TATA IndiaEnduro 2005 - Kolkata to Varanasi
Yesterday from Kolkata to Varanasi in 16 hours we covered a distance geographically farther than what it took us 17 days to float on the Ganga river from Patna to Kolkata.
A dawn to dark, diesel fume and dust-choked, horn-blaring, jolting, jarring, swerving marathon of easily 700 epic kilometers over a giant swath of countryside. This was all on the so-called Grand Trunk Highway, however the only section that truly deserves to be called "highway" was along a two-lane, median-divided strip in West Bengal for a few short hours right after we left Kolkata. As soon as we entered the state of Jharkhand, it deteriorated into a slalom course where we swerved back and forth from one partly completed strip of road across a bumpy gravel and dirt "diversion," as a detour here is called, to the other side, where another partly completed strip was available for a few hundred meters. This of course meant that all traffic in both directions was now consolidated to one lane.
How best to describe the Indian motor-vehicle driving experience? Indian traffic flows like a river, I suppose, but not like the languid Ganga river, rather a rapid, rushing, boulder-choked mountain stream. Although to an observer the path of the water is frantic as it splits, bends, jumps and leaps abruptly around obstructions, moving from channel to channel, there is still an inherent forward purpose to it all. Despite the desperate energy, it all still arrives at its destination.
The anology breaks down, however, because we would need two streams moving in opposite directions at each other, dodging and turning, narowly missing each other, all the while each particle loudly chattering and blowing whatever the water-particle equivalent of an air-horn would be at each other, maybe tossing small stones from each of their respective beds as well.
There is not a direct path in the flow of traffic, you never travel in one direction for longer than a minute or two. You are suddenly stopping or swerving to avoid cows, goats, dogs, children, tractors, motorcycles, rickshaws and bicycles that insist on sharing the road, usually the center, lazily wandering out, or just veering into your path with no apparant realization you are barelling down on them at 100 kilometers an hour, horn blaring. You are constantly blowing your horn to signal and pulling out and around the giant trucks of the one brand that monolithically domiates the Indian roadways, TATA. These rectangular beasts are pratically the only type of vehicle on the road aside from the incidental small motorized objects and animals flying out at you.
TATA, TATA, TATA! It was all we saw for 16 hours, from before sunrise to well after dark. Literally thousands of them, sometiems on all sides of us and as far as you could see, Belching diesel, blowing their incredibly loud air horns, crowding our vehicle or bearing right down at us from the other direction. After sunset the adventure took on a new tone, with bright shining headlights headed straight at us, flashing for us to yield as we flashed for them to yield. Only once did I think that maybe this type of showdown would end in an accidental modern-art combination of our two vehicles. I saw many broken down vehicles missing tires or with crumpled front ends that were being repaired by the roadside. As well, there were also a few abandoned dusty and shattered decaying trucks with sheared-off cabs, wrenched axles, crumpled beds and broken windows.
The TATA trucks are incredibly decorated, all hand-painted with intricate designs and lettering. "MY INDIA IS GREAT," "OK TATA," "DANGER!" (on back of truck), "BLOW HORN" (to pass) and "WAIT FOR SIDE" (signal from driver that it is okay to come around), or "USE DIPPER AT NIGHT" (flash with high beams to pass) are very common. Tiwary pointed out that the fuel tank for one truck had written on it, in Hindi, "The Water of Iraq." Interesting. Perhaps "Blood of Iraq" would be more appropriate? As well, every one of the large fuel tanker type trucks have a fun misspelling: "HIGHLY INFLAMMABLE" is painted on the back of all of them, despite the fact they are each transporting thousands of liters of petroleum products in their giant tanks.
So, one dusty, fume-filled experience. The windows were open for most of the trip at the insistence of Tiwary and Julian, so we ate dust, smoke and exhaust for 16 hours, leaving me feeling like I sucked down two packs of Marlboros this morning. I think I would liken the whole experience to one of those enduro-style races across vast expanses of wasteland.
Sadly, I parted ways with Tiwary and Julian today, though, as they headed towards Delhi and Julian's upcoming departure for the states. His three-month recording session of all things Ganga ended at the Ganga Sagar Mela and he is now with all sights set on the process of extracting himself from India.
I too am trying to get out of here. Today is dedicated to updating this blog and finding a ticket to Kathmandu, Nepal where I will pick up my expedition kit (one giant bag of boots, down bags, stoves, water-bottles, etc.) and move my departure dates up to try and put me in the states by the end of this month.
"What?!," I can hear you all say. I know, I know, I said I was going to be here until April, but something wonderful has come up, the chance for an unbelievable opportunity that would make me very happy. A full-time post for the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative has opened up, and I am taking the chance and coming back early so that I can easily participate in the interview process and, if I am hired, I can be in a position to transition to Colorado when they need me to.
I will admit I am glad to have an excuse to head home, however. I can not tell if this is a feeling that came on after I found out about the job opportunity and began to move the gears to head home, or if it was brewing before. Sometimes as soon as you know you are near home, you get a sense of anticipation that wasn't present until you knew you were indeed close. I will be glad to see the open, quiet, and familiar desert skies, though, as well as be with my girlfriend, Bettina again, so all things seem to be well. I am a believer in fate and path, and perhaps there is a reason for all these seeming coincidences that are actually aimed towards what is best for me and those I know and love.
A dawn to dark, diesel fume and dust-choked, horn-blaring, jolting, jarring, swerving marathon of easily 700 epic kilometers over a giant swath of countryside. This was all on the so-called Grand Trunk Highway, however the only section that truly deserves to be called "highway" was along a two-lane, median-divided strip in West Bengal for a few short hours right after we left Kolkata. As soon as we entered the state of Jharkhand, it deteriorated into a slalom course where we swerved back and forth from one partly completed strip of road across a bumpy gravel and dirt "diversion," as a detour here is called, to the other side, where another partly completed strip was available for a few hundred meters. This of course meant that all traffic in both directions was now consolidated to one lane.
How best to describe the Indian motor-vehicle driving experience? Indian traffic flows like a river, I suppose, but not like the languid Ganga river, rather a rapid, rushing, boulder-choked mountain stream. Although to an observer the path of the water is frantic as it splits, bends, jumps and leaps abruptly around obstructions, moving from channel to channel, there is still an inherent forward purpose to it all. Despite the desperate energy, it all still arrives at its destination.
The anology breaks down, however, because we would need two streams moving in opposite directions at each other, dodging and turning, narowly missing each other, all the while each particle loudly chattering and blowing whatever the water-particle equivalent of an air-horn would be at each other, maybe tossing small stones from each of their respective beds as well.
There is not a direct path in the flow of traffic, you never travel in one direction for longer than a minute or two. You are suddenly stopping or swerving to avoid cows, goats, dogs, children, tractors, motorcycles, rickshaws and bicycles that insist on sharing the road, usually the center, lazily wandering out, or just veering into your path with no apparant realization you are barelling down on them at 100 kilometers an hour, horn blaring. You are constantly blowing your horn to signal and pulling out and around the giant trucks of the one brand that monolithically domiates the Indian roadways, TATA. These rectangular beasts are pratically the only type of vehicle on the road aside from the incidental small motorized objects and animals flying out at you.
TATA, TATA, TATA! It was all we saw for 16 hours, from before sunrise to well after dark. Literally thousands of them, sometiems on all sides of us and as far as you could see, Belching diesel, blowing their incredibly loud air horns, crowding our vehicle or bearing right down at us from the other direction. After sunset the adventure took on a new tone, with bright shining headlights headed straight at us, flashing for us to yield as we flashed for them to yield. Only once did I think that maybe this type of showdown would end in an accidental modern-art combination of our two vehicles. I saw many broken down vehicles missing tires or with crumpled front ends that were being repaired by the roadside. As well, there were also a few abandoned dusty and shattered decaying trucks with sheared-off cabs, wrenched axles, crumpled beds and broken windows.
The TATA trucks are incredibly decorated, all hand-painted with intricate designs and lettering. "MY INDIA IS GREAT," "OK TATA," "DANGER!" (on back of truck), "BLOW HORN" (to pass) and "WAIT FOR SIDE" (signal from driver that it is okay to come around), or "USE DIPPER AT NIGHT" (flash with high beams to pass) are very common. Tiwary pointed out that the fuel tank for one truck had written on it, in Hindi, "The Water of Iraq." Interesting. Perhaps "Blood of Iraq" would be more appropriate? As well, every one of the large fuel tanker type trucks have a fun misspelling: "HIGHLY INFLAMMABLE" is painted on the back of all of them, despite the fact they are each transporting thousands of liters of petroleum products in their giant tanks.
So, one dusty, fume-filled experience. The windows were open for most of the trip at the insistence of Tiwary and Julian, so we ate dust, smoke and exhaust for 16 hours, leaving me feeling like I sucked down two packs of Marlboros this morning. I think I would liken the whole experience to one of those enduro-style races across vast expanses of wasteland.
Sadly, I parted ways with Tiwary and Julian today, though, as they headed towards Delhi and Julian's upcoming departure for the states. His three-month recording session of all things Ganga ended at the Ganga Sagar Mela and he is now with all sights set on the process of extracting himself from India.
I too am trying to get out of here. Today is dedicated to updating this blog and finding a ticket to Kathmandu, Nepal where I will pick up my expedition kit (one giant bag of boots, down bags, stoves, water-bottles, etc.) and move my departure dates up to try and put me in the states by the end of this month.
"What?!," I can hear you all say. I know, I know, I said I was going to be here until April, but something wonderful has come up, the chance for an unbelievable opportunity that would make me very happy. A full-time post for the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative has opened up, and I am taking the chance and coming back early so that I can easily participate in the interview process and, if I am hired, I can be in a position to transition to Colorado when they need me to.
I will admit I am glad to have an excuse to head home, however. I can not tell if this is a feeling that came on after I found out about the job opportunity and began to move the gears to head home, or if it was brewing before. Sometimes as soon as you know you are near home, you get a sense of anticipation that wasn't present until you knew you were indeed close. I will be glad to see the open, quiet, and familiar desert skies, though, as well as be with my girlfriend, Bettina again, so all things seem to be well. I am a believer in fate and path, and perhaps there is a reason for all these seeming coincidences that are actually aimed towards what is best for me and those I know and love.
posted by JAshby at 8:54 PM
1 Comments:
Neat turn of events!
Best of luck on the job front and have a safe journy home.
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