Outside of Jodhpur, our bus stopped for a roadside bathroom break. Several of us walked over to a nearby water wheel. The elderly farmer proudly showed us the elaborate pulley system that hoisted water buckets out of a deep well, powered by an ox that moved the wheel. To irrigate his crops, the farmer spent hours a day riding his ox around in circles. His wife and family washed clothes on the rocks nearby. I was impressed with the inventiveness of the system, even as I pondered how it can take so much time and effort to do something as basic as retrieving water.
I turned around and noticed Jacqueline talking to a young boy, maybe about 10 or 12 years old. My headphones were on his ears, and he was staring at the iPod in Jacqueline’s hands. She was smiling, showing him how the controls worked, playing music and showing videos on the small screen. His jaw was slack and his eyes were transfixed; he looked disbelievingly at Jacqueline. Afterwards on the bus we wondered if the boy would tell all his friends about the strange spaceship that had landed on his family’s farm.
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
In the news...
...Madonna and family have been closely following our footsteps through Rajasthan and Mumbai (Though it looks like they're enjoying much nicer accommodations).
Notes on "Most Disturbing"
Peter, one of our travel-mates, was sitting in our room late at night. He was relating a story to Jacqueline about a legless man with shoes on his hands, pulling himself through the street. I was fumbling with the laptop, half-asleep and only half listening; I absent-mindedly asked "Was he naked??" Waves of confused laughter from the two of them. I’m not sure exactly why I assumed the guy was naked, but it seemed plausible to me. We then talked about how India sharpens one’s sense of the sick and absurd. It got to be a common question people in our group asked each other: "What’s the most disturbing thing you saw today?"
From these conversations comes this unofficial, still-being-compiled list of some of the more unsettling things we’ve seen in India. They’re not in any particular order, and perhaps I’ll be adding to the list as I remember more.
- - - - - -
On the express train from Delhi to Agra, a cross-eyed & legless boy dragged himself down the aisle, tugging on peoples’ sleeves, asking for spare change and collecting the garbage/recyclables from our back seat pockets.
- - - - - -
In Delhi, as we sat on a tuk-tuk momentarily idling at a busy roundabout, a man hobbled up to us, dodging traffic, wincing in pain, naked except for a turban and loincloth. His loincloth, however, was pushed completely aside by the giant brown beach ball he tenderly balanced between his legs as he shuffled--he had scrotal elephantiasis(!!), something I had always thought was mere urban legend. The beach ball dangled down about mid-calf, and seemed in danger of hitting neighboring vehicles. "Money for medicine! Money for medicine!" he pleaded to us in a gravelly Tom Waits voice. We knew we were witness to something unique when even our tuk-tuk driver recoiled from the sight--he seemed genuinely spooked, and tore us out of our gridlock as soon as he saw the slightest opening in the traffic.
- - - - - -
In Bombay, stopped at an intersection, a handless beggar put his forearm stump through our cab window and asked for some rupees. Another day, at another intersection, a young man completely covered in blistered burned scar flesh (face, chest, and arms; he barely looked human)--leaned into our cab and asked for money (yes, I suppose I should know by now to keep my window rolled up, but it gets so hot). It had been mentioned to us several times that families sometimes deform their children on purpose—set them on fire, cut out their tongues, etc—to increase their "earning power" as beggars.
- - - - - -
Beyond that, there are the more common deformities we noticed: missing arms or legs, people with strangely “reversed” knee joints who walk around on all fours like dogs or horses. There are countless people with disabilities that seem treatable: basic limps, cleft palettes, cataracts... Evelyn (a longtime resident of Mozambique) shook her head: "It’s amazing. It’s like home; people die from completely stupid things like toothaches."
- - - - - -
In the muddy, open-sewered streets of Jaisalmer, feral pigs engaged in violent turf-wars with feral dogs. When walking, we tried to give them a wide berth. Some of our travel-mates saw a puppy shaken to death in the jaws of a big mamma-pig; this was what had set off the last round of animal violence & retribution near our hotel.
- - - - - -
Also in Jaisalmer, whenever walking back and forth between our hotel and the internet café next door, a rabid dog with hip dysplasia excitedly stumbled/wobbled after us with his mouth full of foamy saliva. We would throw rocks at him to keep him at bay.
From these conversations comes this unofficial, still-being-compiled list of some of the more unsettling things we’ve seen in India. They’re not in any particular order, and perhaps I’ll be adding to the list as I remember more.
- - - - - -
On the express train from Delhi to Agra, a cross-eyed & legless boy dragged himself down the aisle, tugging on peoples’ sleeves, asking for spare change and collecting the garbage/recyclables from our back seat pockets.
- - - - - -
In Delhi, as we sat on a tuk-tuk momentarily idling at a busy roundabout, a man hobbled up to us, dodging traffic, wincing in pain, naked except for a turban and loincloth. His loincloth, however, was pushed completely aside by the giant brown beach ball he tenderly balanced between his legs as he shuffled--he had scrotal elephantiasis(!!), something I had always thought was mere urban legend. The beach ball dangled down about mid-calf, and seemed in danger of hitting neighboring vehicles. "Money for medicine! Money for medicine!" he pleaded to us in a gravelly Tom Waits voice. We knew we were witness to something unique when even our tuk-tuk driver recoiled from the sight--he seemed genuinely spooked, and tore us out of our gridlock as soon as he saw the slightest opening in the traffic.
- - - - - -
In Bombay, stopped at an intersection, a handless beggar put his forearm stump through our cab window and asked for some rupees. Another day, at another intersection, a young man completely covered in blistered burned scar flesh (face, chest, and arms; he barely looked human)--leaned into our cab and asked for money (yes, I suppose I should know by now to keep my window rolled up, but it gets so hot). It had been mentioned to us several times that families sometimes deform their children on purpose—set them on fire, cut out their tongues, etc—to increase their "earning power" as beggars.
- - - - - -
Beyond that, there are the more common deformities we noticed: missing arms or legs, people with strangely “reversed” knee joints who walk around on all fours like dogs or horses. There are countless people with disabilities that seem treatable: basic limps, cleft palettes, cataracts... Evelyn (a longtime resident of Mozambique) shook her head: "It’s amazing. It’s like home; people die from completely stupid things like toothaches."
- - - - - -
In the muddy, open-sewered streets of Jaisalmer, feral pigs engaged in violent turf-wars with feral dogs. When walking, we tried to give them a wide berth. Some of our travel-mates saw a puppy shaken to death in the jaws of a big mamma-pig; this was what had set off the last round of animal violence & retribution near our hotel.
- - - - - -
Also in Jaisalmer, whenever walking back and forth between our hotel and the internet café next door, a rabid dog with hip dysplasia excitedly stumbled/wobbled after us with his mouth full of foamy saliva. We would throw rocks at him to keep him at bay.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Bollywood best!
In India, people take movies very seriously. A rainy afternoon in Varanasi, a group of us piled into several tuk-tuks and went to the local multiplex. Jacqueline was already at the box office when I caught up with her, and a young Indian man was pleading with her not to see Om Shanti Om. "No, no, don’t do it-! It’s boring-! You have to see Aaja Nachle instead-! It will blow your mind-! Please!! It is amazing, it’s the best movie I’ve ever seen-!"
We saw Om Shanti Om anyways, as planned. It’s a brilliantly sentimental, color-saturated musical comedy/romance/ghost story/Bollywood satire/revenge tale that involves karma and reincarnation as plot points, and it’s one of the most popular Bollywood films to come out in decades. It’s entirely in Hindi (except for a few smatterings of English) and though there were no subtitles, it didn’t really matter. We were hooked.
Life in India is difficult, of course, and Bollywood films are pure escapism: beautiful musical numbers, elaborately choreographed dance sequences, over-the-top acting, incredible cinematography and set design. Imagine Pedro Almodovar, Quentin Tarantino & Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborating together on an MGM musical. It’s easy to see how cinema is so interwoven into life here. Dance moves are emulated; movie dialogue and song lyrics are taken to heart and often find their way into everyday conversation.
We ended up seeing Aaja Nachle too, a week later when we were in Jaipur. A paper-thin plot, but it was great anyways: after many years, the protagonist (a successful NYC dance instructor) returns to her small Indian hometown to save her old dance school from the bulldozers. We went to the 7pm showing at the giant mid-century theater that is a bit of a Jaipur landmark. The venue was a crucial part of the interactive experience: the crowd whistled and clapped at the previews; howled and cheered at the heroine; jeered and hissed at the bad guys; clapped and sang along with the musical numbers. As the credits rolled, people spontaneously clapped, waved and danced in the aisles. As the lights started coming up, a large group of laughing, dancing teens were amazed to see the group of white people a few rows behind them. They wanted to know how we liked the movie, and all cheered "Bollywood best!!! Bollywood best!!" when we gave them the thumbs-up.
We saw Om Shanti Om anyways, as planned. It’s a brilliantly sentimental, color-saturated musical comedy/romance/ghost story/Bollywood satire/revenge tale that involves karma and reincarnation as plot points, and it’s one of the most popular Bollywood films to come out in decades. It’s entirely in Hindi (except for a few smatterings of English) and though there were no subtitles, it didn’t really matter. We were hooked.
Life in India is difficult, of course, and Bollywood films are pure escapism: beautiful musical numbers, elaborately choreographed dance sequences, over-the-top acting, incredible cinematography and set design. Imagine Pedro Almodovar, Quentin Tarantino & Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborating together on an MGM musical. It’s easy to see how cinema is so interwoven into life here. Dance moves are emulated; movie dialogue and song lyrics are taken to heart and often find their way into everyday conversation.
We ended up seeing Aaja Nachle too, a week later when we were in Jaipur. A paper-thin plot, but it was great anyways: after many years, the protagonist (a successful NYC dance instructor) returns to her small Indian hometown to save her old dance school from the bulldozers. We went to the 7pm showing at the giant mid-century theater that is a bit of a Jaipur landmark. The venue was a crucial part of the interactive experience: the crowd whistled and clapped at the previews; howled and cheered at the heroine; jeered and hissed at the bad guys; clapped and sang along with the musical numbers. As the credits rolled, people spontaneously clapped, waved and danced in the aisles. As the lights started coming up, a large group of laughing, dancing teens were amazed to see the group of white people a few rows behind them. They wanted to know how we liked the movie, and all cheered "Bollywood best!!! Bollywood best!!" when we gave them the thumbs-up.
The layover
From Udaipur, it was going to take us two days by train and bus through Gujarat to get to Mumbai. We decided to just book a cheap flight and enjoy the extra time in Mumbai rather than suffer through more transport headaches. Our flight was cheap because it involved a layover in Delhi. Our first leg was late in landing and we were worried about missing our connection; the flight attendant smiled and told us not to worry, she was sure our connecting flight would most certainly be late in departing.
Arriving in Delhi, we found ourselves in a crowd, staring disbelieving at the giant television screens in the terminal. Benazir Bhutto had just been assassinated, and we had never experienced an airport so eerily quiet. It had happened only 30 minutes prior to our landing, and the details were still scarce and contradictory. People stood with jaws open, hands on foreheads, whispering to companions or fumbling with cell phones. I saw one middle-aged man close to tears.
Most of our group was still in Rajasthan, close to the Pakistan border, preparing for the train the next morning (India put its border states on high alert, canceling cross-border traffic, and though everyone in our group eventually made it to Mumbai, at the time we wondered if they would be stranded). We spent our time wondering what was going to happen here on the subcontinent over the next few days, months, years.
I'm not sure what I can compare the experience to; but its unsettling to see something like this up close when you feel like an outsider.
Arriving in Delhi, we found ourselves in a crowd, staring disbelieving at the giant television screens in the terminal. Benazir Bhutto had just been assassinated, and we had never experienced an airport so eerily quiet. It had happened only 30 minutes prior to our landing, and the details were still scarce and contradictory. People stood with jaws open, hands on foreheads, whispering to companions or fumbling with cell phones. I saw one middle-aged man close to tears.
Most of our group was still in Rajasthan, close to the Pakistan border, preparing for the train the next morning (India put its border states on high alert, canceling cross-border traffic, and though everyone in our group eventually made it to Mumbai, at the time we wondered if they would be stranded). We spent our time wondering what was going to happen here on the subcontinent over the next few days, months, years.
I'm not sure what I can compare the experience to; but its unsettling to see something like this up close when you feel like an outsider.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Our last night in India
I woke up from a strangely pleasant dream--a mishmash of dancing horses, Rajasthanis with turbans and giant mustaches, office cubicles, laptops, fluorescent lights, and cool breezes over open water. I felt completely relaxed; I was in such a deep sleep it took me a few moments to figure out I was on my back in a toilet stall in a Bombay bar. My shins were up against the toilet; my head was nestled under the small sink. I slowly stood up and took several deep breaths. Two cockroaches and some cigarette butts on the floor. After a couple seconds sewer water started to back up and gurgle through a floor drain and pool around the toilet--I felt pretty lucky to have woken up before I got soaked. I felt pretty lucky I hadn’t cracked my head on the sink.
I had started feeling vaguely queasy earlier that afternoon, but wasn’t especially concerned (hey, it’s India, after all...pepto bismol has been our best friend here). Jacqueline and I took a taxi to the bar; we were excited to meet up again with the rest of our group for one last farewell dinner. It was a shabby Edwardian-style tavern, a dark-wood and wicker and ceiling fan sort of place; imagine the Cheers bar after several years of neglect. It was packed and sweaty. Our group had taken over the small back room; we were chatting, just ordering drinks and food when Jacqueline noticed I was looking pale. I excused myself, and pushed through the crowd. The stench of the bathroom helped accelerate the process--hands braced on the wall, I stood over the toilet and hurled repeatedly. I have a fuzzy recollection of wiping my face with tissue, and that’s about it.
After my little nap, I opened the sliding door and wobbled out of the stall; two Indian guys at the urinals looked at me wide-eyed. I looked at myself in the mirror; a few vomit spatters on my dress shirt, and enough sweat on my face and neck to look like I was slathered in baby oil. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped myself off.
I returned to our table, feeling weirdly energized. “How long was I gone for?” I got to whisper to Jacqueline. “I just passed out in the bathroom. But I feel good now.” Jacqueline suggested we leave, but I wanted to stay.
We remained for another 30 minutes before my adrenaline wore off and the smell of the just-arrived tandoori and daal started my stomach gurgling again. I was flattered that two of our travel companions insisted on hugging me goodbye, even after I said "You’re kidding!! I’ve just been on the bathroom floor!"
It wasn’t until we got back to our hotel that we noticed the dark bruise that stretched across my ribs on my right side. I was up most the night and following morning, half-feverish, sitting on the toilet and clutching the trash can. Over the course of the night I slowly discovered other painful areas I must have hit when I fell—my tailbone, left hip, left ear, left temple and eye socket...the end of three weeks in India, what better way to make an exit?
I had started feeling vaguely queasy earlier that afternoon, but wasn’t especially concerned (hey, it’s India, after all...pepto bismol has been our best friend here). Jacqueline and I took a taxi to the bar; we were excited to meet up again with the rest of our group for one last farewell dinner. It was a shabby Edwardian-style tavern, a dark-wood and wicker and ceiling fan sort of place; imagine the Cheers bar after several years of neglect. It was packed and sweaty. Our group had taken over the small back room; we were chatting, just ordering drinks and food when Jacqueline noticed I was looking pale. I excused myself, and pushed through the crowd. The stench of the bathroom helped accelerate the process--hands braced on the wall, I stood over the toilet and hurled repeatedly. I have a fuzzy recollection of wiping my face with tissue, and that’s about it.
After my little nap, I opened the sliding door and wobbled out of the stall; two Indian guys at the urinals looked at me wide-eyed. I looked at myself in the mirror; a few vomit spatters on my dress shirt, and enough sweat on my face and neck to look like I was slathered in baby oil. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped myself off.
I returned to our table, feeling weirdly energized. “How long was I gone for?” I got to whisper to Jacqueline. “I just passed out in the bathroom. But I feel good now.” Jacqueline suggested we leave, but I wanted to stay.
We remained for another 30 minutes before my adrenaline wore off and the smell of the just-arrived tandoori and daal started my stomach gurgling again. I was flattered that two of our travel companions insisted on hugging me goodbye, even after I said "You’re kidding!! I’ve just been on the bathroom floor!"
It wasn’t until we got back to our hotel that we noticed the dark bruise that stretched across my ribs on my right side. I was up most the night and following morning, half-feverish, sitting on the toilet and clutching the trash can. Over the course of the night I slowly discovered other painful areas I must have hit when I fell—my tailbone, left hip, left ear, left temple and eye socket...the end of three weeks in India, what better way to make an exit?
Monday, December 31, 2007
From Nepal to India...and back
Jacqueline and I just passed a milestone--one of those rite-of-passage things vaguely like getting a drivers license or having your first legal beer. Yes, that’s right, we were deported for the first time, and it was also our first experience in bribing immigration officers. We feel very grown up now.
The short version is something like this: our Nepal visas expired. They made us leave. They walked us over the border to India. All our stuff was still in Nepal. We paid off a few people, on both the Indian side and Nepali side, to be able to cross back over into Nepal.
The longer version requires an explanation about Nepal visas. There are two types: a free "temporary" visa for those people staying three nights or less, and a $50 "extended" visa for those people staying longer. Upon our return to the Kathmandu airport from Tibet, we got the free visa. We were only staying three nights before leaving with our tour group for India. We met up with our people, and on the third day we started our trip down to the Nepal/India border. Abhi, our group organizer, informed us we would be staying overnight in Bharahiya, on the Nepal side, before crossing over the next morning. We were a little concerned--our understanding was that we’d be staying on the Indian side of the border that night. The extra night in Nepal meant overstaying our visas. No problem, he told us, it happens all the time. People decide to stay longer, and they just pay up for the extended visa. We can take care of it at Immigration when we get to Bharahiya. OK, great. But then, to our alarm, we looked closely at our passports and noticed too late that immigration in Kathmandu had written the wrong expiration dates on our visas--they had mistakenly given us two days instead of three. We had already overstayed our visas and didn’t even know it. We were a little nervous--we suddenly had two potential complications--but Abhi assured us again that it wouldn’t be a problem.
After checking in to our seedy border-town hotel in the afternoon, we went to Nepal immigration, a small compound right at the border. We explained our situation to an official; we showed her our passports, the date on our Lhasa/Kathmandu boarding passes; and inquired about extending/upgrading our visas. The conversation was circular, with many of the same exchanges repeated several times, but in essence it went like this:
“No, no. We can’t do that here, only in Kathmandu. This is expired, you have to leave right now.”
“Can’t you extend it!?”
“No extend. You have to leave now. You can’t stay. You go to India now.”
“uh…ok. We’ll walk over to India. We’ll get a stamp and come right back, yes?”
“No. You can’t come back the same day you leave. 24 hours minimum. Maybe you come back to Nepal tomorrow.”
“We can’t do that. We’re with a group of people. We leave with them tomorrow. All our stuff is in our hotel here. Why can’t we extend?”
“No you have to go now. You can’t stay here. You go now.”
Nepali guards escorted us to the large Indian flag twenty yards from the compound. Assorted pedestrians, rickshaws, trucks, and livestock inched their way along the dusty dirt road that connected the two countries. We tried to convince ourselves we could sort everything out on the other side. We walked past the Indian sentries into Sounali’s main street, a wide dirt road choked with trucks, carts, cows, feral dogs and taxis. Food stalls and endless rows of small shops lined either side; car horns, touts, beggars and rickshaw riders all competed for our attention. Indian immigration was hard to spot, hidden amidst the tightly packed buildings and all the miscellaneous storefront merchandise. Almost 100 yards down the road, a small sign pointed to the crumbling building and an open-air porch/overhang right at the road edge; a large wooden table sat under the eaves; three large middle-aged mustachioed men leaned back on rickety chairs.
We put on our cheerful faces and handed over our passports.
“Where’s your luggage?” they asked suspiciously.
“Oh...no luggage. Quick trip.”
Still suspicious. “How quick?”
We had to explain ourselves. We have to do this to renew our Nepal visas, we said. We’re going right back. But we’ll see you tomorrow morning when we return with our group.
"You can’t enter India and leave same day. You have to stay here; you go back tomorrow."
"Ah, yes, that’s our problem, we have to go back today..." We explained again, as simply and as cheerfully and as deferentially as we could. They offered us seats at their table. Again they told us we had to stay 24 hours. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the men nodded and listened, still suspicious, still sizing us up, studying our visas. We were in a strange no-man’s land between borders; officially departed from Nepal but not admitted into India. We didn’t really exist. We pondered all our luggage locked up in our room across the border, the possibility of finding lodging in Sounali for the night, and wondered how we would get word to Abhi to let him know what was going on.
Several sandaled and dreadlocked euro-hippies passed by to get their passports stamped by the men during the course of our conversation. "Destination?" "Yeah, we go to Varanasi…." they replied in accents somewhere between German and Stoner.
As we were all sitting together at the table, one man leaned back and gave us the head-wobble. "Well, we would like to help you..."
"That’s great" Jacqueline said. "I’m sure there’s some sort of special processing fee to help speed up the paperwork?"
The processing fee was, unsurprisingly, on a "sliding scale." US Dollars preferred. The officials were happy to back-date our entry forms and stamp our exit forms. We shook hands, smiled, bowed, gave our namastes, and triumphantly walked back over into Nepal, where we paid another processing fee so as not to have our questionable documents scrutinized too closely.
The short version is something like this: our Nepal visas expired. They made us leave. They walked us over the border to India. All our stuff was still in Nepal. We paid off a few people, on both the Indian side and Nepali side, to be able to cross back over into Nepal.
The longer version requires an explanation about Nepal visas. There are two types: a free "temporary" visa for those people staying three nights or less, and a $50 "extended" visa for those people staying longer. Upon our return to the Kathmandu airport from Tibet, we got the free visa. We were only staying three nights before leaving with our tour group for India. We met up with our people, and on the third day we started our trip down to the Nepal/India border. Abhi, our group organizer, informed us we would be staying overnight in Bharahiya, on the Nepal side, before crossing over the next morning. We were a little concerned--our understanding was that we’d be staying on the Indian side of the border that night. The extra night in Nepal meant overstaying our visas. No problem, he told us, it happens all the time. People decide to stay longer, and they just pay up for the extended visa. We can take care of it at Immigration when we get to Bharahiya. OK, great. But then, to our alarm, we looked closely at our passports and noticed too late that immigration in Kathmandu had written the wrong expiration dates on our visas--they had mistakenly given us two days instead of three. We had already overstayed our visas and didn’t even know it. We were a little nervous--we suddenly had two potential complications--but Abhi assured us again that it wouldn’t be a problem.
After checking in to our seedy border-town hotel in the afternoon, we went to Nepal immigration, a small compound right at the border. We explained our situation to an official; we showed her our passports, the date on our Lhasa/Kathmandu boarding passes; and inquired about extending/upgrading our visas. The conversation was circular, with many of the same exchanges repeated several times, but in essence it went like this:
“No, no. We can’t do that here, only in Kathmandu. This is expired, you have to leave right now.”
“Can’t you extend it!?”
“No extend. You have to leave now. You can’t stay. You go to India now.”
“uh…ok. We’ll walk over to India. We’ll get a stamp and come right back, yes?”
“No. You can’t come back the same day you leave. 24 hours minimum. Maybe you come back to Nepal tomorrow.”
“We can’t do that. We’re with a group of people. We leave with them tomorrow. All our stuff is in our hotel here. Why can’t we extend?”
“No you have to go now. You can’t stay here. You go now.”
Nepali guards escorted us to the large Indian flag twenty yards from the compound. Assorted pedestrians, rickshaws, trucks, and livestock inched their way along the dusty dirt road that connected the two countries. We tried to convince ourselves we could sort everything out on the other side. We walked past the Indian sentries into Sounali’s main street, a wide dirt road choked with trucks, carts, cows, feral dogs and taxis. Food stalls and endless rows of small shops lined either side; car horns, touts, beggars and rickshaw riders all competed for our attention. Indian immigration was hard to spot, hidden amidst the tightly packed buildings and all the miscellaneous storefront merchandise. Almost 100 yards down the road, a small sign pointed to the crumbling building and an open-air porch/overhang right at the road edge; a large wooden table sat under the eaves; three large middle-aged mustachioed men leaned back on rickety chairs.
We put on our cheerful faces and handed over our passports.
“Where’s your luggage?” they asked suspiciously.
“Oh...no luggage. Quick trip.”
Still suspicious. “How quick?”
We had to explain ourselves. We have to do this to renew our Nepal visas, we said. We’re going right back. But we’ll see you tomorrow morning when we return with our group.
"You can’t enter India and leave same day. You have to stay here; you go back tomorrow."
"Ah, yes, that’s our problem, we have to go back today..." We explained again, as simply and as cheerfully and as deferentially as we could. They offered us seats at their table. Again they told us we had to stay 24 hours. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the men nodded and listened, still suspicious, still sizing us up, studying our visas. We were in a strange no-man’s land between borders; officially departed from Nepal but not admitted into India. We didn’t really exist. We pondered all our luggage locked up in our room across the border, the possibility of finding lodging in Sounali for the night, and wondered how we would get word to Abhi to let him know what was going on.
Several sandaled and dreadlocked euro-hippies passed by to get their passports stamped by the men during the course of our conversation. "Destination?" "Yeah, we go to Varanasi…." they replied in accents somewhere between German and Stoner.
As we were all sitting together at the table, one man leaned back and gave us the head-wobble. "Well, we would like to help you..."
"That’s great" Jacqueline said. "I’m sure there’s some sort of special processing fee to help speed up the paperwork?"
The processing fee was, unsurprisingly, on a "sliding scale." US Dollars preferred. The officials were happy to back-date our entry forms and stamp our exit forms. We shook hands, smiled, bowed, gave our namastes, and triumphantly walked back over into Nepal, where we paid another processing fee so as not to have our questionable documents scrutinized too closely.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
In Nepal
Kathmandu! At last, one of the Big Five.
The "Big Five" are what I humbly consider to be the most exotic-sounding places on earth: Kathmandu, Zanzibar, Kilimanjaro, Timbuktu, and, of course, Rangoon. (Though I have to give honorable mentions to Tangier, Istanbul and Patagonia.)
Anyways we've arrived in Kathmandu, it's incredible here, and our hotel has internet. Our hotel also put us in touch with a small tour company that goes into Tibet. We weren't sure whether we could make it happen, but it looks like we'll be going after all. Our Tibet visas came through more easily than we expected, and on a sunday no less; it turns out the tour company has good connections at the Chinese embassy;-)
Again, we're not entirely sure what our internet situation will be (we may be out of touch for a while), but here's a basic rundown of what the next month will look like for us--
Overland into Tibet Dec 3; we'll be back in Kathmandu on Dec 9 or 10. From Kathmandu, we'll be heading into India and embarking, more-or-less, on the fabled Golden Triangle (though we like to call it the Septic Circuit). We'll be traveling via land cruiser and (*gulp*) sleeper train with a few other people on a sort of shoestring travel-group-tour-suicide-pact thing.... going through Varanasi, Delhi, Agra, Pushkar... I think we'll be spending Christmas in either Jaisalmer or Jodhpur... we finish up where we started, in old Bombay (now Mumbai).
If I'm able to, I'll try to post some Hong Kong/Seoul blogs; they may be a little out of order...
The "Big Five" are what I humbly consider to be the most exotic-sounding places on earth: Kathmandu, Zanzibar, Kilimanjaro, Timbuktu, and, of course, Rangoon. (Though I have to give honorable mentions to Tangier, Istanbul and Patagonia.)
Anyways we've arrived in Kathmandu, it's incredible here, and our hotel has internet. Our hotel also put us in touch with a small tour company that goes into Tibet. We weren't sure whether we could make it happen, but it looks like we'll be going after all. Our Tibet visas came through more easily than we expected, and on a sunday no less; it turns out the tour company has good connections at the Chinese embassy;-)
Again, we're not entirely sure what our internet situation will be (we may be out of touch for a while), but here's a basic rundown of what the next month will look like for us--
Overland into Tibet Dec 3; we'll be back in Kathmandu on Dec 9 or 10. From Kathmandu, we'll be heading into India and embarking, more-or-less, on the fabled Golden Triangle (though we like to call it the Septic Circuit). We'll be traveling via land cruiser and (*gulp*) sleeper train with a few other people on a sort of shoestring travel-group-tour-suicide-pact thing.... going through Varanasi, Delhi, Agra, Pushkar... I think we'll be spending Christmas in either Jaisalmer or Jodhpur... we finish up where we started, in old Bombay (now Mumbai).
If I'm able to, I'll try to post some Hong Kong/Seoul blogs; they may be a little out of order...
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