You know the
scene in Indiana Jones and the last crusade where Harrison Ford steps off a
cliff, eyes closed, confident a path will rise up from the abyss to meet his
feet? That’s how I travel. I step out happily into the unknown, confident that
the universe will rise up to cushion my feet and guide me to my destination,
peppering my journey with joy, adventure and kindness along the way. I don’t plan
I trust. I dance off the cliff, eyes blindfolded, hands tied behind my back
whistling cheerfully. I cross continents
on a ticket purchased the night before, land without a pre-booking for my first
night’s accommodation. It’s easy: grab a couple of recommendations in advance,
ask questions and ask the taxi drivers – they know their city and will tell you
where to go. This happy go lucky play it by ear approach has served me well. It’s
what I do. It works.
Except in
India.
“What do you
mean I have to book??”
India is organised. There are bookings. In advance – and I mean days, weeks even months in advance. This is
unfathomable to me. What about my free spirited wanderlust? Well, it’s going to
have to get in line because not only do you have to book in advance (and online) for a train ticket, but there
are waiting lists! Some colleagues book up to three months in advance. They laugh at my shock; I thought I could just rock
up at a train station and pootle off to another Indian state for the weekend. Apparently
not.
Overconfident
non-preparation just does not work here. I discovered this (for the second time,
because I did not listen the first time), when I tried to venture home during a
transport strike. A sensible person, (a prepared person) would have booked a
taxi. Not me ‘oh I’ll be fine’ I breezed, swishing out of the office, strike
notwithstanding, confident the universe would as ever, rise up to meet my feet
and carry me home.
It didn’t.
And that’s
how I ended up on the back of a motorbike, with no helmet, delirious with fear,
bruising the poor man I was clinging to in my vice-like grip of terror as we
zipped through some of the most dangerous traffic in the world.
I learned my
lesson.
Thankfully I
survived and emerged unscathed and transformed with new traffic superpowers and extra sass
and attitude: I managed to
cross a street halfway and while waiting to get to the other side, a car drove
right at me deliberately, purposefully, in full sight of my clearly visible
presence, with the man behind the wheel obviously expecting me to dodge out of
the way. I stood
there unrepentant, immobile, hand on hip glaring at him, him watching me and
silently uttered:
‘Bitch, I’m
not moving so you BETTER get outta my way’
He did.
I am a city
girl after all…
