If God had made machines he probably wouldn't have bothered with a Rickshaw. But as with so many other things he would have been wrong. Essentially, it's not a very good idea. It's not very fast, it smells, it falls over when you go round corners, it breaks downs more often than an emo teenager and a days driving feels like you've been kicked up the arse by an elephant. But somehow all this makes them better.
After 3 whisky fuelled weeks near India’s west coast in Goa, it’s about time to start moving again. My Indian visa is quickly running out and I have to reach the border out of here by the 13th of February at the latest, and currently I’m way to far away from any border to make it out of the country no matter how much spicy Indian food power flatulence that comes out my backend.
12.000 rupees is a good 160 euros and about 3 times more than I've ever spent on a hotel, so I'm on my way back out to my bike where the owner Shatrunjai arrives in his car, jumps out and stairs at my bike. We talk a little bit and I tell him I better be on my way.
"On you way? You staying here right?"