Hard Journey

And there I was. Sitting in the bus station of Munnar, listening to my new "friend" of India. He tried to sell me a trip to the border with Tamil Nadu. I missed the bus, and the next one came only at 1 p.m.. While he was advertising his trip to me, I was thinking about the options I had.

The first - the "official" to my "friend" - was to wait until the bus arrives. This trip was only a third of the way, and this meant that I would reach Madurai at night, in the best scenario. The second option was to accept the journey of 600 rupees to the border and continue by bus the rest of the way. The third option would be to take a taxi to Madurai. Despite the astronomical price of 2600 rupees, this option guaranteed that I arrived that day at my destination.

With the options in my head, I let the time run so I would be less "interesting" to my new "friends" - yes, by this time I had captured the attention of more people. Time heals all ills, and in this case all interests. Half an hour later, I was free to confirm my options and whether the price given was normal. Here, I must confirm the information from several sources. A true lesson of good journalism. Along the way I say goodbye for the second time to Dotan and get a tip to take the collective jeep to the border.

Back to the station, I go towards the jeeps. Find one that is about to leave. "Where do I sit?" I ask to receive the obvious answer "here." With "here" he means a seat in backside of the jeep, in an unexisting space. But in this country there is always room for one more and he arranged one for me, my backpack and a person more.

With only the toes touching the floor, I am in my space. I look around and all the places look occupied. Beginner's mistake. Just because the six places ahead of me are occupied by six people doesn't mean that the Jeep is full. As I watch people around me, I catch the smile of a child admiring this Westerner. Something that touches my soul, and that alone would be worth the trip. When you take off, we are: a driver, eleven adults, three children and a few backpacks.

The trip, by the mountains, passed between attempts not to flying to the place in front of me, holding the maximum time without getting sick and admiring the beautiful view. This was a breath of fresh air in my hard journey.

Two hours and lots of curves later, we were survivers. Finally, the border between states. We tried to recover the sense of direction for the short walk to Tamil Nadu. I smile. Now I just need to take the bus to Madurai. At least that's what I thought. After consulting with the police at the border, I find that I still have to catch a bus to another location and only then I can go to Madurai. While waiting for the bus, I notice the beauty of this border village. The feeling is that we are at the end of the world on the brink of entering another. There is just a road, the border and the high street shops. But it is in the mountains and has a broad view of everything around you, making it very beautiful

I hear the name of the town where I want to go and the driver says to enter. It is a collective taxi. I agree the price and enter the Embassador, a classic. Despite the Indian capacity, with the comfort and space I have, it seems a limo. Perfect way to say goodbye to these beautiful mountains. I now see the plain full of rice fields and palm trees. Scenario that will accompany me the following days.

We finally arrive at the bus station. Nature is now a past memory. Replacing it is the movement and noise of the small Indian town. After some questions, I finally get in the bus. I sit and wait it reaches its final destination. Along the way, time to rest and enjoy a landscape so different from what just lived in