About tuesday of last week I decided that I wanted to take a trip for Easter. I am half way through my internship with ICM, and taking a trip out of Ongole to do a bit of sight seeing sounded like a really good idea. I emailed a friend in Bangalore, bought an overnight bus ticket and was on my way by Thursday evening!
We had a couple of hours to kill before dropping Courtney off to take the ten hour bus ride back to Ongole (the city where she has been volunteering for the past few months).
"Let's try to squeeze in one last adventure!... Let's see if we can fit in a trip to the Fish Spa." I told Courtney and Patrick as we loaded up the car and made our way to Whitefield (the area of town where Courtney would catch the bus). Little did we know that one adventure would turn into two.
After a hilarious session at the fish spa, filled with uncontrollable laughter as fish suction-cupped their little lips to the bottoms of our feet, it came time for us to head to the bus station. Now, as you have probably figured out, things in India take a very long time, therefore, it is important to allow an adequate time-buffer from point A to point B. Seeing that the bus station was only 15 minutes away, we allowed over an hour to make the last leg of our journey and say our farewells and goodbyes to Courtney. As we prepared to leave the Fish Spa, we called our driver to come and pick us up (yes, I know, it sounds crazy to have one's very own driver... but here in India, that is the norm. In fact, driving here is truly a skilled trade). Anyway, I digress...
Patrick called the driver. One ring, two rings, three rings... No answer. A text message: "We are ready. Please come pick us up." ...No response. More phone calls, followed by an equal number of unanswered calls.
"I bet he doesn't have reception in the mall's parking garage." I said. "Let's go see if we can find the car.”
Now mind you, the Fish Spa that we visited was right smack dab in the middle of Whitefield's infamous Phoenix Mall; a mall so big it even has its own rock climbing wall, "snow zone" complete with sledding (yeah, try to figure that one out in Bangalore's 90+ degree heat!), an outdoor concert venue, restaurants, etc. Needless to say, the parking garage for this behemoth of a structure was equally impressive and equally enormous. The odds of us finding the car were slim to none. That said, perhaps it was a small Easter Miracle, but we eventually stumbled upon our small four-door coup.
"I found it!" I yelled, as Patrick and Courtney made their way over to join me at the car.
There was only one problem: No driver. He was absolutely nowhere to be found. The following forty-five minutes was spent strategically covering every main entrance, corner of the parking garage, and major meeting spots at the mall. Still no driver. We were starting to feel a little frantic.
"I'm going to call the driver service company." Said Patrick as he dialed the number on the phone. Soon, the three of us and the Driving Company were all trying to call our driver, however, it was useless as none of our calls would go through.
The tension was rising.
It was 7:45pm, and Courtney was supposed to report to the bus at 8:00pm (it was scheduled to depart at 8:15). We took a look at her backpack filled with all of her weekend necessities that was in the back seat of the car, locked.
“I’m going to break in the window.” Patrick said. I gently reminded him that that probably wasn’t the best idea.
"What should we do?" We asked each other.
After careful deliberation, we decided that if there was any hope of getting Courtney on her overnight bus to Ongole, we would have to abandon ship, take a rickshaw to the bus station, and worry about couriering her the backpack the next day. We sprinted out of the garage and to the street lined with rickshaws just was fast as we could.
"We need to go to KR Puram bus station... FAST!!!" I said to the rickshaw driver. He charged us way too much, but we didn't have time to negotiate. The three of us jumped in the back of the rickshaw and made our way towards the bus station. By this time, it was already after 8 o'clock, and our odds of catching the bus in time were getting slimmer by the minute.
"Ring. Ring. Ring." It was Patrick's cellphone. On the other end of the line was the driver. There was no time to figure out what had gone wrong at the shopping mall. Patrick handed the phone to the rickshaw driver and he told our driver where he was going, and said to come meet us with Courtney's backpack. He then proceeded to hang up the phone, and pull over to the median of one of Bangalore's busiest highways.
"Get out here." He said. Your driver is coming.
"Are you kidding me?" Said Patrick. "No! Please take us to the bus station. We will deal with the bag later."
The driver refused. There was no use in arguing, he clearly wasn't going to take us any further.
There we were, three white kids, at night, standing in the middle of the highway. At last the phone rang again... It was the driving company.
"Your driver is at the petrol station. He just arrived." The dispatch person explained.
We looked around. There it was, and there was his car. However, there was only one problem. The petrol station was on the other side of a six lane highway. In the middle of the highway was a fence dividing the lanes in half. To make matters worse, the top of the fence was sharp, making it impossible to climb.
For anyone who has ever played the game "Frogger," you can probably visualize what it looked like as we crossed the busy highway and made it to the half-way point. We walked along the fence until we found a hole that we were able to squeeze through. Meanwhile, traffic was rushing back and forth on either side of us. At last we made our way to the petrol station and arrived at the car.
Another hiccup: The car was there, but the driver AND the bag were gone.
"You've got to be joking." Said Patrick, looking around frantically for the driver. After another phone call, we established that the driver had picked up the bag and taken off running to meet us back on the other side of the road. We had completely missed each other.
Are you exhausted from this story yet? ... Well, just wait!
At last the driver made it back to the car. He was drenched in sweat, and breathing so hard he literally couldn't speak. He ran to the driver's seat door, jumped in, and we all piled in behind him. The race was on!
As I mentioned earlier, never in my life have I been in a car at this kind of speed. It was complete chaos. We weaved through the traffic, running people off the road, and swerving into every available open space as we made our way through the final 2 kilometers of highway before the bus station. At one point I turned to Courtney and said,
"If I am ever pregnant, in labor, and late to the hospital... I sure hope this guy is around to take me there!"
That said, that was about all I was able to say to Courtney because, quite honestly, I was fairly occupied mentally preparing for whatever kind of car crash we were certain to experience.
By this time it was already about 8:25pm (several minutes after the bus was scheduled to depart). Now, in any other country, we may have just given up and headed home, however, here in Bangalore, one thing is consistent: Things never run on schedule. There was still hope that the bus had a late departure.
"There it is!" We yelled as we approached the make-shift bus station. Sure enough, a line of busses filled the streets. Now to find the correct bus. We scanned the names of all the bus companies written across the back window of each bus.
"THERE!!!!" We shouted. Sure enough, up ahead was the name of Courtney's bus company. We weren't sure if it was the correct bus that was heading to Ongole, but at this point, we had no other choice. There was one problem: The bus had already taken off, and was making its way toward the freeway.
Our driver, a crazed look in his eyes, pressed the gas pedal to the floor. We took off towards the bus as through we were competitors in a NASCAR race. We came along the side of the bus and our driver pushed the horn as far into the steering wheel as it would go, letting out a piercing honking noise to let the bus know we were there. Next he swerved back and forth into the bus, as though he were trying to run the giant vehicle off the road. Finally, he stepped on the gas once more and, honking incessantly, pulled in front of the bus to intentionally cut it off. Meanwhile, the three of us passengers were waving our arms at the bus driver and yelling for him to stop. (Yes, it was quite the scene). At last, the bus driver signaled to the left and began to slow the vehicle.
Our driver stopped the car in the middle of the highway, turned on the emergency flashers, and, with the car still running, we all dove out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the bus. Not yet stopped, the bus slowed to a crawl and opened its doors. The driver through the backpack in with all his might, and Courtney dove in behind it. At no time did the bus ever come to a complete stop.
She was off.
The three of us (Patrick, the driver, and myself) got back into the car, out of breath, and dripping in sweat.
My phone rang. It was Courtney. I will never forget what she said...
"Amy!... That was AWESOMMMEEEE!!!!"
Yes, yes it was. It was an adventure. A totally, crazy, awesome adventure.
Night buses are totally the way to travel in India. They come complete with a bunk for each person, drop down TV's, pillows, blankets and headphones...all for about 20 dollars. A nine hour journey becomes just another night's sleep.
Amy and Patrick moved to Bangalore in January. Patrick works for the same company as my dad and Amy is volunteering as a school councilor at a community, not-for-profit school that brings kids in from the slums and gives them a top notch education. (It's pretty awesome) They are figuring out the in's and out's of ex-pat life and living it up in their first year of marriage abroad!
Having just arrived a few months prior, and having only three days notice, these two were the most gracious and incredible hosts consistently spoiling me for three days straight. From home cooked meals to Bangalore's finest dining, huge city markets to fancy shopping malls, latte's to hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts (yes, you read right..), botanical gardens to fish spas...I left their apartment ready to take on the world (or at least two more months in Ongole!) My stomach was filled with foods I had not seen in months (Lasagna, salad, strawberries, feta cheese, wine, nutula brownies, molten chocolate cake, snicker's bars, good coffee..need I go on?). Seriously, spoiled. Another treat was an wonderful Easter morning worship service at their International church. There are probably more than 25 nationalities represented in the congregation and between the Nigerian girls who sang in French and the Indian hip-hop team that did a drama/dance to the gospel story- I felt like I was literally in heaven, worshiping with the nations.
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| Whole Sale flower Market |
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| Veg Market |
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| Botanical Gardens |
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| Krispy Kreme |
Amy is the most spectacular blogger I've ever come across. Actually her daily posts put my spastic, once-every-few-weeks entries to shame. On my last evening in Bangalore, we had quite the adventure trying to get me to my bus. After reading Amy's description of the event- equally entertaining, detailed, and accurate, I have decided that I had to re-post it here. Her post is featured below..enjoy!
THE DEPARTURE, by Amy Glicker
“Courtney!” I yelled, with white knuckles gripping the interior of the car door. We were zig-zagging in and out of Bangalore’s traffic at a speed I have never, ever driven at (in the States or in India). “How on earth are we ever going to adequately blog about this experience?!” I managed to say as we were tossed around the back seat of the car, swerving, peddle-to-the-metal, laying on the horn, and running people off the road.
Courtney laughed, and thought for a minute. “I know! Just tell them... ‘It all began at a fish spa.’”
And so it did. It all began at a fish spa.
Courtney laughed, and thought for a minute. “I know! Just tell them... ‘It all began at a fish spa.’”
And so it did. It all began at a fish spa.
We had a couple of hours to kill before dropping Courtney off to take the ten hour bus ride back to Ongole (the city where she has been volunteering for the past few months).
"Let's try to squeeze in one last adventure!... Let's see if we can fit in a trip to the Fish Spa." I told Courtney and Patrick as we loaded up the car and made our way to Whitefield (the area of town where Courtney would catch the bus). Little did we know that one adventure would turn into two.
After a hilarious session at the fish spa, filled with uncontrollable laughter as fish suction-cupped their little lips to the bottoms of our feet, it came time for us to head to the bus station. Now, as you have probably figured out, things in India take a very long time, therefore, it is important to allow an adequate time-buffer from point A to point B. Seeing that the bus station was only 15 minutes away, we allowed over an hour to make the last leg of our journey and say our farewells and goodbyes to Courtney. As we prepared to leave the Fish Spa, we called our driver to come and pick us up (yes, I know, it sounds crazy to have one's very own driver... but here in India, that is the norm. In fact, driving here is truly a skilled trade). Anyway, I digress...
Patrick called the driver. One ring, two rings, three rings... No answer. A text message: "We are ready. Please come pick us up." ...No response. More phone calls, followed by an equal number of unanswered calls.
"I bet he doesn't have reception in the mall's parking garage." I said. "Let's go see if we can find the car.”
Now mind you, the Fish Spa that we visited was right smack dab in the middle of Whitefield's infamous Phoenix Mall; a mall so big it even has its own rock climbing wall, "snow zone" complete with sledding (yeah, try to figure that one out in Bangalore's 90+ degree heat!), an outdoor concert venue, restaurants, etc. Needless to say, the parking garage for this behemoth of a structure was equally impressive and equally enormous. The odds of us finding the car were slim to none. That said, perhaps it was a small Easter Miracle, but we eventually stumbled upon our small four-door coup.
"I found it!" I yelled, as Patrick and Courtney made their way over to join me at the car.
There was only one problem: No driver. He was absolutely nowhere to be found. The following forty-five minutes was spent strategically covering every main entrance, corner of the parking garage, and major meeting spots at the mall. Still no driver. We were starting to feel a little frantic.
"I'm going to call the driver service company." Said Patrick as he dialed the number on the phone. Soon, the three of us and the Driving Company were all trying to call our driver, however, it was useless as none of our calls would go through.
The tension was rising.
It was 7:45pm, and Courtney was supposed to report to the bus at 8:00pm (it was scheduled to depart at 8:15). We took a look at her backpack filled with all of her weekend necessities that was in the back seat of the car, locked.
“I’m going to break in the window.” Patrick said. I gently reminded him that that probably wasn’t the best idea.
"What should we do?" We asked each other.
After careful deliberation, we decided that if there was any hope of getting Courtney on her overnight bus to Ongole, we would have to abandon ship, take a rickshaw to the bus station, and worry about couriering her the backpack the next day. We sprinted out of the garage and to the street lined with rickshaws just was fast as we could.
"We need to go to KR Puram bus station... FAST!!!" I said to the rickshaw driver. He charged us way too much, but we didn't have time to negotiate. The three of us jumped in the back of the rickshaw and made our way towards the bus station. By this time, it was already after 8 o'clock, and our odds of catching the bus in time were getting slimmer by the minute.
"Ring. Ring. Ring." It was Patrick's cellphone. On the other end of the line was the driver. There was no time to figure out what had gone wrong at the shopping mall. Patrick handed the phone to the rickshaw driver and he told our driver where he was going, and said to come meet us with Courtney's backpack. He then proceeded to hang up the phone, and pull over to the median of one of Bangalore's busiest highways.
"Get out here." He said. Your driver is coming.
"Are you kidding me?" Said Patrick. "No! Please take us to the bus station. We will deal with the bag later."
The driver refused. There was no use in arguing, he clearly wasn't going to take us any further.
There we were, three white kids, at night, standing in the middle of the highway. At last the phone rang again... It was the driving company.
"Your driver is at the petrol station. He just arrived." The dispatch person explained.
We looked around. There it was, and there was his car. However, there was only one problem. The petrol station was on the other side of a six lane highway. In the middle of the highway was a fence dividing the lanes in half. To make matters worse, the top of the fence was sharp, making it impossible to climb.
For anyone who has ever played the game "Frogger," you can probably visualize what it looked like as we crossed the busy highway and made it to the half-way point. We walked along the fence until we found a hole that we were able to squeeze through. Meanwhile, traffic was rushing back and forth on either side of us. At last we made our way to the petrol station and arrived at the car.
Another hiccup: The car was there, but the driver AND the bag were gone.
"You've got to be joking." Said Patrick, looking around frantically for the driver. After another phone call, we established that the driver had picked up the bag and taken off running to meet us back on the other side of the road. We had completely missed each other.
Are you exhausted from this story yet? ... Well, just wait!
At last the driver made it back to the car. He was drenched in sweat, and breathing so hard he literally couldn't speak. He ran to the driver's seat door, jumped in, and we all piled in behind him. The race was on!
As I mentioned earlier, never in my life have I been in a car at this kind of speed. It was complete chaos. We weaved through the traffic, running people off the road, and swerving into every available open space as we made our way through the final 2 kilometers of highway before the bus station. At one point I turned to Courtney and said,
"If I am ever pregnant, in labor, and late to the hospital... I sure hope this guy is around to take me there!"
That said, that was about all I was able to say to Courtney because, quite honestly, I was fairly occupied mentally preparing for whatever kind of car crash we were certain to experience.
By this time it was already about 8:25pm (several minutes after the bus was scheduled to depart). Now, in any other country, we may have just given up and headed home, however, here in Bangalore, one thing is consistent: Things never run on schedule. There was still hope that the bus had a late departure.
"There it is!" We yelled as we approached the make-shift bus station. Sure enough, a line of busses filled the streets. Now to find the correct bus. We scanned the names of all the bus companies written across the back window of each bus.
"THERE!!!!" We shouted. Sure enough, up ahead was the name of Courtney's bus company. We weren't sure if it was the correct bus that was heading to Ongole, but at this point, we had no other choice. There was one problem: The bus had already taken off, and was making its way toward the freeway.
Our driver, a crazed look in his eyes, pressed the gas pedal to the floor. We took off towards the bus as through we were competitors in a NASCAR race. We came along the side of the bus and our driver pushed the horn as far into the steering wheel as it would go, letting out a piercing honking noise to let the bus know we were there. Next he swerved back and forth into the bus, as though he were trying to run the giant vehicle off the road. Finally, he stepped on the gas once more and, honking incessantly, pulled in front of the bus to intentionally cut it off. Meanwhile, the three of us passengers were waving our arms at the bus driver and yelling for him to stop. (Yes, it was quite the scene). At last, the bus driver signaled to the left and began to slow the vehicle.
Our driver stopped the car in the middle of the highway, turned on the emergency flashers, and, with the car still running, we all dove out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the bus. Not yet stopped, the bus slowed to a crawl and opened its doors. The driver through the backpack in with all his might, and Courtney dove in behind it. At no time did the bus ever come to a complete stop.
She was off.
The three of us (Patrick, the driver, and myself) got back into the car, out of breath, and dripping in sweat.
My phone rang. It was Courtney. I will never forget what she said...
"Amy!... That was AWESOMMMEEEE!!!!"
Yes, yes it was. It was an adventure. A totally, crazy, awesome adventure.
