The impossible escape from India and dirt roads

For: Miquel Silvestre (text and photos)
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"Please", I saw one large object in the asphalt, "It's a fucking cow and not a stone". I was clueless but only half a second circulating speed, not more than eighty five hours, I could not avoid it or slow. I had to step over. He had a hoarse, was more than fucking. Fortunately, was shit.

Many actors say shit to wish luck before the performance. For in the road shit I've been very idem India, if not, is inexplicable still is intact and you were able to go in five days the endless distance from Madras to Raxaul on the border with Nepal, 3000 miles of the most hellish road you can imagine.

I want to leave as soon as possible? I've been over a month in India and I am fed up. I learned to hate this country for the great details like garbage, pollution or traffic, but also by small, for daily living with the Indians.

I learned to hate this country for the great details like garbage, pollution or traffic, but also by small, for daily living with the Indians

As a simple pedestrian, although they can withstand, but traveling on a motorcycle are very irritating. As soon as you stop, immediately around you and you go through the same questioning of consumption, price and Speed. Is common in other countries when traveling motor generate curiosity, but here is different. Only interested in the bike.

In Africa, America or Asia the bike generates interest, but is generated by the traveler. Who are you, what do, why you came? You can learn and teach, you relate and interact. Here there. Here leftovers. You are a hindrance. Do not paint anything, them rather annoying, prefer to stay alone with her. It is an unpleasant feeling. No warmth, No actual contact. You are a mere respondepreguntas. Absurd questions, also. How much does a BMW? For you the moon. What do you care? Normally always shot from above to not think I'm rich. It is absurd. For a lower-class Indian, though it cost ten times less would still be unaffordable. So I started doing a new thing. Inflate its value to disparate levels.
- How much is?
-Ten million dollars.
Nobody looks at me incredulously, shocked the suspicious. Ten million dollars has the same meaning for them than ten thousand. Who cares. The reek da. Always the same question.
- How much is?

But the worst is not answering again and again the same, but who intend to teach them her tits for nothing. Yesterday I was standing at the door of the currency exchange office is in George Town, in the bustling center of Madras. Of course, the bike was a sensation and soon dozens of onlookers surrounded phone in hand to take pictures. One of the guys found me present a few feet away and asked me to engine arrancase, I wanted to hear how it sounded. And by good. These claims or try to climb it for a photo without permission is like I got ahead of an aunt that I liked the street and tell.
-Eh, Solid, show me tits.

Days after leaving Madras, wake up at five o'clock. On the map I see that the border is 300 km. I know this can be a full day

Days after leaving Madras, wake up at five o'clock. On the map I see that the border is 300 km. I know this can be a full day. Even breakfast. I leave soon under a leaden sky and ominous. For days there is only fog. Sunless, this is just dirt, mud and dust. But, pleasant route begins. The road is narrow but with little traffic; winds through Bengali villages as picturesque and forest green is upon us.

It is idyllic. El GPS indicates only 220 kilometers to reach the destination. Confident, travel happy and satisfied. Finally, I, I left behind the horror of traffic and congestion. Happy and satisfied until the browser becomes disoriented and can not find the way. These maps are not very modern construction or disaster makes them useless. I do not know where I am. The fellow I say go down a path of goats is not known what may be lengthened. I pick it up and elongates no less than 100 miles of dirt road.

The fellow I say go down a path of goats is not known what may be lengthened. I pick it up and elongates no less than 100 miles of dirt road

It's like returning to the track of Moyale, but with a difference: People. Here is a thick human, innumerable, infinite. The road is destroyed by the very busy hubbub of junk, vehicles, animals and pedestrians national roads. I bounced back and forth over rocks and bumps and I also avoid all these obstacles. There is always something that can be worse and today makes yesterday's good. And that still do not know what I expected to finish.

The clubs y Barrancas progress on octopus, powdered sand and asphalt.. The front wheel gives llantazos continuously and I just ask you not to fuck me the bike at this location, being permitted to leave India. Need to get out of India. The promise that the border is near encourages me. I want to cross today, tonight, in the dark if necessary, but want to get out of this crazy country where drivers murderers haunt me, stick their head out the window and with his false teeth and reddened by betel me smile and cry.
-Eh, Solid, show me tits.

I learned to hate this country for the great details like garbage, pollution or traffic, but also by small, for daily living with the Indians

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Comments (1)

  • isaac

    |

    Sensational article, useful for future travelers … never stop being pedestrian in India xD

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