We gotta fet outta this place...

I was really stuck for how to start this entry (ooer missus) but good old Chuck Berry came up trumps. And it’s nowt to do with my ding-a-ling before you start. So, and I’m paraphrasing here, “If you ever plan to motor west, Jack take my way it’s the highway that’s the best. Get your kicks on National Highway 52. Oh it goes from Majuli, down to Tezpur, North Lakhimpur, that sounds so …” Ok, I think I’d better leave it there.

An early start today, about 12.30 a.m. to be honest. Not that I had to set off until 7am but my rain dance from yesterday had worked better than expected. It had wazzed down all night! And when it rains in Assam, it rains. Impressive rolling thunder too. It’d have been quite impressive if I hadn’t have been absolutely knackered and craving sleep. On the hour every hour I was up, tossing and turning all night. Come 6am and instead of the rooster and the expectorating village men, it was me up and about first for a change.

Although I don’t know why I bothered, seeing as Jyoti didn’t show till after 8am. I’ve used some excuses about being late into work but his was a cracker. I’ll just set the scene for you. His house is in an area full of monkeys. He also has a tin roof on his house. Got that right? Right, now get this. It seems the monkeys were fed up with the rain, well I can understand that. So, they got under the tin roof, between the roof and the plaster ceiling. They must have been so pleased with themselves at their cunning plan that they were bouncing about like kids on space hoppers. Consequently, they knocked down, through the plaster and into the front room. What a mess! Therefore Jyoti was late. Nothing to do with it being Holi yesterday and there were fun and frolics till late.

Rather than leave Majuli the same way as we arrived. We are going northwards. Apparently there is a way out over a couple of rivers that is rarely used, least of all by any tourists. The rain, remember, is still lashing down on us as we drive past remote villages heading toward the fabled river Stxy. And then, there it is in front of us. The only problem is the ferry is on the other side. No matter, the ferrymen spot us and they swiftly cross the river. You know, I say ferry but in actual fact it was two canoes strapped together with a few bamboo poles. The van is driven onto the middle of this contraption and soon we are safely deposited on the other side.


Apparently, on this side, we are still in Majuli. We have to traverse one more river and then we will be on the mainland heading toward North Lakhimpur. So on we drive, through villages that haven’t seen a white man since Lord Tetley arrived in Assam looking for somewhere to grow his tea. The road… hang on I’ll start that again. The dirt track has, in places been totally washed away and just when we thought we had it cracked. We are stuck. Well and truly stuck. We throw leaves, branches, anything to hand under the wheels to gain traction. Nowt. The villagers come out, see me in my pith helmet and think oooh, let’s help the white man. Actually, the dollar signs in their eyes gave them away to their true thoughts. Nevertheless, that’s why I pay for a guide. He let’s them get on with shovelling dry sand under the wheels and then pays them a grand total of twenty rupees. Bless them, it took about thirty minutes before we made headway and they were delighted with that pittance.

We arrive at the second river. Oooh, it’s a big ‘un too! And guess what? Yup, there’s no ferry. It’s on the other side of the river with a flat battery. It’s decided that we take the battery off our van, transport it over the river by fishing boat, jump start the ferry and bring it and the ferry back to us. We can then cross the river and away we go. Meanwhile, still the rain teems down.

Once we arrive on the far bank, we have to get the van off the ferry and up the steep embankment. The rain has taken its toll and we’re going nowhere. We push, pull, shovel sand, pray, shovel again and the van ‘aint going nowhere! The offer of money brings a group of bandidos out of the woodwork. After another thirty minutes of shovelling, pushing, pulling and even more praying, we’re free again. Hurrah. There’s also a family travelling to a marriage and they’re stranded in this God forsaken place. They desperately need a lift to the marriage they are attending, can we help? Come on then, get in. Bugger me, the world and his wife clamber aboard!

Hooray, we’re off again. I thought where we had been the dirt track was in a bad way, over here it was worse. Wheels spun, slipped and skidded. Until we came to *drum roll and big booming voice*, “The valley of death!” The dirt track as was, was no more. Even worse, we were atop a ridge. Either side it was a twenty foot drop and the mud must have been five inches deep. Of course we had nowhere else to go, we had to go forward. Until the obvious happened and we got stuck, fast. Then it was everybody out. Now bless them (again) they wanted me to stand on the side and do nothing as the men got covered in mud attempting to free the vehicle. But, I’m nowt if not a trier. So I was in the middle with all the rest pushing for all I was worth.

At one point, we moved the van about two feet… I’ve just realised, should I be using metric doodahs? Nah, sod it, old money is best for me. Anyway, two foot later we were stuck again. Back to the shoving and praying. I was covered head to foot in mud and getting more annoyed, yet determined to move this vehicle if it was the last thing I ever did. This was looking more likely by the second. I summoned up all my strength and pushed harder than I’ve ever pushed. The van moved. Oblivious to all in my exertions, I began shouting, “come on, come on, come on, go, go, GO!” Haha, the little Indian chap next to me, who could speak not a word of English, must have been encouraged and, as he pushed he yelled “Come on, come on, go, go, Go!” I even managed to yell out “Come on you….bugger!” and he attempted the expletive but failed miserably.

Miraculously, the van moved and continued moving. It skidded and slipped its way all the way through to the tarmac, some quarter mile ahead. We had made it to the fabled National Highway 52. It had took us four hours to go about four miles. We now had 215km (whatever they are) in front of us. With an added sense of purpose, the wind in our sails, nothing could stop us it was Tezpur or bust!