There had been some discussion about going to Chandigarh, home to some world famous architecture. Well, Meg and Dave want to go and I said I wouldn’t mind having a look around. Admittedly without any formal discussion, but with extra days available on the itinerary due to cutting short our time in Pakistan, we thought we had agreement that we would stop there one night, as nobody had raised any individual objections, but we were mistaken. We are now told that there needs to be a formal group decision. Unfortunately, with myself being left to state the case for going to Chandigarh by reading out from the Lonely Planet (stage fright from Meg and Dave?), I do a less than convincing job. We lose the vote in favour of staying an extra day in Delhi. Meg and Dave decide to get off the truck at Chandigarh when we pass it tomorrow and catch up with us in Delhi.
On the way to Delhi, we drive through some mountainous jungle terrain on roads with long drops down. We pass through towns of shacks, stopping at one to get some lunch. Unfortunately, these towns seem to have no fresh food for sale, just packaged items, although we do find a bank.
As with everywhere we have been since Eastern Europe, this is a land of shepherds and no fences. If there is no shepherd, then animals are tethered, or just wonder about freely. The women shepherds like to multi-task, doing some knitting while minding the animals.
We were planning to bush camp tonight, but having only travelled 150 km on the slow mountainous roads, the only option is to stop at a hotel. The hotel is fine enough, although we aren’t anywhere worth exploring. Also, I help to dispose of our truck rubbish and at the hotel’s reception I am told to chuck it over the wall at the side. That’s Indian nimby-ism for you. Not in my backyard, but next door’s will do. Actually, as far as I am aware, the rubbish bin on the truck may well be the only one in India and there certainly is no weekly collection. They don’t even have bins by the toilets as they do in the parts of Asia we have been through already, though I admit I’d be very reluctant to handle those bins if they did*.
Meg’s hair is getting a bit bushy and she wants the cool spiky ‘Megger © look’ back. For some reason she lets me cut off the wings at the side. I do a bloody awful hack job, but she seems to think it’s an improvement. I have been rooming with Meg and Dave for much of this trip and now feel comfortable walking around in my pants (underwear to any Americans) in front of them. In fact, it has become a bit of a ritual now that I whip off my shirt and trousers as soon as we get to the room, although I do hasten to add that I cut Meg’s hair while fully clothed.
*toilet paper doesn’t go in the toilet in most parts of Asia, hence the bins. India doesn’t seem to have tp, so no need for bins....
this is a random collection of road photos from Meg as I am still without camera:
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| Meg, Dave and ??? me maybe |
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| this cement store is clearly short of stock |
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