Plane Tickets

 
Well guess what us silly buggers have gone and done!! We’ve only bought our bloomin’ plane tickets to India!! We’re definitely going now... no backing out.

Our first payment was for the entry fee itself, many moons ago. It was a charitable donation to those friendly Adventurists for arranging everything and so that we could get our name on the board before any other thrill-seeking loons. That was one thing – we could back out of that, cower away from the challenge with proverbial tails tucked between legs and exclaim: “My God, for a minute there I thought I wanted to travel across India in a rickshaw. Whew! That was mad wasn't it!”

Now, though, we’ve paid Air India a chunky sum of money and there’s no backing out of that! After confirming with our bank managers that no sneaky fellow has hacked into our accounts and that we are indeed travelling to India ourselves, there just remains the rest of the tricky little payments and jobs to consider before the big off.

The Adventurists have been dashed helpful over the last few months, sending cheerful and encouraging emails.

They’ve told us where to get our health insurance (God knows how they’ve found someone crazy enough to insure this monumentally dangerous challenge), they’ve told us about the perils of the road, of the need for an International Driving Licence, for numerous vaccinations and for the visa to get us into India in the first place. All these challenges still await us in the upcoming month or so. We shall keep you updated as we progress through these little bumps in the road. But for now, let us savour this glorious moment, this point of no return.

We’re all bloody excited I can tell you.
Well, excited and occasionally terrified and out of our depth. But that’s often a damned fine place to be!
 

Words of wisdom from a veteran rickshaw rambler:

Well, some kindly veteran of the Rickshaw Run was chatting to Clio about our little adventure and gave her some advice for the trip which we now relate to you good reader.

I dare say I am jealous! You are set to have a most excellent adventure. In terms of tips, I recommend the following:

- Get a radio fitted. Tunes are 101% essential. 

- Bring a very good medical kit. After my accident I got blood poisoning and nearly had my leg chopped off but what REALLY scared me was the thought that I might have contracted HIV/ Hep A-Z etc from the dirty needles they used. 

- Take it slowly and set realistic goals. Half the reason I got in such trouble was trying to 'make time' on the motorway. Our goal of completing in 3 weeks or just over was seriously unrealistic and we had to do quite a lot of all nighters to even get half way (which is when we crashed).  Maybe prepare a contingency plan for abandoning/ shipping the tuk tuk to the finish if you have limited time.

- Take big rolling papers (if that's your kind of thing).

- Beware of thieves. You'll often be mobbed by beggars/ curious onlookers/ gentlemen of dubious moral fibres when stationary and they will endeavour to relieve you of your belongings. The Indians are on the whole very good people, but some of them see you as insanely rich Westerners and consider it a moral duty to rob you.

- Eat local and avoid meat. 

- Don't take too much stuff. I'd recommend packing as light as possible as a 7 BHP tuk tuks's performance is seriously inhibited by weight. Also, putting things on the roof makes the vehicle seriously unstable (another cause of our little James Bond style barrel roll).



Ps. a good map would be useful, as well as GPS (cheating). Indians are likely to give you the answer you think you want to hear, so don't always believe them if they say Goa is just over the hill when you are still in Cochin...!! 

A Sobering Chat

I was at the Craft Guild of Chefs Awards the other week at Wembley Stadium with Pub and Bar magazine. With my bowtie straightened, my Prosecco topped up and my national fervour pleasantly aroused by staring out at the hallowed turf of Wem-ber-ley, I entered the throng of dinner jacketed folk and began to mingle.Before long I am chatting to Mehernosh Mody, who would later will the Ethnic Chef Award, and his wife, Sherin.
After they explain where they were originally from in India, I blurt out that I will be travelling through that very country in a few months time.
“Really, how wonderful,” says Mehernosh. “Where are you going?”
“Well,” I reply, puffing my chest out with pride and excitement. “We’re going from Shillong in the far north east to Jaisalmer near the Pakistani border.”
They nod sagely, clearly pleased with my choice of route.
“How long are you taking?”
“Two weeks,” comes the cheerful reply.
“That should be fine to see the sights,” they say. “Are you taking the train the whole way?””
“No,” I admit with a nervous grin. “We’re going by rickshaw.”
There is a silence for a few seconds as the couple digest what I have just told them. They glance at each other, as silently asking if this tuxedoed loon in front of them is pulling their leg.
Finally, Mrs Mody speaks up.
“Well, do be careful. Those drivers go very fast. Be sure to hold on tight and don’t bothering telling to slow down. He won’t.”
“Oh no,” I interject, realising there has been a misunderstanding. “We’re not being driven in the rickshaw. We’re driving the rickshaw.”
The silence that follows this is interspersed with some stunned coughs.
“You’re driving?” The tone is more concerned than condescending.
“Oh yes, there are three of us going.”
“And you’re driving?”
“Well, me and Alice. Clio doesn’t have a driving licence.”
Their eyes are wide, the only thing keeping their jaws from plummeting to the ground is their good manners. Mehernosh scratches his head absent-mindedly.
“And you have driven in India before?”
“Nope... never even been before.”
“You’ve driven in the Far East.”
“Jordan,” I say, the confidence and optimism in my voice changing to quavering cheerfulness with every answer.
They smile, as though comparing Jordanian traffic to Indian traffic is like comparing a Smirnoff Ice to Absinthe.
“That’s... not quite the same. They will drive wherever they want at whatever speed they want. Do be careful. So you’re friends... have they been to India before?”
“No.” The tone is now seriously lacking in confidence.
“Can any of you speak any Indian languages?”
“... No.” This is looking decidedly ominous.
“Well, I have to say. You’re very...” he struggles for a word that doesn’t mean ‘stupid’. “You’re very brave.”
“Thank you,” I say with a broad grin. “I think this’ll be something that I’ll hate when I’m doing it but will look back on with really fond memories.”
“Oh you won’t hate it,” they say with an encouraging smile. “You’ll have a wonderful time. India is a wonderful place. Do bring some stomach tablets though.”
I laugh. This, at least, I knew about.
“Oh yes, I’ll be packing those in abundance.”
“Well good luck and all the best,” the couple say with encouraging smiles that suggest that the next time they expect to see me will be on the news.
They move away into the crowd and I am left with an empty flute and a nervous smile.

It’ll be fine, I tell myself, shaking my head at the moment’s doubt. They said I’d have a wonderful time. Nothing to worry about. Now where’s that girl with the booze?