Travelling from London to Sydney on a 1958 double-decker bus
We were greeted at the door and lead past the stunning glass atrium of tropical trees which forms the centre piece of Tony and Maureen’s beautiful Melbourne home. The Lonely Planet founders had invited us to a dinner party to celebrate our arrival in Oz and our trip around the world.
Having met them in London’s Earls Court in August, just before we set sail in Tadpoles, we were delighted to catch up with them four months later. Over the best meal we’d eaten since waving London’s white cliffs goodbye (apart from Mitch and Alisa’s NYE barbeque feast) we exchanged tales about the travelling the East.
Tony and Maureen did a variation of our route way back in the early 70s, crossing Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India and Nepal, so there was much fat to be chewed as we sipped Sauvignon Blanc and quaffed barbequed calamari.
We want to say thank you to the Wheelers and co for treating us to perhaps the most rewarding moment in four months. We were once again blown away their hospitality and humility, and their continual capacity to inspire people to experience this gorgeous planet.
Hello Robbie!
After a callously brief mourning period we traded Tadpoles in for a younger model, the 1965 Australia-dwelling Lodekka, Robbie (nee Loft – she was rechristened Robbie in memory of Top Deck overlander, Robbie Goodall, who recently passed away).
We think you’ll agree she’s pretty sexy. She’s bigger, cleaner and faster and has so far seen us safely from Perth to Melbourne, across the impossibly expansive Nullarbor Plain with its deep, red earth and blue-green trees, and the stunning Great Ocean Road. The countdown to Sydney is on!
Bye Bye Tadpoles
That’s it. She’s gone. We scrubbed her, rubbed her, polished her and left her sparkly and new. The girls got a bit Benny Benassi on their hands and knees cleaning inside, while the boys did ‘man’ jobs outside: dancing round the mop pole, splashing each other with soapy water, etc.
Then it was time to say goodbye. We crowded round her ample bonnet for the obligatory ‘jumping photo’ and took a last, lingering look at the place that’d been our home for the last three months. Then she was sent to the Mumbai docks to wait for her boat back to Blighty. Londoners Jordan, Rose and Sam have promised to pay her a visit at the Isle of Wight bus museum, her final resting place.
Tadpoles’ Best Bits
- When we took off one of her tin panels and found a 90s porno mag. Dirty girl.
- When she revealed the secret family of mice she’d been harbouring in her cupboards since God knows when.
- When she got her window smashed out in Jaipur and bravely withstood the tampering hands of Indian mechanics.
- When we saw an old photo of her on the wall of Boomerang Bar in Gallipoli, looking pretty hot, too.
The highlight of our festive jolly in Kathmandu was watching the sunrise over the Himalayas. We woke at 5am and walked up to the Nagarkot peak in time to see the stars disappear, then Everest started to glow pink on the horizon.
On Christmas day we ate together at the New Orleans cafe in central Kathmandu. The Nepalese interpretation of the classic Christmas roast was characteristically surprising, and we washed it down with gallons of mulled wine, served in whatever vessel the waiters could get their hands on. Secret Santa didn’t disappoint. The stellar set of pressies included Mitch’s Kenny G DVD and Emiliano’s dried fish.
A seven day drive from Kathmandu back down to Mumbai tested everyone emotionally and physically. Big props have to go out to Mitch and Jordan for their non-stop driving. On day three of the drive Tadpoles’ radiator failed again (the same problem we had in Istanbul) just outside a small, rural village. Before long we had some two hundred curious villagers surrounding the bus, each insisting we come to see their homes. Taking a couple of kids up on their offer, we were charmed by their boundless hospitality and pride in their small but beautiful clay houses.
We arrived in Mumbai on 2nd January and have done little but gorge on the diverse culinary delights the city has to offer. After two months of dal and thali, a real European pain-au-chocolat was like manna from heaven.
We’re all looking forward to Australia’s imminent beachy goodness and all the seafood we can stuff our faces with.
♥ WE MADE IT ♥
After breezing across the Nepali border under the cover of darkness we headed for the beautiful town of Pokhara, via stunning but treacherous mountain roads. We spent a few days a acclimatising to the brisk altitudes and exploring the surrounding peaks and jungles before firing up Tadpoles for a cross-country jolly to Kathmandu. The arrival of a Top Deck tour in the city was always cause for a big celebration, and we followed suit by ordering steaks and beers, and singing to Bonnie Tyler in Sam’s Bar.
Eleven countries. Three months. Fourteen crew. Two drivers. One broken window. And countless instances of incontinence. It’s been amazing. Roll on Oz.
Varanassi, and a goodbye to India, for now…
Varanassi is apparently the holiest city in India and religion is certainly on sale. You can buy all sorts of plastic paraphernalia, and blessings with Ganges water, which Hindus believe to be sacred. We rented a boat for the day to take in the city from the river. The boys took turns at rowing. Despite the fact that the water contains 200,000 times the amount of faecal matter than your average glass of tap water, Jordan stayed true to the Top Deck way and dived into the river.
We drifted slowly past the burning ghats and witnessed an opened cremation, in which the body of the deceased is blessed in the river and placed on a wood pyre. From a respecting distance we watched as the rites were performed and the body set alight. There was none of the solemnity of a western funeral. At one point a child ran up the pyre, giggling and chasing a cricket ball from the local game, taking no heed to the burning body or the skeletal foot which had just dropped from the flames.
We laid floating candles in the water as the sun set on one of the most moving days of the trip so far – a touching end to our Indian odyssey.
Delhi, Shimla and Agra
We drove into Delhi in broad daylight, although you could hardly tell through the apocalyptic fog and smog. The sun looked pale and heatless. The broad promenades and manicured lawns of the suburbs soon gave way to the hectic sprawl we’d come to expect from inner city India. Old Delhi’s rambling, dirty streets were fascinating but tiring, and we jumped at Jordan’s suggestion of travelling to the mountain town of Shimla, where littering and even smoking on the street is prohibited.
We hung out of the cast iron doors of the old toy train which snaked up through the Himalayan foothills, and watched the palmy landscape turn alpine. The town remains virtually untouched since the days of British rule, when officials settled there to escape the searing summers of Mumbai. While eschewing the evil wild monkeys (never EVER walk down a Shimla street eating a masala puff pastry), we explored the picturesque surrounds and shopped for our Secret Santa presents. The Tadpolers were starting to feel festive.
After an epic schlep back down to Delhi on a night train (which saw us shivering into the wee hours to the tune of loudest snoring imaginable), we hopped straight back on board the bus and drove to the Taj Mahal. As Karl Pilkington said, ‘It’s weird how it’s classed as one of the modern Wonders of the World. You wouldn’t think so by the surroundings’, so the less said about Agra the better.
India had a good monsoon this year, which means each morning is shrouded in fog. As a result the Taj looked a little grey when we got there at 7am. But as the sun rose and turned the marble a bright white against the blue sky, we saw what all the fuss was about. We watched it from the other side of the Yamuna river at sunset when it took on a pinky hue. A litter of puppies on the river bank shared the twilight.
Boiled Chicken in Jaipur
Several members of the team arrived back at the bus in a state of shock after experiencing the local food market of Amber. We learned firsthand what it is to know precisely where our food has come from. We chose our chicken, then its throat was cut swiftly and its bleeding body was put in a bucket to drain. Within the space of two minutes the animal was skinned, chopped and bagged. This was a hard hitting experience for some and dominated the conversation that night. The chicken was cooked and boiled in a tomato based broth, mixed with peppers, potatoes, onions and assorted spices, topped off with steamed rice. It was undeniably tasty, but a number of the team couldn’t shake the pre-meal ordeal.
