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India
by Bus
Preamble Hereunder, extracts from my travel diary from a two week journey around Southern India using local trains and buses. No holiday rep to look after me, no air conditioned luxury coaches, no guide; just maps, timetables, a change of clothes and an inquisitive mind. Would I survive, or come a cropper ? Read my travelogue and find out about encounters with unpleasant insects, amorous restauranteurs and more..... Anjuna to Panjim A doubtful experience on a local bus in
Goa. The 9.05am from Anjuna was boarded by 50 people (max capacity 30)
and one cockroach. I don't know if he paid his fare. As is often the
case, the bus was way overloaded with passengers, and standing in the
crush at an awkward angle, I had to hang on to the overhead handrail
for support. Exactly how the bus boy works his way through the human
throng to collect fares is a mystery. Anyway, this handrail was apparently
this cockroach's personal exercise rail, or so it seemed; when it came
scooting along the rail in my direction I wasn't able to let go for
fear of falling; had to let him run over my hand, and then watched as
he lost his footing and slipped down onto a lady's head and proceeded
to run around in her hair for a while. Moral dilemma : should I inform
the lady about her new travelling companion, and risk a riot on a crowded
bus, or whether to let events unfold at their own pace. What would you
do ? Panjim to Bangalore Eventually found my first long distance overnight bus, destination Bangalore, and settled down for a long ride; to break me in gently, the seats were quite comfortable and reclined well. Sat near the front, an open window allowing the breeze in, and with it, the sounds and smells of roadside India by night. Dimly lit people cooking by storm lantern at roadside stalls, all doing their best to look extremely foreign. Darkness steadily consumed the outside as the bus climbed up, slowly twisting and turning its way up into the Western Ghats, the mountain range that keeps Catholic Goa separate from the rest of Hindu India. Bangalore to Ooty Arrived Bangalore at dawn and was very efficiently
ripped off by the taxi driver who pretended to get lost in his own home
town in order to run up a nice fat bill. Too sleepy to argue. One day
sightseeing in Bangalore, then next day train to Mysore, home of sandalwood
incense; one day sightseeing, then joined a minibus full of Indian honeymooning
couples from Mysore to Ootacamund, or Ooty for short. The road passed
through the Bandipur and Mudumalai wildlife sanctuaries, but with the
bus driver giving us his best Lewis Hamilton impression, didn't manage
to see a great deal of wildlife : a couple of elephants nonchalantly
crashing about here and there. The road climbed up into the Nilgiri
Hills with 36 individually numbered hairpin bends. They do like their
paperwork. Nilgiri Hills Ooty to Cochin Had intended to leave Ooty by its
famous 'toy' steam train, the Nilgiri Express. Unfortunately the the
train was not running however; apparently a herd of irate elephants
was blocking the line following the death of one of their young and
no one quite knew how to dispel them. Now that's something you don't
get on the 7.35 to Marylebone. Instead, I had to settle for the local
bus, although the ride down the mountain was an experience in itself
: 3 hours of being thrown about on twisting mountain roads in fabulous
scenery, all for 25p, terrific value for money; never been so thrown
about for so little. Down in the plains at Mettupalayam I was befriended
by a very hospitable gentlemen with a PhD from London University, who
took me in, fed me biryani and offered me his wife for the night. Some
people are so generous to strangers. Unfortunately, I had a train to
catch, schedules to keep to. Overnight train Mettupalayam to Cochin;
shared a compartment with two Frenchmen who suddenly dressed and jumped
out of the train in between stops in the middle of nowhere in the middle
of the night. No idea why. Cochin to Kumily In a land of demented bus drivers, this one stood out as something a bit special. Having a foreigner sitting in the front seat perhaps needing some entertainment inspired him to the heights of motoring devilry; his sidelong grins at me confirmed such; he was master of the early morning road, pushing his machine to the edge, terroriser of innocent roadside piglets; scatterer of hapless hens. In the West, he would be taken out and shot; here he was a hero, feared by all; or at least that is how he saw it. Periyar Tiger Reserve After finishing my thali in a small restaurant
that evening, the restaurant owner tried to interest me in marrying
his younger sister. He could no longer afford to keep her and would
shortly be forced to pack her off to Calcutta to work as a seamstress,
the poor thing. She joined me at my table, a doe eyed girl with a pretty
face and a winning smile that seemed to suggest that I would be making
a good move. Rather plump perhaps, but a pleasant sort of plumpness,
suggestive more of ripeness than of over-indulgence. Tempted for a while
by a prospect of Eastern delights, I eventually had to consider that
I just wouldn't be able to sell the plan to my girlfriend back home,
whom I suspected would raise significant objections. Oh well, maybe
it is for experiences like these that travel junkies keep on travelling;
you never know what is going to turn up next. Kodaikanal
Kodaikanal to Kovalam
Kovalam to Goa
Phew. I'm booking Cleethorpes next year ! No I'm not
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Panjim
bus station, the usual cacophony of the day mellowing with the approaching
dusk. Good places to observe life bus stations are : raucous, dynamic,
earthy. Battered old buses like so many tin cans on wheels, coming and
going incessantly; engines roaring, the bus boys shouting out their
destinations for those with ears to understand. There's something in
the Indian soul that likes a nice bit of cacophony. 
who find the Englishness novel and quaint : a boating lake, botanical
gardens, and place names like Charing Cross! Hopped on a local school
bus for a ride up the ghat road through tea plantations to near the
summit of Dodabetta Peak, which overlooks Ooty. 'Peak' is a bit too
grand for this summit, which is where Tamil Nadu State just happens
to find its maximum elevation of 8640 feet. Superb vegetation cover,
however, with forestry encompassing a hundred different shades of green,
and a profusion of dazzling yellow broom for contrast. A footpath, complete
with official signs to ennoble the trekker's mind ("Bad news travels
fast, good news takes the trekking route"), lead down from the
Peak into Ooty. For a hill walker toughened on uncompromising British
uplands, this was a couple of hours of sheer indulgence. No need for
waterproofs or fleece jacket here. Strolling gently downhill through
luxuriant forestry with warm tropical sunshine piercing gaps in the
eucalyptus trees; nature here is generous and benign, medecine for the
tired soul, an antidote to the heat and bustle of life in the town.
Definately
the worst journey of the lot, this one. The ticket I bought from the
travel agent for an express door to door bus to Kovalam on India's southern
coast turned out to be four separate journeys - a taxi down the mountain
to Madurai, then local bus to Nargacol, another bus to Trivandrum, and
last of all another to Kovalam; just to make things worse, none of these
local buses had free seats, and I arrived in the Kovalam dawn having
had to stand up all night long; felt and looked decidedly crumply. At
least there weren't any cockroaches. 
A
couple of days recovering on Kovalam beach and eating lots of fish,
then time to start the homeward journey; a two hour bus to Quillon and
then a delightful 8 hour ferry ride through Keralan backwaters to Allepey,
then another bus to Cochin. One day in Cochin, then overnight on the
Malabar express train to Mangalore. The term 'express' was perhaps something
of a misnomer, but the ride up the Karnataka coast was nonetheless a
delight; endless palmfringed coastal villages facing the ocean. Finally
9 hours on the Kadamba bus from Mangalore back to Panjim in Goa to complete
my little Indian circle.