In reference to my previous observation about travel in India, let me just say, without appearing vainglorious, that you are lucky that there is still a Craig to be typing this. Why? Let’s just say that Magic Mountain holds no thrill for me now. After hurtling through the dark at 95 miles per hour, sitting
In reference to my previous observation about travel in India, let me just say, without appearing vainglorious, that you are lucky that there is still a Craig to be typing this. Why? Let’s just say that Magic Mountain holds no thrill for me now. After hurtling through the dark at 95 miles per hour, sitting in a straight-back chair situated behind a plate glass window – that is the essence of Indian night bus travel.
The standard modus operandi for a driver:
pass on every blind curve
drive motorcycles off the road
hit and kill at least one dog
be an intriguing blend of mild retardation, amphetamines and rage
spend most of your time with your head out the window, drooling the narcotizing betel juice on the side of the bus
blow the horn once for each heartbeat
feel free to doze at the wheel, but if you should get too sleepy, do something terrifying so that the adrenaline gives you a nice, heady lift.
Needless to say, I won’t be taking another night bus. I’d rather walk. The entire trip was like that instant where you fall asleep and have a full body muscular contraction, like you are falling inward. I woke up several times with headlights directly in my eyes, not to the right where they should have been.
Sleep didn’t actually happen on this particular journey. It was a good lesson in handling fear, though: When there isn’t much you can do in a certain situation, just sit back and watch; it’s better than ulcerating for 9 hours. So friends, night dive with the sharks, bungee jump from a bridge – just don’t do anything rash, like take a night bus in India.