Fleas

There is probably nothing like travel to drive home either an overwhelming sense of good fortune or an oppressive sense of self pity.

After a 12-hour bus ride, Suzanne and I came to a welcome halt in Hampi. The landscape here is a study in contrast between glowing green rice paddies and barren fields of granite boulders. Tucked into this landscape like croutons in a salad are temples both large and small. When it comes to these temples nothing is centralized, organized, prioritized or even a little westernized. The task of getting from one to the next lay before us like one of the monolithic boulders unmoved since the dawn of time. But as I have been driven to recall so many times my life is full of good fortune.

The owner of our guest house just happened to have a side business renting mo-peds. With a little bit of internal combustion to work with Suzanne and I would certainly be able to enjoy the wonders of Hampi while keeping to a minimum the arduous bits in between the various sights. Best of all, this mo-ped could be had for a mere 150 rupees. (There are about 45 rupees to the dollar.) Our good fortune kept in step with us when the little issue of gas for the mo-ped came came up. For 140 rupees our hotel owner would also give us two litres of gas.

In a cloud of exhaust and dust we were off!

Twenty minutes, one wrong turn and a flat front tire later it appeared that our good fortune had passed us by. A pedestrian saw the problem and pointed down the road, "Just one minute my friend." and sure enough good fortune gave us the village flat tire specialist. After a bucket of water, glue, two patches a cup of chai and another 40 rupees we were off again. This time though, we had directions and our previous wrong turn might have been fixed with ease had the back tire not gone flat.

Good fortune said that we had not traveled far though and again we pushed our mo-ped back to the mechanic's house/shop. With another three patches and 60 rupees we were off again.

Perhaps we would have been able to drive smoothly from place to place were it not for the fact that our bike did not float and the bridge did not yet span the river. Beneath the unfinished pylons good fortune gave us a boat of sorts, complete with ferry man and 'special tourist price.' 60 rupees later we and 12 of our new friends had crossed the river. Again we set our bike to the road and began to enjoy the breeze and the now relentless sun.

The bike wobbled, shook and once again the rim instead of the rubber hit the road. Another flat tire and the outskirts of another village.

In India anything can happen and after fifteen minutes of pushing the bike we came to yet another specialist in flat tires. My faith in serendipity soared only to crash when our new mechanic showed us the broken valve stem on our well patched inner tub. "No fix. New tube."

"Where can I get a new tube?" I felt that at last India had come crashing down like an anvil from the sky.

"Just there sir."

Following the outstretched finger I could see a small shop where the road turned into the dust and haze.

"You mean that I can buy an inner tube at that shop just down the road?"

"Yes sir. You pay 90 rupees."

100 rupees later I had a new tube and held it before me hoping that it might jump from my hands and land full of air back on the bike.

It almost did. The mechanic smiled, "20 rupees OK?"

And, of course, it was OK. With a new tube and lots of new patches it was time to take a serious look at how long all this good luck might continue.

Between us and 'home' stood the river and another chance to subsidise local transport. This time however our luck improved and a different boat man generously discounted our fair to 40 rupees a mere 100% markup over the local price.

I like to think that I am no fool, a bike for 150 rupees and 440 rupees in operating costs, the next day we leisurely traveled using the most natural and reliable form of transportation available. We walked.

And so we found ourselves standing on the side of the road sipping a coconut when our our good luck ended. Fleas stuck. Within moments I could feel the maddening bits traveling up my leg. It was a long walk back to the hotel shower as I furiously and without shame stuck my hand down my pants and wished for the return of our bike.