Monthly Archives: February 2011

They All Fit

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All vehicles seam to be the same size in India. A person carrying a basket on their head is the same size as man on a scooter who sits roughly the same height as tuk tuk. A tuk tuk has the same volume as the cheapest car on the street, but all of these vehicles are lucky because they all fit under the over loaded lorry trucks! 

Life In A Fish Bowl

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Packing my bags once again, with five Indian men all standing there staring at me while I load up my bike. One old lady kept on trying to sell me a package carefully wrapped up in newspaper and tied with a simple brown string. I could only presume it was some sort of food, but I didn’t need it as I would arrive into Maduri city around lunch time. After telling the lady several times, I didn’t want it, she finally got the idea and walked off to pester someone else. I’m still not use to the attention I receive whenever I stop. I know it’s something I am going to have to work on for the next couple of months.
Riding back down the same mountain road that I rode up a few days earlier, I am still enjoying it despite having already done it. The view does look different the other way around! But I felt as if I was taking it slowly, almost like I was dragging my feet. I then realised that I wasn’t looking forward to being back on the hot, flat plains once again. Half way down sure enough, I hit a wall of heat and was forced to pull over. I desperately tore off my woolen jumper as I could feel the beads of sweat build up along my spine. Packing it carefully away in my little ex-army backpack, I was on my way once again.  
Sure enough, the dread I was feeling was spot on. I found myself on a wide four lane highway, with a concrete barrier between the two lanes going in opposite directions. However, even though this road is relatively new, the civil engineer or construction crew forgot to install breaks in the barrier at major intersections. Therefore I quite often I would realise I wasn’t following a bus, but it was coming towards me! Quickly tiring with the intense concentration on the traffic mixed with the sticky heat, I was starting to lose my patience.  I finally arrived into Maduri city.  Following the public buses into the city, I found myself at the eastern bus station. I could then work out where I was on my tiny guide book city map.  
Circling around the central temple, I found a few streets with hotels on them. Parking my bike outside one, I was first shown to my potential dark dingy room and then to the roof of the building. As I step out onto the flat roof, the most amazing view opened out before me. I found myself only one block away from a huge colorful temple.
View of Maduri main temple
Sitting in one corner, in a grubby white plastic chair was an old wrinkly foreigner lady. She was dressed in a thin cotton dress with spaghetti straps, it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. To complete the picture, you could see she was only wrinkly from months or years of sitting in the sun. She looks up from her book to stare at me and says ‘wow!’ I laughed and said ‘Yeah, we are the complete opposites!’ I took the room, just so I could come back and take the picture.


I had completely slowed down, I spent the afternoon slowly walking around the city fending off  people trying to sell me things from postcards, plastic necklaces to antique furniture. As I walked around the temple several times, everyone quickly recognised me as the nonconformist and would me ‘why don’t you come into my shop?’ One Indian man sat down next to me on the kerb, as he recognised me from the hotel. It was actually really nice to speak to him as he would help fend off everyone, just by telling me my story. They all looked at me in surprise with their eyebrows raised and quickly walked off, leaving me in peace. 
I headed off in search of a internet café,   leaving my friend sitting on the kerb. When I emerged into the light from the underground shop, my eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and quickly focused on a Honda Africa Twin.
 But it wasn’t an ordinary African Twin, it had huge metal panniers, a spare tire and a jerry can all locked into place. I walked into the hotel, it was sitting outside of and asked if I could leave a message for the man that owns that bike. The receptionist look at me in surprise and said ‘it’s that man’s there’ as he points to an older man sitting on the hotel steps reading his guide book. He was dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt, with a bum bag and a Nepalese (hippy) bag. Around his wrist he had several bracelets, which looked like they were from all around the world. He didn’t look like the usual motorcycle tourist but then again, neither do I! 
I went up to him and asked if it is his bike, and he replied in a thick Italian accent. ‘ Yes, it is’ . I sat down next to him and introduced myself. I quickly found out that Bruno had just travelled down from Chennai that day, roughly covering 600 km. I couldn’t believe it as it had taken me over a week, with multiple stops along the way. 
Bruno and I went out for a coffee, I learnt he has done many solo trips before, in fact his business card lists them all! Alaska to Tierra Del Fuego, a round trip to Mongolia through Russia from Verona, Verona to Tokyo, Verona to Kathmandu, a Mediterranean tour, Canada Coast to Coast, New Zealand, South Africa to Verona, Russia, Egypt, Baltic Sea Tour, Black Sea, Australia…. and the list goes on. If I carry on the way I am, my business card could end up been quite similar! 
Bruno asked if I wanted to come with him tomorrow, as he was heading to Ooty, leaving at 7 am. He should arrive there around 3 in the afternoon, but I wasn’t up for these quick long hauls, so I declined the invitation. I was heading south anyway, I actually want to see India, not rush through it. I said goodnight to Bruno early, so he could get some sleep before his next big ride. 
Colin and Daphne were meant to turn up that day, but they were stuck at the set of a ‘collywood’ film in the mountains not far from Kodikanal. Their driver hadn’t turned up yet and they had no idea when he would. Joking I casually said, I wont see you until tomorrow! Sure enough I received a text from them at 8 am, we are on the roof top having breakfast, come and join us. I laughed, as India will always be so laid back. I was really happy to finally catch up with them, as I was extremely interested in their purchase of a Royal Enfield in Pondicherry. We actually ended up spending the day together visiting the sights I hadn’t already seen yet.
We paid money to view this public building, the best thing I saw inside was the two massive wasp hives hanging from the ceiling!

A huge water tank, with another temple floating inside. We actually thought we would be able to walk to the temple but apparently you have to take a boat. 

Dahpne was laughing at me while I ate my food in the true Indian way

The flower market was wrapping up for the day, but it was still amazing to see the amount of flowers the locals brought purely for their religion. 

Colin (the giant) is getting the full story out of this tiny woman


I had to get out of this city, I was starting to feel a bit over large cities. Looking in my guide book, I found a small town called Rameswaram on the spit of India the closest point to Sri Lanka as physically possible. I packed that night, for a quick early morning get away. I am pretty sure as soon as I am out of this large city the better I will feel again. Once I had my bags more or less packed, I headed out to find some late dinner.
Wandering down brightly lit streets, it was 8 pm but all the shops were open, people were shopping or eating. Turning down onto the slightly smaller streets I found the food stalls, there was one I haven’t seen before. A man and his wife selling deep fried fish and chicken. I couldn’t believe my eyes, I hadn’t eaten meat in ages, but I was still a bit cautious so I chose the fish. Standing behind the shop, with the other customers, I waited for my fish to be cooked. One Indian customer started talking to me in English. They were nice men on holiday with the entire family, but it was the men out having dinner. I had to guess that the woman were eating in the hotel, which I found odd but didn’t much of it.
Early the next day I ate my breakfast on the street, at the same street stall for the third time in a row. They finally recognised me and welcomed me in for breakfast, with a long head wobble. A man, with no teeth smoking a joint walks up to me and starts chatting. The rest of them stand around and laughing at him because of his lack of teeth. Laughing along with the locals, I felt for the first time, that they are not trying to come on to me, or sell me something but it was just pure friendship. It’s a feeling I don’t get very often here in India.
Riding along a nice shady, quieter road than the state highway I had encountered a few days before hand, my thoughts drifted back to this mornings feelings. India is the first country that I’ve visited, where I felt like I am second guessing everyone’s intentions. It actually changing how I behave when interacting with the locals. I’ve gone from a laid back, take it as it comes, trusting person to a tense, worried, defensive person. A person I am scared of as I wonder how long it will last.
The motorcycle holds a point of difference with the locals, as it does everywhere in the world. But here, they see me as a person exploring the world, someone who’s willing to try and see different things. They are often completely stunned and stop in their tracks to stare, moving only to poke their friends in the ribs to get their attention. I enjoy watching their reactions, as I recognise that I am treated completely different once I am removed from the motorcycle dressed as a normal traveller in the towns and cities and therefore act like a completely different person. Someone constantly on display, with at least five pairs of eyes steering trying to all get my attention at once.  

Motomonkey Advenutures Is Featuring On Sidestand Up!

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‘Sidestand Up’ is an American based weekly radio show, and Tom has kindly invited me to be apart of his segment! 

A picture of Tom Lowdermilk





I hope you can all join me on Tuesday night or my early Wednesday morning! 


Here is how - 


Now there are two ways to listen, either tune into his website (http://sidestandup.com/default.aspx) and listen live through his website. His show starts at 7pm but I will be on around 8:30pm (Florida – eastern standard time) or sign up to his podcast and listen to it when ever you like.


Now its easy to sign up to a podcast – just click the link on his website 

(Past shows available on i-Tunes) . A prompt will appear asking you if it is ok to open I-tunes. I-tunes will open and you will see a list of  ’sidestand up’ episodes. Click on the 22nd of February and hear my voice! (just remember I am towards the end of the show)

Now if you do not have I-tunes, and you want to listen to it when you want too, you need to down load I-tunes and install it. (Its free and easy to install) Here is a link to Itunes. Just follow the prompts. 

If anyone has any trouble, just give me an email, and I can answer any questions and try and help out as much as possible! 


Standing In a Bucket of Cooling Water

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I hope KodaiKanal will be the answer to my overwhelming feelings, It’s a small mountain village sitting 2200m above sea level. The air should be cooler and the village should be small. I leave the messy, run down city of Tiruchirappalli and head south west along the main state highway. Before long I find myself driving through Dindigul when I see a sign post for the turn off. I sigh, as I am relieved of riding on the main highway and finally find myself on a slightly smaller but still incredibly busy road.
Spotting a chai shop, with coconuts strung from a tree and several seats lined up, I stop. I’m starving, I buy and eat a whole packet of milk biscuits and down a small cup of hot coffee. After my rest, I turn off onto a even smaller road that starts to climb the mountain. With every few kilometres I climb I can feel the temperature drop. With food in my belly and feeling refreshed with the cool air that surround me, I start to get excited. I think mountains excite every motorcycle rider as they always means corners!

Around one particular corner I found a Royal Enfield, with its tank off and its engine open! I pull over to ask the two tourist if they are ok and if they need any tools. He tells me that they are ok. The lady waves at me and points up the road. I have no idea what that means, but they do look like they are in good hands. Turning the next corner I realised that they are part of a massive tour group all on Enfield’s. As I past by I wave out to them but carry on.
Climbing higher and higher, I am forced to stop to remove my sunglasses. The fog is so thick I cannot see any more. For the first time in India, I feel the cold and put my jacket over the top of my amour jacket. Arriving into a mountain town clutched in a mist. I am surprised to see my village was actually turned out to be a large town! Nothing can be small here in India.
Running up and down the hills keeps me warm while I try to find a cheap guest house. I eventually check into the ‘International Travellers Lodge’. I get a feeling that I am the only international guest and to top it off, I think I was the only guest! I got shown to a bright but cold concrete room. The man tells me he will bring me a bucket full of hot water in the morning. Completely covered in dust for the days travel, I would love to have a shower now, but there is no way I’m prepared for a cold one in this temperature!
Sure enough in the morning, I was brought a plastic container of hot water. Pouring the water out into a larger bucket I then could stand in the bucket. I had to stand in the bucket as the concrete was just too cold for my little bear feet! Feeling the water temperature drop quickly, I pour the warm water over me using the smaller bucket. After my quick wash, I jumped back into my sleeping bag to warm up again before getting dressed.


After being in India for over a week now, I feel like I should start trying street food. Every morning, I visited the same dosa street stall for breakfast the three days in a row. The guys begin to enjoy my visits as it gave them something to talk about with their other customers. On my last morning, I ended up having breakfast with an Indian family from Maduri. The pour wife was shivering in her summer weight sari. I told her she should wrap up better while she is up here. There daughter tried to practice her English with me, but she could not overcome her shyness. We finish our breakfast together and all wash our hands. As I got to pay, the husband waves at me. He paid for my breakfast! I thank him for his generosity and we take a few photos of each other before parting ways.

I ended up spending a few days here in Kodikanal, despite the cool weather. I spent my days sucking in the sun, sitting on a concrete ledge writing letters to my friends and family. I took walks around the lake where I meet more Indian tourist wanting to take photos of me. Well rested and ready to move on, I head back down the mountain back into the heat.

Only Hindus Are Allowed!

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Pushing my way through the hordes of brightly dressed locals, there is no room for even a single scooter to make its way down this one way street. Everyone is pushing me back, but I stand strong as have my sights clearly focused beyond them, on the rock that stands nearly 80 meters above me with what looks like a stone fort built upon it.

With my last shove, I enter through the large over size temple doors in to a darkened room. I remove my worn faded black ‘Vollies’ and place them into my backpack. Walking through I realised this is the first temple before I start the climb to the next one. I stop for a moment, take in a breath of cool air and stare up at the hundreds of steps in front of me. Tunnelled through the very stone that the fort sits upon is the same rock that these steps are carved from.


Despite my exhaustion as I climb, I am still shivering as the beads of sweat cool against my skin. Squinting as I the sun penetrates into the stone stair well, pulling my sunglasses down, I prepare myself for the blast of heat, which will come as I leave this cool darken sanctuary.

Joining everyone against the fence, I look down and over the city. I have to admit it isn’t a pretty view, it was an ugly mess of run down concrete buildings. To a photographer / artist it is an amazing backdrop to any photo, for me it just showed how little the people in this country cared about their surroundings.

I take a seat on the side of the second set of stairs that lead to the top temple. Children instantly surround me, I move my hands to my pockets to reassure myself these kids are not after my wallet. They hounded me with the same two questions, ‘Where are you from?’ and ‘What is your name?’. I answered each child once, and as they started their second round each of the same question, I ended it, and stood up. Shaking each child’s hand I walked the remaining steps to the top temple. Where I was then asked ‘What is your country of origin? and ‘What is your good name?’ by a group of teenagers. They then asked if I could take their photo, so I oblige and walk back down the stairs.


Cramming myself back on the public bus, I am given the seat on the dash board with my back leaning against front the windscreen along side an old frail woman. The woman disembarks at the next stop along with a few other people. A seat become available and I grab it. Now at least I can see the dangerous traffic instead of wondering what is going to happen to me.
I jump off the bus when I see I am close to the Sri Ranganathaswamy Temple. Walking through the seven gopram’s (entry gates), I pass hundreds of pilgrims making the tough journey from temple to temple. The men and woman always dress in orange and only carry one small bag. The woman balance the bag high on their heads and the men normally carry it over their shoulders. From time to time I see them walking in groups along the straight, boring but hot state highways.
http://www.youtube.com/get_player


Walking around the temple, amazed at its beauty, but disappointed to find that I am not allowed into the heart of the temple as it is only open to Hindu’s.

Concrete statues all painted in different colours. The floral patten on the pillars are normally replicated on the large trucks
The detail on the temple doors


Jumping back onto the public bus, I head back to the hotel. Two young Indian girls sit down next to me. To start of with, they ask the same two questions, then they carry on, Do I have a brother?, How old is he?, Is he here with me now? I can see where this is going, so I sadly tell them, my brother is working in Australia and is not travelling with me. They find this amazing that a single female is travelling without the escort of the family. I then discover that I am surrounded by all the females in one family all on holiday together.

These two guys asked me to take a photo of them

Then these guys jumped in!

The girls point to my sunburnt elbow inners and ask me how did I get that. Their English isn’t good enough for me to explain that the sun can burn me through the type of motorcycle jacket I wear. I point to the sun, and they soon drop the enquiry. I say goodbye to the ten woman and get off the bus at the next stop back at my hotel.
Inside my hotel, I am finally left on my own. No staring, no questions just me and myself. Its beginning to become my very own sanctuary. Completely away from the hordes of shoving, demanding people. 

What does India Have Install For Me?

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After the ceremony in Mamallapuram , I take it easy and pack my bags in true Indian custom, slowly but surly. I’m taking this extra day as I’ve learnt in the past never to rush, as things are meant to happen in its own time. I have a feeling something else is install for me.
Sooyria (Hawaiian Artist) invites Cole, Daphna and I to dinner at a popular tourist restaurant for my last night here in Mamallapuram Over dinner, Sooyria explains how much he wanted to meet me again after our first encounter. Asking why, he replies ‘I wanted to meet the girl who said to me the other night, I hope some day I have a story to tell, just like you have captivated all of us tonight. I couldn’t help wondering why this young girl said something like that, so I wanted to meet you again. What are you doing in India? I then explain to him, what I have done over the past three months and what I am attempting to do in the future. Sooyria is astounded. ‘I told you I needed to speak to you again, this is why, to meet such a young adventurous woman. Please let me have a look at your hands’ I slowly turn my hands over in my lap and look down trying to read what Sooyria might be reading. ‘I am not going to tell you what is written on your palm, if you come and visit me in Hawaii I will then tell you’. Slightly disappointed but completely understanding as we are at dinner. Sooyria, the kind soled man with no teeth wishes me luck in his own individual way ‘Danielle, I will meditate about you, and talk with my friends. They do not know who you are, but that does not matter, just remember I will meditate about you’. Pressing my palms together, in the traditional Hindu prayer position, I thank him for his good wishes.
Loading up my bike wasn’t the same as usual, I now had all my camping equipment back with me along with my new chain and sprockets. The bags were heavy and weigh my bike down lower than normal. I also had just spent three weeks in Sri Lanka on the Suzuki Djebel,where I could hardly touch the ground. Now fully loaded on my DR I can sit with one foot flat on the ground but only on one side! It felt different, but I’m sure it wont take long to get reconnected with my chariot.
I planned a short ride today, only a 120 kilometres to a French colonial town called Pondicherry. I just want to ease into the infamous Indian chaotic driving style I keep on hearing about. As I follow the main east coast road, I am riding in and around cows, goats, people, cars and trucks, other than that its fairly straight forward. I think to myself how lucky I am to start my Indian experience in the south. As I haven’t found any evidence of this yet. Before I knew it, I had arrive in Pondicherry.
Pulling over I look at my guide book and try to memorise the layout of the city and where the main guest houses are located. Climbing back onto my bike, I attempt to start my bike, for some reason it wouldn’t start. I can feel compression, the ignition is switched on and there is plenty of fuel. Hot and frustrated, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Even though the bike didn’t throw me off, I check to see if the bike is out of gear. I repositioned it into neutral, at this point a couple of Indians pulled over asking if I am ok. I pushed one more time down on the kick, it fired. Now dripping in sweat I ride off in search of a place to sleep. Stopping several times to ask about rooms, I find them all full of ‘Collywood’ (Tamil Movie Industry) actors and production staff. This frustrates me further, as not only am I battling the heat in my motorcycle gear, every time I stop and turn the motorcycle off, it would take several attempts to start it again. Something is wrong, but I yet don’t know what it is.
Eventually I find a room in a beautiful old rusty red French pavilion just outside the main centre. Inside the house is dark, but has a nice airy feeling helped by the tall ceilings. The walls were clean but the paint showed a soft wear revealing layers of repaints. Every room had a green peeling double doors, that just made you reach out and touch them. Simple wooden furniture decorate the room, except the one canvas deck chair in the corner of the room. Odd plates, ceramic lamps and Pichya’s (Guest house owner) painting hang on the walls.

Only planing to stay one night just to visit the Pondicherry’s paper factory. Walking into the cool, shaded compound I was overcome with a sense that I’ve just entered into a special place. Its a pity everywhere signs hung the trees stating ‘no photography’. First I walk through the factory, watching everything from making pulp to dyeing and drying of the paper. Afterwards I walk back through the gallery and show rooms to view all the finished pieces of art work before leaving.
The only picture I was allowed to take of the paper factory. 
A common sight to Pondicherry 


Before I head to bed that night, I park my motorcycle down the side of the house, half outside my window. I lock it and leaving my wooden window shutters open. Just when I was drifting off to sleep, I hear three men walking down the alley way. I quietly walk over to the window and watch the men gather around my bike, smoking a cigarette and chatting. I am completely alone as no one has come back from dinner yet and I have no idea what I will do if they decide to take it. Three men against one enraged woman? After ten long drawn out minutes, they walked back out to the road and take off on their scooters. Breathing in deeply, I spent the rest of the night half awake listening for other night visitors.
The sounds of honking horns wake me, with weary eyes I pack and load my bike. Pushing down on the kick starter, I feel compression, but I can not hear the spark ignite. I run through my the usual check, key on, fuel on, choke on and spark plug lead on? Everything was in place but still nothing I hear nothing. Pulling my spark plug out I notice that it had black dry carbon deposit on the end of the plug. I ruled out fuel mixture, so it must have something to do with ignition coils. Tracing the spark plug lead back to the coil, I find everything plugged in. I try again, nothing changed. I replace the spark plug with a new one, still it was not firing. Completely stumped I sat down to think it through once again.
Pichya (Guest house owner) call’s a mechanic, the mechanic confirmed my diagnostic. We have to take my bike back to his tiny workshop on the other side of town. Pushed me with one foot on my swing arm, he rides along beside me on his scooter back to his workshop. Dismantling all the coils ready for testing as today was Sunday and nothing was open until Monday. Monday rolled around pretty fast, sure enough the inside the engine the small pick up relay had decided to die. I’m not entirely sure how these things break, but we replaced it with one out of a local bike called a Honda Bajaj. It does the trick and now my motorcycle starts every time on the first pop. Thinking back to Indonesia, I remembered it was behaving and I realise that the bike was starting to show early symptoms of having a problem with starting. As each morning, if I didn’t get it started first pop, and keep it idling high until it warmed up, I would have to push start it to get it to start again.

The mechanic took my motorcycle for a spin, he just loved how much
Design power that the tiny 350cc holds!


The feeling to hit the road was pretty strong, I needed to feel the elements as I sliced through them on my to another unknown area of India. I get to satisfy that urge after receiving a call from Peter Scott from Abc Gold Coast Radio. As I listen to the lead up to my interview, I didn’t feel scared at all. It just felt like it was a phone call between two friends, but in actual fact everyone across the nation and the world could be listening to my voice. The interview ended and I realised that I have indeed already changed, before this trip there was no doubt that I would not have been brave or capable enough to talk publicly without clamming up and becoming a shaking mess!
Leaving late, I find the temperature had already risen, I was sweating beneath my motorcycle gear. After 4 hours of riding, I arrived into a smallish town called Thanjavur. Exhausted from the concentration required to drive, I hope that this will become less energy expenditure as I get accustom to the Indian way of driving in this temperature.


In Thajavur, there is a famous temple called Bruhadushwara. I tip toe barefooted over the baking stone in the morning sun. I am just in time to see men and woman rush to line up to receive their blessing. I join the queue of people and watch as the main doors open to the inner sanctuary. A murmur breaks out amongst the locals and they all surge forward. Caught up in the crowd I find myself been pushed and shoved forward until I am directly outside the main statue. Passing quickly I find myself spit outside through a side exit along with everyone else.

This is one of the largest stone carving in India

This family is on holiday from Bangalore, here just to visit the temple.


Its a pity to destroy such a peaceful start to the day with another round of heat, traffic, intense noise and tricky navigation but maybe this is what India has install for me. A mixture of peaceful solitude moments snatch away from the chaotic outer world beyond the temple walls.

The Birdsville Race

Posted on by in Australia 4 Comments
Riding in the outback of Australia you see a lot of wild life from Lizards to Emu’s. Not only did I have to worry about Kangaroo’s leaping out in the early morning and night, but during the day Emu’s made their appearance at any time. Luckily for me none of them wanted to race me!