Once the bus driver began traveling down the road, through the tiny village, it seemed as though we were getting further and further away from civilization. We had been given directions by Sanjiv to follow a particular toad for about 11 kilometers and then begin looking for signs which he had posted along the road. I was kind of checking out the odometer and at about 6 kilometers, we approached a "toll booth" of sorts, a little building parked in the middle of the road. Our driver did not want to pay any tolls, so he stopped to ask directions to our dam site. I whispered to Bani that I thought we had only gone about half the distance we needed to travel before seeing the signs. He urged the driver to continue down the road, and pay the toll and sure enough, in about five kilometers, we saw the first ROTARY DREAM TEAM sign on the left side of the road. It was somewhat obscured by the team of water buffaloes stopping for "relief" on that side of the road, but I spotted the sign, indicating one lilometer further. When we saw the next sign, we were directed to turn left for one more kilometer. We noticed oncoming traffic of huge dump trucks, loaded with stone, approaching us and as we turned onto the side road (liberal use of the term "road") as far as we could see in the dark of night, were the headlights of oncoming trucks with cargo of stone! Then the fun began!
I also noticed that we seemed to be "bucking" a bit and checked out the road ahead, and it was like driving through the Mud Bowl! We are talking rutss of at least a foot to a foot-and-a-half in depth. I checked out the bus driver's expression and it was NOT a pleasant one, to say the least. He maneuvered as best he could, again with the problem of oncoming truck after truck. Then, for no apparent reason, we stopped. Horns honking, beeping, creating a cacophony of sound - "just letting you know I am here" or "get out of the way" or "do you really want me to dump my load in front of you or better yet, on top of you?" Each horn has its own meaning and the drivers of buses and trucks and cars understand this "language". We continued to look out the windows of our bus to see the goings-on outside. The driver called out to someone on the other side of the road, only to learn that a truck further down the road had suffered a "puncture" (flat tire) and that someone was bringing along the tire to be repaird, at a "shop" across from where we were parked in the middle of the road. Anything is possible in India!
A few minutes later, a tiny truck arrived and had as its cargo, not the tire in need of repair, but the entire truck axle. This was going to be a very long process. However, in a few minutes, traffic began to move again, and we soldiered on, inch by inch. Again, the bucking bronco effect began and our driver was attempting to remain on top of the ruts, doing his best to balance so we would not get mired down in the depths. The driver looked more and more worried, or should I say disgusted and at one point, he simply stopped the bus, turned off the motor and refused to go any further. Well this caused a bit of a problem because we were still about half a kilometer from the camp site. Frantic calls were made to contact Sanjiv in order to mediate the situation. Problem was that not all phones work in the remote areas. We were able to reach Sanjiv who spoke with the driver. The driver, in turn, decided to stand out in the middle of this pit and stop an oncoming jeep-type vehicle, asking to be driven further down the road so he could assess the situation. After all, why would anyone drive his or her vehicle further, if the mud ruts were only going to get deeper, UNLESS, of course, one was into the sport of "muddin'"!
Our driver returned shortly and indicated this was the end of the road for his vehicle and we would have to make other arrangements. In the meanwhile, I looked out and saw a familiar face - that of Dinesh, the son of Goverdahn, who was in charge of the crew constructing the dam. He seemed very pleased to see me and indicated we would be met by others from the camp, in small jeep-type vehicles and ferried to the camp site. It was only a few minutes more before the two vehicles were packed to the max with our team members and some of the bags. The rest would come later once we were all transported to the camp site. I suppose we could have walked the remaining distance, but in the dark of night, with only two of us having had previous experience in walking down country roads in India in the middle of the night, we were probably wise to accept the rides.
We finally bumped down the path-road (if there is such a term) until reaching a point where literally dozens of young men were crowding to see us as we disembarked from the jeeps. Corrugated metal sheets were being hammered onto fence posts, in order to identify the boundary between "us" and "them". Sanjiv was there to greet us, as well as his wife, Jyotsna and his sister, Olie. Also, four of the members of the team from France had previously arrived and it was good to see other familiar faces. The location of our tent village had been created by skimming off the top-soil and the setting out tents around the perimeter. I had been told by the owner of the tent company, while we were in Nagaur, it had been quite difficult to set up this site, due to unseasonal rains the previous week, and I could see what he meant, particularly during our drive (?) through the mud pit! The surface was skiddy and muddy and one had to take care while walking. Even though it felt like the middle of the night, it was only a bit after seven, so we were shown to our respective tents and told dinner woul dbe served within the hour, in the dining tent. I had more bags than anyone else, because I was carrying all of the team work tee shirts, as well as the team shirts for the NID, scheduled for the 24th. It looked as though I would be staying for at least six months, I am sure.
I also noticed that we seemed to be "bucking" a bit and checked out the road ahead, and it was like driving through the Mud Bowl! We are talking rutss of at least a foot to a foot-and-a-half in depth. I checked out the bus driver's expression and it was NOT a pleasant one, to say the least. He maneuvered as best he could, again with the problem of oncoming truck after truck. Then, for no apparent reason, we stopped. Horns honking, beeping, creating a cacophony of sound - "just letting you know I am here" or "get out of the way" or "do you really want me to dump my load in front of you or better yet, on top of you?" Each horn has its own meaning and the drivers of buses and trucks and cars understand this "language". We continued to look out the windows of our bus to see the goings-on outside. The driver called out to someone on the other side of the road, only to learn that a truck further down the road had suffered a "puncture" (flat tire) and that someone was bringing along the tire to be repaird, at a "shop" across from where we were parked in the middle of the road. Anything is possible in India!
A few minutes later, a tiny truck arrived and had as its cargo, not the tire in need of repair, but the entire truck axle. This was going to be a very long process. However, in a few minutes, traffic began to move again, and we soldiered on, inch by inch. Again, the bucking bronco effect began and our driver was attempting to remain on top of the ruts, doing his best to balance so we would not get mired down in the depths. The driver looked more and more worried, or should I say disgusted and at one point, he simply stopped the bus, turned off the motor and refused to go any further. Well this caused a bit of a problem because we were still about half a kilometer from the camp site. Frantic calls were made to contact Sanjiv in order to mediate the situation. Problem was that not all phones work in the remote areas. We were able to reach Sanjiv who spoke with the driver. The driver, in turn, decided to stand out in the middle of this pit and stop an oncoming jeep-type vehicle, asking to be driven further down the road so he could assess the situation. After all, why would anyone drive his or her vehicle further, if the mud ruts were only going to get deeper, UNLESS, of course, one was into the sport of "muddin'"!
Our driver returned shortly and indicated this was the end of the road for his vehicle and we would have to make other arrangements. In the meanwhile, I looked out and saw a familiar face - that of Dinesh, the son of Goverdahn, who was in charge of the crew constructing the dam. He seemed very pleased to see me and indicated we would be met by others from the camp, in small jeep-type vehicles and ferried to the camp site. It was only a few minutes more before the two vehicles were packed to the max with our team members and some of the bags. The rest would come later once we were all transported to the camp site. I suppose we could have walked the remaining distance, but in the dark of night, with only two of us having had previous experience in walking down country roads in India in the middle of the night, we were probably wise to accept the rides.
We finally bumped down the path-road (if there is such a term) until reaching a point where literally dozens of young men were crowding to see us as we disembarked from the jeeps. Corrugated metal sheets were being hammered onto fence posts, in order to identify the boundary between "us" and "them". Sanjiv was there to greet us, as well as his wife, Jyotsna and his sister, Olie. Also, four of the members of the team from France had previously arrived and it was good to see other familiar faces. The location of our tent village had been created by skimming off the top-soil and the setting out tents around the perimeter. I had been told by the owner of the tent company, while we were in Nagaur, it had been quite difficult to set up this site, due to unseasonal rains the previous week, and I could see what he meant, particularly during our drive (?) through the mud pit! The surface was skiddy and muddy and one had to take care while walking. Even though it felt like the middle of the night, it was only a bit after seven, so we were shown to our respective tents and told dinner woul dbe served within the hour, in the dining tent. I had more bags than anyone else, because I was carrying all of the team work tee shirts, as well as the team shirts for the NID, scheduled for the 24th. It looked as though I would be staying for at least six months, I am sure.
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