Forty hours and counting and still a plane ride away from New Dehli and our motorcycles. We had to overnight in Bangkok. Our hotel shuttled us and our bags all the way to the fourth floor for the equivalent of five U.S. dollars each. The Thai boys refused our help until they picked up a few of the bags. Once they realized that our bags held heavier items than flower shirts and flip-flops, the eighty-pound men were happy to let us carry some of the bags.
We bought a bag of week-old bread and some beers from the hotel lobby and took a seat on the river. Each hunk of bread made the water roll and churn with catfish of some sort. The smallest fish were thirty inches long and five to six pounds.
A taxi dropped us off in the city center. The ride was a good warm-up for what we face once we try to leave Dehli on bikes. Lane lines and traffic lights are merely suggestions.
Phil led us on a sweet shortcut to a restaurant he knew on the river. It quickly turned into quite the detour down alleys that don't see many tourists. Giant vats full of curry, meat on a stick, and other taste delights fought with human waste and wet dog for entry into our nostrils.
The restaurant was nice though I didn't eat because the heat stole my appetite. After dinner, a river taxi gave us a little tour. The three-twenty-seven small block really made the boat move. I kept my sunglasses on even though it was dark to keep the river water and whatever little creatures live there from getting into my eyes.
Well that was a fucking day, y’all.
1 day ago