Jim and I woke up with about 8 hours to kill before our bus to his town. I was terrified of getting malaria or robbed in Delhi but he'd been in India for 3 years so told me to man up and get used to not worrying quickly. I said OK. We met up with a couple American friends of his who were in town for one day, and we all went to find food. It was horribly hot, so air conditioning was the only criteria we used in choosing a restaurant. Jim told me I needed to give up this vegan shit while in India and I of course said no way, so that cut our options down a bit, too.
Actually, Jim taught me a really interesting rule of thumb, which is that if a place has a lot of customers, they're making new food regularly, so it's less likely to have spoiled in the heat. Not taking edible food for granted required enormous mental reconfiguration. We found a restaurant and ate an insanely cheap meal and sat around for a while:
Actually, Jim taught me a really interesting rule of thumb, which is that if a place has a lot of customers, they're making new food regularly, so it's less likely to have spoiled in the heat. Not taking edible food for granted required enormous mental reconfiguration. We found a restaurant and ate an insanely cheap meal and sat around for a while:
That's Jim and his bad-ass friend Hallie, who told us of the time her and her traveling companion were on a 12 hour bus ride in India and the driver refused to stop for a shit-break, so she put him in an arm-lock until he pulled over.
After sitting there for 2 hours or something, we went outside so I could buy groceries for the 12 hour bus ride to McLeodGanj. As soon as we got outside, we were accosted by mosquitoes and beggar children, one of whom (prob 6 years old) ended up holding Hallie's hand as he tried hard to get our attention and wouldn't leave us alone. Jim's claimed that saying anything to the beggars would only make them continue following us down the alley. Extinguishing behavior through a lack of reinforcement is a bad way to deal with people, but I didn't know what else to do, so I followed his lead. He also explained that the children are usually owned by a slumlord who keeps all the money they make begging.
They don't have grocery stores there, just bodegas, and Americans get sick if they eat anything that's not piping hot or prepackaged, so this significantly cut down my already-limited vegan options. I ended up buying a bag of chips, the only suitable food I found, and trusted Jim's statement that we'd get to eat on the way to McLeodGanj.
Before I left the US, my mom had given me a travel book on India, which I hadn't even opened, because I assumed Jim would know what we were doing. When I got there, I asked Jim what our plan was, and he said he hadn't thought about it much, and didn't really know where we were going. This alarmed me a bit, but I reminded myself of the ideals of Jeffrey Lewis's European Travel Diary and opened myself to the uncertainty of a lack of comfort. Conveniently, or maybe due to divine intervention or fate or something, Hallie had a travel book on India she wasn't going to need anymore, as she was going to Nepal. Right before we left to wait for our bus, Jim and I tore out pages for the places we were headed. This later proved to be a lifesaver.
In India, there are usually several ways to travel between big cities. Most tourists use minivans booked by travel agents, but Jim knew the city bus is always the best way. In deference to me and our impending, sweltering 12-hour ride, he chose the air conditioned bus, which was about 2 times more expensive than the regular bus, but still only cost about $10 each.
We carried our stuff to the incredibly dusty parking lot and waited in the boiling sun. Jim wasn't sure where the bus picks up, because when he rode it down to Delhi yesterday, it didn't stop at the old pickup point. He became distracted and anxious due to this uncertainty. I tried to remind him to relax and enjoy his vacation, but he literally can't listen to anything around him when something is on his mind. He called the travel agent he'd bought the bus tickets from:
Jim: "Hey, it's James, I bought tickets from you yesterday, where does the bus to McLeodGanj pick up?"
Travel agent on phone: "You want to go to McLeodGanj? How many tickets do you need?"
Jim: "I bought tickets yesterday, where do I wait for the bus?"
Travel agent on phone: "You want to go to McLeodGanj? How many tickets do you need?"
Jim: "I bought tickets yesterday, where do I wait for the bus?"
Travel agent on phone: "You want to go to McLeodGanj? How many tickets do you need?"
Jim: "I BOUGHT tickets YESTERDAY, where do I wait for the bus?"
Travel agent: "What number tickets are they?"
(Jim finds our tickets in his bag)
Jim: "Wait, these tickets are TO Delhi! I specifically told you we needed tickets FROM Delhi!"
Travel agent: "What number tickets are they?"
This confused Indian/English conversation continued for a while before the guy said we should wait there and someone would pick us up. Also, he asked if there were two of us and one of us (me) was wearing a white shirt. He never identified himself, despite apparently being able to see us from somewhere.
While we stood in that awful heat, Jim irritable and unable to get his mind off of the need to wait, we were continually accosted by beggars. At one point, a middle-aged woman walked up with her hand out, and Jim continued his strategy of ignoring people. I stood there, still not sure how this sort of thing worked, and she SAT DOWN ON THE DIRT RIGHT IN FRONT OF US, waiting for one of us to crack. The three of us waited in awkward silence for 10 minutes before she gave up and left.
A Hindu tourist walked over, waiting for the same bus we were. Jim ignored him. I was still feeling friendly and interested in talking to people, but, again, followed his lead as an expert and barely talked to the guy. I did tell him that we knew the bus was coming at some point.
But all that was nothing, because it was during this hour-long wait that I saw the most incredible businessman in history:
A 20-something Indian man approached us, holding up a single, uncovered Q-Tip, and asked if he could CLEAN OUR EARS FOR ONE RUPEE. Due to his checking out from reality, Jim did not fully appreciate the absurdity of the situation, and acted like he'd been interrupted in the process of doing something very important, and irritatedly told the guy no. The guy then ASKED ME SEPARATELY. I said no and he continued walking, where he encountered a large group of tourists waiting for a travel van and asked each of them individually.
I cannot imagine anyone ever having taken him up on his offer, so the question everyone asks me "is it always the same Q-Tip?" is sort of irrelevant, but I also don't know if he'd continue to try without any success. I wonder what sort of person says yes to this offer. It's not even the fact that the Q-Tip is probably crawling with bacteria so much as that I wouldn't trust him not to jam it in too deep, intentionally or accidentally.
While we stood there, Jim irritable from uncertainty, me anxious (but trying to relax) because of Jim's irritability, and both of us not really enjoying the intense heat, I pointed to a muscular Tibetan teenager living under a lean-to made of cardboard, smoking a cigarette, and scavenging for useful scrap metal in the dirt, and said to Jim "that guy is such a hero."
Jim: Why? I think that's the poorest Tibetan I've ever seen.
Me: He's obviously abandoned, but he's surviving really well, and he's got his shit together.
The boy then began inexplicably swatting at what looked like empty air, with a stick.
Jim: I don't know about that.
After many false alarms, our bus finally came, and we discovered we weren't the only people waiting, but rather that we were about 30 meters from the actual pickup place. We walked over, put our stuff in the holding area under the bus, and I found an aisle seat, then promptly went to sleep for a little bit before being awakened by the driver who asked for 10 rupees for letting me store my stuff under the bus. He said he'd return with the extra 10 rupees change I'd requested, but never did. I don't care, that's only about 20 cents, but I advise you to never expect someone in India to return with money.
What I did care about was that, not long after I went back to sleep, I was awakened by a 10-year old Indian boy shaking a bunch of bananas on a stick in my face and yelling something in Hindi. I almost punched him for waking me up, but told him no I didn't want to buy anything and he continued walking up the aisle, but was followed by another boy trying to sell me corn on the cob he'd just cooked outside. I told them no and tried to get back to sleep, and was quickly awakened again by a Bollywood movie (played at full volume over speakers) the bus driver put in.
I'd never seen a Bollywood movie before, but Jim explained that they're usually 5 acts and incredibly long, with many unnecessary subplots. His prediction was totally accurate. The movie started as a buddy comedy, then became a ripoff of West Side Story, with many remnants of Gene's montage sequence from Wet Hot American Summer. I actually really enjoyed it, despite it needing to be 1/3rd as long. I didn't sleep the rest of the trip.
Two other important things happened on this bus ride. We pulled over a few times so people could eat. The bus drivers in India never announce how long they're stopping for or why, but on one of these stops, at around 3 a.m. (somehow, my phone can tell time in India, though can't get any other reception), we were greeted by this sight:
The other weird thing was at the group of roadside dhabas where we ate dinner. I was intending to just buy some nuts or something, because I'd very intentionally eaten a lot before we left, but Jim was accosted by a waiter who asked us to sit down and eat at his restaurant. Again, I followed his lead, and Jim ordered dal with rice for both of us. It was delicious, then the waiter brought the check. He charged us 190 rupees each (about $3.50). I was all ready to pay when Jim said "190 rupees? For dal with rice? Come on, pull the other one" and started laughing. The waiter was understandably confused that Jim assumed he had brought a fake bill over. The waiter explained that this was the correct bill and we needed to pay. Jim became very angry and told the waiter "This is fucking ridiculous, I'm not fucking paying 190 rupees for dal with rice." I got nervous, unsure of what to do, and of course we had no alternative, and the bus could've left at any minute because not only do they not announce how long they'll be stopping, they don't announce when they're about to leave again, either. Somehow, everyone just knows.
Jim argued with the waiter for a while before the manager came over. I'm not proud, but I didn't say anything to try to get him to calm down. The manager explained that this was the correct amount and we needed to pay. Jim angrily put down 200 rupees and said that was all we'd pay. I supplied the remaining 180 rupees and we got back on the bus.
The bus arrived in the stunningly beautiful McLeodGanj around 5 a.m. and we saw the most amazing sunrise:
We walked up the steep, long hill, constantly fending off very aggressive offers for taxis or hotel rooms, then went to sleep in sleeping bags on his too-short bed. I was relieved to get out of Delhi, the absolute worst place I have ever been.
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