Bus Passengers

17 NOVEMBER 1973

Driver (A) GEORGE OUGHTON
Driver (B) LES OUGHTON
       
Assistant: RAJ VERMA

01.    MISS M FINKELSTEIN
02.    MR T PEARSON
03.    MRS M PLAYFORD
04.    MR P PLAYFORD
05.    MRS R HAWES
06.    MR P HAWES
07.    MR P MAY
08.    MISS R MACLAUCHLAN
09.    MISS F MARTINE
10.    MR R POTTER
11.    MISS S SHERLOCK
12.    MISS J JONES
13.    MR T WATKINS
14.    MISS E CEBALLOS
15.    MISS S EDGAR
16.    MR I WHITEHEAD
17.    MR J STAPLEHURST
18.    MR K CREAN
19.    MISS M KENT
20.    MR A KING
21.    MR N BALDWIN
22.    MISS D PATTON
23.    MR W KNAPP
24.    MR B OSBOURNE
25.    MR J SINGER
26.    MISS K HANSON
27.    MR M BIRD
28.    MR K BYRNE
29.    MR H BEATTIE
30.    MR T HARA
31.    MR R HASSON
32.    MR G FRY
33.    MR A AMINTINAT
34.    MR T FULTON
35.    MR R GRIGSON
36.    MR A TRICKER
37.    MR J HARRIS
38.    MR J BROWN
39.    MISS I SPICER
40.    MR R MACLURE
41.    MISS A TOWENSON
42.    MR P BAIKIE
43.    MR M BENTLEY
44.    MRS C DELOUP
45.    MR D DELOUP
46.    MR G COX
47.    MR JOHNSON

Route Map

My Guide to the East

budget-bus-brochure (click for pdf)

Life is a Beach

…The Canadians, plus Sue, who was now sleeping with one of the Canadians, and of course Gabe, who was sleeping even when awake, all camped about fifty yards from our spot on the beach. One could say that we were close neighbours.

The number of bodies meant that we could live cheaply, sharing the cost of food, etc., but it also meant that we could share the load, i.e. the chores, e.g. fetching water from the sunken well, lighting fires and gathering wood for the fire, shopping, feeding and caring for Gabe, who was now well and truly helpless, etc.

Both camps were easily visible from one another, but the fact, that they were separate was merely a convenience, as most of our time was spent at the Canadian camp. Matthew was also a nearby neighbour, but he preferred to enjoy a modicum of independence. by this time Gabe’s servant had run off, stealing all he could in the process, (what a surprise?) and leaving us to care for Gabe.

Other ex-bus people were scattered nearer the town end of the beach, e.g. the Clacton gang, Mike who was always borrowing, (but never paying back) and his young girlfriend,  who was quite friendly with Wes, and began at Colva by living near Wes, but soon he moved into our neighbourhood.

My initial impressions of this part of the world, led me to question my sanity, for indeed here was a paradise right on earth. The struggle to get here after all those weeks was well rewarded. All the problems we had had, all the difficulties slipped with ease from my memory.

The warm Arabian Sea washed onto expansive, empty sandy beaches, that burned into one’s feet, unless one took care and wore shoes or sandals. Coconut-bearing, palm trees towered overhead, the natives were extra-ordinarily friendly towards us, food was almost free, one could survive indefinitely on next to nothing, no hotels, tourists, etc…

Panjim

…We left the boat at Panjim and boarded a bus bound for Margao, where we were to catch a further bus for Colva beach.

This beach, unlike many of the alternative beaches, was almost deserted, that is, except for the Budget bus passengers, who all seemed to converge on this beach, like the swarms of insects that followed us everywhere. Well, I suppose the family that plays together stays together.

As I tagged along with Kevin, we walked along the beach together, far enough to get a safe distance between the others and us helped him to pitch his tent and he kindly allowed me to store my burdensome, rucksack inside. One had to be extremely careful with some of one’s more valuable possessions. I would never part important items, e.g. my passport, student cards and money and I carried them on my person at all times.

I became more suspicious of thieves after speaking to an Irish girl on the boat. She thought she was very smart and buried her passport on the beach, so that no one would be tempted to steal it. Unfortunately, she was on her way home as she had forgotten where she had buried it.
Kevin and I kept the sleeping bags in the tent during the day and brought them out at night, not to sleep in, as the heat, even through the night, was stifling. They were used merely to sleep on top of, to keep us out of the path of hungry insects or whatever. This was a long way from sleeping out in Vondelpark, Amsterdam and getting soaked to the skin as a result. Now one could predict the weather with great accuracy each day and always be absolutely correct….

Colva Beach

…I woke up with the sunrise, a practice I was beginning to master at this stage, and spoke to Gabe, who, by this time, was way out on a limb. (he had been working at his craft since leaving Dover, all those weeks before. Gabe had hired an Indian servant, who was doing all his fetching and carrying, and, in addition, was obviously ripping Gabe off, right, left and centre. Gabe, naturally, was unaware of these discrepancies and believed his servant was obtaining the best deals around and he was keeping his master and his habit alive and healthy. His naivety must have been solely due to the fog from which he viewed the world. To him it was already a world gone mad. A world he bad left behind a long time ago.

By now I was part of a small cohesive group and relationships began to blossom. I have already mentioned Kevin, who hailed from Hampshire and owned a two-man tent. There was also a brave girl called Sue from Middlesex and three inseparable Canadians, Joe, Ken and Steve. The last member of our little tight-knit community was Matthew, an interesting and quiet American. Along with Gabe, who we kept miraculously alive, we formed a mini-colony on Colva beach, Goa…..

To Goa

…I woke after a disturbed sleep on Saturday 29th December and we set off and hailed a taxi to take us to the harbour, where we would buy a ticket for the boat ride to Panjim.

I was astounded to meet about a dozen other members of the original bus journey with a like mind, all embarking on the same boat. It seems like we never left. However it did mean, that amidst all this chaos at the harbour there were friendly faces that we could talk to. Sometimes there is safety in numbers. Eventually we were successful in our scramble for tickets and we moved on to the next leg of our adventure.

On board ship, early in the morning, the sun was already hot and getting hotter by the minute. Cruising the Arabian Sea definitely does defy description and it was an experience well worth repeating. Suffice to say, that those colourful pleasures of the eye, were enhanced by an Indian band playing non-stop all the way to Panjim and the passengers joined in singing and dancing. Everyone was as high as kites,  some without the aid of drink or drugs. Perhaps it was the sun, the heat, etc. who knows? I think it was just Mother India at her finest.

The day was not without incident unfortunately, as I recollect having an argument with some exceedingly irate Sikhs on the possible value of alcohol as a social instrument. Late at night or early in the morning, who cares? exhausted from a very full and delightful day, I dozed off again, under the stars, with the gentle undulating motion of the ship, rocking me to sleep….

Bombay

…As the train rolled on into the night, I fell asleep, and when I awoke feeling refreshed the next day, I immediately noticed a climatic change. Obviously we had travelled a great distance overnight and we were nearing Bombay as the early morning sun brought news of warmer weather. The train arrived in Bombay late at night after 36 hours on the rails, but on our arrival in Bombay we experienced great difficulty in finding an empty hotel. Even the hotel gardens had beds in them for Europeans, at extortionate prices. I failed to see the point in spending the night in a hotel garden and paying for the mere privilege. of sleeping in hotel grounds.

Furthermore, the poorer inhabitants of Bombay were already bedded down for the night as usual on their own private spot on the pavements, under the stars and if they were really affluent they may even possess a blanket. Why then should not follow their example, (when in Rome…) after all it was a scorching night, one could probably not sleep if confined in a hotel. Just to be on the safe side, and due to our innate British distrust of the weather, we headed towards the Gateway of India, that had an enclosed space and it had a solid roof. When we arrived there, we discovered other westerners on a similar mission, in a similar plight. We stretched out next to some very arrogant, noisy Germans, but the intense heat made sleep difficult .I had to crawl out of my sleeping bag to catch a much needed nap…..

Dining

…..The prospect of such a long train journey, did not bother me in the least, especially after five weeks in a bus, I was perhaps a little apprehensive, as I had neglected to bring any food or drink onto the train.

However my initial worries were unfounded and dispersed as hordes of peddlers climbed on board, bringing food, drink, tobacco, newspapers and various other goods at each stop. Chai (or tea) was handed through the wooden slats, that served as windows at each stop and even when the train was still a few yards from stations. These containers for the tea were beautiful, hand-made clay cups and I bought this delicious sweetened tea for a mere pittance. I kept my cup expecting the seller to return for the vessel any second as the train would be leaving the station soon. The clay pots were surprisingly regarded as worthless and perishable, thus when he did not come back, I just followed the example of my fellow passengers and threw the container onto the rails as we left the station, shattering one man’s fine handiwork into a million tiny fragments, something to baffle future generations of Indian archaeologists on both sides of the rails in railway stations, one would become aware of the remnants of many smashed clay pots and one wondered at the millions of very satisfied customers.

Lunch was often served on a silver tray (no expense spared) and consisted mostly of dhal (i.e. lentil curry with the consistency of runny lentil soup), chapattis and liquid but delicious natural yoghurt. Snacks were also brought on board the train at each stop, some of these were samosas (envelopes of pastry with curried potato and vegetable filling) or beans or a variety of peas, either served on leaf plates (i.e. leaves) or else wrapped in old newspapers….

Indian Trains

….I was a bit better organised at this stage, and as I could not afford to have any of my precious rupees taken, so I carried all of my rupees on my person in a small shoulder bag. As we filed into line to be searched, (this would be a very thorough search, impossible to get through), I managed to choose my moment, split-second timing was required, and escaped unnoticed into the bureau d’exchange and cashed a five-dollar travellers cheque. I got a ridiculously low official rate for my five dollars, but I dragged the actual exchange out as long as possible, as it was crucial to my master plan.

After this process, I spotted that the passengers, who had already been searched, were standing outside the bus, so I walked over to join them, shaking like a leaf, but luckily I remained unobserved. I was shivering in my shoes even though the climate was markedly warmer. I had made it. I had succeeded over this last difficult hurdle.

I was in India after all these trials and tribulations.
To begin with all the engines were steam-driven, this was a pleasure in itself, but in addition, many of these train used to run on British rails. Further confusion arises because of the various types of gauges used in India. The Indians also have a different conceptualisation of when a train is full. In Britain we usually mean, when all the seats available are full and there are a few safe, standing passengers, whereas in Indian terms, such a trainload would be regarded as almost empty. Of course this meant that there were hundreds of people riding on the roof and hanging out of the windows and doors.

There were also a wide variety of classes for travel on Indian railways, e.g. air-conditioned, first-class, second-class, third class and then the rest. During the journey, many pilgrims and others hop on and off as the train slows down near station. In fact one feels that the drivers deliberately slow down or stop just before the train enters a station, merely to let these non- paying guests get on or off. These people did not buy a ticket, nor did they have any money for tickets, nor were they expected to buy a ticket, they just climbed up on the roof or into the portion of the carriage used to carry cattle and other livestock.

As we were westerners and thus regarded as wealthy, we were expected to buy tickets and when we requested third class tickets, we were looked on with astonishment. Even the first-class Indian passengers could not believe that we would travel at less than first-class….