Peanut butter, blood and pain – a journey to India

The journey from Kathmandu to Varanasi, India turned out to be quite an adventure in more ways than one. Amongst the group I was trekking with in Nepal, George (U.K.) turned out to have approximately the same route planed for India as I. As we both realized that we were travelling into the unknown it felt safer knowing that we would find ourselves lost and confused alongside someone else.

We boarded the bus from Katmandu heading for the border town of Sonauli at 7pm, and it didn’t take us long to realize this was going to be a long bus ride. First of all we were surprised that we actually were assigned seats and felt grateful that we wouldn’t have to spend the night standing, sitting in the aisle or fearing that someone would snatch our seat at the first opportunity. As soon as we sat down thou, the seat didn’t seem like such a god-given gift after all. The seat in itself kept wobbling around as it surely was missing a couple of screws somewhere. The seats of the guys in front of us was just as uncontrollable as ours, which meant that the one in front of me leaned back so far that I could almost use the man’s head as a pillow, whereas the other seat leaned forward in a 45 degree angle leaving the poor guy sitting in it fighting to keep it close to upright the entire journey. The main problem was leg room. When I sat down in my seat as far back as I possibly could – which means your head is 20 cm above the headrest (damn these tiny Asians) – I was still a couple of inches short of being able to fit my legs between my seat and the seat in front of me. The solution turned out to be me twisting my legs behind the seat of the poor guys fighting his seat from squeezing him flat, and George – seated next to the aisle – stretching his legs out into the aisle hoping that it would stay clear of ppl. With that sorted it was time for dinner. I had namely armed myself with the killer combination of a fresh loaf of bread and peanut butter, and made an army of peanut butter sandwiches that would keep me fed all the way to Varanasi. As I happily ate my dinner – to the amusement of my fellow passengers – the roads kept taking a turn for the worse and slowly turning into the now famous Tibetan “roads”. We were tossed and turned left and right, up and down, and I was cursing the armrest towards the window which I knew would be responsible for my bruised arm the next day. It also kept getting colder due to the fact that ppl kept opening up their windows, usually all at the same time, to get some air or to spit. The draft was constant and it felt like someone had put a fan right in front of me. To top it all off, the six guys seated behind us found it amusing to sing Nepalese pop songs to entertain the entire bus. George and I had to face the facts: this was going to be a long bus journey. All we could hope for was some sleep before we got to the border town at 5 am. I reached into my bag and never before have I been so happy to find something pink in my bag, nor did I think anything pink could turn out to be a life saver, my pink ear plugs.

After 10 extremely painful hours on the bus we finally got to the Nepalese side of the Indian border. I was freezing cold, my joints were stiff and deadly painful and the lack of sleep was wearing on me. We got off the bus determined to make our way to the immigration office on our own, and the rickshaw drivers constantly nagging us did not come across as helpful at that time. After wandering around in the dark for a while we understood that we had no concept of which way the border was, let alone how far it would be to walk. We gave in and jumped in a rickshaw, changed our Nepalese rupees into Indian and hoped that we would make it in one piece as the rickshaw rode down a pitch black road with no light indicating we were on the road to the cars and moped passing an inch away from us. It turned out that the border actually was almost a 15 minute ride away and we were glad we didn’t attempt it on foot.

The Nepalese immigration office was hidden away inside a random house in the border town and I’m not sure we would have found it had we not been pointed towards it. Carrying our heavy bags, still half asleep and fairly uncertain what to do how and where, we walked into the gate to “check out” of Nepal. As George walked in front of me, I failed to notice the step up after entering the gate to the immigration office and fell to the ground with no free hands to support myself. My knees and feet took the blow as I felt the concrete scraping its signature into my legs. I stumbled to my feet and made my way into the office. I was wearing black knee-length pants and I felt the blood from my bleeding knees trickle down my legs as I entered immigration to the awaiting officials much amusement. I filled out the required forms, tried to stop the bleeding, felt sorry for myself and entered into no-man’s-land.

The difference between Nepal and India was slight at first, apart from the most obvious aspect of all: the seas of trash floating around everywhere. Being half in a daze I didn’t notice it at first, but it soon came to my attention that I had to mind my step. Cow dung, food, plastic, tins, paper, you name it; absolutely everything! Our next task was to find the Indian immigration office to register our arrival and visas. Before we found the hidden away office we passed customs which consisted of three guys sitting in chairs waiving us along, not bothered to being bothered. The ppl at the immigration office, which we found without realizing that we found it, had the same attitude as the lads at customs and were more annoyed and concerned about us spelling Sonauli the Indian way rather than the Nepalese way (Sunauli). We got accepted (wow) and were now determined to find the bus station to get a bus to Varanasi. We eventually found the right bus after asking around for a bit and occupied a couple of seats just to make sure we actually got some. These seats were sturdy and the legroom was plenty, at least compared to the Nepalese bus. At 7 am the bus departed and there were still a fair amount of free seats still. So far so good I thought to myself as I reached into my bag to have breakfast; a tasty peanut butter sandwich.

As the villages and the countryside passed the bus kept filling up even thou it never stopped. The best and only way to board a bus is at speed, so timing is everything. It is also safe to say that the recognition of the term “full bus” does not exist in this country. When I thought the bus was completely packet as far as my western eyes could see, they still managed to squeeze another 30 ppl on. As we were the only white ppl on the bus we drew a lot of attention and sunglasses are a blessing when having at least 20 pair of eyes fixed on you for about 10 hours. Not only am I white and blond, but I was also breaking a strict cultural rule; I was only wearing a tank top, in other words, my shoulders were showing. At this point we’d reached midday and roasting alive. I was drenched in sweat and thirsty beyond thirsty, and the thought of putting on a t-shirt to shake off some stares would tip me over the top. Since the stops were few and short and everyone was fighting to squeeze one butt cheek on to the corner of a seat, the image of what would happen if I actually left my seat to use the toilet would be close to a stampede. Hence no toilet breaks. I was seated next to the window so I was hoping to get some air, but being a rookie in Indian transportation I wasn’t swift enough to opening the window which slides sideways before the guys in front and back of me had opened theirs, and therefore jammed shut both my sources to fresh air. It was time for lunch and I had another peanut butter sandwich, only this one didn’t do its magic as the others had done. Only 5 more hours to go…

Around 5.30 pm we finally arrived in Varanasi; exhausted, sweaty and tired. We were immediately surrounded by rickshaw drivers wanting to take us to “my friend has nice guesthouse by the ghat, cheap and clean”. This is rickshaw drivers’ language for saying: “this is where I get commission”. Not knowing where we were staying only what area we wanted to stay, we asked one of the drivers to take us in that direction. We got a fair deal and jumped in. Since we hadn’t specified a hotel the driver understood that we had no place to stay and therefore took the opportunity to show us his brother’s hotel in a back alley far away from where we wanted to go. After telling him to get back in the god damned vehicle (?) he took us to the main road and said that it wasn’t possible to drive to that area even thou it was right down the road. So we got out, paid and started walking towards the area which was unreachable with a motorized vehicle, which of course turned out to be bullshit. He only wanted to get rid of us since he wasn’t getting his commission after all. We made our way between mopeds, cars, cycle rickshaws, motor rickshaws, cows, dogs and ppl in streets built wide enough to fit three cars, but the somehow managed to fit six. This is Varanasi for you and we had been warned that the traffic in Varanasi is as crazy as it gets in India. It’s in every way unexplainable; the noise, smell, traffic moving in every direction possible, someone constantly screaming “rickshaw?” for every meter you walk. We had also been told that if we could survive Varanasi we would be fine anywhere in India. At that very moment thou, we weren’t doing that well.

We ended up reaching the area we initially wanted to go to before we got sidetracked by yet another guy telling us that there was a very nice place to stay right around the corner. Reaching desperation and mentally drained from the traffic we decided to check it out. It turned out that right around the corner is a 10 minute walk around many corners before you find yourself far away from what actually was the finish line. Both George and I had lost our patience at this point walking around with our huge backpacks in the humid weather, and we took off heading for the Ganges which we knew would take us back to where we wanted to go. The same guy was following us recommending a place right around the corner for every ghat (platform or steps leading towards the Ganges river) we got to. When we got to the main ghat we popped into the first hotel we reached and asked for a room. The location of the place was good, but the room was shabby as hell. As an extra addition to our lucky streak the biggest Hindu festival, Diwali, was also taking place, where Varanasi – the holiest city for the Hindus – being its main hub. Room prices were therefore at least doubled. We couldn’t care less thou being exhausted, hungry, sweaty and annoyed. We got ourselves sorted and I texted home to inform that I had made it to India safely, but that we weren’t getting a long so far. Thereafter we entered back into the madness hunting for food and we jumped into the first place possible and ordered an Indian thali. As I ate my food, my blood sugar rose and my heart beat settled down I came to realize that this might not be too bad after all. We might even come to learn to understand and appreciate one another, India and I, but nevertheless it takes some getting used to.

I’ll give it four weeks to work its magic.

Himalayan adventures

After about 3,5 weeks in Nepal, whereas 18 days have been spent trekking the Annapurna Circuit in the Himalayas, my pants fit looser around my waist as I have regained all lost leg muscles and then some. During the majority of my stay in Nepal I would have to say that I’ve mistreated my body in numerous ways and at the same time as having giving it quite a treat. It’s undeniable that trekking for almost three weeks is good for you and my body has been craving exercise. On the other hand, resources are limited when staying in basic tea houses with little or no hot water, a narrow selection of food (thou it’s amazing how many varieties of spaghetti, noodles and rice one can come up with when mixing ingredients like egg, veg, cheese and fried) and hard sleepers. The other factor added is the pitiful supply of do-good-toiletries packed in your bag to survive three weeks in the Himalayas, which basically means: two “outfits”; one to hike in and one to wear in the evening, sleeping bag, additional warm clothes, water purification tablets, a book, deck of cards, hand sanitizer, toothbrush, sunscreen and first aid kit. Anything else is close to be considered luxury, in other words, wave bye-bye to refreshing lotions and cleansing milk for a while. Let’s put it this way: the one person who all of a sudden smells clean or fresh will stand out and smell odd to the rest of us.

Having spent some time in the Himalayas in Tibet I had a fairly good idea what to expect from the Nepalese side of the mountain range, but it wasn’t until I got over Thorung La pass that it eventually resembled geographically what I anticipated. Terrain-wise on the other hand, never came close to my expectations. If we were to ascent 200 meters in Tibet it would be a walk with “false flat” terrain, meaning that the ascent was gradually and barely noticed. It turned out to be a completely different ballgame in Nepal where we usually found ourselves descending 400 meters before we had to ascent another 600 to climb the total of 200 vertical meters. It almost felt like the mountains were playing games with us as we sometimes did several of these a day. In Tibet up was up and down was down; in Nepal up is up, but not without down ahead of it.

What surprised me the most about the Annapurna Circuit was the level of commercialization. Even in the smallest villages there would be a tea house and a restaurant, and several of these places consisted only of a place to eat and sleep. It was as if the immerged only to lodge and feed trekkers as they make their way along the mountains. In every single place we passed thru there wouldn’t necessarily be anything to see, do or buy, apart from the fact that there would always be some built-in pantry booth that sold Pringles, Snickers, toilet paper, water and Coca-Cola. A guaranteed income source thanks to the sugar drained and butt-wiping tourists. Also due to the huge commercialization the restaurant prices seemed to correlate with the altitude, meaning the higher we got the pricier it became.

It’s mindboggling being a westerner in a developing country with such a remarkable community spirit as you find in Nepal. To think that Nepal, in turn of monetary income, is the third poorest country in the world with $310 per person is indeed a wake-up call. In these villages the phrase “all for one; one for all” really blossoms, and it would be safe to say that without this bond the villages would surely not exist or persevere. It’s almost makes me sad to realize how dependent they are on tourists with all their likes and preferences and to what length they go to meet them, but approaching it from a different angle I see how we are contributing to their income and making sure they get by when taking use of their services.

All in all, Nepal is a brilliant country to visit with their ingenious geographical location. They have been granted the spectacular Himalayas in the north, the middle consisting of both small and larger cities with their own uniqueness, and in the south the jungle and wildlife roams. Aside from the attractiveness given by nature, it would not be fair to neglect the friendly and smiling ppl or the heartwarming and open culture. Nepal has captured a small part of my heart and I feel I was right when saying that Nepal was a gem hidden between two major tourist spots, namely India and China, which get too much attention.

I am most certain that it will not disappoint, only spellbind 

The best advice

I’m not going to lie; I’m fairly tired after 10 days of hiking. We started of at 700 meters and reached out highest peak at 5416 meters when passing Thorung La. Having a couple of rest days I very much needed and handy. The scenery has been breathtaking at several points and 7- and 8000 meter mountains start to feel like everyday sights- not a big deal anymore. I hate to say it, but the autopilot has been turned on subconsciously…

Thankfully my dear cousin gave me the best advice I could ever get before I left: stop up every now and then, breath, look around and realize where you are! I keep having these “moments” fairly frequently where a big smile spreads across my face, my body starts to tingle and I feel as happy as I could possibly be.

Yet again I find myself in a jeep driving amongst or between the Himalayas. As I’m bouncing around in the jeep, driving past what’s left of a river I “come to life again” understanding how freaking lucky I am to be here in Nepal in the midst of the highest peaks of the world. As I’m looking down at the remains of the river, I see ppl walking along it looking for fossils which are being sold everywhere in the small villages in the mountain range. At this very moment I realize that I’m looking at one of the world’s highest points which millions of years ago used to be the sea floor.

We keep on driving off-road on similar Tibetan “roads” in a jeep pumping with popular Nepalese pop music with several Nepalese guys jigging to the beat and singing along. My grin gets wider as I’m humming and trying to follow the rhythm while the jeep keeps tossing my left and right.

I’m loving every single second of it. 

The Thorung La

3 am and the alarm clock goes off. Today is the day of the big climb thru Thorung La; 1000 meters of altitude gain from Thorung Phedi at 4450 meters. Breakfast is finished and we’re ready to leave by 4 am. It’s pitch black outside and those who have headlamps are “armed” and ready. The path is steep, rocky, zigzagging and full of cliffs. Not having had time to digest my breakfast the start is needless to say hard. After a while I find a steady pace without getting completely out of breath. As I am passing several ppl with headlamps, I suddenly find myself without light but the path is perfectly lit up. I turn my head towards the sky and spot the moon lighting up the entire valley from a cloud free night sky. I’ve never seen a moon shine so bright and I’m realizing that the ppl with headlamps are missing out on something truly wonderful. The rest of the sky is filled with twinkling stars which complements the glowing moon perfectly. All around me I see snow covered mountain ranges and peaks outlining the valley, making the sky darker and in a mystical way shedding light on the road up ahead.

The climb towards 5200 meters, where allegedly tea-break is, goes nice and steady. Due to the experience from the trek around Mt Kailash in Tibet, there are dos and don’ts to this sort of climb. Whatever you do, don’t stop, or at least stop as little as possible. The reason is that the energy it takes to get back on a comfortable pace is worth saving. Another factor is that your muscles are sore and tired fairly early on due to lack of oxygen, and therefore stiffen up terribly quickly. The most important reason; it’s fucking freezing (- 6 degrees). Another factor that will get you to and over the top is finding a steady pace that you can stick to without getting too much out of breath (I sound like a whale when walking in this altitude because I’m breathing heavily thru my mouth). Keeping this no matter what pace your group or the ppl in front or behind you keep can be alpha omega. Preserving energy is most likely the key to success and a way of doing so is taking long steps. This recipe has so far gotten me to the top of two passes above 5000 meters, so for me, it’s a winner.

After having a couple of cups of the at the tea stop at 5.30 am (the most expensive cup of tea I might add, 120 rupees – 12 kr) and chowing down chocolate and energy bars, we were frozen solid and the sun had not yet broken over the peaks stretching from 6-7000 meters surrounding us. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long thou, so we kept on walking to regain some body heat. After walking for about 20 minutes I felt a warm sensation at the back of my thighs. I stopped and felt how it spread to my hands, shoulders and head. The sun had finally awoken. With a new urge to keep on going, we reached the pass 40 minutes later. The glimpse of prayer flags made tears sting in my eyes due to complete exhaustion. My knees ached, my toes and fingers were none-responsive, my heart was racing and my breaths were weak and short. When 5416 meters officially was reached, all of the above went away and all that you could see were big smiles, hands stretched triumphantly into the air and exclamations of joy were expressed. I got to the top not far behind the first member of the lead group and was soon followed by the remaining two. There were more high fives, hugs and kisses and the 30 cold minutes we spent at the top were fun, crazy and memorable in every possible way thanks to three funtastic great guys!

Crossing borders

In the last two months I’ve crossed a few borders and every border crossing is the same yet different in many ways. The most fascinating so far is indeed the border between Tibet and Nepal. Leaving a country where every document is checked thoroughly as well as your bags (especially the Lonely Planet tends to get much attention from the Chinese customs) and you’re ticked off a list of Tibetan permit holders. From there on you cross “the friendship bridge” – the biggest oxymoron I’ve seen in my entire life. The bridge crosses a major rafting river and is the only connection between Nepal and Tibet for miles. You leave the archway on the Tibetan side and cross the 100 meter long bridge of friendship. On this short, but beautiful bridge you find around 15 Chinese soldiers armed with semi-automatic weapons – major symbols of friendship if you ask me. After spending a 100 meters in no-man’s-land you enter Nepal where there are no armed soldiers or soldiers in any sense and you literally have to go house hunting to find the immigration office. When you finally find this overcrowded little room, you fill out the forms, stand in line, pay the visa in USD, get a signature from the immigration officer (who is playing Tetris on the computer with his daughter) and of you go. Welcome to Nepal!

Entering Nepal coming from Tibet is an experience in itself due to the fact that the border is separating two worlds completely different from one another, and it seems to be keeping them separate as well. I’ve pointed out some opposites that came to my mind on the first few hours in the car on the way to Kathmandu. These are mere observations than facts, and in no way does it state that the one is better than the other. I thou feel that I visited the countries in the correct order, as it makes you appreciate the countries uniqueness more. You might find yourself getting disappointed arriving in dusty and brown Tibet after leaving green and tropical Nepal.

A swift comparison: Tibet and Nepal

Eating with chop sticks à eating with your right hand

Traditional clothing à more western clothing in addition to the saari

Yak à donkey/mule

Yak traffic jam à donkey/mule traffic jam

Begging children à playing children

Cold climate à humid climate

Straight faces à smiles

Brown landscape à trees

Stray ppl à ppl everywhere

Getting ripped of à more set prices

Desert à tropics

Tractors à Suzukis

Four-by-fours à motorcycles

Few English speakers à most ppl speak English

Cheap beer à expensive beer

Very good food à alright food

Hard and emotional haggling à easy and happy haggling

Guided tourists à “free” tourists

Flies à spiders

Pac of dogs à pac of chickens, hens and roosters

Monks à holy men

Clean streets (apart from the dust) à streets filled with garbage

Smell of yak butter à smell of sweat

Dirty, shitty, disgusting toilets à clean and inviting toilets

Off the top of my head. It seems like Tibet is getting dragged thru the mud, but it’s undeniable that it will always be an underdog to Nepal when crossing the border. The reason would be that after three weeks in the middle of nowhere in Tibet, civilization will always feel very welcoming and more homely. Then again, trying to explain what Tibet is like is in many ways the hardest thing I’ve done so far, because it truly is an experience and an adventure in a world that is closed off to the outside world and only open to those who walk the extra mile.

My advice is simple: make the effort