LAND OF CONTRADICTIONS

::: BY MOTOMORGANA :::

Laid Back And Mesmerizing - After 4 weeks in Pakistan, it was time to move on. We had booked a room for a bargain in Amritsar, just across the border with India. Our luggage was hoisted to the third floor, we took a quick shower and put on our “finest” clothes to finally, after 2.5 months of staying in bar-less countries, have a fullblown aperitif. Well, full-blown after half a pint of Indian “Kingfisher Ultra Max,” our eyes began to twinkle and another half pint later we were already tripping over our tongues. Half stunned, we finally found ourselves in a rickshaw on our way to our hotel room and fell asleep on the bed with our clothes on. Welcome to India!

Being in the city of Amritsar meant enjoying delicious Indian street food, visiting the magical Golden Temple and being immersed in an enchanting atmosphere, brightened up with those typical Indian new age tunes, with turbaned men and gracefully dressed women with the typical red dot between their eyebrows. Traffic aside, India breathed calm and peace above all.

Military Muscle Power - The contrast with our activity for the next day could not have been greater. The military ceremony at the Wagah land border is a daily ritual that’s absolutely worth attending, not least because of the surreal setting. On both sides of the border line, wildly dressed soldiers paraded against each other for about an hour and a half. Legs were thrown extremely high into the air and challenging macho poses were struck to show that the Indians - or the Pakistanis as the case may be - really are the strongest. To the loud cheers of thousands of spectators who, whipped up by a military applause master on steroids, roared to the other side of the border that their country is superior. Admittedly, the military show was truly impressive. But just for the record: India and Pakistan have been in an intractable conflict over the northern province of Kashmir since WWII. The arch enemies have nuclear warheads on either side of the border that could be launched at any moment. Fighting flares up too often and the series of wars between the two countries is now quite long. You can imagine how people on both sides of the border get just a tad more rited up in a climate like this. It was mind boggling... the contrast with the peaceful atmosphere 15 miles away could not have been greater.

Chaos In The Streets - India also means 1.4 billion Indians.... and it shows. People are just everywhere! Our drive to the north was a long succession of villages, connected by short stretches of narrow road where the loudest honking truck or bus flashes across in bulldozer mode, sparing nothing and no one. You must be extremely cautious here and you can forget about taking corners at speed on the winding roads in the mountains if you don’t want to be pushed into the abyss. After a painfully slow mountain ride, we finally arrived in Manali, the starting point for driving fun in the Himalayas. But we stuck around a little too long in Iran and Pakistan and it had gotten pretty late in the season already, so the risk of snowfall was high, and when there’s snow, the passes close, unfortunately.

Zen Along The Himalayas - The Spiti Valley, at the foot of the Himalayas, could not have contrasted more with the rest of India; desolate landscapes with the occasional lost run-down mini Suzuki or warmly huddled biker. The track led us over the snowy Kunzum Pass and along the magnificent Spiti River. No crowds here, no crazy bus drivers or an abundance of mopeds. The mighty vista was interrupted only by yet another Buddhist temple with a few houses around it and a herd of yaks that was quietly seeking lower ground because of the cold. Tourists were no longer around here, as two days later the pass would inevitably close for the season. Only peace and quiet reigned here. After the Indian chaos of the past few weeks, this was such a relief.

Where Is That Off Switch? - But on the way to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, we were brutally dropped back into Indian reality and hopelessly searched for that button to switch off the never-ending chaos and noise. We looked for ways to be on our own for a little moment when on the road. Not that we were successful, to say the least. Stopping outside of villages became our next strategy but even with just three buffaloes and a few monkeys around, it took less than a minute until a crowd of people gathered around the motorcycles and the road was blocked by a traffic jam. Admittedly, the Taj Mahal is a must see and we really enjoyed visiting it, but by now both Caroline and I felt like we had seen enough of India. We wanted to get to Nepal as soon as possible.

Népal The Belgian Way - The border crossing was ushered in by an Indian border guard on speed with the most terrible Indian accent ever. The guy commanded me all sorts of things and I just didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He kept asking if I spoke English. “Fluently sir, but I still don’t understand a single word of what you just said.” That obviously came as an insult to him. He got irritated, frustrated probably and finally angry with no intention of making things easy for us. Plan B was activated, and Caroline was sent inside to defuse the situation, while outside two local “beauties” with voices just a little too low to be entirely natural, tried to get a date with me. In the meantime, Caroline had been successful though: with the required stamps in our passports, we finally crossed the Nepalese border at dusk.

We made a quick stopover in Bardia National Park to spot elephants and rhinos, but we had to get to Kathmandu asap: we needed new chains, spark plugs and our injectors could use a good ultrasonic cleaning after all the crappy fuel we had seen over the past few months. But above all, we had to arrange the shipping of our motorcycles. But both Caroline and I had been looking forward for months to this one last stop somewhat 80 miles before the Nepalese capital: Luc, a pleasantly deranged Belgian adventurer, was running a real fry shop in Pokhara, with beer from the land of beer and delicious double fried hand cut fries. After 7 months on the road, we found ourselves in Valhalla for Belgians: A large portion of fries with mayonnaise and a Blue Chimay beer. Bring it on, Luc!