Traffic on my way to Mysore

This is not my photo- it all happens so fast you barely have time to take a picture! But it's basically what I saw- several times- during the hour drive from Banaglore to Mysore!

This was a 25 hour trip, not including arriving three hours in advance at Pearson Airport (a good thing given the lineup). Fortunately, I slept for probably 60% of it- 14 hour flight from Toronto to Abu Dhabi, three hour layover, four and a half hour flight to Bangalore, and then three hour drive to Mysore.

I highly recommend flying Eithad. The food was amazing, great movie line up. I was also impressed by how old school their staff was- their manners, dress, and overall style was just so polite without coming across as subservient. And the food was great. Still, I did have to grab some food at the Abu Dhabi airport- $37 USD for a Pellegrino and biryani rice! Could you believe that? I realized later that the other travelers knew about that racket as I was the only one eating airport food. They all pulled out ziplock bags of dried channa and other snacks brought from home. And this was serious snacking. One woman was handing out bowls and plastic cups to serve eight people food stored in the depths of a Good Life Fitness gymbag (the Bally Matrix of Toronto).

But I am thankful I landed safely in Bangalore, my bags all arrived, customs took no time, and my driver was waiting right in front when I stepped outside. And so my adventure began.

SCREAMING DOWN THE ROAD- AND I MEAN ME, NOT THE CAR!

Anyone who has ridden in my car is well aware that I use my horn regularly- at least three timez a day. It is to the point that my horn no longer works correctly; my mechanic said he had never heard of a horn wearing out in a car until he met me. Here I would not only fit right in, but probably be chided for not using my horn enough. The main sound you hear on the roads is the honking of horns. This is because driving in India requires you to use them for your own safety.

People weave in and out of lanes constantly. Traffic lights are basically nonexistent, so you have to just go out when there is space- something that people magically are able to find. Lines on the road also seem to mean nothing- my driver from Mysore drove between a bus and cement truck in a two lane road. He also just drove across lanes that were clearly marked no crossing, while a bus came toward us with no intention of stopping. Motorcycles, rickshaws, bicycles, buses and trucks all jockey for positions on the road, making their own path depending on space availability. After my fifth uncontrolled scream and yelling of “look out” my driver wisely chose to ignore my outbursts the rest of the three hour journey to Mysore. I tried to keep them to a minimum by watching the passing sites out my side windows.

MOTORCYCLE MAYHEM

This first day of road travel has lead me to accept that cannot be a backseat driver here (gasps from Lillian and Brian!). I will make both myself and the person driving me crazy. I cannot get over how cavalier people are when they ride what are potential two wheel death traps. I saw all kinds of madness while drving to Mysore. A school boy dropped his bag, stopped his bike in the middle of the lane, sauntered back to pick it up, and hopped back on his bike- all while trucks and cars whizzed by going at least 40 miles an hour.

But there is also this casual confidence I admire among the riders. It is fairly common to see young children squeezed between two adults on the bike, or sitting up in front of the driver. On one occasion, a girl I would say was six years old appeared to be sleeping as she rested her head on the motorcycle speed dial- they passed us going over 50 miles an hour. I also saw man riding a motorcycle with four children- yes, four, ranging from about 8 to 12 years of age- on the seat behind, with one in front.

Women are riding motorcycles and bikes as often as men. What I love to see are the women in saris as they ride sideways on the back, gripping their purses or casually resting their hands on the drivers’ shoulders. No one grips anyone. This is particularly true among the men- they often ride one or two behind. Their bodies may be touching, but arms are crossed or hung to the sides.

I think it is probably safer here on motorcycles and bikes than in Miami. They are more common than cars so people seem to be aware of them. Also, it appears that people begin riding at young ages; maybe there is a greater sense of confidence due to experience. No one gets angry at each other, nor do they cut each other off the way they do in Miami or Toronto. It’s sort of like a peaceful chaos that everyone accepts and respects.

Despite this, I will not brave riding on a motorcycle or bike while here. I’m even leery of the motor- rickshaws.