How can I explain to everyone the excitement that appears when using transportation in India? Every trip is an adventure; it may be an eight hour, overnight train ride to a Hindu temple city or an hour long bus ride standing, holding on to the medal bars as you brace yourself feet spread apart. The adventure wouldn’t fall short of the quick train ride to the city center. Even in the women’s compartment, vendors hop on and off as they please, awakening everyone as they shout out the samosas, bananas, or guavas that they are selling. If I am looking for something to do, an exciting day would be right around the corner, simply by taking the fifteen minute walk to the nearest train or bus station. But most exciting of all are the rickshaw rides.
This could be either the individual auto-rickshaws located right outside of our campus gates or it could be the share-auto which I find in the outskirts of the city on the route to my field placement. The adventure could start anywhere from meeting people happily smiling at you as many, many are shoved into the vehicle to having a newly made friend follow you off to your internship because of language miscommunication. It could be 
the popped tire on the rickshaw after only one-hundred feet. Most of all, the adventure and excitement comes from gazing out the window, or rather the open side of the three-wheeled vehicle. All senses are appealed to after the price is bargained with the driver and the engine is started relatively loudly.
the popped tire on the rickshaw after only one-hundred feet. Most of all, the adventure and excitement comes from gazing out the window, or rather the open side of the three-wheeled vehicle. All senses are appealed to after the price is bargained with the driver and the engine is started relatively loudly.
Today Jess and I decided to go for a little brewed coffee. Café Coffee Day was the destination for this Sunday afternoon. The driver of the rickshaw which pulled over for us was quite happy to take us, although as we soon discovered, his understanding of where we were going did not match up with ours’. Nonetheless time was preoccupied by the smell of a mixture of diesel, rain, garbage, and chai. As we picked up speed garbage on the side of the road started to zoom by quicker and quicker with people coming in and out, along with stray dogs and cows. We could hear the chanting or recording of the nearby temple we were about to pass. My eyes fell upon the diverse arrangements of roadside shops, all connected, yet customized. Refreshing juice stands stood next to sweet shops. The smell of chai came as traffic slowed because of the traffic light. Cars, motorbikes, and city buses rode up next to and behind us. As we waited pedestrians faces were draw to us, the only white women sitting in any rickshaw probably within miles.
Once again, horns started blowing as the light turned green and there was a mad rush to weave in and out of each other like the game “Frogger.” If passing any car on the right or left, the driver of the rickshaw beeps his horn. If turning in any direction he will beep his horn. It is the way of notifying all other fellow drivers what and who is surrounding them. Many people passed us as we tried to explain to the driver without any communication that what we thought we bargained for was a little further. It was the first time I saw a family of five on a motorbike. They slowly zoomed by as many other motorbikes did; yet, this was the only one with what I guessed was a mother, father, teenage daughter, and two younger children all squeezed on as he controlled the handle bars and she took up the rear riding the common side-saddle technique because of her sari.
Once again, horns started blowing as the light turned green and there was a mad rush to weave in and out of each other like the game “Frogger.” If passing any car on the right or left, the driver of the rickshaw beeps his horn. If turning in any direction he will beep his horn. It is the way of notifying all other fellow drivers what and who is surrounding them. Many people passed us as we tried to explain to the driver without any communication that what we thought we bargained for was a little further. It was the first time I saw a family of five on a motorbike. They slowly zoomed by as many other motorbikes did; yet, this was the only one with what I guessed was a mother, father, teenage daughter, and two younger children all squeezed on as he controlled the handle bars and she took up the rear riding the common side-saddle technique because of her sari.
We sped pass the little gas station, through some road puddles; passed several little restaurant/bars serving curry and paratha cooked right on the spot. Numerous colors, including orange, green, yellow, and red filled our sight as we passed a man sitting patiently near the fruit stand. Men were sitting and conversing as motorbikes pulled off the side of the road for a quick snack at the snack bar.
After fifteen minutes time we arrived to our endpoint. We were able to figure out a price and thanked the driver very much for driving us. It is one of my favorite forms of transportation here. You can learn a great amount about the culture and city by just observing who and what you pass by as the driver tries to speak English with you and happily takes you to your bargained destination. While today our destination was a relaxing Café Coffee Day, last weekend it was to the famous St. Thomas Mount, with much Portuguese influence, and then to Marina Beach, one of the longest beaches in Asia and in the world. Our rickshaw rides have been back to college from the vegetable market and out to a restaurant for lunch or dinner. The possibilities are endless. No matter where you want to go in the city, it seems a knowledgeable driver will know where you would like to go, and if you’re lucky he will give you a little tour of the city as you pass landmarks and notable, historical buildings!
What opportunities!!!!! GOD BLESS!
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