I rode with Carl and Lara for several more days until we got to Mysore and I boarded the train for Madras. We had some wonderful times together - stayed at the Tibetan community near Madikeri and endured the Indian policeman who felt it necessary to come and demand permits from all the westerners visiting there (they weren't necessary). He threatened to kick us out (at 7PM at night on our bikes) and we thought he was after baksheesh - I made a few exploratory statements to the effect, but he wasn't interested. Maybe he gets more from the Tibetan hotel owners as he was harassing them too, or maybe he was just throwing his weight around. At any rate, he ended up telling us we could stay the night, but would have to leave the next day. Since this was already our plan, problem solved. "Yes sir, yes sir, no problem sir, you're right sir" as we cursed him under our breath. C'est la vie... The Tibetans were wonderfully hospitable and friendly - probably just happy to be out from under the threat of the Chinese government. The Indian officials must seem small-time compared to that.

We had great fun in some of the little villages we stopped in away from the coast. They see westerners pretty infrequently so we were pretty unique to them, and our presence always drew a quick crowd once they realized we were friendly. Carl and I snapped a couple of pics that I've included to give an idea of what it's like to be in the middle of it all. When I pull out the digital camera and these guys can actually see the pics as they're taken, they're amazed. And if you offer to take one of them all there's an instant melee of people trying to get into the scene. At one point in a tiny little village street, I had 20 people, 2 taxi drivers, and a bus driver (in his bus!) trying to squeeze into the viewfinder!

Passing by a roadside vendor, the thought popped into my mind to tell him that "the flies you're selling are starting to attract dead fish there, guy!" I resisted the temptation, the language barrier being what it is. Just another reason to pass on the seafood away from the coast. Hell, its also a pretty good reason to go vegetarian here! I haven't been able to do it yet, though - I like my chicken too much. Just wish I could get a taste of beef sometime... Contrary to popular belief, English is NOT a common language between India and the west - they speak Hinglish here. It looks like English, it sounds like English, but brother, you ain't communicating! A friend suggested that all this made good material for a stand-up comedy show after the trip. I'm thinking of routine entitled "How to say yes but mean no in 17 different countries". I swear to god I can't tell the difference between an Indian 'no' and 'yes', especially if they only use gestures and head movements! Both this and the vague (or wrong) answers to questions got to be a running joke between me and Carl and Lara. Here's a sample - Me: "Can I have no chillies in my omlette, please?" Waiter (in an accent that sounds EXACTLY like Apu of the Simpsons!): "Eggs is there!", accompanied by a wagging of the head that looks like a cross between a shake and a sustained nod. This is a actual exchange and is not at all atypical! But I did get the chance to use the language barrier to my benefit once. Getting ready to board the train from Mysore to Chennai (an overnight journey), I was told several times by the deputy-sub-chief station baggage officer (or whoever) that I'd have to remove my panniers from the bicycle before putting it in the luggage car. Since I knew that this was actually up to the luggage car attendant, I nodded but ignored him and left the rear rack loaded up, taking only the front bags off. I really didn't want to have to manhandle and secure 5 separate bags for the duration of the journey if I could help it, and the rear panniers were padlocked shut anyway. So when the train pulls up, I found the luggage car and lifted the bike in myself. The attendant stops me as I'm getting off and says in Hinglish "luggage open!!!" (which translates as "you can't leave the bags here, sir"). I refused to take them off, so he said "cykel only!!" and demanded to see my luggage form. Now, when I had checked the bike in on arrival, the office guy had written on the form in English "road racing bicycle" and I hadn't seen any need to correct him. So when the attendant pointed to these words and said "see, cykel only!! Luggage is not there!!", I pointed to the words "road racing", patted the panniers, and said loudly "this road racing!!!" This confused him into hesitation long enough for me to take the form back and beat it out of there before he could change his mind. Ha! Score one for the away team! The train journey itself was uneventful and actually pretty comfortable. I slept in a shared compartment with an Indian family, all nice and cozy with a wool blanket tucked in around me, snoring my fricking head off 'cause of the dry a/c air. (I actually woke myself up with it at one point!) Good thing I had my earplugs in. Wonder what that family thinks of westerners now...

Re the luggage form I filled out for the bicycle: there's a form for EVERYTHING in this country - you have to fill one out just to cross the road here! Checking into a hotel is a 20 minute process, and using the post office entails at least 3 different lines (weighing the package, buying the stamps, getting a registration form as a receipt - all in different parts of the office). The only group that doesn't have to fill out a form are the folks applying for a driver's license. That's 'cause they come for free in boxes of Crackerjack here. It's an old joke, but it still applies: "There's only one rule (on the road) here - there are no rules!". I've ridden in motorized tricycle taxis that ran red lights and cut across one way streets right in front of traffic cops. I read complaints about them every day in the newspaper (that's how you get something official done here - you complain publicly but as loudly as possible, in an 1930's English schoolteacher manner, hoping to shame the officials into acting. A sample would be: "There is a large amount of household rubbish that is collecting on the streets in Chowpatty neighboorhood. This is attracting problems. Will the officials concerned kindly turn their attention to the matter as soon as possible."). A college student studying in the west told me that every time he returns to India over the holidays, he has to readjust to the idea that "if your front wheel can fit in a space, then go for it. Let everyone else worry about where your back wheel is!" No wonder I've been pushed off the road by buses so many times. Once I'm behind the driver's peripheral vision, I don't exist anymore, for all practical purposes. I've adapted, but it almost requires having eyes in the back of your head. I stopped wearing my helmet while in the countryside for a while due to the heat, but soon realized that my tendency to grab slowly passing trucks for a pull up the hills exposed me to a little more danger than I cared to risk unprotected! The truckdrivers love the diversion from the boredom of the road - they love it so much they sometimes run me onto the shoulder, as they twist around to smile and wave at me! Having said all that, India's the only country I've lived in where bicycles aren't at the absolute bottom of the traffic pecking order. Pedestrians have that honor. As a cyclist I have free rein to knock a jaywalker on his butt and then curse him for scratching my paintjob as I ride off. You should see 'em scoot out of the way when they realize my approaching bike is wider (and heavier) than they thought.

Had another "small world" experience the other day. Carl, Lara, and I had met Yannick, the French cyclist on the road, and traveled with him for a couple of days before losing him (accidentally, I swear!) in some small city. He and I shared a hotel room for our night together, in an Indian tourist center. A week later while in Mysore, getting stuff sorted out at the train station, who did Carl and Lara run into but Yannick who was just arriving for a few days! He had actually ended up doing pretty much the same route as us, just on a slightly different schedule (probably something to do with the single-speed aspect of his bike and the hills we'd been climbing). Anyway, after the station reunion and before I left, he asked me if I'd been the guy he'd seen in a restaurant about 3 weeks and 600km up the road - I said no at the time, but realized later on the train that he was right, that we'd seen each other before! I remembered him sitting at another table at a restaurant in Goa. Little did I suspect that we'd actually be sharing a hotel room over a week later! Small, small world.

So, all is well. No more earthquakes (as far as I know, anyway). Tomorrow I leave for Thailand - more adventures to follow, I'm sure!

Mark

How appropriate that this was at a roadside church where we stopped.