Drive

“I’ve been driving in my car, honk honk, parp parp, beep beep, toot…..it’s not quite a Jaguar, honk honk, parp parp, beep beep, toot….!” – Madness. How appropriate seeing as I’m in India. I must have lost count how many times I almost met my creator today.

If you’ve ever travelled in the Indian sub-continent you’ll know just how crazy the road users are. Might is right and, despite there being either inadequate or even no pavements, pedestrians have no rights whatsoever. In fact the many cows wandering in and out of the traffic garner more consideration from the motorists.

Ok, let’s start at the very beginning. Which is a very good place to start, according to someone who’s name escapes me. Last time I ordered breakfast in this particular hotel, it took them almost an hour to cook me one fried egg. They can’t be that slow on a regular basis surely? Not quite, it took twenty five minutes for a fried egg and toast. It then took a further five minutes to fetch the tea. A man could die of starvation and thirst in this place. I bet there’s been days when hosts (hang on, I’ve not seen more than four on both occasions) of guests are sat around expiring in front of the staff, their cadavers crumbling into dust.

The food when it arrived was appalling but at least the tea was hot. I’m clutching at straws here to give them a decent mark. Never mind, the egg filled a gap and I was soon on the road and heading towards Silchar. God, it’s an awful journey! Once out of Silchar, the road disappears and for the next twenty five kilometres, it is a dust road. I felt every pot hole. Every one was at least a foot deep. Twenty five kilometres! I have to keep repeating that distance over in my head. I just can’t believe that anyone would leave a road un-tarmacced (is that even a word?) for such a distance. It’s the main road from Silchar to Shillong for goodness sake. You want to go to Shillong, you have to take this road!

Oh, and don’t think that the lack of an asphalt road would reign in the antics of the motorists. Fair do’s, they do cut their speed but only because they have to. If they didn’t their axles would probably break in no time. There are even rickshaw riders transporting their customers along this road. It must be murder on the cyclist’s legs.

Eventually, past several businesses (most of them offering auto repairs!) we arrive at a huuuge tea estate and the road reappears. I’m sure I heard my buttocks yelp in appreciation. The only change being, now that we are on asphalt, is that the driver’s speed increases to as fast as he can get away with.

Oh, I almost forgot the driver’s horn! Indian driver’s love their horn. They are forever playing with it. The least excuse and PAAAAARP! I think use of the horn is officially endorsed and even encouraged. There are road signs reminding drivers to use their horn. Even on the back of wagons, there are signs telling the vehicle behind to “Sound Horn Please!” The resulting cacophony could send you crackers, just like Oliver Hardy in “Saps at Sea!”

So, you can see, Indian roads are not for the fainthearted! But today is Sunday and that throws something else into the mix. I’m sure there are more wagons on the road today. Yep, definitely, as we seem to pass three or four trucks every kilometre! Jyoti confirms that, yes there are a lot more trucks on the road, as Sunday is a special day. It’s the only day of the week there are no regulations put onto the truck drivers. As a result, it’s go for your life. Literally.

On more than one occasion we are stuck in a jam of wagons because a rescue truck has blocked the road hauling yet another wagon from out of the ditch. Some are not too badly damaged and will probably continue on their journey once righted. Others are complete and utter write offs. You know, I say that and in the UK it would be true. But this is India and from necessity, recycling has been elevated to an art form. I see wagons on the road that have been seriously damaged in the past, yet some enterprising auto repair mechanic has renovated it back into a functioning machine. Not the most glamorous looking thing but functional nevertheless.

Eight hours! I’ll say that again. Eight long hours later. We arrive in Shillong. I’m knackered. Goodness knows how the driver is feeling. His head must be buzzing. We are all covered in a layer of dust and I’m so relieved to be here in one piece. On more than one occasion on the journey I stared headlong into an oncoming truck and thought “This is it, death!” Only for the driver to nip into some otherwise unforeseen (at least by me) gap in the row of trucks.

The rest of the night plays out exactly as you would expect. I go out for a stroll; I buy some whopping big bidi, I get my beard trimmed and I come back for a beer.

“Hello, can I order a beer for room number 105?”
“Hello, you want tea?”
“No, beer please”
“Tea? For how many?”
“No, beer….”
God this is so predictable.

It’s my last big car journey tomorrow. Cherrapunjee and then back to Guwahati. I think I’ll end this entry with Iggy Pop. Good old sell out Mr. Pop. I thought he was the business till only a few months back. I loved his attitude, rebelliousness… and then he went and did a commercial for insurance. Insurance! How much more middle class can he get? How much more disillusioned in life can I get? Oh bollocks, let’s go with the flow…. “I am the passenger and I ride and I ride…”