Court House In Queens

Nepal (6) return: Tansen Delhi

Well, then, I confess it is a long and painful history. We will retain for posterity, as the steps and means of transport which made it crunchy and unforgettable side - ouch.

It must first be emphasized that to abandon a trip by plane to advantageously replaced by an earthly adventure is not simply a logistical choice: it is a drastic change lifestyle. Are now entering the heart of the matter.

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Step 1: Tansen-Butwal. Transport: local bus.
must still say that it starts badly. The backpacks barely curled just paid the note, the hotel staff looking at us with a strange since our arrival, fresh and dainty in the lobby eventually tell us that there a strike. A real strike in Nepal. "You must not go!" There Is a strike! ". But we have no choice: it had to connect India before June 4 to catch our train to Gorakhpur - not that the loss of the amount paid for the ticket is dramatic, but all trains are full of days, and our Nepalese visa expires anyway June 5 So we leave anyway, by taxi from the hotel to the general bus stand, and that's where things get complicated. We are told that the strike is concentrated on the district of Butwal (remember Butwal course?) Gold is precisely that we must go Butwal and then continue south. "There's no bus today." But Navy sees off a bus which is already preparing to go beyond the crossroads. "Aim this one, where is it going?" - Er ... To Butwal. - THEN IT !!!". STOOOP The man thrust his fingers in his mouth and emits a shrill whistle pierces the eardrums us and nailed up on the bus. "Thanks man!" and we run to the bus ahead despite the unwanted horns. We wonder where we will: "Butwal?! But ... - We know. - You're Going to the border? Ok I Will arranges a solution for you."

Step 2: Butwal-Sunauli. Transport: cyclorickshaw.
There is always a solution. Always. And in the worst situations there is always someone who reaches out for his own benefit. In fact the guy manages bus to find us a backup plan: on arrival at Butwal, it means a guy who shakes already patched shirt through the window of the bus. "You'll go with HIM, He'll Take You To The Border". The man in question is none other than a rickshaw-walla. "The only way to go to Sunauli When There Is a Strike is to take a rickshaw to very, very expensive". Indeed he claims Rs 1000 or 2000 because he wants rather than Navy and I would sit each on a rickshaw - the second driver rubs his hands already. No question, 2000 is too much, then 1500 for two girls on one rickshaw. The cyclorickshaw, we had already experienced in Old Delhi in the congested arteries, but there it is a journey of 3 hours in the heat of the Terai. The exploitation of man by man was never so well demonstrated: White with two huge backpacks carried in a rickshaw by 40 ° to 60km by a skinny man and dripping with sweat, but happy to do so the case of the year. No picture of course, the discomfort is too great. Besides we are too busy to fix the main road heading straight for the border, abandoned any vehicle, any sign of life. Some people sometimes, but mostly communist flags, and more poignant powerful vacuum an angry mob.

Step 3: Border crossing. Transport: to feet.
be clear, the Indo-Nepal border is a mess. The cyclorickshaw dropped us at a respectful distance from the customs and endless lines of trucks that agglutinate them for hours. Nobody really knows where to go, we know that simply must get a stamp in his passport at customs in Nepal, to check their visa across the border to Indian customs, and its change in NRs Indian rupees. The buffer is not a problem, we rule Nepalis. The Indian Customs made a funny face while watching our visas: "So you are JNU Students? - Er ... Yes, yes. Hhhhhmmmm-". And it makes us our passports with a suspicious air. FYI, to my surprise, our bags are checked at any time: we could have put anything! The real problem is to change our rupees. No way to have an honest rate. It will eventually settle for a rate more than sordid story can just clear out of this city as soon as possible.

Step 4: Sunauli-Gorakhpur. Transport: local bus.
Find a bus to Gorakhpur is easy because it is the first Indian city after the border equipped with a railway station with trains to major cities. At that point the bus companies are competing mercilessly, with a lot of touts and ticket sales at the auction. "It is beautiful my bus .. it is beautiful!" Not expensive, so uncomfortable, eh. The seats of two people seem strangely close, but when I turned to watch Nepali travelers, I realize they are completely comfortable and I feel exactly like Janine in Exile and the Kingdom Camus.

Step 5: Gorakhpur - Delhi. Transport: train. On arrival
at the station of Gorakhpur, things are looking bad: our train is not displayed. The first time we shall inquire at the counter is "I do not know." The second is "There's no such train. The third "Ok I'll check (...) oh yeah it's 5 hours late." It waits a few hours in waiting room crowded with women, but both men (the reverse is not true), eating chips, drinking Thums Up (beurk. ..), try stretching in look intrigued and wary of Indian mothers. Finally, the train arrives, so we did not expect for at least three hours. We assemble, and we find our bunks There are extending to the eye without thinking or traditional fixed on us or to the fact that we have not eaten a proper meal since the night before. A good night's sleep later, the thirst is felt, while it appears that the train trying to catch his lead: which means that it will happen eventually though with a delay of over five hours, totaling to finish a journey of eighteen hours. Suffice to say that during this time I dried out, especially that no-pani walla has the good sense to move into our compartment for several hours. When finally one of them goes, I throw myself at him from the top of my perch and more than half empty bottle I buy immediately. Navy was thirsty too, although she said nothing, Woodcock. We're back in the fringe of 40 ° c.

Step 6: DELHI: Railway Station - Connaught Place. Means of transport: bus.
We had planned to try the great adventure from the far east of Delhi and JNU in a rickshaw, but luck, buses coordinated with train schedules in an organization worthy of the developed countries are waiting quietly in front of the station. "Down, down, baaa, PC ke lye !!!!". CP direction so that it belongs to the land already explored and mapped by us. With the approach of this terrible place to insult the social logic and architectural most basic Suddenly we realize that this time-he must eat. And CP, there's a KFC. To us the chicken thighs! When we broke into the restaurant, badly coiffed, smelly, dirty, with our huge backpacks, our first reaction is to run to the bathroom for toiletries Basic, which does not, however, the servers we fix an air outraged, especially when we order enough food for a dozen natives and we monopolizing power outlets to charge our phones and take calls from the rigor to those that await us. But the discomfort, there's no pleasure, and then frankly, I think I never much liked a meal.

Step 7: DELHI: Connaught Place - Jawaharlal Nehru University. Transport: autorickshaw.
last step, back to the known world, but adventure always, in the notorious traffic jams in Delhi. I laid Navy Lajpat Nagar before continuing alone to JNU, making the passage with the friend-friend rickshaw driver delighted that I could answer questions in Hindi, which pushes me to describe in detail all his life daily and all his family members. To JNU arrival at 18h instead of late morning, but it is more closely. The culmination of this journey : The most divine shower of my life.

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Total Length: I did not count. Two days or so. Luckily it was worth returning to Delhi before returning to France, eh!

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Nepal (5) Tansen तानसेन

Tansen. Clinging to a ridge of the Himalayas, steeped in history glorious or pathetic. Important medieval capital to strong color Newari cultural, traditional place known for metal working and tissues, its streets were bathed in blood as there is little time in 2006, during the civil war. I immediately feel at ease in these narrow but bright and lively, filled with stalls and craft workshops. The city is entirely built on a mountainside, everything seems hooked on the slope, and walk quickly takes on the appearance of trek (hehe, better than Day Stairs). Arriving safely, peeling of the Lonely Planet, and the decision to bigger extra budget of our two weeks stay in the best hotel in the city, Srinagar Hotel, perched on top of Srinagar Danda, at 1000 rupees a night - the ever experienced. But having this view under-LA its windows, it is paid:

And then the hotel offers a pleasant comfort, even according to our usual standards, a luxury some, especially reinforced that we are the only clients: general The monsoon season is not privileged to visit Nepal. We finish by us from our comfort zones to visit the city, starting with a walk in the heights, which nestle a Buddhist stupa on top of a staircase (again!) And a small Hindu temple where we meet Two women with a very good Hindi and we foisting ritual offerings by handles. I challenge you also to find a good way to get rid of ritual offerings - without being seen, without being guilty of sacrilege, safe to put under a curse.

Descent risky then through the woods with traces of a recent fire - which became the scene of a drama filmed. By a stroke of unusual luck, we reach the top by way of the city, with its narrow Sitalpati flowing into the center of the city and its main market, organized around a curious octagonal square where we pick a restaurant serving traditional Mewari to experience the same evening. At dusk, we visited a Hindu temple stuck in the city center, filled with people so much that it seems to be a hotbed of social gatherings. But we are the only tourists. Then we take the strange idea of seeking a cyber cafe. It quickly became obvious after only 19h everything is closed ...

Because we felt we needed to reconnect with the adventurous few days, we are putting together a daring expedition. Actually no, say it was not supposed to be so adventurous. Lonely Planet indicated a "small trek rather difficult," go 3h, 4h return to visit the Darbar Ranighat a rana palace located at the bottom of the gorges Tansen valley along the river Kaligandaki. That seemed reasonable. The morning so we had taken our time, breakfast, etc.. However the hotel staff we had indeed prevented, on the one hand there was no way to reach the Darbar Ranighat otherwise than on foot, on the other hand it would take much time, it was a difficult path and that we would not return before nightfall. But we thought the - and us - reassure taking a flashlight and a picnic leaving. The first hour of walking was fairly easy, and we had surprises "Bah, if that's how all along it was not worth us doing all this circus to the hotel. Hence the initial enthusiasm, the ecstatic exclamations to the landscape, and colonization by a strain Navy in regal.

However, the winding path that swirls through the small villages is far from being without bifurcations, and we begin to regularly ask notre chemin, puis à demander à combien de temps se situe notre destination. Nous finissons par comprendre que nous avons pris le chemin le plus long, celui qui serpente en pente douce, au lieu du chemin plus rapide mais bien plus raide, celui sûrement dont parlait le Lonely Planet. On commence à s'inquiéter de la longueur finale de l'expédition... "Ranighat kitna dur hai ? (c'est encore loin Ranighat ?) - Nahi, ek gantha ! (nan, une heure !)". Une heure plus tard, à un autre village : "Kitna dur hai ? - Sirph ek gantha ! (seulement une heure !)". Encore une heure plus tard : "Ek gantha !". Et ainsi de suite. Jusqu'au moment où je craque, fatiguée, me demandant combien de temps we still have to go back, legs trembling in the steep, broken-Gaëlle, and this path that never ends, never, never down. Navy continued it. Sitting on a rock beside the road, a cliff above a cliff below a roaring torrent is lost in the ocean of trees in which drowns also our way, yet I see a time in Navy Down below, then it loses its silhouette is featured in the trees. When fatigue fades loneliness lands, coupled with a great sense of fragility, feet dangling in the air. And then I end up wondering what will Navy if it is stuck down after sunset. Left alone on my rock in the day I do not think that declines over a good option, once fatigue and rage of my own past weakness, but not back. And there, right there, I hear footsteps coming from above: an old woman who probably should not be so old she looks, wrapped in a red shawl, and a man wearing cap. She asks me what I do there, if I'm alone, oh my good friend left me alone, it's dangerous, I should not stay there, I must go with it. She insists her brother approve of the look. I eventually follow, slowly at first, awkwardly even in the rubble and irregular steps cut into the mountains by erosion. She laughs a little, gently. Rev yeh roz karti Chaim? (You do this every day?) - DJII, roz hum Djati. Roz (Yes, every day. All Day).

A little less than an hour later - even if the old woman made it clear that I alone with his brother, he would have taken just half an hour we reached the valley floor. Without warning, the slope is interrupted, the rubble is piled up on the ledge as if it suddenly descended the mountain for centuries. Some simple houses, and the murmur of the river. The light end of the day is both a reward and anxiety, although I do not think back again. At the tea stall, I wonder if it has seen a young white woman. Nobody saw anything. I start to worry, I decided to go to the river by feeling out the worried looks too follow me. A beach of sand and gravel stretches lazily up the river bordered by large rocks while building a faded blue, poorly preserved, stands on my left. All these efforts for that ... I arrive at the river without seeing a trace of Marine m'époumoner hesitant to call in the next few Nepalis present. As yet I hesitate, someone ends up making me sign for the railing of Ranighat: I waved down behind the rocks of the stream. Here, finally, I find Navy, feet in the water, biting into a sandwich. "There's little fish in the river, they try to eat my feet."

I told him my adventures, we laugh, I eat, I do eat fish with the feet too. Oh yes and by the way, the Ranighat Darbar, with a small change in perspective, it finally gives this:

still comes when il faut réfléchir à comment remonter, alors que les dernières heures du jour brûlent d'une lumière hésitante au fond de la vallée. Il reste à peine une heure avant que l'obscurité ne soit totale ; et l'hôtel se situe tout en haut, à au moins 4h de trajet. Je finis par me rappeler que le gérant m'avait donné la carte avec le numéro de téléphone de l'hôtel - il avait apparemment bien senti à quel point notre expédition était hasardeuse. Le propriétaire du tea stall accepte de me laisser utiliser son téléphone fixe pour appeler notre hôtel, mais le standardiste parle un très mauvais anglais, et j'ai du mal à me faire comprendre en hindi. I hang up annoyed, saying that I recall, and then explains the situation to the nice man in Hindi with great fanfare gesture and response marinesques. Call the hotel explaining that we're stuck in Ranighat, the night will fall, whether you can help us. Success finally, we are asked to go back to Elephant Stone, a rock carved by erosion in the likeness of an elephant and we remember having passed down, one hour walk from Ranighat, and we are told a bike will get us up there. We climb, not too painful, even if the jungle is dark at an exponential rate. At Elephant Stone, no. Half an hour later, nobody. We resolve to continue to rise somewhat in doubt, and indeed if anyone down there could not miss it. When we make this reflection, an engine revving, and is not a motorcycle, but rather an ancient and battered jeep. A stream of people comes out, bowing deeply to the driver; he apparently used the opportunity to get the villagers going to the hamlet Ranighat. It beckons us to rise, bearing a more than pleased with mine. Three teens accompanying him, they get off the jeep apparently to let us go, but actually rather busy pushing the vehicle in that start-more-than-coast. When he finally moving forward, scraping the rocks, they jump quickly into the jeep. The laughter starts - we are Handled by professionals. The driver enjoys more than us. He seems in his element in this unspeakable mess. It is gaining momentum as he can, to the floor, laughing out loud, we queue two small brick mango juice over his shoulder. We nicknamed it the Adventurer. The Adventurer is ready for all situations, it recedes over several tens of meters to gain momentum if the slope suddenly becomes steeper again, and he sent down the three kids to push the jeep, chock the wheels, scraping the earth , remove the stones if that is not enough. In a difficult passage, we must take it to fifteen times to move no more than five meters. After that, the engine will smoke for several minutes and we stop. "Jeep IS tired. Me too," he says, whistling a carton of mango juice. We stop in one of those small hamlets where the villagers give him water for him and for the engine. When it restarts, the gentle slope momentarily speeds up and our heads bump the ceiling of the jeep for a while. In all, an hour and half drive to go up, and 3000 rupees for the race. The smile reassured, though somewhat affectionate mocking of hotel employees will stay with me long. But what is left for me most is that when the 3000 tender rupees to the driver, we could read the inscription that stretched across his chest on his t-shirt: "Adventure."

In short, about Tansen, I do not know if it's the environment, the welcome we received there, the historic character of the city or acquired the certainty that everything is worth to me so pleased. But I found a place where one day I will surely pass the time. A place where I also learned that in any situation you can still continue if you listen a little something other than oneself. Hopefully the next time I'll be facing à une impasse je saurai revoir la petite dame en châle rouge me montrer le chemin.