The rock garden
Trip Start
Mar 06, 2005
1
30
34
Trip End
??? ??, 2006
Chandigarh,
India
Monday, June 20, 2005
The bus ride from Dhera Dun to Chandigarh took 9 hours and wins the prize as the most uncomfortable journey we've made so far, and in parts it proved to be the most hair raising as well. The temperature was in the high 40s at the bus station as I climbed onto the roof of the bus to lash on our rucksacs alongside the other luggage which incidentally included 2 motorbikes!
We took our seats near the front entrance of the delapidated bus which from the outside looked in relatively good condition but on entering we were confronted by the...well, less than luxurious interior. The seats were rock hard, lumpy bench style affairs covered by worn, hand stapled vinyl with what remained of the stuffing sprouting from numerous ragged tears, it looked as if someone had 'machine gunned' the interior upholstery just before we got on. The floor and walls were a patchwork of meatal plates held in place by a mixture of rivets and ugly welds.
The only possible explanation was that a troop of blind chimps armed with welding equipment and a rivet gun had been commissioned to repair the superstructure.
We had 5 mins before our departure time but the bus was virtually empty apart from the Sikkh 'conductor' sprawled across the back seats snoring loudly. The air inside the bus was tainted with deisel fumes at the teperature you would expect of a greenhouse situated in the Sahara, that obviously explained the lack of people save the unconcious condutor and us...
Chandigarh 01
two sweaty pink, English idiots.As the driver boarded so did everyone else, all the seats were rapidly filled and the aisle was crowded with those standing. As we paused to pull out of the station more people climbed on board. We then crawled through the towns streets stopping every 100 yards or so to pick up more passengers we were now so overloaded that the bus bounced violently and struggled to pull off after each stop. People climbed on the roof and hung on the outside of the bus by grasping the pillars between the open windows. We resembled an attempt to break the world record for the number of people you could cram on a single decker bus! It was incredibly cramped and unbelievably hot, everyone who was lucky enough (a relative term) to be seated had someone elses intimate body part or sweaty bits thrust in their face or bags and parcels piled ontop of them. Those standing were so intertwined they resembled a vertical orgy. I glanced at Jane who looked at me with a half smile of disbelief that said, we've got 8 hours of this!
We found solace in the assunmtion that many of the passengers were just making local journeys within the town and as we travelled further things would 'ease off'....we couldn't have been more wrong! For every 5 passengers that got off 7 got on and so it continued for the next 4 hours.
I eventually nodded off into a sort of half sleep my head bouncing on the buttocks of the man stood at my shoulder in the aisle, I was woken by Jane frantically squeezing my hand, she had her eyes clenched shut, as I regained my senses I realised why.
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We were careening down a narrow winding road at breakneck speed as we rounded each approaching corner the mash of humanity around us slumped to one side of the bus then the other. The tyres made a acrabbling sound on the dusty road and the whole bus leaned frighteningly towards the roads verge which revealed a sheer drop of 4 to 5 hundred feet into a wooded ravine below. I returned Janes squeeze, gripped the leg of the man next to me and let out a silent wimper. We were now driving (or was it free-falling) through the foothills of the Himalaya along mountain roads whos only purpose was to frighten the crap out of anyone daft enough to use them.Unbeleivably cars overtook us, we overtook slow moving lorries, and violently swerved around oncoming vehicles, all at speeds that defied belief. By the time we reached the half way rest stop Jane felt decidedly queezy and I was more than a little unsure about the sanity of the driver and our chances of reaching Chandigarh alive.
The bus spilled its contents (including us) onto a village square which contained a small cafe and a big river of urine, which flowed freely from the impromptu toilet created by every bus that had stoped here before us. After milling around for 10 minutes and exchanging pleasantries with our fellow sufferers we scrambled back on board ...much to our relief about a third of the passengers (and the motorbikes) didnt re-embark, but unfortunately the 'nutter' of a driver did, and over the course of the next 4 hours he treated us to a display of his reckless (nay suicidal)tendencies by trying to frighten us to death! Several times as we skirted the edge of the road I glanced out of the open window and could see no road beneath us just the cliffside dropping away below, with the odd crumpled carcass of a bus or lorry at its base.
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(We later read of two buses that same week plunging off nearby mountain roads killing 14 people, we were surprised it was only 14!).We eventually arrived in Chandigarh in the late afternoon, I felt like doing an impersonation of the Pope and kissing the tarmac as we hobbled off the bus but had to quickly rescue our rucksacs from the roof before the bus drove off presumably to a waiting troop of blind chimps to undergo more running repairs.
Chandigarh occupies the unique position of being the capital of both the Punjab and Haryana. It was conceived in the 1950s as the previous capital Lahore is now situated in Pakistan. The towns layout is based on a grid system with numbered sectors, it resembles a giant industrial estate. This is far from the original plan devised by the American architect Albert Mayer who envisaged a curving streetplan resembling a giant leaf. Unfortunately his partner died and so he withdrew from the project and the current city owes its formal, sectional layout to the Swiss born Le Corbusier. This said Chandigarh is a great place and we enjoyed wandering around its modernist layout which gave it an almost futuristic feel..albeit a post appocolyptic one.
Large wide boulivards cris-cross the city edged by scruffy, lumpy pavements strewn with piles of rubbish, not quite what Corbusier had immagined I'm sure. Our best find was the 'Subway sandwich bar' which to our amazement created wonderful european style bagettes and fresh cut sandwiches that were unbeleivably good (remember we have eaten nothing but curry for close to 35 days!).
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We made several visits here and made utter pigs of ourselves to the astonishment of the staff who must have thought we had some kind of compulsive eating disorder...we took such large bites from our baguettes that we had to wipe mayonaise from behind our ears!On our first full day in the town we decided to visit the Nek Chand rock garden, this turned out to be a fantastic surprise and well worth a visit. The garden was created by the emponymous former Govt roads inspector (looking at the local roads I'm surprised he had time) who recycled waste products like light switches broken pottery and electrical wire and created statues and figures from them. He was concerned at being labelled eccentric and so initially made them in secret on a plot of waste land outside the nascent city. Discovered by accident they were acclaimed as being of genuine artistic merit and he duly received grants to continue his work and international fame soon followed. With a team of helpers his work eventually evolved into the present day 'rock garden' which consists of a labarynth of pathwatys and tunnels that emerge into concrete grottoes containing his strange 'recycled' figures and statuary surrounded by waterfalls and a maize of small concrete caverns and caves linked by narrow steep sided 'trenches'.
Surprise surprise the heat was incredible, bouncing off the internal walls of the garden and superheating the still air, it soon became unbearable and so we retreated to the shady banks of the citys lake...or at least thats how it is described by the tourist offices. In reality it is a large expanse of grey water resembling a flooded quarry with concrete banks and a sad looking (and closed) funfair for children...I cant in all honesty suggest you visit it, even a drive past it would be depressing! A few brave souls had ventured out onto it in a row boat their saris and silk scarves flapping in the breeze whipping across it (its only saving grace), they had to be rescued by a motor boat when the rowing proved too much for them.(We couldnt understand why they even attempted to row across it as there were no views to speak of and the lake was featureless...perhaps they just gave up the will to row out of sheer boredom?)
At this time of year the temperatures in Chandigarh are reaching their height as the plaines approach 'boiling point' prior to the monsoon downpours. This heat manifested itself in scorching days of unrelenting sunshine followed by nights that were only a few degrees cooler but much more humid. The act of walking out of our aircon room every night never failed to shock us into discussing just how stiffling the heat was. It felt as if we had to force our way through the thick night air as if wading through waist deep water. It is difficult to explain just how intimidating the heat was, it left us drained of all our energy and after 6 weeks of it we were desperate for some kind of respite from it! Hopefully the high Himalaya would provide it.
The following day we made an early morning trip to the bus station.We had been told by our guesthouse that regular buses ran to our destination but we didnt know from which stand, we received contradictory advice from everyone we questioned in the various cues that had formed so we approached a window that claimed to offer 'Travel Information'. We were confronted by a large Indian lady who regarded us with complete indifference as she chatted away on the phone whilst doodling on a pad set infront of her. We waited for over 10 long minutes as all our attempts at regaining her attention failed. Eventually she put the phone down and shot us a look of distain, we supposed, for interupting her call. "Could we get information about local trains and buses from her?" She nodded.
So we posed our questions about the next bus and connecting train we needed to catch and she mumbled an answer (whilst looking behind us) that clearly was a lie...ie "there were no trains or buses going to our destination today" she immediately spun her chair round and struck up a conversation with the man behind the next window, as if to dismiss us. I pointed out to her (loudly)that the timetable behind her on the wall contradicted her information, my apparent impudence had clearly angered her, she slapped her pen down stood up and closed the window in my face. I rather uncaracteristically 'boiled over' hammering on the window I 'thanked her for all her help!'and as Jane led me away I shouted suitable abuse at the closed window drawing curious looks from nearby cues...not the smartest reaction but it made me feel a lot better! I prayed to God that somehow sometime in the future that woman would need help from me, and I could tell her (at great length) where to 'get off!' I eventually calmed down and we continued to question fellow passengers until we found the correct bus.
This time the bus was relatively empty (thank God) and we actually enjoyed our hours drive with a sane crew (at least this driver wasn't trying to kill us...overtly anyway) towards Kalka a small town at the foot of the Siwalik hills (the front range of the Himalaya) from where we hoped to catch the famous 'toy' train that winds its way up to the old British hill station of Shimla, renouned for its architecture that mimics an English village and a MUCH COOLER CLIMATE!.
