The road in the south of the country was incredible. Tourist had just left behind Goa, With its ancient city full of white cathedrals, from streets to the Portuguese, of beautiful alleys that reminded me of my distant Iberian peninsula. The road south from Bombay had been heavy by moisture, dangerous for the endless traffic of their only ways of union between cities, But as in India, colorful by the magnificent saris of women and fun for the faces of amazement of many men and boys who stopped and took my helmet, They found that it was a woman who was driving that great red motorcycle, MY BMW F650GS "DISCOUNT".
During that trip to the south, The marine breeze refreshed the suffocating heat, I touched the coast, I saw the sea, that Arabic sea that near the coast takes the name of the Thequedives. I crossed wide rivers full of green palm trees on its banks, Cultivated rice fields without machinery, Only with the help of hands, Barefoot and indefatigable oxen.
I crossed wide rivers full of green palm trees on its shores and rice fields cultivated without machinery
And in one of those rivers I stopped to enjoy the views, I was contemplating a barge of reeds with three fishermen on it. They were young, They pulled a cane while, On the other side of the boat, One of them dive into the murky waters of that wide river. The bridge moved under my feet, trembling from top to bottom through the passage of a heavy truck. The movement spared me, I stopped filling the pupils green and went up to my BMW. My dear motorcycle with which I had been on the way with more than five months. My home during this time and what was left to come.
The road linear hid trucks after trucks that, just at the time of my crossing with them, They deployed in two and invaded all the asphalt. The narrow Indian road was extended by magic so that the three vehicles we foster without danger of touching each other again and again. "They have life", thought.
The bridge moved under my feet, trembling from top to bottom through the passage of a heavy truck
And little by little the road along the coast in the region of Karnataka It opened to see the blue sea again, Sparkling and bordered from the flexible palm trees. A right road indicated a beach. I took it. It was late and needed to rest and eat. I arrived at the WHO beach, which means "Vaca ear", name defined by the shape of this little piece of the coast, One of the still almost virgin redoubts after the assault to GOA of electronic music and design drugs.
The cows walked along the beach at sunset, The illegal fishermen boats hid under the yellow fish of bright colors («yellow spnapper») that roasted for hidden rupees inside a little chitter made with reeds. The beach was very hippie and dribbling to get a room was long, Well, it was the days before Christmas. But I got it. I would have a shower for me alone: A little sweep to drink water from a bucket and spray it for my body. What a pleasure, when it is hot and moisture everything hits.
The beach was very hippie and dribbling to get a room was long, Well, it was the days before Christmas
In the morning another walk along the stones softened by the rubbing of the waves, the cows that returned, Or they were, I never knew. The thin and flexious dogs that sniffed near the "hotel", The twenty -year -old Israelis that cope with these magical places, some guiri burned by the sun ... I enjoyed having my bare feet, Without the motorcycle boots, A pleasure multiplied by one hundred due to my motorcycle-viajera status.
I had to return, I would have to get to Madras in two days and for that I would enter the interior, the Mangalore Bangalore crossing the endless mountains where I was waiting for a pleasant surprise.
The cars that preceded me stopped and made me fall
Going up the mountain port I began to feel the fresco that gives the height. The palm trees had become trees and bushes of beautiful bearing. The leaves began to be yellowish, Tropical winter was underway. In the upper part of the port, The road began to wind too much, The curves had counter-curvas and the asphalt disappeared right in them due to the weight of the gigantic trucks that stopped or accelerated to overcome them. Car and truck traffic became much more. The cars that preceded me stopped and made me fall when my foot did not reach the ground due to the hole on which I stopped.
My motorcycle lying on the ground and I watching as the long caravan that followed me stopped. Cars, like little ants, They began to dodge me and take advantage of the halt of the trucks to flee as fast as possible. I laughed, It was there, No strength to lift my heavy motorcycle and nobody helped me. Shouted two "Heeeelp" with all my strength and a driver of one of the trucks came out, It helped me lift "discovered" and put it on foot again. The march began again; Looking to the sides I began to understand the why of the heavy trucks. They were coffee plantations. Little by little, The traffic dissolved and enjoyed the road again. Before the descent I stopped on a side, A wide -treaded sidewalk, With palm trees bordering the entrance ...
I shouted two "Heeeelp" with all my might and a truck driver came out and helped me stand "discovered"
On the sidewalk I heard the voices of some women. They were dressed in man cotton shirts, used as work costumes, and they had large baggut -like fabric bags on their sides. Some cotton handkerchiefs covered their head, although leaving a line in the middle of the hair visible, His face with the red point between his eyebrows and eyes full of Black Khool. They looked at me between scared and curious. I got off the motorcycle and approached without the helmet.
By signs and in a poor English, both they and me, We communicate. They were workers of that coffee plantation. They taught me the two types of fruit they kept collecting them by hand: Green coffee and red coffee. Among the coffee plantations, Pimient and Naranjos vines. A artisanal crop with natural fertilizer thanks to the expiration of the leaves of these last plants. Suddenly, They pointed out the way, Avenida de Bonita Palmeras. A high man, White hair chubby, With good pint, I approached me. He was the owner of the plantation.
A high man, White hair chubby, With good pint, I approached me. He was the owner of the plantation
I introduced myself and invited me to go home. You can see coffee and chicory dryers that are collected by hand and turn with their feet so that they dry in the sun. After a pleasant talk and a walk through the coffee plantations, I invited me to go home (Always barefoot) and have coffee with your lady. A beautiful afternoon for a hard day. But I still had the port and arrive at Mangalore and from there to Chennai.
Café arrived in India in the 18. When passing through Ethiopia and check its energizing effect when chewing it, He took him back to his country.
Video: https://vimeo.com/66923301
How to get there: From Bombay to Bangalore there are several roads, But you must take the main. Remember that in India it is conducted on the left.
What to see and eat: in India, Whatever the region you can enjoy varied food from chicken to pasta or rice always with a lot of vegetables and spicy.
Templo de Benur, The coffee plantations and the old Portuguese city of Old Goa, They are worth being visited.
