I think we all almost died last night.
Our first overnight bus experience was, as the Lonely Planet urged, death-defying. Knowing full well that overnight drivers are reckless and fast, we boarded anyway, tickets in hand, to get to our transit city of Jodhpur.
We picked up a few people on the way, although the driver barely stopped for them to get on, and often only slowed down to a crawl. We'd hear the squealing of brakes, the door open, and the driver yell 'Johdpur?!?!' at the top of his lungs as unsuspecting and uncaring Indians managed their way on board. Within five minutes of the bus slamming itself through the city, Michele and I, both sick to our stomaches, popped back Dramamine, and waited.
The driver was going somewhere between 120 and 180 kph up and down hills, and during the first hour, came so close to the edges of cliffs that I, half asleep by this time, held on for dear life as best as I could.
But, during our first restroom break, Mike chatted up some other foreigners, finding out that they travel the same route often.. They seemed at ease and familiar with the jostling and bustling of the bus, that with every application of the breaks, squeaked and squealed like a woman screaming. But, at that moment, knowing that others were unafraid, I became the same. And for the rest of the trip I rested easily (thank you Dramamine), and truthfully, sort of enjoyed it.
This morning, I am thankful, to the greatest extent, for the drug Dramamine.