Goa was about 500 miles away, which, in States time is about 6 to 7 hours of driving, or about half that if you’re my father. Because of this, we planned on a short detour to some Mosque ruins, and then a direct drive to Goa. Leaving around 6:30 am that day, it seemed we’d be in Goa in time for a late dinner.

Driving out of Hyderabad was incredibly slow. Traffic in the outer areas of the city was fairly intense, even early in the morning. As soon as you’re even a little out of the city, you can sense an immediate change: the level of poverty was far greater just a short distance away, the tall buildings completely disappearing and being replaced by huts and shacks of varying construction materials. The poor road conditions and many vehicles kept us for a couple of hours before we started to get a good speed going.

As I stated before, the rules of the Indian road change completely going from the city to the highway. Though the highway is one lane in either direction, it is in effect 5 lanes. You have the far side of the road, the middle part of each lane, and a center shared between the two. Typically you’ll stay as far to the left as possible. (In India, you drive in the left hand lane).

The trick is the size of the vehicle. You’ll basically have three sizes of vehicles on the road: very large TATA buses, small TATA cars, or tiny rickshaws or motorcycles. (The rickshaws were often crammed full of people. That did not look like a comfortable way to travel.) The large buses and trucks will take up at least two of these lanes, sometimes more. The cars take around one to one and a half. The smallest vehicles take up a bit less than one of these imaginary lanes.

Your position on this road will be dictated by how much you really want to pass the vehicle in front of you, versus how willing you are to get within inches of that oncoming monster bus. If you want to veer into the furthest right lane of the road in order to pass that passenger car that’s passing a bus, so be it.

Allow me to illustrate.

Stay on target.

There’s little room for manoeuvring in this situation. But I wouldn’t have been shocked if some daring motorcyclist tried to squeeze between the two. Such are the road rules of a nation that largely believes in reincarnation.

The lumbering behemoth buses were probably amongst the most daring vehicles. Buses won’t stop for pedestrians blocking the road in India. They’ll just honk louder. (Honks are a never ending sound on India’s roads.) And buses won’t hesitate to pass other buses, even though it often takes up slightly more space than the road has. They don’t care, and I’m not completely surprised. I’d imagine driving one of those festive road machines lends a certain sense of invincibility. They’re the largest vehicles on the road. They’re in a freaking bus.

I counted at least two bright and colourful buses, flipped completely upside down into a ditch on the side of the road, apparently long abandoned.

Complicating the matter is the interesting pedestrian traffic, which includes people, oxen-driven carts, and flocks of various animals. We would have to stop every so often for cattle either crossing the lanes, or just ambling about with carefree whimsy on the road (ah, to be a Hindu cow). Shepherds were often walking a number of animals down the side of the roads, requiring everyone to slow down a little, and sometimes stopped traffic altogether to cross.

Between the frequent slowing down and speeding up to pass vehicles, the herds of animals, and the occasional transformation from paved road to dirt path, we were beginning to realise that our California estimates of travel time were way off the mark.

You’ll have to stop in various cities along the way while travelling the road in India as well. It can be a complicated affair… sometimes signs are hard to find, and not always that useful anyway because of the many different languages in India. Hindi is supposed to be a standard unifying language, but one state we travelled through, Maharashtra, had refused to put up signs in Hindi. Apparently this was partly out of fear that their local tongues would die out, and partly just pure, good old fashioned linguistic snobbery- they thought their language was better. As it would probably be impossible for the company’s drivers to have memorised every road in every city the passengers may have the whim of visiting, the driver basically makes his way through the cities by travelling straight down roads, stopping at any fork or intersection, and asking people on the side of the road which direction to go in order to reach whatever your next stop is. From this, I learned my only Hindi… ‘Sida, sida,’ meaning, ‘Straight, straight,’ accompanied by nods down the general direction of the road.

A final joy of Indian road travel we found had to do with state to state taxation of commercial vehicles. The vehicle we were in was registered to Andhra Pradesh, and being a commercial vehicle, we had to pay a state tax at each border. This didn’t amount to much- usually less than 200 Rs, about $4- but it was another stop to make. Also, we were frequently pulled over by police officers checking our paperwork, making sure it was all in order, and asking for a bribe for good measure. (Except in Karnataka. You freaking rule, Karnataka.)

Goa, at last. Goa was colonised by the Portuguese, leading to a strong presence of Catholic influences, including architecture.

When all was said and done, we spent about 24 hours total on the road to make it to Goa. Not in one sitting, of course… we stopped in a city called Kohlapur for a night, and finally entered Goa around noon the next day, and reached the area we were staying late in afternoon. The road trip was long, but had several advantages in the end. We saw tons of different scenery in India… it went from dusty areas around Hyderabad to grassy plains in the middle of the country, to lush tropical vegetation on the West coast of India. Seeing the random sites on the road was interesting as well… a lot of small towns on the way, as well as a variety of wildlife (including monkeys and wild peacocks).

Our stay in Goa would be interesting but incredibly brief, which will be described next time. Following that, we would travel to Bijapur (talked about in a previous entry where I was assaulted by mobs of excited children) and then back to Hyderabad. All in all, it wasn’t a bad view of South India.

I mentioned that we stopped at the ruins of a mosque. Here’s a couple of pictures.

It’s been a while since I blogged, but I have a great excuse. No I don’t. Anyway, I have returned.

A stray cow on India’s highway system, shot from the car as we passed within about a foot of the beast.

Hyderabad had a lot of sites of interest, but we decided early on that we wanted to get a broader view of India. It’s a fairly diverse landscape after all, each area with its own unique languages, scenery, wildlife, and scents. (Especially scents. As Kalyan stated, ‘India is definitely a country of interesting smells.’ This was astutely pointed out as we passed within a mile or so of a truly acrid sugar rendering plant.) Since India is so large, we decided on a five day trip going to various points in South India, leaving North India for perhaps a future vacation. Following was a question of logistics: how would we travel?

In India, the two preferred means of long distance travel are planes and trains. Trains pose some problems: though less expensive, they are slow, run hours late (Kalyan experienced a ten hour wait once), and have a proportional relationship between sardine-style-packing and ticket price. Expensive tickets might get you your own bed (though at those prices you may as well fly), cheaper tickets might have you sharing a bed with a stranger, and dirt cheap tickets involve conditions most Westerners would demand general anaesthesia for. Despite being a fairly integral Indian experience, the long waits and ticket issues made us decide against train travel.

As for air travel, it possesses its own set of charming frustrations. Plus, it’s fairly expensive- maybe a bit cheaper than flying in the States, but after spending so much on the tickets flying to India, we wanted a more affordable option. I don’t remember who suggested it (so by default, I’ll blame Kalyan), but at that point, the topic of using a car came up.

It seemed an attractive option. The furthest point we wanted to check out were those famous Indian beaches at Goa, a mere 500 or so miles away- about equivalent to a drive from Irvine to San Francisco. It was surprisingly affordable as well, especially between the three of us. According to the guidebook we had, hiring a driver with a car is often cheaper than renting just a car. I guess that having a population above 1 billion tends to drive down costs of labour. With Indian driving making the busiest day on streets of New York City look like a charming and pleasant English countryside drive, it was also the saner option. We decided to go for a driver, and to find out first hand why nobody drives cross country in India.

A goatherd ushers his herd across the highway. Probably the least terrifying obstacle on India’s roads.

Though I’ve described driving in Indian cities, understood cultural road rules on the highway turned out to be completely different, and I was to get a good view of them from the front seat of our vehicle.

The agency sent us a driver with a small Tata vehicle. In case you’re unfamiliar with Tata, they make everything in India. No, really. I had already heard of Tata: at the CDMA company I work at, I occasionally have to program devices with India’s Tata service provider. I was surprised when I arrived and noticed pretty much all the vehicles in India, from small passenger vehicles to the massive buses that put out enough diesel fumes to single handedly shame Texas, said ‘TATA’ on them. I thought this was a coincidence, but learned that they are in fact one and the same company. To give you an idea of a few of the areas they are involved in, Tata group builds vehicles, provides cell phone service, refines iron and steel, makes ceramics, owns an airline, creates household goods from soaps to cooking oils, runs hydro-electric plants, engineers chemicals… and it all began with a family which made a fortune in textiles.

The Tata vehicle was fairly comfortable. It was a very compact hatchback, but had a TARDIS like ability to comfortably seat four of us plus luggage. Kalyan, his sense of adventure held carefully in check by a healthy fear of death, graciously volunteered me to be in the most dangerous spot, the passenger seat. (How does such a strong sense of self-preservation hold up in a guy who believes in reincarnation? He must have been misbehaving recently.) I even more graciously accepted, my reasoning being threefold- a) I found my legs a bit cramped in the back seat, b) years of drinking have granted me a profound enjoyment for the tragicomic, and Indian highways seemed to fit the bill perfectly, and c) I figured the pictures would be better.

The dangerous lengths I go to in order to please my audience.

Coming up… rules of the Indian road, and we find out why trains and planes are so popular.

First, a shout out to the Indian state of Karnataka: thank you. You rock. We three went to many an Indian state- Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, Goa- and out of all of them, only you, Karnataka, were cool enough to let us go about our merry way without having to bribe a police officer. Maharashtra had us stopped a few times for a couple 100 Rp bribes, Goa hit us for a bribe of over 1000 Rp, and Andhra Pradesh… well, doesn’t count because cross country vehicle paperwork wasn’t an issue since the vehicle we were in was from Andhra Pradesh. That being said, I’m willing to bet that if we weren’t in an Andhra Pradesh vehicle, they would have made us pay a bribe. That’s because Andhra Pradesh isn’t as cool as you, Karnataka. Give yourself a pat on the back, Karnataka- you are one classy state.

Other than having a lot of class, Karnataka was generally characterised by having a lot of dust and being really hot. While travelling through Karnataka, we made a stop in the city of Bijapur which, as noted in our travel guide, foreigners have no business in after February- the heat gets so bad that all businesses and shops close around 1 pm. For early year travellers, however, it’s worth visiting for its Muslim tombs, including Gol Gumbaz- the ‘Taj Mahal’ of South India. It’s famous for having the second largest dome in the world, being surpassed in size only by St. Peter’s Basilica. It really is a humongous dome. The photo above shows Gol Gumbaz from a distance.

Walking towards the building, I realised that even from this distance it was easy to appreciate its grandeur and epic scale. Around the main structure, the ruins of the smaller buildings lay haphazardly around the grounds- a wall here, flooring there-, and gardens had been carefully cultivated around the area, giving it a strangely dynamic feeling of being overrun by well kept vegetation.

Kalyan started to talk to us about the ‘Whispering Gallery’ at the top of the structure, where standing inside the dome creates an effect where you can hear the whispers of an individual standing across on the other side of the building, and about the numerous and difficult to scale steps up to the top, tumbles from which were responsible for taking the lives of more than one individual, from servants to monarchs.

My anticipation grew- as I walked through the gardens surrounding the ruins and approached ever closer, I felt that even from a distance, I could begin to hear ghostly howls emanating from the Whispering Gallery (people in the gallery tend to shout rather than whisper, and the echoing has a very eerie effect), imagine people running up the stairs centuries ago, and understand Henry Hinton’s sense of wonder when he first laid eyes upon the magnificent edifice. I could almost see the ruined remains of buildings around me restored to their original states and imagine the whole area in its heyday.

That is, until I was attacked by a horde of colourfully garbed Indian children.

Remember how I was talking about an exception to India’s self-conscious photography rule?

Domestically, sure, it’s handy being white sometimes. There’s that money and power thing. There’s that low infant mortality rate at hospitals thing. There’s the ability to get waved through sobriety checkpoints in Carson that everyone is getting stopped at (true story). The underlying causes may be disgustingly racist, but still, occasionally handy!

That being said, there’s a certain disadvantage to being a tall, bald white guy in these mostly Indian tourist spots- I stick out like a sore thumb. Kalyan and Theresa weren’t quite so affected in this area. Observe:

Kalyan, though being at heart a total surf’s up California boy (without the surf’s up part), is ethnically Indian, and his friend Theresa here has cleverly disguised herself as a Southeast Asian Muslim pilgrim. No doubt a pair of clever tricks they learned from UC Berkeley. I find myself damning UC Irvine for its isolationist policies.

So between the guy who looks local and the pilgrim disguise, I guess I can understand why the kids run after the guy who looks like Dr. Venture in denim and a hemp hat. On top of this, what effect does carrying a camera have, you may ask? Apparently it multiplies the enthusiasm of the kids ten fold.

I found myself totally swarmed by Indian children. If I turned, they ran around in front of me. If I tried to back up, I found myself unable, being completely surrounded by them. They started making demands to me in English, and it seemed the only English they seemed to know involved asking me to take their picture. My only means of escape seemed clear: I started to get down and snap away, hoping their photographic hunger would soon be satiated, but nay, I was a fool- their hunger only grew. They soon grew tired of group pictures, and each child wanted an individual picture. As I tried to comply, other children would rush in to sabotage efforts of their fellows’ solo photo attempts, and immediately ask for their own solo shot afterwards. It was a whirlwind of treacherous individualism gone horribly, horribly wrong, and I was stuck in the middle of it all.

Kalyan and Theresa, not having garnered the interest of the kids, struck out for Gol Gumbaz on their own, leaving me to content with the onrush alone.

Possibly an attempt at some coordination. I have no idea what they were saying.

Unfortunately in being left alone I had lost my translator, so I didn’t have much in the means in getting the situation under control. The parents thought it was hilarious, and in keeping with the white-foreigner cool factor I had observed, broke through the kids for a little while to shake my hand and say ‘Hello, nice to meet you,’ with huge grins on their faces. The kids also thought this was hilarious.

It was an interesting experience to say the least, and fairly refreshing after other people’s rather stoic photo poses. After while, the kids began to settle down a bit. I didn’t know if it was due to tiredness or my losing my novelty, but I did manage to get them all still enough for this group shot:

After I finally managed to pry myself away from them and make my way towards the main building, they’re energy grew once again, and I found myself leaving behind their excited farewells (in the form of repeated and loud ‘bye!!!!!!’s) and aggressive waves, finally making it to the tomb. It was cool, but somehow seemed a little smaller after experiencing an enthusiastic Indian kindergarten assault.

Incidentally, regarding those black and white shots of another tomb below: it had its own set of children.