From Nepal to India Feb-March 2015
Part I - Nepal
Chapter 3 – To the Border
Day 11 Traffic
Pokhara is a pretty city. But as soon as you leave the main road, there are construction sites all over the place.
I leave my hotel around 6, with all my bags. It’s a 30min walk before I reach the bus station.
It’s an 8 hour ride to Kathmandu. Fortunately, these are unmistakebly cozy, wide tourist buses.
The bus leaves at 7.30am. The journey is – thankfully – uneventful.
Back in KTM, it’s rush hour. We’ve just crossed half of the country in 5 hours. But it takes us two more to survive the city’s awful traffic jams.
Pollution, fumes, constant noise, heavy traffic, cars on the wrong side of the road, reckless motorcyclists‌ I really feel sorry for these guys.
Eventually, the bus stops. Instead of leaving us right at the bus station I know of, it stops in a middle of a dusty, rocky road that I’ve never seen before. I have no idea where we are. Of course, taxi drivers are flocking towards us. I tell them I want to go to Thamel. -Oh Thamel, very far. At least 20min drive. 300 rupees! Best price! Come on, it’s a tourist bus. I know we can’t be too far from the main tourist area. It wouldn’t make sense. I leave all the taxis drivers shouting behind me, and start walking, with all my heavy bags. 5 min later, I enter an information office and learn that I’m really close to Thamel, and barely two blocks away from my previous hotel. I knew it !
Me
My Hotel
I get to the hotel and ask for any room available. They only have a bed in the dorm. I’m good with that. I go to the agency to pick up my passport. The manager is away, I’ll have to come back at 6. 3 hours to go. I browse shops. At 6, they tell me that the manager will be back tomorrow. Now I get angry because I’m leaving in two days. I tell them they better make sure I have my documents ready for tomorrow.
I’m upset because of the passport, but there’s no real reason to worry. I get my dinner (fried momos + pizza) to the place I’d been to with the Canadian siblings.
This place is great ! The food is fresh and cheap. And since it’s a small place, away from the main area, it’s pretty quiet.
My trip to the Everest
‌ one glass at a time.
Day 12 Planet of the Apes
Last day in KTM. I wake up early and get to the office as soon as they open. I finally get my passport back, with my Indian visa, and my bus ticket for the border tomorrow.
Today, I’m going outside KTM, to visit Swayambhunath – also called: The Monkey Temple.
It’s not supposed to be too far away. But as usual, I take a wrong turn somewhere, and end up walking in destitute areas for a good half hour. I’m going in circles for a while, until I finally see the temple in the distance and use it as a landmark.
You gotta admit, they do love their long, high, staircases in Nepal. Also, they make you pay for the entrance, once you’re at the top, when you are trying to catch your breath. Very sneaky.
From up there, I can get a nice view of Kathmandu – in all its polluted glory.
When you get to the top, the first thing you see is a huge, brass-plated thunderbolt. A symbol of the power of enlightenment, that destroys ignorance.
The temple belongs to the Unesco World Heritage sites. The compound is centered around a giant, white stupa, topped by a gilded spire, and painted with the all-seeing eyes of the Buddha.
Do you like my new hat?
From the spire, four faces of the Buddha stare out in the cardinal directions. The « nose » is actually the Nepali symbol for « 1 ». It stands for unity.
The white dome represents the earth.
The gilded spire is symbolic of the 13 stages that humans have to go through, to achieve nirvana.
Can you spot the odd one out ?
The base of the stupa is ringed by prayer wheels, where you can read in Sanskrit the sacred mantra om mani padme hum – hail to the Jewel in the Lotus.
Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus !
- O Master, is it proper for a monk to use email?
- Sure‌ as long as there are no attachments !
Here too, they have dozens of souvenir stores. They sell mostly the same stuff as in the streets below, but it’s more expensive of course.
According to the Lonely Planet, The Kathmandu Valley was once a lake. And the hill, now topped by the temple, rose from the waters. Hence, the name swayambhu – « self-arisen ». But it’s also called The Monkey Temple for obvious reasons.
I have a yak cheese sandwich in my bag. I thought I could eat soon, but I think I’ll wait a little longer. I’m being watched…
There are monkeys everywhere.
From cute little babies‌
‌ to not-so-cute-anymore large adults.
When I leave the temple, I go down another side of the hill, with even more monkeys around.
I also find the perfect Valentine’s Day card
1pm. Back down the street,
I find an empty park near a museum. I sit under a tree and eat my lunch. It’s almost quiet – I can still hear all the traffic noises.
I try to walk back to Thamel but I get lost one more time. Once you’re out of the main city area, maps are utterly useless. I’m tired of these backalleys where every house looks the same. Also, the locals around don’t speak English. And the ones who do, can only give me vague directions. It takes me more than 1 hour to find Thamel again.
Ironically, once I’m back in Thamel, I realize that I am inside Durbar Square. That’s the second time I’ve found myself there, without paying any entrance fee.
At street level, in the middle of the crowd, I have a terrible time finding my way out. I get to a rooftop cafe for a much better view.
Actually, since I’m reading the book of this guy, who was a junkie in KTM during the 70’s, I’m interested in finding what was once one of the great gathering places for hippies.
This place is called Freak Street. Of course, whatever happened here, the street is now a pale shadow of its former self.
I find a bakery recommended by the Lonely Planet. This place is said to have been serving travellers for more than 40 years. The pyschedelic paintings on the wall could actually date from the hippie prime.
The place is apparently famous for its chocolate cake. I ask the owner if he’s ever heard of the book’s author. He hasn’t.
But he also tells me that his father used to run the place. So, he might have. I like the idea that there’s a possibilty the author was once sitting in this restaurant.
Oh, yes! Hands down one of the best ones I’ve ever had. And I don’t like chocolate that much to begin with.
I wish I could stay longer – and have more cake. Unfortunately, I have stuff to do for tomorrow. So, I dive right back into the traffic.
To get back to the hotel, all I have to do is follow the main road. But that also means forcing my way patiently through hundreds of cars, motorbikes and other pedestrians.
As a French person, I could never trust this agency…
After an eternity of breathing fumes and jumping around to avoid incoming bikes, I finally get back to my hotel. The dorm is empty. At last, I can rest in silence… Nope, as soon as I sit down, the staff comes in with a loud vacuum cleaner.
Well, I have to pack my bags anyway.
It’s now 5.30. Night falls at 6. There’s still one place that I wanna see. The Garden of Dreams – only 5 min walk from Thamel. The guide describes it as : « one of the most serene and beautiful enclaves in KTM » It’s gonna be dark soon, but I’m dying for some peace and quiet.
Entrance fees, 200rupees. Sure it’s pretty. But it’s also really small. I hoped for a nice stroll among flowers and trees, but it’s mostly a square with a fountain. How disappointing.
And so much for peace and quiet. At sunset, the trees are covered with crows. The noise they make covers even the ones from the street outside.
Well, they don’t have many flowers, or many trees. But they do have ladders, I’ll give them that.
At nightfall, the square is nicely lit. But if you don’t want to have dinner in the expensive restaurant, there’s no reason to stick around.
Well, at least someone’s having fun around here.
There’s a famous pizza restaurant, right across the street. It’s recommended by the LP, but it’s also expensive and popular - you usually need a reservation. It’s not high season anymore, so I give it a shot. At the entrance, a waiter makes me wait (I get the irony…) on a bench. I wait, wait and wait longer. But the restaurant is still full. It’s a really fancy one. Fancy = expensive = high government taxes added to the bill. It’s probably very good but I have neither the time, nor the money, to try it tonight.
Instead, I come back to what has become my favorite restaurant. It’s not even listed in my guidebook (although, I do have an old edition), but the food is always good and there’s no tax whatsover.
I get a delicious homemade cheese burger and two spring rolls. Now, I expected spring rolls to be small and light, like in Vietnam. These ones are large bread rolls, filled with egg, meat and fried noodles. I can’t even finish my plate.
I’m glad to be back here one last time. The place is run by a little, old lady, with the sweetest smile. She doesn’t speak much English, but I tell her that this is the best restaurant I’ve been to in KTM, and ask to take her picture.
After dinner, I try to look for Pilgrim Book House, a renowned bookstore. It’s fine, I have the address in my guidebook. But actually, I waste a lot of time going in circles before I realize they’ve moved (yep, my guide is kinda dated). Also, every single time I pass by what was supposed to be the address, there are some shady characters trying to sell me opium and weed. It’s pretty annoying. When I finally find the place, they’re about to close and they don’t have much that I’m interested in anyway. I just leave.
On the way back to the hotel however, I quickly stop at a small souvenir store and look at some keyrings. They’re 150 rupees each. I get two. 100 for both. One last good bargain before I leave.
Day 13 Borderlands
Today, I’m travelling to the border between Nepal and India. I leave at 5, get a cab, arrive at the bus station at 6. This bus station is for long distances only and it’s massive. Also, very confusing. Apart from the checking counter, it all takes place within a giant parking lot. No number, no door, no screen, just buses everywhere. Thankfully, I meet my bus driver himself, who shows me to my seat. At 7.30, we leave Kathmandu.
That’s my bus. The destination is not in English, and the bus number I have on my ticket doesn’t even match. Seriously, how was I supposed to find it on my own??
This is the first time I’ve seen people lighting a fire in the middle of a bus station, just because they were cold.
Now, a few words about this bus, because I’m gonna be in it during most of the day. Although there are supposedly numbered seats, there’s no such thing as « too many passengers ». Right now, I’m sitting two rows behind the drivers. And there are at least 10 people between us - don’t ask how or where they sit.
Also, the bus doesn’t really stop to let other passengers in. The driver slows down a bit and one guy shouts the name of the destination by the open door. If anyone’s going that way, they literally hop inside, while the bus is still driving. Then, the guy usually leaves the door open, because there’s no A.C.
Also I get my first encounter with the spitting bag. Didn’t know that one before. The passenger sitting next to me was a quiet, old man. Nothing particular about him. But every two minutes or so, he would put a plastic bag to his mouth… Every two minutes or so, for an 8 hour ride, that’s a lot of spitting.
Around lunchtime, we stop for some street food. Unsurprisingly, I’m not that hungry. Also, I have no idea what they’re eating. I settle for something that doesn’t look spicy. It’s called pokara or something. I think it’s fried carrots, mashed together with onions and chick peas. Not bad.
It’s a very long ride. There are incoming trucks, slow tractors to overtake, and cows wandering around, in the middle of the road. The driver pretty much honks at anything that moves. Everytime I try to close my eyes, I feel like someone is blowing the trumpet in my ears.
At one point, we get to a really dusty town and the bus stops. But it’s not even the last stop. One guy tells me that it’s mine, since I’m going to the border. I take my bags and jump out. Right away, he points out at a jeep parked in front of the bus. He tells me that they’re going to the border too. Right now.
I run and jump at the back of the jeep. Let’s say, its trunk. The seats are already taken. Actually, there are four seats – including the driver - but somehow, I’m sharing the ride with 13 Indians. No one speaks English of course. I’m the only white person here. We drive for about 10 minutes and the jeep leaves me in the dusty, dirty border town of Sunauli. I know I could keep going through the border now, but it’s gonna be nightfall soon. I don’t plan to be stranded in the middle of nowhere after dark.
Instead, I find a hostel recommended in the guide, and get a room for the night.
Then, not without difficulty, I find an Internet place, and I use one of the slowest broadbands ever.
When I’m done, I come back to the hotel for dinner. There, I meet one Indian man who knows about Gorakhpur (my next destination). He offers to show me around tomorrow. We agree to meet at the immigration office at 10am.
The cook in the hotel shows me the menu and tells me that I can get anything - except what is crossed. Honestly, there’s barely anything left uncrossed. I ask him if he can make some daal bhaat‌
I get my dinner on the roof. I thought it would be quiet, but the hotel is quite close to the border. And there are lines of trucks in front of the place, all honking their horn at the same time. In the meantime, all the hotels around, including mine, have started their generators, during the power cut. You can just imagine the racket outside…
For me, the fun has just started. Since there’s nothing to do around, I draw the room. Suddenly, the power goes off. I’m fine, I have a flashlight in my bag. It works with 3 AAA batteries that I always keep together. Except that this time, I can only find two of them. I’ve used the light this morning but, now, I can’t ?? So, ironically, I’m frantically rummaging through my bag, in the dark, to find the remaining battery for my light.
It’s no use. Can’t find anything in the dark. Eventually, I have the idea of using the batteries from the remote control, sitting on the TV. Finally, it works.
I’m waiting for the power to be back on. But it doesn’t make any sense, since they’ve already started the generators a while ago. I go dowstairs and ask for someone to come up and check. One guy goes to my room and switches another panel. Fiat Lux ! Of course, nobody had the brillant idea of telling me about the alternative panel, in case of emergency shut down…
Hotel Room – Sunauli.
Outside, the border is closed for the night. The truck drivers have stopped their engines. Still, the noisy generator under my window is enough to keep me awake. The fan on the ceiling doesn’t work with the emergency power. And I have my first encounter with mosquitoes…
This is my last night in Nepal, but it’s not one I’m likely to forget any time soon.
Anyway, whatever happens, tomorrow I’ll be in India. And in three days, I’ll be with Quinn in Varanasi.