Border crossings

I'm safely installed in a cheap but clean and comfortable room in Thamel, Kathmandu. But getting here included the most frustrating overland border crossing exercise I've ever done. Had everything gone according to plans I should be trudging uphill in pine forests to Namche Bazaar today.

Instead I will now only be flying out to Lukla on the 11th, and my estimated arrival at Namche will take place a day after that.

But I need this time in Thamel to eat, rest and re-engergise for the trek after the ordeal through India, which I'm now about to describe. But I warn readers that this post is probably the longest post they'll ever have read on this blog.

1)BAKSHEESH IN BIHAR
Having intended to spend as little time in India as possible, I didn't bring along any India guidebooks. When I failed to get on the train to Gorakhpur from Bangalore, everything just fell flat. The next train was a week later so I got myself a berth on a train to Howrah, Calcutta, instead, from where I knew I could catch a bus to the border. When I arrived at Howrah, however I had to rely on a fellow train passenger to direct me to the bus station. It turned out there were no buses to the border crossings I knew but there was another one that would take me to Jogbani, a Bihari town on the border. The travel agent assured me that I could catch a bus to Kathmandu from there and later, my Nepalese fellow passengers on the bus confirmed this.

I'd arrived in Calcutta in the morning and the bus left just after sundown, so I only really had enough time for a shower and a few hours of badly needed sleep in the "city of joy". It was a bustling city, even more crowded than Bombay, but there seemed to some order in the movement of traffic that I hadn't seen anywhere else in India. Indeed I was able to get on a local bus and find my way to the bust station without a map or a guidebook.

The city certainly promised to be worthy of exploration if I'd had more time. The lasting image of Calcutta for me would be the extraordinary sunset over the impressive Howrah bridge as I rode to catch my bus to Bihar.

After a bumpy, sleepless ride, much of which I spent worrying about the effects of the reclining seat in front of me on my knees. I arrived at the border around lunchtime the next day.

The Indian immigration officer took one look at my passport and, despite my protestations that Maldivians didn't need visas for short term visits to India, said my passport was "invalid" he was "seizing" it, and I wouldn't be allowed to leave.

He went in search of his colleague who seemed to know a bit more about India-Maldives foreign relations. He even knew "Abdul Gayoom" had recently attended a SAARC Summit in New Delhi. He gave me a few forms to fill so I knew all was not lost. In the end they hand-wrote my exit on the passport (not having a stamp) and indicated, in no uncertain terms, that they expected "baksheesh" or payment for their trouble. They also insisted I had a cup of tea with them and, before sending me off to the Nepalese side, said they would allow me back into India via the same route even though I didn't have the visa.

On the Nepalese side, there was no immigration, only a customs checkpost where an officer politely informed me that this was not an international entry point into Nepal and sent me back to India.

The Indian immigration officers were furious that I had been turned back and advised me to sneak back into Nepal, past the customs and catch a bus to Kathmandu. But I didn't want to be an illegal immigrant so I told them I preferred to do the 8 hour bus journey to the next border crossing near Siliguri, in West Bengal.

The fact is, Jogbani is a local crossing point for Indians and Nepalese, which I'd have found out if I had a guidebook.

Back in India and at the nearest bus stop, a guy befriended me and promised me if I got on his bus, which was going to Patna, he'd make sure I got on the bus to Siliguri. He cautioned me that I was in Bihar and even though he was from the state it was a state renowned for its "goodas and badmashis" (crooks and outlaws).

Some time into the ride, he said his friend, the driver, would take over from him since he had to get out at the next stop. I got off with him to have a cup of tea, during which he asked my name. When he realised I had a Muslim name he said he was a Muslim too and regularly practised his "namaaz" (prayers). I told him I wasn't as devout as he and he said "You should be!"

In any case our shared Muslim brotherhood didn't prevent him from taking his baksheesh from me, a rather large one too. After settling me in a seat by the driver, he added that the driver would probably expect baksheeh from me too. I wasn't surprised.

By now other passengers in the driver's compartment were casting curious glances at the exchanges that were happening between the driver, me and my Muslim friend. But I avoided their questions only informing them the driver was dropping me off at some point to catch another bus. They nodded their heads at each other and declared the driver and the other guy were taking advantage of my helplessness.

As we drove in the dusk, rows broke out between the passengers and the conductor. The driver seemed to able to mediate by saying he was not from the state and, pointing at me, informed everyone that rescuing "this unfortunate foreigner" from the rouges of the border area. The passengers, who'd seen money exchanged, were skeptical and advised me, when the driver got off for a pee, to get out at a place called Purnia where I could catch a bus to Silugiri.

When we reached Purnia somebody told the driver I should get off but he told them I was under his care. Some minutes later he did drop me off, at a shanty eatery on the highway, and said my bus would arrive soon. Then, making sure everyone heard, he said he'd helped me out of the goodness of his heart and would not take money from me. I was saved from my third baksheesh in Bihar.

At the eatery I had my first proper meal of the day, drank a cup of tea, went to the loo and, actually started to feel better. But the flatlands of northern Bihar were infested with mosquitoes and I was soon worrying about the possibility of getting malaria. By midnight I was in a desperate situation, convinced I'd been conned and dumped. I decided I was too tired to do anything about it and put my fleece over me and tried to sleep on a makeshift bed. But a few minutes later the Siliguri bus appeared miraculously and I was back on the highway.

2)CROSSING INTO KAKARVITTA
I arrived at Siliguri just before dawn and a travel agent ushered me into his office, trying to sell me package tours to Darjeeling and Sikkim (only a short distance from here). I told him I would come back for all that but I needed to get to Kathmandu fast. He booked a seat for me on a bus that would leave from the border in the afternoon.

I squeezed into a 4WD that took me to Pani Tanki, the Indian border. Immigration asked me the inevitable "Where's the visa?" but a phone call seemed to satisfy them that I didn't require one. They stamped my exit and I got on a rickshaw without bothering with customs.

As the sun broke through the morning haze, we rode a long bridge over a dry river bed, wisps of morning fog over either side. The air was cool and it was the most picturesque overland border crossing I'd done and one that really felt like you were going from one country to another. Muha would have loved it.

Nepalese immigration formalities were a breeze and as I waited for my bus, I had my first momo for this journey in a teashop which stocked whiskey, vodka and beer, along with biscuits, crisps and chocolates. Yes, I was truly in Nepal at last!