We continue our trundle south, using more sleeper buses than should ever be deemed neccessary, but there’s not much in the way of an other option. Catching trains is a big no-no. For example, we have a train booked for tomorrow night, and I’ve paid for the tickets. However, we’re on a waiting list as the train, just like every other locomotive in the sub-continent, is overbooked. This means that when we go to board our carriage, our name might not be on the list, therefore we can’t get on board, oh and we don’t get a refund. Astonishing.
So, we’ve been busy bussing. We found ourselves in Mandu of all places, a tiny place on a huge plateau overlooking green fields for as far the eye could see. Hiring bikes, we joined a French guy (Sebastian, naturally) and two Croatians on various excursions to old ruins and caves. We also found some inhabited villages that could have been older than any of them, the locals were getting by as they have been for centuries. We stayed at a guesthouse where the owner used to be the mayor of Mandu. He now sat in his garden sipping whisky and waiting for locals to approach him for favours, business or respect. We immediately called him ‘The Godfather.’ The Godfather seemed to know everything about Mandu. When there was a powercut he made a call and informed us his people would have Mandu back on the grid in ten minutes. Exactly ten minutes later we had light. It got weirder. That night he told us that he took many elements from the movie ‘The Godfather’ by which to live his life. He then told us, blow by blow, his favourite moments in the film, how he respected Michael Colerone and the loyalty he showed his family. After the whisky, the Godfather slumped to the side and dozed off. We dared not wake him, there were horses nearby whose heads could be on our pillows in the morning.