Nepal’s Knit-Wit Gang

On the bus ride from Pokhara to Kathmandu, we encountered one of those low dollar scams that I have now come to expect from the developing world. It is important to keep in mind that Kathmandu (which is huge) and Pokhara (relatively tiny) are the two largest cities in Nepal. Therefore, the road between them, in all of its almost-two-lane glory is the national highway. Now, about two hours into the trip, in one small town, we were greeted with a traffic jam that was disproportionate to the meager population and car ownership demographic. In other words, there was rush hour traffic in a two horse town. Strange. Buses were sprawled across the road here and there and motorcycles darted in and out of holes in the stagnant traffic.

At last we crept close enough to see that the source of the disturbance was a group of local morons who were holding a fundraiser for their soccer team by hanging a banner across the road. The rope was so pathetic I would barely classify it higher than a string in the hierarchy of twines. Men brandished pulp-paper carbon books covered in meaningless scrawl as receipts for each ‘donation’ received. That’s right- we were being help up at string-point. As an experience bus operator myself, I could hardly fathom why our driver, or really any driver of anything larger than a tricycle would be impaired by this absurd roadblock. I would have just driven through, but for some reason, it was working. I was dumbstruck. Imagine if a bunch of yokels from BF Kansas decided to halt all traffic on I-70 and extort $.35 from each of them. You can bet how long that would last. I don’t exactly know what charge would be levied against them, but it would no doubt be substantial. Tom had a great idea, and if Prachanda, prime minister of Nepal is reading this, please take note: You must not allow your main traffic arteries be impaired in the least by guys with string. It’s just not what real countries do. This is a case where swift police action is warranted, and the sentence for the offenders should involve lots of picking up trash from the national arterial. Unbelievable.

One man on the bus told us that this happens all the time, if you can believe that. In parting, I would like to leave you with this shot taken from the Nepali equivalent of a rest-stop for the bus. As could be expected, its food was overpriced and underquality. But they were trying to make up for it with this garden planting, which will no doubt make any westerner feel right at home.


Note that the Nazis directly borrowed the swastika from Hinduism. Hindus still associate its use with the original, benign religious significance they have had for thousands of years so no offense is meant. Still, I don’t think it translates like they think it does...

Trekking to Annapurna, Part Three

The costs, in case you were wondering!

Though the lodge-towns were frequent, we had brought most of our own food to avoid paying the extortionate prices levied against the tourists. Nepal is surprisingly organized, though it is usually the type of organization that works against you. In my experience, this means various mafia-style cartels for most things that tourists want including internet, food and lodging. Once you step outside of the tourist areas, of course, the price drops by a factor of three but there is no ‘outside of the tourist area’ in the remote mountain lodges, so you are pretty much stuck paying $3 for a bowl of cereal. Having brought our own food, we were able to save about $6 per day, thus making our total expenditure per day around $12 including all permits, fees, transportation, lodging and food. This is almost unheard of for this sort of trek- a testament to our craftiness.

Most people we talked to said you could squeak by on $20 a day.

Trekking to Annapurna, Part Two

I had my doubts about whether we would really reach the base of Annapurna. Ever since we talked with a Canadian at the Taj Mahal in India who related his tales of thefts and blizzards on the last stretch of the trail, combined with the sky-high altitude, I had become somewhat resigned to the idea that we may make it 90% of the way there, only to be turned back at the last moment.

Finally, the nighttime hours leading up to our pre-dawn push to Annapurna Sanctuary came. It was cold but the air and trail were clear of snow. Of the four of us, Tom left first to reach the area by sunrise. Laurel left with Pragya and me, but pushed ahead faster. The full moon hung like beacon above Annapurna to the west and guided us up the rapidly balding valley. For the four of us, the last bit of the trek became personal and private. For me, it was a meditative confrontation of the old dragon of high altitude that had haunted me since childhood.
My breath issued into the perfectly clear night air as steam. I was carrying almost nothing and though the progress was slow, I felt much better than I had imagined possible. Running uphill was obviously out of the question and the strenuousness of a humble pace felt like an aerobic workout, but it was working. An hour and a half later, as the dawn was breaking, we had all arrived. Pragya and I had taken our time, enjoying the subtle shifts in color as we moved up and the sun moved around the globe to meet us.

Small streams covered in crisp pappad-thin ice were the only moving things in the strange Martian rockscape leading to the mountains. The trail was thin but fair and as the sun finally touched the mountains looming thousands of feet high above our heads, the whole scene blazed with pink light. It’s easy to understand why people would call Annapurna a goddess. The elevation itself encourages silence- each spoken word comes at the expense of hard earned breath. The quiet is as pervasive as it is unbroken. For reasons that are part mystical and part circumstantial, the goddess of Annapurna is pure reverence and solitude.

During the course of the trek, we had been taking videos and I joked that I was still looking for ‘the prayer flag shot of my dreams.’ It would take nearly an hour for the sun to touch the valley where we stood but as it did, it illuminated a mass of prayer flags that garnished rocky monuments to dead climbers. The weather was perfect and for the first time I could see the potential attraction that would lead those climbers to try to ascend the snowy, beautiful and treacherous ranges.

Trekking to Annapurna, Part One

Above: A boy plays with a hammer on the steps leading into one of the numerous Himalyan Mountain lodge towns.

Our goal was simple- to walk for 10 days from Pokahara, Nepal, to the holy sanctuary base of the Annapurna. The mountain itself is believed by Hindus to be a goddess. By climbers, it is a challenge. And to some unfortunate climbers, it is an icy tomb above a prayer flag covered memorial site.

I am no mountaineer, nor do I aspire to be one. I just wanted to get to the base of this great mountain. To some, this may not sound like much, but then you realize that the valley-basin where we were destined is as tall as some of the highest mountain summits in Colorado. The elevation is above 13,500 and that’s just your hotel room toilet.

I had many thoughts while plodding up countless slate steps on the trail. It struck me that I was on a ten-day hike up to an elevation greater than I had ever experienced on foot. Like this entire yearlong trip itself, I had spent a lot of time preparing for the mechanics of the trek, but not at all for the implications or the effects of the trek on me. When I was preparing for the trip, people would ask if I was excited. I never was because it hadn’t started yet and I was mostly consumed with the details of preparation. My experience getting ready for this trek was similar. Anyway, how can you get ready for something that hasn’t happened yet? I usually feel that I am not truly ready to do something until just after I have done it! Until that point, of course, it is just speculation.

One of my main concerns was my ability to deal with high altitude well. Once, when I was young, I was with my parents on a trip to Breckenridge for some cable tv conference of my dad’s. I had a difficult time breathing and ended up going to a hospital. After that, I had developed a heart arrhythmia that left every eighth beat of my heart absent. The abnormality corrected itself spontaneously when I was a young teen, but I continued to be weak at elevation and easily suffered from altitude sickness.

Every step we took meant another foot of elevation gain. The clinking taps of our trekking poles on the stone steps were clicks of some Himalayan adding machine.
Tap… tap… tap…
For hours we ascended the mountainside, each step bringing us slightly closer to a warm meal and, if we were lucky, a warm shower as well.

Our days passed with the taps almost uninterrupted. We paused now and again for a snack, always reaching into our packs for some of the dried trekking food we had brought. At night, we ate full means of dhal bhat (lentils and rice with some curried vegetables). We slept early and long, our bodies struggling to cope with building muscle tissue and additional red blood cells to fight the ever-thinning air. We woke early at or before dawn, drinking tea and packing before our next ten-hour hike. We stopped for photos, water, snacks or just to enjoy a moment in the shade of a bamboo grove before moving on toward the great basin awaiting.

McVeg

I just ate a McVeggie Burger, followed by a McAloo. At McDonalds (New Delhi Edition), there is a box where extra condiments are collected for re-distribution. All vegetarian and nonveg items are clearly marked as such with color coordinated packaging and kept strictly separate (they even have different racks down which the freshly completed products slide)
Laurel and Pragya split the Chicken Maharaja Mac (an Indian take on the Big Mac)
And finally, there is a prominent sign that says “ This establishment does not sell Beef or Beef Products”
Trays are bussed for the customers, and a man knelt polishing a floor mounted door hinge to the outside.

UPDATE-
I believe the McFoods have made me fabulously ill. After eating there, we boarded a train to go, ultimately, to Rishikesh. I woke up sick and threw up on a passing motorcyclist while on the bus for the final leg of the journey from Haridwar. I felt a little bad, but what you going to do? Please don’t judge me! It was mostly water, anyways.
I am now recovering in a hotel room, where a sunny, hilly scene and refreshing Ganges River lay just beyond the reach from my bed. Sorry for the whining.

Relaxing, India Style

The long transition from Egypt to India began with everything going right- no missed trains, trams or flights- and even passing through customs in New Delhi was a breeze. When we got through to baggage claim, however, we were alerted that our bags had, in fact, not left with us from our stopover point in Abu Dhabi. However, the friendly agent who found us to deliver the news assured us it would be no problem and helped us fill out the appropriate bureaucratic forms. As these forms usually do, it reminded me of our ‘license bureau,’ a mock government office some friends and I set up at Burningman to confuse and entertain hapless passersby (“Property Irregularity Report- Missing/Damaged/Pilfered”).

As we did not yet know where we would stay in Paharganj, the Delhi Mecca for all things exportable to worldwide Indian shops, we told the agent that we would call them back and give the address once we had one.

We had an address starting at around 6 in the morning and called the number.

and called

and called

and called, altogether, around 150 times, with only one time getting through, only to be promptly dropped. I decided to give up for the day, but I hope no one thinks I am a quitter! Still, I decided that India just didn't want me to get through that day- the message was clear.

The next morning, I called. Lo and behold, on the first try, someone picked up, politely took down our hotel address and information and promised a speedy delivery.

At 10 PM, the bags showed up, just as I was calling (once again) to inquire about them. It was amazing.

So, bags in hand (or on back, as it were) we are off to Rishikesh for a couple of days before meeting Tom at the Taj Mahal. What better place to meet?

Lesson: kick back, relax, and, amazingly your bags will arrive!

Scams I know

“Americans verrrry honest. I’m not lying to you,” Mohammed said emphatically. Mohammed, who lived with my dad as a roommate and drove a taxi for him in the early 1990’s is now before me cautioning about travel in Egypt.

At this point, I am used to the scams, touts, liars, rip-offs and commissions that invariably seem to accompany me anywhere that I can afford to travel. Like the street food slopped up from woks and pots (developing) world-wide, these various scams all have their own local flavors. Yet for their differences, they all seem to have mostly the same basic ingredients. An earnest, albeit fraudulent smile are like the noodles. A redirection toward the scammer’s service and away from whatever you had initially wanted is the sauce. The lousy feeling after you had been had is indigestion from too much MSG.

Let’s just say that I have had plenty of street food in my life.

Still, Mohammed’s words of caution were well taken. Egypt did not disappoint in either the grandeur of it’s Pharonic sandstone antiquities nor in the utter completeness of nearly everyone a traveler would encounter trying to make a quick buck.

The more basic scams are simple overcharging. To me, these are the most insidious. When a sandwich should normally cost 1 LE but instead the vendor asks for 1.5 LE, you really need to pick your battles. Sure, you are probably getting overcharged by 50%, but who knows? Maybe the guy’s price is a little higher. Or not. It’s easy to rationalize and say ‘well, it’s only a difference of 15 cents’ but it adds up and also, it doesn’t change the basic unfairness of the situation. This rationalization also breeds a kind of complacency that the overchargers thrive on, wearing you down one by one like an eternal barrage of Saharan sand ebbing away even the most stolid stones. At the end of a long day, no one wants to be hassled over the equivalent of another half dollar, but I suspect that this is just what these guys count on.

I am reminded of the Komodo Dragon, a giant land dwelling reptile that lives on a few islands in the Indonesian Archipelago. One of their favorite treats are the feral goats on the island but the dragons’ feeding habits are quite strange. They kill their prey through what is essentially bad oral hygiene- infecting a passing goat with a bite that will almost certainly turn fatally gangrenous. Since it takes several days or weeks for the hapless goat to succumb, one would imagine that the dragon lurks behind until it can claim its festering reward. Not so! As it turns out, they simply wait around for any goat bitten by any other Komodo Dragon to die so they can feed on the carrion. It’s a strange communal but non-collaboratory hunting style.

I mention this because I have many times felt like the goat on the island, surrounded by reptiles trying to get a bite in, biding their time until one of them finally gets me and I fall victim to their persistent dishonesty.

An old favorite of touts (people looking to get a commission by directing you toward a given service) is to congregate anywhere travels may possibly frequent. Most of the time, they are satisfied to use broken English to try to move you from, say, a train station to the nearby budget hotel of their choice. I have checked into a hotel and upon deciding against it, had the hotel staff themselves try to accompany me to the neighboring hotel to get a commission! In the past, I didn’t know what to do in these sorts of situations. Now, my strategy is just to lay it out in the open. I also find that talking a little fast, then re-emphasizing my points multiple times is an effective style. What can I say, I learned it from the scammers! Sample lines:
‘No, no. This man is not with me. He is just following me around and I have asked him to leave. I know he just wants some money. Everyone here knows it, and I have told him to go away again and again and yet he still comes with me to this place? Why does he come here? I know he is greedy and wants my money, but don’t pay it to him. He didn’t bring me here.’ [Repeat as required]

If they can have a script for the occasion, why can’t I?



[Below: A scammer no doubt hides near the colossal and marvelous statues of Ramses II at Abu Simbel]

New Best of Photos

I know that this may be a little bit like a band with 2 albums out releasing a best of disc, but I have added a link to the best photos from Israel and Egypt so far. Now, we are in India, though it will be a bit before photos are forthcoming, as we have spent the last bit waiting for our bags. More on that later.

Here is another one I took and am quite fond of:

It is a mosque built in Luxor, Egypt whose columns are pillars from part of the temple of Luxor, from the Pharonic times. This may mean nothing to the readers, but the long and the short of it is that you have Islam pasted over the old religion in the most fabulous striking way. The work you see in the foreground is a renovation under way.