Bjorn and Elmar, the Germans that I met in Laos, caught up with me in Bangkok. Being the master networkers that they are, they had got in touch with all the other overland bikers nearby. Bangkok is a bit of a hub because almost everyone riding from Australia to Europe (or vice versa) flies in or out to avoid Myanmar, and each evening there was usually a gang of ten or more.
Hey, who wants to hear about my bike trip???Now Bangkok is a pretty cool place to hang out for a week, but it was great to jump on a plane bound for Nepal. Guido and Esther, a couple of Swiss overlanders, were on the same plane. They'd heard that a group of German riders would be staying at the Yellow House in Kathmandu, so we headed there from the airport.
Kathmandu was quite a shock after Bangkok. Given that my knowledge of the city to this point was based largely on the Green Eye of the Yellow God, I was expecting something quite exotic, but Mad Carew has long since departed. At first glance modern day Kathmandu looks like it has been bombed extensively. And it doesn't really improve with a second glance, either. Nepal has always been poor, but it has had a particularly hard time recently with royal assassinations and a Maoist revolution. Since the dam for the hydroelectric plant collapsed last year in the floods, the country only gets a few hours of electricity each day... Very friendly and helpful people though (although after a hard day in the saddle, sometimes a little too friendly and keen to help...).
The Yellow House was a great find. It's basic, but it's very clean, well located, the staff are great, the food is tremendous, and all for 300 rupees per night (less than 3 quid). Later in the evening, the Germans turned up - Claus, Rainer, Thomas and Marian. They'd flown their Africa Twins in from Germany and were planning to spend 2-3 months riding back.
Apart from collecting the bike, the other priority in Kathmandu was to get a visa for Pakistan. For some reason, you first need to get a 'letter of no objection' from your home embassy, which meant a trip to the British Consulate. At this point, I discovered that when it comes to baksheesh, the British really are world leaders. Up to this point, the most I have had to shell out was $5 to get a customs stamp when entering Cambodia from Laos. But to get a simple pro-forma letter from the British Consulate, they wanted 35 quid! Obviously it's done extremely professionally, with a nice smile and a helpful leaflet that explains exactly how much you have to pay, and why it's necessary...Letter of no objection in hand, I headed over to the Pakistan Embassy. I don't know much about Pakistan, but with the current troubles they're having, I did feel a certain uneasiness as I went into the building. But in fact, the folks in the visa department couldn't have been nicer as they processed my paperwork and chatted about England and Pakistan. I thought we were done, but this was only the first stage, and I was then ushered into another room for 'the interview'. The guy behind the desk was the spitting image of Colonel Gadaffi, and had a very serious look on his face. What was my reason for entering Pakistan? Where was a planning to go? How long was I planning to stay there? I answered all the questions with a straight bat - riding from Melbourne to London, Islamabad and the Karakoram highway, two weeks. He gave me a pained look, and told me that my travel plans were unacceptable. Two weeks was not nearly enough for Pakistan, and he reeled off a long list of cities and historic sites that I absolutely had to visit while I was there... I nodded politely and promised to extend my stay. He told me the visa would be ready on Monday. Mission accomplished, I headed quickly for the exit...
Next stop was the cargo warehouse at the airport to collect the bike. I'd heard that it was necessary to get a 'fixer' to help with the paperwork, since it's all in Nepali. At the gate I was met by the usual gaggle of opportunists, who were quickly shooed away by a guy who looked like he had slightly more idea what was going on, so I followed him into the warehouse. We sat down at a large table with about half a dozen other Nepalis. The conversation then went something like this:
Overland traveller: What is your fee?'Fixer': 4,000 rupees (about 35 quid)
Overland traveller: Forget it! (stands up to leave)
'Fixer': OK! 2,000 rupees
Overland traveller: Do I look stupid? (heads to the door)
'Fixer': 1,000 rupees? (Overland traveller continues to the door). OK, no charge
No obviously, that doesn't really mean no charge, but it means that I decide how much he gets at the end of the process, and I'd heard that a good fixer gets 500 rupees for a job well done. The fixer then led me from room to room in the customs office. It quickly became apparent that he had no idea what the process was and had to ask the other fixers what to do. Furthermore, he didn't speak a word of English, and to make matters worse, he was extremely irritating. With remarkably little assistance, I got my carnet stamped by customs. My fixer then changed tack completely, tried to hug me and repeated the word 'friend' many times, at which point I reminded him that he'd just tried to fleece me for 4,000 rupees. My crate was then moved from the warehouse to a concourse out front, and unpacking began.
Now in my haste to complete the day's chores as quickly as possible, I had left two essential items at the hotel - firstly, the bike keys, and secondly two litres of petrol (I had to drain the tank in Bangkok). There was a spare set of keys on the bike, but it was a classic Catch 22 since I needed a 5mm allen key to get at the bike keys, and the bike keys to get to the 5mm allen key... Earlier, I had asked my fixer to find me an allen key and some petrol, but this level of resourcefulness was completely beyond him. Before you ask what I was planning to do if I really lost the keys, the allen key is usually taped to the outside of the bike (I am assuming that any would-be Transalp thieves will not be reading this blog).
Fortunately, at this point Guido and Esther came to the rescue. Being Swiss, Guido was carrying a good multi-functional pocketknife, and Esther offered to share her petrol with me. Having done the public motorcycle dismantling / reassembling in Asian countries a few times now, I knew that this would attract a formidable crowd, which can be harnessed for various tasks such as taking the crate apart. However, when it comes to the more delicate part of the process like putting the front wheel back on, the crowd can be quite a distraction, especially when you are trying to keep an eye on your tools, your luggage and a bag containing your passport and a thousand dollars in cash. Additionally, you are being bombarded with the same Three Questions:
Q1: Sir, which country are you coming from?
Q2: Sir, how many ccs?
Q3: Sir, what does this motorcycle cost in your country?
As I subsequently discovered, these same three questions are parroted at every opportunity across the entire country - do they teach them at school? Occasionally an innovative member of the crowd will throw in Q4: Sir, how far can you travel on one litre of petrol? But there is no Q5.
I was part-way through the job when Guido and Esther's crate arrived, and Guido's experience began to shown. He arranged the panels from his crate in a magic circle, and anyone who dared to cross the threshold received a polite but firm rebuke and were escorted out of the inner sanctum.
Guys, haven't you finished yet?
Bikes reassembled, I gave my fixer 250 rupees, which I thought was fair enough given his overall contribution (Guido and Esther paid 500 rupees, but their fixer was a lot more helpful). Additionally, we were hit up for 1 rupee per kg storage fee. The fixers then insisted that we pay another 2.5 rupees per kg 'labour charge'. I'd heard that this could be avoided, so I told them that I wasn't going to pay, at which point I got long-winded explanation about how fixers didn't get paid by the warehouse, etc. etc.. By this stage I was definitely smelling a rat. We were told that we would not be allowed through the main exit without a stamp showing that we'd paid the labour charge, but we decided to chance it and roared away from the warehouse. When we got to the main exit, there was no security guard, so no problem. The Nepalis could definitely use a lesson from the British on baksheesh...
The day's drama was far from over, however. Half way back to the hotel, my bike sputtered to a halt - out of petrol. We were just debating who would ride back to the hotel to get my two litres when an Anglo-German couple, Sue and Rafael, pulled up on an Enfield and offered me a litre. We got a few more kilometres down the road, and then Guido's fuel ran out. This time there was no alternative, so Esther and I headed back to the hotel for the extra petrol while a crowd assembled around Guido and subjected him to the Three Questions.
Next day, the priority was to find some petrol, since Kathmandu is in the midst of a strike by the drivers of petrol tankers, who are outraged that the Nepal Oil Company wants to phase out the use of tankers that are more than 25 years old (and some of them look a lot more than 25 years old). The Germans knew a local who made a few phone calls and found us 120 litres on the black market for 170 rupees a litre (regular price is 77 rupees, but overland bike trips don't go very far on an empty tank). We were then escorted around Kathmandu, first to one destination, then another, before ending up in a secluded yard. Our supplier turned up in a tatty old car with three drums of fuel, and explained he could only get 60 litres. Since we brought five bikes, we started measuring the fuel out in a five-litre jerry can, which was working OK until we had dished out 45 litres... and there was no more fuel. A heated debate then ensued, with our supplier insisting that we had taken 60 litres. We ended up paying an extra 1,000 rupees - personally I was ready to fire the bike up and head for the exit, but there were about a dozen guys in the yard and I don't think Guido fancied being the last biker to leave...
Hmm, I smell a rat...
That evening, Guido ordered a bottle of wine, and at midnight cracked it open to celebrate the fact that he had been on the road for five years - bloody good achievement, particularly when you consider that he has remained completely sane, relatively social, and somewhat clean...
Meanwhile, the Germans were about to embark on the first part of their journey - cross country from Kathmandu to Taplejung, which is in the north east corner of Nepal - and they kindly asked if I wanted to come along. I still had a few days to wait for my Pakistan visa, and I was enjoying their company. Furthermore, you will have noticed from the blog that it's very difficult to get pictures of myself when I'm travelling solo, so I thought I might get a few snapshots along the way. Finally, I must confess to having a little bit of bike envy, since their Africa Twins are more expensive and powerful than my Transalp. Although, as we were later to discover, not quite so reliable... Additionally, I think they ceded most of their power advantage by packing a significant amount of extra luggage. Spare tyres. A hammer. A coffee percolator??? So, next morning, I joined forces with the Germans, said my farewell to Guido and Esther, and we set off.
Intrepid adventurers about to set off into the unknown
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1 comment:
hang a board around your neck with the *three answers*,so next time some one asks you those questions just point them towards the board
:)
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