Kolkata to Kathmandu

Today is exactly two moths since we arrived in India. We woke up early to a final serving of semolina and juice courtesy of the maids and were, as expected, ready to leave Anando's house earlier than planned. We sat around for a while, said a big thank you to Anando's Mum and Dad, handed over a thank you bottle of sake to our host and packed the last of our belongings into our bags.

As we headed out the gate my two favourite dogs (the mother I'd been feeding and the puppy who loves tummy rubs) were waiting to see us off. I fed them some stale bread, told them not to eat any poison and reluctantly got in the car to begin the treacherous drive to the airport.

The traffic, in true Indian form, was some of the worst we have seen. Not only was it peak hour and congested but everybody was making it worse by not sticking to their lanes, not indicating, weaving, running red lights and doing illegal u-turns all while the traffic police stood by and watched. The usual. Anando informed us that getting a licence in India does not require taking any tests, be they written or practical, and this fact explained a lot of our difficulties on the roads over the past two months.

We arrived at the airport and thought the most difficult part of the journey to the airport was over. Nope...we needed to get inside and this was no straight forward matter. Unlike home, where you simply walk in and out of the airport as you please, paranoid India has security at the door demanding proof that you are flying on that day before they will let you enter. We did not have a printed copy of such proof. Anando supervised us while we showed our confirmation email, thanks to the iPad, and had our passports checked thoroughly before we could say goodbye to Anando and go inside.

Although the check-in counters were supposed to open three hours before departure we sat and waited, watching the minutes tick by, until finally they decided to open the counters and we lined up. Nothing is straight forward in India though so, when we finally reached the counter, we were told we needed to go and have our bags x-rayed and strapped up with a security strap before we could check them in. More paranoia. We moved to the other side of the terminal and joined a new line so we could do just that. Just as we thought we were home free and would be able to check our bags in, an already frustrated Chris got taken aside.

"Do you have a dagger in your bag sir?" asked the x-ray attendant.

I couldn't help but laugh. We pulled out the tripod thinking perhaps they had mistaken it for a dagger. We were wrong. They then looked at my bag...was the dagger in there I wondered? My bag had already been strapped up though so it seems that the whole thing got put in the too hard basket. They simply told us to pack up our things, strapped Chris' bag and let us go. The dagger was to remain a mystery to both them and us. I'm unsure why having a dagger in your checked-in luggage would be a problem anyway. Its not like we could duck into the luggage compartment mid-flight. Back to the check-in counters we went.

This time everybody was mobbing around the desk filling in immigration forms. We made it to being second in line and watched as the guy in front of us looked surprised when the lady behind the counter asked to check-in his baggage. His friend set off across the terminal to get it.

Finally, we had made it to the front of the queue. We checked in and realised that we did not have to fill out the immigration forms there and then as the mob surrounding the desk suggested. They were just filling theirs out at the counter as to make life difficult for everybody else. We took our forms, filled them out somewhere more appropriate, and continued to immigration. Despite the guy having to put my passport through a couple of times to get it to scan, we made it. But that pit stop only allowed us to move a further two or three metres before our passports and boarding passes needed to be checked again. The stamps on Chris' boarding pass were inky and smudging everywhere which made pulling it in and out of our bag interesting. Next stop...customs.

Customs was a group of about six workers standing around having a chat. We walked past without even being glanced at. Next...another passport and boarding pass check. Just in case the other three people we had already passed through hadn't done their jobs properly I guess.

After having our hand luggage scanned and having ourselves scanned also we were through! With an hour to kill before finally leaving Indian soil we ate at the only cafe that existed beyond security. It was a basic setup to say the least but the pizza, pasties and chicken enchilada-like thing were delicious.

We sat in the freezing airconditioning and listened to an incomplete automated announcement on repeat while we watched our scheduled boarding time come and go. Eventually our flight was called, ten minutes prior to the scheduled departure time, and we passed through another four checkpoints within two metres of each other before we could head towards the plane. One person to tick our name off a list, another to check our hand luggage had a security stamp (luckily we hadn't discarded those annoying name tags they give and instead had tied them to our bag), another person to check our passports and another to tear the boarding pass. Such a waste of human labour.

The flight to Kathmandu was short, only an hour and a quarter. As we descended over Kathmandu, a heavy layer of cloud obscured our view of the famous mountains. We did catch a few glimpses of the snowy peaks though and even these looked like giants compared to any mountains we had ever seen before.

We sure knew it when we touched down in Kathmandu. It was probably the hardest hitting, bumpiest landing either of us had experienced. As we stepped off the plane the weather was much cooler than it had been in Kolkata and we felt it as we waited on the tarmac for a bus to take us to the terminal. Once inside the terminal we managed to find the arrival cards and visa application forms and, once we found the ones that were in English, they were easy enough to complete. As we worked out our next move we read a sign which listed the accepted currencies for the visa payment. Indian rupees were not accepted so the wad of cash Big Red had made us was no good. We would need to exchange it. This was no easy feat. The money exchange place did not accept 500 Indian rupee notes which was what the majority of our 68000 was in. We were directed to an ATM which would give us Nepalese rupees. Hilariously, Nepalese rupees, the local currency, just like the neighbouring country's currency, could not be used to purchase the visa. We would need to take the money from the ATM and exchange it for US dollars. Getting money from this darn ATM was a mission and we weren't the only ones having problems. The other tourists were more than helpful as we all tried to figure out what was going on with the visa purchasing issues.

We tried and tried with our fee-free MasterCard we had been using throughout the trip but had no success. Eventually we gave in and used Chris' Australian card. While it worked, we had to do multiple transactions to get enough money for our visas and each transaction was undoubtedly costing us a fortune. It didn't help that Chris accidentally got out 1000 instead of 10000 in one of those transactions.

Once we had some cash we could exchange it for US dollars which could then be used to purchase the visa. Considering all of this hassle we got through immigration, luggage collection and customs faster than anticipated and braced ourselves for the attack of Kathmandu. We had read online to be prepared for beeping, screeching and crowds of taxi drivers and hotel owners grabbing at us. I'm not sure whether it was a quiet day in Kathmandu or whether we'd been in India too long but Kathmandu airport was absolutely fine! We brushed off a few overpriced taxis and, after checking the distance from the airport to the touristy city suburb of Thamel, decided we would simply walk. We were in Nepal after all, and we needed some training for our trek.

We headed towards the setting sun and were immediately pleased with the relative lack of rubbish, lack of beeping and presence of a footpath. While the footpath didn't last long and the beeping did increase slightly, this place had nothing on India.

We crossed into Thamel (the tourist centre of Kathmandu) and knew it immediately. Souvenir shops popped up out of nowhere and all of a sudden camping supplies were everywhere! After checking out a few guesthouses we settled on a place for 800 rupees a night. It was quiet. We were happy, despite the bed being more like a rock than a bed.

Our first job was to sort out a bus that would get us to Besishar tomorrow so we could then go to Gaunshahar and I could volunteer. We asked at a travel agent and were grateful to have done our research as the information she gave was both incomplete and overpriced. Thankfully we found a helpful travel agent who gave us free information that would be confirmed by our favourite agent of the night...Gopal. We found his office located up a dark staircase and he was more than helpful. Not only did he assist us in forming plans for tomorrow but also informed us that Phaplu airport is under on-and-off construction but should hopefully be open in a few weeks when we want to get there. We told Gopal we would be in touch and set to the streets.

We checked out all of the rip-off North Face camping gear and spotted quite a few souvenirs that we may like to purchase on our way home. Soon it was dinner time and, down a side street, I spotted sign advertising a steakhouse. Chris did not need much convincing. Turns out the place is recommended by the Lonely Planet and, as we soon discovered, this was for good reason. We each ordered a beef (yes...beef!) steak with peppery mushroom sauce, chunky cut chips and salad. It was exactly what we needed and was exactly like you would get at a pub back home.

We returned to find our quiet guesthouse transformed by a rooftop bar blaring live music from across the courtyard. It was essentially being blared directly into our room. Earplugs were a must. We could only hope we would have more luck finding some than in India where nobody knew what the darn things were. After trying three pharmacies and having no luck we were on our way home when I spotted a grocery store. Might as well give it a try I thought. Success! On our way we changed some Indian rupees to Nepalese rupees and then visited Bam at our favourite camping shop again, took down a few prices, and planned to return at a later date. We were way too tired for bargaining. It was bedtime.

As the music from next door kept us awake it became clear that, in Nepal, it will most likely be the tourists that keep us up for a change, not the locals. Regardless, we are loving Nepal. There is less beeping, the people seem genuinely friendly and less pushy and there are real steak knives!