India is vast. Trying to tour the entire country is impossible. Preposterous. Geography-wise and weather-wise. You can't do it.
The state of Himachal Pradesh, commonly referred to as Himachal by locals and tourists alike, is tiny. It is barely twice the size of Israel, and populated with just around the same amount of people. A mere 500km from Delhi, it might as well be considered another suburb of the endless stretches of "suburban" communities surrounding the capital. And yet, it's all so far away. First off, the rides aren't measured in minutes, as would be appropriate for the better of part of traveling in Israel, but in hours. Oh, and what hours. The first ride out of Delhi was a bit intimidating. I've heard allot about the condition of buses in India, and so, were approaching the subject delicately. The travel agency promised a "Deluxe bus with AC", which proved to be, naturally neither deluxe nor ACed. And so, from our stinking guesthouse in the heart of the city we left, a bunch of sweaty foreigners (most of whom Israeli) led by a local. At first we merely crossed the Main Bazar, Delhi's tourist hotspot, collecting more travelers on our way. Walking along I couldn't help but think of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Twenty or so people, blindly following the "leader", who could easily lead us into the bottom of a river if he felt like it. Fortunately, he didn't feel like it (these guys probably work on commission).
Instead of a bus terminal we found ourselves waiting on a main road, sweating profusely, and shoo-ing away the local kids who were trying to sell overpriced water and crackers for the unprepared amongst us.
The bus, which was scheduled to depart at 16:30 maid it's first appearance around 18:00. I have to say that I was impressed. Although not adorned by a familiar Volvo logo or it's kind, it still looked like it could hold us, and haul us safely to our destination. Naturally, this wasn't our bus. Just down the road was another group of tourists, sweating their own territorial borders, who were destined to board the impressive machine that simply swept past us. After a few more visions of rides (some of whom we envied, others we held our breaths hoping they were not The One), we were finally chosen to depart. Although certainly not something I would label as Deluxe, our bus nevertheless seemed to be made of actual metal and appeared to hold an engine deep in it's rusty insides.
And so, we boarded. We were all ecstatic about carrying our luggage along with us into the cabin, since we have all heard horrendous stories about bags stolen and ripped from baggage cabins. It appears to be that our ride was seriously under-booked. Wrong. Although we were by now 30 minutes into our 14 hour drive, we were still inside Delhi. At a certain point in the road the driver turned the bus towards a parking spot, and we stopped. In these rides, no one will ever explain to the travelers what exactly is going on, even though there are at least four people in the driver's cabin, one of whom is there specifically to take care of the tourists. Pretty soon the kids were among us again. Tapping on the glass windows from outside or else climbing aboard the bus before being violently kicked outside by the personnel, they tried once again to sell water, crackers, and now even Coke bottles.
But this stop wasn't destined just for the purpose of consumerism. There were the other travelers. By the time everyone was aboard the bus, the luggage had to be taken outside and secured inside the baggage compartment, where we encountered another phenomenon that was soon to become a formality - the petty extortion employed by the "baggage handler" for depositing our bags in the compartment. This meager payment of 10Rs. (less then 25 cents) insured us that our bags will not be hauled out of the cabin before departing. Worth it, right?
Finally, we were off. The first few hours of driving were still in the great Delhi area. Vast flat terrains, dotted with small or large settlements along the way. As opposed to Israel, the US and Europe, there are no empty stretches of road. There are people everywhere. There are houses everywhere. These places don't necessarily have a name or any resemblance of public facilities, but people are still living there. In one of these unnamed "villages" we stop and pick up a local family of four. During the next 5 hours the two small children spend most of their time throwing up from the open windows. The mother joins them at a certain point. It is incredible, however, how quiet they are. In between retches, the kids don't even whisper to their parents, who clean them up over and over again with the same filthy rag they brought with them when they boarded the bus.
And we ride. We change seats, we talk to anyone around us who is still awake. We try desperately to sleep on these chiropractic nightmare of chairs, while using coats and sweatshirts to block the tiny holes in the ceiling through which the rain keeps pouring in. At the end of the day, it takes us 14 hours to cross a length of road that would normally take about 5 hours to go through. And yet, it's all so far away and new by now. The way the driver is handling the road makes me finally understand the old saying about how there are no atheists in foxholes. Blind turns, red lights, slippery roads and other hazards barely seem to matter, and the one solution to all of them is a rapid nasal honking emitted from the car every five seconds.
Someone once said that getting there is half the fun. It may not be the case here, but it's definitely half the experience.
Indian-English Traveler's Terminology:
Deluxe Bus with AC - Dilapidated, holes in ceiling provide ventilation during rainstorms.
Deluxe Bus - Dilapidated, seats were designed by misanthropic warmongers.
Local Bus - This is the bus you remember from when you were a child (whether that was during the 90's or the 1890's). A fitting hood ornament would be a Lego block. Maximum capacity is a very flexible (to nonexistent) term.
Cautious Driver - One who will light incense (in the cabin) during specially terrifying descents.
Speed Limit - The Brits said something about that in '47, but no one was listening at the time.
The state of Himachal Pradesh, commonly referred to as Himachal by locals and tourists alike, is tiny. It is barely twice the size of Israel, and populated with just around the same amount of people. A mere 500km from Delhi, it might as well be considered another suburb of the endless stretches of "suburban" communities surrounding the capital. And yet, it's all so far away. First off, the rides aren't measured in minutes, as would be appropriate for the better of part of traveling in Israel, but in hours. Oh, and what hours. The first ride out of Delhi was a bit intimidating. I've heard allot about the condition of buses in India, and so, were approaching the subject delicately. The travel agency promised a "Deluxe bus with AC", which proved to be, naturally neither deluxe nor ACed. And so, from our stinking guesthouse in the heart of the city we left, a bunch of sweaty foreigners (most of whom Israeli) led by a local. At first we merely crossed the Main Bazar, Delhi's tourist hotspot, collecting more travelers on our way. Walking along I couldn't help but think of The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Twenty or so people, blindly following the "leader", who could easily lead us into the bottom of a river if he felt like it. Fortunately, he didn't feel like it (these guys probably work on commission).
Instead of a bus terminal we found ourselves waiting on a main road, sweating profusely, and shoo-ing away the local kids who were trying to sell overpriced water and crackers for the unprepared amongst us.
The bus, which was scheduled to depart at 16:30 maid it's first appearance around 18:00. I have to say that I was impressed. Although not adorned by a familiar Volvo logo or it's kind, it still looked like it could hold us, and haul us safely to our destination. Naturally, this wasn't our bus. Just down the road was another group of tourists, sweating their own territorial borders, who were destined to board the impressive machine that simply swept past us. After a few more visions of rides (some of whom we envied, others we held our breaths hoping they were not The One), we were finally chosen to depart. Although certainly not something I would label as Deluxe, our bus nevertheless seemed to be made of actual metal and appeared to hold an engine deep in it's rusty insides.
And so, we boarded. We were all ecstatic about carrying our luggage along with us into the cabin, since we have all heard horrendous stories about bags stolen and ripped from baggage cabins. It appears to be that our ride was seriously under-booked. Wrong. Although we were by now 30 minutes into our 14 hour drive, we were still inside Delhi. At a certain point in the road the driver turned the bus towards a parking spot, and we stopped. In these rides, no one will ever explain to the travelers what exactly is going on, even though there are at least four people in the driver's cabin, one of whom is there specifically to take care of the tourists. Pretty soon the kids were among us again. Tapping on the glass windows from outside or else climbing aboard the bus before being violently kicked outside by the personnel, they tried once again to sell water, crackers, and now even Coke bottles.
But this stop wasn't destined just for the purpose of consumerism. There were the other travelers. By the time everyone was aboard the bus, the luggage had to be taken outside and secured inside the baggage compartment, where we encountered another phenomenon that was soon to become a formality - the petty extortion employed by the "baggage handler" for depositing our bags in the compartment. This meager payment of 10Rs. (less then 25 cents) insured us that our bags will not be hauled out of the cabin before departing. Worth it, right?
Finally, we were off. The first few hours of driving were still in the great Delhi area. Vast flat terrains, dotted with small or large settlements along the way. As opposed to Israel, the US and Europe, there are no empty stretches of road. There are people everywhere. There are houses everywhere. These places don't necessarily have a name or any resemblance of public facilities, but people are still living there. In one of these unnamed "villages" we stop and pick up a local family of four. During the next 5 hours the two small children spend most of their time throwing up from the open windows. The mother joins them at a certain point. It is incredible, however, how quiet they are. In between retches, the kids don't even whisper to their parents, who clean them up over and over again with the same filthy rag they brought with them when they boarded the bus.
And we ride. We change seats, we talk to anyone around us who is still awake. We try desperately to sleep on these chiropractic nightmare of chairs, while using coats and sweatshirts to block the tiny holes in the ceiling through which the rain keeps pouring in. At the end of the day, it takes us 14 hours to cross a length of road that would normally take about 5 hours to go through. And yet, it's all so far away and new by now. The way the driver is handling the road makes me finally understand the old saying about how there are no atheists in foxholes. Blind turns, red lights, slippery roads and other hazards barely seem to matter, and the one solution to all of them is a rapid nasal honking emitted from the car every five seconds.
Someone once said that getting there is half the fun. It may not be the case here, but it's definitely half the experience.
Indian-English Traveler's Terminology:
Deluxe Bus with AC - Dilapidated, holes in ceiling provide ventilation during rainstorms.
Deluxe Bus - Dilapidated, seats were designed by misanthropic warmongers.
Local Bus - This is the bus you remember from when you were a child (whether that was during the 90's or the 1890's). A fitting hood ornament would be a Lego block. Maximum capacity is a very flexible (to nonexistent) term.
Cautious Driver - One who will light incense (in the cabin) during specially terrifying descents.
Speed Limit - The Brits said something about that in '47, but no one was listening at the time.
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