Patna, the capital city of the poorest and most dangerous state in India, is also the least hospitable. Last night I walked around for hours with my pack trying to find a place to stay. Most of the hotels clerks said said, “Full. No room.” Many others were more honest and said, “Sorry, no foreigners.” I tried taking a rickshaw at one point, but he spoke no English and just took me where he wanted rather than where I wanted. Another man came up to me on the street and asked, “What country?” I told him “Canada” and he replied, “Patna very dangerous for foreigners. Be very careful. Very, very much so.” And then he went away. Many security guards were kind to me and called for me to follow them to their hotels, often down dark alleys, but inevitably, the clerk would turn me away.
I did eventually find one hospitable place. A restaurant named Khazana e Tandoor (for those of you who don’t know, I used to manage a restaurant named Khazana). Although none of the serving staff spoke english, they were delighted with my ability to communicate in Hindi when I’m in a restaurant. They were very surprised when they tried to further the conversation only to lose me completely. The food was the best I’ve had in India, and everything they brought me was exactly what I expected, which doesn’t happen often. But then I walked out and the door man grumbled something to me in Hindi that I’m sure was not a nicety. I’ll be so happy to get back on the bus and finish my journey to Nepal.
After a refreshing stroll through Patna, we caught the overnight bus to the Nepal border. My seat refused to stay declined; instead what I had was a spring loaded seat that threatened to eject me at every bump which is what the road was made of: bumps and pot-holes. Buy the time I got to Nepal 10 hours later, I wasn’t sure if I got any sleep or not. I might have dozed a time or two, but sleep…..
At the border I was illegally charged Rs100 to have my passport stamped, but shared a good-time chai with my extortionist. My rickshaw driver also took advantage of my dream state by demanding Rs120 for a Rs40 trip. I gave him Rs90 and told him to beat it. On the Nepalese side, I was refused entry to the washroom, but appealed to what good nature the guard did have to get my travel partner (my wife for the brief span of this conversation) into the facilities. He wasn’t happy about it, but finally relented. I, on the other hand, found someone to guide me though someones home and into their back….. yard (of sorts) where where I was told I could “psht” (with a pinky finger arc) on their wall. Unfortunately, with the whole family looking on, I was unable to preform beyond a few drops.
The trip from the border to Katmandu was terrifying. The driver was fearless, the SUV was full beyond capacity, and the co-pilot rode on the roof. The scenery, thankfully, was breath-taking. About halfway here, I realized: “I’m in the Himalaya mountains. Holy shit, I’m actually in the Himalaya mountains.” The terraces and paths I was admiring have been there for thousands of years. This civilization I was driving past had been in place for thousands of years. This was so much bigger of a moment than India ever was. This is the fucking Himalaya mountains.