The bus we rode from Shimla to Manali departed around 8:30 a.m. We arrived at the bus stop a bit early, and this is where we met our first Canadian friends. As the four of us waited we noticed another bus pulling in to drop off travellers. About seven, maybe even ten, taxi walas literally jumped onto the moving bus, scaling up to the windows and yelling to the passengers: "Taxi! Taxi! Need a taxi!" Chris, me and the two Canadians marveled and discussed how overwhelming it is to be attacked by the taxi walas before we can even orient ourselves as to where we are.
When it was time to get on the bus, we realized that the Canadians were taking a different bus to Manali. Chris and I had accidentally booked a private "deluxe bus" for locals rather than the tourist "deluxe bus," not that it makes a tremendous amount of difference. The deluxe bus had promised sleeper seats and AC. Instead there were little fans that were not running and janky old seats that sometimes leaned back and sometimes did not. But this time, still sweating through our clothes, we were at least in 2x2 seats rather than stuck in a row of 3 as we had been riding from Chandigarh to Manali on a local government/public bus.
I should note that the terms "deluxe," "local," "tourist," don't seem to mean much. The differences are mere nuances - do you want to be surrounded by rowdy Indians who all turn on the radio function on their cell phones at the same time and wander about invading your space, but who can at least keep you informed as to what driver is saying or doing, or do you want to sit amongst a lot of other foreigners who can't figure out what is going on when the busses stop or run late or break down?
I am feeling rather road weary as I write, so forgive the negative tone. Let me get to the point.
During the ride from Chandigarh to Shimla, there was no luggage compartment, so Chris and I had our backpacks held on our laps and our smaller pack on the ground. There was a third seat in our row, and originally we had one of the packs on this seat. But as the bus filled, a woman walked up and wanted to sit in our row. We moved the back pack. We noticed a row ahead where there was a woman and a child and an empty 3rd seat. We asked if the woman wouldn't mind moving to that row so we wouldn't have to keep our packs on our laps for 6 hours. She refused. She said the seat was occupied. It was not. After a lunch break, Chris walked up to the row and was going to take the empty seat, leaving his pack with me on the ground while I moved my pack off of my lap to fill our 3rd seat. The woman sitting up ahead with her kid told Chris the seat was occupied. It was not.
What gives? D0 4-year olds qualify for an extra bus seat??
Then on the bus from Shimla to Manali, the crappy private deluxe bus we'd paid extra for (and to be fair, extra means that our tickets cost a grand total of $8 for a ten hour ride vs. about $3 on the government bus), Chris and I were happy to be in rows of 2. However, the 2 seats in front of us contained a woman and her 2 kids. The row behind us contained a couple and their kid. All 3 people behind us and in front of us spent the first 4 hours of the trip throwing up out the windows. How is it that we were sandwhiched between the families with motion sickness?
While I was pretty grossed out, I understand how they could have felt ill. The journey from the lower foothills in Shimla up into the foothills at Manali (which are just at the base of the mountains), is terrifying. Lanes are narrow; no one actually uses lanes; turning around a mountain, you meet a Tata bus transporting goods. We actually got stuck on the top of a mountain, nothing but valley below us as we tried to pass a Tata truck. We caused a traffic jam while passengers tried to shout advice to the driver. Getting into a bus to tour India is literally putting your life at risk. It is not for overly cautious travellers, weak stomachs or pessimistic minds. In fact, it may be for fools alone.
From Manali to Mcleod Ganj (home of the Dalai Lama), we managed to purchase tickets for another private deluxe bus. This time we decided to travel at night so that maybe we wouldn't have to see what we were moving through. We ended up on a tourist bus, so we met some some Kiwis with whom we bonded over the hippy quotient in Manali and the way locals have adapted clothing to suit these tourists who dress like clowns, an obnoxious Isreali or Lebanese man (he determined that he would be his own I-Pod for the 10 hour drive, and he sang songs aloud - The Girl from Iponema, Runaway, etc.), and some Americans who insisted on egging on our resident chanteur.
Our bus was supposed to depart at 7:30 p.m. and arrive at 5:00 a.m. Instead we sat in the bus for 40 minutes after 7:30 wondering why we were not departing. Then we finally took off and about 10 minutes outside of town we pulled over. Was the bus broken down? We had no idea, but it was not inspiring a lot of confidence about our night travels through the Himalayan foothills (appx. elevation 5000 moving down a couple thousand). One traveler spoke Hindi and finally informed us non-natives that the men were waiting for an electrical part, but nothing serious. Okay. We believed this, I suppose. It didn't seem there was any other choice. Like I said, every trip by bus is putting your life at risk. Finally, we got on the road at about 10 p.m. An hour into the drive, we heard a thud, and the Hindi-speaking traveller informed the driver that he thought the luggage compartment may not be secured. So we had to pull over again.
Eventually, we made it back on the road. We arrived in Mcleod Ganj at 6:15 a.m. and still can't figure out how the driver made up so much time. Nor do we want to know. The few times I opened my eyes last night, I had to shut them immediately. I did see the driver avoid running over a dog and also jolt to a stop as a Tata bus was passing.
We checked into our room as soon as we arrived and went straight to bed. It's 5:30 p.m. here now, and we've been too tired to do much. We woke around noon, showered and got out and walked around the main town until we found a place to eat. Tomorrow we'll visit the Dalai Lama's home and do some other hiking about. Lots of Buddhist monks here. Generally speaking, we have a great impression of Tibetans.
In Manali, we hiked every day away from the Indians, further north toward the hippies and then away from teh hippies up through a quiet Tibetan mountain village until we came to a clearing where we could sit and look out at the Himalayas and the Manalsu Mala River at our feet. The Tibetans we encountered easily returned smiles, tried to explain what they were doing. One woman had a basket strapped to her in which she was collecting fiddle head ferns that grow wild and plentiful (alongside with marijauna) to cook for a sabsi. The children asked us to snap their photos (not in exchange for rupees). Yak and sheep herders never gave us dirty looks. If we smiled they smiled.
We are alive, still, in spite of the busses. I am hoping that our ride to Amritsar will be our last bus. We're hoping for trains throughout Rajasthan.
For the moment, we are, as the Indians like to say, taking a rest. But I'll let Chris tell you about taking a rest.
When it was time to get on the bus, we realized that the Canadians were taking a different bus to Manali. Chris and I had accidentally booked a private "deluxe bus" for locals rather than the tourist "deluxe bus," not that it makes a tremendous amount of difference. The deluxe bus had promised sleeper seats and AC. Instead there were little fans that were not running and janky old seats that sometimes leaned back and sometimes did not. But this time, still sweating through our clothes, we were at least in 2x2 seats rather than stuck in a row of 3 as we had been riding from Chandigarh to Manali on a local government/public bus.
I should note that the terms "deluxe," "local," "tourist," don't seem to mean much. The differences are mere nuances - do you want to be surrounded by rowdy Indians who all turn on the radio function on their cell phones at the same time and wander about invading your space, but who can at least keep you informed as to what driver is saying or doing, or do you want to sit amongst a lot of other foreigners who can't figure out what is going on when the busses stop or run late or break down?
I am feeling rather road weary as I write, so forgive the negative tone. Let me get to the point.
During the ride from Chandigarh to Shimla, there was no luggage compartment, so Chris and I had our backpacks held on our laps and our smaller pack on the ground. There was a third seat in our row, and originally we had one of the packs on this seat. But as the bus filled, a woman walked up and wanted to sit in our row. We moved the back pack. We noticed a row ahead where there was a woman and a child and an empty 3rd seat. We asked if the woman wouldn't mind moving to that row so we wouldn't have to keep our packs on our laps for 6 hours. She refused. She said the seat was occupied. It was not. After a lunch break, Chris walked up to the row and was going to take the empty seat, leaving his pack with me on the ground while I moved my pack off of my lap to fill our 3rd seat. The woman sitting up ahead with her kid told Chris the seat was occupied. It was not.
What gives? D0 4-year olds qualify for an extra bus seat??
Then on the bus from Shimla to Manali, the crappy private deluxe bus we'd paid extra for (and to be fair, extra means that our tickets cost a grand total of $8 for a ten hour ride vs. about $3 on the government bus), Chris and I were happy to be in rows of 2. However, the 2 seats in front of us contained a woman and her 2 kids. The row behind us contained a couple and their kid. All 3 people behind us and in front of us spent the first 4 hours of the trip throwing up out the windows. How is it that we were sandwhiched between the families with motion sickness?
While I was pretty grossed out, I understand how they could have felt ill. The journey from the lower foothills in Shimla up into the foothills at Manali (which are just at the base of the mountains), is terrifying. Lanes are narrow; no one actually uses lanes; turning around a mountain, you meet a Tata bus transporting goods. We actually got stuck on the top of a mountain, nothing but valley below us as we tried to pass a Tata truck. We caused a traffic jam while passengers tried to shout advice to the driver. Getting into a bus to tour India is literally putting your life at risk. It is not for overly cautious travellers, weak stomachs or pessimistic minds. In fact, it may be for fools alone.
From Manali to Mcleod Ganj (home of the Dalai Lama), we managed to purchase tickets for another private deluxe bus. This time we decided to travel at night so that maybe we wouldn't have to see what we were moving through. We ended up on a tourist bus, so we met some some Kiwis with whom we bonded over the hippy quotient in Manali and the way locals have adapted clothing to suit these tourists who dress like clowns, an obnoxious Isreali or Lebanese man (he determined that he would be his own I-Pod for the 10 hour drive, and he sang songs aloud - The Girl from Iponema, Runaway, etc.), and some Americans who insisted on egging on our resident chanteur.
Our bus was supposed to depart at 7:30 p.m. and arrive at 5:00 a.m. Instead we sat in the bus for 40 minutes after 7:30 wondering why we were not departing. Then we finally took off and about 10 minutes outside of town we pulled over. Was the bus broken down? We had no idea, but it was not inspiring a lot of confidence about our night travels through the Himalayan foothills (appx. elevation 5000 moving down a couple thousand). One traveler spoke Hindi and finally informed us non-natives that the men were waiting for an electrical part, but nothing serious. Okay. We believed this, I suppose. It didn't seem there was any other choice. Like I said, every trip by bus is putting your life at risk. Finally, we got on the road at about 10 p.m. An hour into the drive, we heard a thud, and the Hindi-speaking traveller informed the driver that he thought the luggage compartment may not be secured. So we had to pull over again.
Eventually, we made it back on the road. We arrived in Mcleod Ganj at 6:15 a.m. and still can't figure out how the driver made up so much time. Nor do we want to know. The few times I opened my eyes last night, I had to shut them immediately. I did see the driver avoid running over a dog and also jolt to a stop as a Tata bus was passing.
We checked into our room as soon as we arrived and went straight to bed. It's 5:30 p.m. here now, and we've been too tired to do much. We woke around noon, showered and got out and walked around the main town until we found a place to eat. Tomorrow we'll visit the Dalai Lama's home and do some other hiking about. Lots of Buddhist monks here. Generally speaking, we have a great impression of Tibetans.
In Manali, we hiked every day away from the Indians, further north toward the hippies and then away from teh hippies up through a quiet Tibetan mountain village until we came to a clearing where we could sit and look out at the Himalayas and the Manalsu Mala River at our feet. The Tibetans we encountered easily returned smiles, tried to explain what they were doing. One woman had a basket strapped to her in which she was collecting fiddle head ferns that grow wild and plentiful (alongside with marijauna) to cook for a sabsi. The children asked us to snap their photos (not in exchange for rupees). Yak and sheep herders never gave us dirty looks. If we smiled they smiled.
We are alive, still, in spite of the busses. I am hoping that our ride to Amritsar will be our last bus. We're hoping for trains throughout Rajasthan.
For the moment, we are, as the Indians like to say, taking a rest. But I'll let Chris tell you about taking a rest.
Please, enjoy your rest and give our regards to the Dalai Lama! Reading about your travels has been entertaining, and we would appreciate seeing even more photos!!!
ReplyDeleteThat sound so wonderful. I'm trying to remember why I bother working...
ReplyDelete