A touch of home

After finishing yet another book I ended up going hunting for a new one, even thou I had made up my mind not to buy one until I got to Qatar. But as the minutes passed and I had read the main sections about Eastern Africa and Kenya in my Lonely Planet book, I understood that there was no postponing it and I popped into the first book store I could find.

Not knowing what I wanted to read I scanned the shelves to see if my eyes landed upon something that might catch my attention. And they did. It wasn’t a book I was looking for or a book I wanted to read for that matter, but a book that you seldom find amongst all its big brothers. It was the Lonely Planet Norway. I took it down to do some further investigation on what these ppl seeing Norway inside from the outside had to say about it.

I read thru the introduction and took a quick stop by Kristiansand which made me chuckle with amusement. As I kept flicking I eventually stopped at the small selection of pictures the book provides. There were pictures from Ålesund, stavkirken, Lofoten, bryggen in Bergen and many others. I turned another page and was faced with a close-up picture of Nidarosdomen. As my fingers ran across the picture I could almost feel myself standing in front of it looking up at the enormous cathedral from that exact angle like I’ve done many times. To my surprise I felt a tear on my cheek.

I guess the heart longs for home, thou the mind seek adventures

Thali

Today I had the most frustrating dinner experience I can ever recall having. Why? Because it was so wonderful!

I went to see a movie in Mumbai and when it was done it was about dinner time and I was starting to get hungry. I knew I would pass several restaurants along the way back to the hotel, so I didn’t see the need to go out of my way to find a decent place to eat. I walked by several places that didn’t look tempting, but ended up stopping at a place which was filled with mostly Indians, but I could also spot some white heads amongst the Indians. The place looked quite nice and I feared that it would turn out to be pricy. I found a table in the AC section upstairs which was filled with the same mix of ppl. I almost feel overwhelmed when I see the Indian menus because there are usually somewhere close to 200 dishes to choose from and the combinations even more numerous. I thought I’d make it simple and go with a dinner thali, which to my surprise was no more than Rs 100 (14 NOK). Little did I know that this was going to be my highlight mealwize in India.

When they brought the platter out my facial expression must have given away my surprise since the waiter asked me in an uncertain tone “Ma’am, this was what you ordered, right?” I nodded and smiled. Before me was a huge round plate with nine small bowls on it. In the middle lay a papadum and a spare place arrived with three rotis. Before I could get started yet to more bowls arrived. The dishes consisted of one curd, one soup, one sweet, one fruit salad, one mix veg salad, two masalas, one curry, one dal, one paneer, rice palau, papadum and rotis. Needless to say the dish was huge and I had no idea where to start.

I gave everything a taste and for every bite I took the more frustrated I got. It all tasted so wonderful and I couldn’t believe that I was sitting eating alone with no-one to express my joy to. I felt like singing, chatting and laughing which would have complemented such a great meal perfectly. The waiters kept looking at me trying to decide whether I was displeased or stunned speechless by the taste of my food. The more I ate the more annoyed I got because I wouldn’t be able to finish even half of the meal. There was so much food and even thou I was hungry, I’d had to skip lunch and coffee if I would stand any chance of finishing the thali. Also I wished that I had my camera with me (not allowed to bring to movies so I left it at the hotel) to capture and savor this wonderful meal to show and tell and as a heavenly memory. I paid and chewed on the mouth-cleansing combination of aniseeds and sugar which they usually give you when you pay the check. I’ll bring my camera tomorrow because I’m coming back.

I needn’t worry about where to have dinner the following days, which are also my last days in India. Why change a winning team?

The country that defies understanding

I’m sitting in Om made cafe on the beach in Anjuna looking out on the ocean and its waves crashing into the worn red cliffs which characterizes this part of Goa. I’m sipping a iced ginger lemon tea – anything but a chilled drink is out of the question. It’s hot, humid and my skin has taken the toll for not having been exposed to the rays of sun too often in the last three months. In other words, my skin tone has shifted close to lobster-red and I’ve removed myself from the beach in fear of ending up testing out the next level of skin tone, blood-red.

The days go by so fast and my days in India are coming to an end. It’s been four long, strange and interesting weeks filled with every emotion possible. I have cried out of frustration and sadness, I have laughed off and with India. I have questioned the world I know and been grateful that I can return to it. I’ve been embarrassed over my ignorance and enlightened by ppls effort and willingness to teach and guide me. I’ve been amazed by ppls persistence and perseverance, alas also angry and annoyed at the exact same things. I’ve cursed, yelled and insulted Indians; I’ve complimented, embraced and honored Indians. More than once have I been frightened, but every time have I been brought to safety. More than anything else have I been overwhelmed and stunned in shock, amazement and disbelief. India is hard to put into words and utterly impossible to explain. After visiting India I’m certain everyone has a small lump in their stomach and a fraction of their heart filled with feelings which cannot be put into words, only experienced. One of the books I’ve read, Holy Cow, is spot on in describing this exact problem:

“[…] foreigners attempting to figure out India. I’m beginning to think it’s pointless to try. India is beyond statement, for anything you say, the opposite is also true. It’s rich and poor, spiritual and material, cruel and kind, angry but peaceful, ugly and beautiful, and smart but stupid. It’s all the extremes. India defies understanding.”

For this reason it seems like there won’t be a lot of blog posts about India (that’s at least how I see it at the moment). Maybe a couple of days rest in Qatar will let me start processing it and something solid and grasping might come out of it.

At the moment, this is all there is to say.

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