Day 152 - Old and New Friends

We shared the lodge with a group of travel agents checking out Sapana's facilities for Shoestring Travel. They had an elephant ride scheduled for the early morning, and as we were packing, we heard the elephant driver talking to his elephant. I peeked out the window, and it was none other than our old friend Jumbadu! I went down to say hello, and was pleasantly surprised that both Jumbadu and his handler remembered me. Jumbadu nuzzled me with his trunk, and seemed to enjoy getting scratchies on his trunk and chin. After greetings were exchanged with both elephant and handler, he (Jumbadu) proceeded to sniff me over from head to toe. Whne he reach my shoes, he curled his trunk in on itself and took a step back. I think I might be burning my shoes when we get home.

Jumbadu is a young male elephant. Once they are mature, boy elephants only think about food and sex. (not unlike some boy humans...) As they mature, glands which secrete a liquid open up on the sides of their head. If this liquid gets into their mouth, it makes them aggressive and unpredictable. Carrying tourists becomes too boring for them, and they are retired to stud or to working in hte forest. Jumbadu is developing the gland on one side of his head already, and his handler thinks that he will only be tame enough to play with tourists for a maximum of five more years.

After seeing Jumbadu off (and accidentally dropping scraps of food for Lukar), we took the lodge jeep to the bus stand. At the stand, we met another American who also happened to be heading to Delhi. He had spent the summer teaching in Rajasthan, and was just finishing a trek and visit around Nepal with his family before heading into India to visit a college friend. We hit it off, and decided to be travel buddies at least as far as Delhi.

The bus ride to the bus station nearest the border crossing was uneventful.

So was the rickshaw ride the rest of the way to the border.

M (our new friend), had crossed into Nepal at a smaller border post in the middle of the night. The border guard had to be woken up to check his visa, and forgot to put in an entry stamp. This was not a problem while he was traveling in Nepal, but the Nepali border police at this border refused to grant him an exit stamp without the official entry stamp. A 2000 rupee 'fine' (read bribe) later, he crossed into India, got an exit stamp from the India border post, and then retuned to the Nepali side, where he was able to get both entry and exit stamps.

We all walked to the Indian side together. The Indian border post tried to tell him that he had to stay in Nepal for 24 hours to be granted re-entry into India, but another 'fine' was payed, and we were on our way.

After a short walk into India, snagged the last three seats on a bus headed for Gorakhpur, the nearest railway station. After we took our seats, they continued cramming people on to the bus. It was like riding the 'L' train out to Brooklyn during rush hour - sardines have more roomy accomadation.

We forgot that the bridge just outside Gorakhpur was structurally unsound, and that buses were not allowed across.

Everyone on the bus tumbled out and into waiting auto rickshaws. After some intense haggling, we agreed on 50 rupees each and crammed ourselves into the auto with a huge Indian family. Rickshaws are designed to carry 4-6 passengers. Ours had 15. The littlest child in the family actually wound up on my lap. The children were all charming though. They all wanted to talk to me, but were too shy, so the girls would whisper to the boy on my lap, and he would then talk in formal school English - How old are you?, Where is your home?, and the like. When I would return the questions, all the kids would giggle wildly, and the answers would all be funneled back through the little boy.

The rickshaw driver was less charming. As soon as we were onboard, he tried to raise the price back up to 100 per person. We refused, and he relented. Then he tried again, and again we refused. Then, when we were almost to the train station, he pulled into a gas sattion and demanded all our fares (read 100 rupees each). We outright refused. He insisted. He claimed the rickshaw was almost out of gas. The Indians gave him some money, so M payed his fare, and we said we would pay the balance when we got to the train station. We then continued to the train station - without putting any gas in the rickshaw! At the station we handed over the rest of our fare, and headed to the trains. The Indian family stayed behind to tear into the driver. Grandma led the charge. You do NOT mess with Indian grannies, I have learned.

At the train station, we discovered that the train to Delhi was full. We bought waitlist tickets. Every hour I would go to the window and check if we had confirmed seats. Eventually we had one seat confirmed, but the other two still waitlisted. The ticket man said to go ahead and get on the train, that there would probably be space. This may have had something to do with the few hundred extra rupees we slipped into the fare.

There were, in fact seats, and we were soon rolling our way across the subcontinent.

Bribery (never called such, though) is a way of life in India and Nepal, but today was extraordinary. In less than 6 hours, M bribed his way through two border posts, and the three of us bribed our way onto a 'full' train. I am feeling quite pleased with myself.