As I board a bus that supposedly takes 13 hours to get from McCloud Ganj to Delhi, I initially get my hopes up that I might have a little arm room... ...as if. The madness of the government bus would never allow such a thing.
As we speed through the mountains in the dark of night, the bus stops anywhere and everywhere there might be a person who wants a ride to somewhere between here and Delhi. Although I would hardly call it "stopping". The bus slowly rolls while people frantically try to throw bags into the bus while holding on for dear life, and finally pull themselves in, before the bus speeds away.
As 7pm becomes 8, becomes 9, the mountain air gets colder and colder. I in turn become more and more appreciative of the Indian man who is crammed against me and sleeping on my shoulder. Bags, people, children, and anything else you can think of get piled on and around everything and everyone.
The incredible vibrations of the bus racing over pothole filled, half paved roads is initially a nice massage. 15 hours later, some smoke, pounding and bits of random material stuffed into the engine, a few screeching stops, an array of interesting smells, being physically launched out of my seat a few times, and a sunrise later, the massage therapy was more than I needed.
I stumble off the bus, and before I know it, I hear "Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur" slowly rolling by me. This being my ultimate destination, I chase after the bus, jump on, squeeze past a few people and take a new seat. I am ready to be a pillow or of whatever I may become, once more.
20 hours of buses later, my bruised butt, and achy and smelly body are ready for a bucket of water to bathe in and a bed to rest on. For $4 this dream comes true. Alone in a small, cement walled room, with a squatting toilet to myself, something doesn't seem right. Shouldn't I be sharing this space with a few more people?
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