The Highway of Lost Soles and other irritations

We breakfasted, Sachin, Bart and I, three Knights round a table, in a restaurant in the old city. We were saying our goodbyes. They were heading South to Udaipur, I was going North East, back to the Mountains. We all had our different quests to complete and they were in different directions.

In a ridiculously short space of time we had become close. They are probably the first Indians I have met here that I can truly say are friends. I know that I will see them, and have more adventures with them again.

'We will see each other again in Delhi!' Bart said as we hugged.

'Thanks Man'. Sachin as we clasped hands.

'Uh oh, I don't think we are going to leave today. I think Sachin has a new quest'. Bart laughed as he caught Sachin looking at a girl across the market place.

So I packed my bike and headed off alone. I was still glowing from the excitement of the last two days.

But India isn't all amazing life changing moments, astonishing beauty, and fascinating people. There is a lot irritations and frustrations, and annoyances and dirt and grime and boredom too. After about a hundred kilometres some of them started bubbling to the surface.

When someone says desert, you automatically think of rolling sand dunes. But mostly, the Thar Desert is not like that. Its sort of semi arid scrub. Looks almost like a Savannah. Its pretty in its way, but its only a few places that it has the awe inspiring cinematic beauty. Mostly, its just boring. Now I had found my moment, I was getting tired of it.

And also by the rubbish and shit everywhere. Jaisemer was stunning, but it looks like it is literally under siege from the mountains of plastic waste that people throw out. Its everywhere. Plastic bags, bottles, food packets and wrappers, containers, with various animals poking around in it.

One part of the road I went through, seemed to be the dumping place for footwear. For about a kilometre, each side had hundreds and hundreds of sandals, flip flops and shoes discarded. I have no idea why just there Or why they couldn't be put in a bin. I christened the road to Bikaner the Highway of Lost Soles.

Indian driving has started to get to me as well. It is abysmal and dangerous. No one uses indicators, mirrors or lights. instead people use the horn incessantly.

People undertake and over take without warning. Lane markings are a joke. Its funny for a while, but it is dangerous. I know that most of the drivers do not know any better, but I am getting tired of it.

As the light started to fade I being vocal with my criticism. I knew that I could not be heard over the roar of my bike, or even understood if I was. 'Watch it sunshine, don't you pull out on me'. 'Put yer elfin lights on, put yer elfin lights on'. 'Oi! Matey boy, Indicate'. 'Stop elfin bleeping! I cant move over!'. It helped get it out my system.

When the touts and beggars started to get overwhelming, I had also found myself lecturing them angrily, knowing there was no way that they would understand the words, but perhaps still understand the meaning through the emotions that came through. 'No, I will not give you money. Tourists are not rupee trees'. 'Listen, flagging people down to try and get them to your hotel is dangerous. Don't do it!'. 'If your hotel is so desperate for people to come and stay, I don't want to go there'.

It was not like me to be so negative. I was getting tired. I could feel it. Not just tired from a days driving, but tired deep down, from everything that had happened. Tired of Forts and Deserts and Palaces and being a Tourist. Tired of the battle on the roads. Tired of adventures.

I had done what I needed to do in the desert, I needed to get out.