Travelling in India
By Joanne Lane The train docks at the station and I am immediately surrounded by red shirted sweaty men asking to carry my bag - for a fee. I pass only to be hounded by a snotty faced kid without shoes asking for rupees. Then there are taxi drivers and rickshaw wallahs wanting to give me a ride - good price madam. I step over someone with half a leg. He turns sightless eyes to me and holds out his hand which has no fingers. Welcome to India. It`s in your face action 24 hours a day. It`s fun, exhilarating, dirty, goosebump inspiring and deadly tiring. This is Dehra Dun at the foothills of the Himalaya. I am heading to the former hill station and peaceful town of Mussoorie to escape the heat. It has English speaking shopkeepers, wonderful walking trails, small villages tucked away in the hills and chai (tea) shops with steaming brews. But it`s still two hours drive and I wait for the sweet comfort of a taxi to take me away from the mayhem. Unfortunately there is a taxi strike. I have no choice but to line up and wait for the man inside to deem it time to sell bus tickets. There is a line for men and women but no chivalry. Everyone surges for the window and then for the bus. Women blossoming amply out of saris smother everyone, men clamber over seats, even the children shove. It takes 30 minutes for everyone to find their seats. The bus is rusty, the paint is peeling and the door won`t close. There are too many people. We won`t be able to move. We don`t. Everyone rushes to another bus and the procedure repeats. This time we start. Hindi music is blaring as we pull out into an intersection and almost collide with a car. No one batters an eyelid. I`m saying my third Our Father when we scooter millimetres from a cow. We collect more passengers who hang onto the outside and jump off when we slow down because we never really stop. The driver slows by changing gears - standing up and slamming the stick into position. To get him to attempt a stop you have to yell, whistle or bash the side of the bus. When we start climbing the mountain range the bus slows to a crawl. I try not to look over the edge of the road which falls away hundreds of feet to the valley below. The woman next to me is nonchalantly chewing gum. Just when I begin to get used to the hairpin bends, the shuddering bus and crush of people, we enter the cloud line. We can barely see a few metres ahead and the driver keeps a hand on the horn and one on the wheel. It`s an acrobatic performance and I marvel at his cool, especially when he lights a cigarette and manoeuvres with his knees. When we finally emerge from the mist my anxieties vanish as the sun bathes the valley in golden light. The holy river Ganges wanders through the fertile Dun Valley - rice terraces, red roofed houses and sugar cane fields. Suddenly we are in Mussoorie. It is cool, quiet and the peace of the hills awaits me. I`ve made it. Like most things in India if you can put up with a little danger and hassle, the rest is well worth the effort. GETTING AROUND IN INDIA
Transport in India takes in buses, trains, cycle rickshaws, motor rickshaws, taxis and even human drawn rickshaws. Buses and trains have set prices but can be overcrowded. Always book your train tickets as much in advance as possible. Other forms of transport should always be negotiated before setting out. Make sure they understand where you want to go and what the price is. Don`t settle for the first offer, haggle it down. |
