Panegyric Part 6 - Getting Lost and Breaking Down

Hi all,

In this fun instalment we got to the holy city of Varanasi, I get lost on my own in a big city and Rita goes through some 'difficult stages'. We can laugh about it now :)

The next day the road out of Bihar we found.

As we crossed over the border our joy was unbound

Ed. In Uttar Pradesh the roads were far better.

We drove through at speed, feeling like a jet setter.

We stumbled into sacred Varanasi 

And found a hotel that was super and classy.

The next day out on the Ganges we went

That great holy river was v. excellent.

We bought beautiful silks for our folks back at home

Then on the road to Allalahabad we did roam.

Disaster struck then as the sun started to set.

I was at the back of the convoy. I’ll never forget:

The engine ran out of fuel as the convoy drove on.

I filled it with gas, gave chase but they’d gone.

The night rushed in and the puddles grew bigger.

I raced through another filled with fear and with vigour.

At the next set of lights, the engine sputtered and died

And I was told of a bag fallen out the side.

I abandoned the rickshaw and raced back through the mud.

To find the bag in the dark but I could

Not find the damn thing till a man called to me.

He was holding the bag. It was easily

The most relief that I’d felt since I had arrived.

I returned to my rickshaw, no longer deprived.

After my friends had found me and a bed for the night

I sat drinking ‘til late for I’d had quite a fright.

The next morning we left still under the moon.

Four rickshaws by now, stuck in a monsoon.

Our rickshaw broke down and we stood in the rain,

Pushing and poking, but alas all in vain.

As the rain came on down and we got wetter

We found that we’d flooded your carburettor.

Bill’s brand new rickshaw towed us for miles

When we found a mechanic, frowns turned into smiles.

We waited for hours as bits were repaired,

Talking to locals as their stories were shared.

But not two hours after our rickshaw was fixed

It broke down again out in the sticks.

At a motorbike garage just outside Kampur

We replaced the spark plugs as rain started to pour.

They cleared out the puddles in a neat novel way

Revving motorbike engines to create quite a spray.

Our jerry can too had decided to split

Splashing foul smelling two stroke all over our kit.

The Panegyric to Rita the Rickshaw Part 5 - The Longest Day

Hello again,

This next instalment covers the longest day of our journey and perhaps the most fraught. Please indulge yourselves below in what is quite a long extract.

We set off real early the following morning.

Yesterday’s traffic had been a strong warning.

Before the sun even rose we were well on our way,

But we lost all our convoy getting on the freeway.

Alone for first time we encountered some men,

Bandits with sticks and with flags. My adren-

-Aline surged through my body. I felt so alive!

I stopped to say hello. My friends screamed at me: “Drive!”

To the bandits’ bemusement, we sped away fast

But our joy at escaping wasn’t to last.

We ran out of road, found we were driving on sand

Keeping three wheels in order – it got out of hand.

At one point we ran out of track altogether

And started to tip again. We wondered whether

We’d tumble and roll down the shifting dune’s face

And ruin poor Rita in this far-flung place.

I leapt out and held Rita just about back

Until a bus, honking, drove up the track.

A group of young men got out of the bus

And together back off the sand dune pushed us.

Back on three wheels we got to the next town,

Called Madhepura, where water so brown

Flooded the streets, a foot deep at least.

Half an hour later, we remained unreleased

From this warren of alleys. We were concerned

For not one single hotel here had we discerned.

When we finally broke free we found our old friends!

But the city of Chappra knew horror without ends.

Picture a rubbish dump, the roads scarcely there,

Traffic, livestock and litter just everywhere.

Like blocked arteries the streets were congested

Noxious exhaust fumes were sadly ingested.

We decided to go as the sun started setting

We would drive through the night if it meant getting

Out of this town of which we could take no more.

The people were friendly, crowding round our rickshaw

To give us directions. But alas in the dark

We missed our turn off, our situation was stark.

Some locals advised us to try the police

That asking for help there might get us some peace.

But no sooner had we set off for the fuzz

Than the tyre on one of our rickshaws did buzz(st).

A man appeared out of nowhere and fixed the flat tyre
At a speed that a Formula 1 pit crew would admire.
He led us straight to the police station where
The police chief decided if we could stay there.
He couldn’t speak English but he could read and write
So on scraps of damp paper we outlined our plight.

“What are you doing here?” asked the chief in Bihar.

“We’re lost,” we replied. He scrawled: “Yes you are.”

At first he did not believe what we’d say

That we really were driving these wrecks all this way.

But eventually satisfied that we were alright

He gave us his porch to sleep on for the night.

We remarked that this story would seem quite a tall tale

As we fastened mosquito nets to the bars of the gaol.

We discovered from Welshmen Griff and Rhodri

That a hotel existed in that town of debris:

A hotel buzzing with flies and with beds hard and small,

With shit on the floor and with blood on the wall.

Rita the Rickshaw Part 4 - Darjeeling and A Close Shave

Good day to you and thanks for your patience.

Hopefully you'll enjoy the next chapter in our ludicrous journey where we travel from Darjeeling to Purnia.

At the foot of Darjeeling dense traffic we found.

Bikes, rickshaws and taxis swarmed all around.

Siliguri, the town’s name, was loud and intense.

We skated on two wheels – a moment’s suspense.

We found a hotel, then a taxi to take

Us on up to the top, for poor Rita’s sake.

A three-hour trip in a four wheel drive

Was not a journey a tuk could survive.

Yet as we arrived at the famous hill station

Two Rickshaw Run rickshaws caused a standing ovation.

The nutters had driven all the way on their own,

Pushing and shoving when the engine did moan.

As Runners from Britain we sought out the tea

To taste and enjoy and to buy with rupee(s).

In a fantastical shop one hundred years old

Darjeeling Tea by the bagload was sold.

The following morning we woke up at four

To go even higher and see the sun soar

As it rose from beneath us and revealed mountains high:

Himalayas and Everest. Nothing could we espy.

The thick clouds enveloped us and hid the display.

Instead all we saw was black fog turning  grey.

Down to Siliguri after mo-mos and chai

We assembled the convoy and with heads still held high

We drove through the tea fields, oh what a sight

Swathes of green plants, pickers dressed in clothes bright.

We set out for Bihar and the town of Purnia.

Siliguri’s bad traffic just came nowhere near

To the carnage we edged through, one inch at a time.

We found a hotel and I announced: “I’m

Taking our rickshaw to the mechanics just there.

Rita’s rattling lots and needs some good care.”

A huge crowd then gathered to watch a man weld

Bits of our rickshaw that hadn’t quite held.

After paying mechanics we went into town.

We’d heard there were barbers of wondrous renown.

We were sat in a chair and a boy of thirteen

Shaved and massaged us and gave us a clean.

We sat in the chair, foam and oils on our face,

A blade at our throats, this was some place.

Before we were finished a large crowd had gathered

To see these two white men being clean shaved and lathered.

With beer and with snacks they befriended us there,

And as the hours passed some great moments were share(d).

We set off for bed, shaking everyone’s hand

The multitude made us feel like a rock band!

Rita the Rickshaw Part 3 - The Worst Road in India

Welcome back, one and all,

In this latest instalment we continue our journey and encounter the worst road in India... possibly.

In convoy we went, with a trio of chaps

Driving two rickshaws, without any maps.

“If we stick together,” one wisely opined

“Then this expedition far easier we’ll find.”

They all were Americans, two Drews and one guy.

Who was going alone. We came to rely

On Bill’s shiny new rickshaw that towed us for ages

When Rita was going through some difficult stages.

As the stunning sun set on a stunning first day

We found a hotel alas in decay.

The food that they offered was still in the shop

And the noise and the bugs and the heat was non-stop.

But over the bridge, others had tried

To drive through a riot, police either side.

In a massive mosque they spent the night

Full of mosquitos, eager to bite.

We woke and set off early as could be done

Keen to continue on our Rickshaw Run.

The roads did not follow what the map seemed to imply,

So we stopped several times for some naan and some chai.

We drove you in intervals of only two hours,

Resting between while you regained your powers.

At Alipurduar we stopped for the night

I’m pretty sure that I’m spelling that right.

There we found air con – “Thank heavens!  Oh bliss!”

We were weary and dusty, our pillows we kissed.

The next day out for Darjeeling we set

But the journey there was one to forget.

We went down a road in such disarray

We were so sure that it was the wrong way.

The potholes were huge; you have no comprehension

What it’s like to drive through that with useless suspension.

We turned right around after almost an hour

Shattered and broken and tired and sour.

Back down that road we bumped and we bounced

But one hour later a trucker announced

That the obstacle course we’d driven down twice

Was in fact the right way. We’d have to go thrice.

So nursing our backsides and cursing our maps

We headed back down that damned road and perhaps

We caused some amusement to a small family

That we waved at three times on road 31C.