Perrengues, parte 01

Então vocês veem as fotos – os sorrisos, as festas, as paisagens de tirar o fôlego, templos, bichos, neve, praia, montanha, deserto, rios, florestas, gente local em seus trajes típicos, comidas... ufa! Parece uma perfeição sem fim. No entanto, a vida de mochileiro também tem seus percalços. Para cada foto maravilhosa e experiência incrível, pode ter certeza que há horas e mais horas de apertos em ônibus hiperlotados, noites em lugares, digamos, menos que confortáveis, dificuldades com a língua, lavagem de roupa no balde, pesquisas infinitas de preços de passagens aéreas, e tudo o mais que torna mochilar uma atividade ainda mais prazerosa por ser desafiadora. Já escrevi sobre a experiência em outro post. No entanto, além dos desconfortos habituais, vez por outra aparece um belo PERRENGUE. Saber lidar com os perrengues é essencial para sua vida de mochileiro – ou você lida bem com isso, ou essa vida não é pra você. E de tudo sai algo bom: estas experiências são sempre compartilhadas nas rodas de viajantes nos bares e praias, e sempre começam com “Sabe aquela vez em que...”.

Mochileiros e seu lado menos glamuroso: olheiras, cochilos de exaustão de cara no banco da frente, e muito mais.

Então, pra ninguém achar que tudo são rosas, SABE AQUELA VEZ EM QUE...

1)    ... eu passei 16 horas de conchinha com um senhor indiano?

Calcutá, Índia. Nosso grupo de 10 amigos, todos voluntários, decidiu passar o Natal em Gangtok e Darjeeling, duas estações de montanha no sopé dos Himalaias no extremo nordeste da Índia. Tomamos essa decisão meio em cima da hora, e descobrimos que todos os trens entre Calcutá e Siliguri (a cidade de onde saem os jipes para as outras duas) estavam lotados. Sim, o país hindu não comemora o Natal, mas a data coincide com os feriados de fim de ano deles, e todos correm para as montanhas. Ou seja, corremos, e conseguimos as últimas vagas em um ônibus.

Fiquei feliz quando soube que o meu lugar era um “sleeper”, um leito suspenso acima dos assentos. Ao entrar no ônibus, porém, começou a decepção:

Notem que eu não caibo nem esticado horizontalmente, nem sentado verticalmente. Eu ainda estava pensando “Potz, vai ser desconfortável passar 16h assim, mas dá pra segurar”, quando aconteceu. Um respeitável senhor indiano e sua família, mulher e dois filhos, entram no ônibus. A mulher e as crianças ocupam um sleeper, e o senhor sobe no meu e anuncia: “parece que vamos dividir esse aqui”. Demorou um pouco até eu sair do choque e perceber que sim, aquilo que não me cabia sozinho eram na verdade DOIS lugares no ônibus.

Em choque

Era isso ou desistir de toda a viagem. Foi isso. Aperta daqui, aperta dali, e a única posição (sério, a única), em que dava pra gente se amontoar naquele espaço era de conchinha. O indiano nem tomou conhecimento do desconforto – super normal pra eles, mas para fim uma noite do inferno. Afinal:

a)  A viagem de 16 horas durou 20;

b) Eu tentava manter distância, e ficava colado no vidro. Era inverno e estávamos subindo as montanhas, e eu ficava com o calor do indiano na barriga e o frio do vidro nas costas, sem cobertor.

c)  Tínhamos (foto abaixo) garrafas de água num suporte aos nossos pés. A estrada era tão miseravelmente acidentada, que o plástico de uma rachou com os solavancos. Quando percebi, estava com os pés e meias encharcados naquele frio de rachar;

d) Meu colega tinha CC e mau hálito, e era um jogo interessante tentar descobrir qual futum era qual;

e) Meu fone de ouvido resolveu quebrar no começo da viagem, então fiquei sem música também;

f) O ônibus, de acordo com os lindos hábitos de trânsito indianos, passava mais tempo buzinando do que não.

No fim, a gente aguenta tudo.

2)   ... eu coloquei até a alma pra fora na descida das montanhas do Nepal?

Pokhara, Nepal. Andar de ônibus no Nepal não é brincadeira de criança. Estradas péssimas com abismos gigantescos ao lado, ônibus pequenos (por causa das estradas estreitas), superlotados e com bagagens no corredor, música nepalesa (o encantamento cultural dura exatas 3 músicas) no último volume durante toda a viagem, solavancos épicos, motoristas maníacos. Um pouquinho de como é no vídeo abaixo:

Depois de 2 semanas a pão-de-ló em Pokhara, o pequeno paraíso perdido à beira do lago e ao pé da cordilheira dos Annapurnas, eu tinha esquecido da dura realidade. E, ao decidir pegar o ônibus de lá para a fronteira com a Índia, dez horas descendo a montanha num ritmo alucinante, esqueci de me preparar convenientemente.

Eu estava, à época, aproveitando a calmaria em Pokhara para me exercitar – corria todo dia no lago, nadava e levantava uns pesos, um ritmo bem forte. Cheguei no hotel cansado da correria, comi uma besteira, e fiquei displicentemente no computador até às 3h da manhã. Às 5h, catei minha mochila de 25kg, e, num surto de avareza, decidi andar os 3km até a estação de ônibus e economizar no táxi.

Ou seja, cheguei para a viagem com o corpo fadigado do dia anterior, sem ter dormido direito, com o esforço físico logo pela manhã e sem comer. Já estava tontinho nessa hora. Por causa do mal-estar, tomei só um copo de leite na estação pra não vomitar.

Como diria Chico Buarque... qual o quê. Imaginem-se neste estado, descendo uma montanha russa por dez horas. Comecei a passar super mal, e lutava com todas as forças para não vomitar. Assim que chegou na primeira parada na estrada, coloquei até o fígado pra fora. Ainda tinha mais 6h pela frente, e só consegui tomar água. Na segunda parada, foi-se a água e mais alguns órgãos. Cheguei perto da fronteira branco que nem um papel, e com a vista escurecendo.

O plano era cruzar a fronteira ainda naquele dia e pegar o trem para Varanasi, mas logo percebi que não ia rolar. Fui cambaleando com a mochila nas costas até o primeiro hotel pé-de-chinelo que achei, e nem negociei a diária. Entrei no quarto e caí na cama de tênis. Não sei se dormi ou desmaiei, sei que acordei 3h mais tarde, já escuro e faltando luz, e simplesmente não consegui me levantar, fiquei parado na cama, aterrorizado. Foi a única vez na minha viagem toda em que eu fiquei com medo de ter alguma coisa realmente séria e estar desamparado no meio do nada.

O hotel que me salvou - peguei a foto da internet porque na hora não tive condições...

Com um pouco mais de tempo, consegui ir lentamente até o restaurante e bebi quanta coca-cola consegui, para ter açúcar rápido alimentando a turbina. Comprei uns sanduíches e fui comendo a conta-gotas para não embrulhar o estômago. Na tarde do dia seguinte eu estava me sentindo bem o suficiente pra retomar a viagem, mas foi um belo susto.

Mais perrengues no próximo post!

Border-crossing Adventures

After our hurried 11-day Rajasthan loop, our much-reduced group from Kolkata (now consisting only of me, Giselle and Ana) reached Delhi, India’s mighty capital city. There we said goodbyes to Ana, who took her flight back home via Dubai, and Giselle and I sailed on fr yet another adventure. I will not write about Delhi because, frankly, my 24-hour stay in the city was uneventful (except for a scam we turned on the scammer – oh yeah – and about which I may write later).

So on February 11^th Giselle and I took yet another train ride, this time to Gorakhpur, a city in central-north India that is known for nothing BUT for being the train hub for those wishing to cross to Nepal overland. Due to some confusion on the train tickets, Giselle and I were separated into different classes for the trip. However, this apparent inconvenience turned out to be a defining moment of my trip, for it was during that train ride that I have met Sarah and David.

Dave and Sarah are a couple of extremely friendly and intelligent Americans from Massachussets (ok, Dave, we know you’re from Ohio – dang!) who were sharing the same cabin (a “cabin” in India being the 8-bed niches in which train space is divided) with me. We quickly warmed up to each other in conversation, and little did I know how much more time I’d spend with them before I was done with Nepal. They have been travelling a lot, having been in South America (shamefully not in Brazil) before tackling India, Nepal and Southeast Asia, and they also have great stories they upload on their BLOG. The one thing I don’t like about them is that they have this habit of choosing the worst possible pictures of me whenever citing me on their blog.

Dave and Sarah

Reaching Gorakhpur, we found Giselle again and the five of us (Giselle and I, Sarah and Dave and Giselle’s unreasonably big and unmanageable bag) got into a bus for the Indian-Nepali border in Sunauli. We went through the immigration rubber-stamping of both countries and finally entered Nepal. We had to take a 4-km bus ride to the (slightly) more substantial city of Bhairahawa. The funny fact was that said bus was already full. The Nepali drive just said: “NO PROBLEM, my FRRREND, you go on top the bus”. So, the four of us, along with a lot of luggage, enjoyed the only uncrowded and cool spot possible in a Nepali bus: outside of it. Upon reaching Bhairahawa, Sarah and Dave bought tickets to Chitwan wildlife reservation, their first stop in Nepal, while Giselle and I got ours to Kathmandu.

Goodbye to India

Our little gang on top of the bus 

We were starving, and we had half an hour before my bus, and one before Dave and Sarah’s, so we all had a hurried lunch of life-saving, redeeming Chowmein in Bhairahawa. Giselle and I reached the bus station 5 minutes before the appointed time, only to have a handful of ever-smiling Nepalis tell us that it had already left. WHAT?? And then we discovered one of the lamest national facts of my trivia treasure: Nepali time zone is FIFTEEN (yes, fifteen) minutes ahead of India’s, despite the country being minuscule and right in the middle of the Indian time zone. Indian Standard Time (IST) is GMT +5:30 (with this half-hour difference to other time zones being already odd, but understandable for the convenience of having a big country running entirely within the same time zone), but Nepali time is GMT +5:45, and these freaking 15 minutes made us lose the bus. I did some research on this and there’s no reason for that except to reaffirm Nepal’s sacred place as a single nation ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FROM INDIA. And, of course, nobody thought it would be nice to tell us while crossing the border.

We even tried hitching a ride in Dave and Sarah’s bus to Chitwan in the hopes of catching our bus along the way, but in some city up in the road we had to buy the last two backseat tickets for the overnight 10-hour uphill ride to Kathmandu.

Here I have to stop and tell you a little about what is riding a bus in Nepal is like. The terrain all over the country is incredibly rugged and steep, which means every road is curvy and narrow. Narrow roads make for small-sized buses, which also make for small luggage space, which means that everybody’s luggage is placed in the middle corridor. People who didn’t get a seat also seat there in whatever way possible. If you’re in the back of the bus, you have to hop from armchair to armchair through people and bags to find your way to the door. The roads are also all in terrible conditions, and the drivers are all crazier than in India (and I thought that was not possible). So you have maniac drivers speeding over holes and bumps on the road, and in each one the passengers fly from their seats like popcorn from a cooking pot. The drivers also pay no attention to the mile-deep abysses besides the roads, and the tire is always kissing an unsure-looking slope or rock. To set the atmosphere for that, every driver likes to pay his compliments to the passengers by introducing them to his favorite songs (all of them a young woman screaming to the limits of the human voice pitch range) in the loudest sound system I have ever seen in a bus. Now picture yourself in this ambience seating in a backseat, the bumpiest spot of them all, in a position in which you hit your head on the ceiling every major bump. Welcome to the joys of bus-travelling in Nepal.

Chinese pose while Giselle shuts down

The still empty bus

Nepalis must have nerves of steel and titanium bladders to stand trips like this with just one stop and even sleep through it. Giselle was able to doze off from time to time, but I couldn’t. I was rewarded for my wakefulness, however, with one of the most beautiful sights I have seen.

Nepal’s energy matrix is,like Brazil’s, mainly based in hydroelectric power. However, as a Himalayan nation, their water reserves depend on the mountains’ water cycle, which means there is a very dry season from mid-winter to early spring. During this time, Nepalis experience extended power cuts that can last up to 12 hours a day.

It was during one of these blackouts that we were crossings the mountains of the Kathmandu valley. The sky was fully starred, and the black mountains set against the dark night sky made it impossible to distinguish what was mountain and what wasn’t. The thousands of battery-based emergency lamps dotted the valley with star-like light spots, and these, together with the actual stars, created an eerie but very beautiful sensation of being suspended in the middle of the sky, with stars all the way above and below you. It was one of these moments that happen from time to time while we’re travelling, where unexpected beauty is found in unpredictable moments, and suddenly it makes all worthwhile. It’s really a shame that I couldn’t take a picture of that to share it with you: the moving bus made that impossible, and the faint light wouldn’t be captures by the camera anyway.

We reached Kathmandu by 4 a.m. or so, and it was a little surprising and depressing to see the city completely blacked out. I would never expect a city that big to be completely dormant, but the place looked like a ghost town while we were trying to find our hostel. The day was dawning when we got settled in one of the best hostels I’ve ever seen, Alobar1000, and went to sleep eager for the next day’s discoveries.

Experience: Trekking in the Himalayas

The story of my trekking on the Nepali Himalayas, just like so many of the amazing things that have happened to me during my journey, starts with a dramatic twist in my travel plans. Initially, my trip to Nepal was supposed to be mainstream enough: go there, see some temples, check out Kathmandu and some beautiful stupas, visit Lumbini, Buddha’s birthplace, and that’s it. Nice and smooth. However, the goddess of indie travel had something else in mind for me, and her plans were in action even before I entered Nepal.

On February 11^th, my friend Giselle and I, the only survivors from the 10-peoplegroup that left Kolkata on Jan 24^th, took a train from New Delhi to Gorakhpur, meaning to cross the border into Nepal. On that train I have met a very friendly American couple, Sarah and David, and we have quickly warmed up to each other during the 16-hour ride. After crossing the border, we said our goodbyes to them, as we were headed to Kathmandu, and they were going to the Chitwa National Park elsewhere in Nepal.

After some days in Kathmandu, Giselle and I were walking on the street trying to find the correct bus stop to take a ride to Bhaktapur, a nearby city, when we heard a distinct “HEY!”. David and Sarah were having lunch in a restaurant we were passing in front of. It was a happy coincidence, and there I learned they were going trekking on some Himalayan trails in two days, and they kindly invited me in. Lucky me.

On the following day, I accompanied Sarah and David to a shop where they were going to buy some gear they needed, and right there on the spot I made up my mind to join them. I bought a synthetic T-shirt and a shirt, two trekking poles, a fleece jacket, cargo pants, rain jacket and pants, warm underpants, a hat, backpack cover, 3 pairs of socks, a Nalgene water bottle, all for a little over 115 dollars. I also rented a heavy jacket and a sleeping bag, and I was good to go.

The next sunrise found me and Giselle saying our goodbyes – after almost a month travelling together. I met David and Sarah and we took the bus to Shyafru Bensi, a little town at 1,500m high, just at the beginning of the Langtang Trail, our trekking route of choice. The bus ride was nightmarish: the only seats available were on the back of the bus, the bumpiest, least comfortable place in a non-comfortable-at-all bus. We thought we would die a thousand times: the Nepali drivers take no prisoners and the roads are narrow, bumpy, with endless abysses inviting us to a horrible death at every turn. I have made a little video , about it, though it does not convey the full atmosphere of the situation:

Luckily, the way was also beautiful, and the toilet breaks had an amazing scenery:

Do you have that view from your bus?

Pee-pee break

We reached a rainy Shyafru Bensi already battered up, and the trek had not even started! After dinner, we went over our trekking plans again at the hotel, and went to sleep hoping for clear skies and dreaming with the heights.

The War Room

On the next morning, we packed our things tight, stretched our trekking poles, and hit the trail. The Langtang Trail, named after the biggest village on the mountain, stretches all the way from Shyafru Bensi, at 1,500m, to Kianjin Gumba, at 4,000m, roughly following a big river, and combines spots of lush green and steep rocky stairways with large extents of snow trails and open plains surrounded by the beautiful snowy peaks of the Himalayas.

The first day was great: a perfect weather found us well-rested, energized and as excited as ever. We were greeted by a beautiful river and crossed some small villages and sturdy metal bridges covered with the ubiquitous multicolored prayer flags of the Tibetan Buddhists.

The beginning

The Langtang River

First village

After four hours trekking, we arrived at the first big teahouse, Bamboo Lodge, where we had lunch and some well-deserved rest.

And I thought I was tired by then...

First stop!

We were already very tired, and briefly considered spending the night there. However, as Bamboo Lodge was still halfway the distance we had intended to cover in the first day (first lesson learned: it is so much easier to plan for big treks from your hotel bed than with a 30kg backpack on your shoulders), we decided to put a little extra effort into it and go at least until the next teahouse, at Rimche. At Bamboo I also decided I was carrying too much weight (second lesson learned: your perception of what is essential to carry with you changes dramatically after having to carry those perceptions on your back uphill for six hours). I took off a good 5kg of trash from my luggage and the lodge’s owner kindly let me leave it all there to retrieve on my way back. After two more hours, we finally arrived at Rimche, where I almost immediately fell asleep.

Ready for more!

We woke up before the sun was up the next day and set out for the next leg in our journey.  The trail started getting more and more rough, but the scenery also grew more beautiful, with us getting closer and closer to the beautiful mountains ahead.

Halfway up!

At some points the trail was little more than a narrow strip separating as steep rock from the abyss at our side, and sometimes the teahouses on the way were little more than a single building defiantly sitting in the middle of the immensity of the valley. For me, all these impressions added up to create a surreal sense of reality, as if all of that was a particularly long dream.

At that point I was already sufficiently awe-struck to make this video (my ramblings are in Portuguese, sorry).

Up we went, uneventfully reaching our next goal: the teahouse called Hotel Peaceful in Chianki, where our friend Norbuk, the owner, was more than happy to provide us with his hospitality and 100-rupee tea cups.

In the mountain, especially at high altitudes, resources are scarce, and almost nothing gets wasted. The mountain people usually have Yaks (a beast resembling a small, hairy cow) for milk and fur – not for meat, though, because Tibetan Buddhists are not allowed to kill animals (if a Yak dies of an accident, however, it’s barbecue time!). The Yak dung is collected, dried, and then used as fuel, along with firewood, for the stoves that warm the chilling nights. We had never been so happy to see a big pile of dung before.

Yak dung for everybody!

On the third day of ascent, the world turned white. The trail became snow-ridden, the ground slippery, and the snowy peaks we used to admire from a distance now surrounded us from all sides.

And then, after some more hours of battling the knee-deep snow, we finally reached Kianjin Gumba, at 4000m high, our last inhabited stop.

Mighty Kianjin Gumba

In Kianjin Gumba, the rest of the day was devoted to resting, warming up, and being beautiful.

Please don't make me move...

In the morning of the fourth day we set out to climb the Kiang Ri, a “small” (at 4,500m, more than half an Everest, it was the smallest and most accessible peak around, just behind the village) friendly ice-covered rock. The climb was not very difficult, but it was tiresome. Personally, as I had never seen snow before this trip, I had a lot of trouble with the white crap: I would slip uncountable times, relying on my trekking poles to avoid falling and rolling down the slope to a horrible death.

Showing the mountain who's boss

And then, three hours later, we finally reached the top, finding an exhilarating view of the valley around us, the glacier, and the surrounding peaks and mountains.

King of the hill

A bit of national pride

Lookin' good.

The valley of Kianjin Gumba

See the village down there?

We spent some time there, and I was surprised to know, on our way back, thar David had proposed to Sarah, at the very top of the mountain. How sweet is that??

The happy couple

So we started our way down. The next three hours were the only part of the trek in which I felt genuinely afraid for my safety. The morning sun had half-melted the snow, making it ten times more slippery, and giving up more easily to our weight. To a greenhorn in both climbing AND dealing with snow such as me, that was serious trouble. Early into the descent, I slipped, fell to my butt and started sliding down the slope uncontrollably. Luckily I was able to reflexively stick my trekking poles in the ice and coming to a halt, but one of my trekking poles paid the price with its life: it was broken for good.

Ouch!

After that, without the trekking poles to rely upon, I started a careful descent on my own hands and legs. I took off my gloves for an extra grip, even though it was freezing cold, and decided to avoid the snow altogether, trying instead to go from rock to rock, bush to bush, even if that meant going a longer way. To the hell with my palms (which were really scratched) and my boots (which suffered their lot in silent agreement) – at the moment, I just cared about reaching the village alive and in one piece. Shaky and relieved, and in no mood for pictures, I finally arrived at our lodge, celebrating my success with a big belly-slide on the snow. Afterwards, I quickly found my way to food and bed, and slept as a rock.

On the next morning, it was time to say goodbye to our host, Kianjin Gumba, and start our long descent.

Kianjin Gumba from our doorstep

The way down was way faster and less tiresome, but it was no easier than the way up: our bodies were already tired from the exertion of the last four days, and going down is much harder on your knees and shoulders. Despite that, we made our way to Shyafru Bensi in only two days (as opposite to the three it took us to go up), in two 6-hour hikes. The last two hours were particularly tiresome: on top of being exhausted from all the trekking, the extra weight I had left at Bamboo Lodge really made me miserable until reaching our hotel room in Shyafru. Miserable, but happy as a little kid with a new Lego set. On his birthday. With cake. And a puppy.

Trekking on the Himalayas was an once-in-a-lifetime experience, one that will be engraved in mind for the rest of my life. It is as much a journey into oneself as it is a physical feat, as it gives you plenty of time to think and reflect on your life, combined with trance-like periods of intense concentration on the task at hand, as there are times in which a simple mistake can be fatal. I really feel like I have emerged as new being after this experience, and I will be forever grateful to Sarah and David for taking me along and offering me guidance, advice, and friendship.

Namaste!