Rickshaws & driving: last night on the way to the train station in Ahmedabad, as I am laughing about the alacrity of our rick driver who is successfully dodging the flurry of on-coming traffic, which includes a truck, multiple motorcycles--several without their lights on—a phalanx of bicycles, and 3 or 4 cows, Mangala turns to me, and with mock frustration, quips, “When is she going to internalize this!? This is driving in India!” She’s right, of course, not only is lane driving the exception--apparently a driving school in Delhi tells its students the practice is patently unsafe—but driving against traffic is clearly the norm. How many times have you wanted to nip down a one-way street to save yourself some time and a headache? Ah, you’d have no such worries here!
These tiny three-wheeled rickshaws are cheap, efficient, flip over easily for quick repairs, and fill every crack in traffic like water. Many have been converted to burn compressed natural gas to reduce air pollution, and the drivers are the calmest people we’ve ever met. However, miracles that they are, our recent experience of inter-city driving—the 40km round trip from Ahmedabad to Adalaj Vav to see the step well with three in the back--rivaled the pigeon pose for Kate and tested John’s replaced hip.
Trains: We spring for 3-tier AC sleeper for the 450km 9hour train ride from Mumbai to Ahmedabad. Trains in India have a seemingly infinite number of classes, from unreserved benches to first class cabins with wait staff. Mangala and Saurabh are kind enough to give John the upper bunk so his feet can extend into the corridor with comfort--for both John and passersby.
There’s a festive, communal mood at boarding—people eating and sharing dinner, foodwallas selling masala pizza, ice cream and warm water--and then, as if by some signal unknown to the westerners, everyone moves en mass to convert seats into 3-tier bunk beds, climb into their lairs, draw the curtains for a little reading before being rocked sleep. Here's our effort to add a video to the blog...wish us luck!
Ferry: The chaos and noise of Bombay drops away on our ferry to Alibaug where we have room to move without being pawed for change, offered postcards, blessings for a rupee, or a city tour guide. The breeze is refreshing, steady and cool
after the monsoon rains. The boat weaves its way through huge freighters and cargo ships for an open water crossing to Alibaug. On the return, we sip hot chai, watch the distant lightening over the mud brown water, and enjoy a beautiful view of the Taj and the Gateway of India.
Trucks: While many American truckers seems to personalize their semis with mud flaps, the Indians decorate theirs with streamers, garlands, flashing lights, dolls, and all manner of paint jobs from grill to tail lights, but they signal solidarity with a hand-lettered “Honk OK Please” which appears on the back of every truck. A rough translation: I probably can’t see you, and there’s no way I’m looking backwards anyway, so please let me know if you’re there. And the rest of traffic happily complies with a continuous cacophony of toots, beeps, and long leans on the horns. Truckers often paint colorful arrows pointing in both directions, since they know they’ll be passed on either side. 
Planes:Met by one of Kingfisher’s personal check-in wallas at the departure gate, we breeze into the International Airport of Aurangabad. It’s unclear what other nations they serve, but millionaire owner Vijay Mallya has found a perfect synergy in beer, booze, and airplanes. At the airport, they haven’t quite worked out the food court, however, and once inside the terminal, nary a snack was to be had and certainly no beer, being a dry day and all. And in this International airport serving a city of a million people, every flight starts with the passengers ambling across the tarmac.
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