Llew Wanders the World

My day in Pokhara, and the days to follow in Kathmandu would be fairly un-energetic ones (though the above-mentioned Holi on the Terai was anything but.) This lack of activity was, of course, to be expected after the 17 days of hard walking I’d put in just before.

I spent the morning at the internet café catching up with friends and family. In doing so I also discovered what day it was: Sunday. I’d very much been hoping to return to Kathmandu on a Sunday or Monday, giving the folks at the Pakistan embassy three uninterrupted business days to process my visa application. On my way back into town I stopped at my hotel and arranged a bus ticket to Kathmandu the following morning.

Transport arranged, I walked into the centre of town and visited the Kathmandu Environmental Education Project to say hello and to use their water refill service. A bit more wandering set me down in a tiny restaurant (Café Asia was its name) in an alleyway off the main Lakeside tourist street where I had a big, delicious meal of Dal Bhat (as you may have gathered, I’d grown to love Dal Bhat over the course of my trek.) After brunch (most Nepalis eat two large meals per day, one at 10:00, one around 19:00) I wandered back to the Hotel Mount Kaliash where I met Bijay, the manager who had been so friendly towards me during my earlier stay. I had plans for the early afternoon, but we made arrangements to meet up at his wife’s restaurant at 18:00 or so.

I spent the afternoon in blissfully lazy fashion, watching the last game of the Six Nations rugby tournament (England beat a brave underdog Scotland, and I was delighted to learn that earlier in the day Wales had beat Ireland to complete a Grand Slam [winning all five of their games in the tournament.])

I walked back to the True Love Tea House, past Phewa Tal, the lake that Pokhara sits on, and a beautifully setting sun behind it.

I spent a couple of hours talking with Bijay at the True Love (I didn’t see too much of his wife, Mira, since she was a bit sick.) We had a delicious meal of vegetable curry, soup and rice, as well as the one (I was very insistent… ONE) glass of Rakshi that Bijay convinced me to join him for. We parted ways, though not for long, since it turned out that he was headed to Kathmandu the next day as well.

The next morning I was a bit disappointed to realize that I’d left one of my beloved Nalgene water bottles behind at the place I’d watched the rugby match the previous afternoon. Sadly it hadn’t opened yet, and though the bottle had cost about twice as much as the bus ticket I headed to the station without it.

I managed to find my bus (always a challenge among the poorly marked Nepali buses, but a challenge that locals are happy to help with.) I also managed to find Bijay, and split a large noodle soup with him for breakfast before we headed off. It was nice that on my last morning in Pokhara I finally got a good look at its fabulous mountain backdrop. Almost as if the Annapurna range had come out that morning to say goodbye and see me off.

Having taken this trip already, I didn’t spend quite so long staring out the windows at the scenery as it passed, but I looked up from my book often enough to catch occasional glimpses of the pretty valley that the road wandered along. The burnt out buses that I’d seen on the way to Pokhara were gone, and even a few damaged sections of road had been repaired. This and (more importantly) the smaller amounts of traffic meant that the 200km trip to Kathmandu took a mere 7.5 hours, as opposed to the 10.5 it had in the reverse direction.

We arrived in Kathmandu and I accompanied Bijay and a Japanese backpacker to a couple of guesthouses. Bijay had come to make contacts with them and to try and bring tourists to his place in Pokhara, and he was hoping to build some goodwill by bringing them a couple of customers himself as he arrived. Though I had to spend at least ONE day at my previous lodgings I assured them that I’d be back.

The folks at the Pilgrims Guesthouse remembered me and happily greeted my return. I was even lucky enough to get the rooftop room, which was very inexpensive and had the best location in the place from which to look out over the Kathmandu valley.

After a bit of writing (the beginnings of my massive Annapurna Trek weblog entry) I set my alarm (though I’d broken yet another alarm clock, I’d FINALLY realized that my digital camera included one) in anticipation of heading to the Pakistan embassy early the next morning.

That night there was a BIG thunderstorm, (this photo is from it’s little brother the next day) with huge cracks of thunder that were followed by long, rolling rumbles. The sound of this, and especially of the rain pattering down on the thin roof was great to go to sleep with.

I woke before my alarm, and I dressed neatly (insofar as this was possible given my clothing selection) and walked downstairs where I grabbed a taxi to the embassy. It actually wasn’t all that far, and I certainly hadn’t needed a taxi. I’d arrived at 09:25, and they didn’t even start taking visa applications until 10:30.

Looking for some way to fill my time, I headed across the street to a small, but very busy restaurant. I was a bit hungry, so I ordered their “full diet” (a Thali, or re-fillable metal plate that included a mountain of rice, two kinds of vegetable curry, lentil soup, a papadum, yogurt and pickle.) So busy was the place that I had to share a table with two (as always) friendly Nepalis while I ate the delicious food.

I’d read several horror stories about getting visas at the Indian embassy in Kathmandu (I’d got mine in Chiang Mai, Thailand) and given Pakistan’s reputation as something of an isolationist state, I’d expected the same or worse there. As it turned out I was very pleasantly surprised. I sat in the visa hall with several others (there were about a dozen of us there, but the hall was quite big so it wasn’t crowded) and perused a rather one-sided pamphlet about the situation in Kashmir while waiting for 10:30 and the visa officer to arrive.

He appeared and duly handed out visas for those who had applied for them earlier, checked through and took my documentation (application form, passport, photocopy thereof, and 2 passport photos) upstairs. Ten minutes later he returned, and asked me to follow him. I went upstairs and had a very brief, informal, friendly meeting with a more senior official who wrote “OK” on the top corner of my application and asked me to return “tomorrow… Or no, wait, that’s our National Day… the day after tomorrow,” to pick up my visa.

I walked back to Thamel in light rain, actually rather enjoying it. It was also nice to get to see some different parts of the city. I’ve often found that it’s quite interesting and pleasant to visit areas of a city (or country) where there is no obvious reason to go. You don’t see any spectacular tourist highlights, but you do get to see parts of town that few other tourists do, and you get to witness the locals going about their everyday lives.

Upon arriving back I looked for the guesthouse I’d visited with Bijay on the previous day, but couldn’t find it for the life of me (though I’ll admit that while I felt guilty for letting him down I wasn’t too disappointed, given that the place I was staying was nicer and cheaper.)

I spent the afternoon wandering back and forth from my guesthouse to a nearby internet café to the shop where I’d bought my comfortable, though somewhat shoddy hiking boots. I was attempting to get my money refunded or at least a replacement pair. Though the shopkeepers seemed genuinely concerned and apologetic, they said they couldn’t do it themselves, but if I left the boots they’d find their supplier and have a word with him.

Also during my wanderings I was approached by yet another a gem shop owner (I’d met several during my first stint in Kathmandu, most, if not all of whom eventually got around to proposing fraudulent gem export deals) who asked me a common question: Why are foreigners so suspicious? I wanted to ask him, in turn, “why is it that in Thamel only gem shop owners want to have extended chats with me?”

My third day back in Kathmandu found me still waking up early without an alarm clock. I headed down to a place inside a Hindu temple on the Tridevi Marg that provided mineral water refills for 7R/litre, and also took the time to visit the KEEP office in Thamel across the road (during my previous visit I’d been searching for it EVERYWHERE, since they offer impartial trekking advice [and in Thamel, impartial anything is hard to come by.])

I spent the remainder of the morning shopping for a few blank CDs, and for a travel guide to Pakistan (now that I knew my visa would be forthcoming.) I found the former at a small local shop just outside Thamel (for ½ the price of the inferior ones sold inside the tourist district) and the latter in a bookshop which didn’t even stock the one I was looking for. Nonetheless, the proprietor made good on his promise to have it for me in 15 minutes, and for less than his competitors.

For my morning meal I had a big piece of Yak cheesefrom the Nepal Dairy Development Corporation shop (did I mention how good Yak cheese was? I know I did, but I felt a need to say it again) and three delicious fluffy chapattis from a restaurant near my guesthouse. After a delightful munch and read on the rooftop outside my room, I went for a further wander around Thamel (I’d wanted to do some writing, but the power was out at my internet café.)

During my wandering, I ran into Raja, a youngish gem merchant who I’d met and spent a fair bit of time with on my previous trip to Kathmandu. I’d been studiously avoiding him and his shop for the past few days, as despite his outward friendliness, I’d never got a good vibe from the guy. However, I couldn’t politely refuse his offer of a glass of tea in his shop. Very quickly the subject turned to the inevitable gem export deal which I firmly declined. After this, it seemed that both of us had to work hard to carry on a conversation. Before I left he made one more entreaty, this time for a loan of 2000 rupees so he could visit a doctor and have his fever attended to. By the end he was practically pleading, saying “it is good karma for you. Look at my face! You can tell I’m sick! Feel my forehead!” When I made my blunt final refusal he said something like “Now I see what kind of person you are. I pray to the God for you. Things happen to each of us every day. Today me, maybe tomorrow you. Maybe you’re f**king bag gets stolen.” None of this was threatening or really angry, but it was all very unhappy. I still felt like an absolute cad as I walked away.

I took a circuitous route back to my hotel, and after checking the power situation (still down) I walked across the road to the restaurant to pick up a couple more chapattis to enjoy with my cheese. There, sitting at a table in the place was Raja. Once again, he was all smiles, offering to buy me lunch on credit (a genuinely nice and forgiving person, or a con-artist who’d put his façade back on after a brief slip?) I extricated myself as quickly and politely as possible, and was happy to discover that the power was back on and I could spend the afternoon in the seclusion writing still more of my ‘blog entry.

That evening when I returned to the guesthouse I had a happy surprise waiting for me. Emily, one of my trekking companions was there (it wasn’t too surprising, given that this was where I’d first met her.) We talked a bit, catching up on things, but since I was tired and ready for bed, let most of it wait until the next day when Ilana, the third of our group of three would be there.

Having learned my lesson on my previous visit, I walked to the Pakistan Embassy the next morning. I even left nice and early to give me a chance to eat at the wonderful little restaurant across the road from the embassy before picking up my visa!

In keeping with their earlier performance the folks at the embassy were very friendly and returned my visa, (along with $2 change they owed me) within a few minutes of my arrival. The embassy staff gave me a wonderful first impression of their country, and left me very excited about my upcoming visit.

Instead of walking straight back to Thamel, I headed west towards the Kathmandu central bus park, where I hoped to obtain a ticket for my upcoming journey to Janakpur and then India. The ring road itself was quite unpleasant, and exactly what one expects from a major subcontinent city. The air was dirty to the point that you could feel the grime in your mouth from breathing it in, garbage was strewn all about the shoulders, and busy businesses were jammed into run-down buildings along either side.

This provided fine motivation to take a detour through a new residential area of the city. It wasn’t the most direct route, but led me through some more “typical” areas that not many tourists visit. The commercial street leading into the residential area itself was busy, but much cleaner and more pleasant than the ring road. Walking between the homes themselves was very nice (though it did serve to prove the assertion of someone I’d met that there is no such thing as urban planning in kathmandu. Buildings seem to be constructed wherever people like. Paths develop between them, which become roads, and then the gaps between the buildings along the roads are filled in.)

A couple of highlights of this area were the undeveloped hilltop that provided a clear view out over the sprawl of Kathmandu, the small local temple that sat on a raised concrete platform and the children who were getting an early start on Holi (more on Holi later) festivities by tossing plastic bags full of water at one another (a few came my way, but it didn’t really matter as it was already raining lightly and I had my raincoat on.)

Back on the ring road as I neared the bus park a market of tents started to appear by the roadside. A peek at them answered the question of where all the Britney Spears, Pantera, Liverpool and other western-branded clothing I’d seen throughout Nepal was purchased.

The bus park itself was much quieter than I’d expected. It was fairly large, but there wasn’t an awful lot going on. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that it was early afternoon and most intercity buses leave either early morning or early evening. I couldn’t read the Nepali signs indicating which ticket counters served which destinations but the infallibly helpful locals pointed me to the right one. I picked up my ticket and then headed back to Thamel on foot wandering up a narrow (but apparently major) commercial street.

I spent the rest of the day talking with Emily and Ilana (they were in the middle of a marathon breakfast when I arrived back at 13:30) and finishing off my own marathon, that of the Annapurna Trek ‘blog entry. I paid my hotel bill that evening, readying me for an early departure the next day.

I grabbed a taxi to the bus park (though to my dismay Kathmandu taxi rates are doubled before 06:00) and attempted to find my bus. This proved to be rather difficult. A long series of Nepalis looked at my ticket and then pointed me in one direction or another, or walked around the park for a few minutes with me looking for my bus. No luck.

I eventually returned to the ticket counter I’d visited the previous day and while there was no one at the desk, several men outside told me I just needed to wait there for my bus. I greeted this with some skepticism, but it was early, and I got same reply from several different individuals as I asked again and again while waiting. At 06:20 I began to get concerned. My bus was scheduled to leave at 06:30, and I was supposed to have reported (somewhere) for it at 06:00. No need to have worried. At 06:25 one of the men approached me and said “okay, bus coming now. Follow me.” I did, and it did.

The trip began in a very familiar fashion… The same old climb out of the Kathmandu valley I’d already seen twice on the way to and from Pokhara. The bus headed along that road (which I began to feel almost proprietory towards, given that I’d done the trip three times in quick succession) for about three hours, taking us distressingly far west given that Janakpur was almost due east of Kathmandu.

I read for most of this portion of the journey, but popped my head up occasionally, getting a photo almost accidentally of a lammergier (huge carrion eating bird) spreading its wings, as well as some nice views of the valley during rest stops. The one real incident of note on this leg of the journey was the bus crash (I’m being a bit overdramatic in calling it that.) My bus was coming around a corner and was confronted with two more buses side by side. The driver slammed on the brakes (I’d later see two thick black streaks of rubber on the road) but it wasn’t quite enough. The other bus clipped ours as it slid past. Everyone duly got out to have a look at the damage, which proved to be minimal to both vehicles, and soon we were moving again. I have to admit that given the driving habits of people in Asia, if I get through my trip with only this one tiny fender bender I’ll have been very lucky…

We turned south at Mugling, riding for a couple of hours on an absolutely terrible road (on par with the very worst southeast Asia offered) down a side valley before we were spilled out onto the Terai.

The Terai is the name for the broad plain that covers much of southern Nepal. Its flat, fertile fields and (relatively) tidy spread out towns are almost the antithesis of typical images of the country, but they’re an important part of it. A large proportion of the Nepal’s population lives on the Terai, and an even larger proportion of its crops are grown there.

The trip carried on past the broad, dry stony beds of several large rivers, and made a few stops along the way. At a couple of these young men climbed aboard and… Okay, I really don’t think I can finish this sentence without a proper explanation of Holi, so now will be the time.

Many readers might have thought that by Holi-Day I meant simply holiday. Yes and no. Holi is a major Hindu festival that takes place over one or two days (one in the Kathmandu valley, two on the Terai and in northern India.) It marks the end of winter, as well as the slaying of the evil Demon (is there ever another kind?) Holika. The celebration involves everyone (though especially children) dousing one another with water (very often dyed) and smearing friends and strangers alike with brightly coloured powder. It also traditionally involves (as I’d learn in Janakpur) an awful lot of alcohol consumption.

So. Those boys who climbed aboard the bus. I was travelling on the first (lesser) day of Holi on the Terai, and the single day of the celebration in Kathmandu, so it was unsurprising that, standing out as I did (I saw precisely two foreigners between departing Kathmandu and arriving in India three days later, and they were at a lunch stop early in the bus trip) I was targeted for a good smearing of bright red powder all over my face. The powder is entirely benign, and it was actually lots of fun, so I bore it with a smile. It didn’t hurt that I was clearly not alone. A few others on the bus got the same treatment, as had (obviously) many people we saw walking alongside the road.

After several more hours on the bus (the whole trip from Kathmandu to Janakpur took 11.5 hours) and several police checkpoints we finally arrived. As I disembarked, a friendly Nepali grabbed me a rickshaw driver and asked him to take me to a hotel. The first one was quite expensive, and my driver hardly even needed a word from me before grabbing my bag, putting it on the rickshaw and taking me somewhere cheaper (there he even went in first and asked for a room for himself to ensure that I got the local rate!)

I climbed up to my room, did my best to wash my face and was about ready to climb into bed. It was my driver. Apparently I’d misunderstood him and he’d sat outside waiting to take me somewhere to eat. I didn’t really feel like it, but in the end was very glad I accepted. The nighttime trip through Janakpur’s streets was magical, and one of my most memorable urban experiences in Nepal. Many of the streets seemed to specialize in one particular good or service. The spice street was particularly memorable for its beautifully scented air, as was the central market square, where each vendor lit his potatoes and onions (there didn’t really seem to be anything else on offer) with a single candle or ghee lamp, giving a beautiful atmosphere to the place. Several areas of town were alive with lovely Nepali and Hindi music playing from loudspeakers set up especially for Holi.

Things were much quieter on the way back from the restaurant, but still very nice. Before I headed to bed Jamul, the rickshaw driver said that he and his friend (who had sat beside me for much of the ride) would be back for me at 09:00. I explained that I had almost no Nepali rupees left, but he waved away my concerns saying “no, no, we walk. No rickshaw. We celebrate Holi.” Cool!

The night was peaceful, save for the absolutely ridiculous number of mosquitos in the room (thank goodness for mosquito nets) and one odd incident. I was almost ready to go to sleep when there was a knock at my door. I took some time answering it, and was greeted by three young men wearing jeans and t-shirts who said “police check” and stepped into the room as far as they could, since I quickly put myself in front of them, repeatedly saying “who is police?” I never really got an answer, but I saw no more of them and saw no sign that they’d been up to any ill, so presumably they’d been telling the truth.

The next morning I puttered about my room before emerging at 08:40 and finding the pair waiting for me downstairs. As we headed through the streets and alleys of Janakpur I got my first taste of Holi on the day. A group of kids shot coloured water at me from sort of plunger type water guns. Jamul started to chastise them, but I soon made it clear that I didn’t mind at all and wanted to get into the spirit of the celebration. Everywhere we walked there were dyed, powdered faces and shouts of “Holi Hay!”

Our first stop was the tiny alley they called home. The two of them were neighbours, and I sat down outside Jamul’s house while his friend disappeared into his own. The interiors of both places were tiny… Room for a double bed, with 1m to spare on one side, but no more. I could hardly believe that Jamul, his wife, son and baby daughter lived there. Even more incredible was the fact that he had three OTHER children no longer at home living with relatives in Mumbai.

Jamul’s family and I sat out front of the house and ate breakfast together. They presented me with a plate of rice and a small bowl of a meat curry. I declined the meat as politely as possible. Ever since the start of my Annapurna trek I’d been eating a vegetarian diet and had decided to continue for the next month or so. I have to admit being happy that I had a good reason to decline the goat arteries, testicles and so on that were contained in the bowl.

After breakfast we rejoined Jamul’s buddy and started out of town. As we walked along the road the two of them gave my face its first good dusting of the day, a magenta colour that seemed very popular in Janakpur. A bit further along we paused at a small wood and thatch building which turned out to be a bar. Inside we each had a glass of Tari, a very sour slightly alcoholic drink made from (fermented? I’m not sure… presumably it was) palm sap.

We carried on away from town and were met by more of Jamul’s friends. We followed them to a small collection of clay and thatch buildings (while it was separate from Janakpur town, it was too nearby for me to really think of it as a village) where we found the celebration already in full swing. Nepali music played from the radio (many of the songs featuring the word “Holi”) and people danced along with it. We sat down on a mat outside a home and I was presented with a glass of Rakshi (Nepali rice whisky) and a small bowl of meat (which Jamul informed me I’d have to eat SOME of in order to be polite.)

I sat around in a circle drinking rakshi, eating and being smeared with powder for some time before getting up and joining the dancing for a bit. Before we left a few people asked that I take photos of them, which I didn’t really mind doing.

Our next stop of the day was another friend’s house. By the time we arrived, just before noon more than half of the men from 15-60 were pissed as newts (what a wonderful expression that is) and 25% more were well on their way. The few who remained somewhat sober went to great pains to protect me from drinking too much rakshi (which I was in no danger of… I seemed to be handling it much better than the Nepalis) and from overenthusiastic celebrations on the part of the first 75%. We sat and celebrated with more of the same… Meat to eat, lots of rakshi, dyed water and coloured powder. Instead of a radio the music this time was provided by people taking turns beating on a bongo-like drum and singing along. Before departing came another request that I take a few photos of friends and family members together… It seemed that I’d turned into Janakpur’s official Holi portrait photographer.

On the way to the next family/friend home we stopped at a bar where celebrations had taken a rowdy (though still friendly) turn. I was already very, very colourful but this didn’t stop the patrons from further smearing my face with powder and then dumping several litres of dyed water over my head!

We visited a few more homes, the procedure similar at each. While I ended up taking portraits at each of them I did manage to get just a few unposed photos as well…

We wandered back into the city, then out once again in a different direction to our final home stop of the day, which was at Jamul’s uncle’s place. This was perhaps the rowdiest of all, and featured a big crowd, absolutely delicious food and even a five or six piece band! I was invited (for a few minutes) to join in, playing the elatalam, a pair of small hand-held cymbals. During the festivities I was positively COVERED in magenta powder, and then by a small but very strong pot of dye.

Towards the end of my visit there an argument of some kind erupted, with unhappy tones of voice and even a bit of shoving occurring. I suppose that anywhere in the world where lots of alcohol and foolishness like the colours mix this is bound to happen, but it was still a bit sad to see the darker side of this otherwise jubilant festival.

On the way back into town someone bid us to make one final stop. I sat down, but Jamul dragged me away, for reasons I didn’t understand. At first I thought that it was because they’d asked for money for their food (fair enough… I hadn’t paid for a thing all day, save for a 100 rupee gift for a newborn baby at the first house) but it seemed later that he was trying to suggest that they drugged their food and then robbed the passed out diners (though this may not have been the case… Jamul’s limited English was very tough to understand to begin, and had deteriorated as he drank more and more throughout the day.)

Near the start of town we met, much to my surprise, Jamul’s five year old son wandering around unaccompanied. It made a bit more sense when we delivered him back to his grandmother’s home nearby with a big package of biscuits I’d procured for him to aid in his continued celebrations.

We headed back into town passing, singly and in rowdy groups dozens upon dozens of brilliantly coloured faces. Just as it seemed that there was NO ONE in the town who hadn’t been celebrating in a chromatic fashion, we walked into a neighbourhood where there were many that hadn’t. I hadn’t realized that there was much of a Muslim community in Nepal, but we’d apparently found their enclave in Janakpur (Jamul later told me that he was Muslim himself, but the excitement and fun of Holi seem to have turned it into the sort of near-secular holiday that Christmas has become in Canada.)

We carried on through town, past the remnants of what had clearly been an even rowdier and more boisterous celebration than the ones we’d been part of. Our last stops on the day were purely for my benefit, brief sightseeing trips to the town’s most important temples. Janakpur is actually a major pilgrimage centre for Hindus, being the site of Rama’s (of the Hindu epic Ramayana) wedding to his wife Sita, as well as her birthplace. The most important of these temples is the Janaki temple, supposedly built on the spot where Sita’s father, Janak found her abandoned in a furrow in a farm field.

After this we headed back to my guesthouse, shedding people along the way, and by the time we arrived back at my hotel it was just the two of us. Before saying goodbye, Jamul asked me if I could give him 100 rupees to help defray his expenses on the day. I would very happily have done so, but given that I had 550 left, and I knew it would cost me at least 500 to get to India, I was very reluctant (in addition despite the fact that it was a tiny bit of money, I have to admit, I was a bit annoyed that he’d not said a word about it all day and sprung it on me after the fact.)

I explained my rupees situation to him, even opening my wallet and counting out the notes as I did so. He continued to plead and after 10 minutes was almost in tears. I finally relented, offering him the 50 rupees I’d planned on feeding myself with the next day, but now he wouldn’t hear of taking it. He finally departed, leaving me alone in my room feeling terrible about how I’d behaved.

I cleaned myself up as best I could (removing perhaps 90% of the colour, but leaving quite a bit) and then went to sleep as quickly as I could, given that I was hoping to catch a bus at 04:00 or 05:00 the next morning.

I was very happy when I rose and (after rousing a young man sleeping nearby to unlock the gate and let me out) I found Jamul waiting for me outside the hotel. As well as giving me the chance to redeem myself for my previous behaviour by giving him a $10 bill I’d dug out of my money belt before going to bed, it gave me one final, shining example of the supremely kind spirit of the Nepali people.

Jamul gave me a ride to the bus station and made a few inquiries on my behalf. People had told me that buses to Karkhabitta, my destination on the Indian border, ran hourly from 04:00 every day. Unfortunately it seemed that most passengers (and bus drivers) were expected to be recovering from Holi celebrations, and there was only one bus scheduled that day, at 08:00. Jamul and I said fond farewells to one another, and I assured him that I’d had a wonderful Holi and that I’d definitely send him pictures of himself and his friends.

I waited around, first in the dark, then in the sunrise, then in daylight, as the bus park slowly came to life. I regularly questioned people about which would be my bus, but was unable to make much sense of their replies. Finally I found a couple of men who spoke good English and pointed me to the correct vehicle. I loaded my pack, and after a bit of walking around (I’d be sitting for long enough) climbed aboard and awaited our departure.

The trip to Karkhabitta was similar to the drive through the Terai I’d already experienced, though the villages became bigger and busier as we approached the Indian border. We also passed through the huge floodplain of the Sapt Kosi, where I saw dozens of herons and egrets, as well as a single solitary crane.

The bus made many passenger stops on the way, seeming to pick up anyone looking for a ride, even if there were already people standing in the aisles, and even if the prospective passenger was only going 10km down the road. This and the lunch stop (where I had my final delicious Dal Bhat [and the cheapest one yet at only 30R!]) had us pulling into Karkhabitta at 03:30, 7.5 hours after departure.

Thankfully things there worked out fairly simply. Karkhabitta was a busy border town, so I had little trouble finding somewhere to mail my final Nepali postcard and to spend my last 20 Nepali rupees on snacks before officially removing myself from the country at the Nepali immigration office.

In the office I’d met a few people who had bought through-tickets from Kathmandu to Darjeeling, India (my final destination for the day) and as it turned out the woman who had offered me a spot in a shared vehicle to the Indian town of Siliguri 1 hour past the border was their agent, and we ended up travelling together.

We climbed into the shared jeep, 16 of us managing not too badly in the vehicle designed for 12, and made the quick 1km hop across the (un-imposing) river that formed the border and to the Indian border post. My visa was all in order, and while the process wasn’t the most efficient ever (it involved the immigration officer transferring a lot of data to a big log-book by hand) we all were processed in due time, and re-boarded our jeep for the trip on into India…

Many thanks this time to each and every one of the Nepalis I met on my travels who greeted me with a smile and a friendly “namaste” or some helpful advice. Despite the current troubled state of the nation, every effort is made to make life pleasant for guests, both by officials and most especially by the wonderfully warm and friendly people of the Nepal.

Tags: Nepal

This entry was posted on Monday, March 28th, 2005 at 9:30 am and is filed under Nepal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.