Two days from Kathmandu

19-03-2017 Sita Hotel

Kathmandu in sight

With the Nepalese capitol only two more stages away it’s time to report again. The last few stages in India were different from those I’d ridden. Less monotonous, the landscape started to change a bit into slow rolling hills with lots of tea plantations. So, I left India in a better mood than it had gotten me into. Crossing the border with Nepal was as easy as pie. No checking of passports and visa whatsoever. So, what all the fuzz is about getting a visa to get into this country still puzzles me. I exchanged the Indian bill which had writing on it at an commercial exchange office. The woman didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care a great deal about it. Sometimes you have to steal from a thief to get even. I actually wanted to stay at this border town. These border towns ooze a certain atmosphere, of festiveness and exuberance. Also, the Nepalese people sure like their drinks. Almost everywhere you go, you see these little liquor shops, which sell beer, wines, local Whiskeys and tons of Vodka. It’s sometimes easier to get a bottle of Vodka than a bottle of mineral water. But I’ll stick to water, cola and beer.

Shiliguri – Birtamode

I decided to push on for a bit more. These border towns are nice, but also way more expensive if you travel a bit more into the country. Sometimes 5 kilometres can save you up to half of what you’re willing to spend on festiveness and exuberance.

I had these (great) expectations about Nepal. More tranquil and easy going as I was told. Well, that can’t be said for the traffic, that’s for sure! I didn’t think it was possible but the Nepalese bus drivers really ‘out-asshole’ those of India. Along with their driving licences they must also get a degree in being real traffic jerks, I reckon. Even the lorry drivers, in contrast with most of their Indian counter parts, participate in this behaviour. Many of times I was pushed of the road by these a-holes. Kings of the Hill remain the four wheel drivers. They are among the biggest anti-social fucks I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. No one, I mean none of them, would have gotten a driving license in the Netherlands. Not with these, can you call them, driving ‘skills’. So, that being said, I stopped in Birtamode and got a room in a Guest House for 500 Nepalese Roepiah, which is in real money almost 5 euro. Not much, as the accommodation was. But I don’t mind. It had a shower and the basics. I deposited the dirty towel in the corner near the door. They had cool beer, that soothes out a lot. The keeper and his wife (or girlfriend) were a special breed of humans. I really didn’t hope they represented the Nepalese population. His entire vocabulary seem to consist out of belching. The woman chewed gum franticly and popped a bubble every 5 seconds. Not a very refined couple, and I decided that they must be related to a specific type of bear which is unfortunately common throughout the world, namely the ‘unlicked’ one. (Well it is Dutch expression anyway, to point out the rudeness of people.) Birtamode, a place soon to be forgotten.

Birtamode – Inaruwa

Stayed in ZamZam hotel. The stage was as ‘humdrum’, as the come. No specifics spring to mind. Other than that these roads, the monotony of them, and the horrible traffic started to get to me. At some point I was on the verge of throwing some punches. It has been a few years that I did some box training, but I was willing to restart training there and then. And when it comes to that point, that you’re about to lose it, it is time to call it a day. Dismount, get a room, have a beer and blow off steam. ZamZam was an Islamic orientated hotel. As soon as I walked in I noticed the Islamic ‘vibe’ of the place and the ‘dry’ bar. Only mineral water and soft drinks were available. But that was just fine by me. If they are that upfront about their identity, then I’m okay with it and I will respect it. No sneaky ‘beer runs’ as in Malda or Murshidabad, that’s for sure. And I still had this bottle of Kingfisher in my luggage, I could drink in the privacy of my room. The young guy running the place was extremely kind and knew the basic principles of hotel service. He seemed overjoyed that he could cook some meals for me, and did put in a real effort to please. What a sharp contrast this was with where I came from! They can be all Islamic as they want by me, if the service is on this level. It was also one of the cleanest places in Nepal I’ve been in so far.

Inaruwa – Lahan

As of yet, the most interesting stage in Nepal. Changing landscapes, and a more rural and agricultural environment. More pleasing to the eye. The ride over the Koshi barrage was impressive. We Dutch people know our way around canalling water and putting up structures that do so, but this looked as it came from Zeeland (the Netherlands). Some of the world’s most famous waterworks can be found there.

I started the day at the right side of the road, which is also in Nepal, the wrong side. A momentary black out, I suppose. Sometime you end up driving on that side of the road you’ve done basically your whole life. Oncoming traffic blew their horns, and for a few seconds I was convinced they were on the wrong side… Luckily I remained calm and did what I’ve learned in these situations in this type of traffic. Make no sudden moves, keep your line and move to the other side of the road when you can.

My route on the Garmin showed that I was to follow a small road along the lake that would end up in the Koshi barrage. This would have been a highlight in this trip through Nepal I’m sure, but it wasn’t to be. As I passed under a pole that was obviously a barricade of some sort, a male voice shouted out ‘Hu!’ From a small post that was camouflaged, an armed soldier emerged. He spoke the littlest of English, but the message was clear. ‘You cannot pass through here!’ He came out of this pillbox hide out shouldering his rifle, as to stress his point. Well, I’m not gonna argue with a man that’s holding a gun. He said something like ‘Arna country’. I reluctantly turned around and took the road that went parallel to this small road, and eventually also ended up at the Koshi barrage. I learned that this ‘Arna country’ is a wild life preservation park for a buffalo type of animal. Armed guards are there to ensure no one gets in to poach and steal. A good thing.

After the Koshi barrage things went back into ‘humdrum’ mode again. At Lahan I stopped at a hotel that looked nice enough to spend a night in. East Point Hotel, as its claim to international fame was called. An okay room, but a horrible stay over. The place was loud, and late that night a group of people settled in and they talked to each other in a manner that can only be described as shouting at the top of your lungs. Especially the women, they’re screaming as if they all have a hearing disability or seem to be in an argument all the time. No manners whatsoever that can be detected in these people. And this wasn’t an incident. This is how they communicate, the Nepalese women. And they spit as well. I mentioned this filthy habit in one of my earlier stories. In Myanmar and India it is as common as breathing. But I thought it was a ‘male’ thing. Some lame sort of showing of your masculinity, but here in Nepal emancipation has struck a chord with the clearing of one’s throat thing. It’s sounds as if they are spitting out a hair ball. Not a very charming site or sound, I’ll tell yah. In fact, I learned to deal with the cold showers, the hard beds, the ‘French toilets’, the horrible traffic and monotony of the road. But what I can’t get used to is this disgusting habit. Every time I hear it, the hairs in the back of my neck stand out and it sends shivers down my spine. Like someone scratches a black board with his fingernails. But I guess, apparently this is how they are. They don’t know any better. Until I saw this sign I ran into in my current (Sita) hotel. ‘No spitting allowed’, good to know someone hasn’t given up on civilisation.

At seven o’clock the phone rang. WTF? If I wanted tea or coffee? Are you serious? Are you mental? At East Point Hotel they obviously don’t know how to respect the wishes of a customer. They enforce their rhythm of life upon you. I got annoyed big time, and expressed my discontent at the reception, whilst paying the bill. They weren’t able to drum up any form of breakfast that I wanted or liked, and the change for 3 bills of 1000 Roepiah turned out to be a huge problem. I had it with these characters. I refused to pay in notes that fitted the bill, although I could have easily done so. “You know, I can stand here all day waiting for my change. I got time, I don’t care. You can go to a bank for all I care..” Eventually they came up with the change, maybe the guy was trying to draw some tip out of his ‘no have return’ act. He wasn’t getting any, not from me.

Lahan – Dhalkebar

Things couldn’t possible go worse from there, or could they…? I stopped over at Dhalkebar, an average sized town and the map told me that there were no places to stop over that were worth mentioning for the next 30 or 40 kilometers. How wrong I was, as I was about to find out the next day! But I was tired as hell. I agreed on a room in Giri Guest House, which looked more like the insides of a stable than an accommodation for humans. The cold shower, what else, was to be operated by a pair of pliers that I provided for myself. Yet even more ‘expensive’ than my stay in Birtamode and the worst so far. But the son and daughter, they ran the place, at least spoke English and were charming in a touching way. Across the street was a ‘hotel’, a place where truck drivers hang out for drinks and snacks. It had its charms, albeit mediaeval in appearance. The women who ran the place were ‘the spitting kind’, at least one of them and they all had extremely loud voices. But it was a popular hangout. I drank a couple of beers with two guys, one of them spoke English very well, that turned out to be the best conversation I’ve had so far in this country. They seemed more sophisticated and educated than the average ‘Joe’ in the street.

Dhalkebar – to where I’m now, Sita Palace Hotel

Not even a town or village can be connected to this hotel, or so it seems. The new looks of it, it had just opened up, and the quality of the rooms I got shown, made me decide on a two nights stay. Needed to write anyway. I had only put in a lousy 50 kilometres, but the stretch to Hetauda had to be done in two stages, so it didn’t matter to me where I would hit the brakes, as long as it aired some class I was easily turned over. Also, and this is turning out to be some sort of a concern for me, but I’m spending almost as much time on the toilet seat as on the seat of the Parcycle. This Asian food goes through me like an eel in a bucket of mucus. I’m thinning out way too rapidly and need to bulk up, if I want to make it through the Himalayas. From Bangkok on I started to walk away from too spicy plates of food, or ask to tune down the amount blistering peppers that make me burn up inside.

How to brake the daily routines?

Along the road I get comments from people I pass, and guys on motorbikes roll by and ask questions. I often give them a nice and correct enough answer, but sometimes I get bored and decide to have some fun with the responses I give.

“Hey mister, where you go?”

-          To Hell and back!

-          That way, pointing towards road in front of me.

-          Home!

“Hey, icecream!”

-          Is that your best joke?

-          I scream, you scream, everybody Icecream!

-          I’m all out, sorry!

“What’s in the box?”

-          Icecream!

-          Magic tricks. In a few moments from now I will disappear…

-          What do you think?

-          My stepmother

-          Your worst nightmare!

-          Supplies. Does that surprise you?

“Where you from?”

-          Kolkata

“You don’t look Indian!”

-          I’m half Cherokee

“Where you from?”

-          The UK

-          Deutschland!

-          Germany

-          The Third Reich

-          The future

Tomorrow’s stage will take me to Hetauda, the day after I’m aiming to be in Kathmunda. This is where I meet and greet my colleagues from DHL and see my camping gear I put on transport in Chiang Mai. Interesting so far, but I’m still thinking that the great views, landscapes and real highlights are still ahead of me…