I wrote this back in India – just a few thoughts on nightbuses.

The bus bounces around the road at a breakneck speed as I try to get some sleep. It suddenly, and violently, jerks left then hard right, the breaks are slammed on and I slide down the bunk hard against the my pack, which is propped against the end wall of the cramped plank they call a bed. This is the fourth time this has happened since we left.

Welcome to an Indian night-bus.

I’m making my way across the bottom of the sub-continent on one of the many overnight buses to a city called Chennai, home to south India’s major airport. There was a train I could have caught however it cost 100US, where as the 14 hour bus trip has cost me around $15US.

The price includes a bunk, a plank of wood that at some point along time ago may have had foam attached, and the chance to die at the hands of a driver who seems to think he’s in command of a V8 at Bathurst. I suppose with my ‘just go with it’ attitude I should add that it is quite an adventure, hell slap a catchy name on the side and I could sell this to a theme-park as the latest attraction.

The real problem with night buses is every time I book one I forget that there is little to no chance I’ll get any meaningful sleep on board. I’m not alone, this is the lie that every backpacker tells themselves as they contemplate booking the 16 hour overnighter to the next town.
“If I catch the night bus I’ll save some money,  get some sleep and then I can go exploring as soon as I arrive”

berrrrr Wrong.

The truth – you spend 16 hours on a bus with no A/C, in a bunk that smells like armpits, listening to what ever god awful music the driver pumps over the tortured sound system while the whole time having to defend every inch of space from the indian families all of which seem only to book two seats between seven.

Then the problem is, What do you do?

You can’t sleep, you can’t look out the window because it’s 1am and rural India hasn’t yet caught on to streetlights. You don’t want to pull out your laptop or iPhone because truthfully it probably cost more than the homes your fellow travellers live in, and you can’t read because the bus bounces around so much you book turns into a game of boggle.

I tried writing, I got through the first sentence before we hit a pot hole and I stabbed myself with the pen. I tried playing cards, this worked until the driver slammed on the breaks again and I slid, arse fist, through my solitaire game.

So here’s what I’m going to promise – NO MORE Night Buses. I don’t care if they’re cheap, if they are convenient or if they’re availalbe. I always get off completely nackered, smelly and in need of a massage a beer and a proper bed.

So from crumpled up position at the end of his bunk
GK Out.

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