Three Wheels on my Wagon...

It had to happen.  A flat tyre.  On the way to a wedding.  Our driver's sister's wedding.  In the middle of Bangalore.  I was driving.  During Monsoon.  In fact, during a stinking Monsoon afternoon which saw the streets become rivers.  Thankfully, my Hero, Mr. M, was in the car with us (me and Mitz).  I have never seen him spring so quickly into action.  He was out the car, into the trunk, spare out, flat tyre off, spare on, quicker than you could say, 'should I get out and help?'  In fact, both Mitzie and I remained dry as a (dog) bone inside the car while Mr. M was soaked to the skin.  What was amusing, was the lack of police or helpful looking individuals when you need them.  Out of the hundreds of people thronging through the Bangalore bus station (where we took refuge) only ONE person offered to help, with more people finding it quite amusing to see the only white guy in the vicinity up to his knees in water changing Madame's tyre.  It did make me realize that while I have been on quite a high a lately driving myself here and there, with or without hubbie, that we are quite prone to getting flats here (due to the lack of road surfaces!) and if I were on my own it would be quite a pain in the ass.  Having learned to change a tyre on an army landrover, I'm sure I could do it, but wouldn't want to!  I was impressed by my knight in shining armour who delivered me to the wedding an hour late, but on time, as things generally run late here, without me having to get even slightly ruffled.  That's a few brownie points well earned.

Driving Miss Julie

Or should that be, driving by Miss Julie...  Motorists beware, for the first time in 2.5 years, I got behind the wheel of our car and took to the roads of Bangalore!  I did drive the car when we first bought it - just around the apartment complex - and since then have left the driving in the capable hands of our wonderful driver, Manoj.  Yesterday was a bit of an oddity:  Tom was working from home, so we gave Manoj a surprise day off, but then had a dinner invitation to a hotel about 15 minutes from our apartment.  Normally we would take a taxi: there was a taxi strike; or a rickshaw: the heavens opened just as we were leaving, so an open air rickshaw wasn't an option.  Only one thing for it, grab the car keys and give it a whirl!  

I've been dying to drive here recently as I think I've figured out the rules of the road:

1.  Everything stops for cows

2.  If you're bigger than me (i.e., truck vs. car, car vs. bike), you have right of way

3.  Don't use your mirrors, if someone's at the side of you as you change lanes, they'll use their horn to let you know (OK SOUND HORN is painted on the back of every truck - don't expect them to look before they switch across three lanes...)

4.  Oh, lanes mean nothing.  If they're there, straddle them; if they're not, weave all over the road

5.  When stopped at a level crossing, traffic should line up across both sides of the road, on either side of the crossing, making it impossible to move forward when the train's actually gone

6.  Don't indicate; it's a sign of weakness

7.  Don't flash someone in; it means the opposite, i.e., I'm coming through, get out of my way

This video from YouTube helps you get an idea of what I had to deal with when I finally got out of our 'layout.'  

The drive out of the apartment was bad enough as my knees were banging the steering wheel and my clutch control was like a Kangaroo on acid.  Next I had to navigate the road out of our layout; I use the term 'road' loosely as it's more like the surface of the moon.  In fact, the craters are so big, they have their own zip code.  No, it's not tarmacced, silly!  My next move was a right turn where I foolishly indicated much to the chagrin of my husband, who reminded me I had shown weakness, so I just went for it.  I successfully navigated tiny back streets - avoiding cows, children, and goats, jam-packed flyovers, a triple lane ring road, right turn across six lanes, a Police controlled traffic light where I had to do a sharp U-turn, and even parking nicely back in our apartment.  Two slight hiccups:  On arrival at our dinner destination, security asked us to pop the trunk... er, how????  After a couple of minutes of indecision, they let us through, presuming that if we were stupid enough not to be able to figure that out, we'd have no chance planting a bomb.  The final humiliation on arrival at the valet parking... er, how to get the keys out of the ignition?!?!  Thankfully, these guys know their job and showed me how...  For now, my need to drive is satiated and I assured our driver this morning that his job is definitely safe.  

Weekend Warriors

We were adventurous this weekend. We just got back from our first official road-trip - a weekend in Kerala at the beautiful Rainforest Resort looking right across to the Athirapally Waterfalls. And while we have traveled the 'Golden Triangle' of Delhi - Agra - Jaipur by car (or Qualis, an SUV), which is about five hours per leg, we've never done such a long trip in such a short amount of time. We went with two new found friends, found over good food and flowing wine, the four of us making an interesting variation on a typically British joke, "A Hindu, A Muslim, A Catholic, and a Protestant walk into a bar..." The first friend, a bigwig at a wonderful new Indian wine company, Big Banyan came armed with many bottles; the second friend, a thespian-cum-artist-cum journalist (at, among others, our favourite, the Bangalore Mirror), armed with pencil and pad. Our ambitious journey took us from Bangalore into the state of Tamil Nadu through the Western Ghats and onto Kerala - a mere 500km, or 300 miles. Now, for those of you who have never visited India, motorways are a new fangled thing, few and far between thing, and, where they exist, are generally made up of two lanes, but filled five abreast, with traffic heading toward you in the wrong direction, trucks driving on the right (we drive on the left here), and crossed by the odd farmyard animal or pedestrian. The direction signs are great too; depending which you look at, the distance to your destination changes, as does the spelling, and the locals are no better. Stopping to ask directions - or seek confirmation - generally resulted in an argument between the two pedestrians which is probably still going on now. The bulk of our journey was via picturesque but pot-holed routes, passing through small villages, taking tea at 2 Rupees a cup from tiny street vendors, traversing tretcherous mountain sides, and getting stuck behind the odd herd of cattle/sheep/goats. We witnessed the act of 'motorized threshing....' where villagers layout their crops on the road for passing cars/trucks/cattle to run over it and 'thresh' it. It's quite ironic that someone just emailed me this piece from the International Herald Tribune on the state of India's transport system, all of which I can relate to! The net net is that a journey that on western roads might take four or so hours, took 12 there - and another 12 back. Luckily I am a sleeper. And the company was good. Plus I can hang on for a good bathroom, although I did experience everything from 'behind a bush al fresco' to 'Indian squat' to 'Western okay-ish.' After quite an adventure, we are taking a rest in Bangalore for a while, but will be hitting the road again some time soon - armed of course with wine, toilet roll, and a strong constitution!