Thursday, December 19, 2019

Goodbye India! Hello Kathmandu. Eew. Can I come back India?


31 August - 4 September

As I approached the Indian border, I was really excited to be leaving India.  Perhaps it was the excitement of entering a new country, or just the thought of leaving such a crazy one?  It may have though been because of how people have described how much they enjoyed Nepal, or maybe that I had spent the best part of a day travelling to the border, and just needed to find a place to stay.

A 2 hour bus to the Sounali border.
See the bright light?
No, it is not the bright lights of Nepal beckoning,
but the sun baking the tin can bus, making it into an oven.
Fun times.

Varanasi to the border is no cake walk (what kind of saying is that – is walking on cakes supposed to be easy?  Anyway I digress).  A 7am bus direct to the border (Sounali border), as I was told at my hostel, turned into a 9am bus to Gorakhpur (6 hours) and another bus to Sounali (2 hours).  I was not going to pay for a rickshaw to the border, as I figured I could walk the rest of the 750 metres.

Goodbye India...
Crossing the border at Sounali

Though, just as I thought I was done with India’s shenanigans for a while, and maybe they do this as a final goodbye present from India, they sneakily put their immigration office not at the border - where any sane person would place offices that deal with immigration - but in a small, indiscreet office about 100m from where the local bus drops you off (and therefore back to where I began). 

So when I walked up to the border post, the friendly border officer explained that I needed to turn around and be stamped out of India, 650m back into India.  Confused, but not surprised, I walked back to where I started and after some asking around, found the little office.  Sufficiently stamped out of India, I walked through India, so I could leave India (yes, I know).

An easy 750m walk therefore became over 2km of walking in the Indian sun, with 20 something kilograms on my back (grateful though at having posted 6kg back home, in Varanasi).

The process otherwise was quick and painless, and 30 minutes after my first attempt to leave India, I was permitted to cross into Nepal.    

Anyways... I was waved through and greeted by the Nepalese officials who took down my details and referred me to a colleague of theirs who would see to it that I got on the (last) bus from the border to Kathmandu.  It was now just before 8pm, and with my journey having started more than 12 hours before, I was looking forward to a nice sleep on the overnight bus to the capital.

Helllo Nepal!!
Please be nice to me

The 8pm bus picked me up, but after driving for approximately 20 minutes, it stopped for about 2 hours – to wait for some passengers who were late – and despite the driver driving like a maniac – we somehow still took 14 hours for what should have been an 8 hour trip.  Not to mention, my first introduction to Nepal culture was of its absolutely awful pop music, blasted over the speakers, accompanied with strobe lights (I know you think I’m joking.  I’m not joking) for the duration of the all-night trip, dashing any hopes of having a quiet, reinvigorating night sleep.  Not a good start Nepal.

Exhausted, and not in the best moods after travelling for about 27 hours, I got onto a local bus at the main bus station, that I was told would be going to Thamel – the tourist centre of Kathmandu – but the driver hustled me and I was still 1.5km away from my destination, when he pulled into the bus park and demanded 50 rupees for the trip (It’s like R6.50, but when you know a bus costs less than 10 rupees and he lied to you, you would feel a little screwed too).  Anyway, I left the bus before they could extort any more money from me, and resigned to walking the last bit to my hostel.  Thank goodness the hostel had a good vibe, and a shower, and a bed (luxuries I know).  I appreciated and took full advantage of all of them, and collected myself to see what my new country had in store for me.

Kathmandu really though is like a little Indian city.  The sights and sound and smells are all pretty similar.  You get tuk tuk drivers hassling you to go somewhere, shop owners bothering you to come look and see what rubbish they want you to buy at their shops, and drivers with awful, absolute disregard for any form of road rules.  There are some nice things to do and see, and you get some gems of local places to eat at and friendly people to meet – but as far as diversity from India – it is not particularly different.

Streets of Kathmandu, by night

Streets of Kathmandu by day...yes there are only ducks around...
just ducks

My first day out, I walked up to the top of a huge flight of stairs to see the monkey temple, a big stupa with a lot of things to see and look at (and monkeys), and climbed down the other side to Amideva park, where there are three giant buddha statues.  The highlight of the day though was watching local people all put their mouths on a blow horn sort of contraption, to make a noise come out of the mountain monument, if you manage to get the right angle.  No idea why people would do this?  But as I watched person after person try and (mostly) fail, I could not work out why people would happily, nay joyfully, all stick their mouths onto a random public object?  Like India, I resigned myself to the fact that Nepal too was also not a place that I would begin to understand how things worked, or why.

Monkey temple,
Kathmandu
Monkey temple,
Kathmandu 

The long climb up to Monkey Temple,
Kathmandu

The view of Kathmandu, from Monkey temple



Some pretty big statues,
Amideva buddha park,
Kathmandu

How do you spread disease?
Everyone stick your mouth on the same hole in the mountain
(that's a weird sentence to read?  Even weirder to write)

It rained almost every day in Kathmandu.  This was because I was catching the back end of the monsoon season, and was therefore mostly prepared for it.  However, one evening I rolled without my rain jacket, and paid the price by having to run home from dinner in a full on thunderstorm.  Needless to say, I was thoroughly soaked through by the time I reached my hostel.








Due to my time up north, and its proximity to Nepal and Tibet, I had somewhat become addicted to momos even before I reached Nepal.  So when I found a place to learn how to cook them, I signed up immediately.  It was a great experience, going to the local veggie market to buy the ingredients and spices, and I must say, the local woman who were teaching me were exceptionally patient.  The recipe is not too difficult, but the folding of the momos requires serious dexterity, and my first few attempts must have had them wishing they called in a sickie from work.  After a while though I got the hang of it, and am now equipped to feed the craving when I’m back home and no Tibetan restaurants around.






Picking veggies at the local store for MOMOS!!
Momo prep








Momo folding like a boss

Boom!! Pro-mos




















The best place I visited in Kathmandu was the Boudda stupa – impressive for its size and aura.  The whole courtyard is built around this giant worshiping spot, which people can only walk around in a clockwise direction.  The most fun was when the guards have to get everyone off the stupa at sunset, but if you manage to get past the entry/exit steps (there is only one) before the guards, they cannot turn around to get you, but have to walk all the way again.  This continues in a scooby-doo like chase for a while, until people think they are pushing the guards too far.

Besides for some palaces and temples, Kathmandu is really not too much to write home about (although I've done pretty well here ðŸ˜Š).  I understood why people get out of there and to the greener, less urban parts of Nepal as soon as possible.  I recommend doing the same.

Aerial view of Kathmandu... Not that bad?
No, it is. It really is.

Particularly impressive at sunset,
Boudhha stupa, Kathmandu

Monday, December 16, 2019

Varanasi: a mystical, entrancing city that you just cannot leave, try as you may

23 - 29 August

I had apprehensions coming to Varanasi, because as such a popular tourist place, I feared it being captured by all the same pitfalls of the other cities I had seen, which were touted as “must sees”.  However, the feedback I had received from fellow travelers, is that Varanasi really should not be missed, and provided as authentic an Indian experience as you will get.

I was in India to get Indian experiences, and because of my freed up time missing out on Kashmir, I had no reason not to.  I also needed to go through Varanasi to get to Kathmandu in Nepal.  Finally, I had some unfinished business with the post office from Lucknow, and Varanasi was the last major city before I left India for Nepal.

Daily life in the city is framed around the Ganges.  Ceremonies takes place every day as the sun rises and sets over the sacred river with devotees praising, and giving thanks, to the Ganges in the hope that her well wishes will translate into good fortune.

The Ganga (Ganges), Varanasi 

Dipping in the Ganga.
This time I wasn't taking the risk.
Varanasi

Getting to the morning aarti (ceremony) was easy, because it takes place before sunrise, and only the most dedicated of tourists will get up before day break to watch the ceremony that begins at 5am.  Finding a place to watch therefore was no problem.  Evening aarti however is a whole different story.  Starting at about 7pm, I thought I would get there at 6:30pm and find a good spot, with time to spare.  

The winding streets of Varanasi got the better of me, and I ended up getting a little lost and found my way to the Dashashwamedh ghat (ghats are flights of steps leading down to the river) at about 6:45pm, and could not get close to the ghat, let alone the ceremony.  Lesson learnt, I vowed to come back the next evening earlier.

Morning aarti, Varanasi
Assi Ghat at 5:30am, Varanasi


The next day I had joined a walking tour through Varanasi, which promised to end at the evening aarti.  While the walking tour progressed through the city, I glanced at my watch and saw it was 6:30pm already and we were still some way from the ghat, and I knew that tonight would not be the night to see the aarti (again).  I mentioned to the guide that we were already late, but he believed that we should be fine.  Ok, I trust you (not).  Imagine my surprise (there was no surprise) when we got to the ghat, just before 7pm, and – like a night before – there was no way of us getting close.  The guide did somewhat make up for his poor judgement by taking is to another ghat, where they had an aarti too, and we were assured that the two ceremonies were the same.  The ceremony at the Dashashwamedh ghat though is famed to have the evening aarti, so unsatisfied, I resolved to make sure I see the ceremony the following evening.

Plan B aarti ceremony, Varanasi

The following afternoon I got the Dashashwamedh ghat at 5:30pm and secured my seat on the steps, with a full unobstructed view.  What could go wrong?  Well, owing to being in India at the backend of its monsoon, the Ganges river had flooded its banks owing to the large amount of rain it had received.  The famous boat rides on the Ganges to watch sunrise/sunset had been ceased by the authorities, because the current was too strong. 

I knew that this meant that the aartis were smaller than usual, as the area in front of the river was underwater.  However, what I did not count on – and was unable to ascertain by being so far away in the previous two nights – is that they have actually moved the ceremony to the balcony of a building above the ghat.  So, I had sat on the steps for over an hour, watching these get packed to the brim, only to realise when the ceremony started, that I would not be able to see a thing.  I still cannot fathom why they would: 1) not tell everyone sitting on the steps that they would be unable to see a damn thing; and 2) that everyone continued to sit on the steps, staring out blankly over the dark river, while a ceremony proceeded unsighted to them

All the people who would not watch the ceremony,
Dashashwamedh Ghat, Varanasi

They even had an usher,
to make sure everyone was sat down orderly,
while looking out to nothing

I had though learnt a while ago already that trying to understand why things happen the way they do here is futile.  I resigned myself to the fact that I had already seen two ceremonies, and I had tried three times to see this one – it just was not meant to be.

Besides, I had more pressing items to take care of – which not even the mighty Ganges gods could overcome – sending a parcel via the Indian postal service.


New box acquired,
ready to face the Indian postal service
once gain
Learning from my previous experience in Lucknow, I had sourced a solid box with decent structural integrity, obtained the details of the biggest, mainest post office in the city, and headed straight there.  

Expecting the worst (and a new blog entry to come out of it), I could not believe that the people behind the counter were helpful, AND knew what documentation needed to completed.  I was shell-shocked to walk out of the building, having sent off the parcel in just under 45 minutes.

What was even more surprising is that it only took six weeks for the parcel to actually arrive in South Africa, contents all inside #smallmiracles.

When I left Varanasi on the bus to the Indian border, on-route to Nepal, I felt like I would miss the city.  There is nothing beautiful about the city.  In typical Indian style, it is dirty, there are stray animals around (and animal poop), and everywhere you turn someone is trying to sell you something: be it a tour through the city, some trinket or souvenir, or a blessing in return for a donation.  Being in a city where death is part of daily rituals, whether it is a funeral procession moving down the narrow streets, or burning bodies, and depositing the ashes into the Ganges, should not be attractive.

One of the 'hidden' ghats around the city,
Varanasi
However, there is something indescribable about the place that makes it charming.  The city has developed around itself, and therefore getting lost in the winding streets is commonplace and somehow charming.  With a little exploring you can find yourself in the quiet streets – away from the tourists, touts and markets – where you experience just local life.  Countless little crevasses and alleys that reveal hidden ghats that give you tremendous views of the Ganges, where you can sit an experience undisturbed.

It helped that I moved from outside the city into the main centre, and found a hostel with a great atmosphere and some really interesting and fun people to hang around with.  Also, and surely a highlight of my stay in Varanasi was by the time I left, the waters had subsided enough to reveal the full ghat and I managed to attend one final sunrise aarti, which was followed by a free yoga session, that is attended by all members of the local community.



Morning yoga with the Varanasi local community,
Assi Ghat, Varanasi

I am not sure what it is, I cannot describe it, but there is a magical draw.  Something that made me extend my stay from 3 to 7 days there, and left me longing to come back as soon as my bus (which was supposed to leave at 7am, but didn’t exist, so left at 9am) rolled out of the station.  I wish I could be more helpful, but really you need to just visit and experience it for yourself. 

Sunset from my hostel rooftop,
Varanasi


Thursday, December 5, 2019

Post office, meet Ryan. Ryan meet Indian bureaucracy.

Lucknow: 21 August

My backpack weighs about 17kg, because I brought way too much stuff.  My second bag is about 12kg, because I have a laptop that weighs just over 2kg, and a charger that is probably the same chord used to power an industrial generator (not because it is very powerful, but because it is very heavy).  Reasons why my bag is too heavy aside, the important part here for the story is that every time I move around with my stuff, I’m carrying close to 30kg.

Now, for a great workout, I recommend strapping 30kg to yourself, and walking around for a kilometre or two.  However, travelling on public transport, walking up hills, either at high altitude, or even worse, at high humidity, sucks.  Even though the upside here is killer calves, quads, and trap muscles, it’s really very little fun (and is working out not supposed to be nothing but fun?  

[For example]
Maurice: “Here Dave, add some more some weight.  You can do it.
Dave:  Ah, thanks Maurice, my confidence is sky high right now.  You are such a good motivator. 
Maurice:  And friend?
Dave:  Haha.  Of course.  And friend.
Maurice:  Ah, Dave.  You always know how to cheer me up, especially after my wife left for the circus.  
Together:  We having fun.”.

So, considering this burden I was literally carrying around on my shoulders, for the last few weeks I had been contemplating sending some of the excess items I brought along with me back to South Africa.  I tried to gather some information online about how to do this, but could find no specific guidance.  I did however come to understand it was possible.  After some initial enquiries, I established that courier services were too expensive – I am not exactly sending home rare shells or exotic animal limbs.  I was able to establish that the Indian postal service sends parcels at reasonable rates.  So long as you not expecting the parcel in any immediate future (which rules out sending home some cheap labour I found mosying about here – probably for the better – who needs that baggage – ‘baggage’, lol), this seems to be a viable option.

I finally got the motivation to tackle this task in Lucknow, when I walked straight past a post office branch (let’s call this Post Office 1 – you’ll understand later on), and noticed how close it was to where I was staying.  I went in and enquired about if they post parcels to South Africa.  How they answered set up how my next 24 hours or so would play out.

Day 1: The Set Up
Now, Post Office 1 was a small branch, so I was not expecting much.  Although, the branches in India range from huge buildings, to a small office, or a room on someone’s home, so you can never be too sure what you are going to get. 

In any event, they seemed to understand my question, and replied that they do post parcels, but only up to 3:30pm, and the person who packs the parcels had gone home (it was after 4pm).

No problem, I thought.  I had some good information to start.  All I had to do was pack my bag, come tomorrow to Post office 1 (500m down the road), before 3pm, and literally the weight will be lifted off my back.

Go India!  Go Ryan!  Yay for the post!

Day 2: Ryan vs the man
I woke up confident, but cautious.  While Day 1 went well, I reminded myself that I needed to stay grounded.  After all, this is India, and nothing is as it seems.  Simple can quickly turn into complicated.  This was a good self-warning, as I warmed up for the day that was about to unfold using Google Maps to locate the post office (I know, but it was 500m away right?  The roads here are not exactly set up in a grid.  My sense of direction is also not exactly... good).  However, and after following all its directions, I found myself in an alley, with no post office in sight (although not actually a post office, it was an attempt at a post office, so we’ll call this alley Post Office 2).

Still buoyant, I chalked this to be a demonstration of how feeble India can humble even the giant Google.  Time and time again, my experience in India has been that Google maps has been no match for the curious streets and quick changes of places, names, and locations of India.

Undeterred, I traveled to the next closest post office on the map, and this was old, friendly, Post Office 1.  However, with a new person behind the desk, it was as if it was a whole new post office (although they are not getting a new number).  They (now) explained that this post office does not send parcels, and I would have to go to a larger post office.  They gave some long name, but for the purposes of this story, it will henceforth be named Post Office 3.

I was however cautioned that before going to Post Office 3, I would need to get the parcel packed and wrapped in a box – something yesterday’s attendant explained would be possible where I was standing, and was part of the reason they could not help (as their packer had gone home for the day).  The new attendant however explained that while this post office does not in fact offer packing services, there was a courier down the road, who I was assured may (possibly) be able to assist with this part.

Obviously, the courier could not assist – because why would a courier have any materials to pack packages and get them ready for sending to another place – so I moved along, looking for another courier I was directed to (by courier 1).  Google maps (and by extension myself) however was foiled once again, as while the courier appeared on their map, there was no courier in the map's physical manifestation in India.  I did manage to acquire an old box from some helpful gentleman at a hardware store.  So, while extremely unconfident that this box would pass any kind of travel rigour, I had to move forward, and this was forward to Post Office 3.

I arrived at Post Office 3 at 1:50pm.  An arguably inauspicious time.  But at Post Office 3, 1pm-2pm is lunchtime, for all staff at the Post Office.  So, I was told, or rather waved away, indicating that I could not be helped at this time.  Being trained for such moments by my South African government officials, I politely waited the 10 minutes, until lunchtime was over, pondering unhelpfully how inefficient this system was, and how it was so inconceivable that some could maybe take lunch at a different time to be able to offer a service for the whole time the post office was open.

Lunchtime at Post Office 3,
Lucknow
Post Office 3.
Do not be fooled,
those people are not being helped,
they are just chatting to the clerks,
because it is lunchtime,
and no one is helped during lunchtime
















After 2pm passed, Post Office 3 quickly moved into service mode.  Their first order of business was to assist the only person looking for help in the post office (me), and they proceeded to explain that they only cater for parcels under 2kg.  I was directed to the main post office in the middle of the city (I had to wait 10 minutes to hear this).  Not wanting to make another wasted trip, I asked them to confirm the location of Post Office 4, or rather regally named, Chief Post Master General Office.  

With such a strong title, I felt that they must be able to send a meager 6kg parcel, and went on my way.  Oh, Post Office 3 also could not assist with packaging, or confirming if my parcel (in its current packaging) would be accepted at Post Office 4.  But now, why would they be able to?


Riding to Post Office 4 - not exactly
the ideal way to tour a city -
well unless you are on a tour of the city's post offices

I think, by now, you have got the theme of this story, so I expect no one to fall off their chairs when I tell you that Post Office 4 most definitely does not send parcels.  Nice building though.

Chief Post Master General Office, for all
intensive purposes, looks like a building that could handle 6kg of package?
Do not be ridiculous

Although I was getting closer.  Post Office 4 directed me to Post Office 5 – the General Post Office – which was about 1km down the road.  Apparently this was the biggest and bestest post office in all of Lucknow. 

Down, but not out, after being rejected from Post Office 4

I am not sure what time I arrived, but the General Post Office is a big building, with many counters, one of which actually catered for sending parcels overseas!   Yay?  No.  Don’t be silly.  I arrived at the counter at 15:36.  Again, traditionally a time one would not pay much attention to, but at counter 18, at the General Post Office, this meant home time.  Well, any time after 15:30 meant home time.

Post Office 5!  What a beautiful sight

Despite my pleading, but once again with my past experience from my South African government employees, I knew that my parcel would not be sent today.  Owing to the “no service whatsoever after 15:30pm” policy, I was also unable to even confirm if my flimsy box would suffice if I tried this labour again.

So many counters, that are unable to help

Day 3: An unknown adventure 
Confidence shattered, and with a breaking box in hand I left the General Post Office.  After travelling to five post offices, I walked through the streets on my way home knowing I had spent a whole day trying to circumnavigate the vagaries and complexities of what should seemingly be a simple task.  

Knowing I was leaving Lucknow and with weekend approaching, I realised that my parcel would not be sent any time soon.  I discarded my breaking box, resolving to find a better way to secure the parcel’s contents.

I was further disheartened with the realisation that after getting through the post office, this parcel had to still get through two sets of customs, and no ordinary customs, Indian and South African customs.  Upon further research, I learned that for this, more work was required, including creating an itemised list of each item, its weight and value – basically an easy to reference shopping list for all the people who would come in contact with the package, to see if there was anything they liked/wanted/felt the urge to look at.

So, for now, Day 3 remains a distant dream, glittering on the horizon.  But I know that whatever time inspires me to try again, it will be no less an adventure.

Maybe if I just leave my box near a post box,
it will magically end up at home?