INTRO
Like a lot of love affairs it began innocently enough over a couple of drinks.
Time poor and mechanically challenged, my relationships in the romantic world of Classic Cars had usually been restricted to flirtatious drooling at the major classic shows. That changed, when a friend who knows a Corvette from a Cortina, heard about the inaugural 2006 Classic India rally.
We discussed over a pint the 10 day trip being planned by a team with a detailed knowledge of Southern India. They had already secured a fleet of the iconic Austin Ambassador – or “Amby†as it is affectionately known. It’s 50-year-old design and 37bhp would be used to tour around the National Parks, sprawling tea estates, and mountains around Ooty, including visits to hangouts of the British Raj. His enthusiasm was infectious.
I had always harboured a desire to experience the colour, chaos and complexity of this ‘vibrant’ nation, now in a hurry to reinvent itself. What better way than behind the wheel of a car that over decades had become deeply embedded in the national psyche?
The trip also promised the camaraderie of 60 fellow pioneers, ages spanning 20 to 75, who share a love of cars and a quest to do something in life not generally available from Thomas Cook.
Guaranteed 4 or 5 star hotels would accommodate my backpacking phobia and there was the added bonus of a team of mechanics on hand to tackle any tedious breakdowns in the back of beyond.
Hooked by the concept, and emboldened by liquid courage our cheques went in the post forthwith.
The Start
The weeks waiting for D-Day, were punctuated by helpful emails on driving permits, visas etc from Classic India
Finally the dream became reality. It is 6.00 a.m. I am sweating profusely in the car park of Kadavu Resort, Calicut an oasis of Keralan charm. Humidity and adrenaline are running high.
Already I have run a hand several times over the taut body and rippling curves of our mature yet still seductive lady. In the flesh her charms are even more exciting than the vision. I have a tingle of nervous anticipation waiting to hit the manual glow plug button and fire her up.
There is a buzz amongst the group like teenagers about to be released for the long summer holidays, with car keys for the first time.
Our guides deliver the first daily briefing and hand out meticulously prepared route books. Our combined knowledge of Sanskrit script is limited, so navigation is thoughtfully based on landmarks situated at strategic turns. We also have mobile numbers for a guide in the first car and the sweeper who will track down any lost sheep.
Bewildered locals watch from a distance trying to comprehend why 60 westerners would leave comfortable home lives to drive 30 retired taxis in another continent. The elders have probably seen it all before. After all we arrived from the same place as the visitors who put Pig Sticking on the local map?
No time to explain. We head for the cars and stop sharp, mesmerised by the sudden appearance of a massive adult Indian elephant in full ceremonial dress. Alongside a group of Hindu holy men belt out a musical blessing. This proves to be the first of many impromptu events factored into the trip.
Ceremonial blessings conclude and thirty “Ambi’s†rumble into life smoking and wheezing. A good boot full of revs serves as the first cough of the day to clear the passages. Under a haze of black and blue smoke, the Indian and Union Flags drop at regular intervals. The thousand-mile odyssey has begun.
Our route leaves Calicut, taking us into neighbouring Karnataka state, through Tamil Nadu and ultimately back to the ancient port city of Cochin here in Kerala. Each day we drive between 180 and 300km, taking in the finest sites of South West India.
Our staggered convoy will pass through national parks, open plains, sprawling tea estates, towns, villages, mountains, and visits to stunning temples and palaces.
Each day’s drive is carefully calculated to allow plenty of time for spontaneous individual stops in towns and villages. Halting for “Chai†at a local tea stall is a simple and effective way of bonding with the warm, dignified and genuine human spirits that make this country such a unique experience.
The Driving Experience
Our first briefing advised us “Just forget everything you know about the rules of the road in Englandâ€.
My personal baptism of fire came on a single carriageway a few hundred yards after leaving the hotel. While practising the deft touch needed to find the right gear, a deafening horn blast was heard behind. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the charge of a battered coach and before you could say “synchromesh†it was alongside inches from the door.
As we froze with fear an oncoming jeep decided he would test his off road capability and allow the local bus to stick to the timetable.
Our first few miles, taught us the Indian Highway Code and thereafter the continuous sound of a blasting horn, instead of invoking road rage, became part of the charm, chaos and challenge of driving through India.
By day two, confidence was growing and arriving in a blind corner to find a TukTuk overtaking an OX Cart whilst being overtaken by a fully laden lorry we could pilot the ‘Amby’, effortlessly out of harms way!
The only situations certain to create a ripple of concern were finding oneself in the middle of a major junction, and ‘stirring’ the gearbox, trying to find any gear, whilst a swarm of buses and cars bore down on us with lights and horns blazing.
Despite the ‘exuberant’ driving style laid down by generations, the swarm seems to co-exist quite happily with hardly any coming together.
Forgiving the split personality of the gearbox, as the miles go by, I find myself falling further into the embrace of car 19’s spell. The reassuring throb and tall gear spacing of the modest 1500cc diesel powers us along adequately, and the manual steering feels precise for negotiating Ox Carts and bewildered sacred cows foraging at random in the middle of the road
Overtaking is definitely a manoeuvre best planned the day before, but circa 40-50 kmh in the cruise is the ideal speed to absorb the visual spectacular unfolding every day.
My co-driver, a senior man at Mercedes more familiar with S-Class refinery, was intent on testing to destruction my new amour. He would regularly coax the old girl up to 90+kmh, making me wince at such punishment. Revenge would invariably arrive in the form of a hidden pothole causing a massive reaction from the giant springs that would see the tormentor bounce off the roof lining!
People - Experience
Our first day ended on arrival at a jaw dropping Maharajahs palace, now converted to a luxury hotel. Drinks flowed till late as tales of the road were swapped. Outside the impressive line up of Amby’s received their daily comprehensive check from the back up crew
Early next morning a fleet of Tuk-Tuk’s arrived. Grand prix style we headed to a fascinating local market in Mysore, the largest in Southern India. Back at the hotel watered and fed we were off again by 9.30 for a fascinating day driving through towens and villages where few westerners vist.
We were told that the next day would be a massive climb to an opulent, colonial mountain retreat. When we reached the summit, coffee was served at a palatial summerhouse, where Indian nobles and British officers once rubbed shoulders.
Leaving behind the heat and industry of the fertile plains, it was another world up here where the fortunes of this diverse continent had been shaped by colonial aspirations of people thousands of miles away.
Our descent was a cascade of hairpins and stunning views before our procession crossed state borders and into a huge national park. The “Amby†as ever was surefooted and precise, tackling first gear hairpins and dizzying gradients without the engine or our hearts missing a beat.
Sweeping back down through miles of Tea plantations, we rounded a bend to find two of our cars stopped at strange angles, the occupants gesticulating wildly at the side of road. My fears were the next site would be the underside of an Ambassador as I followed the direction being indicated.
Grazing oblivious to the gathering throng blocking the road were a family of six wild Indian elephants.
Genuine roadside incidents were remarkably few. I think the back up crew were pleasantly surprised how relaxing there own tour had become.
Some starting difficulty at altitude had been resolved with energetic fuel pump priming. One of our group a likeable chap who is stuck in adolescence and wears a permanent grin managed to remove the rear suspension by a high-speed encounter with a pothole.
This and any other incident with the cars were dealt with in the same manner, a shrug followed by a smile and then the problem sorted within minutes.
The defining aspect of India, apart from the thrill of being let loose with our “Ambyâ€, was the people and the places.
The human spirit in its finest form is everywhere. In the clear bright eyes of the children live hope, eagerness, and a hunger to learn and prosper.
In the older faces there is a resolute integrity and purpose. Their finest hour may have passed but dignity and composure remains etched on their features. A life lived without the pursuit of western ideals leaves them authentic and untainted.
Every detail we pass can captivate and inspire.
A parked rusty bicycle, with a flower tied to the handlebar. Tired, and bewildered horses unfettered and owned by nobody standing motionless in the middle of a city street. The myriad colour of Sari’s kept meticulously clean and worn with pride. A donkey trots along a road miles from anywhere with an obedient offspring alongside. A coconut vendor wields a machete with great precision. Born of another space he may have been a master craftsman.
Everywhere the country is alive, vibrant and real.
Summary – Conclusion
Back in Kerala, all too soon it is our last day. As we stow the luggage in the cavernous boot for the final time a bittersweet feeling descends. In a couple of hours we will hand over the keys. The dream is over and it will be the end of the affair.
We will return recharged and renewed to our lives and loves. With that will also come the reality check of the daily grind and rejoining the western lifestyle and all the ‘privilege’ it offers.
Anyway that can wait. First we have a lingering farewell and a triumphant drive along the coast to Cochin. We saunter along in a group engaging in lighthearted overtaking. We are now all confident kings of the road.
We stop to regroup on the outskirts of the city. 30 dusty ‘Amby’s’ and beaming drivers are greeted by press and TV interest. Our procession follows and snakes into a Cochin hotel to be greeted by several slightly bemused senior personnel from Hindustan Motors, the manufacturer of the modern day Ambassador, and other local dignitary’s.
As the press conference unfolds in the hotel, our party takes a lingering glance at the sea of “Amby’s†and console ourselves with the prospect of the evening’s end of rally party.
The hangover lifts just as our jet’s landing gear clears Indian tarmac. My thoughts turn to home – and of ‘The 2007 Classic India’.