No Direct Buses. Isn't it?

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Crossing borders is, without a doubt, one of the most stressful aspects of travelling for me. Previous nightmares include:

1) Being aggressively woken from sleep (when crossing from Romania to Bulgaria) with the butt of a gun belonging to an armed guard who then ran off the train with my passport and ticket.
2) A very sweaty 27 hour bus journey from Nepal to India (2003) followed by officials refusing to believe that the picture of the girl in Rebecca Jane Lidster’s passport was actually me!

Having survived these, and many other incidents, I thought I was prepared for anything. Experienced, confident, raring to go. When will I learn?!

In an attempt to avoid any ridiculously long journeys, and to make the process of getting to India as interesting as possible, we decided to make a slight detour via Lumbini - the birthplace of Buddha - for some spiritual enlightenment.

Apparently there are no direct busses from Kathmandu, so we boarded a bus to Biharawa (1 ½ hours from Lumbini) and set off on our “8 hour” trip.

Busses in Nepal are interesting. I think interesting is a good word to use here. Erratic, hell-raising, near-death experiences would be other suitable descriptions, but as I don’t want Mum to have a seizure as she reads this, I’ll stick with interesting. No 2 journeys, despite how similar their itineraries sound, are ever the same - they’re rarely even similar!

Some overly enthusiastic - and not annoying in the slightest - horn beeping by the driver
(approx. 12 years of age), accompanied - almost perfectly out of time - by the ‘bus boy’ frantically banging the side of the bus, signaled that we were about to depart. According to my watch it was 7:10am, we were leaving on time, not on Asian-time. Remarkable.

It was clear that Sarah and I were thinking exactly the same thing, but we didn’t dare smile or voice our delight - especially considering our previous bus journey started with a 2 ½ hour delay for no apparent reason (of course this was a delay by my watch, set 4 ¾ ahead of GMT, according to Asian time we were Spot On, as always!). So, afraid that we would jinx ourselves we simultaneously flashed a sly look at the clock, raised our eyebrows and gave each other one of those knowing looks. Unfortunately in that split second of Asian time one of the 300 000 (appro.) gods that the Nepalis devoutly worship (I’m convinced the number of Stupas/Shrines in some villages out numbers the houses), must have been looking down, or up, or maybe I was sat on it. The bus stopped. And, worse still, the engine was switched off - an act usually reserved for steep declines (save petrol), or when it’s time for Bhat Kane (eating rice/lunch). The busses don’t even stop to let people on/off, they just slow down……..slightly. This surely wasn’t the lunch stop - we were still in the bus station! I looked around, the seats were full, and a few people had taken their positions in the aisle so we hadn’t stopped to let more people on had we? Yes. And not just a couple either. I attempted to count the additional passengers, but got distracted at 16 by a young boy carrying a huge cockerel. I had memories of the Bird-flu scare, and resigned myself to the fact that in the hair-pin bends on the journey, or the lack of oxygen on board didn’t kill me, this lethargic looking bird probably would. The cock was casually tossed up onto the luggage rack and spent it’s (presumably one-way) journey staring at an electric hob carried on by the boy’s father.
Barrel of a gun.

This start was suggesting that the trip to the border might rank highly in The Worst Journeys Ever, but thankfully this time we were spared a Nepali Film. Now don’t get me wrong, I love Bollywood Films. I can even sing along to a fair few of the soundtracks (Dil Chatta Hai, being my favorite). But the film I had to endure when trying to escape the madness of Kathmandu for the tranquility of medieval Bandipur for a few days (the journey that started 2 ½ hours late), really was something else. We were probably 3 (5 ½) hours into our journey when the bus boy took a well-earned rest (thankfully!) from babnging the side of the door and switched on the (very out of place) DVD player. Now, considering everyone else on the bus was male, and Sarah was asleep, I wasn’t expecting a chick-flick, but maybe an overly dramatic Bollywood action movie featuring Salman Khan on roller skates, or a ‘comedy’?
Lesbian Porn.
Oh. My. God.
Oh. My. 300 000 Hindu gods. In a country where showing your ankle is considered risqué, and a knee is simply slutty….I didn’t know where to look. Maybe if I closed my eyes it would go away. No. The sounds got worse. The men were staring at me, Sarah ws asleep on my shoulder. Panic set in. I tried to remind myself that in this part of the world Gays don’t exist. They will disappear soon…..

There wasn’t really a plot to speak of - lots of Indian men (and a few fully clothed women) dancing in a club. Two white girls making out (and making out a bit further) in the corner. White, of course! One of them had light hair - probably me!

So yes, at this point, relative to our previous experiences, I wouldn’t have said this was one of the worst journeys ever. Oh how things took a turn for the worst……

We arrived at the usually quite sedate town of Mugling for ‘Bhat Kane’. There were vehicles everywhere - Buses, cars, taxis, lorries, cows - the place was gridlocked. Apparently this was due to a political demonstration (think road block, burning tyres, lots of shouting), a few kilometers away. We later learned that by pissing off as many people as possible, the demonstrators hoped to increase the turn-out of voters in the upcoming elections. Nepali logic. Thankfully by the time the 100-or-so passengers (and the cockerel) had enjoyed their lunch (and the entertainment of 2 white girls eating with fingers), the block was removed and we could edge a little closer to our destination.

The next part of our journey was downhill, so although the engine was off, we seemed to be making good progress towards the next city: Naranghat, a place of many fond memories from 2003. The memory from this visit was not so good. Stuck in the middle of no-where, in a huge queue of stationary traffic stretching as far as the eye could see with very little water for 2 ½ hours. If I lived here I wouldn’t vote! The temperature on the bus must have been nearing 50 C, humidity 100%, smell of Nepali sweat life-threatening, cockerel half dead, we decided to stretch our legs.

On this journey alone I had already been asked for my e-mail address twice by Nepali teenagers (male) who had concluded that because they had asked my my name and “from which country you come?” we were to be friends. I, of course, happily handed over my “real” e-mail address. I sincerely hope there isn’t really a: [e-mail], if there is, she’s probably quite pissed off right now! So I wasn’t surprised when on leaving the bus we were instantly cornered by a young Nepali Philosophy student asking if we could be friends. We tried our very best to be polite, but it was very hot, we were thirsty, and it got quite tedious when he finished every sentence with “isn’t it?” and a wobble of his head.

“Hot today isn’t it?” Yes.
“Nepal is under-developed isn’t it?” Well, yes.
“English peoples wanting to help. Isn’t it?” Erm, well…
“German Philosophers are more advanced than English isn’t it?” Trying desperately to still look interested…
“What’s your opinion, isn’t it?”

I can’t convey just how annoying he was, but considering we opted to re-board our sauna of a bus, to fester almost to death rather than listen to his incessant drone might give you a clue. Please remember at this point that I’m a fairly tolerant person.

Thankfully we were moving again before we completely lost consciousness, and arrived not long after in Biharawa. Biharawa is literally a stones throw from India, and you can tell, the touts surrounded us as soon as we left the bus: “Rickshaw, cigarette, cheap hotel, hashish, money change?” As soon as we got off we learned the bus carried on to Lumbini, so we had to battle through the crowd once more to complete our journey. Which we did, only a few hours behind “schedule”. We were met by a Buddhist Monk who guided us to Buddha’s Guest House (natutrally!).

Relaxing and enjoying our last home-cooked Nepali Dhal Bhat (no cockerel for us), we laughed about our journey thus far and were sure the worst was over. Wrong. In this part of the world - I’m remembering (fast) - it’s imperative to expect the unexpected…….isn’t it?

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