From Udaipur With Fright
Our driver careens through the stars like he’s taking a Viper GTSR through the death section of Special Stage R11 in Gran Turismo; before he’s done turning right he’s already wheeling left. The jello shocks are so shot we bounce on smooth pavement like a trotting horse, sag and lurch deep into every maneuver. We roll like logs on the furry mattress. He drives far too fast even for an Indian superhighway – perhaps 100 kmph – but subjectively it feels like 140 kmph on cobblestone.
Still dizzy from the whirlwind ride and with bladders bursting at their seams, I fly into a rage when one of the helpers asks for 50 rupes just for storing our bags. Chelo Pakistan!