Chennai

Now to the next major stop, Chennai. We're hungover but still smiling and now lugging our ridiculously oversized bags towards the closest tuktuk, after a quick stop off at the nearby corner shop for snacks, water and fruit. A moments haggling with our driver and we're on our way to what we hoped was the location the coach would be stopping at, Kadamba Bus Station - Canacona.

We arrived and immediately India style confusion kicks in. Our driver reliably informs us with complete certainty that we might possibly be in the right place. Or it could be 10 minutes down the road. But it could not be. Although it might. Nobody really knows, but everyone seemed to have an opinion, and that was that we should be further down the road as there were more white people waiting there than where we were. People even took time out of their day to turn around and tell us they were certain we shouldn't be here, which would be extremely helpful had we not been pretty sure our instructions for where to wait were correct.

To clarify, I called the coach company, who reliably informed us they had a coach and it will come by the vague area. They did however confirm my seat numbers with just my first name, which was fairly reassuring they had us registered at least. We were no clearer on the situation, so walked down to where we were being pointed to. Turned out, everyone here was headed to Hampi, and looked like they were waiting just as long as we had been. Not wanting to miss the coach, we headed back to what we believed to be the correct spot.

Fortunately, earlier in the day we got a text with details on how to track the coach, which was a godsend as, by typical Indian standards, the coach was an hour late. Had we not been able to see it was still 70km away, we would have assumed we had missed it.

10 minutes away and I stand in the road with hopes of flagging it down should the coach be intending to stop further down the road. Luckily, no need, against all odds and advice, the coach arrived exactly where we had hoped. We launch our bags into the luggage compartment and climb aboard. By now it's 10pm, people are already asleep and being that the coach is a 'semi sleeper', all the seats apart from ours were in a mostly reclined position. Great for those already seated and enjoying their comfortable sleepy slalom around the Indian roads, but not so great for us with our smaller backpacks trying to navigate ourselves through a tiny crevice between our seats and the ones in front, like an episode of 'Hole in the Wall'.

We manage to negotiate the area, vaguely stow our bags in whatever gaps we could find, and look around our temporary home for the next 18 hours. Seats, seats, seats, seats... Uh... Toilet? Nope. Plug socket? Initially no sign of it, but a little digging produced a plug point providing no power. What with that and the fact the vehicle isn't on nice smooth rails, but windy Indian roads littered with cyclists, slow trucks and cows, this was far from the glorious luxury of the third class sleeper trains.

It turned out there were a lot more stops on the way than we expected, as the coach also traveled to Bangalore. Unfortunately for a slightly panicked Diana, most of these weren't toilet stops. The first one was around an hour after we boarded, so not too bad but a level of uncertainty which would have been nice to avoid.

Then began the fun of trying to get some sleep. This is not a simple task in a slightly reclined seat anyway, but we also had to contend with erratic Indian driving, and my poor foresight to not bring my travel pillow in with my small bag. A few winks were had, nowhere near the recommended forty, but a solid ten perhaps, rudely interrupted by the admittedly relieving toilet break. This was simply the Indian equivalent of a truck stop, a basic cafe and toilets around the back, and we actually got here around 12am, so a perfect Indian hour as expected.

Managing to get a little more sleep, it was soon daylight and we were nearing Bangalore. Although we had no plan to get out here, it turned out we had little choice as they decided we needed to swap to another coach. Praying this was actually going to Chennai, we grab all our belongings and regain our relevant seats on the new coach. This one had less seats, but was an out right upgrade as we now had working plug points, so could actually get some form of entertainment going.

The rest of the journey, apart from the cramp and numbness, was mostly uneventful. Bangalore took about an hour to actually leave due to rush hour traffic, but once we hit the open road it was smooth sailing all the way to our destination.

When close I started working out where we needed to go. First stop, cash. We had spent most of what we had withdrawn and so needed to replenish at the closest ATM, which I could see was just up the end of a nearby road on the map. We needed at least 25k rs for the next place also, so wanted to withdraw as much as we could.

We leave coach and immediately a tuktuk driver approached us. We explain we are going to walk to the nearest ATM up the road, to which he laughs and points to the ATM not 5 steps behind us. The first convenient thing to happen to us so far. We withdraw 10k each, the maximum for one withdrawal, and attempt to withdraw again only to be declined. Okay, we figured that's because we already did 10k on this machine, no problem. We return to our new tuktuk driving friend and request he take us to the cheapest guest house close to the bus station. On a meter too, a real luxury.

He took us to a place literally a 10 minute walk from where we need to be in the morning, we go in and check the price, more than we wanted to pay but very convenient. We ask him if there is anywhere cheaper, and off we head down back streets and past what looked like good little guest houses, ending at one little place that barely looked like accommodation. Cheaper, but no rooms, so that's out. He takes us to one last place, same price as the first but much further away, so we ask to go back to the first and check in. Basic room, had a tv but it didn't work, had a.c. but didn't work, and strangely had a double and single bed in it. But it sufficed. We head out with four missions in mind. 

1. Chai.
2. Check the bus for tomorrow.
3. ATM.
4. Food.

Lovely view of the highway from our rooms balcony

We head up toward the bus station. An ATM is on the way, we stop off but it accepts neither of our cards. Not a bank we recognized anyway so we carry on, and cross the highway, a fun real life game of frogger to warm us back into city life. As we enter the bus station, it seems there are plenty of restaurants and a place to go to sleep? but no ticket counter. We walk up the station and spot three guys sat at a desk labeled information. Worth a shot.

The guys tried their best to be useful, but it turned into a huge debate. Unfortunately, our instructions were quite specific. We need to get the coach towards Pondicherry. The express bus. Taking the highway, not the east coast road. Fine, if English was widely spoken. About 6 guys came over trying to establish what the hell we wanted. Some people pointed left, some pointed right. They shouted among each other for a while and eventually they conclude the bus should be at the platform were on. At any time we fancied apparently. 5, 6, 7, is okay.

We agree between ourselves to try and get back here for 5 am. Gulp. On the way out we spot another ATM, state bank of India, which I was certain should work. It didn't. This raised some concerns.

We progress back towards our hotel and beyond, searching down more cash points. We tried atleast 5, none worked, this seemed like we weren't going to succeed. Thinking it may just be we withdrew the maximum (although we've taken out 20k each in a day before, so this didn't seem likely) we continue to look for food. Found what seemed to be an Indian version of a take out chicken place, and enjoyed Diana's last meat based meal for a while. On the way back to the hotel we found a chai shop just next door and enjoy it on the side of the road before retiring to bed (and finding out my tablet broke, unfortunately).

5 am arrives, we head to the bus station and ask a guy on the 'platform' if we were still in the right place. The bus said Pondicherry. It said express. It didn't say ECR. Seemed good. We got on, some confusion as to when we get a ticket but figured we could work that out once we were on the way, and proceeded to get on. The bus was practically empty, and blaring out a Tamil radio station to prevent an odd silence.

The bus progresses from the station. We were unable to get our bags into the overhead storage due to their size, and figured it would be easier to get off if they're on the seat next to us. The bus pulls up further along the road to it's first stop. A couple of people get on, one of whom brought an entire fruit market along with him, getting on and off the bus producing box after box after sack of various fruits and vegetables. The bus driver was in no mood to wait for this sort of game, so carried on down the road whilst the man was running along still attempting to load up the bus with various plant life. Eventually he appeared to have finished, half the front of the bus was taken up, and he took a seat.

Part of the on-bus-market-stall

At this point, another guy got on, with a small brown satchel and a official looking uniform. Turned out this was the bus conductor, and he made his way around collecting money. In broken English, he pointed at the seat next to us and gestured we'd need to pay for 3 seats if we can't get the bags onto the overhead storage. No real choice, so we pay for 3 seats on our 2.5 hour journey - 275 rs or around £3.

The bus journey was mostly uneventful and I was still shattered from a morning of waking up before 12pm, so I was drifting in and out of sleep anyway, until Diana poked me to make me aware of the following catchy selfie-related tune playing.

The bus stayed mostly empty for the whole journey. That is, up until a couple of stops when we wanted to get off, and all of a sudden a flood of people entered. Tremendous. We got a few glares from people who had to stand looking at our baggage on the seat, all we could do was shrug and say we'd paid for three. Eventually we reached the 'stop' we were after, which was actually a toll gate where the bus had to slow down to pay the toll in a place called Moratandi. We grabbed our bags and in a rush jumped off the bus. Success. Fortunately for us, the greengrocer from earlier was also getting off here, so we had plenty of time.

We took a moment to gather our thoughts and work out our next move. We were headed for a place called Sadhana Forest, a voluntary project we would be spending the next month at. We were informed that we should call them on arrival to the toll gate and people would come to collect us. So we sat down at a very convenient cafe/restaurant where the bus had stopped, ordered 2 chai's and proceeded to call the number. We were told we were in the right place, but the wrong side of the road, so we finished up our tea and crossed the highway.

We were collected with by two guys on mopeds, Rob and John, and we worked out the best way of navigating our huge bags onto the back of the tiniest motorized bikes in the world. Whilst we succeeded, it was hardly the most comfortable journey ever, and the roads are not so much roads as they are dirt paths with pits, gravel, dips and pot holes at every possible point.

But we made it, on to Sadhana forest....