The morning brings that awful unsettled feeling that you have to stay close to your room. It sort of resolves the issue of what to do today. It has to be last night’s meal. I just hope it is the uber spiciness rather than anything more dire. By the afternoon I dare to venture out far enough to buy some bananas for this evening’s coach ride. A bowl of plain boiled rice in a cafe near the pick up is strangely calming. The Vietcong survived for weeks on little else.
The bus arrives in good time but leaves 25 minutes late. No windows and no seats just horizontal spaces with a curtain if you want. I by chance have a single though the other side of the bus are doubles. I think they probably pack in as many passengers as conventional seating.
After an hour we stop. Eventually we all get out to watch the driver and attendant repairing a leaking radiator hose. Another 45 minutes gone. By the time we reach Bijapur it is over an hour late. I sent an email via a friendly chap from Leeds to Sabala to say I’ll be late but…..
A tuktuk takes me out there with his mate for guide but the gates are padlocked and a dog is barking. They make a hell of a racket and I decide to give up-its midnight by now- and head back to the other place I had in mind that is open 24/7. They have a room and I’m glad to see the back of a bad day by 1 o’clock.