From Mayabunder to Diglipur: A Ride Powered by People

Today was the last and the longest day of this ride. I started early from Mayabunder, knowing the road ahead would test both endurance and patience. Before setting off, I had one of those breakfasts that you only find when food comes straight from the land.

Fresh, organically grown fruits laid out on the table — guava, mango, super-sweet sapota — along with a refreshing tender coconut. It was simple, nourishing, and exactly what the body needed before a long day on the saddle.

And then there was something special that Mr. John offered — Mopetoo, a local preparation that I absolutely love. Every time I pass this place, I make it a point to stop and have some. This time, I even carried a little along with me on the ride — partly for refreshment, and partly because it’s just too good to resist.

The road slowly moved northwards until I crossed the iconic Austin Creek Bridge — the bridge that connects Middle Andaman to North Andaman.

There’s something special about that crossing. Once you pass it, the road opens into long stretches of dense forest. Tall trees form a green corridor, and every now and then the road slips through small villages — paddy fields glowing in the sun, rows of arecanut plantations, and homes where life moves slowly and peacefully. For long hours, it was just the road, the forest, and the rhythm of pedaling.

At one point I stopped near a small school to refill my bottle. A teacher noticed me and walked over, offering to refill my water bottle and asking if everything was okay. We spoke for a few minutes — the usual curiosity about where I was riding from and where I was headed. It was a small moment, but one that stayed with me.

And honestly, moments like these define the Andaman Islands.

Yesterday when it rained heavily and there was barely any shelter along the road, a passerby slowed down to check if I needed help. Today an auto driver stopped to ask if everything was alright. Later I met him again at a small junction where I had stopped for a lime juice. Before I even realized it, he had quietly paid for my drink and said it was his small way of welcoming someone cycling through his land.

A small gesture — but a powerful reminder of the warmth that lives in these islands.

The ride itself was not easy. The morning began with cloudy skies and a few drops of drizzle, but soon the sun took over. As I approached Diglipur, the heat became intense. The road felt endless and the body began negotiating with the mind. For a moment, I even wondered why the Tour of Andaman is always scheduled in September and not in months like this.

And somewhere during this ride I realized something important — in Andaman, you should always carry an umbrella whenever you step out. Not just for the rain, but also for the sun. It reminded me of a friend who once perfectly described Andaman’s weather in three simple categories: hot, wet, or hot and wet. Today, it definitely felt like the third.

Eventually though, persistence pays off.

Soon I rolled into Diglipur — a place I lovingly call the “sweet city.” As always, it welcomed me warmly. I stopped at a familiar street shop, ordered a diamond tea, and treated myself to two rasgullas — a well-earned reward after a demanding ride.

From there, I had to make a practical decision. My stay was about 20 km away near Kalipur, and later in the evening I had to return again to Diglipur to catch a bus. Cycling back and forth in that heat didn’t seem wise.

So I walked into a nearby police outpost and asked if I could leave my bicycle there for a few hours.

Once again, the people of Andaman proved why this place feels different. They welcomed me warmly, assured me the cycle would be safe — even pointing to the CCTV cameras — though they smiled and said Andaman is safe enough even without them.

From there, I took a bus and reached one of my favorite stays in the islands — Pristine Beach Resort.

This place has its own quiet charm. Surrounded by tall trees and close to forests, and beaches it feels deeply connected to nature. The hospitality here is simple and heartfelt. I was welcomed with a refreshing lime juice — something my body desperately needed after the day’s ride. After a quick shower and a wholesome meal, I walked down to Kalipur Beach, just a few minutes away.

The beach was calm, the sky slowly fading into evening, and the sea carried that familiar Andaman silence.

Moments like these leave you with a deep sense of gratitude — for the road, for the journey, and for the many people who say “yes” to adventures like these. Because while the landscapes of Andaman are breathtaking, it is the warmth of its people that truly makes the journey unforgettable.

There’s a thought I often come back to while traveling:

If you want to hate the world, watch the news. If you want to love the world, step out, travel, and meet people.

Journeys like this constantly remind me how true that is.

And every time I ride these roads, it quietly reminds me why experiences like the Tour of Andaman are not just about cycling.

They are about discovering places through people, through stories, and through the many small acts of kindness that appear along the way.

Sometimes, the most beautiful part of a journey is simply realizing how generous the world can be when you travel through it slowly.