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Published: February 27th 2010
It's been 10 days now that I arrived in India and the country and it's people keep on surprising me all the time. And probably it will be like this for the next two months. They promote themselves abroad with the very appropriate slogan "Amazing India".
I am here to travel the country on a Royal Enfield, a boysdream. A more or less planned change in my career gave me the time to go for it. I plan to be here 2,5 months and don't have a fixed planning nor route. I leave it up to the inspiration of the moment, the best approach for a country as India.
The first days were spent looking for a decent motorbike. The Enfields come in various versions and verious qualities. All of them are remarkably unreliable, but going for a recent model is a little more trustable. Many people, definetely the young ones, go for the '95, '96 or older models. They are the ancient Bullets with ironcast cylinderheads, right shift gears (crazy if you are used to the opposite) and simple mechanic. They are still made after the plans as the Brittish made them in the '50's. More recent models are
slightly more modern, although all this is relative. Mine has aluminium cylinderheads, electronic ignition and a better carburettor. For the rest, they are as classic as you can imagine. But at least it has left shift gear change and 5 speed gear box. All this helps to get out of Delhi, if you drive this kind of bike for the first time in Indian traffic. About that Indian traffic a little more later. The older models are cheaper and the repairpieces are cheaper too. Most mechanics can repair them easily. The more recent models like the Electra, Thunderbird and Machismo are a bit more expensive in maintenance, but break down less often, consume less gasoiline and don't sound like they are gonna fall apart any minute. They are a bit more expensive in purchase though.
I could have gone for the more modern Honda Hero, as most Indians do. It's only a 125 cc, but probably has more power and topspeed than my 350 Bullet, they are more reliable, have diskbreaks, etc... The good thing of the Enfield however is that it has a strong frame, a good tork (mountains!), and can be repaired on every corner of the
me and the machine
me and the machinestreet. And it looks and sounds supercool! The sound of it and the vibrations! It's music to my ears. They call it the Indian Harley for good reason.
I found mine on the Karol Bagh Market in Delhi, roughly two streets specialising in the sale and rent of these vehicles. It takes some shopping around and you definetely have to negotiate hard. I bought mine from the only woman in the business, a hard business Sikh Punjabi woman with a friendly touch. She deals a lot in shipping old restored Bullets for the European market, catering a lot for expats. So she has a reputaion to defend. I thought that could be a quality criterium, but I keep my fingers crossed. If you buy an Enfield, they come with a complete toolbox and a set of spareparts, for good reason probably. Mine is a 350 Bullet Machismo (no kidding!) of 2005 with about 27.000 km on the counter (for what it's worth), with a beautiful chromed tank.
I paid a rickshaw driver to guide me out of the city to get on the road to Agra. That took us a good half an hour, but went remarkably easy,
despite the heavy traffic. Thanks god I didn't have to twist my brain over the right shift gear box though. The first 50 km on the road were completely congested, with cars and two wheelers, people and animals crossing all the time from everywhere. Very much like in a computergame, you try to get through without causing too much damage (I am not refering to Grand Theft Auto) to myself or the others. Later it became more relaxed, although that too is relative. You can never actually cruise in India, and always have to be on the lookout for things coming your way, be it a dog, a pothole or a bus. After three days on the road, you get street wise though, you find a certain system in it all and you adapt yourself completely to extreme defensive driving. My average speed must be around 40 km per hour. On some stretches of the highway (Rajasthan has 'good' roads) I hit 80 km/h, but basically you go at low speed. And like the Indians you honk a lot. You use that horn all the time. It's not meant in an agressive way, it's just to advert your coming. But
what is clear is that if your horn breaks down, you get of the road and you find the nearest mechanic.
The first day led me to Agra, 200 km away from Delhi and world known for the Taj Mahal. Mughal emperor Shah Jahan had it built for his second wife Mumtaz Mahal, who died giving bearth to their 14th child. It is considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and definetely one of the most impressive built in the name of love. Before you get romantic ideas, think also that the same emperor had his two brothers and two cousins killed in order to seize power and treated some of his children terribly. He shared the bed with one of his favorite daughters (I can taste from the fruit of the tree I planted was his motto), favorised one son and considered him the crownprince, and misprised his other son Aurangzebad(?). The result is that Aurangzebad emprisoned his father and had him locked up in the fort of Agra for 8 years, killed the favorite sister, poisoned another sister who was initialy partner in crime and had the crownprince beheaded and sent the head in
a lunchbox to the father. One happy family quoi. This same Aurangzebad would later terrorize the whole of North India and destroy many ancient temples belonging to other religions than Muslim. But back to the Taj Mahal. I was really impressed by the beauty of it, beautifully carved out like lace, but than completely made out of white marble. It took them 20 years to build it and cost a fortune. Money was not an issue however, that was just a matter of tax rising.
I walked a bit around in Agra, a place that deserves a few days to check it out well. I felt rather alone though and was anxious to get to Rajasthan. There are basically three regions that people visit on an Enfield: Rajasthan, Goa and the Himalaya (Manali -Leh). Don't get me wrong, I am not interested in joining a big group of bikers and cruising the country like the next Hell's Angels chapter, but meeting a few like minded people would be nice.
So the day after I left early to cover the 240 km that separated me from Jaipur. I skipped a few towns that were apparantly worth a stop, but
I didn't want to risk arriving late in Jaipur. The roads turned out to be so good however that I made it in a couple of hours. Ok, my horn broke off, but with the help of a friendly sikh and a tyre wallah (the omnipresent tyre repair stations), I could hit the road again after a 15 minute break and make all the noise I wanted again. The engine was thundering under me, I was humming a song of the Doors and my left finger was keeping the melody with the claxon. Arriving in Jaipur waa quite something. I knew it was congested, but this was not the kind of congestion I knew. Thake a few hundred of busses and trucks, throw in even more motorccyles and bicycles and top it off with a few camels, dogs and cows and let them all pass through a narrow stretch under a bridge at the same time. All using their claxons at will. The usual traffic cop does what he can, but rests in the belief that in the end, everything will be all right. In the meanwhile, many people congratulate me for the choice of my bike. To many Indians,
the Royal Enfield is a symbol of their culture and industrial heritage and it has the aura of a bike with class, in older days driven by the upper class. And in a way, it are still the richer people driving it (high maintenance costs), so they all love it. Kids on their Honda hero's, Baja's and Pulsars come pulling up next to me shouting mister mister!! Hello hello!! Where you from? ( I will hear these same questions a lot) and touching my knee caps. I bought these Dainese jeans with integrated protections and knee caps sticking out, in the impression it will protect me in case of a fall. But I'm not willing to test that. Anyway, people love them :-). I managed again to reach my guesthouse, paying a rickshaw driver to lead me the way. And boy was it hot in that city! And how many Indians are there actually? And the room I had booked was gone, but he had a more expensive room, and I was tired, and I was suffering from a cold and my eyes and nose were full of dust. Bref, I was all in the mood for a little stroll
in the old pink city, ready to face the hundreds of touts wanting to drag you into shops where they have a commission. A cold shower helped me though. The old city is indeed nice, despite the fact that there are like a thousand of shops in different bazaars concentrated in the old walled town. I tried to visit a few things and just let me go with the flow, following my nose. But the sun was beating on my head and on every corner there is a young guy who has a brother living in Belgium and wants you to do something for him. Others start chatting with you and invite you for tea. You don't want to be rude, the guy is friendly and all, but in the end you end up in a shop. At the end I got fed up and lost my nerves for a second. I answered no on the question of the hundreth young guy asking me if he could walk along with me for a while and got pissed when he insisted. His friend came up as well though and he started teaching me a lesson. The friend spoke very good english
and told me I have to understand them. They consider us tourists as an opportunity, a way out of poverty. This is their culture, this is what you are here for in the end right? You don't want to walk in a museum. It is so much more interesting when you allow us to learn something from us and maybe you something from us. It all made sense and for a moment I even started feeling guilty. But then he also wanted to join me for dinner to talk over some business. We would split half and half. I split.
The day after, I geared the bike again. I always love that moment of packing the bags, finding a place for them on the bike, preparing the road you are going to take, check the gasoiline and oil, getting the helmet and gloves on, sunglasses on the noise and hit the kickstart! The familiar thunder breaks the noise of the awakinf city and we move the whole thing in first gear. Every morning, I have to force myself to think :"drive left, drive left!" But actually that doesn't matter. You just drive where it suits you better at the
moment. Just don't cause too much damage to the others and basically yourself. I plan to make it in Pushkar in e few hours. It's only 129 km away, further to the west, deeper into Rajasthan, direction Pakistan. It's supposed to be a little pleasant desert town around a lake, known for it's annual Pushkar camel fair. That camelmarket is in November, but the town has more to offer. To start with, it is small and laid back. There are numerous temples for all religions and people come to bath in the gaths. That is, if there is water. After a hundred kilometers of easy road, I follow the sign for Pushkar. A little winding road brings me through little villages where kids come running at me shouting "Baba baba!!!" I still don't know what baba means actually, but their smiles show they mean it well. Women are very brightly dressed, their colours reflecting in the sun and contrasting sharply with the brown desert landscape. Men are dressed in white pyama's and wear brightly coloured turbans. Every colour has a meaning. Women weraing red and yellow indicate that they are married, other colours can only be worn by women who
gave birth to a son etc... Man often wear ochre as a sign for chivalry. Rajastani are often from the warriorcaste and chivalry is considered a very important value. In old days they were often the hard core of the army and they are known for never giving up in battle. If all is lost however, rather than rendering to the enemy, they commited common suicide. The prince killed himself, his women and children commited Jauhar by throwing themselves alive on the burning stake.
Before arriving in the town I arrive at a T crossing near a bar. I swith off the engine and park it in the shadow of a lonely tree, fighting for the last water. Men are just hanging around like only men can hang around. I get talking with a friendly couple of Greek (Dmitri and Glucka), who are out for a day trip on a bicycle. A couragious thing in this weather, but they are from a little island under Lesbos and are used to high temperatures. They fill me in on the latest news, give me some advise and we share some information since we go in opposite directions. We share a chai
with the locals and I start my machine again. I use machine here in order to avoid it's real name. Fact is that I have baptised it "The dracula Ye Ye". It's a long story, but it involves a party in Barcelona with the friends, a Spanish '80's classic that sticks to your mind ones you've heard it and a promise in the wee hours. I baptised it like that, but no way I am going to paint that name on this beauty. I see the mountains and people reflected in my shiny tank as I pass by, waving at kids, dodging a passing camelcart and in no time I arrive in town. The lake turns out to be dry, since it did not rain last year. All hope is focussed on the coming monsoon. Fingers crossed for them. I drive through the narrow bazaar and pass temples, cows, fakirs, guru's and sufi's, white legs of tourists and many shops, bars and restaurants. I have a booking, but I am not planning to go looking all over town to find it. I decide just to follow my mood and at a crossing I come to a nice gate, showing a beautifull garden. I drove in and stayed. It's the Krishna guest house. I am in a room nearly big enough for me and my backpack, ideal for agorafobic people. Manel, a friend from Lugo would not fit in it unless he destroys a few walls first. Which wouldn't be a problem for him, but a shame for the beautiful palace like building. I pay near to nothing and decede to stay at least two days. Moreover, there are 4 Enfields parked in the garden, so I get talking with other bikers. You know how that goes.
I go for a stroll and arrive at a building where a guy is enjoying the sun in his garden. He calls me in and we start talking. He is a doctor, be it not in the traqditional medecine, but in Reiki and reflexiologogy. We start chatting about medecine and Jesus, who turned out to be the first Reiki practitioner. He laid his hand on peoples head to pass on the universal energy. It's easy to make a joke of it, but the ground of it makes a lot of sense and I consider a session later. At the moment, I feel all right just going for a walk and to talk my way through town. Turns out there are plenty of Enfields in town and their rumble can be heard all over ass they pass the narrow streets. I find the place touristy, but with a very pleasant feel and I like the idea of staying a bit longer. Of course this is "Baba Cool" heaven. Many foreigners come here for years already, many come back to buy typical clothes, juwelry and instruments to sell them in their shops in Europe. I get talking with a Spanish family who comes here to buy stuff for their shop in Vigo. Her best friend runs the shop just next to the cathedral of Lugo, selling indian proiducts for years now. I vaguely reember the shop, but the Lugo friends will sure know what I am talking about. Next town will be Jodhpur. Tito recommended me a nice place there and I am curious already to check out the "blue town".
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Riqui
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ENVIDIA
Hola, K.! Que sepas que la envidia me está transformando en un alienígena. SUERTE!