India. Week 0: The Build Up

It’s 0525, dark, and the sun has yet to rise at the northern most point of India available to us as foreigners: Sasamo Check Post. Huddled together, standing with arms around shoulders, toes almost touching and shadowed by mountainous giants all around us.

It’s about to begin.

There are choked words, separated by deep, sharp inhales and sniffles from Jack, who expresses his love and gratitude to us for helping him on this journey across India.

Hugs and “I love you boys” are exchanged before Jack takes a moment to sit on a dented, rusty oil drum to breathe, slowly, in through the nose for 1, 2, 3, 4 and out for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and again, and again…

“Now go and run the length of India.” I say after one last tight embrace.

But this is the start of Week 1, before that there was Week 0 — the build-up, the travel, the monsoons, the cancelled flights, the hours in the airport and the humid, dusty, fume filled air of Delhi that I can still smell if I dare put my mind to it.

Week 0

“Hello mate! Ah man, it’s nice to meet you in person!” I meet Fred at Nottingham train station after his 0641 train from Maidenhead.

Fred has a slight cockney geezer sound to him, a golden heart and an educated mind (a degree in biochemistry molecular medicine — I have no idea what that is either). He’s well-travelled, has spent ample time around Asia, and last year earned a job as a teacher in Phuket, Thailand, which he gave up for this trip. What a guy. We click straight away.

Our destination is Jack’s parents’ house in Northwich, Cheshire via Warrington for a suitcase collection and one last hair cut for at least 3 months in Toxteth, Liverpool.

“Shorter than usual please, MJ.”

Might as well start this road trip with a pre-road trip, ey?

We had a wonderful night at Linda and Mark’s. Jack’s two sisters, Emily and Grace were there and one of Jack’s nephews, Wilf.

The kitchen walls are decorated by collages of family photos. Homemade lasagne is served around the kitchen table whilst we help ourselves to salad and potatoes. Before this, starters were enjoyed in the garden under a warm, calm summer’s evening and Mark’s choice of music playing subtly in the background to match the warmth of the occasion.

Five-minute life stories, why we said yes to Jack running India, and promises to let them know how he’s really doing are topics of conversation. In-between which, I’m challenged to “just one more race” up and down the garden versus Wilf, aged 4, and Fred loses a plastic golf ball in the bushes. Was that to end the game and get to bed, or just a bad shot?

Collectively, we pack one last suitcase with presents for the whole crew. One present per person, for each of the weeks on the road. A beautiful touch - thank you Grace for the generous thought.

Before I know it:

Alarm: 0430

Depart house: 0500

Arrive airport (Mark as taxi driver): 0527

Take off: 0745

Land in Delhi (after connecting in Istanbul): 1145 local time.

At this point, I am clueless how many hours after the alarm it is, is it 25 or 35? Unsure, but off two hours sleep, we hear that our flight to Leh has been cancelled over the tanoy. We catch eyes, sigh, shake our heads, and share an optimistic chuckle at the prospect of adventuring into Delhi for the night after we figure out what happens next with our next flight.

And here lies lesson number one in India: Polite British queuing systems do not exist. If you want to find something out, you just march to the front of the line and ask. No “excuse me”, no acknowledgements, get to the front, place your hands on the desk and ask. After realising that’s how things operate here, we did just that.

“What happens now?”

“Come back tomorrow.”

“Okay.. but.. what do we do?”

“Just come back tomorrow, come back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but, what? Like, what do we do now though? Does an email with information go out or anything?”

“You come back. Come back tomorrow.”

Helpful…

We ask the next person on the desk the same question.

“You’ll get picked up by a bus, collect luggage, and go to the reservation desk”.

More unanswered questions remain. Where do we get picked up from or do we have to meet the bus somewhere? And where’s this reservation desk that we need to go to?

Low and behold, time passes, no information has been provided, just a herd of people collectively get up and begin walking. We follow these people who we presume are from our flight through the airport and reach the baggage re-claim. I can say at this point, I am pleasantly surprised to see all of our luggage neatly lined up by the carousel — maybe there is some organisation here after all.

Then, the lack of information resumes, now what, and where is this reservation desk to reschedule the flight? In a similar fashion, we play "spot the people from our plane", find the desk and reschedule our flight for 0500 the next morning. No bus ever did come to pick us up.

To summarise, the same thing happened again with the next flight, the same rescheduling debacle and not another flight for 48 hours. Another couple of nights in Delhi it is.

Days in Delhi

To paint a picture, I feel at home in the calm, quiet, colours of a countryside. I like contemplation, stillness and peace, the smell of crisp cool air and the sight of dew on the grass. Now picture the complete opposite of that and add in the smell of the world’s most populated city coupled with one of the lowest air qualities.

The colour filter in Delhi is dark desert grey. The muddied concrete and dusty buildings line every alley way that we creep through, the eyes of the locals land heavily upon us strangers.

For a few rupees, shoeless kids approach asking to shoeshine my Hylo trainers and teens try to plunge ear buds into ears, to clean them for a price. Restaurant owners smile and wave for us to come in for food. Cars and bikes hoot at a rate of 180bpm, for what seems to be no reason whatsoever. Motorbikes weave the wrong way against the floods of oncoming traffic whilst their passenger nonchalantly checks their phone, helmetless on the back.

Maybe I’ll stay in my room.

But my room has no natural light and with the choice of four blinding, fluorescent light settings to choose from, I’m unsure where I’d rather be.

But amidst the chaos, pollution and noise of walking a few blocks and a bedroom without a gentle lamp, are some of the nicest flavours that I have ever tasted. Ever. The Malai koftas and veggie momos. All I can say is “Wow”. Or being more precise “F*** me, oh my God, that is absolutely unbelievable, help yourself to that boys.” There was an exchange like this of some sort during each and every meal.

Woven into the fast-pace of Delhi life, were two more introductions, two more “Nice to meet you in person!” and two more first hugs.

Devin arrived first, from Cape Town, South Africa. A quick whited, ex-model, motorcycle fanatic, with the weight of his camera equipment slung over his shoulder in his 1000 pocketed, purposely designed travel camera bag. Devin is an outdoorsy, gadgety guy with an intrigued mind for the local world of North India.

The next morning it was Daniel Chapman, aka Chappo’s turn to arrive at the Olivia Inn with a more familiar northern accent greeting us as he steps out of his taxi “Nice t’meet ya!” as his black and white checked vans stepped out of the taxi, followed by his chinos and relieved to be here smile.

The reason we are all gathered here is because of cancelled flights; the reason for the cancelled flights is because the region has been hit with the worst rainfall in over 50 years; landslides wipe away roads (the one and only road that our campervans can travel along to meet us at the start line — the campervans to be our homes and mode of transport for the next 80 days); Leh airport has all communications and networks down as a consequence of the weather. Chappo is struck with a dilemma. Only due to be with us for the first five days, unsure when he’ll be able to fly to Leh or when we will be starting the run due to the campervans being “days” away from meeting us in Leh, does he stay or does he go?

Unfortunately, our Mancunian friend decides to go. We hope to see him later in the journey, that’s for sure.

Finally, three days later and at the third time of asking, Fred and I were able to catch our flight to Leh, northern India. Devin and his heavy bags get a flight the next day.

I’m so glad we spent time in Delhi, though. The overwhelm on sight, sounds and smells was like nothing I have ever experienced and it now places my preferences into a much more appreciated perspective.

Landing in Leh

Familiar faces peered through a bedroom window into the car park where our bags were being offloaded from the roof rack by the taxi driver. One of the faces belonged to a body, seemingly fresh out of the shower, white towel wrapped around the waist — Jack; the man of the moment, the man who brought us all together, one of the most incredible people that we have all met. He has this aura about him that instantly demands your attention and respect in the warmest of ways. He speaks, people listen; he acts, people follow; he makes things happen with calm certainty.

The other face, I can now only picture with bright eyes and a cheery smile, belonged to Robbo, who unlike Jack, was not so fresh out of the shower, he was fully clothed and ready to go. The Glaswegian is a gentle giant, tall with a thick red beard and matching thick mullet has an infectious persona and one of those contagious raspy, cackling, giddy laughs.

A few minutes later, the pair greeted us with more first hugs, slightly longer and tighter than what I’ve had so far, not due to a difference in love, but due to the stress and delays to our travel. We are all relieved to be together. I am embraced closely by Jack and bear hugged tightly by Robbo. One of them was exuding the familiar smell of Lynx shower gel or deodorant, whichever it was, it was refreshing to the nostrils from the dirt and dust of Delhi.

Jack has been in Leh for a month now, familiar with the streets and locations of each shop we needed. The recognisable, tall, white Westerner with the shoulder length black hair and handlebar moustache nodded to his newfound local friends as he passed by their shops. A bit of a local legend already — I thought. Just wait until this adventure really begins — I added.

This first morning in Leh was a to do list mission. Permits to drive as north as possible, print outs and photocopies of said permits, local sim cards, and of course a coffee and lunch. The contrast from Delhi to Leh was evident.

Leh sits in the middle of a bowl of mountain ranges, like a lonely, last Cheerio after breakfast. It has a small-town feel. The rainbow colours of hundreds of Tibetan prayer flags, akin to bunting, connect buildings overhead from one side of the high-street to the other, they adorn windows, doors and even rear-view mirrors. There are multiple layers to this town, up and down differing gradients. The local people are a mixture of Indian, Tibetan, Mongolian and Eastern Asian; many cultures call this place home, as do dozens of lazy stray dogs who happily hide away from the unsuspecting heat in any shade they can find. I take off my jacket — jheeze it gets hot quickly here.

The air is fresher, streets are cleaner. The 180bpm of Delhi hoots are replaced by the swift yet gentle scrapes of broom sticks sweeping dust off shop entry ways. It’s a noticeably slower pace. However, the shops not opening until 0930–1000 hinders some plans, seemingly simple tasks take an age and the no queuing policy still applies; but you can’t be angry here, it’s just too beautiful.

Devin arrives from Delhi. More hugs. Logistical, route planning meeting complete, dinner was served (an hour later than ordered — lesson number two: In India, things take time. Okay, got it, that is now firmly expected) which we enjoyed together for the first time as the whole crew. Five different lads, from different cities and countries are in India, joined together at this moment in time to support Jack Faint — the man who will run the entire length of India, with a brain tumour.

“Mate, it’s so easy to forget that’s why we are here.” I say to Fred. We are lying awake in the hotel room. We were just laughing excitably in disbelief at the prospect of the life-long memories that we are all going to create and how it feels like we have known each other for three decades, not three days. It’s amazing that Jack has brought us all together.

A long-ish silence follows my statement about why we are here.

“We should perhaps get to sleep, early start in the morning”.

“Night pal”

“Night fella”

The next day we had the drive of a lifetime that words will do well to describe. Six-and-a-half hours, including a few stops. Endless snow-capped mountain ranges (some are the Himalayas, some are part K2), vast views and bumpy, windy roads carved their way up to around 5,500m to a sign that reads: “HEALTH ADVISORY. ATTENTION VISITORS. You are at the second highest motorable road in the world with low oxygen levels. DO NOT STAY HERE FOR MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES. Your time here should be brief. Enjoy the view safely and descend promptly to avoid serious health risks.”

We take our photos, lose our breath, hop back in the van and continue for another couple of hours back down the other side of the mountain to a lunch spot that genuinely brought a lump to my throat.

Mountains, valleys, fields, running water, crisp air all directly in front of me as I sit silently with my elbows resting on my knees.

I take a minute and shake my head at how surreal this all is; the scenery and how I am supporting Jack running India, how I left my job seven months prior in search of more meaning, freedom and exploration. Speechless.

I close my eyes in gratitude and say some words that resemble a prayer of some sort and catch up with the boys who are enjoying another feast. As we eat, I glance every now and then to watch a cricket match between soldiers on an army base just across the road and smile without even a second glance or a flinch as we all accept the cows, donkeys, and dogs that make their way around the tables. We have accepted the new norm and we continue with our journey.

Now remember the rain, monsoons and landslides that cancelled our flights from Delhi to Leh and the road that got washed away leaving our camper vans and drivers stranded? For the run to go ahead on time (and for Jack’s sanity), this means plan B: hire a local taxi driver to drive us everywhere until we are united with the campervans and drivers that we have hired months ago.

We hit gold with our driver, solid gold. Germat has a small frame, but an extremely large skill set and English vocabulary. The mixture of his history degree (which included local geography), and a previous role as a trekking guide means he knows the region like the back of his hand, his knowledge deeper than the valleys he drives us through. Whether it is the distance to shops for water, restaurants for food, laybys for pit stops or any of Devin’s 101 inquisitive questions on the type of rock, the gravity fed water systems in the homes, or how the roads were built in the mountains — Germat has the answers to everything.

Despite the World Rally Championships sticker on the dashboard, Germat drives us safely to Entsa, our home stay for the night. The hosts politely lower our plates to us on trays and quickly pick up serving bowls after one of us has helped ourselves and offers it to their neighbour to tuck in too. I sit awkwardly for as long as possible with my legs crossed on the low cushioned benches as I tuck into the meal which includes homegrown vegetables and Ladakhi bread. The hips ache and I unfold my legs before I am offered a second round of food.

We nod with hands tentatively in a prayer position as we say thank you and good night.

Tomorrow, Jack begins to run the length of India.