constantly dehydrated despite drinking over 5litres of water every day. We were down to two (concentrated) pees a day. Stops normally entailed looking for a refridgerator of soft-drinks. I drank more Sprite in the last two weeks than I have drunk in the last 15 years.

Both engines were beginning to make "pinking" sounds and Shillong Farewell had had a dramatic loss of power on a couple of occasions that might suggest the piston was beginning to jamb from overheating. We drove on conservatively. On arrival on the outskirts of Jabulpur at dusk we sought out the company of some rickshaw taxis to find a rickshaw mechanic. The Dodds brothers were convinced that the pistons may need to be replaced on both tuk-tuks. The mechanic had a good investigation of the motors and replaced some gaskets between the engine parts. The motors came back to life. The mechanic was the second grateful recipient of a Dodds Tuk Tour blazer as a mark of appreciation for his services to Queen and country.

On reaching Jabulpur the rickshaws managed to get split up and we made our separate ways through the chaos to the hotel.

Just when you think you are used to the intensity of movement/ light/ people/ animals / squalor/ noise/ activity India manages to out-trump itself time and time again. It feels like virtual-reality, like we are playing a computer console game. There is too much sensual stimulation for it to be real or possible. We followed a rickshaw driver to the hotel passed a ghetto that could have been a film set of ghetto.

At the grotty hotel we had curry delivered to the room and then slept like our lives depended on it.  

 

 

Nirvana

Okay, I admit I am falling well behind with this blog. Sorry for all the confusion by posting this now - 4 days late. Where were we?

Day 7 - 18.04.2009

Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh - 0km

If the previous day had been a low point then Varanasi was definitely a high. We are already at half way in the two week trip albeit with more than half the distance still to cover.

After a week on the road in a auto-rickshaw happiness is:

- a 7 hour sleep - a clean bathroom - pancakes with honey for breakfast - a laundry service - a reliable internet connection - being able to change money - a surreal and spiritual journey on the Ganges

Varanasi is a reasonable sized city and yet the night before we could not find it. On the map it looks easy. We passed a 12km to Varanasi sign and then drove on and on and on and there was no sign of it. After much asking for directions we were directed onto another dirt track and joined a long queue of lorries. It was after midnight and Gerard was beginning to drive like an Indian, taking the opposite side of the road when necessary. We were on the edge of the city but, as always, hopelessly lost and a long way from finding somewhere to stay. Through desperation we approached an autorickshaw driver. He not only spoke English but also took us to find a hotel after a 20mins high-speed chase winding through the city's alleys (think of the Formula 1 Monaco track + packs of feral dogs/ pedestrians/ cyclists and debris in the dark).

This cabby became our fixer. He found us a mechanic the next day and joined us for an hour in the dark 28 hours later to guide us through the tortuous route out of the city.

Varanasi is considered to be the holiest of Indian cities. Those Hindus who die in Varanasi and are cremated at a ghat on the banks of the most holy Hindu river, the Ganges, have the fortune of going straight to Nirvana, no ifs, no buts. In the morning we went a stroll along the Ganges to see some of the ghats (steps leading to the water's edge) which Varanasi is famous for. It is here that numerous religious rites are undertaken. A young man called Javi slyly wormed his way into a conversation and he became a useful guide. He had never been to school because his father was ill but had learned to speak some English by speaking to the passing tourists. He said he was tuk-tuk driver and insisted on driving us (Stu and I) when we had to find a bank across town to change some travellers cheques. He certainly drove like one and had crashed into another tuk-tuk after five minutes leaving us with a dinted front-light. We showed our disgruntlement and ploughed back into the traffic. He came up trumps though in finding us a boat for our dusk trip down the river, possibly the highlight of the trip so far.

We had read about the birth, worship and death rituals that are conducted at the ghats. We got on the boat upstream close to the hotel just before dusk and floated downstream enjoying the leisurely atmosphere; kids play in the river, we pass a burning ghat were cremations are being undertaken, kite flyers try to break the lines of other kites, cows wade in to drink the holy water, a dead dog floats by, angry words are exchanged as we almost collide with another boat. We reach the most famous burning ghat downstream and are met on the bank by a man purporting to be an official. As he explains the complex ritual that a hindu cremation involves he takes up right up to and between a number of pyres at various stages of burning, within singeing (gerund for singe?) distance. A man who appears in his early 30s, the next of kin, with a shaved head hurriedly circumnavigates a pyre five times as the grass bundle with flame almost sends his white scarf up in flames. As the pyre catches the smoke wafts towards us and we beat a hasty retreat. It was very graphic, body parts could be seen literally going up in flames. The wood used is banyan because it burns efficiently (leaving no stale odours.) and is expensive. Women are not allowed to attend cremations because if tears are shed then the soul does not go to nirvana, also traditionally the wife would try and launch herself onto the pyre in grief (those were the days). Although it felt inappropriate as tourists to get front row access to numerous cremations there was no sign that we were intruding. Life, Indian life, continued in all its many manifestations around us: dogs snoozed on steps, cows casually lolled around, a man spits on the ground, a cow is milked (!), the normal debris/ flotsam is everywhere, an open sewer tributary flows into the Ganges.

We got back into the boat and were rowed upstream witnessing numerous amazing rituals/performances being played out in colour and music. Back at the hotel we enjoyed a beer on the roof terrace, reflected on what we had witnessed and then went to bed to get some sleep before our 3.30 rise in the morning.

 

SMS Update

Another 15 hour day on the road with progress disrupted by mechanical failures the most serious being a blown gasket late in the afternoon. Rickshaws are toiling in the heat which got up to 46 degrees C yesterday. Arrived into Jalgaon properly filthy and exhausted after over two hours of nightsdriving. The hot wind from the west is relentless. Off to see the Ellora Caves today after a wonderful 7 hour sleep. Douglas + Gerrard@

SMS Update

An eventful day yesterday driving south from Jabalpur including a skirmish with a moped. Nursed Shilling Farewell to Nagpur and had cylinder head gaskets replaced. Just when everything seemed fine we have problems today with slipping gears. Will update blog when not on the road all day. Regards from a hot and dusty road in Maharashtra. Douglas

Heat is on

It seems like a long time since I last updated the blog. I have done a little house-keeping so the blog at least reads chronologically (in reverse). Hope this is not too confusing. Please go down to City of God to read Gerard's news.

Day 5

Darjeeling, West Bengal to Kagaria, Bihar - 327km

We reluctantly got out of our pressed linens sheets at 4am so we could get to Tiger Hill for dawn. We joined a convoy of jeeps snaking up to the summit and in high farce stood in a big crowd staring into the thick mist. Nevermind, maybe next time.

The journey down to Shiliguri on a rutted track was nausea-inducing. Unfortunately, even after only sleeping for 3-4 hours, I was wide awake. Fortunately I was entertained by watching the others nodding into and out of sleep. Gerard pitched forward repeatedly and nose-butted the seat in front.

We picked up our rickshaws and rucksacks back at the hotel in Shiliguri and set off south. I took five minutes out to bring up the contents of my stomach. Our v + d mini-league has got off to a slow start. Although there have been a few close calls after a week, with only one vomit, I am in the lead. I thought I had followed the instructions by taking my anti-malarial tablet on a full stomach but my body was obviously not convinced that a few biscuits and a litre of water for breakfast constituted a full-stomach.

After a short drive we found ourselves on a dual carriageway with road-markings, sign-posts and smooth, unpocked asphalt. The traffic also seemed to thin out. Just when things might be getting too easy trust the Indians to spice things up. Even when offered a two-lanes each side of central reservation the Indians still insist on driving in both directions down both sides of the carriageway. The closest we have come to a head-on collision was when Andrew was faced with a car overtaking a lorry both coming in the opposite direction while he was over taking a rickshaw; a ridiculous way to die considering there was a pristine two lane carriageway on the other side of the central reservation. The dual carriageway and good road surface descended into the normal state of affairs as we left West Bengal and into the impoverished state of Buhar.

The landscape has shifted from irrigated paddy fields with banana and palms to maize fields with the farmers using the side of the road and occasionally shutting off a lane of the road to dry their crop. It is noticably more arid was we travel west and is now table-top flat to the horizon in every direction. Water buffalo rather than cows now predominate, bizarrely they seem to have strayed into the fields rather than loitering around the roads. Although we pass numerous chimneys of brick-baking kilns the people still reside in straw shacks with mud floors. Few have shoes and kids work the fields with their parents. Occasionally you see small boys riding bare-back on the buffalo. The number of English-speakers seems to be drying up too as we head west. Hindi, rather than Bengali is now the spoken language.

We arrived in Khagaria, a provincial town well after dark and struggled to find somewhere to stay. The hotels, once again are filled with election bureaucrats. We were lucky to get beds in a grotty hotel. 11 people from other teams on the Run turned up after suffering various mechanical break-downs and had to sleep on the floor of a hall in the hotel.

An excerpt from my guidebook:

*In recent years Bihar in particular has acquired an unfortunate, now almost proverbial reputation for crime and banditry. Travellers intending to visit or travel through should be aware that this is one of India's poorest regions, and should strictly avoid travelling by night on rural roads. Nevertheless most travellers who adopt the necessary precautions emerge unscathed.*

Day 6

Kagaharia, Bihar to Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh - 495km

The most stressful and arduous day on the road by far. Hopefully not to be repeated - fingers crossed.

We were pleased to leave our grubby, smelly hotel and the squalid town shortly after six. We drove west and soon crossed the Ganges for the first time east of Patna across a bridge that appeared to be disintegrating. There were long queues of trucks because one of the two lanes was closed for repair.

As we drove on we were making good progress on reasonably good roads. The landscape is getting more arid stil and for most of the day a hot wind was blowing from the north, the Loo, I believe it is called. Our tuk-tuks struggled against the cross-wind. Hay is harvested in the fields for the water buffalo and the remaining straw burned off creating an amazing sight at dusk of numerous fires stretching across the landscape. Trucks are ladened with hay bundles that extend up to the height of a two-storey building (not that there are many two-storey buildings here). Sometimes they are loaded onto the back of the lorry creating an incongrous site of a blob, 5m high by 4m wide floating along the road in front.

Everything was dandy until the Belgians broke down. After much head-scratching, Dodds Coach Tours towed the tuk-tuk to the nearest village where a mechanic took the cylinder head off to reveal a large hole in the middle of the piston. After more head-scratching, Gerard and I set off for a town, that we never found, to secure hotel rooms for the night.

Now we all know from watching sci-fi films that when the group splits up that is when everything goes Pete Tong. After an hour we were in the pitch black bouncing down a cratered track, the worst road we have yet experienced in this country I would surmise, with no confidence we were heading in the right direction or knowing how long it might take. We received a message that the Belgians were going to put their tuk-tuk on the back of a lorry and head to Varanasi while the Dodds bro's where going to drive there. This would entail a 3-4 hour drive on the very roads we had vowed not to drive on in the dark. We turned round on the rutted track with low spirits knowing how difficult the task was ahead of us. If there was not enough to contend with there seems to be several discrepancies both between the maps we have and the reality on the ground in India. We still cannot work out which road we were travelling along when the Belgians broke down.

I will leave the rant about the complete disregard by the local population to traffic safety to Gerard. He is right though, some of the recklessness to one's health displayed here would be tantamount to an attempted suicide in the west. We have many stories we can bore you with on our return - touch wood.

By the time we eventually found Varanasi and found a hotel it was well after 1am; almost 19 hours spent on the road.

(Will try and upload photos later - but then I always say that.)