India strikes back

I left India missing India, and I left Nepal missing Nepal. But the story of Nepal is to be written somewhere else.

The plane from Kathmandu landed in Calcutta, and there, for the first time, I realized what was going on. I was indeed going back to India. I was in India.

Before ever getting a shoe in India, everyone talks about the smell. A smell you notice even before the plane landing. I hadn't noticed it the first time I put my feet in the International Airport of Delhi. But yes, I did noticed now. And yes, it was a smell I could place in India. I knew it well. I had spent 4 months and a half letting it run freely through my nostrils. And there it was, reminding me how good Nepal was. Unfortunately, getting into Indian soil didn't give me the feeling of love I had when leaving the country 23 days before. I was kind of expecting that feeling to come back, but no, I hadn't have enough of Nepal yet. And I felt disappointed.

My landing in Calcutta was just a transit point. I had to change from the international terminal to the domestic one to get my flight to Chennai, which wasn't my final destination either. As I got into the airport I noticed one of those differences between the two countries. One of those differences that allows the comparison with the so well known phrase "Same, same, but different". The garbage. I had just come from an immaculate airport in Kathmandu to the filthiest airport I have ever seen. And I can say, I'm one of those persons able to say he has been in quiet a few of them around the world.

I mean, it's not that Nepali streets are cleaner, but this was filthy. The garbage surrounded the seats. The floors were sticky with coffee and other liquids that had been drying up there for hell knows how long. It was difficult to walk and not step onto some kind of wrap or find a seat without the smell of decomposition coming up to you. Yes there was a strike I must say, but that is no excuse for the passengers behavior, the attitude. So difficult is to keep your shit and through it in the next available can? Yeap, I was back, the country were the garbage goes directly to the floor. At the end, someone will pick it up sooner or later.

Anyway, I had made it in time to pick up my luggage in the international terminal and go to the domestic terminal for checking. I was sort of preoccupied I would not make it. But though that was fine, my body wasn't. Not only for the ache of not loving such a country anymore and missing the one I had just left, but because the first flight had struck directly into my ears. They hurt as hell, and I wanted to recover before the next flight, worried it would get worse. And it did. The second flight was killing, demolishing. The pain I experienced lasted about 5 days in which I had no choice but to quit smoking.

There is a saying that problems don't come alone. And indeed. I had no Indian Rupees. I was supposed to get a pre-paid taxi to go to Erin's house. For those who don;t remember, Erin is the American woman I had trekked with back in Uttaranchal, like 5 months ago. We had maintained good contact since then. I can't say the same of the other two trekkers though. Erin had been giving me tips there and then and now she was letting me stay at her place, to which I thank her kindness, for this and for more that will come later on.

So back to the story, the pre-paid taxi booth was inside the terminal and the ATM was outside the terminal. Technically once out, there is no way in back to the booth. I wasn't sure how to proceed. My bag was damn heavy. I had discovered when checking in at Kathmandu that it weighted 25 k's, not including my smaller bag with the camera in it. I was tired from the trip and couldn't think properly, plus I had to add the pain in my ear. I called Erin for advice, and she told me the obvious, to ask the police guard. His answer to my: "Can I get outside to take out money from ATM and come back in to get a pre-paid taxi?" was a waggling head. Yes, that was the total evidence I was back in India.

Once out, and in again, I stepped out with my pre-paid taxi ticket on my hand. Some random fella tried to get it from me while asking me if I needed a pre-paid taxi. I was swifter and headed directly to the following pre-paid taxi booth were you handed the ticket and they assigned you a taxi driver.

So, so far, everything was being easy, but I wasn't sure if I would make to Erin's house with a driver with no English at all and an address on a crumpled piece of paper he just kept on looking at with faces I could just not interpret. But we did, and on the first try. I felt I had no choice but to tip the driver for such a miraculously finding. Or maybe it was because I felt ashamed of doubting him.

At the end, I caught up with Erin in a long chit-chat and got into a mattress on the floor that would be my bed for the night. My return to India was accomplished. And I closed my eyes wanting to be in Nepal. But deep inside, I was tired of buses, trains and, now, planes. i had been resting in Kathmandu, but what I needed was a place for myself, a place with some good comfort. And I wished to find it in the volunteering position I was heading for.