A stroll in the Himalaya (part 3)
Trip Start
Feb 18, 2010
1
64
69
Trip End
Dec 22, 2010
Sonauli, Nepal
Friday, December 3, 2010
A vista of snowy mountains leaping up from green valleys, topped with a cloudless sky. It was the highlight of our trek, it was our reward, and the postcard that showed this magnificent sight was well worth the ten rupees.
The real life view was nowhere to be seen because the thick fog had returned, making it difficult to determine the end of our hotel's garden. But it was a lovely garden and we felt very privileged to see (some of) it.
So, the third and final day of the trek.
Blisters, tick; pulled muscles, tick; cold, tick; just about everything that could possibly hurt hurting, tick.
"If you like, we can take the bus today. No more walking."
I’d like to say I protested vigorously (or at least feebly) at this offer from Ajaya, but I didn’t get a chance because Gem had indicated our answer by throwing herself on the floor and kissing his feet. For me it was a win-win. I didn’t have to walk anymore and yet I’d saved my man pride by allowing Gem to make the decision, not to mention snagging a few brownie points in the process.
“Are you sure, Gem? I’ll happily carry on with this, but if you don’t want to I really don’t mind. I promise I won’t hold it against you...”
“Oh thank you, thank you so much! I’ll make it up to you, I really will. I could buy dinner tonight?”
“Oh, no, no, I won’t hear of it! As long as you’re happy, that’s all I care about...”
So the ordeal of trekking was replaced with the ordeal of a local bus back to Kathmandu. Fortunately, because the bus was in such appalling condition, it couldn’t pick up speeds of more than 15 MPH, so the journey wasn’t as harrowing as it might have been. An ominous start nonetheless – five men had to push it on to a slope in the 'road’ before it would roar to life. And when passengers wanted to get on or off in various places, they’d have to do so as it was moving because presumably if it stopped it wouldn’t start again.
* * *
So back to Kathmandu. Gem got her Indian visa the next day. I noticed the British embassy close by and suddenly had a deep longing to be home. A bulletin board showed pictures of smiling Brits that never made it:
MISSING
Alex James Ratnasuthy, age 24.
According to his last email 21st February 2003, he was due to contact us again from the Everest base camp. However, unfortunately we didn’t receive anything from Alex. His family are very anxious to know if he is OK.
That was all very depressing, but then I saw something inside the embassy that cheered me up no end: a big colourful banner that read:
“Customer service isn’t a department...
It’s an attitude.”
Unmistakable in its Britishness! What a country.
But before we returned to the land of feel-good slogans and bad customer service, we’d have to brave the madness of India for three weeks.
We caught an 8 hour bus through gorgeous mountain and river scenery to a dusty hell-hole of a border town that goes by the name Sonauli, checked in to an appropriately grim hotel and called it a night.
In our room lived a mouse with the usual characteristics – lightening speed, a tendency to dart out just when you’ve forgotten it’s there and Houdini-like skills that enabled it to vanish into thin air. Where do they go??? I felt like I was playing the part of Tom in the cartoon – lifting up drawers, moving the bed, looking under the wardrobe...I was outsmarted every time.
The next morning we ate in the hotel restaurant because the man on the desk said: “We have a wonderful restaurant, sir.” I was incredulous because Lonely Planet had described it as “excellent”, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt we sat down and had a strange conversation with an Indian man – 50ish, fat, loud – from Luton.
“Yeah I know Luton – my brother went to uni there.”
“Ah!!! Really? I probably know him! What is his name?”
“Um, Dave Jones.”
“Yes! I know Dave Jones! We worked together many times!”
“Doing what?”
“Did you say he worked at the hospital?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He was at uni there.”
“Yes! I remember him well! Dave James! I helped with his dissertation.”
And it went on like this and all the time I was thinking Does this man really think I’m buying this? I mean, come on! Is he serious?!
Anyway, it took my mind off the dismal food.
We paid, hoisted our backpacks and walked across the border into India. After finally locating immigration – a filthy shack with peeling letters – we were told we had to go back to Nepal to get our passports stamped. So we walked back into Nepal. And then back into India, slightly wearier.
Bus to Gorakhpur (ghastly), stayed the night in a hotel (hideous), train the next day to Varanasi.
