Sorry for the long gap between Darjeeling and Kathmandu. It was only two days without a post but looking back on it, it feels much longer. I decided to break up the trip into two days since getting from Darjeeling to the airport inside Nepal was full of unknowns. Even in retrospect I can’t really say if that decision made much of a difference. For some reason, when I’m way out of my element it feels like very little is up to me.

The first leg was a shared jeep from Darjeeling to Siliguri, only about 2 1/2 hours (first pic is from the Darjeeling jeep stand). It was the standard steep switchbacks that I’ve kindof gotten used to. It was nice to finally make it to the plains where it was much warmer and the tea in full flush with the spring harvest already underway. The town of Siliguri is someplace to get gotten out of as soon as humanly possible. For some reason it made me think of Joliet Illinoise where I foolishly planned a stop on my trip across the country in the fall of 2005. I was so glad to have a 70 lb dog with me cause the place was suitable only for recently discharged inmates from the prison. Ok, maybe Joliet was worse but then again, I did have a car and could have driven on if I’d had the energy. In Siliguri, I was pretty sure the next town on my trip was gonna be worse, being a border town, so I set out in search of a decent place to stay. After checking out a few places on the main drag, a wide, dusty, and desolate strip of hotels, jeep stands, cane furniture shops, and shacks, I found the only place that seemed tolerable from the lonely planet description. As it turned out, the Apollo Hotel was worth the 1.5 km walk with my pack on. There was a nice restaurant, a clean room, and a big tv - so nice considering I had no intention of leaving the hotel again until I left town the following morning. It was a fabulous evening of room service and movies in between explorations of India TV - Sylvester the cat speaks Hindi… I discovered a new dish while indulging in Indian room service: peanut masala. It was kinda like thai green papaya salad without the papaya - peanuts , tomatoes, chillis, red onion and lemon. Was glad I stepped out of my comfort zone though I had hedged my bets with a cheese sandwich. This time the risky food item turned out to be the edible one cause a cheese sandwich in Siliguri is sorta like a cheese salad sandwich (grated white cheese mixed with spices and mayonnaise(?) on whitebread with the crusts cut off). Breakfast was just so civilized as I ordered room service for the second time in less than 12 hours: my last pot of darjeeling tea and toast. Did I mention the tea billboards on the way out of Darjeeling’s Hills? Even TAZO was represented. Huh.

The lonely planet describes the journey from Darjeeling into Nepal as easy but requiring 4 changes involving buses, jeeps, & rickshaws. yeah… ok, maybe easy if you speak Hindi. I figured it was worth checking into whether a private car was affordable but that would have run me $40 so I decided to get an early start and try for the easy connections. Step one was not too bad. After stopping by a shack on the strip for Indian sweets for the journey I walked the 1.5 km back to the Bus/Jeep stand. A bus was taking off for the border town of Panitaki, only an hour away and a mere 50 cents. Once in Panitanki the fun began. A rickshaw driver grabbed my bag straight off and when I asked him how much it was to cross the border into Karkarbhitta, Nepal it kicked off a argument among the rickshaw drivers. I have no idea what was going on. Nobody even looked at me they just yelled back and forth as if they were arguing about which one would get the fare. After asking a few more times and being ignored I shouldered my pack and took off in what I hoped was the direction of Nepal. About a block down the dirt road of another old-west looking town (this one even older and wester looking than back in Ravangla) another rickshaw driver approached me. Again I tried to figure out how much this would cost but the only reply was a slap to the vinyl seat of the rickshaw instructing me to hop on. As luck would have hit a nice english speaking gentleman did a little translating for me, his parting words being, “I know this guy and he said he’d take you for 10 rupees. If he asks for more money just give him 10.” So up I climbed and off we went. The ride to the border was only about 10 minutes. We stopped at Indian immigration where 8 men processed my departure. Over a bridge and through a gate I was dropped at the Nepali immigration office where my driver did, in fact, demand 20 rupees. Still a reasonable price but locals have cautioned me to pay only what’s agreed upon as paying more can have adverse affects on local prices so 10 rupees it was. After getting my second (and thankfully gratis, as it said on the sign) Nepali visa this year (the first cost $30) I started down the road to the Nepali border town, Karkarbhitta. It was a tad surreal but at the time, I couldn’t really put my finger on why. As I headed for a collection of rickshaws I was approached by taxi driver who said he’d take me to Bhadrapur (where there is an airport at which I intended to hop a flight one day earlier than my scheduled flight) for a mere 1600 Rupees. I didn’t bother to ask if that was Indian or Nepali Rupees cause either way it was a lot of money for a half-hour drive (either $40 or $23, respectively). He said his was the only taxi in town. Perplexed, I continued down to what looked like the center of town. There I found the standard dirt-lot of buses but still something not-quite-right. I did not see a single car, jeep, or taxi. I walked into a guesthouse and asked them how I could get to Bhadrapur and they told me “You can’t. Strike”… You have got to be kidding. I just had to double check this with someone without a vested interest in selling me a room for the night so I asked at a little tobacco and chip shop on the street. They corroborated there was a strike but that the rickshaws could take me to Bhadrapur and the planes would still run. Ok, this explains why the buses are just sitting and the cars are non-existent. At this point, I was still a bit skeptical about the rickshaw thing since the airport is, like, 50 km away but I strolled back over to the rickshaws and was instantly feeling like a piece of red-meat in a dog-pack. Within seconds I’m surrounded by 20 hungry bikers angling for the only fare in town. I’ve got a guy who says he can get me there in 2 hours for about $5 US. Doesn’t look I have many options (I no longer see the one taxidriver willing to flaunt the strike) so I hop in. It’s right about this time that, you’ll never believe this, it starts to rain. Yes, I’ve been traveling in sunny bliss for most of this trip with only one little shower back in Bhutan and now I’m facing a 2 hour rickshaw ride in a steady downpour. Nice. Once I settled in it wasn’t such a bad ride but I did get a little cold. We encountered other rickshaws and ambulances (not to mention oxen, goats, chickens, etc…) but no cars on the road so things were pretty peaceful. My driver struck up a conversation with another rickshaw on our way out of town - a guy driving a Nepali and Japanese guy to the same airport but since he had two passengers we left them behind pretty quickly. As promised, I got to Bhadrapur after only 2 hours (but only after countless questions to passersby for direction to the airport - apparently, my driver had never been there before).

I was relieved to be out of the rain despite my soaked butt and backpack. I’d managed to keep my camera dry with a rain poncho, never before used. So, all excited that I’d dodged a bullet of being stranded in the middle of nowhere in the rain (forgot to note that part of our journey was on an unpaved road) I saunter up to the Buddha Air counter in the one-room airport of Bhadrapur. After about 15 minutes and countless buddha air employees ignoring me I finally get the attention of a guy who cares but he tells me that there is no way I’m getting on a plane today - they are booked with Indian tour groups. My heart sinks but I ask him if it’s ok to wait around and see. It’s only 11 and there are 4 flights out. Plopped on a bench waiting for my pants to dry I watch the Indian tourists come and go (In two days is the Hindu festival of Holi which, no doubt, many have chosen to spend at Kathmandu’s huge Hindu temple, Pashupatinath). I read Tom Robbins. I eat my Indian sweets. I sweat bullets. At one point in Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, Tom Robbins has a character that gets a seat on a booked airplane by offering another passenger $65 for his seat. I start to eye up prospective passengers that might not be with the group and who might consider such an offer. 3 flights later, just pages before the finale of frog pjs, one of the Buddha Air guys comes up to me and motions for my backpack. Stunned, I approach the counter and ask the only guy who appears to speak english if I got a seat and he says YES! During my wait I had run through all the possible scenarios : sleeping in the airport (probably not an option), finding a room in the tiny town of bhadrapur with a wet sleeping bag, miraculously scoring a seat on a plane and dining on fabulous thai food in Kathmandu. Oh joy, I could have kissed this guy.

I only needed to survive the scary plane-ride to Kathmandu. This was quite possibly the scariest flight of my life on a plane the size of a small school bus rocking and rolling though menacing storm clouds. While waiting at the airport, Nepali TV reported that the rain of the day was the first in 5 1/2 months. Yes, 5 1/5 months of no rain and the storms roll in on the one day I take a 2 hour rickshaw ride and a flight through the Himalaya. What a number those rains did on Kathmandu though. The city might not be clean but it is clearer than I’ve ever seen it. I’d heard you could see the Himalayan range from the city but you could have fooled me since I’ve only ever seen white haze in the distance but today the sky was clear and blue and yes, the mountains were there for all to see. I got warm welcomes from my guesthouse (third pic is the rooftop garden at tibet gh), my laundry/internet guys, and the pumpernickle bakers, asking where i’d been. The gayatri mantra wafted down the streets of Thamel, now packed with westerners. Now that the contentious elections are over and the mountaineering season is gearing up, the tourists are back in droves and it’s alot easier to be one of them as the salesman have more targets, I guess.

My first day back I had a fabulous breakfast and lunch, al fresco, with a trip to Swayambunath in between. I think I might be pushing my luck with the monkeys there. I get so engrossed with looking at baby monkeys through the camera view-finder that I’m sometimes oblivious to an angry monkey mama at my feet. These guys move so much faster in the morning! I took about 125 pics and got maybe 3 clear ones. If you’re not completely sick of monkeys, here’s one more for good measure. Incidentally, Tom Robbins has a reformed jewel-thief, born-again monkey in half-asleep in frog pajamas which definitely qualifies as an existential detective novel. I picked it up from the bookshelf way back in Kalimpong at the Cloud9. Coincidence?

Sue Borchardt in Kathmandu, Nepal. March 12, 2006. 3:30pm.

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