Darjeeling, India. Aug 23 2009. 2124 local time. So here I am in Darjeeling. I was very glad to have flown from Kathmandu to Bhadrapur, instead of enduring a 16 or so hour bus ride. From Bhadrapur, I caught a taxi to Kakarvitta, the Nepalese border town with India. Everything up to arriving in Kakarvitta was fine. It was what happened after Kakarvitta which was not great. What I had to go through after clearing Nepalese immigration at Kakarvitta is not something I would have had the energy to go through had I arrived after a 16+ hr bus ride into Kakarvitta from Kathmandu. It was bad enough as it is, although, cut short by the flight, followed by a taxi to Kakarvitta. There is no direct way to get to Darjeeling from Kathmandu. You still have to get transport to Darjeeling, even if flying within India. You fly to Bagdora airport, about 92KM south of Darjeeling. The road to Darjeeling is in bad shape. Ridden with pot holes and only able to handle traffic in one direction, vehicles have to make way when another vehicle comes in the opposite direction. On top of this, the toy train railway track crisscrosses the windy switchback road. So upon arrival in Kakarvitta and getting out of the taxi from the airport, the taxi touts for onward transport to India surround my vehicle. About 6 show up immediately. This is low season so transport touts are desperate to fill the vehicles. I didn’t see any other foreigners there at all, rather surprising, since I have seen foreigners just about everywhere else I have been. So there I am with my backpack, day pack and third bag. Looking like a lost foreigner the touts come a running up to me. Plus it was raining. With the humidity and rain jacket on, I was pretty much a walking sauna. With beads of sweat dripping down my face the touts all said “Madame, you look so tired we can help you!” So first things first. I asked loudly to be led to the foreign exchange since I had to trade in my remaining NRs into INR (Indian Rupees). Some fellow with a good price ride led me there. I made a note to remember his face to catch up with him after I came back out of the Forex. Immediately exiting the Forex, once again, my fan base of touts came swirling around me and accompanied me as I lugged my three bags in the rain (somewhat pouring heavily by now) to Nepalese immigration. Once I cleared Nepalese immigration, I took a deep breath and ventured out the gates to deal with the touts again. Now there were more of them. Probably around 10. In hindsight, I would have just paid the INR1200 to the one taxi to drive me direct to Darjeeling from Karkarvitta (they would have stopped at Indian immigration along the way). I would have arrived in Darjeeling 2-3 hours earlier. The few hours I really needed as I had had not toilet break since 6am this morning (and it was now about noon) and a heated ankle. Instead of taking the direct taxi, I opted to go with a shared ride in a van which was carrying a family on their way to Siliguri. The van had the best price of INR200 shared Kakarvitta – Siliguri. The silly touts were telling me that there were no taxis from Siliguri to Darjeeling. Was I that stupid to believe them? The one fellow whom I did go with me assured me that I could catch a shared Sumo jeep from Siliguri to Darjeeling for INR120. Price wise it all sounded good. Really I would rather have paid the USD24 to get my ass direct to Darjeeling than save the USD18. I am towards the end of my India trip and USD18 at this point makes no difference to me. Siliguri is about an hour from Kakarvitta. Ok, so I went with the van, which, dropped me off at the Indian immigration across the Mechi River after crossing the bridge. I followed the fellow to the van leaving about 2-3 guys pushing each other around and yelling back there. Oh yeah, right when I came out of Nepalese immigration, the touts started a fight about who stole who’s customer. I pretty much yelled and said that I would go with the best price before it stopped. These were the same touts who followed me when I entered the Nepalese immigration. I guess they were arguing about who I would go with after I exited Nepalese immigration. The next encounter was simply to find an Indian immigration officer to stamp my passport. Really, I could have just entered India without visiting the office. Nobody was there. It was so different from the Nepalese side which was staffed and official. The Indian office there was no one. So I am standing there with the page with my Indian visa open in my hand speaking to myself. OK, so I wander around and find the one guy snoring away in the back. I wake the fellow up and he accompanies me back into the office to get my passport taken care off. OK, after passport formalities, it is onwards to Siliguri. Upon arriving in Siliguri, once again, I get bombarded by more touts. Another reason I would have willingly shelled out USD18 more to avoid this. Dealing with touts is rather exhausting. The worst part about the whole thing is that they grab your bag and walk away with it. Then you are at their mercy to follow them. Since I had 3 bags, it was little more difficult to avoid this. I made it a point to yell at anyone who touched any of my bags. That seemed to work. I look around and find the first jeep with the sign “Darjeeling” on its dashboard. Shared jeeps in India are mostly Sumo jeeps and capacity is usually sardine standard. OK, normally configuration by western standards, 1 in the front, 3 in the middle and luggage in the rear. Not in India. Instead it is 2-3 in the front (Yes! 4 including the driver across the front), 4 in the middle, 4 in the rear (in the luggage space), luggage goes on the roof, and second working man (usually driver and 2nd man who yells out the vehicle for more rides and deals with luggage on the roof) who hangs off the rear of the jeep or sits on the roof. Given the steep incline, voluminous and infinite pot holes, one way wide switchback, you wander how the fellow hangs off the back. I didn’t see a guy hanging off the back in any of the other jeeps which passed nor one sitting on the roof rack. So at SIliguri, I had to wait about an hour before the jeep filled to capacity in order for it to depart – another reason I would have shelled out more money – TIME. When we got the people, we still didn’t depart. There were 3 guys, 2 big and 1 smaller, who all INSISTED on sitting in the front with the driver. I had been sitting in the front before I was told to move to the middle seat (back seat) and found the front ok for 1 person. Let alone 3, and 3 being bigger guys than me! We weren’t going to leave until the 3 fellows got their way. The driver was adamant that the vehicle wouldn’t pass at a local police check point with the 4 of them in the front. So what happened in the end was the 3rd guy sat in the back in the luggage area until we passed the police check point and then he moved to the front. I was in hysterics laughing. The poor driver basically had the 3rd passenger in his lap as he drove and had to go over the 3rd passenger to shift gears. Half the time his head was out his window and his arms inside the car controlling the steering wheel. Take my word for me, it was a miracle we survived the trip up the hill to Darjeeling. It was nerve wrecking to anticipate what was coming out of each blind corner of the road as the driver couldn’t even see straight in front of him! These 3 guys. Crazy maniacs. You should have seen them screaming at each other and at the driver while the rest of us waited to depart from Siliguri. Somewhere during the trip, when one passenger left, more would pile in. Until the lady and half grown child got into the middle seat, I was seated in the middle seat. When they showed up I moved to the luggage area. There was no way I was going to be able to sit with my day pack on my lap and have 4 other people next to me in the middle seat, and going up a windy road ridden with potholes and flaming ankle. Good grief, the luggage area (rear of the jeep) was soon crammed full with 3 more people, plus me. I had to see the second man hanging off the rear of the jeep from inside when he got 1 more person into the luggage area. God crazy people. Insane. Insance. Hanging off the rear of a vehicle with baggage tied to the roof about to fall off, with a driver crammed in the front with 3 passengers, and the driver not being able to shift gears comfortably and having to stick his head out his window to just be able to breathe. Good grief. You have no idea how GLAD I was when we got to Darjeeling! I was glad to have made it in one piece. Crazy people man. India is crazy. Really crazy.
Kathmandu Airport. Domestic Terminal. I thought Mumbai was crazy. At the Kathmandu Domestic Terminal, all entering passenger have to send their check in and hand baggage through the x-ray machine. I put my three bags in and piled on top of my bags were bags of rice, grain, flour, what have you. I get to the other side and I see the official putting stickers on the bags already passed through the x-ray machine. I look at him and ask for him to put stickers on my bags. But first I have to get the bags of rice, grain and flour, off my bags. What does the official fellow do? He throws me the roll of stickers and tells me to stick them on my own bag since he can’t get to my bags. But first I have to stick the stickers on the grain, rice and flour. So much for security. Then I discover my flight has been canceled and I am pretty clueless at this point as to when I will get on the next flight. I go to the Agni Air office and they tell me I am the next flight on another airline. So eventually I check in and they forget to give me a bag tag to one of my two check in bags. When I arrive in Bhadrapur, the bag guy is checking all tags to all bags. He and I go into an extended argument that it is my bag as he tells me I need to produce a tag. After more yelling he lets me go with my bag. Chaos. It makes for an interesting day.
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