There’s a cow on the tracks, elephant on the road, and fog in the air

My final 8 hours at the Delhi airport were spent reminiscing on our 3 week journey around India. I relished my chai and veggie biryani from Café Coffee Day (the Indian version of Starbucks).  Full of chai, I boarded my flight fully expecting to be in the air and on my merry way back home; instead, my stay in India has been prolonged indefinitely due to heavy fog.  This comes as no surprise as we’ve continuously battled logistical challenges around the country.  As I’m sitting on the tarmac waiting for the fog to lift, I thought, what better time to give a rundown of our transportation woes and triumphs. Fair warning: this is going to be a long post since fog has enveloped the plane and I'm going to let my creative juices flow.

Delhi: Getting in and around Delhi required us to use the metro.  As much as the security checks at the gates kept us safe and secure from dangerous weapons, physically getting onto the train itself posed danger.  A play-by-play perhaps captures the essence of the experience: Train arrives. Passengers eagerly crowd at the closest door.  The conductor releases the button to open the doors.  Pushing commences. Not just a simple nudge, but an aggressive shoving and jolting to vie for a highly coveted seat.

The great push on the Delhi metro to grab a seat.  Courtesy of Niamh Keoghan.

On the first day, not one of us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed foreigners was able to grab a seat; instead we were caught in a sea of people and prodded by the crowd this way and that.  As it turns out, folks seek every gap in the benches as an opportunity for a seat and wedge themselves in every nook.  

We learned our lesson.  On our second day, we did what the locals did.  We proactively sought out the doors and pushed our way to the front.  We quickly sussed out the train and sat ourselves in two benches across from one another.  Success! Or so we thought…a few seconds later an elderly Bhai sahab (uncle) pointed to the sign above us: “For old or physically challenged.”  The fellows in our group begrudgingly relinquished their seats one by one.  Only the ladies remained. 50% success rate.  Not too shabby.  I’d like to consider our hard-fought success, as fleeting as it was, a signal of our determination and adaptability to local settings.

Another unique aspect of the metro was a “women’s only” car.  Sexual harassment on Delhi’s metro has not been uncommon, and it seemed like the transportation authority has been making headway to advance women’s safety.  Our discovery of this car on our way back home from the bazaar felt like a haven, a quiet and peaceful space away from the jabbing crowds.  Women don’t make exceptions for tourists of the male species, as Cliff and Hugo found out.  “A rule is a rule, and everyone has to obey it,” an Auntie admonished.

Jaipur: Our journey from Delhi to Jaipur conjured a mix of feelings and sounds--excitement, music, and sadness. Excitement from the first train ride that we were about to embark on in India, away from New Delhi.  Western music playing from the speakers of the European tourists who sat in the same AC class cabin and had taken the liberty of putting their music on speaker.  Sadness from discovering that the train had hit a cow.  Yes, a cow.  The poor animal had wandered onto the tracks and met its inevitable fate that morning.  So the initial wave of excitement slowly waned as we waited to bypass the cow. I would not classify this moment’s combination of sentiments as typical to those who travel.  But we’re in India, and as this aptly demonstrates, anything can happen.

Traffic in Jaipur. Courtesy of Keren Su—The Image Bank/Getty Images.

Road crossings: Crossing the roads is, as my fellow travelers can attest to, a harrowing experience in and of itself.  Our adventures in Delhi, especially in the narrow alleyways of the grand bazaar Chadnhi Chowk (and loud honking (shout-out to Cliff)) had prepared us mentally for this challenge, but we soon discovered the intersections in Jaipur were even more so congested than what we have seen thus far. The rickshaws and motorbikes swerve in and out, alongside the cars, buses, vans, and animals (cows, elephants, camels, you name it).  Unlike drivers of the many other countries I’ve been to, in India, cars do not yield for pedestrians.  So as you can imagine, crossing the road as a group is an adventure.  Every time we try to advance, some type of vehicle approaches at top speed.  We engage in a dance, stepping in and out until we seize the opportunity to speed across.

Kerala: Kerala is a beautiful region—with hills upon hills of tea gardens and spice plantations in the backdrop, lakes full of houseboats, and the silhouette of coconut trees in the horizon. Transportation in and around Kerala, however, proved frustrating.  As Jeff mentioned in an earlier post, we traveled through roads covered in red hammer and sickle flags.  Driving up winding roads to the hill stations not only caused motion sickness but also a fear of Indian drivers overtaking each other at blind spots.  Rules are non-existent on the road.  In a narrow two-lane road, a driver often times overtakes the vehicle in front and indicates his/her intent by honking the horn and momentarily swerving to the opposite side of the road to make the move.  There were too many moments where we narrowly missed oncoming traffic to count.  I gradually surrendered my fear by telling myself that the driver knows what he’s doing and the fact that he himself doesn’t want to die so he wouldn’t do anything too crazy.  That being said, I was highly impressed by some drivers who can expertly squeeze through narrow roads or in between cars with barely an inch to spare.  

Houseboats and coconut trees along Ashtamudi Lake, Kerala

Winding roads in Munnar, Kerala

Goa: The Saturday night bazaar was a bizarre night. We made our way to Goa’s largest night market via the one and only road that leads us there. Traffic was so backed up that we hopped off the taxi to walk to the bazaar, and unknowingly walked into a harrowing pedestrian experience.  Walking in a single file on the side of the road was the safest bet, but when the narrow dirt path was covered in bushes or the scooters blocked the path as they sat bumper to bumper, we weaved our way through the middle of the road. We were walking along with the cars, but the vehicles were relentless, ignoring pedestrians and continuing to advance. Concerned that side mirrors would ram into us or wheels would run over our toes, I was on high alert.  The night sky provided little light, and we relied heavily on headlights and our own line of vision. We eventually made it safely to the bazaar, but had to undergo the same experience on the way back to hail a taxi.  While I’ve backpacked through quite a few countries, I’d categorize this particular experience as one of my top 3 wildest ones. I had never seen so many people and vehicles on the same road with the same objective but such limited and confined space to navigate through.  Luckily, we all made it back alive with all of our appendages intact.

Goa's Saturday night market.  I was too engrossed in getting out of the road alive to capture a photo of the experience.

So now an extra couple of hours on a plane? No sweat.  I’ve come to terms that logistics and transportation are difficult to predict in India.  All this waiting and navigating have increased my patience levels, and I’ve come to expect the unexpected. It certainly keeps things interesting and spices things up (pun intended!).