Friday, November 28, 2008
Dharamsala to Goa
After finally getting the bike together in Mcleod Ganj I set off headed south with the intention of catching the train to Goa with my bike and riding down south to Kerala. he way to Delhi passed through and out of the foothills of the himalyas across beautiful flowing hills and river beds all the way to Chandrigarh. Which for me was really just a stop on the way to Delhi. The guide book says this is a revolutionary city in comparson to most cities in India, all green with gardens boutiques and shops.Its was apparently designed by a swiss architect when the split came with pakistan and was supposed to be a statement of modern India. To me it just semed like the usual scruffy Indian city but loosely based around an american grid system, which kind of gave it a european/american feel. But to be honest I didnt spend enough time here to get a true feel for it. Its an odd mix, and in many ways feels very out of place in India, boutiques line the shopping mall style streets, yet theres still chai sellers, beggars and shoe shiners lining the paved boulevards. It kind of leaves you feeling a little confused in many respects, sort of transplants you somewhere else and not at the same time.
So I heaved the lumpy Enfield out of Chandigarh and rode the motorway to Delhi. Now this is something e
lse. Motorway it is, motorway as you know it, it is not. Here on the motorway driving takes on a whole new parallel universe. Imagine the M1 and then add all the cars you usually have on a motorway, then take away half the driving licenses, subtract any MOT or road fitness for vehicles and increase the speeds. Once youve got this melting pot of potential visits to the crematorium, add carts, donkeys, rickshwas, tuktuks, old men, young men, young children,water bufalos, holy cows camped for the day in the middle lane, monkeys and potholes the size of bomb craters. Then once youve got a handle on this let a quarter of the traffic come the wrong way up the motorway in all lanes! Its sheer madness. Someone says that driving in India in all about reactions, theyre right, you have to throw away what you know and have learne-767129.jpg)
d as it mostly doesnt work. The horn is king and you simply have to have good breaks, quick reactions and balls the size of a large Bull India elephant. Its insane really and Im not sure you really ever get a hang of it. Countless times I nearly ended up doing a fair impression of a squashed fly on the back of a bus as it steered to avoid a bomb crater or a car thats just pulled straight across the central reservation. Some say that driving in Delhi is a nightmare and so many people put the fear into me about this but its nothing compared to this rollercoater ride on the motorways, its great fun but very dangerous.
Once I hit Delhi I managed to ride through it before I realsied I was out the other side. For some reason I thought it was a huge sprawling mass but its nothing compared to london and the driving is simple c-781007.jpg)
ompared to the motorways. All the horror Delhi driving stories are nonsense. sure theres lots of traffic but its slow moving and you have time to figure whats happening and stop. If you do crash into someone its at slow speed and you can get away with a shrug of the shoulders and a smile, which I did on a few encounters with maniac autorickshaw drivers.
Delhi, well, what to say about Delhi, I loved it some days and hated it others. Its so real and raw and chaotic and fun and horrible and dirty and sad and and and, its everything in one and that kind of assault on the senses I loved some days and when I was tired I hated it. Ive sat in the dusty streets in Old Delhi writing with a crowd of kids staring at my pages like we all stare at the television back home and Ive taken photos of beautiful bright sari clad women and their ch-767034.jpg)
ildren selling bananas and fruits on the central reservation, talked with old packers in Old Delhi train station about life and the wish to get out of India to the States to earn money. Ive sat from dawn till dusk in scruffy back streets of Karol Bagh, watching the biggest motorcycle market in the world, streets and streets of bikes, seats, hadlebars, engines every concievable thing for bikes. Ive sat with mechanics rebuilding my gearbox, changing wheels and generally rebuilding my bike for all of a tenner. Delhi is wonderfully full on in every sense, and looking back its an experience everyone should take on but once is enough-720366.jpg)
for me. I have to say though that the saving grace was staying in the Tibetan enclave of Majnu Ka Tila on the outskirts of the city, Here you can escape all the India delhi hecticness and -759823.jpg)
be immersed in a much slower getler culture. I remember Brendan at Lothlorien saying its like something off Harry Potter and its such an apt description. All winding skinny alleyways with little shops selling all manner of Tibetan things, silversmiths, monasteries all hidden down dark twisty alleys. You can almost imagine finding a shop selling magic wands, dragon eggs and flying broomsticks. I loved it and each night it was a welcome relief to get back here, it felt very much like home.
The main reason I was in Delhi was to rearrange my flight home and organise the bike onto the train south.Im planning on coming home in April and work the summer in Edinburgh to pay for the next pa-780924.jpg)
rt of the trip and also to pick up my bike and prepare it for the long haul. When I think about it I really miss my bike, it feels strange to not have her with me but in many respects Im glad I dont have her here as getting parts would be a nightmare and the state of the roads would shake the hell out of her bones, its better to have an Enfield and let it fall apart.
In New Delhi station i embarked on getting myself and the bike on the train to Goa. Its certainly a task but easier than you think. Basically, you turn up about 3 to 4 hours before the train departs with your prebooked ticket, saunter over to the luggage office and book the bike in as luggage which costs you per kilometer on a weight base. For me it cost in total 2500 Irp which is about 30 pounds for a 48hr train journey and some 2000 km. Certainly cheaper than riding it and a whole heap less hassle. The bike has to be packed up, which simply involves sticking some hessian sacking over the bike and stuffing it with straw. -759754.jpg)
There are guys at the station to do this and its best to tip the guys well to do a good job and take off breakables such as mirrors and lights. When I did this in Delhi the packers drained all the petrol out of the bike into plastic bottles on the platform and then I had a crowd of folk around me punting offers for the fuel, so its easy to sell. I sold the majority of the fuel and took a litre with me in luggage to start the bike at the other end. The process is simple, the only hassle is trying to keep a tag on all your luggage while all this is going on. I just asked the luggage guy to keep an eye on it and trusted the of it all fate to the gods. No problems.
The Indian trains are wonderful, I love the trains. I love the idea that you can sleep and meet all these interesting folk sleep and then some more folk get on and you get a whole fresh perspective. The sleeping berths are arranged in tiers of six and if youre on the bottom you have to get used to feeling like your in a vampires coffin on a night, but I was just glad to be lying down and resting and not riding riding riding. To me I was in heaven, travelling south to warm climates, me and my bike with all my luggage and nothing to do for 2 days, no responsibility, except the mystery of my constantly disapearing shoes. You meet all manner of folk on the trains, backpackers, buisness men, ordinary folk, robotics engineers you name it and youre all packed in so tight you have to get along fine and dandy. Everything comes to your seat, chai, curry, breakfast, lunch, dinner its wonderful to just while away the days.Travelling by train is so nice because you get to see the landscape and people changing as youre moving along and one of the really wonderful things to do is sit in the open door and watch the world go by your feet.
When I stepped off the train in Goa I knew I was in a very different place, the heat hit me staight away and I also saw I was surrounded by palm trees. I grabbed the bike, saw-720162.jpg)
s all was in order, signed the book, ignored the policemans asking for money. "no Im not going to give you any money, what for?" I told him. Ive become blase about all this kind of nonsense now, put the litre of fuel I stashed in my bags kicked the bike over and rolled off towards Agonda beach in the south of Goa. No dramas, putting ther bike on the train is a breeze.
The pace of life here is very very different, people are slower and gentler in nature. Im sure its has something to do with the climate, the beach and the sun. Its so beautiful riding here, water buffalos in rice paddies and green green forests with windy roads through palm groves and jungles, couple that with the slow pace and its the recipe for slowing right down and taking it easy. For some the idea of Goa is a nightmare, all night trance parties and fucked up acid heads but thats only half the story. -775263.jpg)
For example Im sat on a beach with a few rackety wooden huts a handful of restaurants and hardly any people, just rolling surf a bamboo shack on stilts the sand in my feet and clear clear blue sky with the surf rolling in. Life is slow and easy, slowing down is harder especially after the chaos of delhi but Im getting there. Some of the days I have no idea where they get to as its really easy to do very little and slow right down. I like it here, its not Goa in the traditional sense I presume. I can meditate, do Chi Kung on the beach, swim in the warmest ocean Ive ever swam in, watch dolphins from my room, have the time and space to practice guitar, write and eat beautiful food all for less than a tenner a day. Living like a king on the beach for now is great, but I-720212.jpg)
suspect the solitude here could get to you. Theres only a few bamboo shacks and everything is very low key. I may stay for Christmas and fly out in the new year to Sri Lanka to get my Visa renewed and then head to Kerala in the new year. Also Goa is very small so easily toured from a base which is what I intend to do. So for now Im just slowing down and relaxing, riding very little, thinking about my plans for coming home in April and doing all the things I never give myself the time to do. So until next time many blessings and love to all.
After finally getting the bike together in Mcleod Ganj I set off headed south with the intention of catching the train to Goa with my bike and riding down south to Kerala. he way to Delhi passed through and out of the foothills of the himalyas across beautiful flowing hills and river beds all the way to Chandrigarh. Which for me was really just a stop on the way to Delhi. The guide book says this is a revolutionary city in comparson to most cities in India, all green with gardens boutiques and shops.Its was apparently designed by a swiss architect when the split came with pakistan and was supposed to be a statement of modern India. To me it just semed like the usual scruffy Indian city but loosely based around an american grid system, which kind of gave it a european/american feel. But to be honest I didnt spend enough time here to get a true feel for it. Its an odd mix, and in many ways feels very out of place in India, boutiques line the shopping mall style streets, yet theres still chai sellers, beggars and shoe shiners lining the paved boulevards. It kind of leaves you feeling a little confused in many respects, sort of transplants you somewhere else and not at the same time.
So I heaved the lumpy Enfield out of Chandigarh and rode the motorway to Delhi. Now this is something else. Motorway it is, motorway as you know it, it is not. Here on the motorway driving takes on a whole new parallel universe. Imagine the M1 and then add all the cars you usually have on a motorway, then take away half the driving licenses, subtract any MOT or road fitness for vehicles and increase the speeds. Once youve got this melting pot of potential visits to the crematorium, add carts, donkeys, rickshwas, tuktuks, old men, young men, young children,water bufalos, holy cows camped for the day in the middle lane, monkeys and potholes the size of bomb craters. Then once youve got a handle on this let a quarter of the traffic come the wrong way up the motorway in all lanes! Its sheer madness. Someone says that driving in India in all about reactions, theyre right, you have to throw away what you know and have learned as it mostly doesnt work. The horn is king and you simply have to have good breaks, quick reactions and balls the size of a large Bull India elephant. Its insane really and Im not sure you really ever get a hang of it. Countless times I nearly ended up doing a fair impression of a squashed fly on the back of a bus as it steered to avoid a bomb crater or a car thats just pulled straight across the central reservation. Some say that driving in Delhi is a nightmare and so many people put the fear into me about this but its nothing compared to this rollercoater ride on the motorways, its great fun but very dangerous.
Once I hit Delhi I managed to ride through it before I realsied I was out the other side. For some reason I thought it was a huge sprawling mass but its nothing compared to london and the driving is simple compared to the motorways. All the horror Delhi driving stories are nonsense. sure theres lots of traffic but its slow moving and you have time to figure whats happening and stop. If you do crash into someone its at slow speed and you can get away with a shrug of the shoulders and a smile, which I did on a few encounters with maniac autorickshaw drivers.
Delhi, well, what to say about Delhi, I loved it some days and hated it others. Its so real and raw and chaotic and fun and horrible and dirty and sad and and and, its everything in one and that kind of assault on the senses I loved some days and when I was tired I hated it. Ive sat in the dusty streets in Old Delhi writing with a crowd of kids staring at my pages like we all stare at the television back home and Ive taken photos of beautiful bright sari clad women and their children selling bananas and fruits on the central reservation, talked with old packers in Old Delhi train station about life and the wish to get out of India to the States to earn money. Ive sat from dawn till dusk in scruffy back streets of Karol Bagh, watching the biggest motorcycle market in the world, streets and streets of bikes, seats, hadlebars, engines every concievable thing for bikes. Ive sat with mechanics rebuilding my gearbox, changing wheels and generally rebuilding my bike for all of a tenner. Delhi is wonderfully full on in every sense, and looking back its an experience everyone should take on but once is enough for me. I have to say though that the saving grace was staying in the Tibetan enclave of Majnu Ka Tila on the outskirts of the city, Here you can escape all the India delhi hecticness and be immersed in a much slower getler culture. I remember Brendan at Lothlorien saying its like something off Harry Potter and its such an apt description. All winding skinny alleyways with little shops selling all manner of Tibetan things, silversmiths, monasteries all hidden down dark twisty alleys. You can almost imagine finding a shop selling magic wands, dragon eggs and flying broomsticks. I loved it and each night it was a welcome relief to get back here, it felt very much like home.
The main reason I was in Delhi was to rearrange my flight home and organise the bike onto the train south.Im planning on coming home in April and work the summer in Edinburgh to pay for the next part of the trip and also to pick up my bike and prepare it for the long haul. When I think about it I really miss my bike, it feels strange to not have her with me but in many respects Im glad I dont have her here as getting parts would be a nightmare and the state of the roads would shake the hell out of her bones, its better to have an Enfield and let it fall apart.
In New Delhi station i embarked on getting myself and the bike on the train to Goa. Its certainly a task but easier than you think. Basically, you turn up about 3 to 4 hours before the train departs with your prebooked ticket, saunter over to the luggage office and book the bike in as luggage which costs you per kilometer on a weight base. For me it cost in total 2500 Irp which is about 30 pounds for a 48hr train journey and some 2000 km. Certainly cheaper than riding it and a whole heap less hassle. The bike has to be packed up, which simply involves sticking some hessian sacking over the bike and stuffing it with straw.There are guys at the station to do this and its best to tip the guys well to do a good job and take off breakables such as mirrors and lights. When I did this in Delhi the packers drained all the petrol out of the bike into plastic bottles on the platform and then I had a crowd of folk around me punting offers for the fuel, so its easy to sell. I sold the majority of the fuel and took a litre with me in luggage to start the bike at the other end. The process is simple, the only hassle is trying to keep a tag on all your luggage while all this is going on. I just asked the luggage guy to keep an eye on it and trusted the of it all fate to the gods. No problems.
The Indian trains are wonderful, I love the trains. I love the idea that you can sleep and meet all these interesting folk sleep and then some more folk get on and you get a whole fresh perspective. The sleeping berths are arranged in tiers of six and if youre on the bottom you have to get used to feeling like your in a vampires coffin on a night, but I was just glad to be lying down and resting and not riding riding riding. To me I was in heaven, travelling south to warm climates, me and my bike with all my luggage and nothing to do for 2 days, no responsibility, except the mystery of my constantly disapearing shoes. You meet all manner of folk on the trains, backpackers, buisness men, ordinary folk, robotics engineers you name it and youre all packed in so tight you have to get along fine and dandy. Everything comes to your seat, chai, curry, breakfast, lunch, dinner its wonderful to just while away the days.Travelling by train is so nice because you get to see the landscape and people changing as youre moving along and one of the really wonderful things to do is sit in the open door and watch the world go by your feet.
When I stepped off the train in Goa I knew I was in a very different place, the heat hit me staight away and I also saw I was surrounded by palm trees. I grabbed the bike, saws all was in order, signed the book, ignored the policemans asking for money. "no Im not going to give you any money, what for?" I told him. Ive become blase about all this kind of nonsense now, put the litre of fuel I stashed in my bags kicked the bike over and rolled off towards Agonda beach in the south of Goa. No dramas, putting ther bike on the train is a breeze.
The pace of life here is very very different, people are slower and gentler in nature. Im sure its has something to do with the climate, the beach and the sun. Its so beautiful riding here, water buffalos in rice paddies and green green forests with windy roads through palm groves and jungles, couple that with the slow pace and its the recipe for slowing right down and taking it easy. For some the idea of Goa is a nightmare, all night trance parties and fucked up acid heads but thats only half the story.For example Im sat on a beach with a few rackety wooden huts a handful of restaurants and hardly any people, just rolling surf a bamboo shack on stilts the sand in my feet and clear clear blue sky with the surf rolling in. Life is slow and easy, slowing down is harder especially after the chaos of delhi but Im getting there. Some of the days I have no idea where they get to as its really easy to do very little and slow right down. I like it here, its not Goa in the traditional sense I presume. I can meditate, do Chi Kung on the beach, swim in the warmest ocean Ive ever swam in, watch dolphins from my room, have the time and space to practice guitar, write and eat beautiful food all for less than a tenner a day. Living like a king on the beach for now is great, but I suspect the solitude here could get to you. Theres only a few bamboo shacks and everything is very low key. I may stay for Christmas and fly out in the new year to Sri Lanka to get my Visa renewed and then head to Kerala in the new year. Also Goa is very small so easily toured from a base which is what I intend to do. So for now Im just slowing down and relaxing, riding very little, thinking about my plans for coming home in April and doing all the things I never give myself the time to do. So until next time many blessings and love to all.
So I heaved the lumpy Enfield out of Chandigarh and rode the motorway to Delhi. Now this is something e
lse. Motorway it is, motorway as you know it, it is not. Here on the motorway driving takes on a whole new parallel universe. Imagine the M1 and then add all the cars you usually have on a motorway, then take away half the driving licenses, subtract any MOT or road fitness for vehicles and increase the speeds. Once youve got this melting pot of potential visits to the crematorium, add carts, donkeys, rickshwas, tuktuks, old men, young men, young children,water bufalos, holy cows camped for the day in the middle lane, monkeys and potholes the size of bomb craters. Then once youve got a handle on this let a quarter of the traffic come the wrong way up the motorway in all lanes! Its sheer madness. Someone says that driving in India in all about reactions, theyre right, you have to throw away what you know and have learne-767319.jpg)
d as it mostly doesnt work. The horn is king and you simply have to have good breaks, quick reactions and balls the size of a large Bull India elephant. Its insane really and Im not sure you really ever get a hang of it. Countless times I nearly ended up doing a fair impression of a squashed fly on the back of a bus as it steered to avoid a bomb crater or a car thats just pulled straight across the central reservation. Some say that driving in Delhi is a nightmare and so many people put the fear into me about this but its nothing compared to this rollercoater ride on the motorways, its great fun but very dangerous.Once I hit Delhi I managed to ride through it before I realsied I was out the other side. For some reason I thought it was a huge sprawling mass but its nothing compared to london and the driving is simple c
-781031.jpg)
ompared to the motorways. All the horror Delhi driving stories are nonsense. sure theres lots of traffic but its slow moving and you have time to figure whats happening and stop. If you do crash into someone its at slow speed and you can get away with a shrug of the shoulders and a smile, which I did on a few encounters with maniac autorickshaw drivers.Delhi, well, what to say about Delhi, I loved it some days and hated it others. Its so real and raw and chaotic and fun and horrible and dirty and sad and and and, its everything in one and that kind of assault on the senses I loved some days and when I was tired I hated it. Ive sat in the dusty streets in Old Delhi writing with a crowd of kids staring at my pages like we all stare at the television back home and Ive taken photos of beautiful bright sari clad women and their ch
-767054.jpg)
ildren selling bananas and fruits on the central reservation, talked with old packers in Old Delhi train station about life and the wish to get out of India to the States to earn money. Ive sat from dawn till dusk in scruffy back streets of Karol Bagh, watching the biggest motorcycle market in the world, streets and streets of bikes, seats, hadlebars, engines every concievable thing for bikes. Ive sat with mechanics rebuilding my gearbox, changing wheels and generally rebuilding my bike for all of a tenner. Delhi is wonderfully full on in every sense, and looking back its an experience everyone should take on but once is enough-720386.jpg)
for me. I have to say though that the saving grace was staying in the Tibetan enclave of Majnu Ka Tila on the outskirts of the city, Here you can escape all the India delhi hecticness and -759846.jpg)
be immersed in a much slower getler culture. I remember Brendan at Lothlorien saying its like something off Harry Potter and its such an apt description. All winding skinny alleyways with little shops selling all manner of Tibetan things, silversmiths, monasteries all hidden down dark twisty alleys. You can almost imagine finding a shop selling magic wands, dragon eggs and flying broomsticks. I loved it and each night it was a welcome relief to get back here, it felt very much like home.The main reason I was in Delhi was to rearrange my flight home and organise the bike onto the train south.Im planning on coming home in April and work the summer in Edinburgh to pay for the next pa
-780939.jpg)
rt of the trip and also to pick up my bike and prepare it for the long haul. When I think about it I really miss my bike, it feels strange to not have her with me but in many respects Im glad I dont have her here as getting parts would be a nightmare and the state of the roads would shake the hell out of her bones, its better to have an Enfield and let it fall apart.In New Delhi station i embarked on getting myself and the bike on the train to Goa. Its certainly a task but easier than you think. Basically, you turn up about 3 to 4 hours before the train departs with your prebooked ticket, saunter over to the luggage office and book the bike in as luggage which costs you per kilometer on a weight base. For me it cost in total 2500 Irp which is about 30 pounds for a 48hr train journey and some 2000 km. Certainly cheaper than riding it and a whole heap less hassle. The bike has to be packed up, which simply involves sticking some hessian sacking over the bike and stuffing it with straw.
-759770.jpg)
There are guys at the station to do this and its best to tip the guys well to do a good job and take off breakables such as mirrors and lights. When I did this in Delhi the packers drained all the petrol out of the bike into plastic bottles on the platform and then I had a crowd of folk around me punting offers for the fuel, so its easy to sell. I sold the majority of the fuel and took a litre with me in luggage to start the bike at the other end. The process is simple, the only hassle is trying to keep a tag on all your luggage while all this is going on. I just asked the luggage guy to keep an eye on it and trusted the of it all fate to the gods. No problems.The Indian trains are wonderful, I love the trains. I love the idea that you can sleep and meet all these interesting folk sleep and then some more folk get on and you get a whole fresh perspective. The sleeping berths are arranged in tiers of six and if youre on the bottom you have to get used to feeling like your in a vampires coffin on a night, but I was just glad to be lying down and resting and not riding riding riding. To me I was in heaven, travelling south to warm climates, me and my bike with all my luggage and nothing to do for 2 days, no responsibility, except the mystery of my constantly disapearing shoes. You meet all manner of folk on the trains, backpackers, buisness men, ordinary folk, robotics engineers you name it and youre all packed in so tight you have to get along fine and dandy. Everything comes to your seat, chai, curry, breakfast, lunch, dinner its wonderful to just while away the days.Travelling by train is so nice because you get to see the landscape and people changing as youre moving along and one of the really wonderful things to do is sit in the open door and watch the world go by your feet.
When I stepped off the train in Goa I knew I was in a very different place, the heat hit me staight away and I also saw I was surrounded by palm trees. I grabbed the bike, saw
-720171.jpg)
s all was in order, signed the book, ignored the policemans asking for money. "no Im not going to give you any money, what for?" I told him. Ive become blase about all this kind of nonsense now, put the litre of fuel I stashed in my bags kicked the bike over and rolled off towards Agonda beach in the south of Goa. No dramas, putting ther bike on the train is a breeze.The pace of life here is very very different, people are slower and gentler in nature. Im sure its has something to do with the climate, the beach and the sun. Its so beautiful riding here, water buffalos in rice paddies and green green forests with windy roads through palm groves and jungles, couple that with the slow pace and its the recipe for slowing right down and taking it easy. For some the idea of Goa is a nightmare, all night trance parties and fucked up acid heads but thats only half the story.
-775295.jpg)
For example Im sat on a beach with a few rackety wooden huts a handful of restaurants and hardly any people, just rolling surf a bamboo shack on stilts the sand in my feet and clear clear blue sky with the surf rolling in. Life is slow and easy, slowing down is harder especially after the chaos of delhi but Im getting there. Some of the days I have no idea where they get to as its really easy to do very little and slow right down. I like it here, its not Goa in the traditional sense I presume. I can meditate, do Chi Kung on the beach, swim in the warmest ocean Ive ever swam in, watch dolphins from my room, have the time and space to practice guitar, write and eat beautiful food all for less than a tenner a day. Living like a king on the beach for now is great, but I-720222.jpg)
suspect the solitude here could get to you. Theres only a few bamboo shacks and everything is very low key. I may stay for Christmas and fly out in the new year to Sri Lanka to get my Visa renewed and then head to Kerala in the new year. Also Goa is very small so easily toured from a base which is what I intend to do. So for now Im just slowing down and relaxing, riding very little, thinking about my plans for coming home in April and doing all the things I never give myself the time to do. So until next time many blessings and love to all.★ 0 Comments. | Jonny, Friday, November 28, 2008 3:16 AM
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