On 7th June, we left Munnar to go to Madurai, via Theni. It was our first long trip by bus since we had left Iran.

We had been advised to wait for the bus at the depot, to be sure to have seats on the bus. It was rather a good idea: at its first stop, in the centre of Munnar, men flocked to the bus and filled it before it had even stopped completely. Women and children followed, the luckiest joined the seats reserved by the fathers.

For our connection in Theni, we had been promised there would be departures for Madurai every minute. Not wrong, buses left the station bumper to bumper, quickly filling up with the great flood of travellers. We had to force the young ticket inspector’s hand as he balked at letting us get in the bus because of our big backpacks (they were taking up space without having tickets paid for them).


The bus left, jam-packed. Probably not enough though: as the stops went by, new passengers came to stick together in the central aisle. In the bends, these newcomers almost collapsed on the seated passengers. Bam! A bag of mangoes flew and hit my head. ‘They’re fine’, the smiling young lady, struggling against the centrifugal force, seemed to tell me. Our backpacks were probably being used as seats in the front…

We were seated next to the central door, in a very good position to enjoy the show of people getting on and off the moving bus. It was so full that it overflowed. A cluster of people had built up outside the bus, hanging on the bars of the glassless windows. One of the suspended men noticed us. ‘Hello!’ his smiling face told us. He started a conversation with us, only taking a quick look from time to time to see if the bus was not going too close to a tree or a road sign. When he learned we were French, he gave us an admiring ‘Oh’. ‘France, no cricket, only football?’ (In English in the text). We had only just answered him when it was time for him to get off, or rather jump. He made big gestures to us to say goodbye.

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)