lee
12-26-2008, 08:32 AM
Everything happned extremely quickly. I had always wanted to visit India, and then there was this call from Alexandra Legendre of l'Automobile, the French magazine, asking me whether I would like to go to India and do a story about driving a Hyundai il0 across the sub-contine.nt. It was all very sudden, and there was no time to think twice and I didn't - I just jumped at the opportu¬nity. Little was I warned that the enchanting holiday - all paid for that I was looking forward to, would be one wild and memorable adventure.
It was all touch and go - I got my Indian visa in the late hours of the evening preceding the morning that I was to take my flight to New Delhi - and the next day I did make my flight, my flight did land in New Delhi, and there I was, ready for just about anything. At least that's what I thought.
Whatl wasn't ready for was the chaos of the Indian roads, and some 2,300km and five days later, I had a different idea of life altogether. Here I 'had imagined a wonderful drive through the heartland of a colourful country amidst elephants and the Taj Mahal; instead we encountered more cows and madness on the way than I had all my life. But what a roller-coaster ride it was.
Hyundai, which has set up its largest manufacturing base outside Korea in the city of Chennai, known better as Madras, was celebrating its 10th year in India, and that was reason enough for them to organise this adventure of driving from Delhi to Paris in their new small car, the il 0, which is being made in India for the Indian, European and other international markets. I was part of the first leg, the Delhi-Chennai bit, behind the wheel of a right-hand-drive i 10, trying to drive on the left side of the road, or whatever of the road was available to avoid the various cows, bikes, people, trucks, buses, goats that wandered along on what is otherwise called a highway.
204
You have to be sensitive on the throttle pedal, even more so than on the brake. My Indian colleagues, driving along with me, scared me, with their speed, their honking which is hard and their braking, which is even harder. What's the point? To impose yourself as might is right on the Indian roads where the law of the asphalt jungle works best, a jungle of essentially fast cars of which the little i 10 is very much a part of, as much as are the heavy and colourful trucks.
Most disconcerting are the pedestrians who casually cross the 'highways' without bothering to look, but who acknowledge the honking better than anything else. Though averaging 50kph, despite short bursts of 140, I am amazed that I managed to survive all those potholed roads. If overtaking was an Olympic discipline, surely India would have monopolised the gold in this. Even when there is no obvious space people overtake, the person coming from the opposite direction, lets us do so. There is no signage to tell you where you are going, no obvious speed limits, no radars, no obvious rules, nothing makes much sense: the best part is that there is nothing that you cannot do on these roads.
But these roads drive the life of the country, of a people who live their lives, ever smiling, and at most bemused by dangers like innocent little children just
learning to walk. My Indian colleagues ipods plugged in, Bollywood techno music blaring - are witnesses to a rapidly changing India. Finally, at Chennai, I bid adieu to my Indian colleagues as they go forth to Paris, the final destination via Turkey, Italy, Austria, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Germany, commandeering their I'il Hyundai ilOs.
With eyes as wide open as mine when I reached India for the first time, they will have discovered roundabouts, 30kph speed zones, our men-in-blue, our red lights, our yellow safety jackets, our smooth and well marked highways, our cycling lanes, our signals, GPS, and all that that makes our roads, (and not theirs) yet. But due to this, the sense of adventure will have been lost.
It was all touch and go - I got my Indian visa in the late hours of the evening preceding the morning that I was to take my flight to New Delhi - and the next day I did make my flight, my flight did land in New Delhi, and there I was, ready for just about anything. At least that's what I thought.
Whatl wasn't ready for was the chaos of the Indian roads, and some 2,300km and five days later, I had a different idea of life altogether. Here I 'had imagined a wonderful drive through the heartland of a colourful country amidst elephants and the Taj Mahal; instead we encountered more cows and madness on the way than I had all my life. But what a roller-coaster ride it was.
Hyundai, which has set up its largest manufacturing base outside Korea in the city of Chennai, known better as Madras, was celebrating its 10th year in India, and that was reason enough for them to organise this adventure of driving from Delhi to Paris in their new small car, the il 0, which is being made in India for the Indian, European and other international markets. I was part of the first leg, the Delhi-Chennai bit, behind the wheel of a right-hand-drive i 10, trying to drive on the left side of the road, or whatever of the road was available to avoid the various cows, bikes, people, trucks, buses, goats that wandered along on what is otherwise called a highway.
204
You have to be sensitive on the throttle pedal, even more so than on the brake. My Indian colleagues, driving along with me, scared me, with their speed, their honking which is hard and their braking, which is even harder. What's the point? To impose yourself as might is right on the Indian roads where the law of the asphalt jungle works best, a jungle of essentially fast cars of which the little i 10 is very much a part of, as much as are the heavy and colourful trucks.
Most disconcerting are the pedestrians who casually cross the 'highways' without bothering to look, but who acknowledge the honking better than anything else. Though averaging 50kph, despite short bursts of 140, I am amazed that I managed to survive all those potholed roads. If overtaking was an Olympic discipline, surely India would have monopolised the gold in this. Even when there is no obvious space people overtake, the person coming from the opposite direction, lets us do so. There is no signage to tell you where you are going, no obvious speed limits, no radars, no obvious rules, nothing makes much sense: the best part is that there is nothing that you cannot do on these roads.
But these roads drive the life of the country, of a people who live their lives, ever smiling, and at most bemused by dangers like innocent little children just
learning to walk. My Indian colleagues ipods plugged in, Bollywood techno music blaring - are witnesses to a rapidly changing India. Finally, at Chennai, I bid adieu to my Indian colleagues as they go forth to Paris, the final destination via Turkey, Italy, Austria, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Germany, commandeering their I'il Hyundai ilOs.
With eyes as wide open as mine when I reached India for the first time, they will have discovered roundabouts, 30kph speed zones, our men-in-blue, our red lights, our yellow safety jackets, our smooth and well marked highways, our cycling lanes, our signals, GPS, and all that that makes our roads, (and not theirs) yet. But due to this, the sense of adventure will have been lost.