Arrival in Delhi after a pleasantly short night flight. Immigration takes a good hour, despite the shiny e-visa. Traffic is heavy, though curiously tuk-tuk-free at first (turns out they’re not allowed on the highway). A three-lane road is happily treated as six lanes—every tiny gap instantly claimed.
Eyes and nose reacquaint themselves quickly: the trash by the roadside, the street dogs. Many buildings look brand-new, and simultaneously very old, or like they’ll never actually be finished. Meanwhile, on motorcycles, texting seems to be the default mode of operation.
My travel buddy (and instigator of this whole adventure, plus long-time friend) Georg rolls into the hotel at 2 a.m. We chat until three, then optimistically agree on breakfast at eight. At nine a taxi is supposed to take us the 500 km to Manali. Everything goes smoothly—except no one tells us that our driver Mukesh has already been waiting.
The ride takes exactly 12 hours and sets us back about €150. First through Delhi’s ring-road traffic, then on Highway 1, flat and straight all the way to Chandigarh. Along the way: cows on the freeway, tuk-tuks stuffed with twelve people, pilgrims lugging holy water home from Haridwar. Before Kullu the mountains kick in, the mist rolls down, and the shiny highway vanishes. Instead: a narrow, winding road clinging to the hillsides, lush and neon-green with forest. Monkeys squat on guardrails, the rain starts, and daylight fades. Frequent landslide repair sites add to the fun, and oncoming traffic—headlights optional—turns things into an adventure.
Mukesh handles it all brilliantly, and even offers to join our journey as a support vehicle. Tempting! 😇 But we say our goodbyes with the agreed fare and a generous tip.
In Old Manali we grab two rooms, have a much-needed beer, and collapse into bed at midnight.
Next morning: rain until noon. Hemp grows taller than me right outside the hotel. We spend the time assembling bikes and finishing up preparations. On a test ride through Old Manali’s steep alleys, I stumble upon a guitar shop. Naturally, I can’t resist: fifteen minutes chatting and playing with Johnny, the owner from Kolkata. 😇
