Siddhartanagar, Nepal > Pharenda, India > Gorakhpur 56km, 43km

[Originally posted Nov 26, 2014]

India.

We first saw India from a distance.  Matter of fact, we probably heard it before we could see it.  A combination of haze, dust, exhaust, smoke and fog limits visibility to about 500 meters.  So when the sound of horns, bells, and the thundering of oversized, overladen steel trucks fumbling down potholed riddled roads grew louder we assumed we were almost there.

Off to India - country #23.

Without trying to give a blow by blow of all the events since we crossed the border, I’ll offer a couple general thoughts (which should lay some nice groundwork for the next 6 weeks’ blog posts) and then try to recreate some of the memories that are running around in my brain as I try and create sense of the overwhelming feelings that are India.

#1 - we are in the Indian State of Uttar Pradesh.  Uttar Pradesh sits in the Gangetic River valley and has been home to dozens of different civilizations and people - the first prominent one being the Indus River Valley civilization from around 6,000 years ago.  Today, Uttar Pradesh is, by area, just larger than the State of Utah but has about 200,000,000 people (yes, that is the correct number of zeros).  Which makes it the most populated part of any country on Earth.  So, first and foremost, India is people.  Lots of them.  A whole lot of them.

"I'm a god, I'm not thee God . . . I don't think."

#2 - The 200 million people lead to what an outsider might call CHAOS.  I put it in capital letters, because you really can’t understand what it is like unless you have been.  When we told other touring cyclists in Europe we were hoping to cycle in India, most of them only had one response: “Have you ever been there?”  These were people who had cycled through Iran and Pakistan, all of SE Asia, most of Africa and all of South America.  Yes, we were here for about 4 days back in 2010 and loved it so much that Katy got us 10 year visas.

Peace and calm amidst the chaos.

#3 - The chaos does seem to be organized.  The highways here are not so much roads as they are “large paths of movement.”  The word road has the connotation of lanes, traffic lights, white and yellow paint on the ground, stop signs, stuff like that.  Here the highway is equal parts of the following: pedestrians, oxcarts, cyclists that carry everything imaginable, rickshaws, huge lumbering trucks, goats, cows, motorbikes, school buses and etc.  In my parent’s basement back home, behind the laundry room is a small closet that was always (to my eyes) a complete disaster - but it had two nice little notes hanging inside: God bless this organized mess and A place for everything and everything in its place. The same is true for these roads out here - everything seems to fit nicely into place, you just need to understand how all the puzzle pieces fit together.  So far I’ve come up with what might be the only 3 rules of the road: 1) Don’t run into anyone in front of you, 2) Let people know you are passing (this unfortunately leads to an obscene amount of honking, use of bells and the like - for which Katy and I are considering riding with earplugs) and 3) when you hear someone behind you, don’t change lanes (I use the word lanes here to help you understand what I mean, but in reality there are no lanes, so the idea of “just keep going straight” might fit better).  Once you figure these 3 out, cycling here is actually much more enjoyable and manageable than I had previously anticipated.  We are just another cyclist amidst the chaos.

Waiting for the train to cross in Gorakhpur. On the left, the local school children as  guides to our hotel.

#4 - People are in complete awe of our tandem, or to use their word - ooh, double cycle, good, good.  We have yet to see a bike in India that has any gears - all Indian bikes seems to be single speeds, so a bright red bike with gears, shifters, derailleurs that also happens to be a tandem just seems to be too much for these people to wrap their minds around.  Everywhere we go are dozens of eyes staring at our bike (not so much an interest in the goofy Americans riding it, but they really love the bike).

Getting some flat tires fixed, to remove a patch just light it on fire?

Snippets of the past 36 hours:

At immigration at the Nepal:India border two middle aged well dressed men in complete Indian Military attire came up to our bike, proceeded to play with the bell and then took photos of each other standing in front of the bike and smiling.  How do you tell a soldier in uniform with a machine gun to please not break your bell?

Riding down the highway after we passed the two or three kilometer line of trucks waiting to get across the border, I pulled on the brakes to slow down as a policeman was assisting a very old man across the road.  The man was barefoot, only wearing a white sash or robe of some sort and hobbling slowly on a single crutch.  The policeman was there to slow traffic because the elderly gentleman was moving rather slow.  As we pass the man whips his head around and shouts, “good, good.”

A car pulls up alongside us (obstructing the traffic behind) and launches right into conversation:  “This is a fantastic double cycle.  I never see one before.”  Oh thank you, Katy offers the usual response.  “And what is your good name, sir?” the passenger replies.  “My name is Clayton."  “Oh, very good name.”  The people in the car then take our photos and so we smile and wave.  All the while I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road but be a considerate guest of their country.  They take a couple photos, wish us well and continue on down the road.  They stop 50 meters ahead of us and we pass by, wave hello again, and then 20 seconds later they are back right next to us again. “Oh, hey, you’re back.” I shout. (I told Katy after this incident that cycling through India is great for the mildly narcissistic personality - lots of attention).  “Can we please have photo with you?” he asks.  I guess the photos didn’t turn out to his liking because a minute later we are both stopped on the side of the road as we begin formal introductions and then pose for photos with each member of the car.  Quoting Jim Carrey, “They love me, they really love me.”

Despite the people here in India, you can find some quiet places.

Our hotel last night was, by all Western standards, a bit subpar (but the people, as always, unbelieveably friendly - before we could leave this morning Katy ended up in a long chat with the hotel owner's sister in California).  The generator out back was, from what I could guess, hooked up to two car batteries that were outside our room.  This allowed somewhat more continuos electricity cover but made things rather noisy.  The bathroom had a half Indian / half Western toilet - sit or stand.  You choose.

To sit or to stand, that is the question.

As the dark red sun finally dropped into the haze and the last light on the rice paddies and banana fields diminished, darkness opened our eyes to a very different India - darkness.  Very little electricity means sunset turns into darkness, but the commerce and activity continued.  Corrugated metal shops were lit by old kerosene lanterns, thousands of people flocked to the highway to have a couple samosas or a cup of tea and the cyclists continued down the highway into the darkness where they would eventually disappear down dirt roads.

Riding into the sunset.

Approaching Gorakhpur, a decent town of 600,000, the traffic came to almost a dead halt.  It’s tough to have things move consistently when there are no traffic lights (can’t depend on electricity), you can’t tell where the pavement ends and the sidewalk begins and the cow has the ultimate right of way.  Cow in the middle of the road?  No problem.  We wrote the name of the hotel and street on a piece of toilet paper (always have this on hand) and showed it to two young boys on a single bicycle (one kid just sits on the rear rack - pretty standard really).  And in an instant we were off.  Trying my best to keep up with them, we got off the main road and raced down a little lane, then a quick right, miss the cow, around the rickshaw, over the railroad track, under the bridge, wait for the train to cross, cut across a couple lanes of traffic, don’t hit the holy men in the street, there is another cow, another speed bump, herd of goats, honk honk honk, where did the kids go, watch out that car is coming fast, more potholes, hustling to keep up with these two kids.  Every time we fell behind they slowed down and then when we caught up they would take off.  We then noticed the boys asking a question to all the older motorbikes and cyclists on the road.  They’d get an answer and then continue on. It quickly became apparent that they didn’t know where they were going, but they were determined to find out and lead us there.  Eventually we pull up right at our destination, unscathed. Whew. I offer the kids 10 rupees a piece, but they decline, just happy to be of assistance to the foreigners. 

Our two friends who guided us through town.

Breakfast was only $0.50, so when we spent $7 on lunch we were very optimistic.  And not disappointed.

Veg Manchurian, Paneer Butter Masala, Dal Makhani, Jeera rice and Nan.

India.