Kathmandu to Mumbai nov 07

Wanting to spend Christmas in North Goa, I had decided to get to Varanasi as quickly as possible and then take a train to Mumbai. This meant longer could be spent cycling down the Konkan coast from Mumbai to Arambol in Goa and so would maximise my fishing time. Hayato and Brian would be joining me and I was very pleased to have their company.

The three of us booked a bus down to Varanasi where we planned to spend a few days before taking a train west. Leaving early in the morning we tied our bikes to the roof and as the bus was pretty full we decided to stay on the roof and make the most of the fantastic views while we travelled down to the plains. Usually I’m not too fond of bus rides but sitting on the roof through Nepal can definitely be recommended. Often buses passed travelling in the opposite direction, the roofs crowded with Nepalese who shouted and waved as they sped by. As we descended the guys on the roof of the bus behind us provided the soundtrack as they sang away merrily. For hours we watched sparkling valleys unfold beneath us as we dropped further down out of the highest mountain range on earth. Just a week or so before we had been in the sparsely populated land of Tibet but soon we would be thrown into India along with its’ billion or more inhabitants. I was excited but knew it would take some time to get used to the squeeze.

Speeding along on the bus we were soon on the plains nearing the border town of Birganj. The landscape was now flat and divided into many small fields holding a variety of different crops. Bananas sprouted everywhere and growing in uncultivated patches the ubiquitous Lantana and Castor oil plants could be seen. People were busy harvesting the first of the rice crop, as they had been back up in the mountains.
Before the border we left the bus and cycled the few km to the immigration office before passing on into India to catch the night bus down to Varanasi. The actual border seemed pretty non existent and we had to search hard to find the little Indian immigration hut amongst all the buzzing shops and restaurants. After being congratulated by the Indians for cycling so far, we continued down the road to find our bus. All the time we were determined not to get ripped off, as everyone knows that upon entering India ‘thou shalt get ripped off’. Having spent seven months in India before, I felt pretty confident no one would have any of my money away without my full consent. Of course some sly Indians had other ideas.

As we reached the bus, the guy who appeared to be the conductor reckoned we should each give him several hundred rupees to have the pleasure of putting our bicycles on the huge empty roof! We weren’t so keen to part with our money as we had our tickets and had been assured the bikes could be taken for no extra charge. I knew from previous experience that what the guy selling the tickets said meant nothing. We had expected to pay a small luggage charge of maybe 100 rupees but this con artist wanted over 400 each. I stalled in giving the money and got the bikes on the roof and then we all jumped on the bus, ready for an argument. After ten minutes of heated discussion we finally paid up as we decided there was nothing to be done. The bus wouldn’t leave without us paying and if we didn’t want to pay we had to get off. Simple. We were stuck. No more buses left that night so if we got off we would have to take a hotel and pay for another bus in the morning and probably still have to pay for the bikes! I nearly came to blows with the guy but eventually we paid up and left on one of the worst bus rides of my life.

The guy jumped off the bus 500m down the road and happily went off with our money. I brooded, not so much about the money but the principal of the whole thing. I regretted getting the bus and wished to be back on my bike completely free from buses and touts. We all soon forgot about the border as the bus bumped down a road so bumpy that it could have been in Tibet. Actually it was even worse. I seemed to spend most of the night flying around somewhere above my seat hanging on for dear life. Somehow Hayato managed to get some sleep. Every time I tried the same I ended up being smashed onto the floor, after getting chinned on the handrail. And all the time I was wondering whether there was the smallest chance that our bikes were still on the roof. Maybe if we were lucky a couple of bungees would still be there on arrival in Varanasi.

The bus pulled into Varanasi around six in the morning and upon inspection we were all absolutely amazed to find all our bikes and luggage still on the roof. As we cycled down to the Ganga and the Ghats, the city slowly woke all around us. It was a great feeling to be back at one of the most sacred and famous rivers in the world. Yet still I didn’t have the impulse to run and jump straight in - maybe next time though! After hauling the bikes around the ghats for a while we checked into the Puja guesthouse and had a pleasant breakfast on the roof while watching boats ply tourists up and down the mighty Ganga. After having a shower and getting robbed by a monkey I promptly got ill and spend the next two days flat out on my bed.

Once I recovered, we roamed around the city getting lost in the alleyways and enjoying the special thali at one of the local restaurants. For 50 rupees, a dish would appear made up of five curries, two rices, chapatis, dahi, papads, pickle, raita and some other delicious treats that was nearly impossible to finish! We ate well and often. We took a trip to the cinema to watch a bollywood blockbuster which was fairly amusing. Unfortunately our Hindi skills weren’t quite developed enough to really understand everything that happened. On the way home I came very close to being killed by an irate bull but luckily my surefootedness saved me, but only by a whisker.

The next day we loaded our bikes on the train and departed for Mumbai. After making sure the bikes were put on the same train we climbed into our carriage, settled down and started to drink chai while enjoying the north Indian landscape. After cycling, travelling on trains, particularly Indian trains, is for me the most enjoyable way of moving about. To sit on the doorstep, legs dangling in the breeze and watch the rich landscape pass can take up many hours of every journey. Entranced by the rhythm of the train, I will often be stuck on that step late into the evening watching the country folk turn in for the night. Women in bright saris carry home fuel for the evening meal along with big silver urns of water that appear to be stuck to their heads. Cattle and goats are brought in for the night while young boys fight with the light to hit just a few more cricket balls. The crickets begin to chirp and India sleeps once again but the train races on into the night.