Pushkar To McLeod Ganj - 36 Hours Of Hell
Trip Start
Mar 03, 2005
1
29
235
Trip End
Ongoing
McLeod Ganj,
India
Monday, May 23, 2005
Still, my aim was to get to McLeod Ganj, in the cool cool breezes south of the Great Himalaya Range, hundreds of kilometres away, in a day and a half.
My first mission was to leave Pushkar via the comfort of an air-conditioned bus to Jaipur, the idea being to reach Jaipur by the late afternoon, see a few sights in the Pink City and then head off the next morning. Alas that was not allowing for a reasonably common scenario - the Lying Indian Travel Agent. After leaving the luxurious Pushkar Palace at 2pm, I called in to see the Lying Travel Agent on the way to the bus station to pick up info on the bus number I was to catch. The 3pm departure AC bus turned into a 6.30pm departure in a filthy rust bucket.
Those of you looking to translate the words of the Lying Indian Travel Agent should keep the following in mind....
"Sorry Sir, the AC bus has broken down" - meaning 'We kicked you off because we've booked it to a tour group and it means more money'
"Oh yes, the other bus leaves at 5.30pm" - meaning 'They'll start packing bags of rice on the roof about 5.55pm, then passengers will arrive by 6.15pm. You should be on the way by 6.30pm-ish'
"Oh yes its a deluxe bus" - meaning 'It's a dusty rust bucket. If it gets you there, deluxe!'
"Oh this bus is more expensive than other buses because it is a better bus" - meaning 'You really are a sucker if you believe our bus is better than the one that is 50 Rupees cheaper'
"You should be in Jaipur by 8.30pm or 9 at the latest" - meaning 'You should be in Jaipur. Eventually.'
The non-deluxe, slow, constantly stopping bus pulled into Jaipur at 10.30pm. I hurriedly checked into a guest house and rushed up the street to get some dinner, only to find the restaurants in the area closing down for the night. My only option by that stage was an ice-cream shop. Thus, my meal for the evening was a Lime Ripple ice-cream in a waffle cone, and a bag of Lay's Spanish Tomato chips. The perfect meal if I was a 12 year old.
The first leg of my travel for next day was a 45 minute flight from Jaipur to Delhi, on the newest of discount airlines to meet the growing Indian travel market - Air Deccan. For around US$25 I threw caution to the wind, and ordered my ticket on the net. It meant a very early start to the day, thus I asked my autorickshaw driver to be at the guest house at 5am to pick me up.
Waking up out of a dead sleep thinking that someone is trying to break into your guest house room is a hell of an experience. You immediately go into self-preservation mode, reaching for something to whack someone with, as you hear banging on the door. Finally I worked out it was a staff member telling me my autorickshaw was ready to pick me up - and it was 4.30am. "I said 5am, I was sleeping!"
Without time for breakfast I headed to the airport and caught the 6.30am special. It got me there in one piece and on time for my connecting flight to Amritsar. "Couldn't be easier" I thought. All I had to do was check in for my second US$35 flight.
The check-in counters for the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants airlines at Delhi Domestic Airort, are nothing short of mayhem. People were yelling and screaming and pushing and shoving there way to the front. Even though I was early, I didn't get to the front until five minutes before scheduled takeoff. It was clear that they had no control over anything and that the plane was going to be delayed, so I wasn't surprised when they announced that the plane was running an hour behind due to "technical difficulties".
That was all we heard from Air Deccan for another three hours. There were no announcements, just yelling and screaming and pushing and shoving when finally a staff member came out to the crowd, which surrounded him like a lynch mob. I can now understand how civil unrest commences in these areas. You only had to see the pointing, prodding and gesturing of the unruly crowd to the Air Deccan official to see how things can get out of control here. At one stage one passenger had to be held back from the official, as it looked like they were about to go toe to toe.
We finally took off over four hours late, for the one and a bit hour flight to Amritsar, near the north-western border with Pakistan. Amritsar is the Sihk territory of Punjab, and after a previous night's bomb explosion in a Delhi cinema due to a religiously sensitive film, and because stereotypically according to Indian politics it seems to be the Sikh's that are responsible for these types of incidents, this part of the country feels tense. Given I was behind schedule by some time, and facing some daunting bus travel, I did consider staying the night. But for some reason this town made me feel remarkably uncomfortable. So I headed straight to the bus station.
The news wasn't great.... the alleged 3.30pm 6 hour direct bus to Dharmasala didn't exist anymore, so I faced two separate public bus journeys just to get within half an hour of McLeod Ganj. It was still 40 degrees in Amritsar, and even though it was already 3pm, the words "have a go!" entered my mind. I was soon on the Public Bus to Pathenkot.
By "Public Bus" they mean "rust heap with everyone on-board". The bus soon fills to the rafters, as does the roof. There are sweaty people everywhere. Thankfully I am wedged into the back-corner of the bus away from the doors, so I don't have people clambering over me. It is hot. It is uncomfortably bumpy. It is an Indian Public Bus.
By 6pm we were pulling into Pathenkot, home of nothing. Thankfully the conductor shovelled me off the first bus, straight onto another Public Bus. With the words "yes yes Dharmasala yes yes!" ringing in my ears, I sat near the front with my backpacks thinking everything was heading along more smoothly now. A short while into the trip, the conductor came to me with the news - "no Dharmasala no!"
There was hand gestures. There was swearing. There was finger pointing. And that was all from me.
After ten minutes of deciphering broken English and deciphering of the Lonely Planet Himachal Pradesh state map, we agreed that we knew exactly what we were discussing. I was to get of the bus at some other destination and get a taxi van with another passenger to McLeod Ganj. We should reach the fork in the road where I needed to disembark by 8.30pm.
I have never seen so many people on one vehicle as I did on that bus. I've also never seen so many Indian men's groins up so close as on that bus. People were climbing all over me, my bags and my seat to find some space. I had boxes of lord knows what leaning against me. I had one leg on either side of my backpack. It was like playing Indian Twister. Of course, it didn't get any easier by the time the bus had a flat tyre.
There are moments when you are travelling when some simple words enter your head - "what the fuck am I doing here?".
Standing next to the bus in the dark in some strange town in northern India, waiting for a puncture to be fixed, knowing that you have to get back onto an overcrowded bus for another 90 minutes, was one of those moments.
The bus pulled away from the fork in the road, leaving me there with my backpacks and the local guy with his many boxes of goodies. Thankfully there was a minivan taxi ready to scuttle us the last half hour through Dharmasala to the hill town of McLeod Ganj. Slightly delirious by this late stage of the day, some 18 hours after I'd woken up to face the journey, I saw an enormous Spider crawling across the roof of the minivan.
I hate Spiders.
I'll wrestle a Croc if necessary. I'll eye off a Snake if necessary. I'll eat at McDonalds if necessary. But I hate Spiders. But I was delirious. So I squashed the hairy bugger, got in and got on my way.
I was proud. It was a hell of a mental and physical test getting all that way in 36 hours to McLeod Ganj, using the joys of the Indian transport system. Delirious, but proud.
It was around 11pm and I only found a guesthouse with seconds to spare before they closed up for the night. As I'm carrying my bags up the stairs to my room, around the corner walked Denise, brushing her teeth.
