Getting to Nepal was another odyssey, this time quite fun everything must be said.
From Varanasi we got on a coach that left us after a few hours in Sunauli, a small town that serves as a border between India and Nepal.
We arrived at Sunali at dawn. It was just dawn. The vehicle was half empty. We slept deeply when we realized we were stopping. We had reached our destination.
What happened next was nothing more than another detail to reaffirm the idea of the type of place we were in; India.
The bus stops and immediately, the first thing I could see was a crowd of bike-rickshaws waiting impatiently for our arrival. Automatically, a couple of them, neither short nor lazy, are thrown into one of the windows that was half open to enter the vehicle. The war to get a 'client' had just begun.
Róisín and I could not believe it. We left the bus as we could, making our way through the crowd of 'cyclists', trying to collect our backpacks. Then the negotiations began.
The point is that from the point where the coaches park to the border there is a considerable distance. It is not an exaggerated distance, but taking into account that loads with the heavy backpack, it does not hurt that they take you. To this we must add that you have no idea of the procedure to follow to enter Nepal, and the taxi-cyclists Yes, so they not only make taxi drivers, but also make improvised guides. The battle that the guys fight to seize the client breaks your heart, because only one can win it and, all of them, from the first to the last, need your money.
It is a situation that causes a feeling of contradiction in your conscience. On the one hand you want to reveal yourself to the overwhelming harassment of these poor people, and on the other hand you can feel part of the reality of their difficult lives. It is a feeling that accompanied me constantly while I traveled through this fascinating country from which it is impossible to feel indifferent.
Once mounted on the bike-rickshaw of the lucky cyclist, the following curious situation arrived; border.
You had to put the stamp of exit of the country in the passport, so the first step was to go through the Indian immigration office. The door was closed. It was very early. But suddenly we distinguish, in front of the door, a table covered by a mosquito net that hung from a small ceiling that covered it. Inside, a person sleeping. Our intrepid guide got off the bike and approached there and woke up the man who was sleeping. He sat up, opened the door of the office, we all entered together, sealed the passports, and returned to his bedroom. We returned to the bicycle where we had left the backpacks. The cyclist lifted the barrier while trying to push the bike, so we got off to weigh less and started pushing from the back of the vehicle.
What a welcome. Impressive logistics and security on the border of India and Nepal. Incredible but true: we saw ourselves pushing a bicycle loaded with our backpacks while a Hindu barely raised the border barrier to enter the kingdom of Nepal.
Once on Nepalese land, you had to go back to the immigration office to seal your passport. This time there was no need to wake up anyone, luckily they had just opened, so without any problem they stamped our visa to stay in Nepal for 90 days.
The next step was to get to the bus station (an open field). We said goodbye to our 'cyclist-guide-taxi driver', we paid him, and we thanked him for his invaluable help. We bought the ticket and got in the vehicle that would take us to our next destination, Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal.
This is the story of our departure from India to reach the country with the highest mountains in the world. Again I can only tell you: This is India, love it or leave it! (This is India, love it or you better get away)
Let's see what Nepal has in store for us. A country that catches our attention ... I'll tell you.