MAY 12: TO DIRANG
Nechipu Pass is 5000 feet above sea level. The road climbs towards thick grey cloud. Creepers cascade from the swaying giants of the forest, clumps of orchid on a bough, bromiads. Great leaves drip and droop from beneath the trees. Bananas compete with tree ferns, black rip of a land slide. The road is mostly tar with potholes, rough dirt on some hairpins, but OK, manageable – and the thick rich warm scent of the cloud forest welcomes. I feel good. Continuing was the right decision. A small notice on the right side of the road advertises tea with a cup and arrow. I am traveling at less than ten KPH. And I am tired. No excuse for grabbing the hand brake. The front wheel stops dead. Over I fall. I have only the one bag and can lift the bike. Freewheel down hill to restart and punish myself with no tea. Clouds close in. Visibility 30 feet. The road is narrow two-lane. No safety parapet. Trucks loom out of the fog. I crawl for an hour, stop for tea at a shack with a jeep and two trucks parked outside. The drivers crouch over a stove in the kitchen. One driver speaks a little English. “No good,” he says of the visibility.
“No good,” I agree.
“Road no good,” he continues.
“Road no good,” I agree.
“Road bad,” he says.
“Road bad,” I repeat.
“Road very bad.”
“Very bad, yes...”
“Where you come?”
“England.”
“How old?”
“Seventy seven.”
“Seventy seven...” In surprise, “Very old.” Then, “Too old,” he says.
Not encouraging...
Friday, May 14, 2010
SEPTUAGENARIAN TEENAGER
MAY 12: THE ROAD TO DIRANG
A Hornbill sounds reveille at the Eco Camp. Hornbills whistle sweetly. The whistle ends with a deep and very loud honk. Think rubber valve water-pump. A Woodpecker is next to wake and goes on and on. The only Indian cookoo is surprisingly gentle in his call. Perhaps he has a hangover. I feel fine.
Noel and I have been invited to early breakfast by the Sikh Commander at the tented army camp. The Commander has been operational all night and hasn't had time to change. I depart with a warning that the road is bad. Bad is a ludicrous understatement. Two hours to cover the first ten Ks is good progress through a mess of slush, mud and boulders. Two locals ahead of me take falls – mud from head to foot. My survival is luck – and following outriders. I know through most of those two hours that I should turn back. Turning back makes for a poor last Hurrah. So on I go. Yes, I am aware that I am repeating the idiocy that earned me a smashed ankle in Tierra del Fuego. However I remain what I was then: the only septuagenarian teenager.
RED NECK BIKERDOM
MAY 11: ECO CAMP
Four chilled Fosters and what did Noel and I discuss? Most of it is private or sensitive. The source requires camouflage – a lesson learned on my trip North through Central America. Be wary of what you put on the Web. I had insulted the outer reaches of Red Neck Bikerdom in reporting the beliefs and opinions of Hispanic Americans viz a v the US. Spot him, went out the message, smash him off the road. Ouch...!
Four chilled Fosters and what did Noel and I discuss? Most of it is private or sensitive. The source requires camouflage – a lesson learned on my trip North through Central America. Be wary of what you put on the Web. I had insulted the outer reaches of Red Neck Bikerdom in reporting the beliefs and opinions of Hispanic Americans viz a v the US. Spot him, went out the message, smash him off the road. Ouch...!
DRINKING CHILLED FOSTERS
MAY 11: ECO CAMP
Drinking chilled Fosters in Noel's one-bed thatch-roof bungalow is immensely pleasurable. Noel was one of a gang of bright kids from St Edmunds who made it to Delhi, India's premier University. Now he reads omnivorously. A friend from Delhi days, a leading literary critic, passes on books sent to him for review. Books pack shelves, form piles on every table, overflow into unlikely corners. Add sculpture, paintings, even a David Bailey portrait of Noel's sister, and the sitting room should feel overcrowded. It doesn't. It feels comfortable. And it is a reminder of my early 20s in Kenya and visiting British District Commissioners in the Northern Frontier District or the hills, men who are routinely mocked today as buffoons or twits but ruled over vast areas not by force but through wisdom and a desire to benefit the people. They were cultured men with First Class Honours degrees from good Universities in a day when a First was hard to come by and demanded original thought. Above all, they were incorruptible and believed a career of service was more rewarding than accruing wealth. So there I am, revealed in my true colours: an old fashioned Brit Blimp! The Colonel in Rajen Bali would be proud of me. So would the writer...
Drinking chilled Fosters in Noel's one-bed thatch-roof bungalow is immensely pleasurable. Noel was one of a gang of bright kids from St Edmunds who made it to Delhi, India's premier University. Now he reads omnivorously. A friend from Delhi days, a leading literary critic, passes on books sent to him for review. Books pack shelves, form piles on every table, overflow into unlikely corners. Add sculpture, paintings, even a David Bailey portrait of Noel's sister, and the sitting room should feel overcrowded. It doesn't. It feels comfortable. And it is a reminder of my early 20s in Kenya and visiting British District Commissioners in the Northern Frontier District or the hills, men who are routinely mocked today as buffoons or twits but ruled over vast areas not by force but through wisdom and a desire to benefit the people. They were cultured men with First Class Honours degrees from good Universities in a day when a First was hard to come by and demanded original thought. Above all, they were incorruptible and believed a career of service was more rewarding than accruing wealth. So there I am, revealed in my true colours: an old fashioned Brit Blimp! The Colonel in Rajen Bali would be proud of me. So would the writer...
ONE OF THE GOOD ONES
MAY 11: ECO CAMP
Noel sits on a bamboo bench on the central lawn in company with an Sikh army officer dressed in shorts, sandals and a T-shirt. The Indian Army in the North East States is in two parts. The main Army guards India's frontiers against possible Chinese incursions. Other units specialise in counter-insurgency. Of the latter, the good ones do much of the crime-fighting that the police can't or won't do. Illegal logging, brigandage, etc. This Sikh from the Punjab is one of the good ones. He is a big burly bruiser of a man, soft spoken, newly married, angered by Civil Administration's incompetency in law enforcement.
MAY 11: ECO CAMP
Noel sits on a bamboo bench on the central lawn in company with an Sikh army officer dressed in shorts, sandels and a T-shirt. The Indian Army in the North East States is in two parts. The main Army guards India's frontiers against possible Chinese incursions. Other units specialise in counter-insurgency. Of the latter, the good ones do much of the crime-fighting that the police can't or won't do. Illegal logging, brigandage, etc. This Sikh from the Punjab is one of the good ones. He is a big burly bruiser of a man, soft spoken, newly married, angered by Civil Administration's incompetency in law enforcement.
TEA GARDEN ENGLISH
MAY 11: ECO CAMP
The camp lies a few Ks down a dirt track through forest. I don't see animals. I do pass elephant dung. The camp is a circle of large tents under thatch. Each tent has a bathroom at the rear. The bathrooms are tile and have geysers. The manager is Noel to his family and school friends, Ronnie to everyone else. He is tall, slim, grey haired, was educated (along with most every other male I meet in the North East States) by Irish Christian Brothers at St. Edmunds, Shillong, and speaks Tea Garden English. Tea Garden English is English Public School with a 1940s vocabulary and a slight Indian accent. Tea Garden society was hard work and the Club (tennis, billiards, dances, decorous flirtations). Terrorism did for the Club - Assamese Nationalists building personal fortunes from kidnapping. Noel opted out. He remains out. Way out – though with contacts world wide.
The camp lies a few Ks down a dirt track through forest. I don't see animals. I do pass elephant dung. The camp is a circle of large tents under thatch. Each tent has a bathroom at the rear. The bathrooms are tile and have geysers. The manager is Noel to his family and school friends, Ronnie to everyone else. He is tall, slim, grey haired, was educated (along with most every other male I meet in the North East States) by Irish Christian Brothers at St. Edmunds, Shillong, and speaks Tea Garden English. Tea Garden English is English Public School with a 1940s vocabulary and a slight Indian accent. Tea Garden society was hard work and the Club (tennis, billiards, dances, decorous flirtations). Terrorism did for the Club - Assamese Nationalists building personal fortunes from kidnapping. Noel opted out. He remains out. Way out – though with contacts world wide.
DUMB DOLT
MAY 11: GUWAHATI
I admit to Baby at breakfast that I am a dossa addict. So is Baby. A restaurant on the next street serves great dossas – though not for breakfast. We will lunch there on my return from Arunachal. Baby also promises pork with bamboo shoots and Naga chilies. Naga chilies are rated the hottest in the world. Yum...
I am traveling light, one back pack. The rest stays under the bed. Having a base makes life so much easier.
“Remember the turn at Balipara,” warns Baby of my route to the Eco Camp.
I miss it. Yes, I check with locals for Nameri. Locals have little interest in Game Sanctuaries. They do know of the Nameri Tea Plantation which is why I find myself 35 kilometers down the wrong road. Dumb? Yes, of course.
Worse is to return to Balipara and stop at the cross roads to consult the road atlas. “You are going to Eco Camp?” asks a young man – where he works and will report my stupidity. This, in turn, will reach Baby's ears. I imagine the conversation. “How you can be so silly? And after I was warning you.”
Ah, well...
I admit to Baby at breakfast that I am a dossa addict. So is Baby. A restaurant on the next street serves great dossas – though not for breakfast. We will lunch there on my return from Arunachal. Baby also promises pork with bamboo shoots and Naga chilies. Naga chilies are rated the hottest in the world. Yum...
I am traveling light, one back pack. The rest stays under the bed. Having a base makes life so much easier.
“Remember the turn at Balipara,” warns Baby of my route to the Eco Camp.
I miss it. Yes, I check with locals for Nameri. Locals have little interest in Game Sanctuaries. They do know of the Nameri Tea Plantation which is why I find myself 35 kilometers down the wrong road. Dumb? Yes, of course.
Worse is to return to Balipara and stop at the cross roads to consult the road atlas. “You are going to Eco Camp?” asks a young man – where he works and will report my stupidity. This, in turn, will reach Baby's ears. I imagine the conversation. “How you can be so silly? And after I was warning you.”
Ah, well...
DUMB DOLT
MAY 11: GUWAHATI
I admit to Baby at breakfast that I am a dossa addict. So is Baby. A restaurant on the next street serves great dossas – though not for breakfast. We will lunch there on my return from Arunachal. Baby also promises pork with bamboo shoots and Naga chilies. Naga chilies are rated the hottest in the world. Yum...
I am traveling light, one back pack. The rest stays under the bed. Having a base makes life so much easier.
“Remember the turn at Balipara,” warns Baby of my route to the Eco Camp.
I miss it. Yes, I check with locals for Nameri. Locals have little interest in Game Sanctuaries. They do know of the Nameri Tea Plantation which is why I find myself 35 kilometers down the wrong road. Dumb? Yes, of course.
Worse is to return to Balipara and stop at the cross roads to consult the road atlas. “You are going to Eco Camp?” asks a young man – where he works and will report my stupidity. This, in turn, will reach Baby's ears. I imagine the conversation. “How you can be so silly? And after I was warning you.”
Ah, well...
I admit to Baby at breakfast that I am a dossa addict. So is Baby. A restaurant on the next street serves great dossas – though not for breakfast. We will lunch there on my return from Arunachal. Baby also promises pork with bamboo shoots and Naga chilies. Naga chilies are rated the hottest in the world. Yum...
I am traveling light, one back pack. The rest stays under the bed. Having a base makes life so much easier.
“Remember the turn at Balipara,” warns Baby of my route to the Eco Camp.
I miss it. Yes, I check with locals for Nameri. Locals have little interest in Game Sanctuaries. They do know of the Nameri Tea Plantation which is why I find myself 35 kilometers down the wrong road. Dumb? Yes, of course.
Worse is to return to Balipara and stop at the cross roads to consult the road atlas. “You are going to Eco Camp?” asks a young man – where he works and will report my stupidity. This, in turn, will reach Baby's ears. I imagine the conversation. “How you can be so silly? And after I was warning you.”
Ah, well...
PERMITS, PERMITS, PERMITS
PERMITS, PERMITS, PERMITS
The Permit for Arunachal was promised for Monday. I get it mid-afternoon Tuesday, too late to leave. The Permit is for 21 days and lists where I may visit. Today is the 10th. I must return to Guwahati on the evening of the 17th. Six days. My aim is to climb the Sela Pass to Tawang as a last Hurah. Sella is 13,700 feet. The itinary:
11th. Eco Camp in the Nameri Game Sanctuary
12th. Dirang
13th. Sella Pass and Tawang
14th. Recover
15tth. Return over the pass to Bomdila
16th. Eco Camp
17th. Guwahati
The Permit for Arunachal was promised for Monday. I get it mid-afternoon Tuesday, too late to leave. The Permit is for 21 days and lists where I may visit. Today is the 10th. I must return to Guwahati on the evening of the 17th. Six days. My aim is to climb the Sela Pass to Tawang as a last Hurah. Sella is 13,700 feet. The itinary:
11th. Eco Camp in the Nameri Game Sanctuary
12th. Dirang
13th. Sella Pass and Tawang
14th. Recover
15tth. Return over the pass to Bomdila
16th. Eco Camp
17th. Guwahati
PERMITS, PERMITS, PERMITS
PERMITS, PERMITS, PERMITS
The Permit for Arunachal was promised for Monday. I get it mid-afternoon Tuesday, too late to leave. The Permit is for 21 days and lists where I may visit. Today is the 10th. I must return to Guwahati on the evening of the 17th. Six days. My aim is to climb the Sela Pass to Tawang as a last Hurah. Sella is 13,700 feet. The itinary:
11th. Eco Camp in the Nameri Game Sanctuary
12th. Dirang
13th. Sella Pass and Tawang
14th. Recover
15tth. Return over the pass to Bomdila
16th. Eco Camp
17th. Guwahati
The Permit for Arunachal was promised for Monday. I get it mid-afternoon Tuesday, too late to leave. The Permit is for 21 days and lists where I may visit. Today is the 10th. I must return to Guwahati on the evening of the 17th. Six days. My aim is to climb the Sela Pass to Tawang as a last Hurah. Sella is 13,700 feet. The itinary:
11th. Eco Camp in the Nameri Game Sanctuary
12th. Dirang
13th. Sella Pass and Tawang
14th. Recover
15tth. Return over the pass to Bomdila
16th. Eco Camp
17th. Guwahati
A LAST HURAH
TO ARUNACHAL PRADESH.
Baby Baruah is the Wild Grass owner's younger sister, hence being named Baby by her parents – a fun name when a child but embarassing for a school teacher in her fifties. Baby is widowed. Her home is a bungalow in the Baruah family compound in Guwahati. I stayed there between Wild Grass and Shillong and am back there for two nights while waiting for my permit to visit Arunachal Pradesh. Baby tutors primary school children after school. I fight India's Internet. The problems are standard. Either the server is down or, when it works, a power cut hits mid-way through up-loading. Sending pics for a piece to go in a MCN travel issue took two days of frustration. A piece I sent BA got lost in the ether. Add that cyber cafe cubicles are cramped and sweaty and a hunting ground for mosquitoes, yes...
When not in a cyber cafe, I watch BBC election news and, in the late evening, 20/20 cricket. In cricket England is performing brilliantly. I am a Liberal Democrat. My Party increased its vote. Baby spoils me. All in all, I am a fortunate old sod – apart from the Internet.
Baby Baruah is the Wild Grass owner's younger sister, hence being named Baby by her parents – a fun name when a child but embarassing for a school teacher in her fifties. Baby is widowed. Her home is a bungalow in the Baruah family compound in Guwahati. I stayed there between Wild Grass and Shillong and am back there for two nights while waiting for my permit to visit Arunachal Pradesh. Baby tutors primary school children after school. I fight India's Internet. The problems are standard. Either the server is down or, when it works, a power cut hits mid-way through up-loading. Sending pics for a piece to go in a MCN travel issue took two days of frustration. A piece I sent BA got lost in the ether. Add that cyber cafe cubicles are cramped and sweaty and a hunting ground for mosquitoes, yes...
When not in a cyber cafe, I watch BBC election news and, in the late evening, 20/20 cricket. In cricket England is performing brilliantly. I am a Liberal Democrat. My Party increased its vote. Baby spoils me. All in all, I am a fortunate old sod – apart from the Internet.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
SURVIVAL OF THE UNFIT
We did it. Not me, but Ashok, President of Shillong's Vintage Car Association. We drove out yesterday to a picnic spot in the hills above Shillong. We is Ashock, his wife Rula, and me in Ashok's classic WW 11 jeep accompanied by more than a dozen member's of Shillong's Royal Enfield Riders Club. A dozen Bullets produce an impressive rumble.
What did we do? What such people do in Iran or Texas or Argentina, Pakistan, France or Russia - or back home at the Horizons Unlimited June meet. We drank cold beer and whiskey (not mixed), ate what was easy to cook over an open fire, told tall tales of rides done and planned and sang to a guitar. The quality of the singing varies. Not much else!
Thanks guys for a great day.
And my thanks to Ashok and Rula for warm wonderful hospitality. A good many years have passed since I last danced with a billiard cue to Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters.
I am back in Guwahati today and ride north tomorrow into the mountains. A final week in the saddle...
What did we do? What such people do in Iran or Texas or Argentina, Pakistan, France or Russia - or back home at the Horizons Unlimited June meet. We drank cold beer and whiskey (not mixed), ate what was easy to cook over an open fire, told tall tales of rides done and planned and sang to a guitar. The quality of the singing varies. Not much else!
Thanks guys for a great day.
And my thanks to Ashok and Rula for warm wonderful hospitality. A good many years have passed since I last danced with a billiard cue to Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters.
I am back in Guwahati today and ride north tomorrow into the mountains. A final week in the saddle...
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