"We will stop at a nice hotel this evening." Bhupen's wide smile was reassuring. On a trip like this, there was always going to be some variability in the standard of hotel bedroom - and especially, bathroom. The promise of something pampering inevitably delivers a frisson of excited expectation.
After Ben's driving gymnastics all afternoon, we stopped at a stunning viewpoint. Bhupen got on the phone and called this new hotel to confirm. It's location. And he frowned. It seemed we had driven right past the entrance.
We turned back and headed uphill for a kilometre before we saw the turn: a dirt road, steeply uphill, no sign.
Okay.
Negotiating a 9 point turn, Ben inched the heavy truck forwards and back (under my experience supervision) to within a metre of the precipitous road edge on one side and a cliff on the other. I jumped back in and Ben gunned the truck in lowest gear up the loose dirt road. Dense forest on either side yielded to the first signs of human activity: half built houses.
Okay . . .
The conception of the hotel was grand. The workmanship, unfortunately, left something to be desired. The state of completion was far from the finished product promised. The swimming pool was a rough hole in the ground. Many bedrooms, in bungalow style, were half built. The main reception of the hotel was covered in a film of plaster/cement.
Okay.
My bedroom was enormous. Interestingly, the bed base and mattress were installed without the usual legs so sitting down you wondered would you ever manage to stand again. Having said that, I had a most comfortable sleep.
If anyone had a sense of humour it was the interior designer. He must have been deprived of electricity as a child. The desire to compensate was scary. There were no fewer than 18 switches to play with. Of course, not everything worked although the two red wires hanging limply over the bathroom mirror looked promising.
In fairness, the staff were delightful and the food delicious. No sign of Basil or Sybil. A nightcap of surprisingly good Indian Scotch (an intriguing oxymoron) finished off the evening in style.
Ben had insisted that overland travel required three things:
- a desire for adventure
- patience
- a sense of humour
He wasn't kidding.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday 31 December 2000
No worries
We had meandered our way through yet more breathtaking passes and valleys all morning and had taken in a wonderful lunch (for wonderful, read: not drowned in chillies).
I took the cab passenger seat and had a bird's eye view all afternoon. I couldn't get over the lack of traffic - we had this paradise all to ourselves. As we turned a sweeping corner, the reason became apparent - roadworks repairing yet another landslide. Traffic backed up on both sides of Caterpillar diggers. As luck would have it, our side got the nod to proceed just as we joined the queue.
By now, I knew Ben was probably the most experienced driver I would ever meet. Even so, manoeuvring an 11 ton truck through such narrow passages, with such suspect surfaces was, to put it mildly, a non-trivial task.
"No worries!" muttered Ben, with that unsettling Australian upward inflection at the end that turns every statement into a question. (Pity the poor bride who hears her beloved answer "I do" and wonders if he has gotten cold feet. I digress.)
Did I mention that we were in the steep cliff on the left, sharp drop to the right, road barely one vehicle wide scenario?
Funnily, this was the easy part. Easy because I could not see how close we were to toppling off the right hand side of the dirt track some idiot branded a road. No, there was much moe 'fun' to come.
As the road widened a little, we found ourselves in a different predicament: although the road was wider, we now faced a line of parked oncoming traffic with even less room to manoeuvre. And, a nasty, deep gulley on the left; if the left hand wheels slipped into it, we'd need a crane to get us out.
"How are we doing Bob?" Ben enquired as he inched the truck forward with annoying accuracy, a master class in spatial manipulation. A glance down out my window. "About two inches" I replied with ice in my blood. "The edge of the road is beginning to crumble under the weight of the truck" I added, as casually as I could.
"No worries" (inflection still rising). A minute adjustment. Another few feet forward.
And so it continued for another 10 minutes until we were on open road, traffic jam, landslide and gulley all behind us.
"No worries", Ben flashed a broad smile.
Quite.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I took the cab passenger seat and had a bird's eye view all afternoon. I couldn't get over the lack of traffic - we had this paradise all to ourselves. As we turned a sweeping corner, the reason became apparent - roadworks repairing yet another landslide. Traffic backed up on both sides of Caterpillar diggers. As luck would have it, our side got the nod to proceed just as we joined the queue.
By now, I knew Ben was probably the most experienced driver I would ever meet. Even so, manoeuvring an 11 ton truck through such narrow passages, with such suspect surfaces was, to put it mildly, a non-trivial task.
"No worries!" muttered Ben, with that unsettling Australian upward inflection at the end that turns every statement into a question. (Pity the poor bride who hears her beloved answer "I do" and wonders if he has gotten cold feet. I digress.)
Did I mention that we were in the steep cliff on the left, sharp drop to the right, road barely one vehicle wide scenario?
Funnily, this was the easy part. Easy because I could not see how close we were to toppling off the right hand side of the dirt track some idiot branded a road. No, there was much moe 'fun' to come.
As the road widened a little, we found ourselves in a different predicament: although the road was wider, we now faced a line of parked oncoming traffic with even less room to manoeuvre. And, a nasty, deep gulley on the left; if the left hand wheels slipped into it, we'd need a crane to get us out.
"How are we doing Bob?" Ben enquired as he inched the truck forward with annoying accuracy, a master class in spatial manipulation. A glance down out my window. "About two inches" I replied with ice in my blood. "The edge of the road is beginning to crumble under the weight of the truck" I added, as casually as I could.
"No worries" (inflection still rising). A minute adjustment. Another few feet forward.
And so it continued for another 10 minutes until we were on open road, traffic jam, landslide and gulley all behind us.
"No worries", Ben flashed a broad smile.
Quite.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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