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In Varanasi, I had to wake up by 4 something in the morning to make it to the bus station to catch the first bus to Saunali on the border with Nepal. In the pitch dark, I woke up an old man who was sleeping in the lobby of my hostel (in fact there were 3 men sleeping in the lobby), and with some provocation, I convinced him to walk me out to the main street. This was my first use of my headlamp, mostly to avoid the cow poop which is plentiful in the the alleys of Varanasi. When we reached the main street, my elderly escort woke up another man sleeping on a cart, who stumbled over to his rickshaw in a stupor and haggled with me about the price, and then we were off toward the station. I waited at the mosquito-infested station (first use of DEET) for about an hour, and then boarded the cramped, dirty, uncomfortable bus for the border. The driver complained that I was taking up an extra seat with my bag, and so with great difficulty I tried to shove it into the overhead shelf, but it wouldn't fit. Then I tried to wedge it under the seat. Bad idea. I had a water bottle hanging out of my bag, and it leaked all over the ground creating a sort of slurry of dirt and dust and water that I then rubbed my bag in. Realizing that I couldn't fit it under the seat, I lifted it up, smearing mud all over myself and then the seat as well. I find that days in India have their extreme highs and lows; this was a low moment. But-ah ha!-I had wet wipes with me! I wiped down the seat and the bag and myself, and then I realized that the entire bus of passengers was watching my struggle with amazement. Silly white girl with her wet wipes. Finally, I decided to move to the back of the bus where I could perhaps discreetly take up an extra seat with my bag. The journey that then ensued was an 11 hour, bumpy, slow, sweltering hell, with the dust from the semi-paved road coating my face and arms in a thick layer of filth. I will say that the Indian people are an amazingly patient bunch; my fellow passengers weathered the trip with utter composure, even though some were standing in the isle for distances of 100km. At one point when someone asked me about my bag taking up a seat, I laboriously hoisted it onto my lap, which then cut off my view entirely, practically suffocating me in my tiny seat. And the space that was now free was too small for a human--so the men just laughed and told me to put the bag back. In some ways, I loved this bus trip because it took me through every town and village from Varanasi to Nepal, getting stuck in every main street traffic jam, car horns blowing nearly constantly. It was a great viewpoint from which to watch the everyday lives of the people of India-- selling bananas at a roadside stand, brushing their teeth in the morning, peeling cucumbers for sale, repairing rickshaws, etc. I will also mention that I did not use the bathroom for 11 hours and ate only coconut cookies along the way. The one time I thought I would find a toilet during a 10 minute stop, I was afraid to stray too far from the bus (leaving my bag behind), and the locals kept directing me farther down the street to whatever shithole (literally) there was available. So I retreated back to the bus, resigned to holding it. When I got back on, the tiniest, thinest man I have ever seen (with sunken cheeks) was occupying my seat. I wedged him politely aside (he didn't really need a full seat). I was the only white person on the bus for the entire 11 hours. There was one Japanese guy, but I didn't notice him until we had already crossed the border. At one point, the bus stopped at a roadside restaurant, and about half of the passengers piled out to eat. I debated whether it was safe to eat there, but I noticed that the dishes were being washed in a pale of nasty brown water by the edge of the road, so I stayed on the bus. I'm sure I will eat in similar conditions during my trip, but I really didn't want diarrhea on the bus. I guess there is no good time for diarrhea. So, the journey continued to the border where it slowly became more rural and more poor and more beautiful, with rice paddies outnumbering rickshaws, and the roads becoming quieter. I took a final rickshaw to the Indian Immigration desk where I was stamped out, and then walked across the border. It was like night and day, like a breath of fresh air. Immediately in Nepal, I spotted a public toilet, and when I didn't have the 5 Nepali rupees I needed to use it, I told them that I would give them a 'smile,' and they accepted. The men at the Nepal immigration desk were very friendly and welcoming, directing me toward the bus station. After dodging some tourist bus touts, I bought some more coconut cookies, used the ATM, and boarded the night bus to Kathmandu. The seats on this bus were cloth and had been slept in by hundreds of sweating bodies, and so they were damp and smelled like the funk of humanity. In the middle of the night, the bus stopped at a restaurant and I ate my first Nepali meal of dal baat (with my hands), and it was delicious and hearty! Maybe the best meal I've had on my trip so far, and only $1. In some ways I'm so glad that it was dark and I couldn't see the journey to Kathmandu because the bus tore around hairpin curves at great speeds, missing oncoming buses by inches. All I saw all night were rock faces on both sides of the bus. Or just pure darkness; I have no idea what the terrain was like.
I arrived in Kathmandu before I had anticipated--about 4:30 in the morning, and I asked my taxi driver to take me to the Kathmandu Guesthouse, which happened to be open at that hour, miraculously. They did not have any rooms available, so I waited until it was light out and walked down the street to the Horizon Hotel, which only had their penthouse suite for $10. I took it--I was too exhausted and dirty to walk from guesthouse to guesthouse for the lowest price. This room turned out to be a real treat; it overlooks Kathmandu and has a lovely private balcony with two green chairs and a place to hang my laundry.
