I didn’t post this here, because it was more personal, but Seema suggested I link to it.
http://freerommy.com/ramblings-on-nepal-and-india/
PS – We’re all going through withdrawal right now, hence the heavyhanded tone of the post. 
But I wholeheartedly meant everything I said.
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Kerala is among India’s most beautiful states.
We also personally found it to be among the most dangerous to drive in.
Prior to entering Kerala, we’d been driving through more sparsely populated parts of India. The drive up to that point went through the Indian countryside where several times each day we would come upon a town or a village and at least once per day through a big city. Along the way we would pass herds of cattle, trucks, cars, and other auto rickshaws.
Kerala was different. Along the coast, driving on the NH-17, we found it to be very densely populated. The towns and cities never ended and seemed to blend into each other. The roads were always crowded with cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, and of course cattle. We felt like we were in constant stop and go and the stress of the single lane highway was taking a toll on us.
On January 15th, the day before we were due to arrive at the finish line, things took a turn for the worst. Kerala has many bridges which cross rivers along the coastline. Bridges are a tough pill to swallow. Often times they’re a bit rundown and everyone drives a bit slower than normal. Worst of all, bridges are far narrower than the roadways and have no shoulder.
We’d been driving probably close to 30 kilometres per hour. The leading team at this point was the Rickshaw Knight Riders. They’d been a few cars ahead of us which was very normal in this high traffic region. The rest of the three teams were all directly behind each other where Blighty was leading, then us (Tuk Tuk Goose), followed by Tukelicious. We were following each other pretty closely to avoid losing each other.
As we were about to enter a bridge, a bus (the WORST drivers on the road) was attempting a pass and was in our lane headed right for us in what was sure to be a head-on collision (we faced this many, many times in Kerala). At the last second with almost two wheels on the ground, the bus cut back into its own lane, but not before the car in front of Blighty slammed on its brakes. Blighty in turn slammed on their brakes and veered to the shoulder right before the bridge. Seema slammed on her brakes also veering to the shoulder, and Tukelicious slammed on their brakes, but unfortunately not fast enough they slammed into us, and we watched as their rickshaw tipped over onto its side in the oncoming traffic.
Instantly Blighty and Tuk Tuk Goose jumped out of their rickshaws to aid Tukelicious. We ran over to help, Tukelicious jumped out of the side of the vehicle and we pushed their rickshaw to the side of the road before a car, truck or bus slammed into them.
It was a harrowing experience. Louisa and Paul from Tukelicious both hit their heads and were a bit shaken up. Eugenie seemed to be doing ok even though she was on the side of the rickshaw that hit the road. To be safe, we took a trip to a local doctor about a kilometre away and spent some time taking a breather.
Charlie Brown was banged up real bad in the back. We took a big dent right where our gas tank was and our wheelguard was dented so much so that it was at risk of shredding our tire. Amazingly, we all made it out of there safely, and further more, our rickshaws were all drivable. At this point, making it to the end safely was our biggest priority.
Team Blighty passing a motorcycle, passing another motorcycle.
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So we made it. 15 days. 3900 kilometres. Illness. Accidents. Breakdowns. Incidents. Unbearable cold. Unbearable heat.
We’ve seen it all in the past few weeks. We faced challenges, we overcame them and we had an amazing time through it all.
The ending is bittersweet.
Bitter because we couldn’t have Chris with us all the way to the end. Bitter because we’re saying goodbye to the very close friends we’ve made over the last few weeks. Bitter because our adventure is coming to an end and we’re headed back to the routine reality of our lives. Bitter because we leave the remarkable warmth and kindness of the Indian and Nepali people.
But of course, the sweetness of the trip cannot be understated. Sweet because we faced considerable adversity in completing the journey and we did it. Sweet because we now have lifelong friends who with all their hearts helped us through this race as we helped them. Sweet because we were touched by the the beauty, the culture, the history, and the people of India and Nepal.
We leave this journey having a lifetime of stories to share with our friends and family. Though we didn’t get to update the blog like a daily diary as we had originally intended, we will attempt to update it with anecdotes, stories, photos, video, over the next few weeks. Please be patient and continue to follow us as we attempt to document our entire journey.
Although it’s the end of this short adventure, we all know that life is a journey that never ends. Thanks to all of you for your donations to some fantastic charities, and your hilarious and witty comments, and your overall moral support. It means the world.
NAMASTE!
Sincerely,
Chris, Seema, and Rommy (Tuk Tuk Goose)
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Let’s face it, we were in *way* over our heads just considering this trip. In particular, none of us have had any experience with motorcycle maintenance or even changing spark plugs in our own cars… So when the organizers told us that we definitely, positively would break down numerous times during the trip we might’ve prepared ourselves a little better on the mechanics of our rickshaws to get us through the rough spots.
That said, India and its people came through time and time again to help us along. In general, it really seemed like folks were on our side and wanted to see us succeed. This became strikingly clear a few days ago when Seema and I stalled out in the middle of a mad-crazy intersection in the middle of Agra…
We were at the back of the caravan about to enter a traffic circle when it happened. The engine just stalled out, no explanation, just stalled. Granted, this happened pretty often and we were usually able to get it started again with one crank of the starter.
The rickshaw starter... kinda like starting a lawn mower.
This time, there seemed to be something *really* wrong. Ignoring the blaring horns, passing cars, goats, and trucks Seema and I tried the how-to-start-your-tuktuk checklist that we picked up along the way:
After going through each of these steps we cranked on the starter a few times to no avail. Seema and I looked at each other and realized we didn’t know what else to do. We were effed… At that moment, we both looked to the side of the road and noticed a line of eight parked rickshaws and their drivers staring at us. They had been watching us the whole time and started to motion us over the side of the road when they saw defeat on our faces.
The next 60 seconds felt like we pulled into a Nascar Pit Stop.
The eight drivers ran through two lanes of traffic to our rickshaw and pushed us to the left shoulder to do some diagnostics. They went through the same steps we went through to try to start it up, with the same results. no workie. All the guys were chatting with each other, presumably throwing out theories of what to try next. It felt like we were a part of some weird hive mind things moved so fast. They quickly opened up the hood of our tuk tuk (located at the back of the vehicle).
Within seconds, they identified that the carburetor assembly had become disconnected from the intake valve and asked for a screwdriver.
Seconds after I handed over the screwdriver they reconnected everything, closed the hood, started the engine and gave us the thumbs up to go. We were on our way… They cheered us on and helped stop traffic so we could enter the traffic circle catch up with our caravan.
I’m not sure if this would’ve happened in the US. I’d like to think that those drivers helped us because they believed that’s how people should treat each other — giving a hand to folks when they are at their most desperate. It’s certainly one minute in India that I will never forget.
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We left Palomen Beach in Goa at around 1pm yesterday. Rumors from other RR teams indicated that a bridge was out about 30km south of where we started out in the morning. But we’d also heard that they’d been ferrying boats across the river.
Ferry is a strong term.
We got there and proceeded to wait what would become 3 hours and the majority of our day. The ferry was two big wooden fishing boats tied together with rope and planks strewn across them. They were meant to carry four cars across the river at a time. We were about 12 cars back when the ordeal began.
The “ramp” started as being dug out of mud and rocks and was nearly impossible to try to drive down, even for a car. Then you were meant to cross harrowing wooden planks to get onto the makeshift ferry.
All four of the teams in our convoy looked at each other as we started to think of other options. But we knew this would be the only way. We mentally prepared ourselves.
During the wait, cars attempted to cut to the front of the line. The passiveness of the locals here allowed them to get through, but we, as the Westerners, and knowing we had a strict schedule to adhere to, started to confront those who thought they were above the common courtesy of queuing. Before long we staged a protest by standing in front of the cars that had attempted to cut in line and even went as far as having verbal confrontations with the culprits.
Before long, the locals themselves, in charge of the river crossing were playing an active role in regulating the perpetrators.
Our work here’s done. Pictures forthcoming. You will be amazed.
PS – It’s been far tougher than anticipated to update the blog, use GPS, upload pictures, etc. So bear with us. We’ll be coming up with a full recap of our trip here when we get back to our respective locations.
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(Bodacious) Tata trucks are the kings of the road
There are a few things you quickly adapt to when you start driving in India — drive on the left side of the road, lane markers are optional, honking to pass is not optional, and stop lights are few and far between.
We also started to build a hierarchy of who rules the road. This work-in-progress defines who has the right of way when cruising down single-lane roads, two way streets, and even divided highways. It’s roughly based on mass… though we think it might be better modeled by momentum (mass times velocity).
While on the road, you should fear anything that is higher on the list than you or you might regret it. Unlike in the US, all types of vehicles and pedestrian traffic are allowed on pretty much all types of roads. The lower you are on the list, the further you should yield to the left side of the road.
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Yesterday Elena and I secured our Nepal visas, and today we got our India transit visas. So we’re happy to be rejoining our teams at some point in the next two days.
I’d like to take a minute to pause and thank those that helped to make this slight diversion possible.
Without all of you, none of this would have been possible.
But seriously, today was a fantastic day. The cab driver Kumar and his friend Ram who helped us to bribe the door officials at the India visa office, then took us all around Kathmandu and acted as our personal tour guides.
They took us to the spiritual temple Pashupatinath where we watched as people burned the bodies of their recently-deceased loved ones. Ram talked us through the history of the temples and about the Hindu gods to whom they prayed. Among the temples was a home for the elderly without families which was absolutely heart-breaking as we watched as they lived out their last days in complete solitude. Elena (a professional photographer) and I captured some extremely moving images (not graphic, don’t worry) which I will attempt to upload to Flickr, although that has proven far more difficult than expected.
Ram and Kumar were incredibly kind-hearted young men who struggle to feed their families everyday, yet the smiles on their faces would have suggested otherwise. For those of you who have read Shantaram, they were our “Prabaker”.
The adventure for the Visa Rejects isn’t over. We still have to meet up with our teams which is like trying to hit an unpredictable moving target (moving at an epic 30-40 KPH). Elena will fly to Delhi then eventually to Agra where she will meet her team. I will be headed to Mumbai, then probably hopping a plane to Indore where I will try to meet up with Tuk Tuk Goose.
Thanks for all the great comments and support. I look forward to reporting from the road again in India! Namaste!
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Early on the morning of January 3rd, we set out from a love hotel in Butwal, Nepal. None of us had slept much and we were anxious to make up for the departure delay. We’d also been driving the previous night in the mountains which, as Chris will recap, was terrifying.
We arrived at the border town of Sunauli around 7:30. As was protocol, we went to the Nepal Immigration Office at the border and got the exit stamp. Then we proceeded to the India Immigration office with our passports to enter India for the first time…or so we thought.
On December 28th, when I had flown into Kathmandu, I transited in Delhi, where I’d arrived from Istanbul on Turkish Airlines. In order to transit in Delhi, I was required to go through immigration, which means I got an India entry stamp.
I picked up my luggage and proceeded to my Jet Airways flight at the Delhi airport which subsequently gave me an India exit stamp. I had a single entry visa which thus invalidated my visa. I hadn’t known it at the time. I’d insisted to the immigrations officer that I was just in transit and he insisted that I’d be fine getting back into India.
The immigrations officer was a big, burly Indian man in his 50s. He was a hardass. He looked at my passport and said my India visa was invalid. As the color drained from my face I asked him to explain. He said that I’d been stamped in and out of India. I explained to him that I was transiting at the Delhi airport and was forced to go through immigration. He didn’t care. We explained that we were part of the Rickshaw Run where we raised money for Indian and Nepalese charities. He didn’t care. He said it was an issue of national security and that we were required to go back to Kathmandu to get our issue resolved.
This is where things get blurry.
Other Rickshaw Run teams argued for us to no avail. A couple guys pulled me aside and told me to just hop in the rickshaw and drive through. Sadly, listening to my illogical and extremely emotionally-charged self, I decided we were going to drive through.
I told Seema and Chris to get in the back of the rickshaw. In the meantime, the five immigration officers formed a wall across the street, each one standing about a metre apart. They told me to turn the vehicle around and to drive back towards Nepal or they would have me arrested. I proceeded to make a u-turn from the left hand side of the street, but rather than complete the u-turn I put the pedal to the metal and went straight for the wall of officers.
Instantly, all five immigrations officers jumped on the vehicle trying to bring it down. They were punching me in the back of the head while Seema was telling me that this was not a smart decision on my part. Chris as I recall was speechless. Since a rickshaw only goes 5-10MPH (10-15KPH) in 1st and 2nd gear, we were pretty much in a no-win situation.
After going about 15-20 metres with the five men on the vehicle, I made a u-turn and started to head back towards Nepal. They told me to stop the vehicle instantly and then dragged me out by my shirt. A huge crowd gathered instantly as I got chewed out by the big burly man. He told me that I did a very stupid thing and that they could have me arrested.
They dragged me back to the immigration office sat me down and detained all three of us for two hours. Chris and Seema tried desperately to call the US Embassy which of course was closed, since it was Sunday. In the meantime, as the reality of what I’d tried to do hit me, I apologized profusely. The man who had spent his time furious at my insolence began to break. He explained to me what the implications of what would’ve happened if I had entered India without a valid visa, that I would get arrested eventually and that it’s an extremely serious offense not to have a visa. He made me write a letter of apology to the Indian government. By the end of the two hours, despite how angry these men were earlier, we all became good friends, sharing cigarettes, laughing about the bizarre incident, and shaking hands and hugging.
Oddly enough, at the border crossing, just as I was getting ready to make the trek back up to Kathmandu by plane (there was an airport just 6 km away), one member of a team of Italians, a woman named Elena, was stopped for the exact same thing. In fact, we’d taken the same exact flights from Istanbul and from Delhi. All her teammates had multiple entry visas, but she’d had just a single entry. As she tried desperately to fight the situation, I explained to her concisely that it was no use arguing, that I would be making the trip to Kathmandu, and that we could go together.
So Elena and I hugged our teammates and saw them off as they continued the journey through India, while we backtracked through Nepal.
We were required to return to the Nepal immigration office at the border to have our exit visas cancelled. They simply took out the sticker in our passport, but remnants of the stamp existed, making it look like we removed the stickers ourselves, so we emphatically refused this. They insisted that we’d be fine. We told them we wanted an official note from them to give to the authorities in Kathmandu to have our exit stamps rescinded. After a 30 minute discussion, they agreed with us and wrote us our letter.
As we were about to head to the airport, we were informed that all flights out of Butwal were cancelled. So our only other option was to take a taxi, for seven hours back to Kathmandu. We had no choice. I could probably write a 2 hour blog post on the 19 year old kid that drove us through the mountains and how he wouldn’t live past 20 judging from the way he drove, but I’ll spare you the details. This kid was insane and Elena and I were lucky to have escaped that journey with all our limbs.
We arrived in Kathmandu two nights ago. Yesterday we contacted the Italian Consulate in Kathmandu after Elena contacted her embassy in Calcutta. We received the gracious help of Sabina, a Nepali who represented Italians in Kathmandu. Without her, we might not have made it out of Nepal again.
She took us to the Nepal Immigration Office in Kathmandu, where they listened to our story. They told us that technically were in the country illegally and that we should be deported. After pleading with the officials, they decided they would review our cases, but that they would need to take a written legal statement about our crazy adventure from the beginning – about how in transit our India passports were stamped, about how we were stamped with Nepal exits in Sunauli, about how we weren’t allowed back to India, about how we came back to Nepal, and about how we ended up in Kathmandu illegally.
This statement took the whole day today. But in the end we got our Nepal transit visas.
Regarding the India situation, we are required to get India transit visas which are valid for 15 days. However, the line at the India visa office in Kathmandu is notoriously long, so we contacted a taxi driver named Kumar who bribes the security guard at the visa office to get some tickets prior to when the office officially opens. For a simple 500 Nepalese rupies we’ll be among the first in line. So we expect to get our India visas tomorrow and a flight to India later in the afternoon, where we’ll be meeting up with our respective teams in either Agra or Jaipur.
Assuming everything goes well, I should be rejoining Tuk Tuk Goose tomorrow night or on the morning of the 7th. Wish me luck.
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The three of us are sitting at a restaurant in Pokhara, where the weather is in the mid-60s, enjoying a view of the lake and trying to quell our hangovers. Yes, Pokhara, the Nepalese resort town we were supposed to leave today, bound for India.
Unfortunately a Maoist strike has pushed off our widely-anticipated start until tomorrow, leaving us a bit stranded today. A strike unfortunately also means that roads will be blocked off and no traffic allowed through. Luckily, these are fairly well-organized strikes and we are relatively certain that we will hit the road tomorrow morning.
Stay tuned for more and happy new year from Nepal!
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20 year old memories of my adolecense emerged unexpectedly as I sat on the bike for the first time at my motorcycle safety class last week. 20 years ago, I was 15 and sitting in my first day of a summer driver’s ed course, learning which way to turn your wheel when parking at a curve and the finer points of evasive maneuvers. Just a few weeks prior I’m sure I was a passenger in my older cousin Lisa’s car, working the gear shift on her car as she drove… jamming to Bel Biv Devoe and The Jets along the way. I remember what a big deal it was to turn 16 and get your license, so much built up excitement. Sooo much riding on learning something in the drivers ed class and passing the drivers test. Taking motorcycle classes at 35 isn’t that much different. they use a lot of the same tactics: a few scare-you-to-death-don’t-drive-to-fast videos, cheesy acronyms to get you to remember stuff (FINE-C = startup procedure = fuel line, ignition, neutral, engine, clutch; SEE = Search, Evaluate, Execute)… As it turns out, my taste in music hasn’t changed much either. I’m still jammin to Bel Biv Devoe. “Poison” is timeless. At both times, I was so anxious thinking about why I was in the class in the first place that I was having a hard time paying attention to the enough-already-cheerful instructor. When I was 15 I couldn’t wait to drive to the mall by myself and pick up my friends in the morning on the way to Blue Springs High School. This time, I was preparing for a crazy cannonball run meets team in training adventure with my dear friends Seema and Rommy. Due to some unanticipated shiz our team realized late in the game that one of us needed to get a motorcycle license. I took the bullet and had a narrow window to take 5 hours worth of class and 10 hours of riding time. In addition I needed to pass a riding test and a written test. Oy. On the bike, I felt a rush of anxiety and excitement with the engine underneath me. I liked it better than I expected and had no problem shifting and turning… It’s really all about the hips. Look left push left, lean left, go left. (insert Shakira ‘hips don’t lie’ joke here) I am a disaster when it comes to going slow and doing turns. There’s this crazy exercise called the U-turn box, basically the size of two parking spaces — you have to go realllly slow and make two u-turns. Eff. I liked to think my short torso makes this task naturally more difficult for me. But wow, I know that’s a lame excuse. Well I failed parallel parking on my drivers test when I was 16 but now I’m a pro… So I figured I’ll figure out the uturn thing some other time (not that it’s ever going to come up) I passed the riding test and just *barely* passed the written test a few hours before my flight. Just in time to run to AAA to pick up my international drivers permit and catch my flight. I’m going to make those lessons count, I figure. I think the first thing I have to do is teach Seema and Rommy how to ride so we can get the party started. I. Can’t. Wait. – Chris / via iPhone /df
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