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To Kathmandu
On Saturday night I began my journey to Nepal. I boarded the night train at New Delhi station where I found myself in a carriage with a gregarious Chinese man. He was busy entertaining our fellow passengers with anecdotes and stories, most of which were pretty incomprehensible to me, but was quite diverting. Less amusing was his request that I 'teach him English' at 11 o'clock when all I wanted to do was sleep! Eventually he got the message and I settled into my bunk for some kip.
The train was jam-packed and there were people perched on the end of bunks and some crouching in the aisles (now I see why the top bunks are considered more desirable!). Too concerned with my own situation I didn't give this too much thought, until an hour later when I couldn't sleep for the cold.I irritably muttered something about 'tanda hai' hoping that this might prompt someone to close the offending window. The man sitting on the end of my bunk initially thinks I am disgruntled by his presence - I mean, heavens I have paid all of two quid for this bunk you know.
I assured him that wasn't the problem, and indicated that I was cold. He rummaged around in his bag and extracted a blanket, which he then cspread over me, tucking it in around my feet so that not an inch of cold air can infiltrate. Feeling very touched and grateful, it was at this point that I properly considered his situation.
He is bent double on the end of my bunk because the bunk above prevents him sitting straight, his much older travelling companion is in the same situation on the opposite bunk and there is a younger boy currently standing, with whom they alternate turns sitting. It is dark, cold and Lucknow is seven hours away; yet, he is thinking of my comfort. Of course, now I can't sleep for the feelings of concern and guilt! Plus, pretty soon I got TOO hot, but every time I surreptitiously slid a limb out from the blanket, it was spotted and diligently covered!
Miraculously I fell asleep. I awoke in the early hours and found myself swimming in a sea of sleep sounds. There was an impressive array of snores; from loud and trumpety, to soft purrs, whistles, some which are regular like clock-work and other more sporadic splutters. It was really quite impressive. There was someone lying on the floor next to my bunk and my 'blanket monitor' has fallen asleep hunched over into his own lap. I fumbled around trying to locate an awol ear-plug - but it was permanently lost to the carriage floor and believe me you wouldn't want it back after that.
Nevertheless, I was rocked back to my own slumber and don't awaken till 8am! Given that we were supposed to arrive in Lucknow at 6.20am I take a wild guess that the train is running late. The Chinese man who is already up and has recommenced his monologue jovially confirms this.A further three hours later we arrive in Lucknow.
I really liked Lucknow. It had a nice atmosphere and was full of interesting legacies of the British Raj. It was the scene of a long siege during the Indian mutiny of 1857 and the ruins of the British have been left as they were following the bloody battles. I stayed at a home-stay where, after delicious home-cooked food, I sat round the kitchen table with fellow guests, whilst our host Naveed regaled us with weird and wonderful tales of the eccentric people who have stayed with her over the years.
From here I took another seven hour train to Gorakphur, where I had a night's pit-stop before the two hour bus-ride to Sunauli on the border with Nepal. I don't think I have ever made a border crossing on foot before; it was a bit of a strange experience. Sunauli had something of that wild west, ghost-town feel about it. You know, the tumble-weed blowing down the main street and people looking out from door-ways and that sniff of paranoia and melancholy
I stopped for my last cup of Indian chai before heading to the crossing. The Indian immigration office was about as unofficial-looking as you could get - some men (admittedly in uniforms) sitting on a verandah behind a large trestle table strewn with papers. The cast a lethargic eye over my papers, stamped my passport and that was it. As I walked under the sign welcoming me into Nepal I half expected something to happen; I don't know what precisely - a brassband to start playing, fireworks, or someone running up and telling meto stop and that my papers weren't valid…something. But there was nothing and I was soon in the slightly more official Nepali immigration office being stamped into the country.
Any differences to India weren't immediately noticeable; using the toilet in the immigration office was an equally repellent experience as in India, and I was besieged by touts wanting to sell me bus tickets, hotels, taxis and no one would give me straight-up information. That is the really time-consuming and frustrating aspect of travelling here. I don't mind people trying to sell me their products, what I hate are all the c*** and bull stories about 'no direct buses, today is festival so no buses, government has stopped buses, you have to get bus from town 4km away blah blah blah'. Eventually I established the facts and got myself on a bus to Kathmandu.
This agency had assured me that their vehicle "isn't like Indian bus"….after four hours rammed in like the sardines, which vendors run onto the bus to sell at every stop (no thanks!), I say good-humouredly, "You said not like an Indian bus….this is exactly like an Indian bus", which causes great mirth to the 'conductor' Amit and those around us!
Naturally, the journey doesn't pass without events including; the bus breaking down and passengers getting out to push it, the conductor grabbing the back of a man's jacket to stop him falling out as he vomits out of the open bus door (naturally the bus carries on at full kilter); the apparent loss of some of the luggage from the roof-rack, which requires police intervention. The conductor hopping on and off willy-nilly to buy tobacco, or tape to fix some loose wires so that the radio works. The passenger next to me has travelled from Gujurat - he is on a pilgrimage. In between sharing grapes and poppadums with me, he shows me the architectural plans and costings for the temple he is hoping to build.
People help themselves to my water bottle, as well as using my shoulders and knees to help lever themselves in and out of the gaps they are wedged into around my seat. As this is a private company the bus also stops continually to try and recruit new passengers, who are then squeezed into whatever infinitesimal space is still available.
I have to say that I was also 'looked after' to a degree. At every stop Amit saw to it that I was fed and watered and someone (I am never sure who) picked up the tab each time - though that is probably because I most likely paid a whacking great mark-up on the price of my ticket (cynical, moi?).
The scenery was beautiful - very similar to that of the Indian Himalayas. However after daylight receded, stealing way the sustaining views, I became increasingly impatient just to get there! So I was immensely relieved when we finally reached Kathmandu. Just as I was getting anxious about the arrangements that have supposedly been made with a hotel in Kathmandu, the bus comes to a halt (again) and I hear my name shouted through the door. Amit calls me, "come friend, your stop", and I am bundled off the bus and deposited into a waiting mini-van.
Before I could start considering the slightly precarious nature of my situation (driving through the power-cut black streets of Kathmandu with two complete strangers), we arrived at the guest house. Here I was greeted with a warm welcome and a gorgeously hot shower (courtesy of solar power). There was a wedding taking place next door and they were blaring out the customary tacky music. My bedroom walls were reverberating with the noise, but testament to my exhaustion, I fell instantly asleep and didn't wake till dawn.
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